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[paarksunghoon]

KISS IT BETTER — JONGSEONG

SUMMARY: park jongseong is the kind of guy who likes to put his back against the wall to observe everybody before him. he likes the calm high only marijuana can provide when jake forces him out of his bedroom to socialize. enter you: a beautiful enigma in a black mini skirt and the only person who could get him higher than his favorite drug.

NOTES: a purely self indulgent fic. happy birthday jongseong 🖤

WORD COUNT: 23.8K

WARNINGS: marijuana use, extensive dry humping, jay being equally obsessed with ass and tits, oral (m & f receiving), reader has a rack and a big ass, confident & slightly bratty mc, jay is a walking green flag, plus some other stuff I don’t think I need to tag and don’t want to spoil. I wrote most of this while stoned so maybe that should be a warning in itself...

🎧 kiss it better — the playlist

Jay doesn't have to announce that he smokes; his clothes smell earthy with the faint scene of leaf and smoke that lingers on all of his shirts and jackets. He always keeps a lighter on him in case there's an opportunity to get high or help someone else achieve that euphoria. Most times, Jay smells of vanilla and sandalwood from his favorite cologne that he intentionally sprays on his body for the longest lasting effect. It masks the scent or marijuana and wafts through his jet black hair, which has been cut short as of a week ago. He keeps to himself mostly, often preferring not to mingle with people who don't know how to carry a conversation. Jay hates unnecessary small talk. He'd rather people call him recluse than subject himself to people who only talk to him out of obligation.

Despite his quiet and introverted tendencies, he's friends with Jake, who is almost always the loudest person in the room. Jake is the type of person who can crack a smile and start a conversation with anybody. He doesn't mind if the small talk is bland and boring, unlike Jay, who counts the seconds until it's over. Jake loves it when the attention is on him like any other twenty-year-old something who's just gotten used to leaving home for the first time.

Their apartment on the outskirts of Seoul is less of an apartment and more like a small house, courtesy of Jay's exceptionally rich parents who dropped an unprecedented amount of money into his bank account despite the fact that he has a job. They don't particularly love that he works at a guitar repair shop or that he occasionally teaches people how to play the instrument when he has a free weekend, but Jay's never been the kind of person to care about what other people think of him as long as he's doing what he loves.

Well, that's how he's been ever since he started smoking.

Some time back in high school during the summer before his third year, he'd somehow met a freshly graduated student looking to sell off the rest of his marijuana before moving away for college. No way he could pack that shit in his luggage and fly halfway across the world with it in his possession. The plug was a friend of a friend. On a hot Thursday summer night, Jay smoked from a bong for the first time. He coughed and coughed, grateful that neither his friend nor the plug laughed at him for too long. The high didn't kick in until the third try when Jay had learned how to properly inhale.

If he could describe that first taste of euphoria, Jay would probably say it felt like walking on cloud nine with his head feeling heavier than a rock while the rest of his body felt as light as a feather. He could finally focus on one thing at a time instead of his brain running with a million thoughts. This was what it meant to let loose and be in the present moment. His friends thought he spent too much time worrying about the future instead of basking in the here and now. Jay finally understood what they were talking about.

When you first catch his eye, it's in the basement of his apartment. You arrived forty minutes prior along with your friends, some of whom he knows from around campus, and he looks at your exceptionally short black skirt that hugs your curves. The weather is starting to warm up with summer approaching beyond the horizon, even during the nighttime. Jay's red, bloodshot eyes rake over the expanse of your exposed legs and stop at the hem of the fabric before he peeks at your top, which is surely too small to properly cover your chest. It's a wonder how you haven't noticed him blatantly checking you out, but then again, the music is loud and there's far too many people in this room to make him stand out.

You look at Jay when the rest of your friends start to gather around the couch he's sitting on. Jake, who has migrated towards the coffee table with bottles of beer and soju, puts the drinks on the surface and starts pouring shots like the alcohol will give everybody enough courage to fly if they tried hard enough. He watches as you take a look at him too. Jay wears loose fitting black jeans and an old grey t-shirt he's worn one too many times. He's ditched his signature leather jacket because the apartment is warm with all the bodies that move before him and because it's his place. There's no use putting one on when he can walk upstairs to his bedroom if he gets cold. He never does. Several silver necklaces adorn his neck accompanied with matching silver jewelry that somehow makes his fingers look much longer than when his hands are completely bare. The callouses on his fingertips wrap around the joint in his hands—which is halfway finished—by the time you walk around the coffee table and look down at him.

"Is this seat taken?" Jay shakes his head.

"All yours."

He hears your polite thank you amidst noise. There's far too much for him to focus on, namely the chatter of multiple conversations and Jake's twenty-seven hour long playlist he puts on shuffle every time he hosts a party. Now he has to add in your perfume into the mix, which smells something like almond and cherries. Jay doesn't mean to inhale your scent, but it's kind of hard not to when you're sitting so close to him. The couch is only so big, anyway. Your thigh might as well be pushing against his if you weren't so polite.

"I like you what you did with your hair," you say, turning your body to look at him.

"Hm?" Jay hums.

"You hair. I like what you did with it," you repeat, using your index finger to point at his gelled hair, which he styled last minute thanks to Jake's suggestion. "It looks good on you."

"You think so?" You nod a few times. Jay can tell you're drunk from pregaming and the drinks his roommate and your friends have been passing around for the last hour or so.

"You look…edgy."

"Edgy?"

"Like, way too cool to be here."

Jay nearly scoffs at that. Too cool. Nobody's ever used that phrase to describe him before. Most people think he's too quiet for his own good or that he's a bit of a snob because he refuses to be part of the crowd that goes along with anything for the sake of looking like he has friends. Jay is the kind of person who keeps to himself until he feels comfortable enough to open up. Being vulnerable is not his forte. He'd rather keep everything to himself until he's given a reason to spill his guts. People tend to compare him to Jake and always wonder how the two of them are so close despite being so different. His best friend's loudness complements his quiet nature, even if it gets to be too overwhelming sometimes.

You, on the other hand, are the epitome of cool. Jay's never spoken to you in his life, but he's seen you around before. You never walk around campus without somebody trailing after you and on the rare occasions you're alone, he's seen you call out to somebody as they pass by. Jay doesn't know if you're a natural socializing magnet or if people seek you out on purpose. He doesn't know if there's much of a difference. Jay has never found the appeal of having a large friend group because he'd rather find a few people who he can trust than entertain people who don't really care about him. He doesn't know you well enough to make any assumptions beyond what he's witnessed, but you're friends with the girl Jake is talking to, which means he's been seeing you more than he ever has.

With his joint still lit, Jay laughs and the sound vibrates deep within him as the high continues making him feel like his head is much heavier than the rest of his body, just how he likes it. "You flatter me."

"You're Jay, right?" You ask. You tell him your name, which he already knows, but he chooses not to tell you that.

"Yeah, I am. Jake's roommate."

"I've heard a lot about you."

"Have you?"

"Good things, I promise," you tell him with a sweet smile. Jay's eyes barely flicker to your lips. You'd notice if you were sober, but you aren't. "Jake told me you play guitar. I think that's really cool."

"Do you play too?"

You shake your head. "Nope. I grew up playing piano. My parents never let me learn guitar because they wanted me to become a pianist."

"How's that going for you?"

"I can play Tchaikovsky without sheet music, but I really like learning about astronomy."

"You're either a disappointment or an exceptional daughter."

You giggle. Jay doesn't think he's made anyone make that sound before.

"Maybe a little bit of both. I crushed their dreams of seeing me in Carnegie Hall, but they're happy I chose a hard science as my major. I'm planning on going to grad school after taking a gap year."

"You're…very confident."

"Is that a bad thing?" You ask with the tilt of your head.

"Not at all. I'm just surprised."

"You are the cute guy with a joint and enough jewelry to last a lifetime. You look pretty confident to me." Your eyes rake over his hands, which are adorned with an assortment of silver rings before passing up his neck and to his ears, both of which are tastefully decorated. Jay looks at you and notices you're decked out in jewelry too. The gold tones complements you well.

"I think people shouldn't be afraid of accessorizing," Jay says.

"Fuck the clean girl aesthetic." You laugh. "I'm just kidding. People can do what they want. But I don't feel like myself unless my eyes are caked in eyeliner." Your makeup looks expertly put on. It's messy in a tasteful way, like you didn't try too hard even though you probably took your time getting ready.

"It looks nice on you."

"You think so?"

Jay nods. "Makes you look like a rock star."

"You're one to talk," you say, letting your eyes fall again.

The joint burns quicker than he'd like and in lieu of a response, Jay takes another puff and hopes he doesn't come off as socially awkward. He inhales and holds it in his lungs as casually as he can before turning his head away to blow the smoke anywhere but in your face. Jay can feel your eyes watching his lips as he brings the joint to his mouth and feels his neck start to warm up.

"Do you want to take a hit?" He asks, holding the joint out for you.

"Do you care if I get lip gloss on it?"

As if he'd pass up the chance to taste it.

He pushes the joint closer to you until your nimble fingers take it from him and he watches intently as your lips enclose around the opening. You've already got your lip gloss on it, something he can only describe as cherry cola, but he doesn't really care. Maybe he's high or maybe he knows a thing or two about pretty girls who like to make their lips look real kissable, but Jay takes note of your brown lip liner that makes you look even more delectable than when you were standing across the room from him.

Like the polite girl you are, you turn your head away to blow the smoke out of your mouth. You take it like a champ, too. You inhaled quite a bit and he was sure he'd have to get up from his spot on the couch to grab you a glass of water—or make Jake do it—but you cough only once to clear your throat before turning back around and inspecting the lip gloss that's managed to taint the paper. You smile and laugh when you notice it, flicking your eyes back towards Jay as you pass the joint back to him.

"Sorry," you apologize. "I really tried not to get any on there."

"S'okay. It happens," he mumbles, trying not to become too transfixed with the way you rub your lips together.

"Do you always offer your joints to strangers you see at parties?"

"Only if they're pretty."

Jesus. He's never this bold when he's sober. Jay sees a flicker of bashfulness in your expression when he says it, though. He isn't used to talking to girls like Jake is because he's got more things to worry about than wondering when he'll get his dick wet. He's the kind of guy that likes to take things slow and only jumps in on opportunities if they happen naturally. Jake's tried to introduce him to a few girls in the past but it never felt right.

Something about you smoking the joint he rolled twenty minutes before this party began is making him feel differently.

"Do you think I'm pretty, Jay?" Caught between embarrassment and bravado, he chooses the latter.

"Very pretty."

"I think you're pretty too."

"Do you?"

You nod. "Always have. I've seen you around campus before. You've got this mysterious thing going on. It works for you."

"Did Jake put you up to this?" He asks, shaking his head before inhaling a small puff.

"He didn't," you tell him. "I'm not really friends with Jake. Well, we know each other because we've shared a few classes and because he's talking to my best friend. No colluding here."

You move closer to him only slightly, but Jay's high and the only thing he can focus on is your exposed thigh inching closer towards his own. Your skirt has already ridden up so far because of the position you're sitting in and because it's hard to fix your clothes when you aren't standing up. If he looked down, Jay would see your tits practically shoving themselves in his face because of the tight, low cut. But even when he's inebriated, Jay is a gentleman, so he maintains his composure and keeps a respectful distance.

"Can I have another hit?" He gives the joint back to you and tries his best not to gawk at your lips again. "This isn't your scene, is it?"

"It is if Jake asks me to come," he answers, watching you tilt your head back to exhale. "I'm not a party guy, but it's my house and it'll be just as loud in my bedroom."

"I see," you say with a hum, looking at the group of people that have gathered near the table at the far end of the room. "It's not really my scene either."

"It's not?"

You shake your head. "I go to these things because my friends like to and I like them. Don't get me wrong, I like going out, but I think I'd rather smoke with a few people in my apartment instead."

"What would you rather be doing?"

"Depends on my mood. Right now I'd rather be high on my roof stargazing. I also like watching anime a lot. I'd rather be doing that alone in my bedroom."

"You must really like your friends to come out tonight." You laugh and Jay thinks it sounds like his favorite melody.

"I have my moments where I want to go out. I think my introversion comes out sometimes, but it's my last year of university and who knows when I'll be able to see all my friends in one place. What about you? What would you rather be doing?"

"Is it obvious that I'm bored?"

"Well, you look like you'd rather hide in your room than stay down here."

"I don't know anyone well enough," Jay tells you. "Not bad company, everyone's just a stranger tonight."

"But not me, right?" You ask, leaning in closer to him.

His eyes flicker down to your lips before looking back at you.

"No. Not you," he murmurs. "I know you now."

"Come play beer pong!" Jake shouts, interrupting the conversation from halfway across the room. When Jay turns his head to look, everyone has migrated to the table with red solo cups perfectly aligned on both sides. Your friends call out for you and Jay assumes you must be really good at this game if they're this adamant about you playing.

"Come with me?" You ask him, standing up while outstretching your hand to him. He only hesitates for a second before putting the joint in his mouth and putting his hand in yours.

Already, he notes how soft your palms are and the long, pointy shape of your nails that have been painted a dark shade of purple. Jay tries not to stare at your joined hands for too long because he doesn't want to seem like he's gawking, especially when he's surrounded by people you know. You lead him towards the crowd as Jake pours beer in the remaining empty cups.

You don't drop his hands immediately. Instead, you turn towards him and look up, batting your eyelashes. "Can I have another hit? For good luck?"

"Won't that make you loose focus?"

"I'm really good at beer pong."

Instead of giving you the joint, Jay holds it up to your mouth and watches you envelope the tip into your mouth. He doesn't hide the fact that he's staring, nor do you hide the fact that you're looking at him as he looks at you. He can hear your friend telling you to hurry up but you don't, instead choosing to inhale as much as you can before pulling away, holding it in your lungs, and blowing the smoke behind you.

"You know the rules," Jake says, standing across from you with a ping pong ball in his hand. "No pushing or blocking. I want a clean, fair game."

"Until the next round," your friend says.

Jake smirks. "Until the next round."

You finally let go of his hand to stand next to your friend and Jay can't help but trail his eyes until he looks at your ass. Fuck. You look exceptional in that skirt. He pulls his gaze away to avoid looking like a creep checking you out while you're bending over, but can anyone blame him? With every move and every stop, your skirt rides up your incredible thighs and he almost wishes he could push the fabric up just to see what you look like underneath it.

True to your word, you're really good at beer pong. Jake is far more drunk than you and your friend and his partner is barely carrying his weight. You, on the other hand, manage to sink the ping pong ball into the cup every single time you throw it. Jay relishes in Jake's defeated expression when he has to drink out of a cup, partially because his best friend wouldn't allow him to hole himself in his bedroom all night, and partially because Jay finds your hand-eye coordination really attractive. He finishes the remainder of the joint and finds a spare ash tray somewhere behind him.

The game ends eventually. Jay watches you and your best friend share a celebratory embrace and he can't help but let a ghost of a smile adorn his lips when he sees how happy you are now that you've won. Half of your drinks are still on the table while Jake's cups are nearly empty. Your friend walks to the other side of the table to console his best friend, who asks to team up for the next round as an excuse to be close to her, when you grab a two of the red cups and lift one to his mouth.

"Drink with me?"

He doesn't say no. Jay's knees nearly buckle when you maintain eye contact over the rim of the cup until you finish yours, which prompts him to finish his own. He doesn't particularly like the taste of warm, cheap beer, but he'd drink the rest of it if that meant staying by your side.

"Congratulations on the win. Jake's really bad at beer pong and hasn't improved in the four years I've known him," Jay says somewhat awkwardly, too high to find the confidence to act like he's sober enough to have a proper conversation with you. You're faring much better than he is, but he thinks it's probably because you're naturally good with people.

"I've played him a few times and you're right, he's terrible at it," you say with a short laugh. "What about you? Are you any good?"

"I'm decent, but I prefer staying on the sidelines instead of playing."

"That's okay." You smile up at him. "You can be my cheerleader from now on."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum. You hold your hand up in front of him. "Give me your phone."

"My phone?"

"I wanna give you my number, silly."

Jay nearly chokes. You're really pretty. He'd have to be an idiot to deny your request.

He fishes his phone from his pocket, grateful for his past self that decided to bring it downstairs instead of leaving it in his room like he usually does. After unlocking it, he hands the device to you and watches the way your fingers wrap around the case as you type your number. He's surprised when you take a picture of yourself in front of him to have as your contact photo before you hand it back. Your contact name is simple, spelled in all lowercase with a singular black heart right next to it.

God, you're something.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?"

✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･

It's been two weeks since then.

Sober Jay from the morning after somehow convinced himself that you weren't serious about him texting you. It must've been the weed, right? Or maybe it was the atmosphere at the party. Things like this happen to Jake, not him.

But here you are, walking towards him with a big smile on your face.

Lee Heeseung cocks his head and looks between the two of you. He watches Jay notice you from the corner of his eye, slowing his gait as if to check if it's really you, before looking ahead and taking another step forwards. Heeesung raises an eyebrow and pulls Jay by the arm.

"You shouldn't ignore a gorgeous girl who wants your attention," says Heeseung, clearly giving you a once over. You don't seem to notice because you're too busy trying to get Jay's to look at you. "Do you know her?"

"Barely," Jay mutters.

"It looks like she knows you."

"We met at a part a couple of weeks ago, is all. We barely know each other."

"I'll come over after work," Heeseung says, effectively patting Jay on the shoulder before he leaves.

"Heeseung—"

"Jay!" You say from beside him. He looks down at you, giving Heeseung the chance to slip away without saying a proper goodbye. "Who's your friend?"

"Nobody important," Jay mumbles. "What are you doing here?"

"In the public quad?" He tries not to let a blush form atop his cheeks. "You didn't text me."

There's no use in trying to come up with a cohesive answer. He opens his mouth like he's a fish out of water, but you keep looking at him like you're amused.

"I didn't think you were serious."

"I even added a contact picture."

It's a fucking good one too.

"Here," you say, pulling your phone out of your pocket. "Put your number in my phone."

"This feels like déjà vu."

"I thought about finding your Instagram or asking around for your number, but you could've ignored me there too. I figure I'd find you and ask you myself."

Jay's never had anybody this interested in him. He's had girlfriends in the past, but they always felt like placeholders. He's pretty sure his ex-girlfriends felt the same way about him too. You, on the other hand, have been bold and forward ever since the first time you laid your eyes on him. Ever since sharing that joint a couple of weeks ago, Jay's felt this strange sense of his heartstrings being pulled involuntarily.

The truth is, he hasn't stopped thinking about you since that night. In the evening, when Jake is asleep or gaming with his noise cancelling headphones, Jay would pull up your contact and stare at your image for hours. He'd fantasize about seeing you again before feeling embarrassment for conjuring such an image. There have been to many times where he'd draft a text message just to delete it altogether. Jay can't pinpoint why he refrained from reaching out to you, but deep down, he knows it's because he's scared of being rejected by you.

And yet, here you are, asking for his phone number.

you: hi jay!!

"Don't be a stranger. I mean it this time," you tell him as you pocket your phone and walk away.

"Fuck," he whispers. He's never felt such exhilaration in his entire life.

Jay does text you back. He texts back approximately four hours later (after conferring with Heeseung on what he should say) and settles on being just as direct as you. He figures dinner and a movie is a safe bet, especially since he doesn't know you well enough to know what you'd be interested in. Heeseung tells Jay he's overthinking and fuck, he knows that, but it's hard not to when he really wants to impress you and make you believe he's more than just some guy you got high with at one of Jake's parties.

Sometimes Jay wonders if he jumps off of the deep end too fast. He'd never purposely make you feel like you need to rush into anything with him right off the bat, but he can't deny that his feelings towards you compile into something that feels like a crush. Smoking with you didn't feel like a one-time thing, especially since you held his fucking hand and told him to join you during that beer pong match. You let everyone see you drag him to the group. You didn't drop his hand for the sake of not wanting to be seen with him, but because your teammate needed you to be laser focused to win against Jake and his partner.

He'd never admit that you're on his mind at every waking hour. Perhaps he's been such a loner for so long, but Jake and Heeseung both would argue that Jay isn't a loner per se. Rather, he's someone who takes his time and has impossibly high standards because he wants to be completely sure about a decision before he goes all in. He's always been a bit indecisive like that, even in childhood. But it's not his fault that he's a careful person. Jay's careful with his mind, body, and soul.

You came into his life like a fucking thunderstorm. You've unarmed all of Jay's senses and made him forget being cautious like he usually does despite having only spent a few hours with you a couple of weeks ago. There's no rhyme or reason for your existence in his life and all you've done is share a joint and talk to him like you've known him all your life. He loves people like that. Jay's first encounter with Jake was at orientation during their first year of university and the latter had struck up a conversation because he simply didn't know anybody at the time. It was alarming in the best kind of way and Jay decided to take a leap of faith to befriend Jake. The rest is history, as they say.

Is it pathetic that he's thinking about making space in his life for you when he barely knows who you are? He knows you're beautiful, you like to get high, and you're exceptional at beer pong. There's not much he can go off of when he allows himself to fantasize about what it would be like to call you his girlfriend. God, Jay must be truly fucked in the head to think that far ahead when he's only hung out with you once. He'd never call himself a hopeless romantic or the kind of guy who believes in love at first sight, but something about your wondrous self makes him think otherwise.

Eventually, the two of you sit across from one another in a late night diner after seeing The Drama.

"This whole movie was bullshit," you say, dipping french fries into a mixture of ketchup and hot sauce. "I mean, Emma didn't go through with her original plan. Her belief system was completely shaped after finding her friend group. Shouldn't that count for something? Everyone else at that table did some fucked up shit, but Emma was the only one who didn't."

"Rachel was a terrible friend," Jay says with a definite nod. "Her husband—what was his named again? Mike?—was useless the entire time. All of this could've been avoided if Emma and Charlie postponed the wedding to talk about it."

"I couldn't help but notice how everyone except for Emma showed their true personalities. Rachel locked that kid in a closet and didn't help him. She got spooked and let left him to the wolves, which is exactly how she treated her best friend. Mike was a pussy who used his ex-girlfriend as a human shield and he did that again by hiding behind Rachel, no? And Charlie…he didn't even know what happened to the kid he cyberbullied and wrestled with that until he got over it. All three of them repeated their mistakes but Emma was the only one who didn't."

Jay can't help but look at you in awe. Underneath the awful diner lighting, you look beautiful as you dive straight into your analysis and your late night dinner. He can get talkative too, something his parents used to scold him for, and part of him thinks they're the reason why he feels conditioned to keep his opinions and feelings to himself. There are a few people, like Jake and Heeseung, who naturally bring out his loquacious tendencies. Jay feels that way with you and he loves that you aren't afraid to tell him what you think, even if it isn't pleasant.

"How did you feel about the ending? When Charlie and Emma met up at the diner and pretended everything was okay?"

"I honestly don't even know," you say with an exasperated sigh. "If that were me, I would've advised both of them to postpone the wedding and get extensive couples therapy. You?"

"I would've done the same thing," he replies. "They didn't seem like a great fit to me from the start. I mean, why didn't Charlie just read the book before their first date?"

"Men are the worst," you say, rolling your eyes. Jay nods in agreement. Men really do suck.

"Hopefully our night will end better than theirs."

You raise an eyebrow. "With me in a wedding dress and you bloody and bruised?"

Picturing you in a wedding dress makes his heart skip a beat.

"No," he said with a slight blush. "I hope we enjoy our food and maybe you like me enough to want to do this again."

"Let's see how the night ends first," you say coyly. "But I'm having a great time, if that's any consolation. The movie might've been bad, but the company isn't."

Jay laughs and looks down at his plate. "You say things that make me think you're flirting with me."

"What if I am?"

He looks back up at you. "Aren't I the one supposed to make you blush?"

"We still have the whole night ahead of us, Jay. There's plenty of time for that."

"I was surprised when you came up to me at the party," Jay confesses. "I'm not the type of person to just…go up to people the way you do. I thought that was cool. I didn't want to fuck tonight up."

"You could've texted me sooner," you tease, grabbing a fry from his plate. "But it's fine. I'm the kind of person who believes in fate, or whatever you want to call it. Whatever happens is supposed to happen."

"That's a beautiful way of putting it."

"Do you remember what I said to you? I could've looked you up on Instagram or ask Jake but you could've ignored me there too." Jay blushes, shutting his eyes closed. You laugh when you see him and take a sip of your chocolate milkshake.

"God, I don't know why I convinced myself that you were joking."

"Well, I actually told myself that if I saw you in person, that would mean it's worth trying again."

"Really?" You shrug.

"Yup. Simple as that. I desire many things and let fate handle the rest."

"You are…extremely poetic."

"I'm not afraid to say what's on my mind," you tell him. "I think you could learn a thing or two from me."

"I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen," Jay says without missing a beat. He holds your gaze, which makes his fingers twitch, but he doesn't relent. It's your turn to be bashful now and he relishes in the sight of you breaking eye contact first.

"You really flatter me, Jay."

"I'm only saying what's on my mind. It's all I've been thinking about for the past two weeks, actually. I can't seem to get you out of my head and I can't tell if that's a good or bad thing."

"It's a good thing," you say. "Definitely a good thing."

Jay pays the entire bill. Your apartment isn't very far from here, just a short seven minute drive. With you sitting in his passenger seat, he has the itch to put his palm on your thigh as some kind of silent claim, but he doesn't because the two of you haven't even kissed.

The short drive ends quickly and you make a passing comment about how the night is still young because it's Friday and you don't have anywhere to be tomorrow morning. Jay decides to push his overthinking tendencies to the side, asking if you'd want to keep hanging out while he drives aimlessly all over down. You say yes and make a joke about how much gas he'd be wasting, but he tells you he doesn't mind it if you're the one he's driving with, and that makes you blush.

It's unfathomable how comfortable Jay is with you already. It's only been one date (two, if you count when you first met), but he's already falling in deep. You talk about life like you're excited to be alive and make him feel like there's something at the end of every tunnel. He learns so much about you by listening to all the things you aren't saying and asks question after question. You do the same, making him feel like he's part of the conversation instead of focusing solely on yourself and Jay gets the sense that you really want to get to know him too. Sometimes he thinks he can talk for hours without anyone interrupting and he feels like this habit of his annoys people around him. But not you, apparently. You hang onto every word and don't interrupt him.

After a near hour of driving, Jay finds himself back at your apartment and walks you to the front door like the gentleman he is.

"I had a really great time tonight," he says, looking down at you. It's unfair how beautiful you are underneath the moonlight.

"You surprised me, Jay."

"I did?"

"Mhm. I always thought you were the lonesome, brooding type. You're intimidating, you know that? Especially when you're smoking. You look…untouchable." He laughs at that.

"I don't know if that's a good or bad thing." Jay looks at the way your eyes travel up and down his body. His neck feels warm all of the sudden.

"It's a really good thing," you say, pushing yourself closer to Jay. "You're too cool to be in most places."

"You're one to talk. You know exactly who you are. That's intimidating."

"I don't go out with just anyone, you know. I made an exception."

"For me?"

"For you."

His eyes flicker down to your lips. He can barely believe his life. Jay must look like he's fighting some invisible urge to remain the gentleman you deserve, but you aren't having that. "Kiss me, Jay."

He does.

God, your lips are so soft. The lip gloss rubbed off an while ago but he still tastes the remnants. Jay's already lost in the feeling of your mouth on his, carefully putting both of his hands on your hips. The feeling of pure adrenaline becomes more intense when he's kissing you with his eyes closed and Jay can only feel an exhilarated jolt in his body when he realizes you're kissing him back. The kiss is as polite as it can be for two semi-horny twenty-year-old-somethings making out in the dead of night, right where anyone could see the two of you. Jay doesn't care, though, and he doesn't think you do either.

It's short-lived because you drop your keys, startling the two of you until you both pull away.

"You taste incredible," Jay says without fully thinking.

"Come upstairs with me?" You ask him in a rush, bending over to pick up your fallen keys.

"Only if you want me to."

"I do, Jay. Come in."

Jay doesn't have time to look at the decor in the living room because you're hauling him past the dark kitchen and up the stairs. You drag him in such a haste that he stumbles as he takes his shoes off, unable to place them neatly by the door. For a second, Jay's worried that the two of you will wake up your roommate, but you open your door and pull him inside with brute force that he stops thinking with his brain and starts thinking with his cock.

Your room is cute. It's very you, dark with red and purple accents with posters and artwork covering every inch of you wall in a tasteful manner. Your desk is littered with makeup, your headphones, and other miscellaneous items Jay can't make out in the dark. The window by your bed provides a bit of moonlight for him to see and he's grateful for it because he's watching you take off your shirt. Your bra is midnight black. A push up, most likely, making your chest look like a cardinal sin. Jay can't help but let his eyes drop to your tits, his eyes watching you breathe heavily.

"Fuck me," Jay whispers. It cuts through the silence of the night and he's about to apologize when you pull him by his neck until his lips are back on yours.

The two of you tumble onto your queen sized bed, effectively pulling Jay's chest to fall flush against yours. He feels you try to push off his jacket, to which he pulls his arms out before tossing it somewhere behind him, while his lips chase after your plush ones. Your hands are all over his body and Jay's horny brain prevents him from holding back like he was when the two of you were outside your front door. You're kissing him just as enthusiastically, fingers clawing at his clothing as your hands explore his chest and abdomen, making Jay recoil at your sensitive touch.

He doesn't know what to focus on. Your voice is breathy and light and your mouth tastes like an invitation to sin underneath the moonlight. Jay can barely register your tits pressing up against his chest because his dick is starting to harden in his jeans with every second that passes. Your mouth leaves his own and he holds back a pathetic whine because he wants to keep kissing you while you're underneath him, but your wet lips attach to his hot neck. He almost forgot how good it feels to be touched by somebody he's actually excited about. Sex isn't always just sex to him and he thinks there must be something fundamentally wrong with him for being unable to truly live in the moment if he isn't completely attracted to the girl he's with. Hovering above your semi-naked body with your mouth sucking on his warm skin makes him feel like his soul is on fire burning with unashamed desire.

It's hard to keep still when you're kissing him like you're desperate for him too. His fingertips itch to move your bra and panties out of the way, but he doesn't want to ruin a good thing by acting out of haste. When you pull your head back, presumably from the discomfort of craning your head at an uncomfortable angle, Jay sees his opportunity to make you feel as good as you make him feel. His mouth presses long, wet kisses along your jawline until you're moaning straight into the air and right next to his eardrum.

God. You sound divine.

You sound like a siren luring him into the deep end. He's a sailor braving the storm when he hears your song echoing from the distance, turning his ship from the traveling course to sail wherever you are. Your breathy voice and rolling hips makes his dick impossibly hard and Jay never imagined he'd ever get like this over dry humping, but you seem to take him out of his element and reward him for it.

Jay has long since stopped asking for verbal permission because he keeps getting cut off by your eager lips. Your hands have found their way to the back of his head, tugging on his soft strands the more he travels down your neck. His mouth sucks on the spot just underneath your earlobe and the euphoric tension makes your legs wrap around his body, effectively trapping him right where he wants to be. Jay would never complain about you clinging onto him like this. In fact, he wants to be as close as he possibly can with you.

Tugging on his roots causes him to groan against your skin. Your silent room makes the combination of your moans sound like something out of an amateur lewd film and it makes Jay's senses go haywire. The more you tug on his hair, the more he pushes his covered dick against the fabric of your panties. He can feel you. Jay notices the way you push your lap straight into his like you're trying to feel his cock through his denim. He savors the way your body arches deeply when his tongue licks your earlobe, making your entire body shudder to the point where Jay's arm catches you before you roll over.

"Take your shirt off," you moan with an opened mouth, moving your hands from his head to underneath the hem. Jay grunts when your manicured nails scratch down his toned abdomen. Fuck, your touch might as well send him in a spiral.

The shirt comes off and it'll live on your bedroom floor for the foreseeable future because the only thing on Jay's mind is the pure desire that emanates from your gaze. You resemble that of a hungry feline ready to pounce on your prey and Jay doesn't care that your eyes are raking all over his body. In fact, he finds it incredibly sexy that you're objectifying him like this—is it objectification if he allows it?—because it turns him on. Knowing you want him as badly as he wants you is the very on top. When it comes to you, getting his dick wet means absolutely nothing if you aren't into him too.

He's caught off guard momentarily, allowing you to push him until his back hits your mattress. Jay follows your body, watching and feeling the way you climb onto his lap like you're its rightful owner. This moment is something out of his wildest wet dream—you in a black lace bra with panties pasted onto your pussy because of how wet you've made them. Jay could only guess how turned on you were but now that he has a clear view of you, he almost can't believe you're letting him see you like this.

Jay doesn't think when he brings his thumb to nudge at your wet center. You buck your hips at that and let out this soft, airy moan that makes his cock twitch. He's sure you can feel it but he doesn't particularly care, not when you're grinding again his thumb that's rubbing you right over your covered clit.

"You're so wet," Jay groans, pushing the pad of his thumb harder against your swollen bud. "Your panties are soaked."

"You turn me on," you confess unashamed, hands coming to the button of his jeans as you try to take them off. Your long nails prove to be troublesome, though. Jay chuckles at your frustration and unbuttons his pants as you lift off of him until he's able to push them down far enough to reveal his boxers and the hardened outline of his dick.

His jeans sit uncomfortably halfway down his legs but Jay can't bring himself to care when you're looking down at his lap like his cock is a piece of mean. Did you mean to lick your lips or was that a natural response? You marvel at it for a short moment before crawling your way back up until your clothed core drags along his boxers and for the first time in a while, he doesn't have to rely on his hand or a spare toy to get him off.

Feeling your warmth is enough to get Jay's blood pumping even harder. He feels the metronome that is his heartbeat pounding in his ears when your hands roam around his naked chest, feeling every ridge and dip his abdomen and pecs have to offer. You run your fingertips over his nipples and Jay visibly shudders at that, to which you smile wickedly and laugh like you find him amusing. Your hips don't stop moving either, slowly grinding your panties over his boxers as if you've decided to take your sweet time with him compared to when you latched your mouth onto his neck like a leech.

Every drag of your hips brings him closer to Heaven. Jay's grateful he's sober for two reasons: he'd probably cum in his pants the second he saw you in your bra and the feeling of your hand repositioning his dick in your boxers so that your clit can rub over his tip is sensational. Jay's never fucked a girl who was so intentional before. He's familiar with putting on this persona of the guy who wants to take care of every girl he sleeps with (that's true for the most part) but his heart isn't in it half the time. But you…you know exactly what you want and you aren't afraid to take it. It's what he's grown to like about you over the course of his date with you and Jay's experiencing what that's like right now.

"Drag your pussy over me like you mean it," he grunts, bringing his hands to your body as if to guide you in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck," you curse. "This feels so fucking good."

"Your body's phenomenal," he groans like it's a confession he wants you to hear. "Why have you been hiding these pretty tits from me?"

You laugh at him, arching your back to give his face a full view of your chest. "You like these?"

"I love them," he replies, digging his fingertips into your flesh. "Makes me wanna see them with your bra off."

You comply like the deviant you are, expertly unhooking your bra and tossing it somewhere onto your bed. Jay almost drools at the sight of your erect nipples, licking his lips involuntarily. You look like a beautiful, demonic succubus straight from the deepest pits of hell meant to seduce Jay. He'd gladly sell his soul if that means he gets to be the only one to experience you like this.

Watching you from below might as well be the last thing he sees before he dies. Your tits look phenomenal as they bounce the more you drag your covered pussy over his lap. The soiled fabric must feel so good against your bare, wet pussy because you're moaning like your life depends on it. Your vocal moans bring him closer and closer to the edge he's trying not to peer over, but you make it hard when you look and sound like that. Sexy beyond compare. Jay's pictured this exact moment every single night as his hands cup his dick without him realizing it most times. He finds that his body responds to yours in ways it's never responded to anyone before and at this rate, he's let his cock do the thinking for him. Every single rational thought he's had about being a gentleman tonight has been thrown out of your window, never to be seen again.

Jay yanks you down by your neck and pushes your lips with his own until your tongues collide and smash against one another. The wet spit makes the whole affair that much more erotic, especially when Jay's bending his legs and lifting them up and thrust his covered dick right against your panties, paying no mind to the fact that his jeans are technically caught at his ankles. You two must look like two desperate people rutting your laps against one another, if he had to guess. Fuck it. It feels so good. Grinding into you like this makes him feel like he's in a quick haste. He wishes he could do more, like peel your clothes off and kiss every inch of your skin until he memorizes what your body tastes like, but you're both too far gone to think about that right now. You moan hotly against his lips and push your tongue against him harder like you're trying to get underneath his skin. It's working and Jay grabs your ass cheeks, gripping onto your meaty flesh while he moans and thrusts his hips like a wild bull.

"I'm close, Jay. Fuck, keep doing that and you'll make me cum," you moan, grinding your ass back onto him. The way the tip of his cock hits your wet patch is indescribable. He wishes he could feel that with his raw cock instead.

"You feel me like that? The way my dick pushes against you?" Jay grunts, bucking his hips. "This is just a preview. I'm going to fuck your pussy until you crave me when I'm gone."

"Yes, fuck!"

"Gonna fuck that drooling pussy of yours." Something about one particular thrust makes you yelp, making you cling onto him like your life depends on it. "Cum for me," Jay moans, gripping your ass tighter until you're moaning louder. "That's so hot. You're so hot."

"Cumming, cumming!"

"I'm cumming too," he grunts in short breaths.

Your covered pussy pushed against him when you come and Jay follows soon after. He feels the way his hot seed shoots straight from his slit and onto his boxers, the sticky substance rubbing against his skin with every thrust. Jay feels like a teenager coming like this but it's worth it when he looks up to see your eyes closed shut, mouth hanging open as you catch your breath and relieve yourself from the incredible high. The sweat on his forehead starts to cool when his hips thrust haphazardly against you and Jay spills the last of his semen into his pants when you drop your head to his shoulder.

The sounds of your heavy breaths fill the quiet room. Jay strokes your back when you breathe against his neck in a silent attempt to calm you down from the dirty affair, readjusting himself to let you lay your head completely on his chest. He kisses the crown of your head as you curl your fist against him and the feeling of your mouth littering soft kisses on his naked body makes his heart flutter.

However, the moment is cut short when you receive a call on your phone, startling the both of you. You yelp in his arms and his heart rate skyrockets until you're both looking at each other and laughing at the absurd juxtaposition having made each other come to an orgasm before your phone rang. Jay reluctantly lets you go, but he watches the way you turn back to look at him before answering.

"Now?" He hears you say. "What? I'm not out of breath. I just ran up the stairs, though. Okay sue, fried rice is fine. I'll see you in fifteen. Drive safe."

"Who was that?" Jay asks when you hang up the phone.

"My roommate," you reply. "I thought she was gonna be out until tomorrow, but her plans changed and now she's coming home with takeout."

"Great roommate, awful timing."

You smile at him apologetically, walking towards him until you're standing in between his legs. He sits on the edge of your bed and places his hands on your hips to draw you in closer to him, neck craning to look up as you bend down to give him a kiss.

"I'm sorry, Jay," you apologize. "I don't want to kick you out, but she's going to question you like she's my mother. You remember the girl Jake's talking to, right? That's her."

"She seems nice, though."

"She's the best," you say with a smile against his mouth. "She's my best friend and she's really protective over me. I don't really want her first time meeting you to be like, well…this."

"We've met before, though?"

"Yeah, but not as the guy I'm seeing." Jay feels his heart bounce against his chest. He likes the sound of that.

"Don't worry about it," he says, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your skin. "I had a great time tonight. The date and the sex."

"I can't believe we dry humped on my bed," you giggle, looking down at his naked torso. "You're really hot, Jay."

"You're hotter," he says, kissing you again. "I should probably get dressed, huh?"

You pout. "I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to go either, but your friend is coming back." Jay pecks your lips and pushes you to the side to grab his discarded clothes and to fix his pants. His come is sticky in his boxers but there's no time for him to clean himself up, so he decides he'll brace the uncomfortable drive home.

"Stop being such a green flag," you grumble cutely, eyebrows furrowing like you can't believe he has the audacity to be respectful.

"You're so cute," he admits without thinking, leaning down to kiss you again before kissing your temple.

The two of you put your clothes back on and he stumbles back down the stairs, pretending like his legs aren't jello from humping you ten minutes ago. Jay becomes a happier version of himself when you walk him to his car and he kisses you one last time, his hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you in place. He leaves soon after that, watching the way you touch your lips and smile to yourself in the rear view mirror.

You're so cute.

✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･

Despite that incredible night, exams get in the way of spending alone time together.

The two of you hang out on campus more than not after realizing the pathway to your classes overlap. Jay doesn't mind these innocent run ins (that have turned into intentional dates spending time with one another) because he learns more about you the more you talk. And the more you talk, the deeper he falls.

There's something about the way you carry yourself. You embody confidence that makes Jay want to kiss you all over and let everybody know you're with him. They probably do, since the two of you have graduated to holding hands in public (so much so that Heeseung and Jake have since started teasing him for it). Life feels better with you in it. Jay's never been the kind of person who lives for other people, but you're a welcome presence that feels like a steady addition to his life instead of a burden. He wakes up in the morning looking forward to hearing your every thought until your lungs burn from talking so much. He could listen to your voice forever. And you listen to him too, letting him drone on and on about everything and nothing at the same time. The conversations don't feel forced or make him feel like he's supposed to be interested for the sake of being polite.

Everything happens for a reason, right? People fall into place when the universe aligns or some shit like that. That's what Jay thinks when he's high out of his mind, sitting on his bed as he watches anime on his TV. He's been having more of these sentimental epiphanies lately. It's like his mind focuses on the positives instead of what obstacles he has in front of him. He used to think you were a welcomed distraction, but now he thinks you're actually a perfect complement.

There's no stress with you. Jay lets himself fall deeply through your intuitive nature and all the subtle things he picks up. He loves that you're more considerate than you give off, always taking the temperature of the room and thinking before you speak. You're loud, animated, and entirely too whimsical to ever peak in university. You've got a million stories to tell him and he learns so much about you with every anecdote that passes through your lips. Jay notices how guarded you are and can't help but feel so special that he's an exception to this condition. It almost feels like he's in the inner circle, but the payoff has less to do with access to you and more to do with the fact that he's watching you grow softer. It's as if you're allowing yourself to fall for him too.

He'd never rush or make you choose him when you aren't ready. Jay's the kind of person who adapts and takes things for what they are instead of trying to find the deeper meaning when there is none. You're so delicate in Jay's eyes. He's stopped overthinking with you and started taking initiative for things like holding your hand or suggesting things to do when the two of you aren't getting stoned or studying. He tries not to look at you when he sees you blushing, but it's hard to ignore how cute you look when you're trying (and failing) to pretend you aren't affected by Jay's ability to read your mind. He's developed this canny ability to read you like an open book. It's adorable to see you opening up to him in ways you don't with other people.

The four-day weekend is exactly what Jay needs.

Something about a student-led event followed by a national holiday. It doesn't matter. Jay has no interest in keeping up with student life nor did he care about it in the first place, but he's grateful for it this year because that means getting to spend more time with you. On Thursday, the two of you spent the entire day at the aquarium whilst high on edibles. On Friday morning, he paid for breakfast. Now it's Saturday evening and your excuse for knocking on his door at nine in the evening is because apparently, your best friend and Jake were planning on hooking up at your place and forgot to tell you.

You come to Jay's apartment naturally. You say this to him like it's a no-brainier before he could ask you why Jake hadn't invite your friend over instead because he hates making people feel like they have to go the extra mile to get what they want. But you laugh, already a bit high from an edible you had taken earlier, and ask him to roll a joint to share. Either way, the two of you will be alone and it doesn't really matter the location, your place or his. It starts to make sense the second Jay's high kicks in because he's noticing the fact that you're wearing a shirt that lets him know you aren't wearing a bra.

His mind wanders and he thinks about all the selfies you've sent him where your tits are clearly on display. Somewhere along the way, you've graduated from sending photos of yourself to pictures of your body like you're trying to entice him. It always works, especially when the photo is just shy of a proper nude. He thinks it's sexier that way and he's grown enough confidence to send you things as a thank you, including shirtless photos, dick prints, and pictures of himself after getting out of the shower. He'd like to think you're using these to get off, imagining what you'd look like shoving your fingers inside of your pussy. Jay pictures your toes curling and eyebrows pinching when that final thrust makes you come, your free hand scrolling through all of the suggestive photos he's sent you as you orgasm.

It comes to a head one night when he received a picture of your ass when he asks you about the color of your nails since you had mentioned an appointment earlier that day. God. It looks just as plush as it does in real life. One of your hands cups your ass cheek, your perfectly manicured nails on display right next to your perfect ass. Jay grows rock hard in record time, his dick swelling in his sweats until he pulled it down just enough to reveal himself. He sat in the middle of his bed with his back against the headboard, one hand stroking himself as the other holds his phone so that he could stare at the image. Tugging on himself wasn't enough. Jay wanted you to be the one to do it. Dry humping can't be how far the two of you go. Imagining himself burying his face in your ass is what compels him to record a video of himself finishing, angling his dick towards his chest as he comes everywhere as he moans your name. He sends it to you without thinking and you call a minute later. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize the two of you ended up having phone sex.

And well, Jay is a man after all. This is all he can think about as you're sitting next to him on the very couch you sat on when he first met you. It doesn't help that he's high, which is making him laser focused on the image of you grinding on top of him.

With the ceiling fan turned on and Jake out of the house, Jay doesn't bother stepping outside to light his joint. Not that Jake would mind. Matter of fact, it does something to Jay's psyche knowing you're smoking his stuff and getting high off of it too. It makes him feel like he has some invisible claim on you, even if you're getting high with other people. He'd rather not think about that.

"What do you wanna watch?" Jay asks after blowing out a puff of smoke. He passes the joint to you as you sift through the abundance of movies and television shows, aimlessly scrolling past them without giving it too much thought.

"I'm in the mood to watch something supernatural," you say. He watches you look at his TV intently. "Have you ever watched Castlevania?"

"Can't say I've ever heard of it."

You turn your head like what he's said is completely outrageous. "You're lying."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"I need a hit after hearing that." You laugh, making Jay want to physically melt into the couch as if his skin and bones are made of butter. You inhale the smoke like a professional and tuck your legs underneath your body to make yourself more comfortable on his couch.

"Is it that good?"

"Jay, it's like, the best show I've ever watched. It's about this guy named Trevor—who comes from a long line of monster hunters, fighting Dracula because his wife was accused of being a witch and burned at the stake. Everyone's a vampire. It's sexy."

"You like the dark and supernatural, don't you?"

"It's only the best genres ever, Jay." You take another hit from the joint. "What kind of things do you like to watch?"

"Sports, mostly. I could get into a thriller every now and then. I'm more of a music person, honestly. I don't watch a lot of movies or TV."

"Hm," you hum. "You'll have to show me what kind of music you listen to someday."

"Yeah," Jay replies with his eyelids focusing on your pretty lips. "You should come over when I'm not stoned out of my mind so I could show you my records. I feel like a limp noodle right now."

"I'd really like that. I have a few vinyls but I don't have a record player. I should bring some over."

"I'll bet you have great taste in music."

"Duh," you say playfully, smoking from the joint. "We don't have to watch Castlevania if you aren't into it. I'm sure I can find something else."

Jay shakes his head. "I'd love to see what kind of things you're into." You turn towards him and cock your head to the side.

"Yeah?" Jay nods and you smile at him like you're amused. Maybe the marijuana is making him lost his mind more than it usually does. In actuality, this is how Jay feels when he's with you, stoned or sober.

It's really hard to focus on the screen in front of him when you're sitting so close. It started at a respectable distance with his arm resting by his sides. The last thing Jay wants to do is make you uncomfortable in any way, especially because he knows you're high. It's the first time you're hanging out at his place without a bunch of other people here too. The two of you are alone with nothing but the sound of Castlevania echoing in his living room and the lingering scent of marijuana in the air despite an opened window and the fan above.

Halfway through the episode, you make a comment about how cold it's gotten since you first arrived and Jay's quick to get on his feet and retrieve a spare blanket from his room. He drapes it over you like you're something precious he wants to tuck into bed, which makes you laugh, and Jay swears he could listen to you make that sound every day without getting tired of it. Just as he's about to sit down, you open the blanket and tell him it's big enough to share, and Jay's smart enough not to tell you he's actually overheating like a furnace because his body runs warm. He'd gladly let trickles of sweat collect on his forehead if that means getting to be next to you without a barrier holding him back.

It's difficult to pretend he hasn't been half-hard ever since he watched you take your first puff. Jay was somewhat grateful that you got cold enough for him to throw a blanket over you and even more grateful that you insisted on sharing it with him. You must be doing this on purpose, right? Or is this all in Jay's mind?

It doesn't really matter. Not when you're sliding to the floor, kneeling in front of him.

Jay almost feels sorry for you. Your favorite show is playing but your back is turned to it in favor of staring at the tent that's forming in his pants. These cursed grey sweats. Yeah, maybe he chose to wear them because he knows girls go crazy for dick prints. His mind wandered to the night you bounced yourself on his clothed lap until you came and didn't seem to mind that he was rutting himself against your covered pussy. Driving home was pure torture for him but he didn't want to overstay his welcome, especially with your roommate coming home.

So, yeah. Sue him. Jay isn't so naive to think you wouldn't have paid any attention to him with these particular pair of sweatpants on. In fact, you seem to look at him like you're hungry, barely paying attention to the way he's staring down at you like he's nervous for what you'll say or do.

You catch him off guard when you nuzzle yourself straight into his lap. He nearly jumps at the contact of your nose against his dick, feeling the way you drag it up before using your lips to feel him beneath the sweats. You're slow with your movements, kissing your way from his base to the tip, feeling the way he twitches against your touch. He's caught halfway, somewhere between embarrassed and shameless as he watches you push your face right into his lap. Jay's imagined what you giving him a blowjob more times that he can count and he's had so many wet dreams of you jerking him off with your hands instead of his own. But he never quite pictured you to be the kind of girl who truly savors her time. Maybe it's because you're both high or maybe, just maybe, you like him, but Jay can hardly believe you're pushing your face into his cock without taking his pants off.

He's starting to think you're way freakier than he could've ever imagined. It's making him horny.

Eventually, your fingers hook on the band of his pants. Jay gets the hint and lifts himself off of the couch just enough for you to completely pull the fabric off of him, letting them pool to his ankles before helping him step out of them completely. He doesn't know what you do with them as he's far too excited, if that isn't completely evident by the way his dick starts to stand at attention. He's on his way to being the hardest he's ever been, he thinks. You eye him like you're hungry and you might as well be drooling because you're licking your lips at the sight of his flushed tip.

Jay doesn't know what to expect. It's been a while since he's been this turned on and watching you arch your back and pucker your lips just to press the softest kiss to his tip makes his entire body shiver. He's masturbated while high a million times before and knows what kinds of things make him tick and reach his orgasmic peak quickly. It's different with other people, though, and much different with you.

You've managed to catch Jay by surprise in more ways than one. He's confident when it comes to his music and walking through life without thinking everybody who remotely looks in his general direction has it out for him, but when it comes to girls, he doesn't think he's as experienced as Jake. Yes, he's had sex and short flings before, but they've never held any merit to what he wants in life. Jay doesn't see the use in wasting his time having mediocre hookups or entertaining people because they clearly think he's the hot loner who looks sexy when he's high (which was the case of his last hookup and the reason why he swore off of sleeping with random girls he meets at parties Jake forces him to go to).

You seem to be the complete opposite of anyone he's ever met before. You're like him in some ways—paying no mind to outside opinion. Even prior to meeting you, he's seen the way you carry yourself when you walk and how you treat people like they're a close friend even if you've just met them. He felt that way the night he properly met you for the first time and it caught him by surprise when you admitted to being serious about wanting him to text you. In a way, it's almost like you're pursuing him, even though you aren't. All you're doing is asking him to hang out and he's saying yes like a puppy who follows its owner wherever she goes. In fact, Jay wants you more than you could ever imagine. It's just that, well, you're very fucking beautiful and he's afraid he'll mess it up if you found out how often he imagines you laying in his bed stuffed full with his semen.

That, and he's scared of what you'll think if he ever admits that he'd like to take you out for breakfast after he fucks you.

"You're bigger than I thought," you say in a near whisper. Jay twitches at that and you let out a breathy laugh. It hits his skin and he tilts his head back as it teases him.

"You can't just say things like that," says Jay, looking back down at you. "You're going to kill me someday."

"Death by orgasm. Doesn't sound too bad."

"You don't know how good you look right now."

"Oh, I think I do," you say confidently, pushing your head forward to lick his slit, to which he hisses. "I know I look good sucking dick, Jay. I'm really good at it too. Do you want to see what I can do?"

"You're an evil person," he says without thinking. But you laugh like you enjoy seeing him in such agony, knowing your warm and wet mouth is almost where he needs you the most.

"Give me the joint." Jay hands it to you, watches as you inhale some of it, and feels his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when you exhale right on his cock.

Your mouth follows soon after. Without using your hands, you dip your head until your mouth catches his tip to envelope it into your mouth, letting his velvety texture become familiar with your tongue. You're intentional with your movements as if you're really trying to savor the feeling of his hardening dick as you push him inside little by little. Because the apartment is empty, Jay can be a little louder with his moans than usually. When he knows Jake's home, Jay shoves a pillow over his face to drown the sound of his deep, breathy moans to avoid an awkward encounter with his best friend once he's finished. He should be embarrassed that he's already making all kinds of sounds the more you get his dick wet, but he doesn't care. Not when this feels so fucking divine.

Curse your shorts. When he looks down and past your mouth on his dick, he looks at your plush ass as you arch your back to fully grasp him. Jay wishes he could reach down and take that stupid fabric off of your body and he supposes he could if he really wanted to, but the tone you've set is far more sensual than how he'd like to have you. He isn't picky, though. He'd rather endure your slow, sensual torture than scare you off by putting his dick inside of you right off the bat.

Your tight mouth takes him inch by inch at a snail's pace, but there more be a method to your madness because you make him wetter with each push and pull of your head. You periodically remove yourself from him to smoke from the joint before the leaf completely burns until you become tired of not being able to use your hands. Jay takes it from you and inhales a long, satisfying puff. It settles into the depths of his lungs and when your free hand cups his balls, his head tilts back and the smoke rises as he blows it out.

You're the devil reincarnate. Or you're a demon who's wickedly good with her tongue. Maybe you're some kind of angel whose sole purpose is making him come. Jay doesn't really know what you are, but he knows you know exactly what you're doing with his mouth. He doesn't want to think about how many people have experienced this side of you before because he'd rather pretend he's the only person you've ever treated like this.

The high is pure ecstasy. Jay looks down to see your beautiful mouth wrapped up in his cock, head pushing yourself down on his long, girthy dick until your mouth stretches around it. He loves that you aren't neglecting his sack either, rolling them between your fingers until it makes his toes curl. You hum in pleasure when he moans after your index finger traces the seam, making something shoot up his spine when you do. His thighs flex underneath your touch and he sees himself glistening with how much drool is coming from your lips. It makes the glide easier and he feels the way your throat constricts around him every time you push yourself further down.

The sight of his dick completely disappearing inside of your throat is fucking sinful. You push your nose against his pelvis until your choking around him and the gagging sound makes his balls tense up. Jay tries not to drop the joint and considers finding a nearby ash tray to put it out just to avoid accidentally dropping it onto the couch or, God forbid, you. Spit completely falls from the corners of your mouth but you don't give up either. He groans loudly and uses his free hand to stroke your head as if he's using you as an anchor.

"Oh my God," Jay moans. "Your mouth is so fucking tight. Fuck, you like to deep throat?"

You pull yourself off of him, not bothering to wipe any of the drool from your mouth. He watches the way the spit connects from his tip to your tongue before you break the chain to stroke him some more and it nearly puts him into a coma.

"I can do a lot more than that," you tell him. It's like you're trying to remain playful while simultaneously wanting to show him just what you can do. And fuck, Jay's more than willing to let you do whatever you want to him.

"Oh yeah?" Jay asks coyly. "What else can that mouth of yours do?"

You don't answer him with words. Instead, you lift his cock with your hands and bow your head until you're spitting leftover drool from deep throating him right onto his balls. He hisses when the warmth hits his most sensitive area and his next moan comes somewhere from deep within him. The surface of your tongue licks it up until you're lapping at him like a kitten drinking milk. He feels the pass of your wet muscle over and over again while your hand has started to move in tandem with your mouth, stroking him while you work on his balls.

He doesn't think he's ever experienced a girl pleasing him like this. Jay's has blowjobs in the past, but it always felt like the girls he'd sleep with viewed blowjobs like it was a chore to thank him for going down on them first. With you, Jay gets the sense that you like giving blowjobs and playing with his dick because it turns you on, not because you think it turns him on. God, he's so attracted to the fact that you don't really care about anyone but yourself. That's not completely true, and he knows it, but your ability to chase after what you want without caring what other people thinks turns him on more than seeing you sucking him off (which is a lie, Jay is so fucking horny).

"Holy shit," Jay curses under his breath. He shoves the tip of the joint in his mouth and savors the feeling of that initial inhale. He groans when the smoke leaves his mouth. "You're so fucking good at this. Treating my dick so well. Fuck."

You moan against his balls, rewarding him by pushing against him even harder and squeezing his cock at the same time. Your hand is so wet and the sound that echos the room sound better than Jay could've ever imagined. His own hand doesn't do him justice, not even when he gathers enough spit to pretend his palm is your warmth mouth as he fucks into his fist like his life depends on it.

His moans seem to motivate you to make him come faster because your mouth trails from his wet and swollen sack right back to his cock. Your hand hold him by the base before angling your mouth right over him and pushing his dick past your lips. Unlike before, you aren't slow with it. Instead, your head's moving at a faster rate until he feels the gentle scrape of your teeth along his sensitive veins and the way your tongue moves in a circle every time your reach his hip. He grunts every single time it passes against his slit and feels the pressure building in his balls as if he could finish at any moment, but he tries his best to keep going steady because he wants to draw this out for as long as humanly possible.

It's beautiful how your throat accommodates his cock. With your mouth completely stuffed the more you push your head down onto his exceptionally hard dick, you choke and gag without stopping. Jay feels fucking invincible right now.

"What a good mouth," he moans, legs widening as he slouches from how good you're making him feel. "You feel so fucking good around me. Your mouth is so tight and wet, fuckkk. Squeeze my balls too—yes, just like that. Shit, you're gonna make me cum soon. I'm so fucking close."

You moan around him and renders Jay completely fucking useless because of how good that vibration feels. He bucks his hips until the tip hits the back of your throat involuntarily but you don't stop your ministrations. You keep your fast pace as you squeeze his sack in your hands, letting the drool coat them as you push him closer to his climax. He thinks about cumming straight down your throat but thinks that might be a little too much for the first time you're blowing him. Would finishing on your face be more appropriate? Every single open seems more lewd than the next, but he can't deny that he'd like to see what you look like with his semen splashed all over your pretty cheeks and lips.

"I wanna cum on your face," he moans, fighting the urge to fuck your throat like he'd fuck your pussy. "I want to drown you in my cum."

You pull off from his mouth and use both of your hands to jerk him off with his tip angled right at your beautiful face. "Cum for me. Make a mess on my face."

"Fuck, you'd let me?" You nod rapidly.

"Cum on my fucking face, Jay. I want it so bad."

You don't have to tell him twice. When he feels his balls twitch for the last time, Jay's cum shoots from his slip and hits your cheek first. His semen splashes everywhere—your lips and across your nose—as he moans, holding tightly onto the joint to prevent it from falling. It's a wonder he's able to preserve it as he comes, his hips jerking as a consequence to the intense high as he climaxes all of your face. You take it like a fucking champ, too, smiling with your eyes closed as you feel his warm come seep right onto your face. You truly are a freak if you love this feeling. You're even laughing. Jay's never seen anything hotter in his entire life.

"Fuck me," he curses as his cock softens. He takes a short drag from the joint and stares at the beautiful mess on your face, nearly choking on it when he sees your tongue dart out of your mouth to lick the cum that has landed on the corners of your mouth. "You're a fucking fein. A fein for my cum, or something." You laugh again, scooping what's on your cheek with your fingers before sucking on them. "Yeah, you really know how to make a guy feel good. Stay right there. Let me clean you up."

Jay feels terrible and leaving you in his living room on your knees with his come all over your face, but he'd rather soak a wash cloth in warm water than let it dry all over you. He comes back quickly after having cleaned himself up in a haste and gentle swipes the fabric until you're clean.

"I have face wash if you want to use it," Jay says as he wipes the corner of your eye. "I don't want my come staining your gorgeous face."

"You're so thoughtful, Jay," you reply. The sincerity in your voice is a complete turnaround from your lewd acts just a few minutes prior. It makes something swell within his soul because he's suddenly picturing his future looking like this domestic, wonderful bliss with moments of eroticism.

You take him up on his offer and make a comment about how this expensive the face wash is. Jay's mom got him an entire line of skincare for Christmas and he's a bit reluctant to admit that his skin looks so much better now that's he's actively taking care of it. You reassure him, letting him know that there's nothing hotting than people being self sufficient and caring for themselves before swiping the face wash all over your face. It takes you a good minute to completely rid yourself of his come. Jay leans against the door frame with his hands crossed over his chest, smiling like an idiot at how domestic this all feels.

Call him crazy, but Jay's the type of person to fall fast. He's learned lessons the hard way, which typically entails falling for people who don't feel the same way about him, but spending time with you makes him think otherwise. Jay realizes you enjoy getting to know him too and you never silence him when he apologizes for talking so much. There's an equal balance of talking and listening on both ends, something Jay wishes he could achieve with every person he meets. He hates getting his hopes up just for things to fall through. It doesn't matter if it's a friendship or a relationship because it's mostly the same to him. He hates people who aren't honest and deceptive. College is the time to experiment and figure out who you are, sure, but Jay has always known that he's the kind of guy who values loyalty and transparency above all else.

Despite his best efforts, Jay manages to fall for you every time he holds himself back. Vulnerability is a hard thing to come by and he's more scared of being honest about himself than he lets on. It's scary to open his heart and share parts of himself to people who aren't guaranteed to stay forever. That's part of life, but it gets to a point where being vulnerable means getting his heart stomped all over in the name of having "fun." But it's not fun for Jay and he's as honest as they come. He'd rather be alone for the rest of his life than entertain people who don't have his best interest in mind, especially when they tell him they care about him but don't mean it.

Perhaps his general nonchalance about what other people are doing intimidates those who have deep seeded insecurities that can only be fixed by pretending to be someone they aren't. Jay has this crazy theory that probably isn't true aside to feed his own ego, but his friends have said he's a mirror. He reflects every beautiful and ugly trait right back to others, forcing people to confront who they are in the midst of standing right next to Jay, who accepts himself for who he is, faults and all. He's learned that people don't typically like it when they're reminding of things they'd rather forget. Jay is as open as they come, willing to experience things for a good story to look back on or learn from past mistakes. Learning how other people aren't as keen on growing into a better version of themselves made the world look absolutely bleak and meeting new people makes Jay weary from the get go.

Despite his brain telling him to be extra cautious, he can't help but give all of himself to you. Every conversation pulls him deeper into dangerous territory but for the first time in a while, Jay isn't so scared of the unknown. Even if, God forbid, this ends in heartbreak, Jay doesn't think he'll crumble into a hollow version of himself. He'd be sad, but he'd be content knowing he gave it a shot. The act of trying is better than being held back by fear.

The two of you smoke some more and restart the first episode at Jay's request and when his hand inches towards your lap to return the favor, you intertwine your fingers with his and kiss him on the lips. We've got all the time in the world, but I really want you to watch this first. You can eat my out afterwards, you say, smiling against his mouth before kissing him again. How could Jay say no to that? Besides, his brain is short-circuiting after receiving the most mind bending blowjob he's ever had in his life. A guy needs to recover from such an experience. The fact that you, someone who refrains from physical touch, is actively clinging onto his arm and cuddling against his side is far better than anything he could've ever hoped for.

He becomes engrossed in Castlevania and the two of you end up watching another episode. Jay glances down at you every once in a while and can't help but play with your fingers the more he watches the television. All of this feels so incredibly domestic and Jay has to force himself to stop smiling because he thinks you'll view him like a lovesick idiot. Maybe he is.

✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･

"Do you want me to pick you guys up?" Jay asks on speakerphone as he fixes his hair with a little bit of styling gel.

"No, we're gonna split an Uber. No use coming when I'll see you anyway."

"You know I don't mind," he says casually.

"I know, baby. That's real sweet of you, but don't worry about it."

"You could spend the night and I can drive you back tomorrow morning, if you want. So you don't have to spend more money."

"Oh, Jongseong, do you want me to spend the night?"

"Of course I do," he says with a smile on his face as he hears you laugh. "I always want to spend time with you."

"You…Are such a little shit. Don't make me blush on the phone."

"Let me pick you up so I can make you blush in person."

"You two are disgustingly cute," your friend says from beside you. "Like, I've never seen her act so cutesy before."

"She's so cute when she's trying to be tough."

"That's true," says your friend. "But remember, she was mine first, okay?"

"Of course," Jay replies, "I'd never get in the way."

"Good! We'll be at your place in thirty."

"See you soon, Jay," you tell him before hanging up the phone.

You come in wearing the most gorgeous dress with golden accents all over your body. Jay can hear you before he sees you because your bracelets smack against one another every time you move and he thinks that's the sexiest thing a woman could ever do. Unlike the first time he met you, he isn't afraid to pull you by the waist and join your little parade as you walk around to greet every person you know, taking shot after shot along with the joint Jay's passing around to anyone who asks.

When you finally register Jay's presence beside you, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the way you're eyeing him like a piece of meat. His biceps are on display along with a nasty stack of rings that make him look like walking sin. There's something about Jay tonight that makes him look extra delectable and you're looking at him like you'd pounce if there weren't so many people around. You almost parade him around like he's arm candy or another accessory for your outfit. Even Jake, who usually has to force Jay to put a little effort into coming out of his bedroom, nods in approval.

You only leave his side for ten minutes when a girl you know is asking you to help her redo her eyeliner in the bathroom, apologizing to Jay before skipping off to help her. He doesn't mind, though. In fact, he loves that you're eager to help others and make yourself available for people who politely ask for your help. You're considerate and generous like that.

"You guys look cozy," Jake says, bumping his elbow against Jay's forearm. "I can't believe you actually wanted to come out of your room tonight."

"I only come if the company's good," Jay retorts, bringing his cup to his mouth.

"Hey!" The two of them share a laugh. "She's good for you, Jay. You light up every time she walks in the room."

"That's the corniest thing you could've ever said to me."

"It's true though. I know you, man. You need to get to know somebody before you like them and you like her. You'd be crazy not to ask her out officially."

"I was planning out asking her to be my girlfriend on our next date," Jay confesses. "She loves mini golfing and she's extremely casual about a lot of things. Hates fancy dinners and making a big show of things. I wanted to ask her when we get food, or something."

"That doesn't sound super romantic."

"Trust me, it is," Jay says. "She's the kind of person who can appreciate big gestures, but I know she loves it even more when people pick up on the small thing. She hates being the center of attention even if that's where she ends up, so I know she'd appreciate if I asked her casually. I mean, it's not casual, but it's not over-the-top, you know?"

"I totally get it," Jake says with a nod. "What's meaningful to her is more important than looking 'romantic.'"

"Exactly. Don't get me wrong, though. I'll wine and dine her as long as she lets me."

"I'm sure she'd appreciate that."

"But for now, I know she's got a lot on her plate and the last thing she needs is something to stress her out even more. She'd probably say no if I made a whole show of it."

"You're so attentive and I think that's probably why we're friends," Jake says, patting his friend on the shoulder. "You'll be a great boyfriend."

"This is oddly mushy."

"Yeah, it feels weird not to bicker with you." Jay tilts his head back and laughs when he sees you walking out of the bathroom.

"Are you boys up to no good?" You ask, leaning against the wall to look at the both of them.

"Depends what you mean by 'no good,'" Jake teases, raising his eyebrows at Jay before snickering to himself.

"Does he know something I don't?"

"No."

"Yes."

"Okay…" You trail off, squinting your eyes before laughing. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know unless I need to know."

"You're in good hands," Jake says, nodding at you before making an excuse to leave. He winks at Jay when you aren't looking and leaves to find your friend.

"Jake Sim is a weird motherfucker," you say against your cup. "But he's harmless, right?"

"As harmless as they come. I think he likes riling me up."

"We all do."

Jay laughs too. "You look beautiful tonight.

"I look hot, don't I?"

"I'm trying to be respectful here."

You kiss his cheek. "You are such a gentleman, Jongseong. But you don't need to be like that thing me all the time. I think we've crossed that line ages ago."

Well, shit. His cock might as well be stirring in his pants now that you've given him the mental image of all the times he's seen you naked.

"You look hot and I'm going to fuck you when you're ready to leave," he says in a low murmur, his voice steady like it's something he's something he's been thinking about all day. You press a small kiss to his jawline.

"I can't wait."

The two of you could technically make a break for his bedroom, but you're clearly having a lot of fun drinking with your friends and sharing Jay's joint with everyone who wants a hit. Jay, too, is enjoying himself for the first time in a while now that he recognizes some of the party goers. It's easy to have fun when the people he's surrounded with seem to want to talk to him too. You clue him in on inside jokes and he has the time of his life playing bartender, mixing drinks for strangers with the very limited knowledge he has after one summer bartending because he was bored. He's a hit with everyone who wants alcohol and he gets extra bonus points for having a stack of joints readily available in his pocket when the one he smokes runs out. It pays to be a man with marijuana and a lighter.

Jay's newfound role has garnered a lot of attention. From girls specifically, since tonight there seems to be double the amount of people than usual. Jay doesn't really pay much attention since he's too busy peeking at you from the corner of his eye, sending a wink your way with every drink he serves. You, however, have gravitated closer towards the bar station every single time a girl comes up to him to strike up a conversation or worse—touching his arm while trying to play it off as something casual. He'd shrug it off, of course. The only girl he wants is you.

You make haste and appear by his side in record time, handing off drinks like you're being paid to do it. Jay doesn't miss the way you squeeze your way in between himself and a stranger trying to fish for attention. It's kind of hot that you've pushed her away with the touch of your hip, barely intruding while smiling politely like you've done nothing wrong. He would've said something before you got there. It's not like the two of you haven't been draped all over each other all evening, so really, everyone here should know he's off limits.

Jay isn't oblivious to the sudden switch of your mood every time a girl comes up to him.

It's funny to think that a month earlier, girls usually pursued Jake. Jay knows he comes off as this aloof, barely-there kind of guy, like someone too intimidating to pay attention to for the fear of failing. He's the embodiment of the classic rock star: wickedly good at guitar and an attitude that screams do not fuck with me. Jake is an easygoing, open kind of guy. He'd take any chance to make a new friend. It's part of him charm, but it's not one he shares with Jay.

You're a very sweet person. Blunt? Yes, but you always say it like it is and don't coddle people to make them feel better when there's no use. Jay loves that about you. He doesn't have to guess where your head is at or question your intentions because you're upfront and honest. He can count on you to tell him the truth, which is a skill most people lack. It's refreshing to meet somebody who can put her heart on the line while maintaining integrity. People tend to say one thing but disregard it's meaning until it becomes something new entirely, but not you. You're Jay's safe space whether you realize it or not.

This new emotion—jealousy?—is something new for Jay to see in you. You both have breached the threshold of being touchy the first time you dry humped in your bedroom. You've been much bolder now, but it's only escalated to grabbing his hand and letting him hold yours. There's an unspoken line that has yet to be crossed, never mind the fact that you gave him the best head of his life not too long ago.

But tonight, you're clinging onto his arm like a koala and pressing your body against his side. It's because you're wearing a tank top, you muttered in disgust as you watched yet another girl cower away underneath your gaze. They're looking at your fucking biceps. And you're letting them.

Jay is thoroughly amused. You have an edge to you, even if this is a side you don't show anybody else. From the beginning, he got the sense that you were the type of person to keep vulnerability at arm's length. But the way you're acting tonight tells him you're jealous. You, the independent and secure girl he's crushing on, feel protective of Jay and his body. Entitled, even. But it's so fucking sexy to be desired by you. It boosts his ego, sure. He's a man who thinks with his cock sometimes and you're no exception. Mostly, Jay's turned on by how much you desire him too. It isn't the attention. It's you.

He wouldn't stoop so low to exploit that. Jay would've told these girls to fuck off if you hadn't said it on his behalf. It's kind of cute, honestly. You resemble a baby lion trying to roar for the first time. To these other girls, you bark like a guard dog. He doesn't even think you know how intimidating you look when girls lower their gaze to the floor and back away from the two of you cautiously. Serves them right, honestly. Can't they see that he clearly isn't interested?

"Freaks," you mutter under your breath. "They're all freaks for coming up to you when I'm right here."

"I probably should've worn a different shirt." You shake your head, hands running from his bare shoulders down to his bicep. You give him a squeeze and he feels the tips of your nails digging into his skin.

"You look really fucking good, Jay," you all but moan.

"Did those girls bother you, baby?" Jay asks, turning to face you. He sets his drink down on the counter and cages you in between his hands.

"They should know better than to talk to you," you say without stuttering, your lips barely touching his own. "I hate that they had the audacity to think they have a chance when I'm the one you want."

"You're the one I want," Jay whispers against your lips, stealing a soft peck. The innocent sound of lip smacking makes his cock ache and he can't help but pull you closer to try and relieve even an ounce of friction.

"These freaks can go fuck themselves." God, you found so sexy when you're jealous.

"You know what I think?"

"What do you think, Jay?"

"I think that we should ditch this party and go back to my room," he says, caressing your covered ass. "We can light a joint and smoke a little. Get away from the crowd. How does that sound?"

Your eyes dart from his lips to his eyes. "Take me to your bedroom, Jay."

He's grabbing your hand without another word and hauling you off upstairs. Jake sees the two of you pass him by and gives his friend and encouraging two thumbs up, to which Jay can't help but roll his eyes but he laughs anyway. The noise from the party subsides but a little bit, but he can hear the music and the murmur of the crowd even with the door closed.

There you are, looking like absolutely devious in your short and tight dress all up in his bedroom. You've been up here a few times and take perch on his bed like you always do when Jay walks towards his nightstand and opens his drawer to pull out marijuana and rolling paper.

"I was going to do this on our mini golfing date," Jay says, busying his hands with preparing another joint. He hears you move across the bed after having kicked off your heels, knees padding until he feels you right behind him. It calms his nerves to feel your arms wrap themselves around his shoulders, mouth pressing against his ear as you little his skin in soft little kisses.

"What were you going to do?"

"Ask you out. Properly, I mean."

"Are we not already going out?"

He stills, dropping the materials from his hands to turn around and face you. God, you look so gorgeous like this. By now, he's already learned that the black makeup around your eyes make you look like a sexy feline and the scent of your almond and cherry perfume make his senses go crazy. Jay would be absolutely crazy to think you'd stick around forever if he never communicated his feelings to you. With his hands now free, Jay pulls you close by your waist.

"I wanted to ask you to be my girlfriend on our mini golfing date," he admits. "I know you're not into big gestures because it puts you on the spot and I know you hate being put on the spot. I wanted to do is casually. Maybe after the last round or whenever we left to get food. I don't want to make you feel like being with me is just sex or getting high. Or anything other than dating, really. I like you a lot. I think I have since the night we met and I don't want you to think I'm interested in other girls because I'm not. I want you."

For as much as Jay thinks he knows you, his heart pounds in his chest like a beating drum that refuses to stop. Part of being vulnerable and putting himself on the line means being honest about his feelings and to his delight, a beautiful smile graces your lips until you're leaning forward to put your mouth on his. It's a soft, simple kiss that makes his head spin and you pull away with his lovesick glint in your eyes he's never seen before.

"I'm not the best with affection but it's different when it's with you, Jay." Your arms come to wrap themselves around his neck, pulling his face impossibly close to yours. "Being with you feels right. Like I never saw you coming, you know?"

"I know," he murmurs, softly pecking your lips. "I'll make up for this shitty confession, I promise. Be my girlfriend?"

"You're so stupid, but I think you're really cute," you whisper with a smile you can't seem to contain before kissing him again. "You were right by assuming I'd want you to ask in the most casual way."

Jay lets out a strained sound from his throat. "Yeah, but a bunch of girls tried it with you tonight and basically ruined my entire plan."

"Mm okay, I'm still mad those girls clearly couldn't see we're together. But I think being honest is more important than how you ask, you know?"

"You are a fucking dream, baby," Jay says, pushing his lips harder against you until you giggle into him. "It's real cute how you got so jealous."

"I wasn't jealous."

"Territorial, then."

"Mhm," you confirm with a single nod, smiling against him. "People need to know what's mine. That's all."

"Yours?" He asks with an amused grin. "I like the sound of that. I'll be your trophy husband."

"Husband," you say, testing the word on your tongue. "Awfully sexy of you to imagine me as your wife."

"I've been imagining taking a wedding dress off of you since our first date," he confesses without shame. "I don't mind being your trophy husband."

What starts off as an innocent kiss turns into something erotic quickly with your back resting comfortably on Jay's mattress while his body's on top of yours, reminiscent of the time he first saw your apartment. The kiss grows hungrier with every moment that passes by and the inebriated haze has slightly worn off because of the stone cold, sober truth of Jay's confession. He doesn't spare you another pass at being a gentleman because he's learned that you trust enough to allow him to take whatever wants. Jay knows you'll tell him to stop if it comes to it. And in turn, he's learned that it's okay to desire someone so much that he loses control.

Jay pulls away to catch his breath and the whine that escapes your lips makes his cock jump in his pants. He laughs at your neediness and laughs again at your immediate silence when you realize he's grabbing the marijuana to roll a joint for you.

"I wanna roll one on your body," Jay says, eyelids growing heavy the more he visualizes it.

"Fuck," you moan. "I think that's the hottest thing you've ever said to me."

"Can you take your clothes off for me, baby? I want to see that gorgeous body of yours."

The music thumping from downstairs serves as the soundtrack for tonight. You make haste and get off of the bed as Jay sits on the edge with his legs open as you face him. Jay's dick hardens during his own personal strip tease and he watches the way your soft hands run all over your body like you're the devil trying to seduce him. Your fingers catch underneath the hem of your short dress but you don't take it off like he thinks you will. No, instead you reach underneath to pull off your black thong until you pull it down your legs at an agonizingly slow pace before tossing it in his lap.

What's a guy to do? Jay grabs your panties and hears that melodic laugh of yours he loves so much. He squeezes it in his hand—is that a wet patch?—while the other palms himself through his pants the more you twirl around for him, making a show out of jutting your ass out the more you sway your hips to the muffled bass from outside. When you do finally take your dress off, Jay intently watches the way you slowly expose yourself to him. His eyes rake over the first peek at your bare pussy, your torso, your tits, and finally your face as you toss the dress somewhere behind you.

"Come here," he beckons, throwing your panties to the side when you take a step closer to him. He makes room for you in between his legs, using his hands to spread your own apart until he has a view of you from the front. Jay lifts his finger to run a single digit over your folds and relishes in the way you moan from above. "Have you been wet this entire time?"

"I've been wet since our phone call."

"My poor baby," he tuts, letting his finger slowly glide against your wet lips, occasionally grazing over your clit. Jay doesn't want to miss a single thing and looks at the way you struggle to maintain eye contact with him. It's so cute and hot at the same time. He lifts his finger to show you the wet glisten before licking it clean, groaning at the first taste. "Delicious as always."

"Fuck," comes your whine. Jay feels you trembling between him.

"Come lay on the bed for me. I want your ass facing me so I can use it as a table, yeah?"

You make haste and Jay hums in satisfaction, standing to grab his materials before making his way over to you. He feels the way your eyes watch him and looks at the way you're laying comfortably on his mattress, arms tucked underneath your head like you're in some kind of blissful state of mind. You look delectable like this. Jay has half a mind to pull his cock out and push it inside of you right now since you're wet enough, but he holds himself back because in his opinion, there's nothing better that drawing out orgasm after orgasm while high.

He doesn't immediately put the paper and marijuana on your body. He lets curiosity get the better of him and allows his fingertips to drag along your upper back, tracing an invisible line down the curve of your spine before he reaches your ass. You part your legs instinctively and Jay mutters a quiet good girl that makes you clench against absolutely nothing. It's so hot. He bends down and presses a kiss to your slit and licks your arousal right off of his lips before pulling back to grab his materials, letting them rest on your back as he gets to work.

You crane your neck to watch as he focuses on rolling the joint without spilling. Jay's done this a million times, but he's never had the pleasure of fixing one on the prettiest girl he knows. It's clean and quick. He's managed not to spill any of the marijuana as he grinds it, expertly placed the leaf inside of the rolling paper, then uses his fingers to push it into place until it's snug. Jay folds the tip of the joint before pushing the excess paper down and presents you the most gorgeous, fat joint you've ever seen in your entire life.

"You can do whatever you want to me," you blurt out.

"Whatever I want?"

"If you fuck me within the next minute, yes." Jay laughs and grabs his lighter, holding it up to the end of the joint until it lights up. He takes the first hit to ensure the joint burns properly before passing it along to you, happily watching as you eagerly inhale.

"I'll fuck you real good," he promises, taking his shirt and pants off the longer you smoke. "I want to do it my way. I want you to feel that aching burn between your legs until you can't think of anything but cumming on my cock. I want you needy and desperate for me."

He takes his clothes off and feels his dick throbbing when he watches you smoke on his bed. It's a sight right out of a wet dream and he's probably thought about this exact moment a million times over, using this exact fantasy to get himself off more times than he can count. You've maneuvered onto your back and Jay marvels at your gorgeous tits when you bring the joint back up to your lips. He puts both of his knees on the bed and knocks your legs open to put his body right where it belongs, stealing the joint from your hands before smoking it again. Your mouth welcomes his exhale when he leans above you. Like clockwork, the smoke travels from his mouth right into yours and Jay feels your chest arch right against him just as your lips touch. He's careful not to drop the weed as he watches the way your eyes become more red by the second. Jay's positive his eyes look exactly the same.

"I'm gonna eat you real good," he mumbles as he drags his mouth along the column of your neck, trailing wet kisses down your skin.

The cool drag causes goosebumps to arise, making you gasp right into the open air. Jay takes his time, stealing another smoke when he makes his way to your chest and he makes a pit stop, handing you the joint before using both of his hands to cup your tits. They spill over just the way he's always pictured and he brushes his thumbs against your perky, sensitive nipples. Jay marvels at the sight the more he toys with them. He becomes entranced from the high, zeroing in on the way your tits move and spill from his fingertips. Jay pinches your nipples and relishes in the way you gasp at his touch, which makes him laugh and lean down to lick one of them.

"Perfect tits, perfect body," Jay moans, attaching his mouth to your hardened bud. His tongue rolls right over it as he makes himself comfortable between your legs, his own body relaxing with his cock sandwiched between his torso and his mattress. The sound of his lips sucking on your nipple and his hands squeezing on your chest like they're his own personal stress toys makes you moan in deep pleasure, letting the high consume you like never before.

He moves onto the neglected bud with his eyes closed, moaning around your most sensitive area. He loves how responsive you are with your quiet moans and your chest pushing against his face. Jay's mind is in a haze the longer he has his mouth on you, dick swelling with every breath he takes like his life's purpose is to kiss every inch of your skin.

Jay doesn't stick around your tits for very long, especially not with the way you're accommodating his body by spreading your legs open for him. He kisses down the valley of your breasts and reluctantly lets go of your chest to venture down your torso, dragging his lips and leaving messy wet kisses in his wake. He grabs the joint from your hands and inhales before tapping it hard against his ash tray to kill it before gripping your thighs and blowing the smoke right against your wet hole.

The sound you make is indescribable. It's somewhere between primal and desperate, especially when the forced air makes contact with your wet lips. Jay watches the way your hole twitches in anticipation and sees the way your hands grab onto your chest for stability from the corner of his eye. Your arousal drips from you like a waterfall and he hastily licks a strip up your slit. When he reaches your clit, he lets the surface drag slowly with the kind of pressure that makes your legs shake in their place, allowing his tip to flick over the sensitive bud. Jay witnesses you throwing your head back like you're starring in your very own pornography film and the view of from below makes you look like walking sex.

Jay descends with his tongue lapping at your eager pussy. He tastes every crevice and fold you hide while gripping onto your thighs to keep your legs open for him. He feels your resistance and laughs against you like this whole affair is for his entertainment only. But really, knowing he could get you to fall apart on him like this is the cherry on top. You're the most put together person he knows. Watching you lose your mind on his tongue feels like his greatest accomplishment.

"I love watching you fall apart," Jay moans against you, pushing his tongue inside of you. He hears you cry out his name and grip his hair as you tug in response to the sudden intrusion, keeping his tongue stretched out to thrust it in and out of your wet hole. It's a tight fit and he can only image what it would feel like to slide his engorged cock inside of you.

Your arousal slips and falls from the corner of his mouth along with his spit when Jay starts to grind his dick against the bedsheets. Your hips start to roll against his tongue like you're chasing your own high too. It's so hard for you to keep still and for your legs to remain on the bed, that much Jay can tell for sure. You're writhing underneath his touch despite his best efforts to keep you in place, but his pride swells with every cry and moan. Jay pushes his mouth harder against you, sucking and slurping on your folds like he's trying to eat you alive. He doesn't care if spit dribbles down his chin nor does he particularly care about keeping this ordeal clean and tidy. Unlike rolling a joint, Jay wants sex with you to be messy. He wants the nasty, filthy, horny affair to feel raw.

The high makes his skin buzz and his body feels like it's at an all time high. It feels so good to rub his bare dick against the bed, listing to the loud moans escaping from your mouth. Never mind the fact that his room isn't technically sound proof, but the music is going a great job at drowning out the sounds from his bedroom. Not that Jay would mind, of course. He doesn't think you'd care either. In fact, you'd be happy knowing other girls could hear the way Jay's making you feel.

"Fuck Jay, your tongue feels so good. How did you learn to eat pussy like this?"

He chuckles, dragging his tongue to kitten lick your clit. "You like it when I have my mouth on you?"

"Yes—fuck!"

"Mm yeah, love it when you make that sound," Jay says after he spits directly on your clit. He lets his digits trace your folds, dipping the tip of his pointer finger tip into your hole. You tense up against him but he tuts, shaking his head. "I won't have that. Open up for me, baby. Relax and let me feel you."

"S-So sensitive," you mutter.

"Already? How are you gonna take my cock?" Jay mocks, pushing his finger inside of you until you adjust around him. He can feel your pussy squeezing around him already. "I need to make sure you get a taste of what's to come. Need to watch you fall apart on my mouth and fingers."

"Fuck!"

"Yeahhh. That's right, honey. Make those pretty noises for me." The pet name makes our eyes roll to the back of your head and your grab a fistful of his blankets the faster he pumps his finger inside of you. Jay adds another finger and fucks you faster, relishing in the way you're moaning like your life depends on it. He bends his head down to lick at your clit at the same time and the sensation is overwhelmingly euphoric for the both of you. From here, Jay watches your mouth hang open and your hands clutching his bedsheets like that'll give you stability. It's so hot the way you're falling apart on him.

Your orgasm completely washes over you the longer Jay laps at your clit. He stares at you as best as he can while trying to keep you still before him, but your rolling hips make it difficult for him to focus on helping you feel out your high. He tries, though, removing his fingers from your pussy to grip your thighs so hard that you buck against his face and rut all over him.

"You taste so good," Jay moans when your body finally subsides. He keeps licking the remnants of your orgasm, catching every last drop on his tongue before it gets the chance to escape him.

"I don't think I've ever had anyone eat me out like that," you say, catching your breath. "You're eager."

"Eager for you, yeah."

"So cheesy." Jay watches you hide your face in your arm like you're too shy to admit how much that turns you on. He laughs at your bashful nature and kisses his way up your body, temporarily stopping at your breasts to lick around your nipple and tug at them with his teeth. You reach down to grip his cock in your hands after you've spit directly into your palm, twisting your writ to jerk him off when he removes himself from your chest.

Jay looks down and watches your smaller hand around his girthy, thick cock. He can barely register his reality because of the marijuana and remembers he still has half the joint left. With the flick of his lighter, he's smoking once again and pushes his head back to blow the excess smoke towards his ceiling, moaning when you squeeze him.

His attention resumes on your hand when he feels you press the underside of his cock against your wet slit, watching the way your hips grind against his bare dick. The tip is just shy of breaching your hole every time you grind yourself against the head and Jay bucks his own hips in response. He gets a preview like this, watching exactly how far he'll disappear inside of you. It makes him crazy to see you like this, too. Pre-cum leaks from his slit the drips down your onto your pussy to make an ever wetter mess, the sound of the splash ringing in his ears the more the two of you grind against each other. He passes the joint to you and you eagerly accept, inhaling a long puff and expertly holding it in before exhaling.

You nearly drop it when Jay angles his dick to press the entirety of his cock into you. He catches you by surprise as he's able to grab it from your fingers before it falls onto the bed. The stretch is already unimaginable and he takes his sweet time pushing himself into you, allowing his gaze to fall where the two of you connect. Jay witnesses as your tight, velvety walls make room for his thickness and you're taking him like the champion he knows you to be. Jay drags his cock out and thrusts shallowly to let you get comfortable with his impressive size. His eyes roam across your body until they land on your plush lips and he bends down to steal a kiss while keeping the joint steady in his hands.

You eagerly kiss him back as if his mouth distracts you from the initial pain of his dick. Jay keeps fucking into you little by little, letting the sound of your shared arousal echo within the room. "You hear that? Baby. That's all you. You made us this wet." You tense around him and clench at his words, lips chasing his own in a messy kiss the more he pushes himself inside of you. "Your pussy's been aching for me, hasn't she? All the times we've fooled around prepared you for this, honey. Feel my cock. Feel it go in and out."

"It feels so good."

"I know it does," he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Feels so good when you're high, doesn't it?"

"Yes," you moan. "I'm so fucking horny, Jay."

"I know you are, baby. You're so wet."

He kills the joint for the last time before tossing it on the ashtray to focus on you. The last push of his cock feels like pure heaven as his balls hit your ass cheeks the second he bottoms out, and his tip hits the deepest part of you. Maybe it's the high or maybe it's because sex with you is no longer a mere fantasy, but Jay can feel every movement from your twitching hips to the way you're constantly clenching around his dick.

Fucking you is insanely different than fucking his hand at the thought of you. Your walls enclose around him like a vice meant to keep him addicted to you forever. Every single drag and thrust of his hips makes Jay lose his fucking mind because his dream girl is underneath him with her legs spread wide open for him to fuck. Jay collapses right on top of you the second your arms pull him by his neck. He doesn't fight, his body already soaring through his high like he has the ability to fly. The combination of Jay's attraction and the his inebriated state contributes to how his arousal that seems to be never ending.

Your hole is so slippery. How can one person be this wet? Jay thanks whatever god is listening to him the more he ruts himself against your lap like a crazed sex addict. Or, he sure feels that way since you're gripping him with your pussy and your arms, pulling him impossibly close to you like you're trying to become one with him. Jay doesn't mind feeling your sharp nails down his back. He grunts at the mental image of the red lines decorating his skin when he gets the chance to look at himself in the mirror. He'd do anything to see you get off on his cock.

Jay buries his face inside of your neck and lets his warm breath fan over your skin. The entire room smells like weed and sex, two very important things to Jay. He can't remember the last time he was so horny that he thought his dick would fall off the longer he fucks himself into a tight hole, but your wetness paired with your angelic moans continue to push Jay closer and closer to his first orgasm. He's determined to keep himself from coming too quickly, though. He kisses along your neck and doesn't care that he's probably moaning too loudly against your ear.

"Harder," you croak, voice dry from the marijuana and from the constant moaning. "Fuck me harder."

You don't have to tell him twice.

Jay positions your legs on both of his shoulders, admiring the way your tits look. They're big and round and they jiggle every time he moves your body to put you in the exact spot he wants you. The way your nipples move at every slight movements makes Jay kiss the back of his teeth and slot his cock right back into you before he pushes his cock and his chest forward, effectively bending you in half.

His cock reaches a whole new angle the more he's able to push himself down. You cry out a broken moan when his dick pierces a new depth and he silences your cry with a kiss to your lips. Spit falls everywhere the more your mouths mash together, tongues fighting like the two of you are locked in an intense battle. Jay repositions himself until his legs are spread wide, the balls of his feet planted on his mattress before lifting his hips just thrust into you with a newfound strength that makes your eyes squeeze shut.

He drinks up your moans like it's liquor. Jay's abdomen tenses as he holds this position, feeling the burn in his legs the longer he uses his strength to push and pull himself in and out of your body. The drag is delicious. It's so good that he hisses and closes his eyes to focus on the feeling of your wet cunt gripping onto him like you're afraid he'll leave if you aren't tight enough. Sweat has formed along his forehead and your bodies are slippery from the sexual workout, but it adds to the intensity of it all. Jay has never felt enamored with a girl like he is with you and the sheer magnitude of his attraction outweighs any drug he's tried in his lifetime. He'd happily quit smoking marijuana if you asked him too. But lucky for him, you can keep up.

"Tightest pussy in the world," Jay groans, slamming his cock into you and holding your body underneath him until you're pinned between the mattress and his chest. His cock is lodged deep into your pussy with no signs of letting up and the way you squeeze him from the inside out is enough to make Jay feel like he's seeing stars. "Are you always like this? Do you always make people feel so fucking crazy?"

"Just you," you say, barely able to speak from the intensity of the position.

"Just me," he repeats, grunting through his nose. "Only me, baby. Only I can make you feel like this."

"Only you."

"Only I can get you high like this," he grunts, lifting his hips to slam them back down onto you. You cry and it sounds like a fucking hymn. "I want you to cum like this. Can you do that for me, honey? Cum right on my dick."

And you do. It's like a command, almost. He knows you've been holding out and waiting for him, but you deserve to come as many times as you want without asking for his permission. He loves knowing he can get you to feel as free as you do without worrying about other people. It's so sexy that you're as considerate as you are, but as far as Jay's concerned, you could come on his cock a million times over and he wouldn't care about getting off it you were satisfied.

He feels the tension in your body as you focus on your orgasm. Jay moves in tandem with you, letting his cock impale your pussy and pushing past your hole when you clench around him. The tightness squeezes him until his tip is hitting the very spot that makes you scream out his name like it's a prayer, and you come like you've never experienced such an orgasmic high before. He feels you come. Jay savors the way your body arches as you reach your peak and it takes everything in him to stay as still as he is, his abdomen aching and his legs burning from holding this position. But it's worth it to watch the way you fall apart on him completely.

"You're so hot when you cum," Jay mumbles against your lips, letting your legs fall from his shoulders and allowing himself to break from his previous hold. He kisses over your lips to soothe you as he slowly rocks his hard cock in and out of your pussy, using your orgasm as lubricant. "It makes me wanna fuck you within an inch of your life."

"Do it," you taunt, smiling up at him with a fucked out grin that makes Jay think you're a succubus. Your lack of a refractory period is pure insanity. He can barely believe your pussy doesn't ache from his mouth, fingers, and his cock. Or maybe it does but you aren't saying anything. You're taking it like a fucking champ.

"Bend over," he instructs, pulling his cock out to stand while you turn your body over. He strokes himself in the meantime, watching as you spread your legs and arch your back like a feline waiting for its reward. Your pussy is on full display in front of him and he can't resist getting on his knees to shove his face in your lap again.

There is no rhyme or reason to it anymore. Jay has turned into a dirtier, hornier version of himself the more his high climbs up an invisible mountain. His tongue licks over your delicious folds and licks up every drop of your come like it's syrup spilling from a maple tree. Jay makes a complete mess of his face and slurps at your wetness, drinking your sweet nectar like it's the only thing he could ever imagine in his mouth.

He lets go of his cock to grip your ass cheeks and moans straight into your pussy when he ruts his cock against the side of the bed, thrusting every single time he pushes his tongue deeper into your wet hole. You moan before him and push your ass right against his face, making him bury himself deeper into your hole as though he never wants to leave. He doesn't, really. He'd be perfectly happy if he died with your pussy on his tongue.

Jay removes himself from your pussy when he feels himself get closer and closer to the edge. The soft material of his bedsheets would be enough to throw him off the deep end if he isn't careful. He gets back on his feet after licking up a stripe and pushes his tongue up your slit until he licks your wrinkled hole. Your body tenses at the strange sensation but you aren't completely turned off by it. In fact, Jay notices your legs spreading even wider as your back arches deeper like you're in some kind of trance. He takes his chance and spits directly into your tightest hole with a slow drip, listening to a moan that comes deep within your chest the second it hits you. He brings his thumb to gently rub it in, temporarily neglecting your pussy to watch the way you're writhing as he brushes his finger over your asshole. It's incredible how responsive and trusting you are. If he was a worse person, Jay would put the very tip of his cock right against your hole. But he isn't and he figures if you liked it enough to endure his curiosity, you might let him try putting his dick in there one day.

He lines himself with your pussy again, flicking the head across your folds to gather enough slick. Jay lets his tip pass over and over again until you're whining like you'll die without his dick. The desperation in your voice turns him on so much that he feels his balls twitch when you let our a particularly high-pitched noise. It's enough to make him sink back into your pussy, hands gripping your hips for stability. He feels his own legs shaking from the new angle and the sight of your back arching in front of him.

Without a single warning, Jay fucks you. It's the kind of pace that only occurs when he's so horny that he can't think about anything other than finishing himself off. You claw at his bedsheets and manage to grab one of his pillows to hold against your chest. His blunt nails dig themselves right into your meaty flesh as he brings his right hand to smack your right ass cheek. The sting is incredible and he must assume you love this kind of pain because the long, drawn out moan rings in his ears like it's Christmas. He smacks your ass again while he bucks his cock into you like a madman, spanking you over and over again until he feels a bit sorry for the pain he's causing you.

Jay's sack bounces against your puffy clit with every thrust and he's positive you've started whining because you feel another orgasm approaching. He wishes he could hold himself out longer too, but the two of you are higher than a pair of kites in the sky and your incredible moans and tight pussy push him to his limits. He clenches his ass to prolong this feeling, hissing at the intensity of your walls gliding against him every time he drags his cock out of you just to push it back inside your hole.

"One last time," Jay grunts, reaching one hand to toy with your clit and making you moan into his pillow. "Come for me one last time, yeah?"

"C-Come together," you barely manage to say.

"Yeah, baby. Let's come together. Fuck, give it to me and I'll give you my cum too."

Lost in the chase for his own orgasm, Jay's knees nearly lock when he's about to come. He braces himself at the very last second and falls until his cheek hits your upper back, feeling the way you clench around him before finishing for the third time. Jay follows soon after, spilling his seed directly into your hole without ceasing his hips from fucking it back into you. He doesn't care that the mixed cum starts to seep from where you're both connected, nor does he care that it's starting to drip down onto your thighs. He keeps thrusting until he's managed to overcome the peak and ruts into your hole.

When all is said and done, the only thing that registers is his heart beat and your breaths. Jay kisses the back of your neck with such tenderness that it pulls a satisfied moan from your throat. He can't help but laugh and twitch inside of you as his cock grows soft. You eventually push him out with a single clench, feeling the way his dick falls to your thigh as leftover semen seeps from his slit and onto your skin. The room is hot, wet, and far too overwhelming to properly come down from the insanity of tonight.

"You did so good, honey," Jay murmurs against your shoulder, peppering sweet kisses as you close your eyes. "My good girl. My sweet, sweet baby."

"I'm your baby," you whisper in a fucked out bliss.

"That's right." He nods and brings his face to yours, kissing you once before turning your body over to face him. Jay brushes your hair out of your face and cups your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. "Are you okay? You sounded a little dehydrated."

"It was the weed," you say with a quiet giggle. "So worth it, though. But I could go for some water."

In record speed, he's able to clean the both of you up and fetch some water from the kitchen without making too much conversation. He avoids Jake, who looks at him and whistles as he walks back to his bedroom. To his surprise, you're up on your feet and digging through his closet with one of his shirts draped over your body.

"Aren't you beautiful," he says, bringing the water up to your lips. You laugh at the absurdity but drink from his hand anyway.

"I can drink by myself, you know. I'm a big girl."

"Yeah, but I like the idea of taking care of you."

"Are you still high?"

"Yeah." Jay laughs. "But I'd tell you that sober too."

He beckons you to climb into bed next to him after he's opened all of his windows. After the intensity of sex, the softness of your head resting on his chest pulls a smile out of Jay. Your leg rests atop his own like a needy koala, but he doesn't mind. He loves it, in fact. He's positive you can hear how fast his heart is beating.

"Breakfast tomorrow?" You whisper already half-asleep. Jay kisses the crown of your head and pulls you closer to him.

"Sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･

please condsider reblogging and leaving a comment (or two!) x

[zreamy]

YOU ON MY MIND, YOU ALL THE TIME

only two years post-debut, NAPE are the band to beat, and you might be the only woman in london whose heart races in a bad way at the sight of their guitarist—your ex-boyfriend, jay. 

pairing ✩ jay park x fem!reader

genres: band au, exes to lovers, smut, fluff, angst | warnings: minors dni, reformed evil guy jay, set in london (#SCOTLANDFOREVER), so many english people (#SCOTLANDFOREVER), yn is #GoingThroughIt #Confused, hoseok is the bus driver, BLATANT PLAGIARISM OF SONGS BY EXISTING ARTISTS SORRYYYYYYYY | word count: 37,699

playlist: lover, you should've come over by jeff buckley ✩ puddles by not for radio ✩ eventually by tame impala ✩ where do broken hearts go by one direction ✩ 505 by arctic monkeys ✩ no control by one direction ✩ stateside by pinkpantheress ✩ you da one by rihanna ✩ change your ticket by one direction

from zo: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASAHICORE !!! wow u are 23.25 now! amazing. youngest person ever. happy reading to everyone else and go wish asahicore a happy birthday rn. AS ALWAYS SHARE FEEDBACK OK LMK WHAT U THINK !!!

BACKSTAGE WITH NAPE ON THE ‘NO WAY BACK’ TOUR.

By: Daydream Mag. Photographs by: Heeseung Lee, Jay Park, Jake Sim & Sunghoon Park.

4:02 P.M. SUNDAY, MARCH 9, 2025. PARIS: If you’re one of NAPE’s four members, how do you spend the hours before the final show of your sold out tour? By sleeping, calling your mum, watching YouTube mukbangs, or taking film photos of your bandmates doing any of the above.

In broken Frenglish, guitarist, Jay, plays tour guide for the green room they’ve made home over the course of their three day concert at the iconic Le Trianon. “Did you know that Rihanna played here?” he asks, eyes wide as he swats away Sunghoon’s camera. “And Kesha, and Fifth Harmony? So many legends and now we’re here—crazy downgrade.”

This same eager, mildly insecure, energy permeates the green room as the band discuss highlights from the last two months on the road — riding a beer bike in Manchester, seeing the Eiffel Tower at midnight — and express how much they wish the tour could last forever. “Performing is the absolute best part,” Jake says between slurps of cup ramen he brought with him from London. “We’re always trying to find local pubs to play in because we can’t get enough.”

“That’s where it all started anyway,” explains their half-asleep frontman, Heeseung. “Playing in pubs, busking in Zone 5 shopping—

“Well, well, well,” Aeri says, appearing over your shoulder and catching you in the act. “If it isn’t Little Miss NAPE-hater drooling over a two-page spread.”

A chill runs down your spine and you couldn’t have dropped the magazine quicker if you tried. At your feet, it clatters with a flinch-inducing thud that rings throughout the deserted entrance of your local twenty-four hour Tesco. Neither you nor Aeri make any move to lift Daydream Mag’s summer 2025 issue from the speckled tile, so from its glossy cover, the face you’ve come to loathe gazes up at you through lidded eyes.

You scoff, affronted by the very suggestion. “I’m not you, Aeri. I wasn’t drooling.” And even if you were drooling, it certainly would not have been over Jay Park and his band of idiots. “It’s a four-page spread, by the way.”

“Same difference.”

Over Aeri’s shoulders, the sun’s first rays are threatening to shine through the glass on what is already an obscenely hot day for September. Dye slips from her damp hair down her face like blood, staining her white collar red, and you watch as she takes a picture of the magazine on the floor between your feet and hers before picking it up. She posts the picture to her story with one of NAPE’s songs playing and tags them so they can eventually see it and repost. They’re always doing that—reposting things fans tag them in. Satisfied, Aeri puts the magazine back in its place on the shelf, between Interview and the last copy of Dazed that has a photo of NAPE’s bassist and drummer laying together on the cover like something from a CEO yaoi. You have no idea how or when they got so popular.

Finally, leaving the band behind, you and Aeri loop your sweat slick arms and move through the aisles. You sniff and review scented candles; browse the books on the shelves, sharing thoughts on the ones you’ve read; and pick up snacks with Clubcard discounts, all on the way to find the one thing you came for at this time of night: salted caramel cheesecake cookies. Along with the rest of the internet, Aeri’s boyfriend has been raving about them since he tried them two weeks ago, and the three of you have been on high alert ever since. You even reached out to Somi’s little cousin, Riki, whose ex-girlfriend has a friend that works here to see when they’d be back in stock.

She told him to kill himself.

This is why, when you finally see them — fully stocked and still warm in their bags — you gasp. Understandably, when Aeri tries calling her boyfriend, he doesn’t answer, but you take as many as you can carry and run for the self-checkout.

Under the purple sky, you and Aeri walk all the way home, carrier bags in hand. It takes a lot not to eat all thirty cookies as soon as you cross the threshold, but, in an exercise of immense self-control, you leave them in the bread bin, and bid your flatmate goodnight.

Love her as much as you’ve come to, you often find yourself wishing it was some incredible story that brought the two of you together. A great tale of intertwined fates and instant connection. Instead, you found Aeri on spareroom.co.uk and when you deemed each other harmless enough, you signed the lease and moved in. It took a few months for you to shake off your anxiety and say more to her than, how did you sleep? but you got there in the end, and almost one whole year down the line, this flat and Aeri feel more like home every day.

As the working world’s alarms go off, you get into bed, showered and fresh-breathed, where sleep is reluctant to find you. One hundred counted sheep later, you give up and open Twitter. Now, you are mature enough to know better than to engage with content you know you’re not going to like—you’re not a critic. But… you are a hater. While NAPE haven’t yet brought forth the next strain of fandom-induced illness — à la Bieber Fever or One Direction Infection — they’re inescapable if you use the internet in any capacity. Profiles in magazines, Spotify playlist covers, constant viral concert clips: sweat-sheened skin and lidded eyes, long, thick ring-clad fingers strumming guitars or stroking mic stands. The tattooed back of their frontman populates hit tweets and Instagram Reels alike.

It’s not like you’re immune to attraction or allure. You have eyes. Eyes that widen at the sight of Sunghoon flexing his arms or Jake biting his lip. At Jay and his perfectly mussed hair that sits right at the junction of neat and messy. His two silver hoops in each ear. His dimpled cheek. How he sings with his eyes closed. The scar on his nose that you can only really see up close or when the light hits it just right. Keeping up with things like this is important because if you’re going to be a hater, you’d like to at least be an informed one. This is why, when you search for them on Twitter and the first tweet that comes up is the link to NAPE Catch Each Others Lies | Teen Vogue, you click with no hesitation.

It’s weird seeing them in motion like this, comfortable and joking around. Not singing. They’re decked head to toe in smart casual. Loose blazers and tailored trousers, fake glasses and neatly parted hair, smart shoes and polo shirts. Even though it’s different to their concert outfits and doesn’t really match what seems to be their vibe — evil-demon-fuckboy-rockstar — it suits them, highlighting their oddly perfect proportions.

From this video, you learn that Jay doesn't know any of their birthdays, Jake uses Sunghoon’s deodorant, and Sunghoon has never fallen asleep during rehearsal. Heeseung is also there. When the video ends, you fall asleep without a hitch, fresh linen and sweet dreams pulling you under.

Until you force open your heavy eyes to the sound of your phone ringing at eight o’clock—you slept for exactly two hours. It’s Aeri’s boyfriend. You can’t even speak when you answer, letting out a grumble instead. “Welcome to the land of the living, sweetheart!” he chirps, sounding much too awake for your liking. “Care to open the door?”

“Come back later.”

“But your breakfast will be cold later.” There’s a poutiness to his voice that would irk you if your hungry ears didn’t perk up at the sound of breakfast.

Turning over under the covers, you lean up on your elbows. “What’s for breakfast?” you ask slowly.

“Toad’s.”

To you — and the rest of London’s Gen Z population — Toad’s is the breakfast spot. At seven a.m. every day, there’s a queue that wraps around the corner. They recently issued a statement to request that customers stop selling their spots in line. Tired as you are, the thought of eating Toad’s without having lined up thrills you so much that you run straight to the door and fling it open. There stands Heeseung, a cup-holder in one hand and several paper bags in the other. A pair of sunglasses keep his bleach-fried hair from his forehead.

“You look nice,” he says, smiling as you step aside to let him in.

Smoothing out your hair with self-conscious palms, you inspect your face in the mirror beside him, seeing the crust lining the corners of your puffy eyes. “We are not close enough for you to speak to me like that,” you tell him, leaning into your reflection to clean yourself up a little.

Though you’re joking, mostly, Heeseung and Aeri have only been together for two months, and as her close friend, he should be on his best behaviour around you for at least the rest of his life. He frowns, apologising sincerely as he holds out one of the red and white paper bags. “Can I interest you in a forgive me choux vanille?”

The words make your heart race in your chest as you give a reverent nod, taking the bag from him.

“There’s, like, four of them in there—all yours.”

You have seen fanpages for these choux vanilles, you have been close to starting one yourself, and here, now, on a random Tuesday morning, standing in your hallway with NAPE’s frontman, you hold in your trembling hands a bag of, like, four of them. Later in life, when the time comes, you will name your firstborn after this man, probably.

“Heeseung,” you say softly. “Speak to me however you like.”

He laughs at that, as if he hasn’t just made your whole week. The soft sound breaks you out of your stupor and you help him carry all one million things he brought. “How’d you even get all this?” you ask over your shoulder, everything is still warm, perfect. “What time did you get there? What time did you even wake up?”

Heeseung follows you into the kitchen, his footsteps light against the hardwood. “Will you think I’m a prick if I say I’ve been up all night?” His question surprises you as you take in the sight of him once more—he is the picture of wakefulness with his bright eyes and glowy skin.

“Ah.” You set the goods on the counter, nodding as you take a picture of his haul. “Rockstar life, huh?”

A smile spreads over his lips as he rolls up his sleeves, tattoos appearing from under the white cotton, oddly sheepish. For an artist of his — their — size, with his — their — visibility, there’s a certain meekness to Heeseung that you thought was an act at first, but now you’re not so sure.

“Not even,” he mumbles, looking down at the dark worktop and describing the epitome of rockstar life. “We had this party thing in Soho, but it was dead so we went round this guy’s flat instead, and he stays proper close, as in the line goes by his front door—one of Jongseong’s friends…”

Whether Heeseung knows you’ve stopped listening at the mention of that name is anyone’s guess, but suddenly, your long-awaited Toad’s matcha tastes like nothing and your blood pumps thickly through your body. Loud in your ears. It’s one thing to anticipate seeing or hearing about him — watching that video before bed or bracing yourself for posters plastered in stations and around the city — but like this, so casually, from the mouth of your one person in common, it still shakes you up.

“Whoa.” He waves his large palm in front of your face. “You alright?” Concern creases his eyebrows.

An attempt at a light-hearted laugh stumbles from you. “Just sleepy.” A long, ungraceful moment dawdles by as he studies you, performing some form of assessment that you’re sure you’ve failed.

“Same, honestly,” he finally agrees, though he doesn’t seem convinced. “I’ll catch you in a bit, yeah?”

You nod, watching as he makes his way to Aeri’s room and snapping your neck in the other direction when he looks over at you. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Perfect!” you call out over your shoulder, all but sprinting to your bedroom.

In the privacy of your four walls, you sink into the chair at your desk and eat your steak, brie, and mushroom toastie. Half of it anyway, the thought of Jay is too distracting to enjoy it fully. You open Instagram before you even realise, hitting the search button and typing pzzong without a second thought. Eighteen hours ago, he made a post. A photo dump: his guitar in his lap, a blurry sunrise, a gym selfie with Sunghoon’s naked back in the mirror, a video of a lively crowd, and a piercing through his left eyebrow. Life is good, he wrote. The comments display varying degrees of thirst for Sunghoon. Blue ticks light up the screen as you scroll through them. Heart eyes from Bae Sumin. Best show ever babyyyyyyy from Yeh Shuhua.

Good for him.

Seriously.

You have committed a cardinal sin, for which you will never forgive yourself—you forgot your headphones at home. And so, like the rest of Central London, you’ve been subject to hearing the rustle of plastic on plastic in your bag as you walk down the street. As it turns out, no matter how delicious, eating thirty ginormous, sickly sweet cookies is quite difficult, so you’re taking them out to the pub where you’re meeting up with some friends.

The bell above the door at Ruby’s rings loud and clear over the radio when you step inside. For a Wednesday afternoon, it’s busier than you expect, patrons crowding the bar and tables alike, though you suppose, as one of them, that this is the way of the unemployed. Speaking of, Riki towers over everyone at the bar, oblivious or uncaring towards the pretty bartender’s fluttering eyelashes. At the sight of you though, he raises his bleached eyebrows, waving you over.

“Three p.m. tequila shots, don’t mind if I do,” you say, beaming into the rough collar of his denim jacket.

His hug is tight and brief. “Aw, yeah. I’ve got class in the morning,” he offers unhelpfully, holding up a clear shaker. “Salt?” Riki pours salt all over the back of your hand, more granules falling to your feet than sticking to the spot you licked, and hands you his wedge of lime. Holding up his shot with surprising steadiness, he says, “C’est la vie!”

Doing a shot of straight fire would burn less, but Riki isn’t fazed, grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you towards the back of the pub where the rest of your friends are. Yizhuo sees you first, peering over the booth and her face splits into a grin. You feel yours doing the same. She and Somi leap to their feet, pulling you into a hug and wrapping you up in a cloud of florals and spice and beer. “You’re alive!” Yizhuo cries out, pulling back to get a good look at you, her hand on your jaw to turn your face this way and that. “And still so beautiful!”

“Against all the odds,” you mumble, accepting the wet kiss Somi plants on your cheek with a smile. Right when you settle into the booth beside Yizhuo, texts from Aeri light up your phone screen, notification bubbles covering up the chestnut horse on your lockscreen.

aeri: heeseung said the guys can make it after all ! he promises they’ll behave

aeri: they’re not as bad as you think !!!

You groan around a long sweet sip of the cloudy IPA Somi ordered for you. “I’m meeting Aeri’s boyfriend’s friends tonight,” you mumble, sending a thumbs-up emoji in response.

“Wait.” Yizhuo pauses, looking over her shoulders before leaning over the table. “NAPE are going to be at your flat tonight?” she whispers, eyes wide and buggy.

What comes from your mouth is a disgusting sigh-groan hybrid that makes Riki flinch as you say, “The one and only.”

Somi’s entire face crumples and she hunches over, hitting her forehead repeatedly on the tabletop, making it wobble. “Why do good things keep happening to you instead of me?”

“This is public knowledge, I texted the chat like a week ago.” You lift your golden pint and Yizhuo’s dark Guinness from the table so they don’t slip off the edge. “Plenty of time, no?”

“A week ago…” Riki repeats, voice trailing off into nothing as he rubs his stomach and leans back in his seat. “That’s like an hour’s notice in employed people's time.” He sighs. “No offense, YN.”

“Okay, Big Rik.” You scoff. “You’ve had a job for ten minutes.”

He glances at his watch before squinting at you, venom written all over his cute little face. “And that’s ten minutes longer than you, is it not?”

“Did I do something to you?”

“You know what? I’m glad you br—” Somi cuts off her little cousin by shutting his mouth with her hand. “Can we please focus on the real issue, you’re partying with NAPE tonight and I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“My mum’s up and we’re having dinner,” she says bitterly.

“Just come after.”

“Or don’t come at all!” Yizhuo butts in. “I have plans for Jake Sim tonight and I don’t need him getting distracted.”

Riki kisses his teeth, shaking his head. “I’m willing to bet a good amount of money that your plans involve staring at him from across the room, then blowing up the chat to talk about how you two caught a vibe.”

This is, to Yizhuo, the greatest offence — despite its truth — and you have to actually hold her back from leaping over the table to strangle Riki, but there’s nothing you can do about the string of insults that leave her mouth.

Somi’s ring-clad knuckles rap against your side of the table, right beside your glass. “Really sorry about Daydream, by the way. Seriously,” she says, frowning. “If it makes you feel any better, I heard a bunch of their permanent staff got laid off as well.”

Only now, with Somi’s sincerity, do you realise how long it’s been since you last saw your friends. Nearly three weeks have passed since you lost your job, and this is the first time the four of you have managed to get together. As much as you hate to admit it, Riki was right about needing loads of notice to schedule something as simple as day drinking at the pub. Your world used to revolve around your planner, with separate sections in your worn Filofax for work, personal, and social—which was, largely in part, due to your obsession with stationary. Sitting down on a Sunday night to plan out the week ahead was one of your main hobbies, pencilling in coffee dates and errand-run-hangout hybrids wherever you found an hour or two in common with one of your friends. If you didn’t live with Aeri, you’d probably never see her.

“You know what, Somi? Not really, but thank you.”

Undeterred, she beams at you. “One door closed is a million doors opened, I swear.”

“Cheers to that!” Riki grins, raising his shot glass to his cousin’s nonsensical proverb.

Pushing your doubts away, you raise your pint and toast to the possibility of a million doors opening up before you. Beautiful doors with even more beautiful things behind them, of course. You need all the luck you can get.

Somi has time to nurse another half pint before she has to leave, begging you to text her everything about tonight as it happens. You make no promises. It’s another four pints and a sunset before the rest of you get up to leave, zigging and zagging through the crowded bar out into the crisp fresh air. And because the speakers in the beer garden are playing music, different music to what was on inside, Riki makes you and Yizhuo sit shivering with him at a picnic bench so he can listen to Folded by Kehlani.

“Fuck, Riki,” Yizhuo mutters, rubbing her face with her hands when the second verse starts. “Don’t you have music at home?”

He rolls his eyes, pausing his singing to say, “I’m sure even you could appreciate that hearing a song you like in the wild is way better than listening to it at home.”

“I would love to agree with you, but I have central heating at home.” Your teeth chatter when you finish talking, and all you can think about is your bed and the multiple other ways you could be experiencing warmth at home right now. Hot water bottle. Electric blanket. Taking a bath. Cuddling with Aeri.

“You also have NAPE at home.” Yizhuo points out.

“We’re all going there, what’s your point?”

She pulls a face that you know means she’s not coming.

“We?” Riki repeats, eyes bulging out of his head. “I’m going home. There’s music at home, as Yizhuo so kindly reminded me.”

“Neither of you are coming? Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, brother.” He nods solemnly, standing up from his seat as the song comes to an end. “None of my mutuals are going.” He pats his pockets, in search of the big three — phone, wallet, keys — before zipping up his jacket.

“Your mutuals…” Yizhuo trails off, eying him. “Riki, this is real life.”

“Also it’s literally my flat, where I live… I thought we were mutuals.”

“Ladies, please.” He holds up his hands defensively. “I can ragebait Jay Park any time, okay, I don’t need to go to your house to do that. I also think I reserve the right to sleep in my own bed tonight. Alone.”

“Who else would be in your bed?” Yizhuo scrunches her nose, pulling the fallen strap of her bag back up her shoulder.

Gesturing towards all six feet of himself, Riki licks his lips, stumbling just a little. “Have you seen me?” he asks, a smug smile curling over his mouth.

“Unfortunately, we have, princess,” you say, patting his back. “Let’s get you home.”

Ruby’s isn’t your favourite pub, but it’s the best option if you’re drinking with Riki, because he stays so close and the only way any of you will have peace of mind after a night out is if you actually see him getting into his flat and hear the lock clicking behind him. The three of you walk arm in arm with Princess Riki towering over you in the middle. It takes all of fifteen minutes to get to his place and then the station across the road. Side by side on the platform, Yizhuo bumps your hip with hers. “How are you feeling?”

Given the pile of her texts you haven’t yet returned, you have a good idea of what she’s referring to. Even so, you ask, “About?”

Yizhuo gives you a look, pursing her lips before mumbling your name. She got lucky, jumping off the slowly sinking Daydream ship in time to snag a senior editorial position at Interview. She’d encouraged you to do the same, move up in your career, but no, you just had to prove your unwavering loyalty to a company for which you were no more than a name on a list. A recipient for an email with the subject line: Notice of Organisational Changes. Hindsight, as always, is 20/20 and the signs were there before you even got to London. The Edinburgh office, where you’d worked since graduating, closed last summer for financial reasons. Transferring seemed like a no-brainer, a blessing, but if you knew you had a year left, you would’ve stayed put.

“The downtime’s nice.” Over the last three weeks you’ve fixed your sleeping schedule, started and finished eight books, gone home to see Minjeong, applied and been rejected from nine editorial positions, and played through all of Super Mario Bros. Wonder. Twice. “I do, however, enjoy receiving a salary, so it would be nice to work again. Quite soon.”

Yizhuo nods, squeezing your shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye out for openings, but it might help to get your work out there, keep you sharp and all that. Are you on Substack?”

You laugh in her face. It’s 2025, everyone is on Substack—including the two-hundred subscribers you panicked and abandoned when your page started gaining traction. “Yes, Yizhuo. I’m on Substack.”

“Perfect!” she exclaims and because this is the Central Line and Londoners do not care about anyone else, no one spares her a glance. Your cheeks burn anyway. A happy sigh falls from her lips, and she tilts her head. “Write and post, write and post. Anyone will read anything these days, just get your name and your gorgeous words online, and I promise, you’ll be rolling in opportunities.”

“Yizhuo…”

“I’m serious. Write about your crazy NAPE party tonight, God knows how many people would kill to be in your position.” She lets go of the handrail and makes a show of pointing at herself with both hands. “Just do something, okay? You’re too young to sit in your room watching TV all day. You need to leave your house and live your life and see your friends.”

“I know, Yizhuo. I know that,” you mumble, fiddling with the hem of your jacket. “It’s not on purpose or anything, I just… sometimes I need a day to do nothing, and then it’s two days and then it’s a week.” Your stomach curls in on itself at the thought. The longer you spend at home, the harder it is to leave. You had to psych yourself up this afternoon, staring at your reflection and repeating: my friends do not secretly hate me. My friends enjoy my company. I am good company.

She frowns. “I get that, really. But you don’t have to deal with everything on your own, you have friends. A lot of friends who love you and want to spend time with you.” It all sounds a bit like an affirmation tape, a YouTube subliminal, and maybe if those weren’t the exact words you needed to hear right now, you might have laughed. “Next time you’re home doing nothing, text me and we can rot together, okay?”

You nod.

“And please, please, please get some NAPE dick tonight and review it ASAP,” Yizhuo says, whispering the name of the band as if that was the worst part of her sentence.

“I’ll pass.”

“Not a request.”

“Okay, daddy. I’ll do it,” you say, which, of course, makes London’s so-called nonchalant population turn their heads in your direction.

Yizhuo’s head falls back with laughter and you look up at the map above the door. Seven more stops for you, though hers is next. She pulls you into a hug, and you hide your face in her puffer jacket, willing your cheeks to stop burning. It doesn’t work. When the doors slip open, she kisses your cheeks and says, “See you later, Kitten.”

Flustered doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel as you call out, “Text me when you’re home, okay?”

She nods and blows you a kiss before climbing the stairs, disappearing into the sea of commuters leaving the station while the doors close. The Tube chugs on, homeward bound. With Yizhuo’s words on a loop, you finish the rest of the journey home, relieved to feel the autumn wind on your cheeks when you get back outside.

Dread stirs a pit in your stomach as you hear the party before you even see your front door. And dread almost kills you as you take careful steps around the people sitting in the corridor to get inside. The music is loud but there aren’t as many people as you thought. It’s mainly just a bunch of influencers you recognise by IG handle instead of name—jenaissante and _chaechae_1 are stretched over your couch, yawnzzn laughs with you.th in the kitchen doorway.

Heeseung spots you before you have a chance to retreat to your room. He is elated and red all over, pulling you into a hug, and wrapping his warm tobacco scent around you. “Hello!” he yells into your ear, before gesturing behind himself. “Jake and Sunghoon.” NAPE’s bassist and drummer, the ones from the yaoi magazine cover you went back for a copy of, are somehow much better looking in person.

The camera doesn’t quite do justice to Jake’s large… everything. His eyes, nose, lips, and rose-tinted knuckles are so big and so beautiful. He tucks some of his hair behind his ear and smiles with all of his teeth. “Nice finally meeting you,” he says, seeming to mean it. Having a favourite member in a band where you know half of the members personally feels wrong, but Jake is that for you, and so, the tipsy fangirl-adjacent part of you gives him a hug that he graciously returns.

At his side, Sunghoon stands in a white button-up that clings to his huge biceps. Great. His hair is perfectly parted over his forehead, his tie tight and straight. His lips are plump and pink, pulling into a sheepish smile as he raises his huge hand to wave at you. The sight of it, the dimple in his cheek, sets off a flutter in your stomach and you can’t help giggling like he’s done something special. “We’ve heard so much,” he says. “I mean, J—” He groans, keeling over and clutching his ribs where Jake elbowed him.

“It’s true, Gigi’s always talking about you,” Jake finishes off like nothing happened. “Something to drink?”

Dazed, you blink at the band boy, but take him up on his kind offer of a drink in your home. Jake leads you through the sparse crowd, weaving artfully towards your kitchen and making small talk along the way. “I actually used to play in church,” he tells you, opening your cupboards and taking out what he needs. Absolut Vanilla, simple syrup. A sticky bottle of Schweppes swiped from the kitchen island behind you. “I wanted girls to like me.”

“Did it work?”

Jake looks up from the counter at you, a smile playing at the corner of his lips as he halts his mixology. “Of course it worked,” he says, disbelief written all over his face. “But I was too shy to do anything about it.”

“I see,” you say, struggling to conceal your laughter as he hands you a cup.

“Wasn’t for nothing though.” He shrugs, leaning against the counter. “I guess you could say I’m pretty confident these days.”

You’ve seen enough about NAPE online, fanwars and uproar about the personal lives of the members, to know firsthand he’s not exactly lying. This is the face of some of Pinterest’s favourite couple inspo, one half of the now-mourned JakeZuha. You’d met her once, Kazuha, at a work thing. One of Daydream’s holiday parties. She was nice, more than, even if she didn’t have much to say about anything that wasn’t her boyfriend. Their breakup in the winter had fanpages proclaiming that love was dead and that they were children of divorce.

The thought makes you laugh in his face and you’re just glad he laughs too as you clink the rims of your plastic cups together.

Armed with the sweetest vodka lemonade you’ve ever had, you head to your room, desperate to change out of your jeans. After triple checking the lock on your door, you leave your jeans in a heap at your feet, stepping out of them and towards your dresser, where you settle on your favourite grey sweatpants and resolve to only be photographed from the waist up. One large gulp of drink, a deep breath, and you pull open the door, returning to the party—if fifteen people in your flat can really be described as such.

Before you can go over and join Aeri, a knock at the front door catches your attention, though you seem to be the only one to hear it. The knock comes again and you roll your eyes, unwilling to apologise for noise at nine p.m. on a Friday night. You know your rights. At the sound of a third knock, you stomp over to the door and fling it open.

“Mrs. Kim, we—Jay?”

The last year of your life living in London has been long. A massive adjustment. Hiked up prices and supermarkets closing early on Sundays, learning Tube routes and constantly being an hour away from any given plan you’ve made. So much has changed. You have changed. You are not the same petrified grown up who left everything she knew to move here, nor are you the same lovestruck girl Jay abandoned all those years ago. Yet the sight of him, live and in person and standing at your door dislodges something in your chest. In your memories, those odd dreams you have from time to time, he always looks so grown up. Jay at twenty. Twenty-one. It had never occurred to you back then how young you both were, especially given that he was a year older. Reconciling that version of him with the 25-year-old man before you now is impossible. The last of his baby fat, those stubborn chubby cheeks you loved with everything you had are gone now.

Is there any part of him, of this stranger, that you still know?

His hair is slicked back, a few strands left down, streaking over his forehead in that handsome way. You’d always liked it back like this, though he rarely did it. Reserved it for special occasions. Grad Ball Jay. Anniversary Jay. 25-year-old Jay. Even though the sun is down, a huge pair of sunglasses rests on the straight bridge of his nose. The silver ball above his eyebrow shines in the light. Making sense of the odds in your mind is impossible. How, at once, you are pleased to see him and thoroughly disgusted by it. How after everything, he can look at you, smile, and say your name.

“Jay…” you say again, trailing off, uncertain and half-expecting him to vanish into thin air, like some hyperrealistic figment of your imagination, complete with the cologne he used to wear. Scent — his scent — that most powerful of senses that hurtles you into the past as soon as you catch it. Hurtles you long back into his soft hoodies. Into your bed where that same honey musk lingered on the sheets long after he left.

“It’s so good to see you,” he says, sincere as ever.

“I know,” you agree, stomach turning. Nervous. Nauseous. “I, uh, I do think I’m going to be sick, though.”

Before you have the chance to rush away from him, to do anything, you wretch and spew alcohol onto the doormat between his feet and yours.

Pinching yourself does nothing—this is not a nightmare to be woken from.

“Fuck,” Jay says, crouching into view. Concern drenches his features, the last thing you see before screwing your eyes shut. “Are you okay?”

Mortification creeps through every last inch of your body, settling between your bones. This is not happening. This can not be happening. Seeing Jay again was supposed to be an event of Princess Diana revenge dress proportions. You own a revenge dress! You had grand plans to make Jay Park regret the day he was born, never mind the day he dumped you. Yet here you are, in a crop top and joggers covered in your own vomit.

“Great, Jay,” you mutter. “I’m great.”

Against your better judgment, you let him take you to the bathroom where you lean over the toilet bowl. Nothing comes out, but he rubs your back and holds your hair away from your skin anyway. His gentle touch burns through your clothes. “Are you alright?”

Kneeling on the checkerboard linoleum with Jay at your side has been a real test of strength, though, even with your screaming joints, you’re certain it’s better than the alternative—actually having to look at him. Weepy-eyed and vomit-breathed. “I’m fine,” you say for the hundredth time, sighing. “You can stop asking now.”

He scoffs, an amused sound that heats your skin to hear. Behind your closed eyelids, you can picture the look on his face. Clearly see the lopsided curve of his lips, the hint of a dimple. “Alright, my bad for worrying after you threw up all over me.”

Your hair slips from his hold when you whip your head to face him, strands sticking to your neck as soon as they’re free. Frantically, your eyes search his dark jeans. “It got on you?”

Jay smiles and he is so painfully gorgeous in the warm light of your shared bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub. Seeing him here, seeing him at all makes your heart stutter. “No, YN.” He shakes his head, quickly, voice a low rumble. “You’re all good.”

You hum, raking a hand through your hair. “I’m all good,” you agree.

Now that your level of goodness has been sufficiently clarified, Jay clears his throat. “Alright, champ,” he says, as if you are an eight-year-old little boy while helping you to your feet in much the same manner. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

On your waist the weight of his palm, the heat of it, is dizzying, and your alcohol consumption and post-vomit fogginess do nothing to stop the room from tilting. “Don’t touch me,” you croak, wriggling out of his grip. The words are rough on your throat.

Ever respectful, he lets go at once, stepping back and apologising as he flushes the toilet. A thrum of irritation flares in your head, hammering at your skull, at how easily that word came out of him, sorry, slipping from his little pink mouth and over the smallest thing. At once, the desire to wring his neck and to press your lips against his spar in your head. Neither wins. “So that you can apologise for,” you say under your breath instead.

Somehow, the look he gives you — tilted head, wide eyes, lips ajar — is the worst thing that’s happened since he arrived. Jay pities you, his scorned lover. The tightness in your chest is immediate, a thick knot that won’t give. Before he can speak, you turn away to clutch the sink and it is a grand effort. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“It’s fine, Jay. I’m fine,” you say, though it is the furthest thing from fine you can think of. “It was a big deal to me and not to you. We’re over it, we’re fine.”

In the mirror, he looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, like you are Patrick Zweig asking for Tashi Duncan’s coaching. “Not a big deal to me?” he repeats, incredulous. “Are you kidding? Who said it wasn’t a big deal to me?”

You cover your face with your hands, sighing into your palms. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“I think we need to.”

“Yeah, Jay. We did,” you agree, catching his eye in the glass. It’s a mistake. “About three years ago before you up and left out of nowhere.”

“Out of nowhere?” he says, as if he absolutely must repeat everything that comes out of your mouth. “I was always moving back here, YN. That was always my plan, you knew that.”

Your eyes sting at the corners. Tears eager to spill. He’s right. You did know that. Jay made it explicitly clear. But there had been a time back then, when you were a part of those plans too. When his tongue slipped around I and we like they were the same thing. They were. To you. When we go to London… He brought you here that last winter. You drank Bailey’s hot chocolate at Winter Wonderland and met his parents. Met Heeseung. Jay had a life here, a vibrant one, and with each day you spent together, it became harder to imagine him anywhere else. By the fireplace in his family home, he asked you if you liked it, liked London. Of course you did. The flame raged warm in his brown eyes when he asked if you could see yourself here, with him. Your heart was beating in your throat. You loved London, and you loved Jay even more. You would have moved to Aberdeen if that’s where he wanted to go.

“Jay?”

His gaze softens, gone is the harsh crease of his brow, his squinting eyes. It’s like staring the past dead in the face. Everything you wanted so badly and never got to have. “Yeah?” he says gently.

“Get to fuck.”

Jay clenches his jaw, nodding slowly. “If that’s what you want.” He closes the door softly behind him when he leaves.

It’s only now, alone, that you register the hammering of your heart, the thudding of your pulse in your ears. You cry into the sink until your head hurts. You brush your teeth. Wash your face.

Opposite the bathroom door, Jay leans on the wall. Sunglasses on. Bottle of water in his white knuckle grip. He holds it out for you to take and you sigh, far beyond the mood to hear whatever he has to say. Minted by Colgate and Listerine, the water is ice in your mouth. Refreshing. “Thanks.”

Jay flicks off the bathroom light by your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Together, you turn down the hall and into the living room. All of the guys — NAPE, at least — lapse into silence to watch you, though Heeseung is polite enough to pretend he’s not staring. Your stomach turns. Leaning up to Jay’s ear is grossly reflexive when you ask, “Do they—” You pause, pursing your lips and knowing the answer already. “Obviously Heeseung knows, but…”

“I told them.”

No matter how evil he was / is, he has every right to talk about what happened. About what he did. It’s Jay’s story as much as it’s yours, and he can do with it what he wants, regardless of how mortifying it is to think of other people knowing. What you did with it, and intend to continue doing with it, was keep the whole ordeal to yourself, like any other mentally sound adult woman would, which is obviously very healthy and working out really well for you. Jay had to move back home and we agreed it’d be best to end things. This is the version of events everyone else in your life has heard, and it’s what Minjeong and Jaehyun would have heard if it wasn’t for your living with them.

“Sorry,” he adds in a low voice.

That word again, easier than breathing it seems. “It’s fine.”

At the sight of you, Aeri’s face lights up and she stumbles out of Heeseung’s lap and over to you, taking you into her tattooed arms like it’s been an age since you last saw each other. In a way, you can’t believe it hasn’t been. “Here you are!” With her hands cradling your elbows, she takes a good look at you, eyes latching onto every part of your face. “You feeling okay?”

“Perfect!” Your voice is unusually high, strained.

“Heeseung cleaned up.” Aeri’s gaze flickers over your shoulder and she grins. “And I see you two have met.”

“Actually—” Jay starts, but you talk over him. “Yeah!” You face him, grinning too widely and extending a hand for him to shake. “Sorry about that. I’m YN.”

Only after a moment does his confusion clear and he takes your hand in his, shaking it. His fingertips are rougher than you remember, thick callouses boiling hot on your skin. “Nice meeting you,” he says, holding onto you for just too long. Too long for a conventional first meeting, anyway. No amount of time holding Jay Park’s hand could ever be long enough.

True peace and relaxation only find you when everyone has left, trickling out into London’s night time, cluster by cluster. Heeseung and his band boys stayed behind to tidy up and get their hands on one last pint before leaving your place even neater than they’d found it.

While you wash the breakfast dishes you abandoned in your room this morning, Aeri tiptoes into the kitchen behind you, humming happily to herself and pulling you into her arms. “They’re not so bad, are they?” Unfortunately, she and the rest of the world are correct. NAPE aren’t so bad after all. In fact, they are perfectly charming, and funny, and kind. Even their evil guitarist. You hum in response and focus on keeping a firm grip on your bowl as you move it to the drying rack.

“And…” She trails off, apparently waiting for you to finish her sentence. Much to her dismay, you do not. Aeri lets go of you and leans on the counter at your side, tipping her head to see your face. “What do we think of Jay?” she asks in a sing-song voice, and if she were referring to literally any other guy on the planet, you’d have smiled along with her.

But she isn’t and the sound of his name dries your mouth. “He’s… okay,” you say after too long. “Seems nice.”

Aeri’s jaw drops. “He’s okay?” Her disbelief is palpable, expressed through every part of her. “He held your hair while you threw up in the toilet and you think he’s just okay?”

“I actually didn’t throw up at all in the toilet,” you correct her, like that makes it any better, defensive in an off-putting way that makes you cringe. “But I guess the rockstar thing doesn’t really do it for me.”

“The rockstar thing,” she repeats under her breath, shaking her head. “What about the freakishly understanding thing? Or, I don’t know, the extremely fuckable guy thing?”

A pit takes over your stomach. “You’ve fucked him?” You don’t mean to ask, or to sound so dejected when you do, but the words come out before you can help it.

“Jesus, no.” Aeri sighs. “I’m not that lucky.”

You hate how relieved you are to hear it.

“He’s, like, impressively celibate. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had on, like, a chastity belt or some shit.” She shakes her head solemnly. “A damn shame if you ask me,” she starts, though quickly changes her tune. “But, you know, I’m obviously very lucky with Heeseung… yadda yadda yadda.”

A scoff comes out of you, but you can’t help the smile on your face. “Right.”

Aeri yawns and stretches her arms out over her head. “Believe me when I say I cannot wait to see the kind of person who does it for you.” It’s the last thing she says before she kisses your temple and heads for bed.

you: I threw up on Park Jongseong tn.

minjeong: YEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH

In bed, you open your phone and search for the thread you haven’t looked at in years. His contact still has a kissy face in it.

jongseong 😽: i got my shift swapped soooooo sleepover?

you: 😭😭😭 YES YES YES YES YES YES

jongseong 😽: hahaha leaving in 10 ❤️‍🔥

jongseong 😽: baby baby baby baby baby baby

Because this knife to the gut isn’t quite sharp enough, you search for the word dakgaejang, and those first messages come up.

jongseong 😽: hey yn! it’s jongseong from earlier, i hope you don’t mind me asking around for your number, i’m only now realising how creepy this is… i just wanted to make sure you were able to get home okay, and i’m really sorry i couldn’t walk you all the way back, i swear i meant to! and don’t worry about the hoodie, just hold onto it and stay cozy!!! if you have someone at home who can cook, my mom has this insane recipe for dakgaejang, that shit could cure anything, and if you don’t have someone at home who can cook, i’d be happy to whip some up for you when i get home and drop it off!!!

jongseong 😽: whatever works for you, okay? just lmk!

When you finally fall asleep, you dream of Jay. Of Jay and your university bedroom back in that freezing Edinburgh flat. At the foot of your bed, he hurriedly picked his clothes from the floor while your space heater roared into the cold. You leaned up on your elbows, but said nothing. You couldn’t speak. Finally, he saw you and froze in place. This was not the Jay of years past. Not Jongseong. It was Jay as he’d been last night. With his hair slicked back and his worn leather jacket over his broad shoulders. Still, he gave you that same look. Those same soft and sleepy eyes.

“Sorry, beautiful,” he mumbled, his voice low and thick. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay.”

All it took was one blink, and he was right there, kneeling at the side of the bed. “I’m glad we got to see each other again, YN. I’ve really missed you.” His palm rested on your cheek, calluses on the tips of his fingers. “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll be back soon,” he said. A dimple dented his cheek when you nodded, and his soft lips grazed yours—you wake up with a start, sweat-drenched and heavy breathing. Heart pounding in your chest. Tears welling in your eyes.

When you finally manage to get out of bed, you go straight to the shower. You don’t bother drying your hair after, which you will regret. On the kitchen counter, the kettle boils noisily, but you can’t bring yourself to worry about waking your flatmate. Can’t bring yourself to worry about anything other than the fact you haven’t been able to steady your breathing in the thirty minutes since you tore yourself from your damp cheeks.

A door clicks shut down the hallway, making you flinch. Heeseung appears in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants. “How’d you sleep?” he asks through a yawn.

Your dream, Jay, comes to mind quickly and with no warning. The ghost of his palm on your cheek, his lips on yours, all so vivid like he’s here with you now. Like he really spent the night. “Same as always,” you say, clearing your throat. “You?”

“Slept alright.” He shrugs and takes a glass from the cabinet by your head, filling it up with water from the filter. “Are you going to tell Gigi or should I?”

The drop of your stomach is immediate. “Tell Gigi what?”

After a sip of water, he presses his lips into a flat line and takes a moment, like he’s carefully choosing his next words. “I know it’s none of my business but—”

“Stay out of it then,” you interrupt, pulling the kettle from the element and filling your mug. Instant espresso splashes onto the counter.

“But he’s really sorry, you know?” Heeseung says as if it makes a difference.

He’s sorry? Great! The urge to punch Heeseung in the face for his crime of simply having a functional relationship with your life’s great evil is overbearing. Your clenched fist trembles at your side and a maniacal laugh rips out of you. He takes a step back. Your coffee burns your tongue. “Wow, Heeseung! Why didn’t he just say so? Holy shit, this changes everything!”

“YN—”

Desperate for this conversation to be over, to bury yourself under your duvet and start again tomorrow, you cut him off yet again. “It’s not your mistake to fix.”

“You’re right.” Heeseung sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Look, obviously you’re going to stick up for your friend, I get that and it’s fine. It’s just that I’m not exactly—” You pause, running a hand over your face. “I have a lot I need to figure out.” The awareness of how long you’ve had to do just that, and how long you’ve spent avoiding it, weighs heavy on your shoulders.

He nods, twisting the back of the stud in his ear. “Of course, YN. It’s just… you know…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely into the space between you with both hands. “I’m your friend too, I hope. And, it’s not like I think he can justify what he did, but it might be helpful to hear why he did it. From him?” he suggests, voice tipping upwards as your eyes get progressively more squinted.

The absolute last thing you need right now, is to hear Jay wax poetic about being a true artist and unlocking one’s inner self. How he absolutely had to leave and that was it, you weren’t allowed to be upset about it, because trapping an artist in a box would be like clipping a bird’s wings. Or something.

“Just think about it, yeah?”

For lack of anything better to do, you blow on your coffee, rippling the surface before taking a cautious sip. Over the rim of your cup, Heeseung is watching you, gnawing at his bottom lip with his teeth. If not for the twinkle of hope in his ginormous eyes, you wouldn’t give in and say, “Fine, I’ll think about it.”

His face lights up like you gave him a firm yes and he claps his hands together. “Are you free on Friday night?”

You splutter, coughing into your elbow as you put down your cup. “You’re giving me thirty-six hours to make up my mind?”

“No, not at all. No rush, I swear,” he says, waving his hands frantically. “We’re playing a show at The Helmet, and I thought it would be cool if you came along.”

Disbelief tugs at your brow. “You thought that?”

Heeseung opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, saying nothing. And if you weren’t so curious, you’d drop the subject and decline, but… “I think—” He starts, cutting himself off to look at the ceiling. Then, with his hand on his heart, “All of us would be honoured to have you there. Collectively.”

You’ve seen enough clips online to know that seeing NAPE perform, seeing Jay, would do horrible things for not only your healing journey, but for feminism at large.

As if sensing your reluctance, he adds, “You can come backstage and everything!”

“That would be lovely, Heeseung. No thank you.” Right as the words leave your mouth, Yizhuo crosses your mind and you ask, “Is Jake single?”

With saucers for eyes, he tilts his head. “Pardon?”

“Is he?”

“Are you asking for yourself?”

“Would that change your answer?”

A quiet second passes, Heeseung’s actually thinking about it. “That depends.”

“I’m not going, but I have some friends, two, who would genuinely die to go backstage,” you explain unhelpfully. “I’ll speak to Aeri about it and they can all go together.”

“No can do, YN.” Heeseung purses his lips. “If you’re not backstage, then your friends aren’t either.”

“Then I guess they won’t be backstage.” You frown, lifting your coffee from the counter. The steam has cleared. “Break a leg, rockstar.” On your way out, you pat Heeseung on the back.

Poor Somi and Yizhuo.

The Helmet is a pub of relative dinginess. Each step you take is a mild effort for how sticky the floor is with God knows how many hours of uncleaned booze. And quite small compared to the venues NAPE have been selling out recently, but according to Aeri, “This place has sentimental value! They played their first ever gig here, it’s special.”

She loops her arm through yours and drags you into the throng, not caring who she elbows. And the elbowed don’t seem to mind either when they realise it’s Heeseung’s girlfriend. And you. And Somi. And Yizhuo and Riki and Jaehyun. There is no barricade between the stage and the crowd. Just a foot high elevation and a whole lot of trust from the lack of security the pub seems to boast. Despite how packed it is, it’s not difficult to get to the bar, as evidenced by Jaehyun and Riki’s trips back and forth to supply you guys with drinks.

The DJ plays a jarring mix of alt-rock and 60’s pop music and everything in between. Muse’s Supermassive Black Hole becomes Like I Love You by Justin Timberlake becomes Surfin’ U.S.A. Who the target audience is, you’re not sure, but the more you drink — and the more Riki moves his broad shoulders to the beat — it becomes easier and easier to bear.

“I went to international school with that guy!” Riki yells in your ear. “Name’s Asahi and he’s fucking crazy.”

“The DJ?”

“No, you idiot. That’s Jungwon.” Riki flicks your forehead. “I mean the bartender.”

Around you, the crowd cheers raucously when the stage lights dim. Nothing happens. The DJ continues to terrorise all of you with more insane transitions — Sugar Water Cyanide into No One Noticed — and you continue to drink.

The lights go dim and the crowd around you roars. At your side, Aeri shakes like she’s the one about to perform, grabbing your hand and giving it a tight squeeze. She doesn’t let go. Another swell of screams fills the air as a song starts playing, one of NAPE’s. No Way Back was the first and last NAPE song you ever listened to. It was everywhere—the lead single of their debut album, the title of the tour they just finished, the common song choice for TikTok OOTDs and DIMLs. They were everywhere—BBC Live Lounge, The Tonight Show, Saturday Night Live.

And, much to your dismay, they were damn good.

In the blink of an eye, the lights come up slowly and you hold your breath as NAPE appear on stage. With Aeri, you look straight up at Heeseung who smiles, leaning towards the mic and singing, “When the last sun sets…”

They are a golden spotlighted blur to your tipsy eyes, but Jay has maybe never looked so good. There’s nothing special about wearing a flannel over a plain white T-shirt, you know that, but on him, now, it’s mesmerising. He is mesmerising. Glowing under the lights and so, so close. His guitar sits right by his waistband, veins criss-crossing over the backs of his hands as he plays. Goosebumps rise along your skin, and a funny feeling ravages your stomach. Butterflies on crack, just like the first time you saw him.

It seemed unjust that someone like him could exist not only on your campus, but within walking distance of your flat without you knowing. That someone so handsome had been existing and so close to you for three years. That was all you could think back then. If only we’d met earlier. If only we had more time. It was a real cosmic injustice. You had no real plans to stay in Edinburgh, but not for lack of wanting to—there you had a roof over your head, you had friends, and you had Jay. You had nights spent curled around him, you had mindblowing sex, and you had something special and real that you will never get back.

Knowing what he has now, it would have been ludicrous for Jay to stay behind. He has a crowd screaming his name, and a flat right in the centre of London and most of all, he has accepted that things are over and his life is better for it.

When you lift your stinging eyes from his guitar, he’s already looking at you. His eyes are wide, his lips set apart. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, like he too is using this most inconvenient of moments to mourn the past. To mourn you. He freezes, fingers stilling over the strings for long enough that Heeseung casts a look in his direction.

You chew on your bottom lip until it hurts and snatch Jaehyun’s cup out of his hand to finish it. When the song ends, the crowd erupts into cheers, again.

Jay Park is a god among men.

“What you saying, London?” Heeseung says, grinning, and the crowd goes crazy over it. Over him. You can’t blame them. There’s a charm to him, like this, standing in front of you on the stage. Heeseung the idol, you the… well, reluctant fan of sorts. “We’re NAPE and we’ve got a special show prepared for you tonight.”

The crowd cheers. To his credit, Heeseung is electric on stage, and you are standing so close you can see the sweat beading along his hairline and can already predict the tweets you’re going to see later about all of this. For fear of doing something rash, like jumping on the stage and tackling Jay for a kiss, you keep your eyes trained on the reflective red of Heeseung’s microphone as he continues to speak to the crowd.

“If tonight’s your first time with us, then allow me to introduce the band,” he says, his voice low in a way you’ve never heard before as he gestures behind him. Sunghoon on the drums, Jake on the bass, and his good friend, Jay on the guitar.

“Thank you for that, good friend Heeseung.” The words leave Jay’s mouth in a slow mumble, his cheeks a little flushed as he touches his palm to his heart. The screams for him seem the loudest by far, but that might be because you’re screaming with everyone else. “It’s good to see you guys, I’m Jay. Let’s have fun tonight, London.”

They launch into the next song immediately, a funky track about how they’re always going to be there for their ex who they left in unfavourable circumstances and still love. Sunshine, another unfortunately good song that is a perfect fit for Jay’s voice. Minjeong was the one who sent this single to you when it first came out, along with a message telling you to check the credits. Jay was listed as the sole writer.

Artists take creative liberties, you know that, and it’s easy to see why an attractive guy writing about still loving his ex, no matter what, would do better than an attractive man singing about being Satan’s son. But still, it’s weird to think of the millions of listeners who think they know what happened because Jay wrote about it. Who think he is the perfect, sweet, dream man who’d do anything to be wherever you are. Unless, of course, that place is Scotland—though you can see how that might have been difficult to rhyme.

And even still, despite your growing irritation, you can’t help but look at him in awe.

They play one song after another — not saying much — and you don’t know any of them, but they only get better. The crowd gets more excited, louder somehow, and Jay only gets harder to look away from. Seeing him like this, on stage, is overwhelming. His skin honeyed under the strong lights, slick with sweat making him glow. His thick fingers move quickly over the frets, his straight teeth bite his bottom lip. When he leans towards the mic, his lips brush the top of it, eyes meeting yours. You can see how people idolise him, idolise them, because holding his gaze, staring into the eyes of the man you once knew is impossible, and it’s an effort to stay upright on your weak knees.

A song called Helium closes to raucous screams and applause and all of the members look to Jay. You do the same. As the crowd calms down, he chuckles, tilting his head. Around his hairline, damp strands stick to his face, his temples, and he leans down, mouth a breath away from the mic. “This last song is actually, uh… It’s pretty personal, you know? It’s the first song I wrote when I moved back here,” he says, scrunching his nose. Jay is clearly nervous, his cheeks and neck turning rosy.

The girl behind you says, “He’s so cute when he’s shy!” And you hate that she has learned him enough to see what you do. Hate that she has learned him enough to have formed opinions on Jay and his tendencies, while being lucky enough not to know him personally.

Lucky enough to look at him and see hardly anything more than a blank slate upon which to project her every whim and fancy. This version of Jay, her Jay, that she has gotten to know through YouTube videos and overanalysing social media captions. Who she must imagine is very clear and upfront about his feelings, if that’s what she’s into. What does anyone in this crowd know about Jay? How lucky they all are to have only a part of the picture that makes up the whole, to have straightforward positive feelings for and towards this side of him that anyone with internet access can see. Lucky not to know what it’s like to fall asleep by his side, or to be scared half to death in the middle of the night to find him sleeping with his eyes half open. Lucky not know what it’s like to miss those things. To miss him.

“We don’t really do this one live, but Heeseung wasn’t lying when he said tonight was special.” His eyes flick over to you for the longest second and Jaehyun nudges your ribs.

While the crowd erupts once again, he shows you something on his phone. It’s his Notes app, with the words, get a fucking load of this male manipulator, written in all caps and bold. And because, yeah, I’m trying to, isn’t the right response, you can only offer your friend a forced chuckle before you gulp.

“So for what I think is the first time ever, here’s Carolina,” Jay says, launching into the opening chords. There is a clear difference between this song and the rest. It’s upbeat, and catchy, sounding almost like what you imagine would happen if The Beatles had made a song you enjoyed.

It is also, quite clearly, about you—though it was your father who told you to swim before you drown.

If you had your wits about you, you would probably turn on your heels and storm out. How unfair of Jay to do this. To sing about you and your life and the heartbreak he inflicted on you without so much as a simple text to let you know. Give you a heads up. Hey, I wrote a really fucking good song about our relationship for my first EP and reduced two years to a one night stand lmao. Unfortunately, you do not have your wits about you, and so, as you stand there bobbing your head to the beat and swaying, you cannot help but bite on your lip and stare indulgently up at Jay as he sings about what a good girl you are.

“How would I tell her that she’s all I think about?” Jay sings, looking at you. “Well, I guess she just found out.”

When Jay first told you about his dream, a pang of horror punched you in the gut. Fearing that your fate would be like that of girls everywhere, that he would be your tropey boyfriend, your canon event: the privileged, untalented SoundCloud rapper, or indie artist. All you could do was nod your head and smile stiffly as he told you how much he loved his guitar and writing music. It was to your great relief that Jay wasn’t just good, he was great. You’re certain that’s why, now, as you watch him sing about your relationship for hundreds of adoring fans, there is a flicker of admiration, of awe, right alongside your annoyance.

“She feels so good,” he sings over and over, with his eyes shut. A vein presses against his forehead. His neck.

With that, and a rapturous combination of applause and screaming, NAPE give a bow and leave the stage. They do not do an encore, though a good number of stragglers wait behind for one, while Aeri drags you and all of your friends through a door marked with restricted access. The corridor lights come on one by one as you walk further and further towards another door that she doesn’t hesitate to push open. All of the members are startled by your sudden entrance, but relax quickly at the sight of her.

“Baby!” Heeseung calls out, embracing Aeri, while you and everyone else stands around by the door.

Besides her, you’re the only other person who has met all of these people, and so, you’re tasked with introductions. Jaehyun greets everyone but Jay who stands there looking at him with a straight face. Thankfully, everyone is too caught up with Somi’s huge reactions and extra enthusiasm towards Sunghoon to pay anyone else any mind. He eats it right up, nodding at all the right moments and tucking blonde curls behind her ear while she speaks. Yizhuo, whose big plans for Jake Sim involved taking him to pound town, stands in the corner and stares at him from a distance while he drinks his water.

After filing out of the back exit, you quickly learn that trying to coordinate ten drunk people to use the Tube on a Friday night is more than a bit hellish. But somehow, you manage, with your arm looped through Jaehyun’s the whole way. Jay doesn’t take his eyes off of you, even as he and Sunghoon are tasked with keeping all six feet of Riki vertical.

What Aeri refers to as The NAPE House whenever she’s visiting Heeseung, is a four bedroom penthouse apartment that could surely hold more people than the pub they just performed at. There are people everywhere, influencers and other niche celebrities, drinking and laughing and grinding on each other. Not a phone in sight—only vlogging cameras. And on the black leather living room couch, you have a front row seat. A comfortable one you share with Heeseung and a sleeping Aeri.

“Can you do me a favour?” He lolls his head in your direction, yelling. “Will you get my hoodie from my bed?”

You make a show of rolling your eyes. “You owe me. Where’s your room?”

“Always.” Heeseung smiles. “It’s the last door in the hall, straight down.”

You weave through the crowd, throwing apologies over your shoulders and trying to remember exactly which hallway he was referring to. When you get there, his door is slightly ajar, a dim glow coming from the room right at the end of the hall like he said. The sight of the bed alone, dark sheets pulled tight and waiting, is enough to make you sleepy, a nagging exhaustion you only feel now. Noticeably missing though, is his hoodie, but it’s hardly an urgent matter. Surely not. Blinking heavily, the duvet calls for you, the corn on the cob plushie begging you to hold it—a weird choice for Heeseung, but maybe Jay got it for him.

Since you’re doing him a favour — and he uses your couch more than you — you figure there’s nothing wrong with resting your eyes on the end of his bed. It would be foolish not to seize this moment now that you have it. Carpe… moment. Closing the door behind you, you find a key in the lock, and if that isn’t a sign, you don’t know what is. With the door locked, you pass the guitar rack on the way to the bed, and make yourself comfortable, facing the ceiling. Sooner than you expect, your eyes flutter shut, honey musk tickling your nose.

A soft voice wakes you up. “Hey.”

You don’t need to see Jay Park to know it’s him. If not for the American shape of the word leaving his mouth, the fresh scent of his shower gel gives him away. How annoying, knowing someone. When you open your eyes, he’s leaning over you with a smile on his face, very close. Close enough to see that his hair is damp. To see the light from outside reflecting on the droplets that cover the solid muscle over his shoulders. The scar on the bridge of his nose.

A drop of water falls from his hair, hitting your chest—you swear you hear it sizzle. “What are you doing in here?” The words come out before you have a chance to think of something less accusatory to say. Hey, might have been a good place to start. You shoo him away with your hand, sitting up and facing him, ignoring the heat in your stomach. The butterflies. It’s a mistake to look at him properly, to see all of him. His white vest is vacuum sealed over his defined torso, cinching where his waist does. With his hair flat over his forehead, he looks so young again. Looks like himself. Looks like he’s yours. Like any second, he’s going to pull you into him and press his mouth into the crook of your neck, to say, I’ve missed you, gorgeous. You can feel it already, the shape of his phantom words against your skin, the hum of them from his chest. Jesus Christ. Why couldn’t you be one of those very strong women who’d fallen for an ugly man? How was it fair that Jay could break your heart and only get better looking?

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“I’m allowed to lie on Heeseung’s bed. He’s my friend.” With that, it’s all you do to hope Jay doesn’t pass this on, you calling Heeseung your friend.

Jay eyes you, wetting his lips. His attention, having all of it, warms your skin. “I’m sure you are, YN. But this is my bed, so if I let you lay on it… what does that make me?” His eyes narrow, just a little. Just enough. There’s something behind them, a challenge to match his low voice.

Everything in your life feels so different now. You have new friends, a new address, different interests and opinions, but still, a very agitating part of you is moved by Jongseong. Charmed. “I think that would still make you my evil ex-boyfriend,” you say, more as a reminder to yourself than anything else. A mental marking of the words, do not open, on the overflowing can of worms with Jay’s name on it—a solution about as effective as sellotape around a broken bone.

He pulls air through his teeth, nodding. “Fair assessment.”

It’s been long enough that the vague dim shapes of his bedroom have sharpened into some form of clarity. The names and faces on the posters visible now: Oasis, Bon Jovi, Destiny’s Child. His desk is completely free of clutter, only housing a huge monitor, a notebook, a mouse and a keyboard. It seems in your absence, he’s gotten a grip on keeping tidy. Mounted on the wall above the guitar rack is the plastic guitar that came with the old copy of Guitar Hero you bought for him. Your heart twists in your chest.

“So this is your room,” you announce. And just like that, the pieces of Heeseung’s drunken puzzle slot into place before your very eyes—he was already wearing his hoodie.

Jay hums, a smile tugging his mouth up at the corners. “You like it?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, I’ve spent so long wondering what your life is like here. Where you hang out with your friends, if you still smoke. I’ve been really keen to find out your life is terrible.” You have no idea why you’re saying these things, but it’s difficult to stop now that you’ve started. “Seeing it though, seeing you on stage, seeing you at all. I’m really glad it isn’t, Jay.”

The crowd screaming his name. Singing along to lyrics he wrote. Of course he had to come here. There is no universe where Jay staying in Edinburgh, staying with you, was the right decision. All of those versions of reality play out in your head, split like a kaleidoscope—you are happy, Jay is not, there is more for him than you or Edinburgh can offer, and he resents you for that. Even if his method wasn’t ideal, he did the right thing by leaving, and the realisation forces a lump in your throat.

He mumbles your name, running his hand through his hair. The water makes it stay put like gel, pushed off his forehead, and his eyebrow piercing shimmers. “I didn’t even know you stayed here.”

“It was none of your business.”

“No, I… Yeah, you’re right, it wasn’t.” Jay looks like he has a billion things on his mind, you can practically hear the gears grinding against one another. “I’ve been wanting to see you is all. Catch up.”

A laugh bursts out of you, dry and bitter, as you stand up from the bed. “To catch up,” you repeat. “What, so you could tell me all about your perfect life in perfect London? So you could thank me for inspiring your discography?”

Jay’s jaw ticks when he clicks his tongue. “Do you think so low of me?”

“Hard not to.”

This seems to genuinely hurt him and some part of you takes delight in that fact. His face drops right away, a sad glimmer in his big eyes as he steps towards you. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay—more than.”

“I’m great, Jay.” You don’t bother wiping the first tear from your eye, but as soon as it falls, the floodgates open and there’s nothing you can do to close them. You can hardly see anything anymore, a fuzzy blob replaces Jay where he stands in front of you. “I just let go from a job I really loved and now I’m crying in my ex-boyfriend’s bedroom. Clearly, I’m…” Getting the words out is an effort so you stop, letting the sentence die around the block in your throat.

When you take your hands away from your leaking eyes, the heels of your palms are black with mascara and eyeliner, and Jay says nothing. He’s sitting on the end of the bed, hiding his face with his hands. In your head, a tiny drunk voice wills fervently for him to take you in his massive arms and pat your back. To rest his chin on the top of your head and tell you that it’s all going to be okay. That it’s all going to be good. You hate yourself for wanting that. For wanting him.

Instead, Jay looks up at you with wet eyes. “I really am sorry. It wasn’t meant to happen like that, I swear. I had everything planned out and I just… I don’t know.”

“After all this time, you’re telling me you don’t know why you did that to me?”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“Elaborate then.”

“Before I met you, all I did was keep to myself, study, and think about coming back to London. That was it, okay. Being in a relationship was the absolute last thing I wanted back then an—”

You scoff, cutting him off. “Good to know.”

“That’s not what I… I was sure about you, YN. From the start, I was sure about you.” The rest of what comes out of his mouth is secondary, background noise to this.

You feel those words, in your bones, with every single fibre of your being. Recognise them. Because it’s exactly how you felt. There wasn’t a single part of you that would have believed or accepted anything other than the fact that he was the one. Your one—right from the day you met, you knew you wanted him.

Jay sighs, the sag of his broad shoulders catching your attention. “But I couldn’t ask you to do long distance, it wouldn’t have been fair.”

“Fair?” you repeat, hardly believing your ears. “You think disappearing was fair?”

“I thought I was doing the right thing, that it would be easier for both of us that way.”

The thought of hearing him say anything else to defend himself turns your stomach. Worse is the fact that you actually want to hear him out, pick his brain on it. Ask all the questions you never had the chance to. Try to make sense of the mess and sort it all out. Sort yourself out, finally. You just need a minute. Need a minute to get your head on straight, and that’ll be impossible with Jay watching you the way he is, his glossy eyes boring into yours. You fling open the door to his ensuite and shut it behind you before he has the chance to keep speaking.

Heat from the shower hits you immediately, condensation lingering in the corners of the mirror. It’s a beautiful bathroom, glossy white and matte black fixings, a deep sink basin with lots of counter space and a roomy shower. His hand wash and lotion are perfectly lined up by the tap, his watch and some rings placed neatly in front of them as if he wanted to take up as little space as possible. Despite how much makeup stains your palms, your eyes don’t look as horrific as you thought they would, it’s the swelling and redness that makes you look awful. His Le Labo soap smells warm and green, lathering nicely over your fingers when you finally spot something amiss. A blister pack sits between the tap and the wall, all of the tiny white pills gone bar one. Sertraline, reads the foil over the front when you pick it up, and for the second time since you and Jay have come across each other again, you throw up in his vicinity, vomiting into the sink.

The lone tablet clatters to the floor at your feet.

“Are you okay?” Jay asks. The door does nothing to muffle his concern.

How could you possibly answer that? I’m grand! Only gone and found your antidepressants HAHAHA. His antidepressants. Just thinking the word in relation to Jay is enough to make you wretch again. Nothing comes out.

“May I come in?” To your silence, he continues, escalating from polite question to concerned statement. “I’m coming in, okay?”

While you fight for breath over the sink, Jay counts loudly from one to five before the door clicks open behind you. In the mirror, you see his eyes drift to the floor and widen. He picks up the blister pack and puts it in his pocket, aiming for subtle but being more overt than you’ve ever seen. “I saw it, Jay,” you say. “I know.”

He nods slowly like he’s coming to terms with what’s happened. As if he’s the one finding out about his diagnosis. “It’s uh… I’m okay,” he offers weakly, though his reassurance only makes you feel worse.

Your palms itch against the counter, desperate to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. To yell in his face that he doesn’t have to act like he’s alright with everything all the time. Finally, you’ve found something about Jay that hasn’t changed. What a shame it had to be this. “You’re okay,” you repeat, speaking the words more like an affirmation than anything else.

“I’m seeing someone about it and I have good people around me. I’m okay.”

A chill runs over your spine, pulls the hairs on your arms straight up, at the way he says it. This, for Jay, is simply a part of life now, as ordinary and boring as brushing his teeth before bed or tying his shoelaces before he leaves the house. You brace against the sink, screwing your eyes shut again. Nothing changes when you open them, you’re still in Jay’s bathroom and he is still depressed.

“How long?” you ask, as if his answer will make a difference.

He looks away when your gaze meets his in the mirror and shrugs, his shoulders rising and falling in a stiff motion. You don’t press him on it. Whether it’s been one year or one day, the point is that he’s unwell. And the gaping chasm between his life and yours is big enough that you had no idea. God, you’ve been so selfish.

Neither of you says anything else, but it’s not until there’s a thump at his bedroom door and a muffled apology called out through it that you realise. Both of you let out the exact same laugh, a huffed breath from your noses, which only makes the pair of you laugh properly when your eyes meet. The crinkle of his eyes is still a delight, still heats you up from the inside out.

More than anything, you are desperate for this silence to end, desperate to be saying something, making conversation. “So,” you start, clearing your throat. “About this family of mine in Carolina.”

Jay’s cheeks pinken, a sweet, rosy tinge blooming against his skin. “That was just something I thought sounded good.” He was right, unfortunately, it did sound good.

This fact, however, does nothing to stop the harsh pull of embarrassment in your stomach. “I was being presumptuous, sorry.”

“No, it was… that song is definitely about you,” Jay admits, for better or for worse. “They all are, when I write anyway.”

Jesus. You still had an entire discography to listen to, all based around the worst event of your life so far. Such is the plight of dating an artist, you suppose. In the midst of your irritation with him over that, and sick pleasure at knowing your relationship — you — had impacted him as much as it — he — had you, was a flare of curiosity. All of his unknowable thoughts, the things you wished he said, existed only a mere couple of clicks away. You could listen to them all right now, read the lyrics. Given the dedication of NAPE’s fanbase, you were certain multiple Twitter threads had been posted with line-by-line analysis.

“Great!” you say, cheeks aching with the stretch of your lips as you give him a thumbs-up. “Thanks, champ.”

His laugh is warm, filling the space between you. “I wrote it thinking about your…” Jay scratches at the back of his neck, cheeks growing pinker by the second. The colour spreads down his neck and over his chest. “You used to talk about riding camp, when you were younger. That pretty chestnut horse you rode as a kid.”

“Carolina,” you supply uselessly, the name hardly audible over the thud of your pulse in your ears.

“The one and only.”

You gulp. “And here I thought I was well behaved.”

“There was that too, of course there was.” He’s smiling, but you can’t bring yourself to do the same.

You’re not even sure if Aeri knows you went to riding camp. “I can’t believe you remembered that.” Some twisted part of you wonders what else he remembers, what other Easter eggs he’d left behind for you. For everyone.

He seems bewildered by this, his brows furrowing, head tilting. “Who could forget anything about you?” Each word is as sincere as the last, breeding a fascinating and surely singular type of hurt deep in the pit of your stomach.

“You know, I don’t usually throw up so often,” you blurt out, turning to the mess you left in the basin and flicking the tap on.

His reflection smiles in the mirror, leaning against the door frame. “Am I that bad?”

“You’re so much worse.”

“Four words every depressed person wants to hear.” He’s still smiling, his posture relaxed, slanted, but it’s the look in his eyes that gives him away, breaks your heart. How glossy they’ve become in the light.

“You’re really okay?”

Jay nods. “I’m okay.”

Every part of you aches to believe him, willing with every fibre of your being that he’s telling the truth. Okay isn’t good, but it’s a start, and soon he’ll be more than that. He has to be. Without a second thought you wrap your arms around him, feeling his warmth as he hugs you back. “I know I can’t take back or change what I did, but I really am sorry,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

And all of a sudden, it’s too much. His soft lips on your skin, the vibration into the crook of your neck. The familiar squeeze of his strong arms around you, his faint honeyed scent. The fact that despite everything, despite the frenzied red flags waving in your brain, you want to believe him. You do believe him.

You pull away, quickly, and take a huge step back, hitting your hip against the sink. “Do you have a spare toothbrush?”

Jay watches you for a moment, his eyes catching on each of your features like he’s seeing you for the first time. He clears his throat, scrunching his nose with a sniffle before speaking. “I might have a spare head for my electric somewhere.”

“Great,” you say, while he opens the cabinet with pursed lips. “Thanks.”

Those lips. You feel them while you brush your teeth alone in his bathroom, and while Jaehyun walks you home. While you shower, and while you collapse into bed. I really am sorry. God. How much easier this all would be if his belated apology fixed all of this.

jongseong 😽: Thank you for coming to the show, it really meant a lot to me having you there

you: No prob 👍

Under your face, your pillow muffles a would-be bloodcurling scream. “No prob, thumbs-up emoji…?” you repeat into the fabric, affronted by your word choice.

you: Just texted “no prob” unironically

minjeong: To who 😭

you: Rhymes with Jark Pongseong

minjeong: You should have said YES prob or ALL prob in fact you shouldn’t even have responded to whatever that freak loser (VERY DEROGATORY) said to my sweet angel girl

you: It was kind of sweet tbf, he thanked me for going to the gig and then said it meant a lot to him

Minjeong calls you immediately. You answer but can’t say anything for the genuine wave of fear that crashes over you. Through the phone you hear the click of her heels against the pavement, rumble of traffic, roaring engines and beeping horns, the soundtrack to the functioning woman’s afternoon. “You are the lostest cause of them all,” she says. “I thought you were over this insane person.”

“I am over him. I am also allowed to think he is very good looking and incredible onstage.”

“Shut up!” Minjeong sighs. “Also, did you take my coat when you stayed? The wool one?”

“I wish.”

“I’m hanging up now.” Three beeps follow her words, and her black wool coat stares at you from the open wardrobe.

The room spins around you when you sit up from bed. You can feel your brain swooshing around in your skull. Waking up hungover in last night’s makeup and outfit is never a treat, especially not when last night’s makeup is coming off of your face in crumbs every time you blink, and the outfit is a tank top and Aeri’s sequin microshorts. Somehow you make it to the kitchen where you sway by the counter and make a cup of black coffee, flinching at the sound of Aeri’s key twisting in the lock.

“Ugh, the show was perfect, YJ! It really sucks you couldn’t make it, but I know they’ve got some other gigs coming around the city so I’ll text you deets, alright?” she says. “I dropped my film off after yoga this morning, but I was so drunk last night… not hopeful.” Her voice gets louder in the hallway, an ear-splitting squeal sounding through the flat as she approaches and blows a kiss down the phone before appearing in the doorway. “Hey, you!” The grin on her face is wide and shows all of her teeth.

“Hey,” you say, it’s the only thing you can muster as you watch her lean in the doorframe, decked out in a matching brown workout set that ALO sent her in PR.

Her eyebrows give a suggestive wag as she says in a singsong voice, “Guess who I had breakfast with?”

The full scope of Aeri’s circle is still unclear to you, so the answer could be anyone. Playing it safe, you simply ask, “Who?”

“Your boyfriend! Almost boyfriend.”

“And that would be…”

“Don’t be coy, YN. Jay told me all about last night.”

“Jay?” It’s a wonder that your eyes don’t fall from their sockets—it would’ve shocked you less if she’d suggested that Byeon Wooseok was your boyfriend.

“I wanted to put in a good word for you, but he already wants you bad. Never seen anything like that, he asked a million questions about you. If I didn’t have to get home to shoot I’d still be there telling him about your commute.”

“He doesn’t. At all.” You clench your fists behind your back, denting half-moons into your palms with your fingernails. “We dated for a few years at uni, but he…” The sting isn’t enough to distract you from the swoop in your stomach, so you settle instead for clawing at the back of your hand. “He had to move back home and we agreed it would be better to end things.” No matter how many times you say it, it doesn’t get any easier.

Aeri’s face flickers through the full spectrum of human emotion, never quite settling on one.

“I know I should have said something earlier, it’s just…” Embarrassing. It’s embarrassing that not only can Jay live without you, he can thrive. Meanwhile, you can’t even secure a job interview. “I don’t know.”

Finally, she pulls you into a hug, all citrus and sweat, and you sink into her arms. “I have two pieces of good news and one piece of bad news. What do you want first?” she asks, pulling away just enough to look at you.

Clearing your throat, you ask, “Can you do good news, bad news, good news? Like a sandwich?”

Aeri leans against the island opposite you, smiling. “Okay, good news: you don’t owe me, or anyone else, every last detail about your life, and given the whole me dating your ex-boyfriend’s best friend thing, I get why you kept that from me, alright? You don’t need to apologise for that. The bad news is that said ex-boyfriend is definitely still in love with you, but — and this is the next good part — you guys broke up because he didn’t think he could have London and you, right?”

Put simply, “Yes.”

“You’re in London now, you’re both single…” Aeri lets her eyes and hands spell out the rest of her sentence.

“Jay doesn’t… It’s not like that.”

“Okay,” she says, though you can tell she doesn’t buy it. “What about you? Do you still want him?”

What you really want, more than anything, is to feel secure. To feel like the people in your life won’t just up and leave at any given moment. You want to be with someone you can rely on, someone dependable. A person you can call and know they’ll answer—or at least call you back. You’re not sure if that person is Jay.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“You don’t need to know that right now. What you need is to sit down,” Aeri says, guiding you by the shoulders to one of the stools under the island. “Watching you sway like that is giving me a hangover by association. I’ll make you something to eat.”

She makes you a cup of herbal tea and some fruit topped French toast with bacon. You inhale it before she shoos you out of the kitchen. “You need to sleep this shit off, okay? We need to leave at eight tomorrow morning.”

Fuck. She’d agreed to let you tag along on her work day tomorrow so you’d finally have something interesting to post on Substack. You didn’t realise that would involve facing the public so early in the day. “Of course!”

yizhuo: dear sweetcheeks bubblegum fairy woman consider this our final correspondence as i’m literally about to die idk who the fuck was sick near me but they got me brother stay safe also tell that fuckface riki he can stop praying on my downfall ok it worked.

you: i’ll pass that message along for you… get well soon angel pie dream lady :( do u need me to bring anything by for you?

yizhuo: jimin’s playing sexy nurse this weekend dw i’m right wehre i wanna be 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 in other more relevant news, interview is opening another office…….good day for the unemployed, look how many openings there are !!!

Her next message has fifteen links, and those are just the jobs you’re qualified for. These must be the millions of doors Somi was talking about. In a full-bellied haze, you write a new cover letter and apply to every last one of them. After that, with renewed pep in your hungover step, you climb back into bed and watch as many episodes of Pretty Little Liars as you can handle without breaking the screen in half at the sight of Mr. Fitz and his minor-student-girlfriend Aria. It’s two. You manage two episodes and sleep for the rest of the day.

At eight in the morning, when Aeri is ready to leave, you have, unfortunately, reached the end of your life. And as it turns out, Jennifer’s Body had it all wrong, hell is not a teenage girl. If only. Hell, you’re learning, is whatever strain of the common cold is currently nerfing your immune system.

Shivering under your duvet, you scroll through the pictures you took after the gig, smiling, laughing, completely oblivious to the fact that those would be some of your last moments on this mortal plane. Probably you’ll never, ever drink again. Never do anything again. Your throat is swollen. Raw and painful when you swallow. A dull ache reaches all of your joints, weighing them down. Swallowing ibuprofen is a tear-inducing, Herculean task, but you manage, and finally, sleep comes over you.

For the next few hours, you fade in and out of slumber until you quit trying. Your throat still hurts, but the swelling is down. When you blow your nose into your last tissue, your ears pop and the thumping in your head is actually at the front door. The Grim Reaper here to… well, reap, you suppose. He even knows your name and yells it incessantly like some sort of evil, murderous baby who’s just learned a new word. Gun! Knife! YN! It’s only after your fourth, weak, attempt at calling out for Aeri that you remember she’s not home, and quickly resign to your fate, dragging yourself out of bed and then all the way to the door. Against the wall you catch your breath before pulling it open.

“I’m not here to bother—” Jay stops short.

“Jay?” He is hazy and beautiful in front of you. His sunglasses hold his hair away from his face, and none of the three buttons on his black polo shirt are done up, exposing just enough of his collarbone and chest to make your cheeks heat up. He is the cruel mirage of an oasis in the desert. “Jay,” you say again, reaching out your aching arm to touch him.

Against your fingertip, he is completely solid and real, which is more than a little mortifying. He looks down to where your hand touches his chest, where your hand is still, for some reason, touching his chest. He grabs your wrist, his touch soft but scorching through your long sleeve, and puts your arm back down at your side carefully. “You’re sick.”

“A little.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, wearing his thinking face. Head tilted, tongue poking out between his soft pink lips, the same way he would when he was trying to calculate how long it might take your food delivery to reach your place, and if there was enough time for the two of you to share the shower first. “I just need to get Heeseung’s computer and then I’ll be out of your hair. You need to put on something warm.”

You step aside to let Jay into the flat and he goes straight to Aeri’s room, coming back with a laptop tucked under his arm. He inspects you from head to toe and frowns. “Drink some tea, okay? Lemon and ginger with lots of honey.” It’s the last thing he says before he disappears.

Heeding Doctor Jay’s advice, you use the last sliver of your energy to hobble into the kitchen so you can make yourself a cup of lemon and ginger tea with lots of honey. Equipped with a steaming mug, you go back to your room where you pull a jumper on and stuff yourself into your dressing gown, before crawling back into bed. As soon as your head hits the pillow, you fall asleep, lemon and ginger tea with lots of honey cooling down on your nightstand, untouched.

It’s Jay’s gentle voice that rouses you out of your thick sleep, saying your name over and over until your eyes open. “Hey,” he says, his palm massive on your arm. His glasses slip down the straight bridge of his nose but he doesn’t push them up. “Aeri gave me her keys and I—”

“Aeri’s at work,” you say, correcting him.

He smiles. “Yeah, I just saw her.”

“She’s on the other end of the city.”

“So here’s the cool thing about London — and you might not know this — but we have this thing called the Tube and it got me there and back.”

“But it’s so… it’s like an hour one way.”

Jay waves a dismissive hand, his smile unwavering. “Forty-five minutes.”

The words he’s saying are all words you’ve come across. Words for which you know the dictionary definition and spelling, but it’s taking a lot for your brain to make sense of them and their implications in these particular sequences, coming from him. Fuzzy-headed, you lie back down, sinking into the pillow and screwing your eyes shut.

“You okay?” When you open your eyes, he’s watching you with an arched brow, inspecting you like you are fungi on a petri dish and not his dying ex-girlfriend.

“The common cold doesn’t normally kill people, right?”

Instead of laughing or being charmed by these, your final words, he tilts his head. “Well, it can lead to more severe forms of sickness like pneumonia or sepsis, which could, quite easily, kill you, yes,” he says, delivering the information to you in a tone that suggests he was reading about this on the way over.

This had been one of your favourite things about Jay, his insatiable curiosity and willingness to share what he’d learned with whoever was around. He could talk about any subject for hours and you were always keen to listen. It got to the point that you would direct your queries to him instead of the Google search bar, just for a reason to text him. Hey Jay, is thirty minutes too long to cook a steak? Way too long??? I’m coming over. Hey Jay, what’s the name of that Bon Jovi song you played for me? Hi beautiful, it’s called Always :). Hi baby, would you still love me if I was a worm? I’m always going to love you, YN. No matter what.

“Great, Jay. Thanks.” You lean up on your elbows, coughing with your mouth open like a child. “Still a fount of knowledge, I see.”

Bright red blooms over his cheeks and neck. “As always,” he says, though he doesn’t seem happy about this fact, scrunching his nose. “I… uh… I made you some soup.”

“Your mum’s dakgaejang?” you whisper. To his sheepish smile, you mumble, “That shit could cure anything.”

“It always did,” Jay agrees, lifting the steaming bowl from your desk. He gasps at something, putting the bowl back down and holding up a magazine for you to look at. The magazine, with him and the rest of NAPE on the cover. “Wow, I had no idea you liked us this much,” he says, flipping through the pages to find the article.

It hurts to roll your eyes, but you do it anyway. “Don’t flatter yourself, Park. I bought it because it was my first printed write-up.” And last, you do not add.

The lump in your throat is immediate and all-consuming. Seeing the magazine was a real shock, knowing that — though uncredited — you had left a mark on the world, no matter how small. And that thousands of NAPE fans around the country, and in all nations that print Daydream Mag, had you to thank for transcribing the interview. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. Jay’s eyes turn glassy and his gaze falls to the pages once more, running his finger over the words, your words. The thud of your heart in your ears pads the silence. You wonder if he’s thinking what you were, that you’ve both made it. Both of your dreams unspooling before your very eyes, and somehow, after all these years, your paths found a way to cross again. In print, no less.

At least, that’s how it felt before you lost your job.

“Wow,” Jay whispers. “This is really special, YN. You’re amazing.”

The article wasn’t much to write home about. And sure, when you found out, some of your work friends treated you to drinks that evening, and got a celebratory cake made. And yes, you called your mum in happy tears from the office toilet. But seeing Jay make a fuss over it on your behalf is nothing short of humiliating. Your cheeks burn at the sight—a chart-topping artist praising the ex-girlfriend he ghosted over some paragraphs no one else knew she wrote.

God, what a joke.

“You’re the one who said all the words, and the guys.” You fiddle with the loose thread at the top of your duvet cover. “All I did was read some notes, watch a recording and type it all up.”

He shakes his head and in a blink, he’s crouching by the side of your bed, looking up at you with huge eyes. “That was our first big feature, my mum cut out the parts about me and stuck them to the fridge. Heeseung’s parents got it blown up and framed for the living room.”

“Anybody could’ve written it.”

“I know, but ‘anybody’ didn’t write it.” Jay’s eyes search yours, like he’s begging you to see where he’s coming from, that he means it. “You did.”

It’s only when you cough, a harsh rattle in your throat, that he seems to remember himself, remember the situation and the dakgaejang on your desk. Without a word, he helps you sit up in bed, propping your pillow up before bringing the soup over on a tray. Steam curls up from the bowl, heating your face, and the first spoonful is rich and spicy and perfect. Tender shredded chicken and soft vegetables. A long, contended hum rumbles out of you. “Holy shit,” you murmur, already feeling your blocked nostrils starting to open up. It tastes more like a memory than anything else. Like Jay’s broad shoulders in the kitchen, standing over your stove. His hoodie over your shoulders and the soft hum of the washing machine as you watched him cook. Like cuddling on the couch with a stranger and asking him to stay. Whether it was period-induced sensitivity or that food really was the quickest way to someone’s heart, you fell for him that night.

Jay gives a firm nod. “Alright, I know I’m not exactly who you’d want to spend your time with, so is there someone I could call to look after you? At least until Aeri gets off work?”

Hearing it from him, the reminder that he has a life and things to worry about that no longer include you stings the backs of your eyes. Another cold symptom, probably. You take another glorious spoonful of rice and soup, chewing slowly.

“I’ll call Riki when my phone’s back on.”

As if on cue, your phone starts to life, a black and white film strip of you and Aeri staring up at you from the lockscreen. Jay chews his lip, watching you with his hands on his hips, clearly eager to leave, and, to his luck, Riki answers on the first ring. “Yo, YN. What you saying?” he asks, delighted as the music in the background comes to a stop.

“Are you busy?”

“Not really — ow — okay, yeah, I’m kind of busy. What’s good, though? You alright?”

Your cuticles sting where your thumb bothers them, picking at the raw skin unthinkingly. Terrified of admitting to Riki that you need him, you say, “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Talk later, yeah?”

“Safe,” he says and cuts the phone.

Jay raises a brow. “It’s okay to ask for help when you need it. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you say, trying to convince yourself. “I’ll call Somi then Jaehyun.”

“No!” he blurts out, covering his mouth with his palm as if he can push the words back in. “I mean, you don’t need to bother him when I’m here, I could stay. If you want me to stay, I can stay.”

There’s no time to overthink his reaction, nor is there time to overthink the flutter in your chest at the sight of it, because as soon as he’s done speaking, you’re already saying, “You can stay.”

He only nods and stays there, standing over you. He is very still. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. Or blinking. Unless he’s blinking at the exact same time you are.

“You can also sit on the bed if you want,” you offer.

He gestures vaguely towards his body. “These are my outside clothes.”

You could have laughed at that, the idea that maybe his smart trousers and the Ralph Lauren polo shirt tucked into them were his casual inside clothes. Unfortunately, because he is Jay, and you are you, you’re too busy being struck by his remembering such a mundane detail to joke around. A silly thing you’ve since grown out of worrying about. You point him towards the drying rack in the living room where Heeseung had left some laundry. You’re not sick enough to tell Jay he can change in front of you, but you are sick enough to picture it as he closes your door behind him.

Sick enough to picture the smooth expanse of his back, muscles flexing while he pulls his T-shirt over his head. The cinch of his waist, the unfairly round curve of his ass, his Calvin Klein boxer briefs clinging to him like a second skin. His toned arms and thighs. It only takes a second for him to come back, fully dressed, in Heeseung’s grey sweatpants and white Henley that hugs his biceps. You open your mouth to say something casual like, I wasn’t picturing you naked, or you look nice in clothes, but he uses the bottom of his shirt to clean off his glasses and the sight winds you. Dark ink sticks out of his waistband, round edges touching his waist.

“You…” The sentence dies on its way out, your finger shaking as you point at him. “When did you get that?”

“Get wha—Oh.” He looks down at his side, the tips of his ears burning pink. “Two years ago? Last year? I don’t really remember.” Putting his glasses back on, he lifts the left side of his shirt properly, tugging at his waistband too. Only a little, only enough to make your heart race and show the word, nape, written in huge swirling cursive. “Hurt so bad, but it’s pretty, right?”

Pretty sexy, more like. “Yeah. Pretty,” you agree, willing for him to stop showing off his skin before you do something unwise.

“I actually have a couple now.”

The rest of Jay’s tattoos, all one of them, are very tiny and very him—a treble clef behind his right ear. He blushes when you tell him you like it, giving a sheepish smile as he gets under the covers beside you, careful not to knock your bowl over.

“You’re not scared of getting sick?”

“Nah.” Jay shakes his head. “I’m sure you’ll take good care of me if I do.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, focusing on your dakgaejang instead of your blushing cheeks.

When you finish eating you take a nap, eventually waking to the long set sun and Jay bringing over a cup of tea and some paracetamol. He crouches by your side and feels your forehead with the back of his hand. “How’re you feeling, sleepyhead?”

“Is Aeri home?”

“She texted saying she was going to crash at ours. With Heeseung.”

“Do you think you could stay over?” you ask slowly.

Jay tilts his head, eyebrows meeting in the middle. He’s as taken aback by your request as you are. For a long while, he simply stares up at you, like he’s waiting for you to take it back. You don’t. And so, finally, he nods and says, “I can stay over. Absolutely, I can stay over.”

After a surprisingly restful night of sleep, your second day with the cold begins with your head on Jay’s chest and your leg around him. Neither of you says anything about that.

For breakfast, he makes toast soldiers and beans, and you can’t contain your excitement, even though it hurts your throat to speak. “This was, like, the only breakfast I ate when I was little,” you gush, taking a picture to show your mum. “Especially when I was sick. This is perfect, Jay. Thank you.”

From the other side of the table, he watches you dunk a strip of buttered toast into your dippy egg with a smile on his face. “I know, YN. I’m just glad you still like it.”

You sniff, ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks and neck—Yizhuo was right, this cold is no joke. Rubbing your hands together, you let crumbs fall to your plate and pull your dressing gown tighter around yourself, redoing the belt.

Back in bed, you warm your hands against a cup of tea while Jay opens your laptop. He insists there is a YouTube video you must see, but when he opens the site, the very first video is NAPE Swap Favourite Snacks | Snacked, uploaded fifteen minutes ago. Great. As it turns out, you had it all wrong, hell is not the common cold. Hell, you’re learning, is whatever the fuck is happening to you right now. This cannot be real life. All you did was watch that stupid video of them spotting each other’s lies. And then the one where they played most likely to with Variety. And showed Glamour what was on their phones.

Every inch of your body burns. “I didn’t put that there,” you blurt out. “Should we watch it ironically?”

A shudder racks through Jay and he scowls. “I kind of do not like to… look at myself. At all. So, no. Thanks though.”

Nothing about his tone or demeanour suggest that he’s joking. The thought that someone so beautiful, that Jay, could feel that way seems senseless. “If I had that face…”

“You’d what?” His straight teeth dent his bottom lip, curious eyes roving your face. Whatever insecurities plagued him a second ago are long forgotten now apparently. To your silence, he says, “I’m glad you don’t have my face, I really like yours.”

When this is all said and done, you’ll have to see a doctor about whatever part of the cold is making your heart race like this. “Just show me the video,” you mumble.

“Yes, ma’am.”

What if forks were made of salt? is eight minutes and twenty-four seconds of some white guy asking and answering what you now feel is an essential question. What if forks were made of salt? Would every bite of steak be perfect? Glossing over the mild existentialism at the end, the video is uplifting, awe-inspiring.

So much so that you and Jay discuss it for an hour before he says, “I bought one.”

Your jaw drops. “No way.”

“Yeah way! I’ll let you try it ou—” Jay’s ringing phone cuts him off and steals the smile from his lips. “Fuck,” he mutters, wiping his face with his palm. “Sorry. I’ve been ducking our manager’s calls, kind of, so I have to take this.”

Nosiness gets the better of you. “Put it on speaker.”

Jay obliges, screwing his eyes shut like he’s bracing himself. Through the phone, his manager’s voice is soft, kind, when he launches straight into his spiel. “I’m trying to bear with you here. I get it, I swear, but if you don’t have lyrics, can you just tell me that? We’ll figure it out, but you need to let me help you.”

Immediately, you regret asking Jay to put the phone on speaker, feeling your stomach drop.

He lets a quiet second pass before sighing. “I don’t have lyrics, Sunoo.” At this, the groan that comes through the phone is never-ending. “Yet,” he adds, rubbing his temples.

“I really did not want you to say that.” Sunoo sighs. “But it’s okay. See, you told me the truth and nothing bad happened. We’ll work something out, okay. Just take it easy, talk to your bandmates, and answer your fucking phone when I call you.”

“Got it.”

Sunoo cuts the phone abruptly and Jay hides his face in his hands, ears burning red.

“Ar—” He utters your name, interrupting you. “Yeah?”

“I don’t really want to talk about this right now.”

You reach out for him, palm resting on his knee and giving it a squeeze. He rests his calloused palm over your hand, locking his fingers with yours. There goes your heart, racing again. And what’s left of the day passes in half-awake snippets. The opening scene of The Matrix here, some spoonfuls of hot soup there, until you finally settle down for the night next to Jay. He falls asleep first, his strong arm around your shoulders holding you close. The thump of his heart is soothing as a lullaby. His chest rises and falls steadily with his slow breathing, in stark contrast to the shallow breaths you’re fighting for, until finally, you fall asleep too.

Hours later, a coughing fit wakes you up, skin damp with a cold sweat as you lean over your side of the bed. It’s relentless, each wheezy hack aching a spot in the back of your skull—your throat has never hurt so much in your life. Jay rushes out of the bed and comes back with a cup of water, rubbing circles on the wet fabric of your t-shirt with his palm while you try to catch your breath. When you manage to, you drink the water in gulps, finishing it quickly while he squints at the boxes on your nightstand before opening one of them—antiseptic throat spray. He pushes your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ears and watching you with worry in his massive eyes. “Can you open up for me, baby?” he asks softly. When you do, he positions the nozzle between your lips and clears his throat. “It’s going to be a little uncomfortable, yeah?”

You nod, blinking with heavy eyelids. He sprays it three times and it takes a lot of work not to gag. A little uncomfortable might be the understatement of the century, but already the menthol is soothing your throat.

“There you go,” he murmurs, taking the spray out of your mouth. “Atta girl.” His large palm rests on your cheek, his thumb wiping your tears.

At this, at all of it — him being here, doing this for you with no complaints — your stomach is in knots. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, keeping his hand in place. “Why are you being so nice to me?” you croak.

In the lamplight, his eyes flicker over every part of your face before he sniffs. “Let’s try and get some sleep.”

“Jongseong…” His full name slips out of you, like you’re back in uni. Like you’re back together—still together.

He says nothing, only closing the lid on the spray and helping you lie back down before joining you in bed. He doesn’t say anything when you curl into his side or when he wraps his arms around you.

Then, right when you blink for the last time, you feel the rumble of his chest against your ear. He says, “You make it so easy.”

It’s another three days before you feel better and Jay spends all of them at your side. At the end of it all, though there’s no reason for Jay to stay any longer, hugging him goodbye is bittersweet. But in all of your time apart, your phone doesn’t get much rest from seeing his name on it. And you don’t get sick of texting him back. Texting him first.

you: We’re having a movie night on Friday!!! Heeseung is coming so I was wondering if you wanted to come along too? Also it would be nice to see you again if you’re not sick of seeing me

you: Or just sick in general… how are you feeling actually?

jongseong 😽: That sounds really nice!!! I’d love to join you guys thank you for thinking of me ❤️

jongseong 😽: Who could ever be sick of seeing you? If anything I’m surprised you’re not sick of me

jongseong 😽: This is a serious emergency ik it’s 8am but please text back

jongseong 😽: HIIIII can u reply rn

jongseong 😽: Heeseung said you liked the choux vanilles from Toad’s so I picked some up for you even though you did NOT reply in my time of need. Are you home? I’ll leave these at your doorstep and get out your hair

you: THANK YOU THANKY OUU THANK YOU THANK YOU

you: You can come in! I’m getting ready to meet Yizhuo for breakfast but maybe we can head out together?

jongseong 😽: Sounds goood!!!

jongseong 😽: It was really nice seeing you yesterday morning, even if it was only for a little bit. I didn’t mean to make it weird and ik that doesn’t make it any better but I’m really sorry

you: Noooo!!! I swear you didn’t make anything weird, I had a lot of fun with you and I wish we could have spent more time together!

When Heeseung arrives for movie night an hour early, he arrives alone—not counting the two bottles of wine and three pints of ice cream he brought with him. “Hey!” he says, smiling from ear to ear. “You look well, I’ve heard awful things.”

You roll your eyes, taking his offerings and letting him in. “Trust me, it was much worse than whatever you heard.”

“Five days with Jay though, how was that?” he asks in a sing-song voice, following you into the kitchen. At this, your smile is immediate and very wide, so much so that he raises his brows, beaming too. “Wow, that good, huh?”

You turn away, putting the wine in the fridge and the ice cream in the freezer, trying your best to look any less elated. “Did you ask him?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Heeseung shakes his head, sinking into one of your dining chairs at the table. He is quiet for long enough to make you wonder if you’d imagined that second night, what he’d said. You make it so easy. Five simple words that your mind has allowed to colour the rest of the week, and all of your conversations since, rosy. To think harder about how Jay cooked an endless supply of dakgaejang for you and Aeri, restocking your groceries afterwards. How you sat with your back to the bathtub while he washed your hair over the edge of it.

Five simple words that may have been nothing more than that.

Finally, Heeseung says, “I didn’t have to ask, he was texting me nightly updates and gave me a full debrief when he got back.”

“Wow,” you repeat. “That good, huh?”

Shrugging off his jacket, he nods. “Better—” He stops short at the sight of Aeri in the doorway. She’s in her pyjamas, scrunching her wet hair in an old T-shirt and holding her phone to her ear. A great big grin tugs his lips up at the corners, scrunches his eyes. “Hey, baby,” he says, pulling her into his arms, splashes of pink hitting his white T-shirt when he leans down to peck her lips.

She seems just as delighted, holding the speaker against her chest as she looks at you to ask, “Is it you that hasn’t tried that mussels from Lilly’s?” When you nod she puts the phone back to her ear. “Could you add another portion of mussels and black bean sauce to the order, please? Okay, perfect, see you at eight!”

Just the mention of food makes your stomach grumble, hunger taking over as if you didn’t have a bowl of rice and stew an hour ago. From the mini charcuterie board you’d been preparing before Heeseung arrived, you eat a slice of smoky chorizo. And another. Aeri joins you, lifting the wedge of cheddar you bought earlier and taking a bite straight out of it. She hums, pleased, while you watch in horror.

“So that’s actually for sharing,” you point out belatedly.

“It’s only you two.” Shrugging, she puts the cheese down, cutting off her teeth mark. “And Jay,” she adds, looking around as if he might pop out from behind something. “Where is he anyway?”

“On his way. Probably?” Heeseung suggests.

“Probably? You live together, what do you mean probably?” Aeri asks.

“I’ve been out all day. Shall I ring him and see?”

You shake your head. “We’re not watching anything until eight o’clock, he’s got half an hour.”

Armed with snacks, you all set up the living room together. Charcuterie plate in the middle of the table for easy access while you wait for dinner, chilled wine and carton of apple juice, the coveted final packet of salt & vinegar crisps which you plan to steal so Jay can have them. Aeri’s in control of the remote, so the three of you watch YouTube videos of eighteen-year-olds playing Dress to Impress on Roblox while you wait for food and Jay to arrive. Eight p.m. comes quickly and with no sign of either, though it seems like you’re the only one to take notice as Aeri and Heeseung are fully locked in on rating the looks coming down the runway.

“One star.” He groans, gesturing at the TV with both of his palms, furious. “The theme was sea monster, why are you wearing a beret and holding an ice cream cone?”

It’s half-eight when your takeaway arrives, and your phone lights up in your lap.

jongseong 😽: Can’t make it tonight

jongseong 😽: Sorry

Not many things can wipe the Lilly’s-induced smile from your face, but this does the job. In a split second. Worsened by the fact that he doesn’t say anything else. Beside you, Heeseung and Aeri open every container, humming with increased volume and enthusiasm at the sight and smell of each new part of your meal.

jongseong 😽: Tied up with recording but I would’ve loved to see you!

You split a pair of wooden chopsticks, stealing a salt & chilli covered chip from the box in Aeri’s lap. She doesn’t stop you. Nor does she complain when you take more. Heeseung hands you an oil-spotted brown paper bag, chicken balls, but still, the stir in your stomach persists, disappointment rather than hunger.

jongseong 😽: Are you free in the morning? Coffee date?

jongseong 😽: *coffee run

you: No worries!!!!! A coffee date sounds really nice :)

you: *coffee run

jongseong 😽: :)

Locking your phone, you tuck it under your thigh and reach over to open a bottle of the wine Heeseung brought. “Jay can’t make it,” you say, hating how small and upset you sound. Heeseung frowns and Aeri squeezes your knee. You’re the one who presses play on the remote, and Superbad’s opening credits start up, while the empty spot to your left gets colder and colder.

jongseong 😽: Hiiiii sorry again about last night, are we still on for this morning?

jongseong 😽: Ik it’s so early hahaha

You almost drop your toothbrush in the sink at the sight of his name in your phone, rushing to text back.

you: Wowwwww Park, are you trying to bail on me already…? Again? Sick.

jongseong 😽: No way! I’ve already left the flat!!!

Right away, a picture of Jay on the Tube appears in the thread, his smiling cheeks and eyes poking out over the top of a thick black scarf. You heart-react to the picture then remove it, replacing it with a friendly thumbs-up instead—there is, however, no fix for the butterflies in your stomach. The heat in your cheeks. You gargle mouthwash and pack your bag before running off to go meet him at once. So excited, so jittery, you can’t even read the thriller you packed for the commute.

Through the café window, you see Jay before he sees you. He’s drumming his fingers against the table, lips pressed together, his eyes on the door. His hair is short and styled so it sits up off his forehead, spiky sort of. You’ve never seen it as short as this. It’s good, you think, that you’ve seen him first, because now you can turn on your heel and go home to address the thump in your chest. As if feeling your eyes on him, he turns around, gaze meeting yours right away, and a grin breaks out over his face. Crinkles his eyes. Dimples his cheek. Takes your breath away. You can’t help but smile too as you hurry inside. He’s standing when you reach the table.

“Hey,” Jay says, pulling you into a hug that smells like honey and smoke and doesn’t last nearly long enough. “I really am sorry about last night.”

“Don’t worry about it, you’re here now.”

He nods, grinning. “I like your jacket, it’s cute.”

“Right? It’s Minjeong’s.” You look up at him, overwhelmed by the closeness of his face to yours, by the handsomeness of said close face. “You cut your hair,” you say, because it’s the only thought you’re having that has nothing to do with how good he looks and smells.

Jay’s lips curl into a sheepish smile. “Thanks for noticing.”

“Of course.” You nod. “You look like a baby.”

And there it is again, that grin. A laugh. “Great, because that’s exactly what I was going for. Thank you, YN.” He gestures to the table, at the steaming mug across from his seat. “I got you a latte.”

He really did! And the art on top of it is really normal!! It’s a love heart!!! And your actual heart is beating at a rate others might hear and think: wow, she’s being really normal right now! Hey, everybody!! Come take a look at how normal she’s being!!!

“Are you ageist?” you ask, taking your seat. To his furrowed brows, you continue. “There’s nothing wrong with looking like a baby. I was a baby once, you know.”

Jay sits down slowly, studying you over the rim of his cup and taking a long sip before he says, “I was too.”

Something about it all, seeing him like this, in a café and not studying, is strange. Jay was big on brewing his own coffee, steeping his own tea—exam season was the only justifiable time to splurge on delicious multi-hyphenate beverages. You take a sip of your own drink and try to come up with something normal to say, settling on, “I can’t believe we’re getting a coffee and it was your idea.”

“I don’t really drink anymore, my medication doesn’t… like that very much.”

“Jay, it’s nine o’clock,” you point out. “Oh… my God.” You cover your hand with your mouth, horrified, and leap to make things better. “I’m not judging you.”

“I didn’t mean I’d drink at this time. Jesus, YN. I’m not Scottish.”

“Okay, so you’re judging me.”

“I can’t help it, that’s just my God given right as a… sort of English person. Asking me not to judge you would be like asking me to kill myself.”

“Really desirable?” You sigh as soon as the words come out. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, guilt washing over you.

Jay’s eyes widen and his jaw drops, a surprised, contagious, laugh rushing out of him. He covers his face with his hands while you watch in horror. “Anyway, I was going to ask, how long do you have to stay somewhere before you can claim it?”

He’s still smiling. Your heart is still racing.

“I think it’s more of a feeling,” you say finally.

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Jay lifts his notebook from the table, stuffing it into his jacket pocket. “You look a lot better since I last saw you, I was starting to think there was something about being near me that was making you sick, you know? Three times is a pattern and all that.”

“We saw each other two days ago.”

“For ten minutes,” he points out.

Ten minutes that you spent the rest of the day poring over, recounting every single detail, every little thing that led to him kissing your cheek when he said goodbye.

“Well, I only just got here, so I’m not sure we can rule it out yet.” Racing heart, turning stomach, breathlessness—symptoms of post-acute infection, apparently. You offer a weak chuckle. “Thanks again for looking after me, you really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. And besides, it was nice spending time with you.” Jay smiles. “How’ve you been?”

“Just the usual.”

“I don’t really know what your usual is these days,” he admits too casually for the weight of it all.

“Right… uh, I’ve been—” You try to think about it, wondering what usual means to you. It used to be so simple. Your usual used to be studying with Jay before and after classes. Sharing every meal you could when time permitted. Ending the night together at his place or yours, even if you’d spent the day apart. He used to be your usual.

“I had an interview yesterday morning. At ‘Interview,’ and I think it went well,” you say, voice high pitched and trailing off towards the end. Worried about jinxing yourself, you hadn’t told anyone about it, not even Yizhuo who sent you the job posting. But now that you’ve said the words out loud, to Jay, you can’t bring yourself to stop. “But my friend told me they’re interviewing until the end of the month, so it might be a bit before I hear anything. I’m feeling good about it though, my portfolio is strong, and it’s versatile — at least that’s what the recruiter said — so I should have a shot for a few of the jobs there if I don’t get this particular one.”

Jay’s face lights up with every word you say, as if you’ve let him in on something secret, something precious.

“I didn’t mean to talk your ear off,” you say, hiding behind a warm sip of coffee.

His smile takes over his face, ear to ear and so delighted. Pink kisses the tips of his ears, the apples of his cheeks. “Luckily I have two ears, and they really love your voice so…” He trails off, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed by his own sincerity. “I’m really happy to hear that, YN. I want all of your good news. And the bad stuff too—everything.”

Suddenly sheepish, you direct the question back towards him, asking what’s been keeping him busy lately. His smile is immediate and wide. “I’ve been writing like crazy since I last saw you.” Jay tilts his head, chewing on his bottom lip, but his smile doesn’t budge. “It’s stupid but it sort of feels like I can… see or something now, again. If that makes sense.”

“Not at all.” You can’t help but smile too. “Tell me everything.”

Pressing his lips together, Jay lets his gaze flick towards the window, looking out at the quiet street. Across the road is a deserted play park with swings that sway in the wind. A fish-shaped spring rocker does the same, bobbing gently. A man pushes a pram. Jay opens his mouth and says, “It’s like I’ve been walking around blindfolded for the last few years and someone finally took it off of me, and now I can see and there’s—” He stops short, biting his lip as his eyes fall on the swirls in his coffee. And then flick up to meet yours. “Well now there’s so much light again.”

You clear your throat, your mind a storm, thoughts unclear over the rush of your blood, the pounding of your heart in your ears. The latte he got you, while delicious, does nothing to calm the raging waters. It feels so pointed, too pointed to ignore. You were startlingly aware of how your five-day fever dream had blurred a line or two in your head. Spending all that time together, letting him look after you — Neo opening the door, following the white rabbit — flipped the switch in your head and turned your ifs into whens. If / when we’re alone, if / when we kiss. Turned you back into an eighteen-year-old, waiting by the phone for Jay to text you back.

It’s only when his smile falters, just a touch, that you realise you haven’t said anything. “That’s kind of extremely beautiful,” you say finally, massively understating it.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I thought so too.”

After finishing your drinks, you sit for a while longer, rehashing uni gossip you bled dry years ago, until the staff start giving you increasingly dirty looks, all but begging you to leave.

Jay holds the door open for you. “So what are you up to today?”

“This is—” Cold wind scrapes your neck, cutting you off as you button your coat to the top. “This is what I’m up to today.”

An amused breath slips out of him, a white cloud by his nostrils, and he takes his scarf off, wrapping it around your neck instead. “I mean after,” he says, unmoved by his gesture. Meanwhile, you’ve got an inhale full of his scent and the exposed column of his neck, his heart-shaped birthmark, on your mind like a thirsty vampire. To your silence he waves his large hand in your face. “Earth to YN.”

“Right here, Park.” You swat his hand away, clearing your throat. “What are you up to after this?”

“I have a session in about an hour, come with?” he offers. “I should warn you though, it’ll be really boring.”

“Boring? I could tell you hated your job and all of your fans.”

“No, I mean for you.” Jay nudges your shoulder. Despite the layers, your heart stumbles at the contact. “Because you kind of just have to sit there and be quiet, which I know will be difficult for you.”

Heat floods your cheeks, pools at the base of your spine. “Shut up,” you mumble, turning away from him.

“What?” Genuine confusion pulls his voice up a few octaves. “Oh,” he says after a beat, figuring it out for himself. “I didn’t mean it like that, but when did I ever complain? I like it.”

“Please stop talking.”

Jay stands to attention, saluting you. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Fuck, if you’re going to beg me then, fine, Jay. I’ll come to the studio with you.” You sigh, struggling to fight a smile. “I can’t catch a break with you.”

His head tips back with sweet laughter and he loops his arm through yours, tugging you and the butterflies in your stomach down the road towards the station. “No, YN. You really can’t.”

On the empty platform, you stand side by side, looking at the massive NAPE poster plastered on the wall. Jay, who usually has no shortage of things to say at any given moment, stares at it in silence. The poster is taller than you are, with No Way Back Tour written at the top in blocky red sans serif. In the centre is a four cut photo strip with a picture of each member, that’s thresholded to oblivion, and the bottom lists a bunch of different venues around London.

“What do you think?” you ask. “I think it’s cool, the portraits look good with the red on them like that.”

Jay snaps back into motion, turning to face you, his teary eyes finding yours. He smiles. “I think I had something else in mind when Riki told me there was a huge poster of my face in the station.”

“What? Just your face?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, just my face.”

“Park Jongseong,” you utter, shaking your head. “Where is your team spirit?”

Jay rolls his eyes but can’t hide his smile. “Dead and gone. Take a picture? Please.” He holds his phone out for you to take and stands by the poster, poking the cheek of his large, printed face.

“Celebrities…” You sigh, though you can’t ignore the swell of pride in your chest. You’ve taken a thousand pictures of Jay standing by posters for movies and artists he enjoys, so this feels almost full-circle in a way you’re struggling to wrap your head around. “Can I take some on my phone?”

He nods, and you slip his phone into your bag, reaching for yours—“This is not happening right now!” A uniformed teenage girl is standing right behind you when you turn around. The strap of her backpack has a can badge with NAPE written on it. Her face and neck and ears bright red as she points a trembling finger at him. “You’re—you’re… Jay fucking Park!”

“Hello,” Jay says, he’s smiling too. He is also turning red. “Good morning.”

“Hello?” she repeats, incredulous. “Hello, yourself, Jay Park. Holy shit!” Everything she says sits at the junction of whispering and screaming as your eyes flick back and forth between the two of them.

“I really slept in this morning and I was like ugh, I don’t want to go to school, so I almost didn’t leave the house, but then I finally did and I was like, I don’t want to walk, so then I came down here, which I literally never do and then I saw you and I was like, she’s so pretty, and then you were taking pictures of literal Jay Park. This is like literally a sign,” she continues, all in one breath. When she shows you her lock screen, she’s listening to Carolina. “My top song for the last two years.”

You’ve never met a celebrity before, as a fan anyway, so you can’t say for sure how you’d react, but her coherence is impressive—you’re not sure you could stand in front of Michael B. Jordan without crying or screaming or proposing, never mind recounting the events that led you there in the first place.

Jay’s entire face is smiling, looking down at this sweet girl like she hung the moon and the stars—he looks like the fan here, hanging onto her every word. “It must be a sign. A great one. I’m really happy to meet you.” A beautiful mix of intrigue, delight, and timidness colours his tone and his wide eyes, straightens his spine.

You feel equally mesmerised by each of them.

“Same,” she says simply, extending a hand for both you and Jay to shake, the picture of composure all of a sudden. She’s amazing. “I’m Wonhee. No one at school’s going to believe this at all, holy shit.”

“Wonhee,” he repeats, to her utmost elation. “Do you want a picture, Wonhee? So everyone at school believes you?”

Wonhee’s jaw drops. “Are you kidding?”

When she says it’s okay, Jay puts his arm around her shoulders, a boyish grin scrunching his sweet face. He looks even more like the fan in all one million live photos you take on Wonhee’s phone. “Wow,” she utters, swiping through the pictures. “Wow!” A glorious, giddy laugh comes out of her and she bolts away up the stairs, leaving the station—so much for school.

“She was so cute,” you coo, unable to keep the smile off your face.

“Yeah.” Jay’s gaze stays on the stairs like she might come back. “Yeah, she was.”

“Look at you, my little celebrity!”

This makes him look away, his eyes falling to his feet, ears and neck just as red as Wonhee’s were. “No, not really,” he mumbles. “Or, not universally, which is a relief. I don’t really get noticed like that, and I think it was only because I was standing next to a giant picture of my face.”

And what a lovely face it is. “You’re her lockscreen, Jay. I’m sure she’d recognise you if she only saw the back of your head.”

“I’m her lockscreen?”

You nod, liking the giddy smile he wears. Liking the flutter in your stomach at the sight of it. The warmth in your chest. “Isn’t it so crazy that you’ve made her day, maybe even her week, and all you did was take a picture?”

“Not really, she’s made my day too.” Jay shrugs, blush still lingering on his skin. “I was already having an amazing day with you, of course. So meeting Wonhee’s just the cherry on top of a great day that already had a cherry on it.” His words come out rushed, one big run on word with no breaks to breathe or think. Like everything he says is coming out of him as soon as it crosses his mind.

“Great,” you say through a breathy laugh. “I’m having a good time too.”

“Washington State is actually the top producer of sweet cherries in the States, did you know that? I was starting to miss them, being away so long—and now I have two cherries on my wonderful day.” Jay is grinning from ear to ear like some sort of adorably Cheshire Cat / Joker hybrid, rocking back and forth on his feet. He might be the most excited person in the whole world at this very moment. Second to Wonhee at least.

You can’t think of the last time you saw him so excited about something. It’s interesting to see a celebrity so thrilled by parts of the job that seem so normal from the outside looking in. Something you’d think he’d be used to by now, two years and millions of streams in. Regardless, you’re just happy he’s happy.

And because you can’t resist teasing him, you say, “I get it, Jay. You’re having the best day of your life because you got attention from a pretty girl. Congratulations.” You give him a slow round of applause.

Undeterred, he tucks some of your hair behind your ear, his warm touch lingering on your skin. “I’m not trying to brag or anything, but I’ve gotten attention from two pretty girls today.”

Your cheeks burn. “Even better.”

Behind you, the Tube whooshes to a stop and the doors slide open right in front of where Jay’s standing. A distraction, finally. “And look at that,” he says, pointing to the doors. “Three cherries.”

NAPE’s room at Laughing Kitty Studios is a large wood-panelled rectangle and you two are the first to arrive. Jay takes his shoes off by the door, so you do the same, stepping in after him. Plaques and posters line the walls, streaming milestones and Nirvana. A worn leather couch sits in the middle of the room with a long table and two chairs at its back. Jay gestures around him and says, “This is where the magic happens.” He gives you a tour when you ask, showing you the huge monitor and lots of expensive mixing equipment that all looks the same to you. In the vocal booth, he shows you the controls and the locked cabinet where they keep snacks.

Helping you out of your coat, Jay hangs it up on the rack beside his and watches as you sink into the couch. “Do you prefer working here or at home?” you ask.

He takes a beat, thinking it over with his hands on his waist. “I guess it depends where we’re at. If we have a deadline or just want to get shit done, we work better here. And it’s nice having, like, a base, I guess, where other writers or producers can come to work with us.”

“That makes sense, it’s like a safe space, kind of.”

“Mmm, safe space,” he repeats. “I like that.” Jay sits too, leaving a small gap between you. “Most days though, especially when the weather’s shit, I prefer working at home.”

“Ah, see, I hated working at home; too many distractions.”

“Sunoo takes all our phones if he’s with us, so no distractions for NAPE at the studio.” Jay licks his lips, eyes meeting yours. “Not normally.”

Your awareness of Jay peaks. Of the spread of his thighs, of his hand grazing your leg when he lifts it from the couch cushion. Every cell in your body zings with this awareness, humming, and even though you’re smiling, even though your heart is a second away from beating out of your chest, you roll your eyes at him, cheeks on fire.

“Will you show me what you’ve been working on?” you ask. “Since I’ve come all this way?”

A boyish grin takes over his face as he nods. “But only because you’ve travelled all of fifteen minutes to get here, my strong, strong girl,” he says, taking out his phone and plugging it into the speaker behind the couch.

His strong, strong girl. Your sanity slips, just a little. Though you suppose it’s this alleged strength that keeps you sitting where you are, rather than jumping into his lap and kissing his stupid, handsome face.

Jay’s thumb hovers over the play button and he hesitates, seeming to second-guess himself before giving a hurried preface. “It’s just a demo, you know? Me and my guitar. I threw it together last night so the final thing probably won’t sound anything like this, alright?”

“You don’t have to play it for me if you don’t want to,” you say, squeezing his knee. “I’m sure it’s amazing though, because you wrote it.”

His ears go bright pink and he scratches the back of his neck. “It’s important to me that you hear it,” he tells you, sounding very certain for someone so clearly nervous. There’s something about it, his certainty, that makes your heart pick up, just a touch as you nod. He presses play and immediately the sound of his guitar fills the room, humming against the couch. Just like he did at the show, how he used to on the end of your bed, he picks a pretty melody. The image comes quick and clear—Jay at twenty. Twenty-one. Sitting in his underwear with his acoustic in his lap, picking the same notes over and over until they either sounded right, or you managed to convince him to get into bed instead. A knife to the gut would hurt less. And then he starts to sing. At first, in some of the most beautiful gibberish and lalalas you’ve ever heard. You open your mouth to compliment him anyway, but the lyrics come in, actual real words with actual real meanings, and everything you wanted to say falls to the wayside.

“You make my heart beat for you. I always cry too often, but I put too much in your hands. So much regret in the end,” Jay sings.

Through the speaker his voice is full and sincere and gorgeous as ever, all while he sits next to you with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. In your chest, your heart does an ungraceful tumble. If he can hear it, your thumping heart, he is polite enough not to comment, instead watching you closely, trying to gauge your reaction, maybe. Trying to read your mind.

“It’s a shame for you, it’s a shame for me. Is the blame on you? No, YN, it’s all on me.”

Oh.

A demo and a confession.

His thoughts laid bare at last, the vulnerability you used to beg for handed over on an acoustic platter. Curling around the room and filling the shortening gap between your bodies until your knee presses against his thigh, or the other way around—you can’t tell who moved. You don’t remember. You don’t care. Not when his lips are parted like that, not when he’s close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. Close enough to kiss. The voice in your head says his name over and over. Jongseong. Jongseong. Jongseong. Your favourite nine letters stuck on the tip of your tongue. There are too many things to say, and too many ways to say them, so you don’t say anything at all.

Luckily, Jay says it all for you—sings it. “Wish I knew how to make it right. Just wanna look into your eyes, tell you the truth that I can’t hide, I love you so much.”

Answering seems so simple, but when you try, your mind blanks. Fills, rather, buzzing with all the wrong things. Thoughts and memories. Everything that’s happened over the last three weeks, the time you’ve been together again. Back in each other’s orbit. How he dropped everything to look after you, chose you.

How he finally chose you.

There’s a lightness in your chest, like some persistent weight has been lifted at long last. And now, looking at him, Jay. Your Jay—Jongseong. The freckles on his cheek, how the skin is tinted rosy. Pinched pink. His eyes, dark and wide and staring straight into yours. The only thing on your mind is: I love you, I love you, I love you. You tip your chin, and the space between your lips and his becomes little more than a technicality. His breath is warm against your skin, close enough to feel when it hitches. Close enough to see each of his eyelashes, to count them. To see how they flutter when he blinks, gaze falling to your mouth. Yours does the same, latching on the smooth pink skin, desperate now. Resisting seems futile, so you give in, pressing your lips to his and hoping it’ll be enough to tell him everything.

Jay’s relief is immediate. Clear in the shuddered breath that slips out of him, caught between kisses as he melts against you. His hand finds your jaw, fingers slipping into your hair behind your ear just like they used to. Tongue brushing up to tickle the roof of your mouth and make you smile like always. It feels like it’s been two minutes since your last kiss, not three years. Feels impossible that you went that long without this.

Without Jay.

His grip on your waist is gentle, but his fingertips sear your skin. He pulls you closer, and closer, each point of connection setting off a blaze in its wake. Mouth to mouth. Chest to chest. Knees to the sides of his thighs as you sink into his lap. Like this, under you, the sight of Jay is too much—flushed cheeks, plump lips, ragged breath. The feel of him, all solid muscle and huge palms slipping under your skirt. Nails digging into the curve of your ass. You lean in, lips catching his jaw, finding the side of his neck. His skittering pulse. His birthmark. Sucking on the warm skin there makes him groan, makes his hips buck. His dick strains against his jeans, hitting the exact spot that makes you putty in his hands, moans slipping from both of you as you work up a rhythm.

Your name trails off into a sigh when he tries to say it. “What does this mean?” he asks, breathless.

“I don’t know,” you admit, and for a long while afterwards, the only sound in the studio is the two of you trying to catch your breath. “Do you want to stop?” you ask, terrified for the answer.

Jay says nothing.

Your fingers slip easily through his hair, playing with the tickly short strands on the sides of his head. His question feels heavier the longer he goes without speaking, the longer you stew on it. What does this mean, if anything? There’s an uncomfortable swoop in your stomach, how could this possibly mean nothing? Nothing more than a spur of the moment makeout, never to be spoken of. A unanimous mistake.

On an inhale, Jay’s chest puffs out, touching yours for a heartbeat and he shakes his head. “Not for anything,” he whispers, leaning up to kiss you again.

And this time, when he rocks his hips, his grip on you tightens and he pulls you down to meet them. It’s too much all at once, heat lashing at you from every angle. Increasing with each brush of your tongues, with each press of his covered dick between your legs. Need burns a flame at the base of your stomach, tugs a whine out of you.

Against yours, Jay’s lips quirk into a smile, a smirk. “Needed this just as bad as me, huh, baby?” he asks, voice a low rasp.

“More,” you breathe.

To this, he pulls away, looking up at you with furrowed brows. He shakes his head and says, “No way.” Jay’s heavy palm cups your cheek, his eyes round and wide. A burst of tenderness in the midst of all the heat as his hips freeze under you. A flutter in your stomach. Warmth in your chest, on your cheeks.

“Absolutely, no way,” he says and once again, his lips come up to meet yours. Slow this time, gentle and sweet.

Until laughter erupts from the door, and forces the two of you apart. As if being caught in this position isn’t bad enough, a string of spit attaches you to him when you pull away. There are two guys standing in the doorway, one of them still laughing, the other one pressing his lips in a flat line, as though seeing the two of you like this is disappointing but not surprising.

Frustration and embarrassment wash over you in equal measure, a wave with the force of an eighteen-wheeler casting its great shadow above you. Only death could fix this, of that, you are certain—you can’t laugh at a dead person. At least not right away, surely there’s a buffer period of some description.

The amused one speaks first. “I thought you said you moved the couch off the wall so they wouldn’t fuck on it.”

“Yes, Jungwon. That was the general idea.” Stepping into the studio, shoes off, the disappointed one points at the sign above the light switch—a short list of forbidden things that has, no sex in the studio, written in bold, red letters at the top of it.

Great.

Maybe under different circumstances, if Jay had shown it to you, you might have laughed at the sign, thinking of what had to go wrong to lead to such a notice existing in the first place. For sex to rank over smoking and playing ball games on the list of things not to do in there. Now, like this, sitting in Jay’s lap with only a few layers of clothing between his erection and your dripping cunt, it makes you want to die.

Already, you had a whole host of things to stew over in bed tonight — spending all morning with Jay, the song, the kiss — and now you get to add being walked in on to the roster.

The rush of blood in your ears is disorienting, warbling Jay’s voice when he says, “It’s a great sign, Sunoo.” Completely unconcerned, he wears a great big smile and keeps his hands under your skirt. “But it says nothing about kissing.”

Your breath catches. Sunoo. His manager. Even better.

Without another thought, you stand, straightening your skirt. Jay doesn’t move, he just sits there with his hands on his thighs, eyes trailing over every inch of your body as if you’re still alone. As if now that he knows he can, he wants to use the opportunity to the fullest.

“Yes,” Sunoo agrees, sinking into one of the spinny chairs by the monitor and rubbing his temples. “And I’m coming to regret that.”

Silence hangs over the room as Jungwon steps inside, closing the door after himself. He runs his finger over the sign, following the words one at a time like he’s sounding it out or studying it. How nice it must be, not to have a stake in this moment. You clear your throat, deciding that if the universe isn’t going to answer your pleas for sudden death, you might as well perform good and normal social niceties. “I’m YN,” you announce, so loud that Jungwon flinches by the door. “It’s… nice to meet you both.”

“Likewise.” A genuine smile covers Sunoo’s face, scrunches his eyes—it’s like looking at an angel. “I can see why Jay talks about you so much.”

“Sorry for…” You trail off, unsure how best to put across whatever the hell you and Jay were doing—sorry for having a reconciliatory dry hump on your couch, doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “That,” you say finally.

He laughs and the sound is delightful, a dismissive wave of his hand accompanying it like he wasn’t just losing his mind. “Please, that wasn’t even the worst thing I’ve walked in on this week.” Sunoo shudders, seeming truly disturbed. “First time offence for Jay though,” he adds thoughtfully, which is oddly reassuring.

Jungwon claps his hands, one loud smack as he sits on the other end of the couch, a bright smile on his face like he’s solved some pressing matter. “So what if the sign says, no partners in the studio, instead?” he asks, nudging Jay.

His emphasis on the word partner sets off your stomach, steadily fluttering butterflies flying around a swirl of heat. Is that where this might have led? Where you and Jay could end up? Partners. Again? Casual-workplace-dry-humpationship isn’t a relationship status you’ve had before, or heard of, but now, the thought of it being as far as things go here, with Jay, is a horrible weight on your shoulders, a pressure in your chest.

Sunoo sighs. “I love this band, I really do, but the horny fuckers would just kiss each other.”

At this, you all laugh. All but Sunoo, anyway.

It’s straight to work when the rest of the guys arrive, and Sunoo settles on the other end of the couch, typing away at his laptop and pausing to give his opinion when they ask. Sunghoon sits with his knees to his chest, picking at his lip as he stares at the screen, clicking this and that, playing it back over and over, no matter what imperceptible change they’ve suggested.

Standing over his shoulder, Heeseung tilts his head. “Actually, yeah. Your way’s better, cut that.”

“I think quiet for half a bar instead of fading out—everything off just vocals, and then back on full force for the last chorus. Louder,” Jake suggests, so Sunghoon does just that and plays the whole thing over again. You can’t hear the difference, but all of the guys hum in approval.

Heeseung riffs. Jay does the same on his guitar, and he was sort of right. Maybe if you were less fascinated by him, you would be bored. But he’s kind of extremely good at this. All of them. They manage to lock in for hours at a time, bouncing ideas around and executing them perfectly in a matter of two or three takes. Late in the afternoon, Jungwon orders pizza and they stop working to eat before getting right back to it. It’s the only break they take all day.

“Look, I know you want to, but you don’t need to take a new song out with you—not yet anyway.” Sunoo stands up from the couch, putting his laptop into his bag. “You still have time to decide on the encore show, but maybe after all the travelling you’ll have a few finished songs. New setting, new inspiration.”

Jake furrows his brows. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, I think we’re cutting it a bit thin. I mean this is your last full week off — bar rehearsal — before tour starts, and I don’t want you so stressed about something with an easy fix.”

At the mention of the word tour, Jay stiffens. You do the same.

Jungwon takes his headphones off and turns to face the room, laptop in hand to show the screen. “Do we like these T-shirts for the U.S. shows?”

“Yeah, but…” Sunghoon squints, getting closer. “They look just like the Australia and New Zealand shirts.”

“Which look just like the Europe ones,” Heeseung points out.

Every sentence makes things worse and worse. They’re going on tour in a week. Jay is leaving in a week. Going to the U.S., to fucking Oceania, and this is how you’re finding out. The tightness in your chest, the ache in your stomach, is immediate. Instead of looking at you, Jay bites at his nails. Scrunches his nose.

“If we could kindly get back on track,” Sunoo interrupts, pulling his jacket on. “You have Live Lounge when you’re back in March, VEVO Studios in April—much better opportunities to showcase new music. I know you want something special for fans, but maybe we can shoot a performance video of… Royalty? And release it on Valentine’s Day?”

Jay hides his face in his hands. “Okay.”

“Just think about it, okay. It’s up to you, and I promise I’ll support whatever you decide. For now, though, I have carbonara and an episode of Lovely Runner waiting for me at home, so I’m away, yeah?”

With that, Sunoo leaves and Jungwon is quick to follow. The guys sit in silence for a bit before getting back to work. By your side, Jay hunches over his guitar, resting his chin on the body, picking at the strings aimlessly. Across the room, Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon crowd around the monitor, nitpicking.

While their demo plays through the speakers again, louder than before, Jay finally speaks. “You and your friends can come if you’re up to it, to the London show. Whoever you want. On me,” he mumbles, looking at the fretboard instead of you.

“Okay.” You nod, though the thought of having to tell Minjeong that Jay has upset you again, that you’ve let him close enough to be upset by him again, is too grim to bear, so you text the chat, inviting them along instead.

you: Nape concert next Friday night on me (on the band) who’s there?

somi: me me me me me

yizhuo: Will Jake be there?

riki: will jake be at his concert.

riki: what happened w you and jimin 🤔

yizhuo: No further questions your honour (she only wants to hookup HAHAHHAHA).

riki: my apologies twin (Go Get Your #Man).

you: Oh okay bc I thought you all had very important jobs right . Right. MY FUCKING BAD.

And just like that, all three of them stop texting.

It’s ten p.m. by the time you and Jay reach your flat, and neither of you have said anything since you said bye to the other guys back at the studio, ten Tube stops ago. You search in your bag for your keys, desperate to end this silence by disappearing inside. Jay has other plans though, apparently, because when you twist your key in the lock and step over the threshold he sighs, saying your name. You don’t look at him.

“I swear to God, I was going to tell you about the tour, okay? I wouldn’t just leave like that. Not again.” Though his credibility where telling you things is concerned is shaky at best, you nod and he continues. “I’ve known for ages, obviously, but I wasn’t sure when to tell you or if you’d care.”

“You weren’t sure I’d care that you’re leaving for two months?” you ask, hoping he can hear how absurd that sounds.

“Three months,” he corrects, mumbling an apology when you squint at him. “I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about what I thought this was or could be, by talking about my short-term plans like you’re my girlfriend or something.”

Your scoff echoes through the hall, an accurate reflection of the irritation that heats you from the inside out. “Sure, Jay. Give me the right idea then.”

He takes a beat, his eyes catching over all of your features. “You’re cross with me,” he states simply.

Cross, he said. As if that even begins to cover it. Maybe if you were any less cross with him, the Briticism might have made you smile. “Very.”

“I’m sorry, YN. I should’ve told you sooner.”

“Sunoo told me. You didn’t say anything.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to—” Jay pauses, pressing his eyes shut with his fingers until his nails turn pale. With a shaky breath, he tries again. “We didn’t have hard conversations at home. My parents would just make up their minds and do shit, you know. I found out we were moving to Seoul when my dad came into my room with a bunch of boxes, and told me to fill them up.”

The words rush out of him, each of them a blade to the heart, deeper than the last. Twisting. You’ve seen all of his childhood photos, the calendar his parents had made when he was eight. His permed curly hair and bright smile, those big round eyes that never failed to melt your heart no matter how many times you saw the pictures. Hearing that his parents could raise him that way, their only child, to change his life at the drop of a hat, like he was just another thing to put in a box and cart away, stings the backs of your eyes. From what you remember, he’d gone from the U.S. to Korea, then London, all so quickly—and now you know, with no warning.

“London was the same, back to Tacoma, same thing, and back again. I never really…” He trails off, chewing on his lip before he starts again. “I thought Edinburgh would be like that too, it was supposed to be. But then I met you, and for the first time, the thought of leaving was terrifying. I thought it was about the band, what my parents might say, but it was you, YN. I never had a home to leave until I met you, and I didn’t realise that until it was already too late.”

The realisation sets in with deep unease. His room in Edinburgh was completely bare when you met him, just the essentials, the stuff you can only assume was easy to move with. It was only after the two of you had been together for a while that his room started filling up. Posters and knick-knacks. Snowglobes and postcards from whatever holiday Minjeong had planned for you, her and Jaehyun. At the end of it all, by the time it had been two weeks since Jay left your place and never looked back, his flatmate Wonbin handed you a box with these things in it. To your confusion, to your upset, he only raised a brow and said, I thought you agreed it’d be better to end things? With him moving back home and that…

“And even after I left, I had a million and one chances to reach out to you, to explain, apologise, all of it, but I—I really let you down, and I’m sorry. I’m not that person anymore.” He looks down, shaking his head. “I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

Your body reacts before your words can, hand reaching out to his cheek, cupping the smooth, flushed skin. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and the only thing you can say is, “You’re not. It’s okay, I promise.”

“It’s not, YN.” He presses his lips together, biting the skin until the pressure turns the pink pale. “I just want you to be happy.”

Again, the words are right there, twisting painfully in your throat and stuck to the tip of your tongue. I love you. I still love you. It’s you, Jay. It’s always, only you. But you can’t get them out, can’t bring yourself to say them. “I am happy, Jay,” you say instead.

Jay’s lips quirk up at the corners, not quite a smile but close. “You’re happy,” he repeats, nodding his head as he seems to consider this. The silence is awful, turning your stomach and when he finally opens his mouth to speak, you’re so certain he’s going to wish you a goodnight that you rush to speak first.

“When are you leaving?”

“Saturday.” One day after the London show. Ten days from today. “Manchester’s Tuesday, then Glasgow, Dublin…” He trails off, but you know the rest—Paris, Hamburg, Stockholm… Auckland, Brisbane… You studied the order from the poster Jungwon showed you.

“When can I see you again?” you ask quietly.

“I’m not sure.” Jay tilts his head. “Want me to send you my Google Calendar?”

He’s kidding, you know that much, but still, you say, “Please.”

At this, he pulls up the app on his phone, multi-coloured blocks filling the screen. “Looks like I’m free at 3 a.m. tomorrow,” he says, clicking the share button and pasting the link in your text thread, where your contact is saved as MY ❤️. Still. Jay hits send on the message and again his calendar fills the screen. “And right now.”

“Me too…” You trail off.

To your surprise, it doesn't take much more to get Jay into the flat, into your room. To have your back against the bedroom door and his lips on yours, not even separating to push your coat down your shoulders. His hands span wherever he can touch, slipping under your shirt to press your body closer to his.

Jay tugs at the waistband of your tights. "Want these off."

"Later." You chase his kiss, desperate not to lose momentum, not to give either of you an opportunity to think about this and what it means.

Relenting, his hand slips under them instead, grabbing your ass. Bucking forwards, you feel his thick cock against you, a swirl of heat ravishing the base of your stomach. He sighs into the kiss, parting your legs with his thigh and guiding you over the solid muscle.

It's not enough. "My tights," you say, changing your tune. "Rip them, Jay.”

He moans on a shaky exhale, pulling away to look down at you. "Are you joking? I can't tell if you're joking." His eyes are blown and frantic, searching your face. As soon as you shake your head, he tugs at the thin fabric until it tears, making a hole. Cool air rushes against you, forcing you to draw a breath. "Now what?”

You push your damp underwear to the side, fingers parting your slick folds before you rock your hips once more. Painfully slow. The feeling of his thigh, the rough denim of his jeans grazing your clit, makes you whimper into the space between you. Jay's lips quirk up at the corner, his bruising grip guiding your hips back and forth.

"So needy, aren't you?" He pushes his thigh harder against you. "What am I gonna do with you, beautiful?"

Holding his gaze is an effort, but you'd die if you missed the way he looks right now, half-lidded eyes looking down at you, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Even blinking feels like a waste. "Anything, Jay. Do anything."

"Bed?" As soon as you nod he carries you over, setting you down.

You lean up on your elbows to watch him undress—his jacket comes off first, falling to the floor. Then his T-shirt, pulled over his head, triceps huge when he bends his arms. A lick of need burns your core at the sight of his tattoo peeking out over his waistband, the thick dark hair under his belly button. You have to chew on your lip to hold a moan, but he notices.

"Like what you see?" He smiles, freeing his belt from the loops of his jeans.

"Mhm."

Jay's eyes trail over your body, skin ablaze wherever his gaze lands. "Not as much as I like you." He leans over and kisses you. "Your pretty little mouth," he murmurs, lips trailing your throat. "Your neck, your shoulders." At your chest, he takes his time. Sucking and licking your nipples through your tank top, urging whimpers out of you with each bite and tug. It's only when he continues down the rest of you that you remember the point he's making, a kiss pressed by your belly button. "Your stomach, thighs. Everything, baby. Love all of you.”

Love all of you. You can't breathe. Love all of you. His hands slip under your skirt, pulling off your panties and torn tights in one go. Love all of you. You might die here, now, like this.

He gets up to take off his pants, leaving only his tight grey underwear and the dark patch in the centre, where the fabric clings to his leaking tip. "Want you on me, YN." He licks his lips before a breathtaking smile spreads over them, slow and feline. A smirk, more like. "Sound good? You wanna sit on d—my face?" Even the thought of riding his face, of the word he stopped himself from saying, hitches your breath.

Saying, please, is a measured effort, though he wastes no time getting between your legs. Just the feel of him under you, his built shoulders and solid chest, thick arms wrapped around your soft thighs; seeing him like this, eyes half-lidded and stuck on your cunt, is dizzying and he hasn't even touched you yet.

"So pretty everywhere." The words are a low whisper, warm and sudden, before he licks you from back to front.

A burst of pleasure arches your back, coursing through you immediately as you grind down on him, rutting against the tip of his nose. Dipping into you, his tongue moves slowly to match the roll of your stuttering hips—he's kissing you, making out. And loving every second of it if his groans are anything to go off of. It is, at once, too much and not enough. His pouty mouth finds your clit, licking it in circles, driving you crazy.

"Fuck," you whine. "Like that."

When he hums in response, it rumbles through you, forcing a moan from you as you tug at his hair. At the feeling of it, he groans, burying his face deeper and deeper. Tipping his chin towards you. In his enjoyment of it all, in his actions, he makes no effort to be quiet—squelches amplified and filthy, with his exaggerated movements of his mouth against your soaking cunt.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, slow to start but quickly overbearing. "Jay." From your lips, his name is a wobbly cry. "Jay," you repeat. Falling forwards, your hands grip fruitlessly at the sheets, whole body trembling in his hold. Pure bliss washes over you in harsh waves, whiting the dark behind your closed eyelids. How could you ever go without this again? How did you manage in the first place? You can't even voice it, warn him, that you're close, that you're there, unthinkable heat hitting you from every angle as you gush all over him. He doesn't let up, only humming and licking more feverishly, quicker, harder, and pressing the entire bottom half of his face to you, drinking up your release.

Catching your breath is an impossibility, your legs and stomach twitching as he cleans you up with his tongue, murmuring praises against you. Thank you, baby, as his nose hits your clit. Missed this pretty pussy, after he licks your clenching hole. So good for me, when he sucks at your inner thigh. Jay looks a mess when you finally sit up, glancing down at him. Ruffled hair. Slow blinking eyes. Everything from his straight nose down is slick and shiny, cum slipping over his jaw, and a smile curving his swollen lips. A handsome mess.

You clench around nothing.

Later, you share the shower and lots of kisses, teeth bumping under the spray as Jay whimpers, coming in your hand before getting into bed. He strokes your hair, twirling the ends around his fingers, and opening his mouth to speak but says nothing. Minutes pass like this until you finally ask, “What is it?”

He shakes his head, smiling too. “It’s nothing.”

“Tell me, baby.”

“I just… I kind of feel like I’m dreaming or something,” he admits softly, though you feel the words in every part of you.

Stuck for what to say, scared to say anything, you lean up and kiss him instead. Kiss him until your stomach starts to flutter. Until you’re gasping for breath, legs tangling together under the duvet, because if this really is a dream, you don’t want to have any regrets when you wake up.

@.gigiseung: DUDEEEEEE JAY GOT A GIRLFRIEND 😭😭😭 I USED TO PRAY FOR TIMES LIKE THIS THE MUSIC IS GONNA BE HAPPY !!!!!!! FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!

112 replies | 675 retweets | 5.6k likes | 752 bookmarks

@.nojayback: no one moved 🙄

@.gigiseung: girl im really sorry but your boyfriend has a girlfriend and it’s not jake or you… i retweeted…

@.sunghoon67: I SAW JAY AT MOONSTRUCK ON A DATE WITH A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN THIS IS NOT A DRILL WATCH THE FUCKING VIDEO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

400 replies | 4.2k retweets | 25k likes | 2.3k bookmarks

@.nojayback: WHY DID HE PUT HIS SCARF ON HER LIKE THAT WHO TAUGHT HIM THAT ??? WHO EVEN IS SHEEEEE 😭😭😭

@.sunghoon67: IDK WHO SHE IS I JUST KNOW SHE’S HOT AND HAS AN ACCENT

@.nojayback: AND LOOK AT HIS OUTFIT HE MET WONHEE IN THIS OUTFIT DID THIS GIRL TAKETHAT FUCKING PICTURE??? @.jaykeyaoi wake tF UP RNNNN DID YOU MEET HER TOO???

@.NAPEisFOUR: So friendship between a man and a woman isn’t a thing anymore? This fandom never fails to disgust me.

@.gigiseung: @.NAPEisFOUR GOODBYEEEE a sex tape would be less incriminating.

minjeong: Oh girl I can’t defend you anymore send my fucking jacket back TODAY

you: What jacket ???

Her next message has ten pictures. And then another set of ten pictures. And then another.

minjeong: Lie again. Asking “what jacket” DUDE I SEE YOU WEARING IT AND WITH YOUR FUCKING SATANIC EX TOO… Killing you would not be enough.

All of the pictures are Twitter screenshots, threads of NAPE fans trying to solve a mystery by the looks of things. Several photos of you and Jay, a video, even. All from yesterday morning.

@.hojumilkpuppy: ALL THESE FUCKING PICTURES AND NOT ONE SHOT OF HER FACE ??? ARE WE KIDDING RN WHO IS THIS AND WHERE DID SHE GET THAT JACKET

@.gigiseung: OP said she has an accent and jay said he studied in edinburgh right?

@.hojumilkpuppy: Are You Trying To Tell Me This Is Miss Carolina.

@.jaysnape: am i the only one who thinks filming them like this is weird af idk it’s nice seeing him all smiley and in love but idkkkkk it feels weird seeing this when they clearly have no idea they’re on camera

@.ClubNAPE: If you’re feeling distressed by the video, it’s ok. But please take care of yourself. Step away from social media for a couple of days. Don’t attack or criticise Jay, too much money and time went into publicly harassing him and it finally paid off for those people.

@.jm4pjs: Thanks for trying to encourage us, but I’m so sad and furious at the same time…For now I’m empty… I hope he uses condoms…

@.ClubNAPE: Trust me when I say he doesn’t go that far with her. Just, please trust me.

@.hojumilkpuppy: You are an adult.

Each thread follows a similar pattern, hundreds, maybe thousands, of NAPE fans freaking out over the video. Posting detailed body language analysis to prove and disprove the true nature of your and Jay’s relationship. The split seems even enough—half of them happy for Jay, for you; half of them affronted by the mere suggestion that Jay might have feelings for any woman in a way beyond friendship. The worst part of it all, by your standards at least, is that you’re just as confused as them and it’s your relationship.

The original video, sunghoon67’s pinned tweet, has over a million views. In all of her replies, she goes to bat for you, insisting that the whole time she saw you and Jay, the two of you seemed comfortable and happy, and that she was not stalking him, but happened to be at the café studying for over an hour when you arrived.

somi: YOU AND JAY???

yizhuo: Do Not even get me started.

riki: you told them about uni? i thought that was a secret yn u made me feel special…you okay though? this is kind of extremely crazy 🤔

yizhuo: What the fuck do you mean UNI

somi: ???

riki: ning yizhuo you have a degree i know ykwtf uni is.

You mute the groupchat, putting your phone on Do Not Disturb.

What Twitter user #hoonjay real’s deep analysis of it all says about them, you’re unsure. An odd mix of delight at the thought of other people perceiving you and Jay as happy together, and discomfort at the thought of someone studying you so closely, filming you without your knowing, clash in your head. The more tweets you read, thanking OP for sharing, and bashing OP for the same thing, the more confused you feel. You spend an hour like this, laying in the bed Jay left this morning, scrolling through Twitter and Reddit, refreshing the timeline to read new responses as they come in. More and more people claim to have seen you together, inventing stories about you yelling at Jay in Notting Hill, or kissing him in Piccadilly. All the while, Minjeong continues to text.

minjeong: And you did it in the street WEARIGN MY FUCKING JACKET THIS IS HOW I FIND OUT YOU STOLE MY JACKET??? This is SO embarrassing for me imagine all the people that think I’m Park Jongseong’s fucking girlfriend because they saw you in my jacket

you: Imagine all the people that think I’M his girlfriend ???

minjeong: You’re not?

you: Define girlfriend.

minjeong: A frequent or regular female companion in a romantic or sexual relationship

you: Define frequent.

minjeong: I really don’t have time for this YN.

minjeong: Are you okay though? Fr

you: I’m good! People think I have nice hair and good taste in jackets, over the moon rn 🥰

Three dots appear on her side of the chat and your phone vibrates in your palm. Jay’s name and an old photo of him with his hair bleached take over your screen. Jay at twenty-one—fast asleep in your childhood bed, cuddling your worn Snoopy plushie. “Hey, are you home?”

“Mhm.”

A sigh comes through the phone, he sounds relieved. “Please open the door.” He’s standing on the mat when you do, chewing furiously at his lip. He hugs you and apologises into the crook of your neck. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Jay,” you mumble into his chest. “Are you okay? Are you coming in?”

Jay sighs again, letting his shoulders fall. He assesses your face, still holding you close. “Wish I could, baby. I’m on a potty break,” he says, completely earnest.

“Potty break?”

“Like, restroom? It’s a long story, but the suits made a slidesh—” His phone goes off loudly in his pocket, buzzing between your bodies and making him sigh. “I’ll tell you later, alright? I have to get back.”

“Later today?”

Jay shakes his head, pecking your lips. It’s not enough—there’s no such thing with him, so you pull his bottom lip between yours. “Don’t want you… staying up just for me,” he mumbles, the words warm against your mouth as his hand comes up to hold your cheek.

“You’re worth it, Jay,” you admit.

He draws a breath, pulling away just enough to look at you. His face softens, a smile on his lips, his eyes on yours. “You’re cute,” he says softly, thumb brushing over your skin. “I’ll think about it.” When his phone goes off this time, it rings. A call. He mutters a curse, pressing his forehead to yours like he might ignore it, like he might stay, then he kisses you once more. “I really have to go.”

“How about you text me when you’re done and we’ll see if I’m still up?” you suggest.

“Alright, princess. We’ll see.”

And by fire, by force, you are still up at two in the morning when he texts you to say he’s all done at the studio. You open the door to usher a tired Jay to the kitchen, sitting him down at the table where you’ve heated up leftovers for him. A slow smile lights up his face and he eats quietly, only breaking to chug water.

Aeri comes into the kitchen, greeting you both with a tired hum before filling her bottle with water from the filter. On the way out, she smacks Jay over the head with a flat palm. “My loyalty is to YN before it’s to you or Heeseung, okay?”

He winces, clutching the back of his head and nodding. “Got it.”

After food, you wash his dishes while he showers, and he climbs into bed with damp hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he mumbles against your skin. “Thank you so much, baby.”

“Thank you for coming over…” You trail off. For making time for me, you think but don’t say.

“I really am sorry about this whole thing. The photos, people talking… Jesus.” Jay sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want you worrying about any of this, it’ll die down, alright? I promise, shit like this, it always dies down.”

“I’m not worried about any of it, Jay. Promise. It’s kind of cool how much your fans care, a lot of people really love you,” you say. “I’m just happy you’re okay and that you’re here.”

His lips spread into a smile against your temple. “I’m happy I’m here too,” he murmurs, pulling you into his chest. Though naturally, because you are you, and he is Jay, your lips find each other anyway. Kissing for an hour like a bunch of teenagers before you fall asleep.

It’s perfect.

Mostly.

The days leading up to the concert go by similarly, with you and Jay meeting up after his studio sessions or rehearsals. Some nights you hook up, most nights you cuddle and watch the newer seasons of Formula 1: Drive to Survive, which he pauses every two seconds to add his own — very necessary — commentary. Neither of you mention the concert or what’s going to change when he leaves the day after. Its first mention is on the day of, when he sends you a text.

jongseong 😽: We have about an hour or two downtime before the show if you want to head over during that? So around like 5, yeah? Sunoo can come and meet you and bring you up

you: Sounds good see you sooooonn!

jongseong 😽: See you babyyyyy got soundcheck so talk in a few :D

At a pub you’ve never been to, you meet up with Yizhuo to nurse a pint and eat truffle mac‘n’cheese. So much has changed since you last saw her and it’s only been a week and a half. Life has a way of doing that—flipping things on their head when you least expect it.

“Have you heard back from anywhere?” she asks, clearing her plate. “From Interview?”

You deflate, sipping sweet golden nectar from your glass. “Not yet.”

“Try not to look so worried, it’ll be good news. I can tell.”

“What if it isn’t?” The words are impossible to say, a pathetic mumble over the speakers. It feels a bit like admitting defeat. You’d been relatively optimistic at first, but hardly anyone gets the first job they apply for. Or the first thirty. Creative jobs are hard enough to come by as it is, and after all the difficulty of securing one, the only thing anyone leaves for is the grave. “I can’t wait forever, Yizhuo. I’ve got maybe two more months before I need to go and stay with my parents again.” And that’s if you stop using your redundancy pay for frivolous things like groceries and rent.

“It won’t get to that. You’re capable, you’re smart, you’re qualified.” Yizhuo says firmly, squeezing your hand over the sticky tabletop. “Just because things are bad now doesn’t mean they’ll be bad forever. Soon, we’ll look back at this moment and laugh about it at work drinks. I promise.”

You hope she’s right. You need her to be right.

When you meet up with Sunoo, he leads you through the venue’s back entrance and to the green room, where Jay and Riki are the only people inside, bickering on the couch. At the sound of the opening door, they quit it, and Jay greets you with a bright grin. His tight-fitting black long sleeve is tucked into his dress pants, and a pair of wire-frame glasses sit on the bridge of his nose. It’s like seeing God. He hugs Yizhuo first, though in light of #JaysGF-gate and your sharing of the full story, she’s not his biggest fan at the moment. You however, as evidenced by the last week you’ve spent joined at the hip, are more than eager to have Jay’s arms around you.

“Hey, beautiful. How’s your day been?” he asks, pecking your lips.

“Good, Jay. How are you feeling?”

He was a nervous wreck this morning, pacing the length of your bedroom until the absolute last second he had to leave. Now though, he seems relaxed, like he’s left with only excitement for tonight. “Better now that you’re here,” he admits. It doesn’t sound like a line when he says it, but Sunoo mutters, Jesus fucking Christ, before he leaves.

You tease him too, rolling your eyes despite the smile on your face. Despite the fact you feel the same way.

Unfazed, he only smiles wider, holding your jaw and kissing you. He tastes like spearmint, like Jay. “Want me to show you around, baby?”

“Yes!” Riki says before you have the chance. “I’ve never been backstage before.”

Yizhuo has to grab him by the sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. “Not you, weirdo.”

“You don’t know that.” He yanks his arm from her hold, straightening his denim jacket over his shoulders and running a hand through his hair.

Jay takes you by the hand to give you a tour. Just you. Dressing room, catering, the wings. One small lounge for each of the members. There isn’t much inside: a vanity, a couch, a coffee table. His guitar and his bag. All the while, a nervous flicker turns your stomach, anxious like you’re the one about to perform in front of thousands of people.

In the privacy of his locked room, he holds you in his arms, looking down at you. His eyes trail your body, a sweet smile curving his lips. “Look amazing, baby. Always so pretty,” he says, tucking your hair behind your ears.

A different kind of nervousness sets in, classic giddy fluttering, mind racing and trying hard to think of the perfect thing to say at the perfect time. It’s reassuring, feeling like this again, warm and happy—bitten by the lovebug you’d long stopped believing in. No matter what happens tomorrow, when he leaves, at least you know that feeling can still exist for you. The thought is scary now, but most of those big truths always are in the abstract. Until they happen.

You smile up at him, desperate to live in this moment forever, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “Thank you, Jay. So do you,” you say. “My handsome baby.”

Pink tints his cheeks, eyes wide for a split second. “You mean it?”

“Mhm. Love these glasses too, they make you look all serious, like a sexy professor or something," you joke, startled to find you mean it. “Tell me more about changing the subject of a formula, Mr. Park.”

“No way,” Jay mutters, his hips bucking towards yours. “Can’t do this with you right now, baby.”

“Can’t do what, Mr. Park?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Be good, YN. Please.”

“Yes, sir.”

And like you’ve scalded him, Jay steps away, biting his lip. With his eyes screwed shut, he grabs at the crotch of his pants, adjusting himself before sitting on the couch and patting the cushion next to him. Stepping out of your boots, you curl into his side, playing with his fingers. “You never told me what happened with the song you guys were working on,” you say, hoping not to pressure him after what you heard at the studio.

Luckily, your question seems to do the opposite, and his face lights up. “We finalised it this afternoon! You’ll hear it tonight, baby. I really hope you like it.” A knock on the door punctuates his answer, and he has to disappear for hair and makeup while you wait in the green room.

The boys aren't gone for long, but you don't get any time alone with Jay before he has to go on stage. No time to properly process how good he looks with his hair all spiked up. His freckles aren't covered at all, and his black long sleeve fits like a second skin, clinging to every curve and contour on his torso and arms. You can't help but touch him, feeling his sculpted chest and racing heart against your palms.

"You look..." There's no single word you could use to describe him right now, as he looks at you through matte black sunglasses. "I think you're going to have to surgically remove my mouth from you later," you say pressing a kiss to his soft lips, already picturing your evening plans. As if overhearing, excited as well, the crowd roars before starting to sing along to whatever Jungwon is playing through the speakers.

“Good, baby. That’s good to hear, I’m looking forward to it.” Jay’s grip on your waist is firm, holding you as close as possible, tickling the roof of your mouth with his tongue. A breath comes out of him, flustered, eager, happy, and he rests his forehead on yours. “Wish me luck?”

Giddy butterflies turn in your stomach, your smile impossible to contain. “Good luck, Mr. Park.”

“Mm,” he hums, kissing you again. “I have no plans to go easy on you later, darling.”

It’s Sunghoon who finally has to pry Jay’s grip away from your waist, a firm tug that does little to quell the burning heat on your cheeks and neck. His transformation takes a split second, going from Park Jongseong, the guy you’ve known and wanted all this time, to Jay Park from NAPE, golden under the amber spotlight and singing his heart out. If he wasn’t so good, you’d have more time to process how strange it all is, how clear it is that he comes alive on the stage. All of them do. Like they’re finally doing the exact thing they were put on earth to do.

Song after song, it becomes clear what they mean when they talk about themselves and the fans and the energy. How they meet in the middle, feeding off of each other. Watching it like this, backstage with your friends, it feels like you’ve been let in on something unthinkably special. That feeling sticks around for the length of the entire two hour set, amplifying.

The crowd boos when Jay announces that they’ve reached the end of the show. “But we have one last song for you tonight, something very new and very dear to me—” he says, grinning into his mic when they cheer again. “—I’ve been going through a bit of a funk, I guess,” he admits.

In the front row, you see very pretty women frowning, touched to hear about Jay’s hardships — no matter how vague — like they’re taking them on themselves. Somi squeezes your hand, pointing them out to you and mumbling that they’re so cute. You agree.

“But a couple weeks ago, something really special happened for me, and when I finally figured it all out, what it meant to me, I sat up all night working on this song. And the guys and I have been grinding to get it done, so it’s been a long time coming, and we hope you love it. This is Out Sick.”

All of the lights go dim, save for a stark spotlight that shines straight on Jay. The venue holds its breath, and he looks over his shoulder, craning his neck just a bit to find you. When his eyes meet yours, he gives you a smile, soft and warm, your Jongseong in that moment. Your smile is immediate, a second of calm in your pounding heart as he strums the first chord and turns back to the crowd.

You know this song already, its shape. As familiar as the back of your own hand. As Jay’s lips on yours or his hands under your skirt on the couch at Laughing Kitty. Your stomach plummets to the floor, eyes stinging with tears. Sunghoon comes in slowly on the drums, Heeseung and Jake’s guitars following to make it warm and round and full.

And then, Jay sings, “I don’t have to try to love you, it comes easy to me…”

His demo. Complete. And performed so beautifully. His voice is raw, vulnerable, as he bares his soul for everyone, for you, to hear. Heeseung’s harmonies are simple, sweet, a perfect anchor for the song. They’re amazing. They are actually amazing. All of them.

As the final note rings out, the lights go dim once again, and applause erupts backstage, your friends squealing and hugging each other while you wait. NAPE don’t take long to appear behind the curtain, all four of them a blur of black clothes and adrenaline. Jay doesn’t stop to speak with the crew or with the other guys, he comes straight for you. Short strands of his hair slick with sweat, his glasses fogging up as he pulls you into his arms.

“It was perfect, Jongseong. You were perfect.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel him smiling into the crook of your neck as his heart thuds against your chest.

Tearing Jay away from the tour kick-off party is easier than you expected. Largely in part due to the fact that he’s the one dragging you through the crowded flat to his bedroom. Music muffles through his door and as soon as the lock clicks shut, you sink to your knees at his feet and Jay gulps when you look up at him, a gentle look on his face, in his eyes, that makes your heart trip in your chest—that he could look so tenderly at you in this moment seems unreal. Slowly, you unbuckle his belt, unsure who you're teasing more. You undo his zipper. The button.

He cups your cheek with his palm, clearing his throat. "Only if you want to, baby." His voice is soft, delicate as he traces your lips with the pad of his thumb.

You nod. You need to.

Jay's trousers give easily when you pull at them, falling to his ankles. His white underwear stretches over his erection, a dark patch where he leaks onto it. You can't even pretend to resist, tongue finding the spot immediately, and taking his tip between your lips, sucking on it through the wet fabric. Precum seeps into your mouth, the taste of it heady and familiar, leaving you hungry for more.

His hips buck forward, stuffing more of his clothed dick into your mouth, groaning. "My beautiful girl," he mutters, tucking your hair behind your ears. "Still so dirty and all for me, yeah?"

White-hot desperation buzzes along every inch of you. You can't wait any longer. Jay shivers when his leaking tip smacks his stomach, leaving a streak on his toned skin. Oh, my God. When you take him by the base, your hand only just wraps around him, thumb and index finger brushing. "Let me help you, YN." One of his hands covers yours easily, the other holding your head still. "Want my help, don't you, baby?"

All you can do is nod, watching Jay stroke himself—help you to stroke him.

"Say it. Use your words."

"Want you to help me—" Your mind blanks, that five letter word burning on the tip of your tongue. "Jay," you say instead.

His dick twitches in your fist as he brings his slit to your mouth, spreading hot, sticky precum like gloss over your lips. "Good girl," he whispers, thumb tracing your cheekbone. "Always so good for me."

Molten need pools between your thighs. "Only for you," you admit, words muffled against his tip.

Jay's breath hitches, fingers curling in your hair, then, finally, he stuffs your mouth—starts to. At an agonising pace. Inch by torturous inch, he pulls you towards him. Watching with furrowed brows and holding his breath as the stretch starts to ache your jaw. Only when his tip brushes the back of your throat, making you gag, does he let out a breath, a ragged, whiny thing, torn from him. Hearing him like this, being the cause of it, never gets old. Never fails to flip your stomach.

Chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut, he throbs in your mouth when you stroke the part of him that won't fit. "Fuck," he whispers. "Fuck, baby. Too good, need a — fuck — need a minute." He pulls out, looking down at you like he's confused, like he can't make sense of the thick string of spit and precum that attaches your lips to his tip.

Can't make sense of the way you kiss it anyway, lapping up the mess from his slit with your tongue. Every word that follows is a whined curse, his legs shaking as his grip on your hair lets up. Your name comes out of him, a stern mutter that makes you press your thighs together. Even so, you keep going, licking a strip from his tip to his base, thick hair tickling your face when you suck on his balls.

"Shit, YN," he mumbles, watching you with squinting eyes, shivering while you stroke him. "So good, baby."

Kissing your way back up to his tip, you take him in, letting your hollowed cheeks pull him further. He's twitching already, erratic on your tongue, low grunts and shallow breaths coming from him. This time when he says your name, it's gentle, sweet, as he rocks his hips to fuck into your mouth in shuddered strokes. Over and over, he moans for you, the sound of it lighting you up, spurring you on to take him deeper, quicker.

His stomach tenses, thighs shaking until he bucks hard against you, coming straight down your throat, hot and thick, without warning, making you cough. It leaks from the corners of your mouth, rolling down your chin, warm on your chest. Jay moans at the sight, licking his lips while you swallow what you can, still working your fist over him. Bracing against the door behind you, he lets out a cry of your name that drives you mad, loud and unbidden, as he trembles.

When he pulls out, his dick hits his legs with a loud squelch. Spit and cum drip off of him, wetting your thighs and making a mess.

You can hardly catch your breath or wipe your mouth before Jay's kneeling in front of you, pressing his lips to yours. Pressing your body to his. "My sweet, sweet baby," he mumbles, licking into your mouth. Teeth bump teeth. Tongues on tongues. "Way too good to me." He pulls you into his lap, cock wet under you. Something about the feeling of it like this, soft and pressed against your thong, twists your stomach.

Taking him in your fist, you thumb at his slit, and he whimpers. "Need it. You, Jay," you tell him, stroking desperately.

At this point, the wet smack of his mouth on yours can hardly be described as a kiss, but he keeps at it. "I'll give you what you want, I promise," Jay says, pushing your hand away and running his finger over your slit. "But I can't right now." He sounds truly apologetic, distraught and whiny as he presses on your clit.

Relief comes immediately, but it's not enough, when he slips his finger into you and fills you to the knuckle. Still, you chase pleasure, fucking yourself on his thick digit, humming at the stretch of another finger pressing in. "Yes, right now."

Against your mouth, Jay smiles. "Want you ready, yeah? Don't wanna hurt you," he coos, a third finger joining the rest.

"You won't," you whisper. "Please, Jongseong."

On this, he concedes. On not using a condom, however…not so much. Laying you down on the bed, he undresses you before pulling his own shirt off. Now that he's had a beat to collect himself — free from your eager hands — he's hard again, standing up taller than before. His tip not just flushed but angry red and leaking. At the very least, he lets you roll the condom onto him before joining you under the covers and hiking your leg up over his hip.

"You're gonna kill me," he mutters into your neck, pressing himself against you, right between your wet folds. So close yet so far. "Gonna die if you keep this up."

"If you're going to die anyway, you might as well take the condom off," you point out, rocking towards him. "For old time's sake, you know? Last night, two nights ago—the good old days." It was a lack of condoms that led you there, to Jay whispering sweet filth in your ear while he spilled into you.

"Very funny, YN." His breath fans your skin when he chuckles. There's no humour in it, but he throbs between your legs, rolls his hips back to match your rhythm. "Can't keep chancing it." You can hear his resolve fading, his lack of conviction.

"Don't you think I'd look pretty? All nice and full?"

His teeth sink into the crook of your neck, making you cry out. "Don't," he mumbles, soothing the bite mark with his tongue.

"Used to — fuck, Jay — talk about it all the time." You're panting more than you're talking, eyes fluttering shut as your sweat slicked skin slips over his. "Lost your shit when I'd call you da—" He cuts you off with his dick. Finally.

You moan in unison, eyes screwing shut as he thrusts into you, filling you up with one shaky stroke. There's no getting used to the size of Jay. Whether he's fucking you with it or sending a video, it shocks you every time. It's like he's trying to split you in half to make room for himself, thick heat spreading, unbearable, from between your legs out. He doesn't move yet.

"All good, baby? Feels good?" he pants, burying his face into your throat.

You nod into his pillow, gasping for breath, only managing to say, "Uh huh."

A low groan heats your neck when you claw at Jay's back and he pulls almost all the way out before thrusting right back in. "So good for me, YN. Fit so good, baby. Always fit so good." He fucks you with the same strokes each time, even when his breath turns ragged, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. Tip on the burning knot in your stomach, nudging it undone, one deep thrust after the other.

You bury your face in the pillow, biting down on it, as he brings you to your orgasm like this. Finger pressed to your clit, teeth nipping your neck, hips rutting frantically. He fucks you through it, wet and overwhelming, scorching heat tearing through you. The memory foam muffles your mewls and whiny babbles, and he groans when you tug his hair, muttering, oh, my God, over and over, until he finishes with a loud cry of your name, shuddering in and out of you.

Calming down is difficult, but Jay's hand stroking your hair is a comfort. Lips pressing sweet kisses to your jaw and muttering praise into your skin. Again, you find those three words on the tip of your tongue, eight letters eager to make their way out. They don't have a chance, thankfully, because he pulls out slowly, moving just enough to kiss your lips. His tongue brushes yours, wiping your I love you away, taking it for himself, and smiling against you like you actually said it. Like he's saying it back.

Sleepiness overwhelms you, eyelids heavy, lips lazy on Jay's. After you pee, he wipes you clean with a warm towel, kissing your knee while he does. Falling asleep is easy in his arms, with the steady rise and fall of his chest under your head, butterflies swirling in your stomach, and the knowledge that the terrifying and uncertain tomorrow is still hours away.

When you wake up, no music seeps into Jay’s room, no heavy footsteps in the hall. No doors slamming shut, no yelled conversations. The flat is completely still. Even the street outside is quiet through the open window, London’s morning running on silent. Soft cotton kisses your skin, detergent and sweat float around you. Sunlight streaks the wall, slipping through the gaps in the blinds. Jay’s fingers twirl the ends of your hair. His voice, low and gravelly from sleep, asks, “You sleep alright?”

Alright isn’t enough of a word for how well you slept. You’re not even sure if perfect would suffice, but you nod anyway. “Did you?”

“Mm.” He squeezes your shoulder, holding you closer. “Perfect, darling.”

I wish we could just stay here forever, you think. Saying it is another story. “Do you really have to go?” you ask instead, knowing he’ll have to leave soon to make his flight.

You hear the spread of Jay’s lips and see the curve, his perfect teeth, his smile lines and dimple, so perfectly clear behind your closed eyes. His hand is heavy on your arm, his fingertips warm and calloused, dragging senseless patterns into your skin. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he mumbles. “Promise.”

Resting your arms on his chest, you finally get a proper look at him. His hair sticks up in tiny spikes all over his head, pointing this way and that. A smile creeps over his lips, slight and sleepy, but warm all the same. How desperately you want this all to be something, to mean something. Now and when he gets back. The soft look in his eyes, the relaxed lull of his breath, chest rising and falling slowly under you, his hand on your back. How desperately you want this to be something more than simply blowing off steam before he goes on the road.

“What is it, baby? What are you thinking?” Jay asks, using his thumb to smooth out the crease over your brow. His touch is unthinkably gentle, but it ties your stomach in knots.

The words are right there, slipping from your mind and taking their juvenile shape on the tip of your tongue. What are we? It seems absurd to think that he could leave, even if only for a few months, without asking that question—but picturing yourself asking him is worse.

“It’s nothing.”

Jay’s lips curl downwards and the sight tugs at your heart. He kisses the palm of his hand and presses it to your forehead like a stamp, making you giggle, before his fingers find your hair, scratching your scalp. You could fall asleep again, your eyelids weighing more and more with each graze of his nails against your skin. He smiles, finally, he smiles when you lean into his touch.

“You could always come with me,” Jay suggests. “If you want.”

If you were even a little more secure about your place in his life, those three words — if you want — wouldn’t be so jarring. Wouldn’t turn your stomach or make you want to roll your eyes and ask, what the fuck kind of an answer is that?

“What do you want?” you ask instead.

“I want you to do what you want.”

You sigh, a deep breath torn out of you and into the silence.

“What do you want me to say? What am I getting wrong?”

Feeling bad, you shake your head. “Nothing, Jay. It’s nothing, I swear,” you try to assure him, but you can see his thoughts passing through his head. You can’t stand it. Can’t stand to think about whatever comes after this, after he leaves.

You lean up and kiss him to stall the inevitable, warmed by the low sound he makes, by the way he pulls you into his lap. Warmed by the feeling of him under you, hard already. His lips are slow against yours, tongue licking lazily into your mouth and sighing when you roll your hips over his.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, lips barely leaving yours. “Can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.”

When you pull away, his eyes search yours, a million questions written all over his face. His cheek is soft beneath your palm, thumb stroking his skin, and it’s all you can do to hope this won’t be the last time. “Fix what, Jay?” Your voice comes out small, frightened. “What is this?”

Say it, you beg silently. Say you want me. Say that this is everything.

He bites his lips instead. Says nothing.

“Do you still want me?” you ask around the lump in your throat. “Properly?”

Jay’s brows knit together. “I feel like I should be asking you that. I don’t know how else to show you.”

“I can’t go with you, Jay.” Saying it feels final, like you’ve drawn a line under whatever the hell you two have been doing, and he will leave for his tour and come back and this will still be over.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Before you can help it, your face falls, lips curling downwards, and Jay wraps his fingers around your wrist to keep your hand on his cheek. He jumps to take it back, to fix it, but you’re not sure if he can.

“That’s not what…” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. Can we just… Can we take a second?” His cheeks are flushed, skin rosy and warm under your hand, his eyes wide, pink lips pressed together. “I just need a minute,” he adds softly. “I’ll be right back, yeah, baby?”

You nod and Jay kisses you quick, gentle, before slipping into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. It doesn’t take long for you to make up your mind. To put your clothes on and stuff your bra into your bag, turning your phone off on your way out of the flat.

At home, you get straight into bed, pulling the duvet up to cover you completely.

Twenty-year-old you would be mortified if she could see you now: twenty-three, unemployed, and still worrying about the same problems you had three years ago, about the same guy. Surely by now, having known him all this time, known yourself, you should have seen this coming a mile away.

Sleep comes easily like this, moping under your covers like a kid.

By the time you wake up, it’s well into the afternoon and you turn on your phone to one new notification. A text from Aeri asking you to check if her parcel has come yet. Nothing from anyone else, from Jay. He and the rest of the guys are probably in the security queue, fumbling laptops out of bags and shoes off of feet. Chatty and excited and too busy to spare you a second thought, to send a text—which, maybe, given how you walked out, that’s what you deserve. You’re even now though, you and Jay. And it doesn’t feel good at all.

As if you’d willed it, wished it so much it came to be, your phone vibrates next to you on the mattress. Not a text, an email. It’s from Interview, with the subject line: Offer of Employment.

The smile that breaks over your face is instantaneous and aching, tears welling in your eyes as you read and reread the first line of the email. As you read and reread the whole thing, closing the app and opening it again, waiting for something to change, for a second email to come in saying there’s been a mistake. But no. The word congratulations stays right where it is. A job. An actual job that you get to start in a month when the office renovation is complete. It’s a weight off your chest, a blinding ray of light in the face of countless rejection emails.

When you open the phone app, Jongseong 😽, is right at the top, and it takes your thumb hovering over it to even realise what you’re doing. This week-long instinct, relearned and deep as marrow. I need to call Jay, I need to tell Jay, now your default thought. Again, your default thought.

The silence of the flat feels greater, bed bigger without him in it. As quickly as it came, your delight sours, curdling in the pit of your stomach. Everything you’ve been working towards, the fruit of your efforts finally reaped, and the one person you want to tell all about it, is the one person who’d care the least.

Locking your phone, you press the cool top of it to your forehead and take a deep breath. This is okay. You’re okay. You’re great! You have a job, finally, an actual named and recognised role. And it’s all yours.

Feeling lighter, if only a little, you get up to check the mail room, stuffing your feet back into your boots and pulling the front door open. Jay is there. Here. He looks like he’s run a marathon just to stand on your welcome mat, cap on backwards and his suitcase at his side. Sweat shines on his upper lip, his neck. His eyes are wide, brows raised like he’s surprised to find you here, at your flat, where you live. Nothing comes out when you open your mouth to speak, but your name comes from his in a whisper.

“I can’t go.” His voice cracks when he says it, making him smile. “I couldn’t, we got to the gate and I—I can’t leave if we’re like this. I love you, YN. I do. So much. I’m a coward, okay? I’m a coward and I’m awful at all of this, but I love you.” The words leave him in a rush, and he sighs after like he’s relieved, like the words have been weighing on him all this time. “I know how much I’ve hurt you, and I know I can’t make it up to you, but I’d like to try.”

Your heart races in your chest like it’s trying to burst out, thoughts scattered, too fast to latch onto, to process. You need to say something, you know that much. “I wanted to call you,” you utter, pointing at him as though maybe he doesn’t know to whom you’re referring. “I got the job at Interview.”

To this, he lets out a sound you’ve never heard him make. A half-laugh, half-sob as he takes your pointing hand in his, pulling you in. “Of course you did,” he says, the words a warm mumble against the top of your head. “Fuck, YN, that’s—that’s amazing. You’re amazing.” He holds you so tight you can feel the frantic pounding of his heart against your chest. The frantic pounding of your own heart. For a long moment, you bury your face in his chest, taking it all in. His scent, honey and detergent and sweat. The grounding feel of him, his arms around you, his palm stroking your back, mouth kissing your hair.

Reality, everything he’s just said sinks in, slow and heavy. Jay, here, with you, again. At last. And saying all the right things, saying almost everything you’ve been waiting years to hear. Meaning them. Too good be true surely, the job and now this, and all in a matter of minutes. You pull back, only enough to look at him with your palms flat on his shoulders, and wait. For the other shoe to drop. For Jay to glance at his watch and realise he can still make his flight if he leaves right this second. It doesn’t come. He doesn’t even look over his shoulder, his eyes are stuck on you. Only you.

“What are you—what do you want?”

“I want to be with you, and I want you to want that too. Still, again, whatever, just… you’re it for me,” Jay says decisively. “You’re always going to be it for me.”

Whether he knows it or not, he changes your life with those words. He changes everything. Quiets the years of chaos in your mind and finally, finally calms the storm.

“Yes, Jay. Whatever you’re saying or asking, my answer is yes, okay? I love you, Jay. I love you too, I love you still, all of it.” You tip your chin to kiss his smiling lips, and after all this time, your heart falls back into its natural rhythm.

Jongseong, Jongseong, Jongseong.

© zreamy (2026), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let me know your thoughts !

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[jongst4r]

between sheets (p.jay)

in which you and your best friend end up sharing a bed on a weekend getaway and everything changes

pairing: best friend!jay x fem!reader || wc: 9.7k || cw: fluff, smut! best friends to lovers, kissing, making out, praise, fingering, oral (f. rec), breast + nipple play, p in v, protected sex (we cheered!!), dirty talk, use of petnames, light-hearted teasing, swearing, slight hair pulling, slight marking, multiple orgasms, cum eating, playful restrain (just once, nothing too serious), so much lovemaking and sweetness :c (they’re so in love it’s almost disgusting) || warnings: +18 content, mdni!!! || a/n: i was so excited to write this oh my god,,, istg i never knew i was so into this tropes before </3 tysm to the lovely (non)anon for the request ilysm

you are the kind of person who packs too many scarves “just in case.” you are loud when you laugh, bad at parallel parking, and you still have that mixtape (yes, the old one) shoved behind a stack of books. you keep small things from your past — ticket stubs, a friendship bracelet jay made you when you were twelve — because they feel like proof that some parts of you don’t have to change. you are the one who still drags your feet through childhood neighborhoods when you’re nostalgic, who knows every stupid joke jay ever makes by heart. you are the person who, when things go wrong, texts him four words and somehow feels like the world rights itself: "please, pick me up."

jay is the steady one, he carries himself like someone who’s always been slightly ahead of the rest of the world. jay is the person who remembers your weird food order and sends you memes at two a.m. when you’re stressed. jay is the friend who will shove half your suitcase into his bag because you insist on carrying everything. he’s been there since backyard forts and playground vows. he’s the one with a measured laugh that comes late and soft, with hands that are always busy — checking a schedule, fixing the strap on your backpack, reaching for the jar of coffee without thinking. he is both impossibly steady and wildly impulsive. best friends since childhood, he knows which part of your pizza you always give up and can read the exact tone in your voice that means you need him without you having to say a word. he knows you in a way most people never will.

you’ve been planning this weekend for weeks: two nights away from the city, a small coastal town with a hotel that promises sea views and soft linen. the trip is a way for you to “decompress,” though you both know it’s a selfish excuse to spend some time with the person you adore the most. you both need the quiet; you both crave the plainness of two people who can be entirely themselves without the rest of the world.

you meet at jay’s apartment early on saturday. he’s already waiting by the door in an old band tee and jeans, hair messed up like he’s been up later than normal. when you walk in, he grins. “ready for an escape?” he asks, voice half-joke, half-relief.

“always,” you say, dropping your bag and grabbing the travel mug he hands you. it’s still warm. you both stand in the doorway for a second, jay nudges your shoulder. “let’s go get some fresh air.”

the drive there is effortless because he makes it so. windows down, music up. jay is a playlist master: he builds the soundtrack like he’s building the mood. his selections are small treasures — an old ballad you loved in high school, a song that you used to hum after an exam, a track you two once danced to in the kitchen at two in the morning. he sings along with the music, fingers drumming the steering wheel, and you watch the way sunlight lines his jaw when he smiles at a lyric. conversation is a steady stream of anecdotes, inside jokes, and comfortable silences where no one feels the need to fill the space.

“remember when we tried to build that tree fort?” jay asks, voice soft with the kind of fondness that makes the corners of your eyes crinkle.

“the one we almost set on fire?” you remind him, though the memory is fuzzy and ridiculous. you both laugh like it’s a secret you’ve shared too many times.

“i’ve got a vivid memory of my dad panicking and running when he saw you trying to light the lighter,” jay says, and you snort, pushing your hair back with a hand.

“you were the one who suggested setting the leaves on fire!” you point out.

“that’s because you were the one who suggested having a fireplace!” he retorts.

“nuh-uh, i was the architect. you were the disaster specialist.”

he grins, eyes warm. “okay, i’ll accept that title. disaster specialist. it fits.”

by the time the coastline unfurls, the town greets you with warm light and a salty breeze that makes your scalp tingle.

the plan is simple: wander, eat, and do nothing you would normally schedule. the first stop is a small café with mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu. you both order the same thing without planning it. “of course we did,” jay says when the server walks away. “we’re synced.”

you sit, and conversation moves between silly and comfortable. you talk about the dumb things you did in school, the band practices that always ended in pizza, the way jay once tried to convince you that he could beatbox. you both laugh until your stomachs ache. “you sounded like a dying walrus,” you say, wincing with the memory.

“i was talented,” jay protests, mock-hurt. “and you never appreciated artistry.”

“i did appreciate it,” you lie, smiling. the truth is, you appreciated everything about him — the way he told stories, how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the soft way he checked if you were okay.

after coffee, you wander down the pier together. the sea stretches into a steady horizon, glittering under the afternoon sun; warmth settles on the back of your neck and the breeze smells like salt and summer. jay walks just half a step ahead, hands tucked into his pockets, until something catches his eye: a seagull swoops down, triumphant, clutching someone’s sandwich in its beak.

“i wonder what that reminds me of…” he says, voice dripping with mischief.

you glare at him, already knowing where this is going. “don’t.”

he smirks. “jay—”

“i’m just saying, it’s impressive. most people only get their sandwich stolen once.”

you elbow him sharply. “i was six, and you were the one supposedly taking care of my food, you moron!”

he laughs, the sound bright and familiar, and nudges a puddle with his shoe. a thin arc of water sprays your jeans

“jay!” you yelp.

he shrugs innocently. “oops.”

you flick water back at him with your fingers — which, somehow, only splashes your own shoes. he bursts out laughing.

“that was the saddest attempt i’ve ever—”

before he can finish, you launch a real attack: kicking at the puddle with enough force to send a wave toward him. he dodges, still laughing, and you chase him down the pier, both of you splashing like children who’ve never grown up. your laughter mixes with the cries of gulls and the hush of the sea. it feels stupid and perfect.

when you finally slow down, breathless and damp, you notice a couple of people walking by — older, maybe tourists — who glance at the two of you and smile. one of them nudges the other, and there’s a tiny, knowing look passed between them. the kind of look people give when they see two people who clearly adore each other, even if neither of them is saying it out loud yet. jay notices, too. he tilts his head towards them, then towards you.

“what was that about?” he asks, light but curious.

you shrug, suddenly aware of how close he’s standing, his shoulder brushing yours.

“no idea,” you say — though your heart knows exactly.

after your clothes have been dried by the sun, you stop at a surf shack and decide to try the foam boards. “how hard can it be?” jay asks, grinning. he’s confident, and you know that sometimes his body can do the things his voice promises. the sea is cold but the sun makes up for it. you fall more than you stand, both of you laughing at each other’s ungraceful attempts. when you finally ride a small, sloppy wave, it feels like a victory. as the sun starts to lower, you both sit on a towel and watch the light go gold. jay tells a story about being lost when he was a kid — how he ended up in an ice cream truck because he followed the smell.

you tell him about a karaoke night with your friends which ended in a sore throat the next morning. jay watches your face as you talk like he’s memorizing it. when he tells his story, you see him soften in a way that surprises you: his voice drops, and his hands move in wide, careful circles as if tracing a figure on the sand.

dinner is small and warm. fairy lights hang low. you split a plate and an extra dessert because jay insists. “there’s always room for more dessert,” he says like it’s a moral code he follows strictly. you eat and joke and the conversation turns to the stuff that matters in tiny ways — your worries, the internships you both consider, the small fears.

the drive to the hotel is quiet in a comfortable way, you both feel tired in the best kind of way.

the hotel is a low building with whitewashed walls and a small, flourishing garden. it smells like lemon and seawater at the door, and for a beat you feel like you’ve stepped into a postcard. jay parks in a spot that has been gloriously unclaimed, and you step out together, shoulder to shoulder — the sort of unspoken choreography that makes you both laugh at how simple it feels.

the hotel lobby is cozy: wood floors, an old chandelier, and the receptionist offers a smile that’s almost too sincere. you move like one unit — jay on your left, his hand occasionally brushing the small of your back when the pavement dents or the door takes a gust of wind.

“welcome,” the receptionist says, handing you a key each. the keys are small metal things on old-fashioned loops. jay takes both and jokes about keeping them safe like they’re tiny treasures. the check-in goes smoothly. there’s a mild disappointment in the clerk’s face when he says over the computer, “we have you down for a double room… oh.” the clerk’s face changes. “i’m so sorry,” he says, scrolling. “there was a booking error. and— um—”

your stomach does a small, reflexive flip. “what kind of error?” you ask.

“the hotel is overbooked tonight. it looks like someone else booked your room — the double room with twin beds,” he explains, apologetic. “i’m so sorry. we can bump you up to a suite tomorrow, no costs, but tonight… we only have one room available. a standard double with one bed. it’s most likely a mistake on our end, but i can offer a complimentary breakfast, free minibar and a late checkout to make up for it.”

for a second, the news feels like a comic misstep. you both stand there blinking like two people on a sitcom. “one bed?” you repeat, because the idea is ridiculous and, somehow, makes your pulse skip.

you and jay exchange a glance so practiced it feels like a private joke handed down through years. jay’s brow arches, eyes searching your face as if to see how you’ll react. there’s a moment where you both silently consider demanding a refund and stomping out, but the tiredness in your limbs argues for a place to rest. you’ve come for quiet, and a little awkward intimacy in a single bed is still better than having to drive to the closest hotel possible.

jay rubs his forehead, then shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “we can share,” he says, the kind of simple solution he’s always offered when things go sideways.

“or i can sleep on the floor,” you offer, half-joke, half-serious. “i have a flexible spine.” he laughs.

“no way. we’re grown-ups. we’ll share.” his voice is steady. you feel easier because he always makes the small panic smaller.

“we’ll take it,” jay says finally, his voice steady. “one room. one bed. seems… cozy.”

the receptionist’s smile brightens like the problem is solved. you both pay the fee for the two nights and grab your keys. the elevator ride up is bright with awkward jokes. jay jokes about who will get which side of the bed, about knee territory.

“i get the window side,” you say, claiming it like a prize.

“fine, i get the remote,” he counters. “and the top sheet.”

the room is not big, but it is simple and kind, a wide window faces the ocean. the bed looks smaller than in the picture, white sheets tucked into a neat fold, but it still takes up most part of the room. there’s a vase with fresh flowers on the bedside table and a note from management, apologizing for the mix-up. there’s a soft hum in the air-conditioning, and the town’s urgency feels miles away.

you both make rituals out of mundane things: tossing your bags in a corner, ordering two glasses of iced water and a plate of fries to share. jay takes the window seat, tucking his feet under him and watching the waves. you sit on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, and the two of you settle into the unpretentious ease that’s defined your friendship for years.

“should we go out after this?” you ask after a while. “walk the beach near here? grab some snacks for later?”

jay glances at you and then the bed, a tiny smirk threatening mischief. “or,” he says slowly, “we could stay here, watch that awful romcom on the hotel channel, and eat these fries until our stomachs hurt.”

you groan, but you can’t keep the smile off your face. “eat fries until our stomachs hurt… what are we, twelve?”

you spend the late afternoon (after eating the whole plate of fries, that is) wandering the coastal streets: an old bookshop tucked between a fishmonger and a café, a little stall selling the most amazing scented candles, an ice cream place where jay insists you try a flavor called sea-salt caramel that you didn’t believe would be good but turns out to be divine. you throw yourself into the city’s rhythm — quiet markets, low-slung houses with wind-bent palms, the tang of salt on your lips. the sun slants golden and the ocean is a constant mood, a low storyboard of waves that outlines your day.

when evening comes, you head to a local bistro and order some plates to share. the conversation is easy, sometimes nostalgic, sometimes teasing. you revisit old embarrassments as though they are moments you both cherish, and you discover new quick truths: jay’s soft spot for an old childhood teacher, how he still hums that ridiculous jingle he used to perform for neighborhood kids, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles like he’s remembering something sweet. you find yourself leaning in more than usual, drawn to small gestures that have always been there but suddenly feel more luminous.

“do you ever think about how different things would be if we hadn’t been stuck living two houses apart?” you ask, swirling the rim of your glass.

jay pauses, lifting his fork like he’s considering the question as carefully as a strategic play. “no,” he says eventually. “maybe it would be different. but i like the way we’ve been pegged to each other — like a pair of constant variables. you know?”

you do. you know because jay has been constant in your calculus of life — the equation that solved itself with him in it. “i like it too,” you say, and mean it.

back at the hotel, the night unfurls with small rituals. you brush your teeth in the bathroom together because it feels like something you’ve always done, even though it’s oddly intimate, and you both laugh when a toothbrush falls and clatters. you change into pajamas in the same room, without looking at each other. it’s no big deal, because there’s years of trust there.

after closing the balcony’s door, you come back to the room while jay reads aloud the silly poem that was printed on the hotel pamphlet, turning it into a mock-serious performance.

“i have the perfect plan for tomorrow’s night,” he announces in a dramatic whisper, making you snort. “we conquer the buffet and then we empty the mini bar which, by the way, is free because of the hotel room thing.”

“incredible strategy, commander,” you mumble, tossing a pillow at him.

when you crawl into bed, the mattress feels even smaller than you thought. you both lie down on your backs, the covers tucked and your knees up. the hotel window shows the sliver moon and a smear of town lights. you don’t turn off the lamps because it feels like the night wants to be watched.

“i can feel it already… destiny. fate. the universe preparing to kick us with food poisoning from the buffet and—”

“what are you doing?” you ask, and he just grins.

“i’m narrating our lives. also, i never get to be dramatic out loud with anyone except you.”

the warmth in your chest is a gentle pressure.

you settle closer, legs tangling accidentally, and the bed feels too familiar and too intimate at once. there’s nothing sudden or electric in that moment — just the friendly gravity that has always existed between you two, the small ease that comes from a thousand shared food, errands and late-night confessions.

the distance closes so naturally you barely register it. one moment you’re side by side, and the next his foot nudges yours, a small accidental press that sends a quiet ripple through your chest. he doesn’t joke like he usually does. he just looks at you for a second — too long, too gentle — before glancing back at the ceiling. then, jay shifts, trying to get comfortable, and ends up knocking your knee.

“sorry,” he says softly — then adds, “but also… it’s your fault for having knees.” you snort, but you don’t move away. neither does he.

jay reaches for the remote, tapping your ankle with it. “okay,” he announces, “since your knees started this war, i get to pick the movie.”

“that’s not how this works,” you mutter, but you’re already smiling.

he scrolls until he finds a romcom with a 23% rating and a poster that looks like it was made in microsoft paint.

“perfect,” he declares.

“that looks terrible.”

“exactly, a cinematic masterpiece.”

he presses play, and the two of you settle closer, shoulders brushing as the opening credits flash like a warning.

later, long after the film fades and the television hums low, you find yourselves wide awake.

it’s the kind of quiet that makes every sound amplified; the ticking clock sounds like an orchestra. the ocean mutters in the background; a faint glow from the street below paints the curtains silver. you lie on opposite sides at first, an unconscious measure of space between your shoulders, but there’s something in the air that nudges at the perimeter.

you start with small talk — funny comments about the hotel’s art, the exact color of the blanket, how the protagonist of the last movie was an idiot — and then sink into quieter conversation. then you talk about work, about the small mistakes and the things that made you proud that day. the conversation is slow and easy. you nudge his knee with your foot and he squeezes your ankle in return, not even looking at you. the small touches are normal for you; they mean nothing more than warmth in the moment, but they make your heart skip a beat.

after a while the talk goes softer. jay says, “i’m glad we did this.” you answer, “me too.” he turns his head to look at you, face lit by the moonlight and softer than you remember in normal days.

“i don’t like being away from all of this,” he says, voice quiet. “i mean, from home, from my friends, from my family… from you.”

you feel a little jolt. “from me?” you ask, trying to make your voice casual.

“yeah. it’s weird,” he says, fingers tracing an absent path on the sheet. “i just… i like this. being with you like this. no pretending. no schedules. just us two.”

“i feel the same,” you say, and you mean it.

the room hums. you reach for his hand; your fingers fit his the way they always have. his grip tightens, then loosens, like he’s deciding how much to say. the closeness is comfortable and also suddenly sharper. you both stay awake, talking in half sentences, the kind of talk that means more than the words.

“do you ever think about how long it’s been?” jay asks suddenly, voice soft, not a joke this time.

“how long it’s been… since what?” you reply, turning your head to look at him.

“us,” he says. “you and me. the whole best friends thing. like… how long we’ve had each other.” there’s a hitch at the edge of his voice that makes you sit up a little.

he looks smaller now, exposed in the low glow of the lamp. your heart tugs at the rawness of the moment — the way time has folded you into adjacent lives.

“since kids,” you say, because the answer comes easily. “since we were both too young to know better. you were the one who taught me how to ride a bike after four tries and three scraped knees.”

he laughs then, because he remembers the bandages awkwardly wrapped on your knees.

“and you were the one who hid my vintage baseball cap because you thought it was stupid,” he reminds you, teasing but tender.

you roll your eyes. “it was stupid.”

“so was my hair, that’s why i wanted to hide it,” he says, and you both grin at the shared memory before a comfortable silence settles.

then, like an accidental gradual pull, his hand finds yours again. it’s easy and familiar: fingers slipping into those well-known places, a reflex that has always belonged only to you two. tonight, though, the touch feels charged, like it’s more meaningful than ever. for a second your fingers intertwine, and you turn to look at him fully, as if the light will reveal new shapes.

you tell him a small thing you’ve been holding for a while — how you worry about moving forward and losing pieces of your life that felt safe. he listens and then says, simply, “we’ll keep the important parts. we’ll keep the parts that matter. you’ll never lose me. ever.” his voice is calm but there’s an undercurrent of something else — care that feels weightier than usual.

the mood shifts in little ways. when you laugh, his look lingers. when you reach for the blanket and he helps you pull it, his hand covers yours a fraction longer than it needs to. you both notice but don’t comment. the night tightens from easy to intimate in a way that feels new. you lie facing each other now, closer than when you first got in bed. your shoulders almost touch. the two of you lie close enough that, if you wanted, you could trace the outline of his face with your thumb.

“remember when we used to stay up making forts?” you ask, voice small, half-trying to be playful.

“i remember you stealing my flashlight and refusing to share,” jay replies. he smiles, then grows quiet. his hand caresses yours under the cover, fingers warm around yours, his thumb drawing little circles that slow your breathing. “i like being near you,” he says again, but this time the words sound like a confession instead of a casual note. they hang between you, bright and risky.

you can feel your heart speed up. you look at him, really look — at the line of his jaw, the way his eyelashes shadow his cheek, the little scar on his nose.

the hotel room is full of the sound of quiet breathing. the air between you is different now — thiner, charged. you squeeze his hand back and the touch feels like a dare. the shift is gentle but certain: you both feel it, like the tide turning under the shore. you don’t fall asleep, neither of you do. you stay awake with your hands intertwined. what you’ve said is not yet the confession you both are afraid and eager to say, but it’s close enough. so much that the space between your faces feels like a wall you’re both willing to break.

“you’re quiet,” you murmur.

“i’m thinking,” he replies, looking at the ceiling as if the words are hiding up there. “about how different everything would be if i didn’t approach you that day at your porch, if we treated each other like strangers.” he turns his head slightly to meet your eyes. “but we’re not strangers, are we?”

you shake your head. “no. we’re… us.”

“us,” he says, saying the word like it’s a small, sacred thing. jay props himself up on an elbow, the lamp throwing shadows that make his face more serious than you usually see it. “i think i used to think that best friends were supposed to be… a constant. like okay, safe, habitual. and that was enough. but lately—” he pauses, fingers trailing idle patterns on the bedsheet. “lately i can’t tell whether what i feel is just familiarity or something else. something that makes me… not okay with you being with anyone else.”

the sentence drops, and your chest tightens in a way that spins your stomach. you liked to guess that, in small private moments, maybe jay felt things he didn’t say — the same things you felt — but he’s never voiced it like this. the admission is raw and honeyed at the same time.

“do you want to say it?” he asks suddenly, voice so soft it could be mistaken for sleep talking. he’s facing you now, eyes open and honest, the moonlight in the window making his skin look paler and a little electric.

you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. “say what?” you ask, though you already know.

“you know what it is... that,” he says, and his mouth quirks — nervous, silly, resigned. “that thing between us. that i’m tired of pretending doesn’t exist.” he swallows. “i’m tired of pretending i don’t think about you like that.”

your heart stutters. you feel it as a physical thing, as if someone has flicked a switch and warmth is flooding the room. you laugh, a small, incredulous sound that shakes with relief.

“you mean…” you begin, voice small.

“i mean,” he cuts in, not harshly but with a gravity that lands heavy, “i think i like you. more than a friend. and it’s been creeping up on me, and i don’t know when it started exactly, but i know when i notice it now. and it terrifies me because you’re my person. and the idea of losing you to… anything else makes my chest hurt in a way i don’t like.”

“you’re serious.”

“i’m extremely serious. i wouldn’t joke about this.” jay’s hand tightens around yours. “i—i’ve been stupid about it. scared, i guess. scared of what it would do to us. but i can’t keep pretending that i don’t care in a different way.” he breathes, “i like you. like-like you. more than best-friend-like.”

you stare at him for a second — at the honest way his lips tremble when he says the words — and your throat goes dry. the air between you tilts. your heart beats so fast you’re sure he can hear it; a dozen little memories — of his hand brushing yours, of the way he looked at you after your high school show, of how he'd walk you home after parties, of the way he always lent you his jacket — assemble into a shape that suddenly seems obvious. your fingers are limp in the space where his had been; you reach for them without thinking, and his hand closes around yours like a soft, heavy promise.

“i was so sure,” you say finally, and your voice is barely more than a rustle against the linens. “i was sure i was the one being an idiot. that it was only me who wanted more and—” you stop because the words begin to rearrange themselves into something urgent. you inhale, collecting courage. “jay i… i feel the same.”

jay’s shoulders deflate, a laugh escaping him that’s half disbelief and half joy. his face is a map of every possible emotion at once: relief that blooms into disbelief, then something tender and almost shy, like embarrassment and happiness braided together. he swallows audibly, then slides off the edge of the bed to sit beside you, thumb brushing your knuckles in a motion so slow it could be prayer.

“you do?” he asks, voice cracking. “you like me too?”

“i do,” you confirm, before you can overthink it. “i’ve wanted this — wanted you — for a while. and i’ve been trying to tell myself i was imagining things. i kept thinking if i said it out loud everything would change, and i was scared.” your voice thins and then steadies. “but i’m tired of being scared.” you let out a breath, laugh-crying a little. “i’m tired of pretending it hasn’t been you for ages.”

he cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek, and the gesture is tender and sudden. “hey, don’t be scared,” he whispers. “i don’t want to lose us either. but i don’t want to ignore this.”

“so… what do we do?” you whisper, the question monumental in the small room.

your faces are inches apart; you can almost count the soft baby hairs at his temple.

“we start,” he says, and the word feels like a vow. “we try, slowly, brick by brick, step by step. we don’t have to figure out the rest tonight.” you nod, slow and certain.

after seconds of silence, you finally break it.

“i want to,” you echo.

jay opens his mouth, then closes it. “are you sure?” you nod. “you know if we cross this line it’s going to be very hard to—”

“jay,” you stop him, looking into his eyes. “just kiss me already”

and then, in a moment that feels both like a cliff and landing, jay leans in. his lips find yours with a tenderness you’d only imagined in stolen movie scenes. it’s tentative at first — warm, probing — as if he’s afraid to wake something delicate, and you know he’s trying to be gentle because the moment matters. but the kiss soon deepens, becomes a conversation in itself. your hands find the familiar places — the little dip behind his ear, the nape of his neck — and he responds by threading his fingers through your hair, steadying himself against the newness of the feeling.

the world outside the window hums as if nothing at all has changed, but everything has. when he pulls back for air, his forehead rests against yours and both of you are breathless, eyes bright and shaking. you both pull back with nervous smiles that turn into laughter because everything feels suddenly lighter and impossibly good.

“god, i can’t believe we’re actually doing this, can you?” jay laughs, looking into your eyes.

you answer by kissing him deeper. this time there’s less carefulness and more hunger — years of small touches and bedside talks turning into something braver. your mouth opens under his, and the world narrows to the taste of him. you feel his breath hitch, a small sound that is part shock, part sweetness.

his hands are not tentative anymore. they travel down your sides, find the curve of your waist, pull you flush against him. you can feel the line of his ribs under the shirt, the steady beat of his heart, a drum that matches yours. he mumbles against your mouth, “i like you. so much. it’s stupid. it’s everything.”

“i love you,” you say before you can stop yourself — your words tumbling out in the dark and landing between you. you don’t take them back. you mean them; the truth feels heavy and right.

jay freezes for the tiniest second, disbelief and joy warring on his face. then he smiles like he’s been given a map to something he’s been searching for without knowing. “god, i love you, i love you too,” he says, and his voice is near-breaking. he says it again, this time firmer, like anchoring himself. “i’ve loved you for ages.”

you both breathe, the confession settling like a warm blanket. then the awkward, perfect, dangerous part: you both laugh because you’re unbelievably relieved and because it feels ridiculous to be this dramatic about words you should have said way sooner.

“so,” jay says, cheek pressed to yours, “now what?”

“now,” you answer, “we stop pretending we don’t want each other?” you murmur, tracing small, teasing, nervous circles on his chest with your fingertip, savoring the steady heat under your skin.

jay chuckles, shaking his head. “you’re impossible.” the he licks his lips, leaning against your ear. “but i wouldn’t have you any other way.”

he kisses your temple, then drags his mouth down your neck in slow, tender strokes that make you shiver. “is it okay if i show you how much i’ve wanted this, then?” he asks, the question gentler than the rest. you nod. “let me make this easy for you,” he murmurs, voice huskier now.

he slides his hand down to the small of your back and pulls you flush against him. the contact is immediate, grounding. his mouth finds yours again, deeper this time — hungry but still careful, wanting to memorize your reactions. you kiss him back with the same mix of desperation and care.

you can feel the change move through you like heat. jay’s hands are not shy; they explore your curves as if they’ve been waiting for permission. you hook your legs around him, instinctively, and the motion brings you both closer. the covers rustle; the room shrinks to the two of you. you laugh breathlessly against his lips. “we’re idiots,” you whisper.

“big idiots,” he replies, smiling into the kiss, then his voice drops. “i’ve wanted you for so long.” he breaks the kiss just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours.

the room condenses to the sound of your breaths and the soft rustle of the covers. the lamps throw a golden halo around you both, and the world outside the window recedes into a wash of distant traffic and the ocean’s hush. his hand slides up your side, careful, asking permission with the lightest pressure; you answer by angling your hip toward him. the motion is tiny, but it says everything you couldn’t say with words.

he keeps talking when he kisses you — low reassurances, little jokes that make you hiccup-laugh between soft, searching kisses. “i could do this forever,” he murmurs against your throat. “i will be very annoying and very attentive. is that okay?” you nod, because yes, yes, yes. your voice would betray you if you tried to say anything else.

suddenly, the room grows even hotter. he begins with soft worship — hands mapping your shoulders, the line of your collarbone, the dip of your neck. his mouth follows, leaving kisses that turn into gentle suckles, slow and intimate. every little noise he makes — soft groans, the way his breath catches — makes your pulse quicken.

as his kisses travel further, his hands move with purpose. he peels your shirt up slowly, as if practiced, just as if he was a man who had been rehearsing this exact scene in his head a hundred times. you help as he pauses to kiss the skin he reveals, fingers fumbling at the hem because you want him close, you want nothing between you. the fabric slips away and leaves you bare to the cool air and his eyes.

jay drinks in the sight quietly like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. “you’re beautiful,” he whispers, cheeks flushed and voice thick. it’s clumsy and perfect. “i mean it.”

you feel heat bloom in your chest. “you too,” you breathe. “you’re so, so beautiful.”

his hands find your waist again, pulling you until your bodies are flush. he kisses your throat, then your collarbone, lingering at points that make your back arch. his lips are everywhere, each kiss slow and worshipful. when his hand finds your breast, he cups it like it’s fragile, thumbs rolling your nipple with gentle, exploratory pressure. you gasp.

“you’re so perfect, baby,” he breathes, voice raw. when he finally takes a nipple into his mouth, it’s like a small electric shock — sharp and delicious. he sucks with a mix of need and adoration that makes your knees weak. you moan, which makes him hum against your breast, pleased and needy.

“do you want me to stop?” he murmurs against your skin, suddenly cautious.

“no,” you say, breathless. “jay, please, don’t stop.”

encouraged, jay’s mouth moves lower, trailing to the curve of your ribs, the slope of your belly. his hands keep you steady, one at the small of your back, the other sliding between you to trace the line of your hip. he breathes around your navel and then looks up at you, eyes dark with want. “are you sure? i don’t want to rush anything you’re not ready for.” he asks again, though the question is almost theatrical now, given the way your both lusting for each other.

you respond with your own hands, sliding up the back of his pajama shirt, feeling the tension of his muscles. “i’m sure. i want you. i’ve imagined this so many times,” you confess. “i want you so much, jay. i need you so much it hurts.” the confession is private, painful, but liberating to say.

he smiles like someone who finally got permission for something he’s been dreaming of. he answers by settling between your legs, careful as if you might break, but his eyes are bright and fierce with want. you can’t help but moan at the sight of your best friend licking his lip, so eager for your body, for you. “then… should i go on? i’m dying to taste you,” he says, voice low and breathy. you answer by nodding. “words, pretty girl, i need words.” he chuckles, caressing your skin.

you swallow, your throat caught between letting out a laugh or a sob of desperation. “god, jay, yes, please,” you groan, certain. your fingers tighten in the sheet, not out of fear but because you need something to steady you — something that isn’t him for a second, until your breath evens out and you remember how safe his hands always feel.

his hands keep hold of your hips, thumbs pressed into the skin. then his mouth is right there, a kiss low on your belly, slow and adoring, and when his tongue finally slips out it’s like heat and velvet at once. he starts at the curve beneath your ribs, lapping a smooth line down towards your center. the first touch makes you jerk, breath hitching; he hums against you, the sound vibrating through his chest and into you, pleased and hungry.

“fuck.” he groans, closing his eyes. and you feel yourself getting even wetter.

he doesn’t rush. that’s the first thing you notice, really notice, while your pulse is hammering against your ribs and the room feels too small for all the air you suddenly need. jay stays on his knees at the edge of the bed, palms sliding slow up the backs of your thighs like he has all the time in the world. his eyes flick up to yours, soft and dark and a little wrecked, and he smiles, small, reverent.

“you’re shaking,” he whispers, thumb stroking the crease where your leg meets your hip. “i’ve got you, okay? we can slow down.”

you shake your head before the words even form. “don’t you dare.”

he laughs, quiet, the sound warm against your skin. “okay. okay, baby.”

then he lowers his mouth and kisses you there, once, gentle, right over the cotton of your underwear, like he’s saying hello to something sacred. the second kiss is open-mouthed, hotter, and you feel the heat of his breath soak through the fabric. your hips jerk without permission as a moan escapes your throat.

he hooks his fingers in the waistband and drags the last scrap of clothing down your legs, slow enough that you feel every inch of air replacing it. when you’re bare, he just looks for a long second, eyes glassy, lips parted, like he’s trying to memorize you.

“baby,” he says, reverent. “look at you. you’re so fucking pretty i can’t think straight. god,” he breathes. “you’re so pretty. how are you this pretty everywhere?”

you try to laugh, but it comes out shaky. he kisses the inside of your knee, then higher, open-mouthed and lazy, like he’s tasting dessert he’s waited years for. every press of his lips is paired with a new praise whispered against your skin.

“so soft… you taste so good already. i’ve been dreaming about this for so long.”

the praise lands warm in your chest. he lowers himself between your thighs. his palms slide under you, lifting you gently toward his mouth like an offering.

the first touch of his tongue is soft, just a slow, flat lick from entrance to clit that makes your hips jerk, your back arch clean off the mattress. he groans like you’ve hurt him, arms banding under your thighs to hold you open.

“fuck, there it is,” he says, voice rough with wonder. “that’s my girl.”

he licks again, deeper this time, parting you with the tip of his tongue, tasting you like he’s starved. when he circles your clit, gentle, lazy circles, your breath catches so hard it sounds like a sob. he pulls back just enough to speak.

“you taste so good, sweetheart. i've been dreaming about this. been dying to know what you sound like when you let go for me.”

he settles in like it’s his life’s work. tongue flat and broad at first, just feeling you, learning every twitch and sigh. then he narrows it, circles your clit once, twice, light enough to make you crazy. you thread fingers into his hair and he hums approval, the vibration rolling straight through you.

“don’t be shy, pull harder,” he says against you. “i want to feel you.”

you do. he rewards you by sliding one finger inside, slow, eyes locked on your face to watch every flicker. when you clench around him he curses softly, adds a second, curls them just right.

“perfect,” he whispers. “so perfect for me. you always were.”

he seals his mouth over you and sucks, soft at first, then harder when your fingers fist in his hair. every time you tug, he groans like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. his tongue dips inside you, slow thrusts that match the roll of his thumb over your clit, and the room fills with the wet sounds of him devouring you.

“jay,” you whimper, thighs trembling on either side of his head.

“i know, baby,” he soothes, voice muffled. “i know. just let me take care of you.”

the way he curls his fingers, slow and perfect, stroking the exact spot, makes your back arch clean off the bed. his mouth never leaves your clit, licking, sucking, fluttering, sucking again until your legs try to close on instinct. he just gentles them open with his shoulders, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“stay open for me, love. wanna see all of you. wanna watch you fall apart on my tongue.”

he finds a rhythm that makes your thighs start to tremble, mouth relentless, fingers steady and deep. every time you get close he backs off just enough to keep you teetering, kissing your clit like an apology before he starts again. you’re babbling his name, pleas, broken little sounds you didn’t know you could make.

“jay, please, i’m so close i can’t—”

“i know, baby, i know. let me take care of you. you deserve it, you deserve everything.”

he sucks your clit gently, crooking his fingers at the same time, and the orgasm rolls over you slow and huge, like a wave that starts at your toes and crashes behind your eyes. you cry out, hips grinding against his face, and he works you through it, soft licks and praises the whole time.

“you’re doing so good for me,” he mumbles, kissing your thighs. “my beautiful girl, i love watching you fall apart.”

when you finally fall against the pillows, he crawls up your body, kissing every inch he passes, until he’s hovering over you, mouth shiny, eyes dazed.

“you look so pretty like this,” he whispers, voice cracked open.

you don’t waste another second: you pull him down into a kiss and taste yourself on his tongue. it’s filthy and perfect. he groans into your mouth, hips rolling instinctively against yours.

“i need you,” he says against your lips. “i need to be inside you. can i?” he says it like a prayer, lips brushing yours.

you nod, frantic. “yes. yes, jay, please.”

he pulls back just far enough to reach for the nightstand drawer. his fingers close around the little foil square and you both freeze for half a heartbeat, staring at it like it’s evidence.

a slow, wicked grin spreads across your face even as your cheeks burn.

“wait,” you breathe, propping yourself up on your elbows, hair falling messily over one shoulder. “did you… pack condoms for our little platonic weekend getaway?”

jay’s ears go scarlet. he tries to look dignified and fails completely. “i—”

“be honest,” you tease, poking his chest. “did you stand in the drugstore aisle going “hmm, better grab a three-pack just in case my best friend finally lets me ruin our friendship”?”

he groans, dropping his forehead to your collarbone, but he’s laughing, muffled and embarrassed. “shut up.”

“no, no, i need details.” you tilt his chin up so he has to meet your eyes. “how many scenarios did you run in that pretty head? did you practice this moment in the mirror?”

“i hate you,” he mutters, but he’s grinning so wide the crinckles by their eyes are showing. “i threw them in at the last second, okay? i told myself it was… responsible. like life-jacket thinking. just in case we, i don’t know, got on a boat, got shipwrecked and needed to improvise a water pouch or something.”

you burst out laughing, the sound bright in the quiet room. “a water pouch. smooth, park.”

he hides his face in your neck, voice muffled. “i was delusional and hopeful and terrified all at once. sue me.”

you soften, running your fingers through his hair. “so you’ve been carrying around the possibility of us for months?”

he lifts his head, eyes suddenly serious even while his cheeks are still pink. “years,” he corrects quietly. “i just finally grew a spine tonight.”

the laughter fades into something tender and huge. you cup his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “come here, you optimistic little boy scout.”

he kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s trying to say thank you and sorry and finally all at once.

you take the packet from his unsteady fingers, tear it open with your teeth because you can’t resist the way his breath catches, as much as you can’t stand not touching him another second. when you roll the condom down his length he’s trembling, biting his lip so hard you’re worried he’ll leave marks.

you guide him back to you with both hands on his hips, fingers pressing gentle crescents into his skin. he’s shaking, fine tremors running through his shoulders, his thighs his breath, like every nerve is lit up and waiting for permission. when the blunt head of him nudges against you, he stops. just stops. forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, sharing the same ragged air.

“tell me again,” he breathes, voice shredded. “please.”

you cup his face, thumb sweeping the sharp line of his cheekbone. “i love you, jay,” you say, clear and steady even though your heart is sprinting. “i want you. i want this. i only ever wanted this with you.”

his eyes flutter shut for a second, like the words are almost too much. when they open again they’re glassy, stunned, impossibly soft.

and because you can’t help yourself, because you need to see him laugh one more time before everything changes forever, you lean up and whisper against his mouth, “for the record… best emergency preparedness ever.”

a broken laugh punches out of him, half sob, half joy. “you’re the worst,” he chokes, but he’s smiling so wide it almost dimples both cheeks.

then the smile fades into something raw, and he pushes in.

slow. god, so slow you feel every single inch like it’s being carved into you. the stretch is perfect, almost too much, and you both exhale shakily when he’s halfway. he pauses again, sweat beading at his temple, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump, you hear him swear under his breath.

“it’s okay, jay,” you whisper, stroking his back. “i’ve got you too.”

he nods against your forehead and sinks the rest of the way in one smooth, trembling glide until there’s no space left between you. the sound he makes is wrecked, animal, grateful. he bottoms out and just stays there, buried to the hilt, pulsing inside you, breathing like he’s run miles.

“fuck,” he says, voice cracking on the single syllable. “fuck, you feel,” he swallows hard, tries again. “you feel like home. like every place i’ve ever wanted to be.”

your throat closes. you wrap your legs higher around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back, and the tiny shift in angle makes you both gasp.

“move,” you beg quietly. “please move.”

he does.

long, unhurried strokes that drag over every sensitive spot like he already knows your body by heart. he watches your face the whole time, eyes dark and awed, lips parted. every time he pulls almost all the way out and slides back in he whispers something new against your skin.

“i love you,” he mumbles. “you’re so warm, so perfect… fuck, i can’t believe i get to call you mine.”

you meet him halfway, rolling your hips up, nails raking lightly down his spine. the rhythm builds steady and deep, not fast, never fast, like you have years to make up for and all the time in the world to do it. the headboard taps softly against the wall in a lazy, hypnotic beat that matches the hush of the ocean outside.

he kisses you constantly, messy, open-mouthed, swallowing every sound you make. when he angles his hips just right you see stars; your back arches and he groans like it hurts him how good you feel.

“right there, yeah? you want it there?” he asks, voice hoarse, doing it again, again, and again.

you can’t answer with words, just nod frantically and pull him down for a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue and pure need. sweat gathers where your bodies are pressed together, skin sliding slick and perfect. the room smells like salt and sex and the faint lemon of hotel soap and jay, always jay.

he buries his face in your neck, kissing the skin there, sucking gentle marks. the rhythm stays slow, deep, grinding on every thrust so his pelvis rubs your clit and you see stars. you can feel another orgasm building, softer this time, deeper.

“jay,” you whimper, clutching at his shoulders. “i’m close again.”

“i know,” he breathes, lifting his head to watch you. “i want you to come around me this time. i want to feel you let go while i’m inside you.”

he slips a hand between you, thumb finding your clit with devastating accuracy, and circles once, twice, gentle but relentless. your thighs start to shake against his sides and the orgasm rolls through you like warm honey, endless and shattering. you clench hard around him, crying out his name into his mouth, and the feeling of you coming undone around him finally breaks his control.

he thrusts deep one last time and stays there, hips stuttering, face buried in the damp curve of your neck. you feel him pulse inside you, again and again, each throb matched by a broken whisper of your name like it’s the only word he remembers until he finally spills inside you.

“jay, i love you,” you’re able to whimper. “i love you so much.”

after, he doesn’t pull out right away. he stays inside you, kissing your face, your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose, until you’re both giggling breathlessly at how tender it all is. his arms are trembling as they hold his weight off your chest, breath sawing in and out against your throat. you stroke his hair, his back, the nape of his neck, anywhere you can reach, until the shaking stops.

when he finally pulls out it’s careful, almost reluctant. eventually he ties off the condom and collapses beside you, pulling you into his chest. your legs tangle automatically. the room smells like sex and salt air and the two of you. he lifts his head. his eyes are a little red, wet at the corners, and he looks so young and stunned and happy it punches the air out of you.

“hi,” he whispers, voice completely shot.

you laugh, watery and wrecked. “hi.”

you end up half on top of him, cheek over his heart, one of his hands splayed possessively across your lower back, the other tangled in your hair. your legs are still intertwined, sticky and perfect.

the room is quiet except for breathing and the far-off shush of waves. moonlight has shifted; silver stripes paint his collarbone, the slope of your shoulder.

after a minute he starts laughing, soft and disbelieving.

“what?” you mumble into his skin.

“i just had sex with my best friend,” he says, like he’s testing the sentence for flaws and finding none. “and it was,” his voice cracks again. “it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

you press a kiss over his heart. “same.”

he squeezes you tighter. “we’re gonna be so annoying now.”

“the most annoying,” you agree, smiling against his chest. “oh, and, for the record, i’m not letting you leave this bed until we have to check out.”

“deal.” he tips your chin up, eyes shining.

for a long time you just breathe together. his fingers trace mindless patterns on your back.

“so,” he says finally, voice hoarse and soft, “what do we do now?”

you press your smile into his collarbone. “we date, i guess?”

he huffs a laugh. “yeah. we date. like, officially. you’re my girlfriend.”

the word makes something warm unfurl in your chest. “and you’re my boyfriend.”

“boyfriend,” he repeats, testing it, grinning. “i like that. a lot.”

you prop your chin on his chest to look at him. “people are gonna lose their minds.”

“let them.” he brushes your hair back. “my mom is gonna cry happy tears, and my own dad is gonna threaten to kill me if i hurt you.”

you snort. “he’ll have to get in line behind your grandma.”

jay’s quiet for a second, thumb stroking your cheek. “are you scared?”

you think about it, his thumb stroking your hip.

“a little,” you admit. “but mostly i’m… relieved.”

you turn in his arms so you’re face to face again.

“just so you know... i want mornings,” he says suddenly. “i want to wake up and make your coffee the way you like it, too much sugar, no matter how wrong it is. i want to argue about whose turn it is to do dishes and then make out against the fridge anyway. i want boring tuesday nights on the couch and big stupid anniversary trips and,” his voice cracks a little, “and i want to come home to you for the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.”

tears prick your eyes without warning.

“yes,” you whisper. “yes to all of it.”

he kisses you again, slow and sweet, like sealing a vow.

“i’ve been scared for years that one day you’d bring someone home and i’d have to smile and be happy for you while my chest caved in.” jay confesses. “but this is better. this is so much better.”

you kiss the center of his palm. “no more pretending.”

“no more pretending,” he echoes. “i get to hold your hand in public. kiss you when i want. tell everyone you’re mine.”

“possessive you is unexpectedly hot,” you tease.

he rolls you gently so you’re under him again, wrists pinned lightly above your head. “you have no idea.”

you arch up to kiss him, slow and lazy. when you break apart he rests his forehead against yours.

“we’ll take it slow with everyone else,” he says seriously. “we’ll tell our families first. then the group chat can explode. but us... we don’t have to figure everything out tonight. we just keep being us, but now i get to love you out loud.”

your eyes sting a little. “i like the sound of that.”

he kisses the tip of your nose. “good. because i plan on being disgustingly in love with you for a very long time.”

you laugh, watery. “disgustingly in love?”

“oh yeah. i’m talking matching halloween costumes, instagram hard launch in like, a week, writing songs about you… the whole cringe package.”

“i can’t wait.” you smile.

he settles beside you again, pulling the sheet up over both of you. you curl into his side, ear over his heart.

“jay?”

“mhm?”

“i’m really glad the hotel messed up the booking.

he laughs, the sound rumbling under your cheek. “me too, baby. me too.”

you talk until the sky outside starts to pale. about stupid little things — who gets the left side of the bed at home, whether you’ll keep separate toothbrushes at each other’s places or just share, if you’ll tell your friends or let them figure it out when you don’t stop touching each other —, and big things — moving in together one day, maybe in a year, maybe sooner; how you’ll handle fights when they come, because they will; how you’ll protect this new, bright thing between you.

and every time one of you starts to worry, the other kisses it quiet.

at some point you must doze off, because you wake to jay pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, whispering, “morning, girlfriend.”

you smile into the pillow. “morning, boyfriend.

outside, the waves keep rolling in, steady and sure, just like the two of you now, finally on the same page.

© jongst4r, 2025

taglist: @miraeluv @redessertired @oregonalii @simbabyikeu @seyjy @areikii @jaysendgame @andieekosmos @himynameisraelynn @tulipyaaa @sumzysworld

[o6frog]

jay ☆

[boyfhee]

MATCHMAKER ✶ park jongseong

❛ just you, jay, and his six year old daughter who starts playing matchmaker when his coward of a dad can’t stop giggling at the thought of you. ❜

16O3O words of single dad jay ♥︎ kindergarten teacher reader

INCLUDES───fluff, humour, loads of cuteness, jay is a single girl dad, tired and a yearner through and through, matchmaker and menace of a daughter called ‘jiyu,’

WARNINGS───kissing, skinship, petnames, mentions of death ( not the reader or jay, ) drinking, lots and lots of hello kitty bye

CAELIN───round of applause for single dad jay !!!!! i have actually been thinking about this since i posted my very first single dad drabble. i’m super excited to share this with all of you. please lmk what you think & talk to me about this, it’s one of my forever favourites happy reading ◜ᴗ⁠◝ cr @yeokii for the beautiful banner i love u goat

PART ONE PART TWO ✶ please read these before diving into this one for everything to make sense hehe :3

OO1 FEARLESS

jay, nine, decided he was too cool to have fears.

you wouldn’t be afraid of something if you didn’t let it scare you.

insects, sure, they make his skin crawl. but scared? nah. he wasn’t scared when he tried to drive for the first time, when he went bungee jumping, or when he swam to the deeper part of the pool at the age of sixteen— fifteen feet to be exact. he was never scared of needles and ghost stories have always failed to amuse him.

then, he got married at twenty four, had the prettiest little baby girl at twenty six and lost the love of his life at twenty seven.

perhaps, the time he felt anything close to fear was his daughter’s angelic face scrunched up in painful sobs and he didn’t know what to do. second time, it was when she almost fell from the bed when she was two, third, probably when he accidentally broke her hello kitty headband when she was four.

mistakes happen, he is only human, and jay had trained himself through books and constant advice from his parents to be the father of the century. no, he still doesn’t have a fear.

and then cue a busy day at work, endless meetings and piles of files that need his signature. he sees the numbers on the clock go from two to three in the noon. and jay has never stormed out of his office faster than now.

jay, now thirty two, has a fear— getting late to pick his daughter up from school— and it’s coming to life right now.

he always makes it on time, or before, managing to buy her favourite snacks to surprise her on the way back. the mothers talk while he waits in his chic black maserati, they smile to themselves when they see her run to him with saccharine giggles and he scoops her up.

jay— ideal employee and father— was convinced he was second to no one.

but today, god, he might be just speeding beyond limits, frantically looking at the time and at the road alternatively. he’s scared his darling daughter would be crying. he is never late— well, except once. it was a year ago, he was still new to managing work with her school days. she was sitting in the empty classroom alone with the teacher working on the side. the look on her face that day felt like a knife through his heart, and he promised to her that he would never be late again.

but then, today was the second time and he doesn’t know if his car is racing faster or his heart as he pulls up in front of the kindergarten. hurrying out of the car, he basically runs through the entrance, silently hoping and praying she doesn’t look lonely like the first time. he stops, taking a deep breath, eyes falling wide at the sight of his daughter.

she’s giggling, trying to kick the football. she looks up at you for validation at her poor attempt, a toothy grin adorning his face when you clap your hands. his lips erupt into an involuntary smile at the sight of you exhibiting a defeated frown— albeit dramatically— when jiyu scores a goal.

his heart skips a beat, she is his entire world, and she is happy, laughing, enjoying herself, and then it’s you— jiyu’s pretty teacher and his, well, dream girl. he doesn’t know why his heart has sped up anymore.

“papa!” the cute, little voice pulls him out of his trance, and his lips curl into a fond smile as he gets on one knee to embrace his little princess, greeting her with a kiss on the temple.

“hi, princess,” he caresses her cheeks, eyes going over the mess she has made out of her clothes. it’s going to be a tough time getting all that dirt and paint out but gosh, anything for her. with jiyu’s head on his shoulder, his eyes settle on you, and his face heats up again. “sorry for being late,”

he gives you a slight nod, a wordless thank you for looking after jiyu and a quiet apology for keeping you occupied. and when you return the smile back, he starts going crazy. even after having a fair share of women in his life, you have managed to bewitch him with pretty eyes and the ability to make his daughter smile.

actually, he has been crazy about you since day one, even before he had seen you, known you, heard you. he remembers how jiyu would eat his ears off while rambling about how pretty you are— she still does, except he listens and agrees with her like he has never heard any truer words in his life.

before, he got up early and dressed her up for school because education is important. now, it’s because he’s just as excited as jiyu to see you. education is still there— you have simply managed to make it seem less important.

“it’s fine, we had fun together. right, lovebug?” you assure, tickling jiyu’s sides as she yelps while swatting your hand away playfully.

and his heart aches in the best way when she gets out of his embrace to play with you. jay can swear he could melt into a puddle with how cute you both are, your laughs music to his ears, like a melody he has been missing for years. you can call him out on his lack of responsibility for being fashionably late to picking his daughter up and he would listen to it all with a fond gaze.

he stands up, holding the grayish-blue blazer in his hand, unable to take his eyes away from you, only to blink back to reality when jiyu tugs on his trousers.

“papa, i scored two goals today!” she chirps, eyes wide and gleaming in expectation for some compliments from her beloved father.

“really?” she nods proudly and jay grins like he is the one who made the goals. he is far too proud of his little girl. ronaldo should be glad jiyu is more interested in hello kitty colouring books. “let’s buy some treats to celebrate,”

“treats!” she exclaims before immediately getting distracted by a butterfly, running off to the side.

and it’s quiet again.

his hands are sweating, butterflies cartwheeling in his stomach. you’re telling jiyu to be careful not to trip and jay, he has already fallen for you once again. words can never be enough to express how much he appreciates you taking care of her.

the way wind blows through your hair makes him sigh in adoration, your eyes the brightest thing in existence, even more than the stars. and jay has never been the one to get sappy but he would write sonnets for you.

it’s getting awkward, aside from jiyu’s attempts to catch the butterfly and the visible concern written in your face. with a deep inhale, he musters up all his courage, the thump in his chest getting louder. “thank you for looking after her,”

and when you look at him with a warm smile, eyes crinkling up in crescents, he wants to melt in your hands the very moment. “no worries, it’s my job,”

even your voice resonates of a song sung by angels— he can’t believe he is thinking all that at his grown age. he wants to slap his face or bang his hand on the wall to pull himself together. but again, you make him want to write letters in your name. he’s a hopeless case.

“she likes you a lot,” i do too, he wants to add, but he controls. he is a grown man, for god’s sake, and here you have him blushing and swooning like a teenager having the first encounter with love. it’s crazy— just a month ago he was losing his mind over his daughter fawning over you and now, he’s doing the same.

his next words are interrupted by his dear daughter’s stubborn whines. he knew she would give up on the butterfly soon, stomping her tiny feet back to him. she’s already sold to the treats and nothing can calm her before she gets her hands on them.

“papa, let’s go! i want treats!” and jiyu, she is relentless, pulling his hand towards his car while he looks at you helplessly. patience is all he has ever taught her and she is everything that reminds him of his late wife.

he shoots an apologetic smile in your direction and lets her drag him to the car, knowing he can never say no when she gives those doe eyes to get him to fulfill her demands. her tiny hands grip around his fingers that taught her to walk and pull him in one direction while his heart gravitates in another— and this is just the beginning.

jay has been thinking.

with slow hands stirring the soup, his wandering mind has once again decided to go back to you. he can feel jiyu’s curious eyes scanning his face— she sighs like a middle aged adult— and he clears his throat with intention.

“so…what does your pretty miss like?” he is cautious, obviously trying to play it cool as if it’s completely normal for a parent to ask that. he does not want to show his exact intentions, at least not yet.

jiyu looks up from the colouring book in confusion, crayons scattered above the kitchen counter. she presses her lips together, as if having a deep thought. “um hello kitty! and strawberries!” a pause, she tilts her head to the right. “why?”

why.

good question, a damn good question with no answer. even he is wondering why. does he like you? everyone does, he’d be crazy to find you unlikeable. does he want you? yes— no! he slaps himself mentally.

he looks over at his daughter and she is humming one of her favourite rhymes while colouring the unicorns. it reminds him how you were holding her hand to guide her over the outlines, teaching her how to fill the colours properly. he also remembers how you had kissed her cheek since she did a good job, and he almost wanted you to kiss him too— jay wants to bang his head into a wall.

he wants to stop thinking about you, to save himself from spiralling into madness. it is clearly not working, so he goes back to his initial mission.

“can you ask what her favourite flower is?” his voice is a little more cautious this time, eyes fixed on the soup as if he doesn’t want to throw away everything and only talk about you.

she looks up again. “why?” and he groans internally.

gosh, do her questions ever end?

“it’s good to know your teacher,” he is trying so hard to make it sound weird. he turns off the stove, one hand on the counter as he leans against it. “and you can give her flowers to make her happy! you like her, don’t you?”

jiyu doesn’t respond, completely engrossed in her messy crayon drawing with the tongue sticking out in concentration.

and then, a quiet whisper follows. “i think papa likes her more,”

he winces internally at her words, not wanting to hear those words from her, out of all people. it makes him sound like he is in denial and trying to avoid the topic— even though he is, but he is not going to admit it.

is he being that obvious? he has barely known you for a little over a month— that too, only at school pickups and boring parents teachers meetings that he now loves to attend. yes, he accepts that he looks at you a little longer than he looks at everyone else. he doesn’t look at anyone else, only you. and it was going to be just you for a very, very long time.

“what no— i mean yes, but no!” he is panicking, losing his mind. the words are jumbled inside his head and the look on jiyu’s face tells that she knows his poor papa is having a quarter life crisis.

of course, he likes you. he likes your smile, your soft voice while you’re talking to the kids, your eyes and the way they sparkle all the time as if they hold the stars. jay likes you a lot, he’s just not ready to admit that out loud, especially not to his tiny, nosy, love-struck little matchmaker.

and unfortunately enough for him, she’s not waiting for a ‘yes’ from him. “you do! you get red when you see her! and you smile at her videos!” jiyu claims with full confidence— she is right.

his eyes crinkle up in crescents whenever he comes across one of your baking videos. when jiyu told him about your baking channel for the first time, he pictured his future with you. he thinks it’s destiny— he loves to cook, you love to bake— it’s a match made in heaven, a written in the stars type of love story.

his heart flutters at your cute cutelery, the pretty ceramics and adorable bowls. it’s adorable. he can’t even see your face, just the sound of your soothing voice is enough to ease his mind.

“that does not mean i like her, darling,” but jay is a father, first and foremost, before a loverboy lying to his daughter about his feelings. he doesn’t need his six year-old walking special agent to know about the feelings bubbling in his chest.

at least, not yet.

jiyu gets back to her colouring book, shaking her pretty little head like a tired parent. it’s unbelievable that he refuses to accept it even after she has called out his red face whenever you are around. raising a dad is hard, she would say, he is always in denial.

and she is definitely going to do something about it. “lilies are pretty,” she mumbles, not looking up from her colouring book but she knows she has all his attention. “you like lilies too!”

it makes hundred percent sense in her tiny brain that’s working overtime.

jay likes lilies, he gives you lilies, you end up liking lilies too— she hopes you will— you both bond over lilies and get closer and kiss. it’s the perfect scheme ever, she has seen it in one of the princess movies. well, not exactly, because the flowers were magical but nonetheless, she hopes the lilies do the work.

she’s devising a masterplan and jay— he knows just where to get the flowers from. he doesn’t need to be asked twice. pretty pink lilies wrapped in a bouquet with a ribbon. he’s already trying to come up with words to add onto a little note by the side.

pink lilies are for admiration. yeah, this is a great start.

jiyu is on a mission.

tiny hands holding a pot of lilies, brows furrowed, she looks at her father who is crouching in front of her. “give this to pretty miss,”

her shoulders are heavy with responsibility, she absolutely cannot mess this up. her tiny hands hold the small plant, and also jay’s pipeline to a love story with you but let’s not dwell into the details.

she nods firmly, way too interested in this little cupid act that she has gotten into. this has to be the most important day in her whole six years of life. her hold tightens on the pot, and she speaks with resolution. “will do!”

he sighs, fixing her ponytail. “and what do you say?”

“flowers are good and make you happy!” and dear heavens, jay has never been so proud of this little angel he has. honestly, he does feel a little silly for dragging her into his mess, but it was impossible to keep her out. she suggested the lilies and he knows she wouldn’t shut up about them until they have reached you safe and secure.

she has eyes as keen as an eagle and he is an open book.

she waves him goodbye, walking through the pink and blue entrance of the school and frowning at everyone who tries to touch the flower. her steps are laced with determination, wanting to do this right and make her father proud.

she walks to the class, flaunting the brand new hello kitty keychain on her bag pack. she was going to brag about it later. now, her eyes land on you as you arrange the books, and she approaches you with the puppy dog eyes that make the stars sigh in unison.

“pretty miss!” her cute voice makes you turn on your heel, a gasp falls off your lips as she holds the pot up and gives you her characteristic toothy smile. “for you!”

she’s shooting sparkles with her eyes that are looking at you eagerly for a reaction. it’s making you feel so many things at once, are you even supposed to take a gift from a student? you’re not sure, but you don’t have it in you to reject her surprise when she is looking at you with that grinning face.

“for me?” you look at the plantlet, and then at the excitement on her face as she hands it to you, her adorable eyes brimming with anticipation that you would like the gift. “why?”

“flowers are good!” she is beaming with cheerfulness, hands together and lips curved into the brightest smile. she is so proud of herself, almost imagining her dad patting her back and giving her all the chocolates. “papa told me to— oops!”

and the next second, her tiny hands fly over to her mouth, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. a gasp, she tries to blink the surprise away, gears turning inside her little head to come up with the best excuses. she cannot afford to mess this up. it’s about her papa and her pretty teacher— better than any princess story she has ever read.

you giggle at her innocent slip-up, the way her fingers fidgeting together in nervousness. you crouch to her level, gently placing the pot of lily on your work desk. “your father sent these?”

this is like her nightmare coming true. she can already see her father sighing disappointedly— no more spying, no more missions— her bottom lip is quivering at the mere thought of it.

“no!” and she shakes her head vigorously, try her very best to prove that it is not the case. “it’s a secret,”

you can barely enquire more before she runs off to her seat, successfully getting distracted by her friend’s cinnamoroll keychain. meanwhile, your eyes settle on the plant, the single flower that’s still about to reach its full bloom. there’s a bud next to it, small stars painted intricately on the ceramic pot. there’s a hello kitty sticker too— you know exactly who put it there.

you can hardly stop yourself from smiling, even when you’re supposed to go over the basic mathematics right now. your eyes inadvertently fall upon the beautiful white flower kept in the sunlight, the sight causing a slight flutter in your chest as warmth crept up your cheeks.

frankly, you have never thought about a parent of your students in such a way. it’s a little bashful, not to mention, unprofessional. although, something about jay makes you want to forget all those things and throw the cognition out of the window.

you see reflections of him in jiyu— the lovely smile, the way her eyes close when she laughs, her mannerisms, the slight raise in her brows when she is focused, and she is confident just like him, walking in as if she owns the room.

you don’t like working overtime but staying a little longer to look after jiyu is out of the equation. she’s cute, after all, and so is her dad, who shows up with an apologetic smile and tousled hair to pick her up. his eyes speak of exhaustion yet never running out of the love he harbours for her. his suit jacket is always on his forearm, tie a little loose and messy.

it doesn’t escape your attention the way his ears go red while talking to you and he avoids meeting your eyes. at this point, you don’t know if you’re staying late to look after jiyu or to catch a glimpse of her very attractive dad.

you continue with your duties, which certainly don’t include looking forward to meeting a certain someone but you end up counting down the minutes until the school hours end. parents teacher meetings are draining but when it’s with him, you find it oddly enjoyable. getting distracted was rather usual now, it was impossible to stop thoughts about him from flooding into your mind.

one quiet moment and your thoughts go back to him. it certainly didn’t help that jiyu mentioned him every few minutes— ‘my papa is the best—’ yeah, and you think so too.

much to your disappointment, you get caught up in a conversation with another parent to even see him, and it really pained to bid jiyu goodbye all alone and not walk her to the exit. it’s as if the universe isn’t on your side either because he arrived on time to pick up his little angel— fifteen minutes earlier in fact.

you could only watch him from a distance as he scooped her up in his arms and showered her with kisses, barely able to focus on the conversation at hand. and it melts your heart at the way jiyu waves you goodbye before resting her head on his shoulder as he carries her to his car, disappearing in the crowd of cheerful kids and yearning parents.

his hands are full of promised snacks and a surprise chocolate mousse patisserie that she loves to death. he can imagine his late wife scolding him for spoiling their daughter, but he can’t say no when she is looking at him with the very eyes he fell in love with ten years ago.

he shakes his head with a sigh, following jiyu’s tiny steps inside the house, calling out from behind. “careful!”

she’s a menace through and through, a treats monster on tiny feet that seemingly never gets tired even after school. he’s closing the door behind him and she stumbles on the way to the couch— his heart leaps out of his chest. even after six years, nothing can get him used to her energetic spirit that rules the entire house and has him dancing on her palms.

“snacks!” she claps her hands together, bouncing on the couch with happiness. it’s all she cares about, he doesn’t have to know about her little blunder in the plan. she can’t wait to have her papa-jiyu playtime where they both have snacks and share secrets.

and then she jumps down from the couch, restlessly running to him as she pulls her sparkly purple bag from his arm and shuffles through the colouring books and notebooks to pull out a pink envelope, basically shoving it into his face. “pretty miss gave this for you,”

his pulse increases at the simple mention of your name, and the fact that you send him an envelope— it feels like setting fire to his nerves. his shaky hands hold it cautiously, as if it’s worth millions. actually, to him, it does.

jay tilts his head— it’s exactly where jiyu gets that habit from— and he blinks at the sunflower sticker on top of the envelope. it makes him smile, you’re way too similar to jiyu when it comes to cute stickers and the colour pink.

he pulls out a small card from inside, and written on it is a small note which he can’t even read since the words are falling blind to his eyes. he is way too busy admiring your handwriting, the slight cursive that is just so you.

‘thank you for the lilies. they’re beautiful. ps. jiyu is bad at keeping secrets.’

and it happens again.

the jumbling of words inside his mind, heart beating relentlessly. he doesn’t know if he should consider his plan a success or failure— at least you have the lilies, he reassures himself, trying to hide his face behind the card that he knows is going to the safest locker in his cupboard.

and jiyu looks at him in confusion. “papa, you’re red again,”

OO2 TOOTH & NAIL

“papa,” she whispers in her cute voice, gesturing to him with her tiny hands to bend down to her level. “he gave her coffee,”

it’s not a known fact but jay and jiyu can pass for spies, or maybe they became one after he picked her up and saw another man approach you with what seemed like coffee.

this isn’t how things were supposed to go, but life is unpredictable. it was going to be an afternoon full of healthy vegetable sandwiches followed by ice cream and a movie of jiyu’s choice. well, that is until a certain someone reached you out with coffee right in front of him and jay felt like he was being challenged for a duel.

even she is engrossed— eyes squinted and fixed, she is judging that man with all her four feet and two inches. her face scrunches up— he’s not even that good-looking, not more than her prince of a father. no amount of spy missions to find cookies in the kitchen with her dad ( that he hid, by the way ) could measure up to this moment.

this just might be the most important mission of her entire life.

“come on, sweetheart. we should go home,” he buckles her seatbelt and turns on the ignition, and she nods like a commander in action.

she turns to her dad, eyes determined. the mission is clear— you’re a princess in danger, needing to be saved from the monster who lures people with coffee. her dear papa is the knight in shining armour, it’s exactly how the stories go. “are you going to fight?”

and jay scoffs, contradictory to the rules of disney. he huffs like this entire thing has nothing to do with him, even though his knuckles turn white with how firmly he is gripping the steering. “what? no!”

jay is indeed going to fight. tooth and nail.

he feels stupid for having these emotions— the butterflies, a crush, and the jealousy that seeps through his skin, drop by drop, every time he thinks about what happened earlier. the picture of you with he who shall not be mentioned is ingrained in his mind. eyes open, eyes closed, he sees you and him, and the thought that follows leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

‘do you like him? is he your boyfriend?’

jay prefers to ignore the latter.

you did look happy when he gave you the coffee and your lips had curved up in the same beautiful smile that melts his heart every single time, even in his wildest dreams. he has never been so restless and nervous. his mouth is going dry as the seconds pass— tick-tock, tick-tock— she inhales sharply, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

jay— the epitome of confidence and composure, is losing his cool because you interact with other men.

you and him are barely anything, and even if you were, you can talk to anyone you want. he knows that in all the right corners of his mind, even though his thoughts probably make him seem like a madman. hell, even he is surprised but he gets crazy when you’re the one driving.

his eyes go over the counter again— flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla, blueberries, baking powder, spatula, butter, milk, some more— all check. and then he gets to the matter at hand.

“do you think she likes cookies?” he asks jiyu, who is once again sitting on her high chair at the counter, making puzzles. “or muffins. everyone likes muffins,”

and she doesn’t even look up, tongue sticking out as she’s trying to figure out which piece goes where— a quiet mumble falls off her lips. “you can ask her,”

“no!” he shrieks and almost drops the spatula. “that’s a no, princess,”

the thought of you being aware of his stupid plans haunts him.

jay cannot think about asking your likes and dislikes without cringing on the inside and dying a little. you’re jiyu’s teacher, for god’s sake, even though that hasn’t stopped him from imagining you had his girlfriend and giggling under the blanket.

well, he hopes you like muffins. you have made a video about it, the one he watched religiously last night. it wasn’t in his best plans to woo you with his impeccable skills in the kitchen, but jay absolutely cannot let another man win you over while he sits with his hands tied.

he purses his lips in deep thought while absentmindedly tracing the rim of the bowl with his finger, and jiyu notices it all. she sees the way her dear father sighs every few seconds, wiping his sweaty hands on the apron.

the puzzle is gone, long forgotten. instead, she puts her elbow on the counter and rests her pretty face on tiny hands— an interrogation. “papa, are you scared?”

he scoffs.

he whips his head in her direction.

sacred? he is offended, it’s written all over his face. jay is the hero of all her midnight action stories, he is her spiderman who saves her from the monster octopus and superman who defeats carrots and capsicums.

he hasn’t been scared in years— okay, well, he did have a first hand encounter with fear every time he was late to pick jiyu up from school— but that is all. he has told her all about his great acts of bravery ( bungee jumping, swimming and riding a rollercoaster ) and it is like a dagger to his heart to hear her say that him, out of all the people, is scared.

he puts his hand over his heart that just cracked a little because his lovely daughter thought he was scared. a beautiful woman with pretty eyes and adorable smile hasn’t got anything on him.

sacred wouldn’t even be the last word he would use to describe himself.

“papa is never scared, darling,” he leans over the counter to boop her nose, lips flaunting a prideful grin.

and jiyu tilts her head adorably, the stars in her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “are you going to kiss pretty miss?”

jay feels the flutter in his chest again.

the thought of kissing you, you— his hands are shaking already. it is a dream come true for him. you look like an angel bestowed upon the earth, he would fall apart a thousand times before his lips touch yours.

and when they finally do, he would turn into angel dust blessed by your touch.

god, he is writing poetry about you in his head, seeing you in the flowers and the stars, in every beautiful thing in existence. jay is putting shakespeare to shame with his devotion, even though he can’t believe this is who he actually is.

he shakes his head, hands on waist and all, his squinted eyes shooting playful glares to his lovely daughter. “where are you learning all this from?”

“princess story! the prince and princess kiss and they live together!” and she is ever so excited, almost jumping on her seat. her grip tightens over her bunny plushie with anticipation. “if you kiss her, will she live with us?”

her words strike a certain cord in him— he is feeling a lot of things at once.

it’s yearning, perhaps, a longing for something he wants, something that he had before and lost through the cracks in his very palms that promised a happy future. jay was sure he would never fall for anyone else but here he was, already on the ground for you. he was scared for jiyu but she felt the safest with you, as if she had known you for an entire lifetime.

all his questions lead to you, all his answers are in you. his mind pushes him into pits of doubt while his heart pulls him out by the mere thought of you.

his hands are still shaking— but, he swears to hold yours ever so tenderly with his hesitant fingers. he would hold your heart like it’s glass and surrender himself to you.

that is, if you let him.

“i don’t know,” he sighs, adding extra choco chips to the batter. “that’s for her to decide, angel,”

after all, jay can only hope and pray.

“more glitter!” jiyu has the entire apartment up her shoulders, her tiny yet assertive voice ordering jay around like a poor employee under a cold-hearted boss.

he looks at the clock in worry, his little boss has no concept of time. “angel, that’s enough—”

“no, you have to make it pretty!” she exclaims with her glittery hands, grabbing yet another sparkly pen from her collection. “we need more glitter and heart and hello kitty stickers,”

the entire bed is filled with stickers, colourful pens and whatnots. he feels the headache approaching— he did not wake up an hour earlier than usual and cleaned the entire bedroom only to do it again after makes a mess of everything again.

jay isn’t quite sure if he should be worrying or not, she refuses to get ready for school without finishing their super secret ‘operation : save pretty teacher’ formulated by the one and only, park jiyu.

he only watched in defeat as she decorates the card— more glitter, more stars, more hello kitty— her tongue is poking out in concentration. jay thinks it’s genetic.

and then she shoves the paper in his face, wanting honest feedback, which means lots of compliments in her language.

“we should write a note,” jay presses his lips together, trying to come up with something. nothing too weird or forward, just nice and sweet like you.

jiyu claps her hand, chiming “say you want to marry her!” like it’s the best thing she has come up with in the six years of her life. it is, in fact, the most brilliant idea her tiny six year mind has thought of.

“stop it,” his heart is racing again— he is almost imagining you in a wedding gown already. he clears his throat as if jiyu’s words didn’t make his brain short circuit for a good few minutes. “okay. write ‘have a good day, pretty miss,”

and jay thinks he is smart.

making jiyu write his words in her adorably messy handwriting to make you believe that this was definitely not his idea and he certainly did not sit through the whole process of her making a greeting card for you. he was never the courageous one, not while confessing to his late wife, neither to you. although, he does feel a little more certain this time— it’s simply your magic.

she finishes up writing and he slides the pink card in the envelope ever so effortlessly— both of them sharing a prideful grin.

mission, half successful.

jiyu is on a mission once again.

part two of the same, truthfully. she strides forward with purposeful steps, confident that she is not going to mess this up like last time.

a spy never discloses secrets of their partner. she is going to have her mouth zipped up, locked.

she places the box of muffins and the envelope on your desk with her tippy toes, finding satisfaction in the way your face morphs from confusion into pleasant surprise.

“again?” you marvel at the fragrance of freshly baked muffins and she stands with hands on her sides, proud and victorious. “you don’t want to share them with your friends?”

“no! papa said this is only for you!” and it happens again, her brows rising up in shock. it doesn’t hit her until her small hands are over her mouth, wanting to take her words back. “that was a secret…”

you fail to bite back a giggle as her precious face flushes red, eyes moving all around except at your face. she cannot believe she screwed the missing again— she might just not get that hello kitty merch now.

you take a look at the pastel yellow box of muffin again, the cute marshmallow design bringing a smile to your lips. it’s evident that jiyu picked it herself. you know her enough to know she is just three things— hello kitty, marshmallows and strawberries— mostly.

“thank you, sweetheart,” you ruffle his hair, the pout on her lips only making you want to pull her into a hug. too bad, you have a job, otherwise you wouldn’t mind spending the whole day simply admiring her adorable face.

it’s the same process all over again— the envelope on your desk, jay’s handsome face in your mind, and the secret not-to-be-told that had slipped off jiyu’s lips ringing in your ears. your hands are itching to open the envelope, with utmost care, nonetheless. you would go over every crease and fold with a smile, maybe even kick your feet under the duvet while you’re giggling at every other word and scribble like you did last time.

jay has you falling for him just as deep as he has fallen for you, if not more.

butterflies house in your chest at the mere thought of him. it’s utterly unprofessional and disgustingly cute, and you haven’t even had a proper conversation with him where he is not jiyu’s father and you aren’t her teacher.

you don’t think you know him anymore than jiyu brags about— his maserati, the fact that they both have matching hello kitty headbands and that he is very, very good in the kitchen. you do want to know him more. perhaps, his favourite colour, or the book he likes.

maybe, how his hand would feel in yours— you drop the chalk amidst thinking about jay and spelling a word on the blackboard. you are going crazy, and you don’t think you want to get better anytime soon.

by the time school hours end, you make it your goal to walk jiyu to her dad yourself. the simple thought is making your heart race so fast, you can hear it echo in your ears.

and then you see him— gray suit, black locks slicked back. he is frantically trying to fix it as he catches your sight, and you chuckle under your breath, not missing the shy smile on his lips.

jay shines like gold in the setting sun, or perhaps it’s his own glow drawing you in. you are like a planet to the sun, always finding yourself revolving in orbits around him. you feel a similar flutter in your chest when he hugs jiyu like she’s his entire world— which she is.

and your breath gets caught up in your throat when his eyes finally meet yours. you notice the way he fumbles a few words again, you wonder if he knows you’re no better either.

“thank you for the muffins,” you manage to say, soft and sweet, it sounds like melodies to him. “how did you know blueberry is my favourite flavour?”

“just a lucky guess,” he says, trying to play it cool, knowing very well he scrolled through your channel to know your preferences. he knows you don’t like pineapple while chocolate is your second favourite. you’re trying to learn how to make mousse cakes and lobotomy wouldn’t even touch him because in his head, jay is already picturing the two of you baking it together.

“papa stayed up all night to bake! i helped too!” jiyu chimes in with a proud smile while jay is actively trying to disappear into the floor. she stayed up despite his hesitation, he did not want to risk her getting late to school. and now, it’s dreadful as well, because she can recite his crashouts from the night before word to word.

you grin at her words, ruffling her hair and almost melting at the contact when she leans into your touch. “no wonder they were delicious,”

“he also said your handwriting is pretty and it made his heart do a funny beat—”

and his hand flies over her tiny mouth that can’t keep secrets at all, while his face is red from the way you are looking at him. “don’t mind her,”

you swear, your heart just did a funny beat.

it’s the way he pulls her back and hushes her frantically that has you laughing under your breath. you shake your head at the pout on jiyu’s lips while he scolds her in the softest voice. he’s freaking out while trying not to be obvious about it and it’s the cutest family scene ever.

jay barely waits for another second before offering you a polite bow and walking towards his car.

“jay,” and you can hardly think before his name rolls off your tongue as if it has become a habit. “do you have something to say?”

you don’t know what you’re aiming for here.

maybe, you’ve been watching too many romcoms and reading too much into his little actions— it sounds stupid to you, even. the lilies, muffins, glittery cards and scribbled hearts can mean only one thing.

you still want to hear it from him to relieve all your doubts.

and before he could ever find words, jiyu already had a big grin on her face and eyes gleaming with impatience. “yes! papa likes—”

jay wants the earth to explode or something.

“would you look at the time? we should get going,” he drags his dear daughter to the car, ears red, cheeks flushed, barely having the courage to look you in the eye after the stunt jiyu pulled.

nonetheless, it told you exactly what you wanted to know.

you big goodbyes to other kids once the two of them are out of sight, and jay exhales heavily with his hands on the steering wheel as if he made it out of a death ring by an inch.

he looks over at his daughter who is sitting with her tiny arms crossed over her chest and the cutest frown dancing on her lips. jay knows he might have to buy an entire bakery to make it up to her.

it’s moments like this that remind him that she is much like her mother when it comes to mannerisms. she would have showered her in kisses as an apology but for now, jay will stick to bribing her with sweets if it means he can save image in front of you.

“never, ever, and i mean ever, say that in front of her,” he’s firm, soft, but also says it like a plea, like his whole life depends on that small mouth that holds big secrets.

“but it’s true! you like her!” she retorts, loud and proud. simply hearing it from her gives him a mini heart attack. “you tell her that and kiss and we live together— it’s easy!”

and jay had spent afternoons bickering with his wife that their daughter would take after him in some aspects. now, it’s biting him back since she inherited his stubborn attitude and refusal to give up.

he shifts the gears, hitting acceleration. “you’ll know when you grow up, little miss,”

and she huffs, brows furrowed. “i’m a big girl!”

OO3 MASTERPLAN

jiyu does believe she is a big girl. she’s six, big number, she can do additions in her mind and help her dear father write love letters because he is too much of a scaredy cat.

she has her lips zipped, not speaking a word about him to you for the next few days. no, she isn’t upset. it’s all a part of her big, masterplan. he didn’t spend the saturday night with a torch light under her space blanket for nothing.

the crumbled sheets of her drawing copy still lie in the trash can in her room, titled with ‘papa insert a poorly drawn heart pretty teacher’ and then scribbled off when she couldn’t devise a plan.

she didn’t give up, though, that word does not exist in her not so vast vocabulary yet. she stayed up all night looking at the glowy stars on her ceiling, lips pressed together, and then finally fisting her tiny hands with determination.

jiyu is tired of her dad fumbling every chance so she takes matters in her own tiny, glittery hands.

it’s just another busy afternoon at work for him and he’s picking jiyu up late again, warm coffee in hand, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled. he still remembers the first time he had arrived late and she was sitting alone, small legs dangling off the bench.

it was before you had joined and even though he knows you would sit next to jiyu the whole time while she’s waiting for him, it still doesn’t do much to ease his worries. if there’s one thing he hates, it’s to keep his little girl waiting.

you’re kneeling beside her cubby helping her zip up her hoodie, when he hurries inside with heavy breaths and a relieved smile at the sight of you next to jiyu.

“sorry,” he almost forgetting to breath when you smile at him, finding it hard to think straight when your eyes are on him. “i hit every red light,”

“all good,” you stand up, laughing when jiyu runs up to him and wraps her arms around his legs. “we were just having a fashion crisis,”

“papa,” jiyu says suddenly— her voice high, sweet, dangerously casual. there’s a certain glint in her eyes and god, it sets his heart off on a nervous journey. “did you know that pretty miss’ new video got so many views!”

he was almost expecting her to say something risky again— she can’t keep secrets for the life in her. although, her words bring a wave of relief to him. at least she isn’t planning to pull any stunts— for now. jay tugs her backpack over one shoulder and tilts his head. “did it?”

and he does it so innocently as if he wasn’t one of the earliest viewers in your new video, clicking the notification as soon as you posted it. he had already imagined your pretty face morphed in happiness when he saw your new video reach above a million views by the morning— yes, he opened youtube as soon as he got up.

“yes!” she exclaims, a little too excited, her ponytail swaying as she turns to you with a big grin. “papa is a big fan,”

you blink. “what?”

jay freezes, palms sweating as realisation dawns upon him. jiyu looks way too happy with no sign of wanting to stop on her face. her sharp tongue knows no bounds and he is already shaking his head in your direction to save whatever little image he has in front of you.

“i am not—” he starts, voice cracking slightly.

“yes you are!” jiyu intervenes brightly, pointing fingers and shooting daggers with her sweet giggles. “you watched the muffin video many times while making dinner, and you said you liked her voice and then you got all quiet and weird,”

the muffin video, god, jay wishes he could go back to that night and put his detective of a daughter to sleep. he thinks he’s hopeless, truthfully. he had no reason to watch your tutorial on baking muffins— he knows how to bake. he knew the ingredients even before you had gone over their names and proportions, and he remembers exactly how he had gone from sitting on the couch with his legs crossed to curling up in the corner with a cushion in his arms.

his little grin stayed hidden behind the cushion, one that grew wider every time you had smiled. you haven’t even done a face reveal on your channel but he can hear your pretty smiles flowing in your honeyed voice. you have him hooked, he scrolls through your videos even at work. jay can bet his secretary thinks he needs professional help because he keeps smiling while looking at the plain, white walls.

you stare at jay, wide eyed and at a loss of words.

and he stares at the floor like it personally betrayed him. it’s so over for him. his hand flies to his face, a heavy sigh falling of his lips, and he looks at you with pretty eyes brimming with panic. “i— okay, that’s not what happened,”

“you smiled in it,” jiyu continues, still cheerful, not wanting to stop anytime soon. she has one job— expose her lovely father because he is too much of a coward. “and he was smiling at the phone. papa is so silly!”

he can’t even look at you right now, just wanting the ground to swallow him whole or something. the sun can explode and he wouldn’t even mind. silly is not even on the list of words he would want you to describe himself as but maybe, that’s who he is— silly, some sort of loser who is hopelessly in love and impossibly shy to admit it to his crush.

you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “very silly,” your words are like a gentle jab to his heart, still not wanting to believe silly is what he is to you. “but kind of sweet,”

okay— now, he is not sure if he wants to disappear or melt at your feet. you called him sweet, it sounds like wedding bells to him. he looks over at you, you don’t look that upset at this revelation. you don’t look upset at all, not even a sliver of disgust on your face. maybe, this isn’t the end of the world. perhaps, he has a chance, or perhaps, you’re going to sit and make fun of him with your friends later over some drinks and chips.

his eyes widen, jay lets out a noise like a dying animal at the mere thought of that.

he looks over at his daughter, who is finding amusement in his misery and laughing under her tiny palms over her mouth. it’s like a game to her, one that she is winning by sacrificing her father.

“i’m gonna ban all screen time in our house,” he mutters, grabbing her arm to pull her out and away from here and just take her home. today’s father-daughter evening was going to be about an elaborate discussion on how to not embarrass your father in front of his crush. so much for big girl talks.

but jiyu pulls out of his grip immediately, helplessly adding “he gets shy when i talk about you,” with a giggle in her chirpy voice, loud and excited. “he says you have the prettiest laugh,” and at this point, he isn’t even doing it deliberately.

words flow out of her mouth like the poems she had learnt to recite to her grandparents. her eyes shine the brightest at this moment, followed by the smile that has you hooked to everything she says. jiyu had waited for this moment since forever, wanting to talk about him and you— the greatest love story in the making.

he exhales with a flare— or a plea. “jiyu,”

she shoots him glares as if it makes her pretty, doe eyes any less adorable. and you’re covering your mouth now, shoulders shaking, not sure whether to laugh or awe at his red face. your hands are aching to hold his flustered face in your palms and tell him so softly how much you want to kiss him.

jay gives you a look— half-mortified, half-defeated. his hair is tousled from the amount of times he has ran his fingers through them. “she’s lying. she’s six. no one believes six-year-olds,”

and jiyu gasps, tilting her head at him with an exaggerated pout. “you also said you like miss—”

“okay,” jay cuts in, clapping his hands and pulling her back by her bagpack. he was not going to let her drop the bomb like that. “time to go. say goodbye. we’re getting late,”

you’re barely keeping it together at their back and forth. he is basically pulling her towards the door and she keeps resisting, fighting with her pouty lips and squinty eyes.

you almost want to stop her and confront him yourself, wanting to see him squirm and stutter under your gaze until he has turned into a puddle. it’s cruel, you feel like the villains in his fake princess stories that jiyu tells you about. the idea is tempting, but you end up waving at jiyu. “bye, lovebug.”

“bye, pretty miss!” she sings sweetly, hello kitty keychain dangling off her bagpack. “tell papa you like him back!”

jay groans, practically scooping her up and backs out of the room. he can never face you after this. he’s already thinking about other good schools he can transfer jiyu to.

honestly, if it wasn’t for jiyu, you would think jay and you would still be exchanging muffins like highschoolers. unlike him, this is probably the best day you’ve had at work, and you call out to them to make it even better. “tell him his face is red again!”

and jay groans audibly down the hallway, not wanting to believe he’s still breathing through all this— and unfortunately so.

OO4 TO BELONG

jay thinks he is the unluckiest person alive.

absolutely doomed by the heavens, not even the higher deities are on his side. resigning from his job and moving to the countryside would be better. at least, he wouldn’t have to face you after the majestic event his daughter pulled the last time he saw you.

frankly, he has been avoiding you the whole week. he arrives at the school pickup on time, waiting until his little girl comes running and then he drives away with her before you can even approach him. it doesn’t make him feel any less shitty than he did for not attending the parents teacher meeting. he bailed out with some work excuse— he’s sure you’re perceptive enough to catch his lies.

jay wasn’t going to avoid you forever. he’s simply waiting for the right time. and timing be damned, because he had to have an important meeting on a weekday and his fingers were shaking over your contact. cherry on top— jiyu’s nanny had to get sick today and the neighbours had to go on a family dinner when he needed them the most. he is so sure this is an elaborate scheme to ruin his life.

this was a bad idea. yeah, why would you want to do anything with him after what happened last time? you probably think of him as some crazy, obsessed freak. it’s probably your courtesy that he doesn't have a restraining order on him yet. he’s highly expecting it anytime soon.

‘this is a bad idea,’ he thinks, but then freaks out when he clicks on the call button. worse— it connects immediately and his mind haywires, forgetting the entire concept of words and vocabulary.

“jay?” he gulps at the sound of your voice, looking at the potted plant in his office as if that succulent was going to start speaking. “jay, are you there?”

“uh— ” he wants to rip his hair out because of the weird sound he just let out. he shifts in his leather seat, fingers clutching around the phone like a lifeline. “hi,”

great.

he’s pretty sure his voice is nothing less than that of an animal shrieking in pain. he cannot believe it’s this same mind that signs off million dollar deals and can’t even hold a normal conversation with a beautiful woman.

okay, jay, breathe. this is not the end of the world. you’re just another woman— he wants to marry you, but that’s another story. besides, there’s always an option to move to the countryside and have a corn farm.

“i hate to ask this but i’m stuck in a meeting,” a pause, he’s testing the waters. a reply, anything, from you that tells him that you’re still with him. and when you don’t speak, he simply continues with dread setting deeper in his chest. “it’s going to take the whole evening. would you—?”

“of course,” you say immediately and he thinks you’re god. “i’ll take her to my place. you can rest assured,”

he practically melts in his work chair, letting out a breath that he has been holding for the past twenty minutes. you’re his saviour, like the light at the end of the tunnel. and for some reason, he feels more assured than he did when he left jiyu with anyone else before you.

he thinks he might have fallen for you once again.

he sighs in relief. “thank you— and i’m sorry for putting this on you on such a short notice,”

“it’s fine, i don’t mind spending time with her,” and you sound like you are in a hurry. you’re at the school, after all. you probably have some toddlers at each other’s hair judging from the cry he heard in the background. “i have to go— i’ll text you my address so you can pick her up later,”

“yeah—” he can barely finish his words before you hang up, and he only stares at the black screen in admiration with a dreamy smile, mumbling to himself. “thanks,”

if jay had to choose a superpower, it would be time control.

yeah, they’ve gone over this before— him and jiyu— she had picked invisibility so she could steal all the cookies. as childish as it sounds, he really wishes superpowers were real. if you hadn’t already started disliking him for his poor tricks to hit on you, he is so sure you would hate him for his absolute disaster of time management.

a blazing horn, tires screech, he whips the steering to the right— a near miss. his heart échos in his ears while his leg is still resting over the brake. the last thing he needs today is to see his death. it has to be the worst day he has ever had.

even finally pulling up in front of your apartment complex doesn’t make things better. he almost forgets to lock his car. seventh floor, unit 723— he remembers that like the back of his hand. jay barely has any time to lose before he barely waits for five seconds in front of the lift before deciding to take the stairs.

jay is convinced this is bigger than any gym workout he has ever done. hell, the two-hundred meters race on father’s day at jiyu’s school feels like a joke. he can barely feel exhaustion setting it, the urgency to see his dear princess lies second to none, even if his legs are starting to feel like jelly.

he feels like he has aged three years while running up seven floors, and simultaneously has gained ten years of lifespan when he sees your unit in sight. he rings the bell, knocks, one hand up the walls to catch his breath.

and when you finally open the door, it’s like a flood gate of words turned open. “i’m sorry. the meeting went on longer than expected and then the traffic—”

“jay, breathe,” you interrupt, half amused and half concerned. you’re trying not to feel guilty of finding him hot even now— he can barely breathe, for gods sake, but your eyes refuse to look anywhere except the glimpse of clavicle near the collar of his shirt. “you look like you ran all the way up,”

“yeah, i took the stairs—” the way he says it with huffs of breaths makes you feel bad, but you end up letting out an amused chuckle in the end. “elevators were taking too long,”

you want to hug his worries away, even though that sounds like a far dream. his hair sticks to his forehead due to sweat and you almost imagine yourself sitting next to him and tending to him with gentleness.

you watch the way his eyes scan your apartment restlessly even before he has walked past the doorway, trying to get a glimpse, a sight— you know exactly what will put his heart to ease.

“jiyu is fine. she just fell asleep,” your heart flutters as you watch your words ease his mind, and your lips break into a warm smile as you continue. “took her three bedtime stories even after playing all evening,”

you step aside and let him walk inside, and jay lets out a loud gasp at the sight of the living room— messy, opened paint bottles and brushes around with loose sheets. it looks like a disaster, he considers getting on his knees to apologise.

his eyes inadvertently move to your face and now that he looks at you again, better, you look happy, covered in glitter and cute stickers— he knows jiyu put that strawberry sticker on your cheek— and jay is swooning.

“well, we were painting,” he can hear the smile in your voice and his heart does a sommersault. his chest aches to see you playing with jiyu. “i’ll clean at up later,”

“i’ll help,” he immediately turns to you and there it is, the sparkle in his eyes, the one that you have gotten used to seeing whenever he comes to pick jiyu up after school. the sparkle that you have always wanted to see for a little longer but couldn’t because he cannot meet your eyes for longer than a minute.

and now that he is finally looking at you with an emotion somewhere between apology and gratefulness, you can’t help but admire the way he looks— his sharp features that look soft as a flower when he’s looking at you.

the silence between you both stretches and your chest tightens, and words leave your mouth like you’re caught under his spell. “okay,”

jay is already taking off his suit jacket, placing it on the armrest of your couch before undoing the cuffs of his sleeves. you basically freeze midway in the process of gathering the loose sheets painted with whatever, taking in every inch of the skin on his arm that meets your gaze as he rolls the sleeves up.

you’ve lost it, completely.

he picks up jiyu’s backpack that was lying around on the floor and swings it over his shoulder like it’s muscle memory. he arranges her shoes with his foot, immediately going for the water bottle that was lying next to the couch.

you have only managed to pick up the sheets and colours and he is already looking like some avenger with a backpack, water bottle in one hand and a bowl of water for painting in another with brushes dipped in it. he’s also somehow balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder through it all and answering to whoever it was on the other end of the call.

it feels like magic because you’re apartment already looks cleaner than it was just two minutes ago. “that was…surprisingly quick,”

he registers your words as soon as he puts his phone down on the counter, and there is it again— the shy smile that tugs at your heart strings just right. his hand flies to his nape and he manages to speak even through the loss of words. “yeah, well— i’ve been doing this for six years now,”

god, you’re addicted to that smile.

“right,” you smile, not sure if it’s at his words or how pretty he looks under those kitchen lights. you might as well be jealous of jiyu for being able to see this godly sight every day, might.

you’re still in a trance while watching him wash the excess paint off the dried brushes. you grab a cleaning towel to wipe the paint splatters off the tiles and your eyes are still glued to him— his arm, biceps, flexing through the soft material of his dress shirt.

you do see him walk over to you but you don’t move, your brain is still out of network service. you see his lips moving— his words are deaf to your ears anyway. your fingers are itching to trace over every single part of his face but you fist them around the cloth in your hand to not look crazy.

you blink once, twice— the sound of his voice calling your name gets a tad bit clearer— and then thrice before you’re finally pulled out of dreamland. “oh— yeah, sure! thanks,”

you don’t even know what you’re saying sure and thanks to. you’ve already lost your mind and you think you start losing it again when he steps closer. your heart speeds up like it’s on rocket fuel as he leans in even closer. you don’t even know what you agreed to— it can be anything between killing you and kissing you—

and you’re almost closing your eyes as if anticipating something. almost, because you feel his fingers graze tenderly over your cheek. it’s ever so gentle, like he’s afraid you’ll break.

you almost lean into his touch before he pulls away with a small smile. “there,” and he crumbles the fuckass strawberry sticker between his fingers before it finally hits you. “all clean,”

he laughs.

jay is laughing while you want to scream, probably punch into the nearest wall. you’re pretty sure you’ve embarrassed yourself but hey, so has he, many times at that, so you both are equal.

“thanks,” you manage to speak through the awkwardness. and then words vanish off your tongue again. he’s looking at you like you’ve saved his life— honestly, you might have, by looking after jiyu all evening. she is his life, his heart beat.

it’s quiet again.

and it feels like one hell of an awkward episode as you both just stand and look at each other. it’s way too quiet, save for the distant horns on the road. jay practically jumps when your table clock goes off with a robotic sound— why did you even set an alarm for ten at night?

you look like an angel wrapped in a warm sweater and trousers. white suits you and so does the glitter on your cheeks. you look like the perfect mess, and you look like you belong here— with jiyu, with him. this is bad, he needs to say something, anything.

his weight shifts from one leg to the other, an attempt at clearing his throat and well, the awkwardness. “i’m sorry for putting you up for babysitting duties all of a sudden,”

you shake your head modestly and he knows what’s coming. “it’s okay, i had fun,”

he laughs at your words, like the first gentle, relieved laugh of the day, like he can breathe after a whole day of work and worries. “she didn’t give you trouble, did she?”

you roll your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. “we get along better than you think, jay,”

and it’s the way you say his name that sends his mind into a frenzy. the way you are smiling at him, the way your eyes are sparkling with a playful glint— everything that is making him forget to breathe.

jay had actually forgotten he was here to pick his daughter up and not stand and admire you like a fool, and when he finally remembers, his feet follow behind your steps on their own while you lead him to your bedroom.

and there she is— his perfect, little girl tucked under a duvet. you’ve arranged pillows around her to prevent her from rolling over and it affects him more than it should. he almost crashes against the door, lips erupting into a fond smile at the sight of her sleeping so sound and safe.

“she’s adorable,” you can’t help but murmur. you’ll probably never tell him, but you sat by the bed for a good few minutes to admire her when she had fallen asleep.

“yeah,”

he takes quiet steps towards the bed and scoops her up in his arms like it’s a habit— and it is. jay would swear his arms would feel empty without her. she squirms drowsily and he pats her back, lulling her back to sleep with practiced ease.

you can see the fatigue behind his eyes and the exhaustion setting in his actions. he presses the softest kiss on jiyu’s forehead and the action melts your heart. you’ve always found their interactions cute, but seeing him like this— a tired mess and relishing in little form snuggled up against his chest— is the most special.

he walks towards the main entrance and words end up slipping off your tongue before you know it. “you’re not staying for dinner?”

you’re just as surprised as him, honestly.

he’s still looking at you with the same soft look on his face. you’re starting to think that dinner with him isn’t exactly a bad idea, not at all.

“no, you look like you could use some nice sleep,” he sighs, and you open your mouth to protest even though you’re disappinted, but he beats you to it. “you’ve already done more than enough,”

maybe, you actually need some sleep.

taking care of a kid is hard, you’ve realised it several times today. if it wasn’t for her non-stop narration on why you should watch kpop demon hunters, you would have fallen asleep on the couch before her. although, you would look after jiyu again without question. he simply has to say the word.

it also has to do with the fact that you still haven’t stopped ogling at his arms, not like you’re ever going to say that out loud.

your eyes meet again when he stands at the doorway, none of you knowing what to say. he’s still caressing her back, making sure she doesn’t wake up. it’s oddly captivating, you want to know how his hands would feel wrapped around you.

your gaze traces over his face, then lips, then back up to meet his eyes so you don’t look like some creep to him. this was a perfect way to end a day and you would hate to ruin it with your inability to take your eyes off him.

he takes a deep breath, not really wanting to leave but he knows that’s not possible. at least, not yet. “see you,”

you nod with a quiet “good night,” and then you close the door, crashing against it with the sweetest smile.

oh, you’re so done for.

OO5 MATCHMAKER

you haven’t seen jay in over five days and it’s the worst thing ever. the first two days, jiyu called in sick, and the next three, you had to visit your parents for your father’s birthday. you’d be lying if you say you did not think about him all the time— day, noon and night.

despite you telling everyone that nothing was wrong, you constantly checked your phone for texts from him, the last ones being about jiyu being sick from two days ago. and well, you did reply, two days ago, of course, hoping that she gets well soon, and then succumbed to hesitation as you went back and forth between to message or to not message.

and now that you’re back to work, jiyu is once again looking at you with determined eyes and a mischievous smile, tiptoeing over your desk. “papa made pancakes for you,”

once again, in front of you, lies a cute box, pastel green this time, with a cherry sticker. you’re going to lose your mind out of cuteness overload one of these days. she slides a small card towards you and your heart skips several beats. all this feels like some high school love story with jiyu playing the perfect cupid.

“were you supposed to tell me that?” you chuckle, based on her history spilling secrets that he trusts her to hide.

you flip open the card and this time, it’s written in his own handwriting— neat yet a bit hurried, every stroke and curve making the smile on your face grow bigger. your name looks prettier when it’s written by him, like something that belong right next to his name.

“yes!” jiyu’s chimes in, almost jumping in excitement. “he also said you should come for dinner,”

“dinner?”

“he cooks really well! and he wants to say thank you,” and of course, she is not letting up any opportunity to praise her father. if jay had a sponsor, it would be her and it’s no surprise. if jay has a million fans, she is one of them. if jay has one fan, it’s her and, if jay has no fans, she is dead.

she went off in front of her grandparents on her third birthday and his friends about how amazing he is at making soup. she couldn’t even remember her nursery rhymes well but she would never shy away from standing in the middle of the living room and give a proper speech on the chef of a dad that she has.

and she is confident in her words, even if they are stuttery and pronounced wrong, sounding like the usual baby rambles. jay can do anything and he would always have a tiny, adorable voice cheering on him.

you slide the note inside your purse, knowing it’s going to stay in your drawer like some precious treasure. you basically spend the rest of the working hours shaking with excitement to see him. you taught subtractions, gripping the chalk a little too tightly in anticipation.

you feel like a victorian lady who can’t wait to see her husband as he returns from the war. the thought itself makes your mind go fuzzy, you’re afraid you mind end up saying something wrong and scaring him away ( even though it’s not possible because jay will want you even if you are a little crazy. )

when the head assigns you to review some student profiles after work, you almost wanted to snap her head off with your bare hands. you hate staying beyond the working hours, more when you know it can very well ruin your only chance of seeing jay today after a whole week of torture.

but, it’s like even the stars are rooting for both of you because you receive a text from him and he is late again— much to his disappointment— and you have never loved the traffic so much before.

you stay with jiyu after school, she is talking about planets. her favourite is saturn because she read that it rains diamonds up there, and you try your best to not look impatient while waiting for the horn of his car that has now become familiar to your ears.

“do you like papa?” jiyu looks up at you with her big, curious eyes, legs dangling off the swing you both are sitting on. she blinks at you a few times, waiting for a response while holding the lollipop in one hand. “he’s nice,”

she’s making round patterns on the sand with her shoes and just as you were about to reply, he arrives, finally, you straighten yourself as you watch him hurry out of the car and close the door a little too loudly behind him.

jay practically runs inside, anxious eyes looking for jiyu until they finally meet her tiny form running towards him. she’s lifted off the ground even before she could respond, her giggles erupting in the air as he drowns her face in fleeting kisses.

then his gaze meets yours, and both your heartbeats start going off like a time bomb— straight out of a movie. you look happier to see him than usual and he is already working up his mind to come up with something.

“about dinner— will saturday be okay?” you cringe internally. that came off as way more excited than you intended. obviously, you don’t want to come off too strong even if you are literally shaking like a manic at the thought of having dinner with him.

“dinner?” he looks down at the tug at his sleeve. it’s jiyu, she’s looking up at him with a grin, and she winks. oh. “saturday is…perfect,”

he doesn’t understand whether to pat jiyu’s back and give her the trophy for being better at this than cupid, if he exists, or if he should lecture on why she can’t invite you over for dinner one fine saturday, under his name, because it’s inappropriate.

although, all his worries are thrown out of the window when he sees the enchanting smile tugging at your lips— dinner be it, hell yeah. he might just invite you over for a five course meal everyday if you are going to look at him like that.

“i’ll see you then,” you nod, and jay was going to make sure the upcoming saturday is the best one you’ve had in your entire life.

you had said saturday to buy yourself four days worth of preparation for the dinner as if it was your marriage dinner. well— it’s just as important, and you don’t know how the said saturday arrived so quickly because you’re standing in front of your closet, looking for the perfect dress.

you have to be going insane. even the new one you bought recently suddenly looks like the ugliest fit you’ve ever had.

you wonder if you should cancel, postpone, and then almost slap yourself back to senses.

no cancellations. you've been waiting for this dinner religiously.

after digging through your closet like you’re going to find gold, you finally end up with something. well, at least it’s new and compliments your skin tone. at least, it looks perfect with your favourite pendant and that is all the confidence you need to go through this dinner.

an hour later, you’re standing nervously in front of his door, fixing any creases on your dress with urgency and nervousness. there’s a box of pineapple shortcakes in one hand for jiyu and a bottle of pinot noir in another. google said it’s a perfect choice for romantic dinners— something about its light body and earthy tones— not like you are expecting anything to happen, by the way.

you press the doorbell, anxiously shifting from leg to the other, biting your inner cheeks. and as if on cue, jay opens the door with a warm smile that makes your face heat up.

“hi,” is all you’re able to say because well, the way he is looking at you is making your mouth run dry. the navy blue cardigan hugs his frame loosely and his hair is no longer styled back. the strands float above his eyes like a veil and you find yourself aching to brush them away to get a clearer look at those dreamy eyes and drown in them.

you’ve only ever seen him in poised suits and rolled up dress shirts with loosened ties, it has made you forget that he definitely doesn’t only wear formals. and frankly, he looks much better in casuals, so much that you’ve come to two conclusions :

first, jay looks way too good in cardigans for your heart health. you might as well get a heart attack at the sight.

and second, you need this date to get somewhere. hopefully, the pinot noir will do its job.

“hi,” he steps aside, gesturing to you to come in. “you should come inside— i’m almost done,”

and it feels surreal to be in his apartment, his place.

it’s nothing like yours and everything like a home that belongs to a family. there are photo frames of him and jiyu in every corner, even on the kitchen island next to the flower vase. her crayon drawings cover the entire fridge door and of course, there is hello kitty on mugs, posters.

the best of all, the entire place smells like a mouth watering cuisine as you see him return to the kitchen. you try your best to not ogle at the food like you haven’t eaten in a hundred years. “anything i can help with?”

“no need, i’m almost done,”

you stand across him, putting the cake and wine on the counter, watching his perfect hands flip the steak over with practiced precision. the sizzle only adds to your appetite. “i don’t mind helping, really,”

“well, you can just sit there and look pretty for me,” he doesn’t even know where these words are coming from.

both of you are equally flustered, barely meeting gazes before they flutter away. you sit on the stool at the counter, right across him, getting the best view of his handsome face glowing like a gem underneath the warm kitchen lights.

“okay,” you let the silence engulf both of you in the comfort of its embrace. it’s not awkward anymore, the faint smiles on both of your lips speaking for the lack of words. “where’s jiyu?”

he looks up from the grill, meeting your beautiful eyes. “with the neighbour’s kid. they suddenly wanted to have a sleepover,”

he says those words with an unamused sigh, still smiling, turning up the flame.

sneaky little thing.

not only she set both of you up for this thank you dinner but she also ran off to her friend’s. sleepover was an excuse, he knew that the second she approached him with puppy dog eyes and a pleading pout to manipulate him. she knows he can never say no to her when she looks at him like that.

well, he is thankful, even after she embarrassed him in front of you. he is glad that his little, matchmaker of a daughter pulled some tricks or else, he would still be sending you tiffins full of baked goodies and cute notes written by her.

you watch him set the plates and fetch the wine glasses. it feels like the perfect date night, better than any five star restaurant can offer, and the cute bowls and mugs on the shelves behind him only make everything better.

“so, what else do you do, aside from being a full-time dad— and watching my videos, obviously?” you ask with a teasing smile, feeling more confident than you were a week ago.

and jay groans visibly, ears flushing red almost immediately. of course, you are bringing that up, he wants to disappear into thin air. “please forget that. jiyu has no filter,”

you fold your hands over the counter with a huff. “and i’m glad she doesn’t. i don’t think you would have told me you’re a fan otherwise,”

and boy, jay was a whole air conditioner in fact.

he would spend his evenings watching your baking videos and his nights were filled with shy grins under the duvet, thinking about the way you had smiled at him at the school pickup.

he would never say it to anyone— it’s so embarrassing, he hides his face in the mattress whenever he thinks of it at night, but he has spent days admiring you from afar, watching you interact with kids and their parents. he would sit in his car and try to calm his heart down, hoping he manages to say something more than a hello and a thank you.

he even feels a tinge of jealousy at the sight of you laughing with the kids and kissing their cheek, as insane as it sounds.

will you ever kiss me?

his knees go wobbly at the thought and he almost smiles to himself, forgetting you’re sitting right in front of him. he ( and his daughter ) has already done enough damage to his cool and sauve image in front you, he definitely doesn’t want you to run away because you think of him as some mad man giggling to himself.

he can feel your gaze follow every single motion of his hand, the way he scatters pepper over the butter and thyme in the pan before stirring in the shallots. it’s like a game, he feels a sense of victory knowing he has you hooked— and it’s true. you have watched countless people cooking the most delicious meals in their own magnificent ways, but nothing was ever as hypnotic as him, nothing even comes close.

he carefully flambé’s the shallots in brandy and flame until it dies down, unlike the one in your chest that only ignites further when he gives you a charming smirk from across the stove. your face heats up and you don’t know if it’s because of him or the warmth of the kitchen, you don’t bother answering that question to yourself.

with a few more steps that felt like watching a magician in his show, you had the perfect steak diane served drizzled with sauce in front of you. “hope you enjoy,”

you were going to enjoy it.

the plate looks like it’s straight out of a cooking magazine, the wine that he pours on the side only elevating the taste of the whole meal. you wait for him to join you and he sits in front of you with expectant eyes waiting for your review. you’ve seen this movie before, the same pupils gleaming with anticipation and excitement. you almost feel compelled to give jiyu extra stars when she looks at you the same way as he is right now, and you think it’s only valid to give him stars too.

you slice the steak with your knife and take a bite, immediately melting onto the table itself. “this is so—” gosh, you hear him chuckle when you try to speak through a mouthful of food. you decide that it doesn’t even matter anymore. “—amazing,”

he smiles at your words and digs in— honestly, you’re too busy savouring the taste of steak and shallots to even pay attention to what he is doing. you came for the man, stayed for the food, it’s hard to believe he has all these skills hidden up his messily rolled sleeves on workdays.

the dinner is quiet, for the most part, save for the occasional clinking of cutlery and soft thank yous that he mutters to you for accepting his— or more accurately, jiyu’s— invitation. your legs accidentally touch under the table and he immediately averts his gaze, cheeks shot red. he apologises, soft and shy, gulping down the sip of wine and his nervousness.

it’s cute, you hold yourself back from reaching out and placing your hand on his. if it wasn’t for hesitation coursing through your veins, you might have done it already, and perhaps he would have too.

maybe it’s the wine but you find yourself unable to take your eyes off him— not like you had it any better before. the way he fills up your wine glass with politeness adoring his every move has you in a trance. you’ve noticed all those business awards and the ‘best dad’ certificate on the wall that was made by jiyu herself. he checks all the boxes— the perfect employee to the perfect dad, and a perfect man.

your words stand confirmed all over again when you step aside to use the restroom after dinner and by the time you get back, he is already putting the dishes in the sink after cleaning up the kitchen, and he is effortlessly quick with it too.

you do lose your mind over those broad shoulders and tiny waist, it’s making you feel all tingly in the chest and stomach. and after spending several minutes admiring him from behind, you find the courage to stand right next to him. “let me help,”

and it’s like you’ve said something controversial because jay is looking at you wide eyed and raised brows with disbelief written all over his face. “please, you don’t have—”

“i insist,”

the silence overtakes again.

your gazes meet and he shifts awkwardly, accidentally brushing his arm against yours, and suddenly his spacious modular kitchen feels too small for even two people. his ears turn red but he doesn’t look away and neither do you.

his eyes scan your face, then travel down to your lips before coming back at your face, and none of you look away. maybe, the pinot noir is doing it’s job. maybe, things are getting somewhere—

and then he shifts away, clearing his throat. “okay,”

honestly, jay is freaking out.

he doesn’t know how he is still standing next to you and breathing normal and not screaming while crashing out on the floor. you give him a cute smile every time he looks down at you and god, it is making him want to hold your face in his shaky hands and cry his eyes out.

it all feels so domestic, like you belong here, right next to him. nobody would have expected you both to be washing dishes on your first ( unofficial, self-proclaimed ) date. if he was any braver, he would have you right next to you on the couch with a movie playing on the tv screen. but, since he is far from anything mentioned above, he relishes in doing dishes with you.

and it’s heavenly, because the second your hand brushes against his under water in the sink, it’s like electricity running through his body and short circuiting his brain. he doesn’t know what to do— should he apologise? should he hold your hand? should he ignore and wait for it to happen again?

you aren’t even looking at him and continue to wash the same plate for the last ten minutes— not like he minds— and he wants to explode. that seems like the most plausible option at the moment.

the air is turning awkward again and he constantly taps his foot over the tile, finding words to break the silence. he watches you put the plate away before picking up the bowl, and he can’t help the next words that leave his mouth. “you’re good at this,”

great.

just amazing.

jay dies a little on the inside when you laugh at his words, the sound almost mocking his question. “at washing dishes?”

he wants to jump out of the window. billions of words in the english language and his mind came up with the worst four possible right now. he needs to save himself somehow. “yeah, you’re uh— skilled,”

stop.

just shut up.

you’re laughing at him, and of course you would be. you probably think he is the stupidest person to exist, even the kids at the kindergarten might be smarter than him. he doesn’t even trust himself to say something better anymore. when you’re this close to him, all his senses are destroyed.

you reach out to push a loose strand of hair back with your forearm, and he reaches out to wipe his hand almost instinctively before tucking your hair behind your ear. his hand stays there for a while like it’s a scene straight out of a romance show, his eyes refusing to leave your surprised ones.

his focus averts to your lips again, the way you nip at it nervously only makes it harder for him to think straight. he considers leaning in— it’s barely a few inches. but he steps back, and his touch lingers over your skin even after he pulls away.

he’s still thinking about it while scooping ice cream for two. you look so pretty leaning against the kitchen island and taking in every detail with utmost care, it makes him freeze by the refrigerator with two bowls of ice cream in his hands.

“here,” you smile when he hands you one, and jay stares at you with keen eyes as you take a spoonful in your mouth. it’s strawberry, too sweet for his liking, but jiyu mentioned once that you like strawberries and he hopes it’s your preference in ice creams too.

“what?” he doesn’t realise he’s staring until you call him out, and he smacks himself internally for getting lost in you again, not like he can help it.

“nothing just…” words trail off while he rubs his nape for a decent answer, looking at the shelves as if begging for help. “i, uh, hope you like that flavour,”

that was good.

“it’s good,” you say with a smile so sweet, it makes the ice cream taste bland. “but i prefer cookies and cream,”

and for some reason, that brings a smile to his face too. cookies and cream— so much like you, yet nothing that he could have guessed. well, it’s just the first dinner together and you’re like a box of surprises that he wishes to unwrap slowly and carefully, only seeing what you’re willing to show.

“i’ll remember that for the next time,” and it’s more of a promise than a statement. there is s a wishful certainty for a next time for something in the way you’re looking at him tells him that you want it to happen too.

you’re enjoying the ice cream in silence and he’s enjoying the sight of you, but again, what’s new? you look up at him again, glowing ever so perfectly under the yellow lights hanging from the ceiling. every single feature on your face shines like gold, and jay doesn’t know where all this bravery is coming from but he finds himself inching towards you.

he takes it slow, hesitant in his own actions. it’s like he’s waiting for your reaction, anything more than just your eyes landing on his lips before moving away. he wouldn’t mind if you choose to leave, despite the heartbreak, but when you turn to face him with the same look, he knows he has you for now.

it’s like the air shifts around you and suddenly, the lack of space doesn’t feel so bad. “can i?”

“i thought you’d never ask,” you nod— it’s all jay needs to know.

the next second, his lips are on yours, barely moving. he’s still unsure, wondering if you are too, if you want to pull away. but when you don’t— when you give in and press your lips against his, leaning into him— he feels like he can breathe again.

he puts his bowl away and takes yours to do the same, hands immediately going around your waist to pull you flush against him. you’re backed against the counter and he is somewhere between losing himself in the thrill and keeping himself grounded.

the kiss deepens, he lets you lead and his lips follow yours, slow yet insistent. you pull at his cardigan and he cups your cheeks ever so tenderly, wanting to get lost in you and never find a way out. it’s dizzying, the way your hands rest on the back of his neck, the way he can almost feel your heartbeat against his chest and the way it is almost in sync with his.

he smells like oud and something you can’t name but it’s clouding your senses and everything feels so right. his hand trails down the curve of your waist like he’s worshipping you and your breath hitches when he draws you even closer, if it was even possible.

jay pulls away a little, his forehead against yours. he takes in your sight— lips red while you’re breathing in short huffs. it feels like he’s falling for you all over again. “i’ve been waiting to do that for so long,”

“me too,” and your words are like a wave of relief pulling him in as he captures your lips in another kiss. it’s more playful this time, he can feel you smiling while your hands ghost up his neck and travel down to intertwine with his.

he still cannot believe this is real, and even if it’s not he doesn’t want it to stop. although, it does when you give him a few more pecks before pulling back with a grin, as if proud of the needy pout on his lips.

“stay for the night?” he murmurs, still cupping your cheeks. he tries to hold back, but ends up pecking your lips anyway. “it’s raining outside anyway. i’m not letting you drive in this weather,”

and you nod, pressing yet another peck against his lips as you bring his arm to circle around your waist. “only if you make pancakes for breakfast,”

ㅤ◞ ⩊ ◟ㅤ — hi to everyone who read this omg i love you with my entire heart ◜ᯅ◝ i think the writing process here started good and then turned into something. i hope it wasn’t obvious that i just wanted to get over with this by the last section lolsies .. anyway single dad jay you will always be loved

[liuhsng]

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ strings and satin ( pjs ! ) — part 4

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jay x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 ⤷ word count — 17.4k ⤷ based on this request by 🍓 anon ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — part four is finally here ! i’m so sorry for the wait but i swear it’s worth it, i promise. i hope you guys haven’t been waiting too long—thank you for being patient with me ! enjoy, my loves 🤍

⤷ warnings — smut (minors dni), college au, guitarist!jay, ballerina!reader, college!jay, college!reader, college!enhypen, band!enhypen, fake dating trope, friends to lovers, established relationship, soft domestic undertones, protective!jay, possessive!jay, mutual pining even after getting together, oral sex (f & m receiving), fingering (f receiving), desperate!jay, praise kink, manhandling (gentle but possessive), body worship, grinding, spanking, fluff

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — now that you and jay are official, the air between you feels heavier—charged. stolen touches linger too long, kisses deepen too fast, and every look he gives you feels like it’s daring you to close the space completely. with college week fast approaching, balancing everything gets harder, but the intimacy between you two only flames—late nights turn into tangled limbs and breathless laughter, both of you teetering on that thin, burning line between wanting and taking. because once you cross it, there’s no going back.

The café was alive with chatter and clinking cutlery, a refreshing contrast to the tense, quiet air of libraries and dorm rooms during finals week.

You sat at a corner table with Sunoo, Jungwon, and Ni-ki, laughing lightly as the three younger boys animatedly argued over who should pick the playlist for the car ride later.

“Alright, what do you guys want? I’ll go order,” you said, already standing, your fingers itching to pull out your phone to note down their orders.

But Jungwon immediately shook his head, his little dimples peeking out as he grinned. “We’ll wait in line with you.”

“Yeah, at least let us. We’re the ones who dragged you out for lunch,” Ni-ki added, already slipping out of his seat like it wasn’t up for discussion.

You let out an amused sigh. “You guys are unbelievable.”

“Come on,” Sunoo said with a teasing huff, gently nudging you forward. “At least let us do this much, (Y/N). Consider it penance for forcing you to leave your Netflix cave.”

You laughed softly, trailing behind them in line. “Okay, okay. I won’t fight you on it.”

The line moved slowly, the delicious smell of pastries wafting through the air, and you felt Sunoo’s curious gaze from beside you. He tilted his head slightly.

“So…” he started casually, though his tone betrayed his nosiness. “What’s up?”

You gave him a knowing glance. “You finally get to hang out with me, and that’s all you’re going to say?”

Sunoo pouted dramatically, tugging on your sleeve. “Oh, come on. You know what I mean! There’s something in that brain of yours. Spill.”

You sighed, biting back a small smile as Jungwon and Ni-ki edged closer up the line. “Fine. I met Jay’s parents last Saturday… and he met mine on Sunday.”

Sunoo froze mid-step like you just dropped the juiciest tea of the semester.

His eyes widened, and then a slow, mischievous smile spread across his face. “What?” he whispered-shouted, smacking your arm lightly.

Your lips twitched. “You heard me.”

Sunoo’s eyes widened before his whole face lit up. “Really? No way!”

Jungwon, who’d been eyeing the dessert display at the front, glanced back at Sunoo’s outburst. “What’s ‘no way?’”

“She met Jay’s family,” Sunoo announced, practically bouncing on his heels.

Jungwon’s lips curled into a soft smile as he stepped closer in the moving line. “Good for the both of you. It’s getting serious, huh?”

You nodded sheepishly, feeling the warmth rise in your cheeks.

Meanwhile, Ni-ki, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the menu board above the counter, hummed thoughtfully. “One platter for fettuccine alfredo and ravioli… and garlic bread. How’s that sound?” He finally turned to glance at all of you.

You, Sunoo, and Jungwon nodded in unison, and Ni-ki simply said, “Perfect,” as the line shuffled forward.

Then Ni-ki chimed in casually, like he wasn’t about to drop a bomb. “It’s good that you met Mrs. Park. I miss her cooking.”

Sunoo immediately agreed, clutching his chest dramatically. “Seriously! We barely get to hang out at Jay’s anymore. It’s just not the same when the chefs cook instead of her. The love isn’t there!”

You laughed, remembering the warmth of Mrs. Park’s kitchen. “You can actually taste the difference. I love Mrs. Park’s cooking a lot.”

Jungwon raised his brows and glanced back at you again as the group stepped closer to the cashier. “Did she call you her daughter-in-law yet?”

You blinked in surprise, laughing. “Wait, how’d you know?”

He shrugged coolly, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Just a hunch. She called us Jay’s groomsmen once… you know, when the time comes.”

“She actually did,” Ni-ki confirmed nonchalantly, still scrolling on his phone now that he’d memorized the menu. “She said I’d look best in a black suit.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, trying to suppress the laugh that threatened to slip. “You guys are insane. She really said that?”

“Yup,” Jungwon said with a grin. “And she even said Sunoo would cry the most at the wedding.”

“Hey—” Sunoo whirled on Jungwon, face already flushed as he pouted.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, your shoulders shaking slightly. The three of you shuffled to the side to wait as Ni-ki stepped forward to place the order.

Your eyes flicked to the glass display, catching sight of the chocolate cake that sat perfectly in one corner.

You reached out to lightly poke Ni-ki’s arm. He tilted his head down at you, his blonde hair falling just slightly over his brows.

“Order one ravioli and one slice of chocolate cake for takeout too, yeah?” you murmured.

He blinked, then nodded casually, adding it to the order.

Just as Ni-ki reached for his wallet, you pulled out your card with practiced speed and handed it to the cashier before he could even react.

“Really?” he scoffed, eyes narrowing at you.

You only shrugged with a teasing smile. “Come on. Let me treat my little brothers.”

“I’m going to transfer you the money,” Ni-ki warned flatly.

You shook your head, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Nope. Jay never lets me pay for anything. This is my payback… for him and for you guys.”

Ni-ki sighed dramatically, shoving his wallet back into his pocket. “Fine. But don’t think this is over.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you teased, taking back your card from the cashier as Sunoo laughed beside you.

You all made your way back to the booth. Sunoo slid in beside you again while Ni-ki took the spot across from you, staring out the glass window with his chin propped on his hand.

His hair caught the soft sunlight filtering through, making him look oddly serene—until his voice broke the quiet.

“I’m glad it’s not fake anymore.”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “Ni-ki.”

Sunoo made a noise of agreement beside you, nodding slowly. “Me too.”

You felt your face heat instantly. “Sunoo—”

Jungwon, seated at the end of the booth, furrowed his brows in confusion, his sharp eyes darting between them. “Wait. Not fake anymore?”

Ni-ki froze, realizing his mistake too late. He turned to you, a guilty smile tugging at his lips. “Oops.”

“Oops?!” you whisper-yelled, clutching your glass of water like it was a lifeline.

Your wide-eyed glare shot between Sunoo and Ni-ki, heat rising in your cheeks as you tried to process how fast this conversation was spiraling out of your control.

Ni-ki had the audacity to look unbothered, leaning back in his seat as he swirled his water like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb. Sunoo, on the other hand, bit back a laugh, pressing his lips together as his shoulders shook.

You turned sharply to Ni-ki, your voice a harsh whisper. “How did you even find out?”

Ni-ki gave a nonchalant shrug, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Oh, Zuha told me.”

Your brows furrowed, suspicion growing. “Zuha told you?”

“Well… I might’ve forced it out of her.” He took a calm sip of his drink, completely unaffected by your scandalized expression.

“Forced?” you repeated, leaning forward in disbelief.

He shrugged again, unfazed. “It seemed like she was hiding something. So… I hid her laptop and told her I’d throw it in the pool if she didn’t spill.”

“Ni-ki!” you gasped, covering your mouth in horror.

Sunoo couldn’t help the laugh that escaped this time, shaking his head. “You really hate your cousin, don’t you?”

Ni-ki glanced at him, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “That’s how it runs in the family.”

Your jaw dropped slightly at the casual confession, but you didn’t even get the chance to scold him before Sunoo chimed in.

“And you?” you asked, spinning to face him like he was next in line for questioning. “How’d you figure it out?”

Sunoo gave you an almost offended look, as if the answer was obvious. “I had a hunch! You two were walking on eggshells around each other for weeks. It wasn’t hard to see something was… off.”

You groaned, pressing your hands to your face. “I can’t believe this. I thought we were being careful.”

Jungwon, who had been silently observing all this with a curious tilt of his head, finally spoke up, his voice calm but edged with intrigue. “So you two were faking it at first?”

You slowly lowered your hands, meeting his sharp gaze. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “It was… to shut everyone up, I guess.” You trailed off, not wanting to admit out loud how exhausting the rumors had been before all this.

Jungwon hummed thoughtfully, his lips quirking slightly. “But it’s real now, right?”

Your eyes flickered between the three younger boys—your ‘little brothers’ who seemed far too invested in your love life—and you gave a small, almost shy nod. “Yeah… it’s real now.”

Jungwon let out a small sigh of relief, leaning back in his seat. “Good. I like Jay for you. He’s good.”

Sunoo grinned wide, practically bouncing in his seat. “Plus, Jungwon would’ve found out eventually anyway. Even if Ni-ki didn’t slip. He’s too smart for his own good.”

Jungwon’s lips curved into a small, pleased smile at Sunoo’s compliment, but the moment was short-lived.

Ni-ki, ever the menace, leaned back casually in his chair, sipping on his water before smirking. “Yeah, too smart. That’s why he fell on his ass trying to put on his socks earlier.”

Your laugh burst out before you could even stop it, nearly choking on your drink as Sunoo gasped.

“Ni-ki!” Sunoo scolded, reaching across the table and smacking the younger boy on the arm.

“Ow—hey!” Ni-ki winced, rubbing his arm with a frown. “What? It was funny!”

“You’re the worst,” Sunoo muttered, shaking his head as he tried to suppress his own laugh.

Jungwon, however, didn’t even look embarrassed. He just let out a soft laugh, his hand brushing his bangs out of his face.

Before you could add to the teasing, a waiter appeared at the table, carrying a tray stacked with platters of pasta, garlic bread, and desserts.

He carefully placed them down one by one, giving a polite nod as Sunoo flashed him his signature sunshine smile and said, “Thank you so much!”

You began passing out plates, handing one to Ni-ki, but your phone suddenly vibrated on the table. Glancing down, you saw Jay’s name pop up with a little camera icon. A video call.

“Speak of the devil,” you muttered, swiping to answer as you handed Ni-ki his plate.

The screen filled with Jay’s face, framed by the soft sunlight filtering into Decelis’s music building.

He was walking through a hallway, his guitar case slung across his back and his other hand adjusting the rings on his fingers. “Where are you?” he asked immediately, his voice warm with curiosity.

You shifted the camera slightly, pointing it at the three boys across from you. “Eating out with Sunoo, Jungwon, and Ni-ki.”

At the mention of their names, all three heads shot up. Sunoo and Jungwon grinned and waved enthusiastically while Ni-ki gave Jay a small salute with his fork.

Jay’s expression softened as he waved back. “Hi, guys.”

You laughed, turning the camera back to yourself. “He says hi.”

Jay nodded, his steps slowing as he glanced down at something offscreen. “I’m done buying guitar strings with Heeseung. We’re heading back now.”

“Okay,” you said, spearing a piece of ravioli with your fork. “We’ll be back before two. I bought you food, by the way.”

His lips curled into that familiar, heart-melting smile that made your stomach do somersaults. “Thanks, pretty. You’re the best.”

You grinned back. “No problem.”

“Alright, I’ll let you guys eat. Bye, I love you.”

Your heart gave the tiniest flip as you murmured back, “I love you too,” before the screen went black, signaling the end of the call.

The silence that followed was deafening. You didn’t even have to look up to know the three sets of eyes trained on you.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze—and sure enough, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Ni-ki were staring at you with identical sly grins plastered on their faces.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck.

Sunoo wiggled his eyebrows. “I love you too,” he teased in a singsong voice.

You covered your face with your hands, letting out a small whine. “Why are you guys like this?”

The door creaked softly as you pushed it open, the familiar scent of coffee, guitar polish, and faint lavender wafting out to greet you.

“Go on,” you said with a smile, gesturing for Sunoo, Jungwon, and Ni-ki to step in first.

The sight that met you made your heart swell.

The band was mid-practice—Heeseung hunched over his mic, lost in the melody; Sunghoon plucking at his bass with that concentrated frown he wore when he was in the zone; and Jay’s guitar resting against a stand as he leaned back on the stool with his phone in hand.

Your own circle of friends weren’t any quieter. Yunjin’s voice hissed sharply across the room, her brows knitted as she pointed at Chaewon. “I’m telling you, it’s two spins, not three!”

Chaewon, ever the firecracker, stuck her tongue out with zero remorse. “You’re not even part of the dance team, Yunjin! Stay in your lane.”

Yunjin scoffed, flipping her hair dramatically. “Excuse you, I’ve watched you guys practice more than I sleep. I practically am honorary dance captain.”

Eunchae and Kazuha were sprawled on the floor nearby, sharing a single pair of AirPods as they watched a movie on Sakura’s laptop.

Kazuha’s head lolled slightly, clearly dozing off, while Sakura sat cross-legged beside them, scrolling through fabric swatches on her tablet.

You smiled warmly, stepping inside as you called out, “We’re back!”

Jay’s head snapped up immediately, and before you could even blink, his guitar was abandoned on the stand. He strode over in long, eager steps, his grin boyish as he scooped you into his arms.

You let out a surprised laugh, hugging him back. “I was only gone for an hour!”

“That’s too long,” he murmured into your hair, holding you just a little tighter before pulling back to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

Rolling your eyes fondly, you held up the bag of takeout. “Here. You’ve been rehearsing all day, you need to eat.”

“Thanks, pretty.” His fingers brushed against yours as he took the bag, his smile softening as he gazed at you like you’d hung the stars.

Across the room, Sunghoon made an exaggerated gagging sound. “Ugh. Couples.”

Jay shot him a smirk over his shoulder, one hand still resting on your waist. “Shut up. You’re just jealous.”

Before you could even retort, Yunjin appeared like a whirlwind, tugging at your arm.

“(Y/N), thank God. Save me from arguing with her.” She shoved you gently toward Chaewon, who looked more than ready to restart round two of their debate.

“Tell Chaewon that the first part only has two turns. Two. Not three. She’s making it harder for herself.”

You sighed with a small laugh, placing a reassuring hand on Chaewon’s shoulder. “Yeah, Chae. It’s only two.”

Chaewon huffed, crossing her arms before reluctantly spinning in place as she muttered, “Fine. But if I trip, it’s on you two.”

You chuckled and turned back to Yunjin. “Are the costumes ready?”

“Yup!” she said brightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “They’re arriving tomorrow afternoon. The tailor sent photos and they look amazing.”

“That’s a relief.” You smiled, glancing over your shoulder to see Jay watching you fondly, already unpacking his food.

You padded over to where Jay sat cross-legged on the floor, his guitar momentarily abandoned beside him. He looked up as you settled beside him, his features softening as you leaned gently into his shoulder.

“Hey,” he murmured, tilting his head toward you. “What’s up?”

You let out a long sigh, your gaze trailing to the ceiling as you mumbled, “Nothing. Just… everything’s happening so fast.”

He studied your profile for a moment, his hand paused mid-reach for the fork in his takeout container.

“Us… or the day?” he asked carefully, his tone teasing but laced with curiosity.

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head. “The day, babe. Definitely the day.”

Jay smirked faintly, finally bringing a spoonful of pasta to his lips.

He chewed thoughtfully, swallowing before speaking again. “I barely have the time to take you out on a date anymore. Everything’s so busy.”

“I know, right?” you said with a small laugh, fingers absentmindedly brushing against the frayed edge of your jeans. “I’m getting pulled into dance practice every single day. It’s exhausting.”

He hummed low in agreement, his free hand turning palm-up for you to see. “My hands are getting more calloused by every practice too,” he noted, flexing his fingers and running a thumb across his calluses.

You took his hand gently, running your thumb across the rough patches with a little smile.

“It shows your hard work,” you said earnestly. “Don’t worry, Jay. You still look good.”

His lips curved into a tender grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you, pretty.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, letting out another soft sigh. “I really hate College Week.”

He chuckled at your bluntness. “Can’t say I share the same sentiment.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes.

“Because I finally get to watch you perform,” he admitted with a quiet sincerity that made your chest flutter.

You laughed shyly, looking away as your cheeks warmed. “Minus that part.”

Jay shook his head, still smiling. “Nope. Even with that, I really love College Week.”

You groaned dramatically, your head falling back against his shoulder. “I wish I loved it too.”

He reached out to grab another bite of pasta, speaking around a small laugh. “You don’t enjoy the booth decorating at least?”

You shook your head with a sigh. “I’m always in charge of tying the ribbons. It’s so tiring.”

Jay barked out a laugh at that, setting his food down for a moment as he turned more toward you. “That’s because they know you’re obsessed with ribbons. You probably tie them better than anyone else.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “Are you mocking me right now?”

“Never.” His grin widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling as you laughed and shook your head at him.

But before you could fire back a teasing remark, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You frowned slightly, pulling it out to check the notification. Your eyes scanned the message quickly, and you let out a soft sigh as you straightened up.

Jay immediately noticed the shift, his expression softening as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Nothing bad. We just need to practice out on the field stage.”

He nodded knowingly and stood with you, grabbing your bag from where it rested on the floor. “Got it.”

You walked toward Heeseung, who was tuning his guitar again. “Hey, Hee, can I borrow your mic real quick?”

Heeseung raised a brow, lips quirking. “What for? Gonna serenade us?”

You cradled the mic with both hands like it was a precious relic. “Maybe later. Right now, I have to wake the dead.”

He chuckled, handing it over with a smirk. “Go crazy, then.”

You turned on your heel, facing Kazuha and Eunchae who were dozing off in the corner, headphones still loosely hanging from their ears. You held the mic up to your lips dramatically.

“Wake up!” you shouted, your voice echoing across the studio like a siren.

Kazuha and Eunchae flinched so hard they nearly toppled over, both glaring at you with wide, sleep-deprived eyes. “What the fuck, (Y/N)?!” Eunchae yelled, clutching her chest.

You laughed, clutching your stomach as you doubled over. “Sorry, but we have practice out in the field stage! Come on, coach’s orders!”

Sakura groaned from her seat, rubbing her temples. “Even the volunteers too?”

You nodded as you handed the mic back to Heeseung, who was trying not to laugh. “Yep. We need help with the set design. Apparently, the banners keep falling.”

“Great,” Kazuha muttered, dragging her legs off the couch.

“You’re welcome,” Heeseung teased as he put the mic back on its stand.

Jay came over, holding your bag out for you. His eyes searched your face with that quiet warmth you loved so much. “Have fun, okay? And be careful.”

You smiled, taking your bag from his hands. “I will. Don’t worry about me.”

Before you turned, you rose on your toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering just long enough to make his ears turn faintly red. “See you later, Jay.”

“See you, pretty.” He watched you go, his hands shoved into his pockets, the corners of his lips twitching up when you threw him one last smile over your shoulder.

As soon as you and your group disappeared down the hall, Jake elbowed Jay lightly. “Come on, lover boy. We still need to run through the surprise song.”

Jay tore his eyes away from the door where you’d disappeared, the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, his tone teasing but soft.

“Remember the lyrics this time,” Sunghoon called out from across the room, tuning his bass.

Jay rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he slung his guitar back over his shoulder. “I remember the lyrics. Come on, let’s go.”

Jake chuckled under his breath. “Bet you don’t. She’s got you so distracted it’s embarrassing.”

Jay didn’t deny it. He just strummed his guitar lightly, mumbling under his breath as his fingers slid over the strings.

“Yeah… she does.”

The Tuesday sun was merciless, its rays beating down on your back as you let out another dramatic huff, wiping at the sweat trickling down your temple with the back of your hand.

You were standing precariously on a wobbling stool, arms raised as you adjusted and smoothed out another long pastel ribbon onto the ballet class booth’s wooden frame.

“Why is it so hot today?” you muttered under your breath, grumbling as you reached for another strip of double-sided tape from your apron pocket.

“Kazuha!” you called, squinting down at her where she was crouched on the ground surrounded by colorful cardstock and markers. “Do you have a pair of scissors?”

She didn’t even look up, simply holding a pair up in the air like she expected you to come get them yourself. “Here. Don’t cut your finger off. We need those hands for the showcase.”

You let out a breathy laugh, hopping down from the stool and grabbing the scissors.

“Thanks.” You perched back up, cutting the little ends of each ribbon into neat V-shapes, utterly focused on making them look perfect.

Kazuha finally glanced up at you, amusement flickering in her eyes as she shook her head with a fond smile. “You are the most ballet student I’ve ever met. Like, textbook ballet student energy.”

You let out a laugh as you handed her back the scissors and dramatically stuck your tongue out. “Come on, Zuha. This booth represents me. Us. It has to be the cutest one here!”

You gestured with both arms toward the long row of colorful booths lined up along the edge of the field, their banners fluttering in the breeze.

The smell of wood glue, paint, and freshly cut flowers mixed in the air as students bustled about decorating their own spaces.

Kazuha chuckled, going back to cutting out photobooth props in the shape of pointe shoes and roses. “You’re impossible. It already is the cutest booth.”

You hummed in agreement, stepping off the stool and brushing off your skirt. Your eyes briefly flicked to the large stage set up in the middle of the field, a curious frown tugging at your lips.

“What’s up with the stage setup today anyway? I thought everyone was supposed to be working on booths?”

Kazuha didn’t even bother looking up. “Who knows. I heard there’s a bunch of people in their department who can cover for them. Some special practice or something.”

You were about to ask her more when—

A sudden burst of loud music ripped through the air. The opening instrumental of ‘Karma’ blared from the speakers, and you instinctively grinned, spinning on your heel.

The sight on the stage made your chest warm. There they were—all dressed casually in dark colors that still somehow managed to make them look intimidatingly cool.

Jay stood to the left, tuning his guitar as the students lining the field broke out into excited cheers.

Heeseung leaned into his mic, testing it with a smooth, “One, two—Enhypen soundcheck.”

The cheer that erupted nearly blew the roofs off the booths.

Jungwon let out a breathy laugh as he twirled his drumsticks in his hands, leaning slightly forward into his mic. “Please don’t expect anything impressive, okay? We’re just practicing!”

The students responded with playful boos, some shouting things like:

“We don’t believe you!”

“Just perform now!”

Heeseung laughed, a rich sound that carried across the field. “Come on, guys. We’ll perform for real in a few days! Don’t drain your energy yet.”

Jay glanced toward the booths, and despite the distance and the crowd of students, his eyes found you almost immediately. He recognized you right away—how could he not?

Your usual colorful wear of pastel skirts and crisp white tops made you stand out like a soft beacon amidst the bustling field.

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as your hand shot up in the air, waving high.

He smirked, his fingers strumming a teasing riff on his guitar. “Pretty girl in the ballet booth—you’re distracting me.”

The students screamed at the comment, some laughing while others gasped at the boldness.

Kazuha nudged your arm, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Oh my god, (Y/N). He so called you out.”

You covered your face with your hands for a moment, shaking your head with a laugh. “I’m going to die of secondhand embarrassment.”

You waved one more time toward the stage, and Jay mirrored the gesture with a quick grin before turning his attention back to his guitar.

Heeseung’s voice came through the speakers, counting down with an easy confidence. “Alright—three, two, one—let’s go!”

The opening chords of ‘Karma’ rang out, met with loud cheers and clapping from some of the students gathered around the field.

You turned to Kazuha with a small huff, brushing off the faint heat on your cheeks. “Come on. We’ve watched them sing that a hundred times already. Let’s finish this booth before Coach sees us slacking.”

Kazuha laughed, twirling the pair of scissors in her hand. “You’re the only one who calls setting up a booth ‘slacking,’ you know that?”

Ignoring her tease, you cupped your hands and called out to two juniors who were helping out nearby. “Hey! Can you two come over here for a sec?”

The girls jogged over, stopping in front of you with bright, eager faces. “Yes, (Y/N)?”

You handed them the now-empty supply boxes stacked at your feet. “Can you guys please run to the props and materials department and ask them for more ribbons and glitter? We’re running low.”

“Sure! We’ll be quick,” one of them chirped, as they grabbed the boxes and headed off toward the university building.

You let out a soft sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you glanced at the booth’s nearly finished sign.

The sound of drums and guitar riffs still filled the air, but you forced yourself to tune it out, humming softly to yourself to keep your focus.

Sakura strolled over, her laptop bag slung carelessly over one shoulder as she eyed the work in progress. “Kazuha, do you have a minute? I wanted to talk about the fabrics for the headpieces for Friday’s performance.”

Kazuha perked up, setting down the scissors. “Oh, right. I was meaning to ask if we’re going with the chiffon or if Coach decided on satin instead.”

You glanced at both of them, smiling faintly as they fell into a hushed discussion. “If you ask me, chiffon’s easier to tie, but satin has that elegant finish,” you murmured absentmindedly, reaching for the next ribbon to cut.

Sakura nodded thoughtfully. “Exactly. But satin’s harder to keep in place during spins…”

Kazuha sighed. “I’ll take whatever doesn’t make our heads itch halfway through.”

You chuckled softly under your breath, settling back into your rhythm as the band’s music thumped faintly in the background, your hands moving almost automatically as you tied yet another ribbon to the booth’s banner.

“Could someone grab me more tape?” you called over your shoulder as you smoothed the ribbon into place.

Two juniors hurried off to fetch it while another pair approached you with hesitant smiles.

“(Y/N), sorry to bother you—do you know where we can ask about the concert ticketing? Some students have been asking, and they thought maybe you’d know since you’re staff for the event.”

You exhaled a laugh, rubbing your temple lightly. “Ah, right… yeah. Tell them to check with the central booth near the field entrance—they’ve got the updated lists and prices.”

“Got it! Thanks,” they chirped before scurrying off.

Being both a performer and part of the staff felt like juggling a thousand tiny tasks at once.

You were so focused on getting the stubborn tablecloth to stay put on the booth’s table—kneeling slightly to smooth the edges and trying to tape them down—that you didn’t notice how the loud chatter and music around you had started to die down.

A hush fell over the people nearby, fading into muffled whispers.

It wasn’t until you felt a pair of strong arms snake around your waist, a familiar scent of cedarwood and citrus filling your nose, that you startled with a tiny squeak. “What—”

You twisted your head slightly, only to see Jay standing there, his face alight with a warm, amused smile. His navy jacket framed his shoulders perfectly, the contrast sharp against his black shirt and pants.

“Hi,” he murmured softly, his chin nearly resting on your shoulder.

Your initial surprise melted instantly into a smile of your own. “Hi,” you said back, your voice softer than you intended.

He released you gently, taking a step back, and only then did you notice the eyes around you—classmates, juniors, even random students—watching with sly smiles and poorly concealed curiosity.

Some were whispering to each other, a few even giggling.

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, used to it by now. Instead, you turned your full attention to Jay, playfully clicking your tongue as you tugged on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Aren’t you hot in this?” you teased, tugging the fabric lightly.

Jay tilted his head, his grin widening. “What? I’m not allowed to look good for my girlfriend while she runs around making everything look cute?”

You gave him a mock glare, but the heat creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. “Jay,” you said his name like a warning, but it only made him laugh.

“You’re seriously incredible, you know that?” he said, eyes softening as he glanced at the perfectly decorated booth behind you. “Pretty and hardworking.”

“Flattery won’t get you a ribbon on your guitar,” you quipped, crossing your arms.

“Oh, c’mon,” he chuckled, reaching out to fix a stray hair near your cheek. “It should get me at least a kiss, though.”

You let out a soft laugh, sighing dramatically as if defeated by his puppy-dog eyes. “Fine,” you muttered, standing on your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

The grin that spread across Jay’s face was pure victory—smug yet boyishly charming.

“Knew it,” he murmured, his fingers grazing yours teasingly before he straightened up, still trailing after you as you gathered loose scraps of paper from the booth’s corner.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asked, hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket as he fell into step beside you.

You raised a brow at him, tilting your head slightly. “Don’t you have your own booth to handle?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure the others can manage without me for an hour. Jungwon’s got it under control. I’m free labor now—strictly for you.”

Shaking your head with a reluctant smile, you muttered, “I don’t know how Jungwon deals with you every day.”

“Oh, come on, pretty,” Jay said with a playful grin, leaning closer. “You deal with me all the time.”

You pouted, fighting back a laugh. “Unfortunately.”

Jay placed a hand over his chest in mock offense, gasping. “Wow. Cold.”

You rolled your eyes and thought for a second before sighing. “Well, actually… I do need help grabbing the banner papers from the storage room near the back building. They’re too heavy for me to carry alone.”

At that, Kazuha and Sakura both perked up from where they were cutting out more booth decor, their gazes snapping toward you.

Just as Chaewon walked up, brushing dust off her hands, she tilted her head curiously. “Wait, the back building? What do you need there?”

“(Y/N)’s getting the banners,” Kazuha answered before you could, her lips twitching as she shot you a mischievous look.

Chaewon blinked, frowning slightly. “Isn’t it… kind of creepy there? No one goes there anymore. Plus, aren’t most of the cameras broken?”

Sakura added with a little shiver, “And it’s so quiet… I heard people say they feel like they’re being watched.”

You gave them both a sharp glare, crossing your arms. “Please. That’s exactly why I’m taking this musclehead with me.”

Jay’s brows shot up, a hand touching his chest. “Oh, I’m the muscle now?” he said, lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh.

“Stop acting like you don’t sleep in the gym, Jay,” you shot back, already walking off toward the pathway leading to the back building.

Your friends exchanged knowing looks as Jay let out a laugh, quickly jogging to catch up with you.

“Go get your girlfriend, lover boy!” Kazuha called after him with a grin.

“Yeah, good luck, Jay!” Sakura added, her voice teasing.

Chaewon smirked, hands on her hips. “Try not to get scared first, musclehead.”

Jay glanced over his shoulder at them, shaking his head with a soft laugh as he caught up to your side. “Don’t listen to them, pretty. If anything’s scary, it’s me leaving you alone for even a second.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands dramatically. “God, how am I supposed to survive you and your mouth?”

“You don’t,” Jay said smoothly, smirking as he matched your pace. “You just let me carry the heavy boxes and keep looking cute while doing it.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, though the corner of your lips twitched as his warm hands slipped around your waist, gently steering you further down the path.

“Stupid coach… and her stupid banners,” you muttered under your breath, glaring half-heartedly at the pavement as you walked.

Jay chuckled lowly behind you, his breath tickling the side of your ear. “Come on, pretty. It can’t be that bad spending extra time with me.”

“It’s not that,” you sighed dramatically, tilting your head to glance at him from the corner of your eye. “I just… I should be resting right now. I’m running on coffee and two hours of sleep, Jay.”

He hummed, reaching up with one hand to gently brush a loose strand of hair away from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear with surprising tenderness.

“Think of it this way, okay?” he murmured, his voice soft yet coaxing. “After this… I’ll treat you to a late lunch. Anywhere you want. Deal?”

Your brows furrowed slightly, but you couldn’t help the small hum that escaped your lips as you considered it.

“That… actually sounds good,” you admitted, your steps slowing just a little as you leaned into his hold.

“Of course it does,” he said, lips twitching into that boyish grin you’d grown so used to. “I’m full of good ideas, pretty.”

“Debatable,” you muttered with a soft laugh, and he squeezed your side playfully.

Soon, the familiar buzz of chatter and music from the booths faded into silence as you reached the edge of the back building. The air was noticeably cooler here, the shadows of the tall trees casting long streaks across the cracked pavement.

Jay glanced around and whistled lowly. “Kinda creepy, isn’t it? No wonder your friends were so dramatic.”

You sighed, slipping your fingers into his and tugging his hand away from your waist. “Come on, Park. Let’s just get this over with.”

He smirked, letting you drag him along, his longer strides easily keeping pace with yours. “Lead the way, boss. I’m just the muscle, remember?”

“You said it, not me,” you shot back with a grin, your fingers squeezing his hand just a little tighter as you approached the storage room doors at the far end of the hall.

Jay leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low teasing tone. “You sure you’re not holding my hand because you’re scared, pretty?”

You turned your head just enough to glare at him playfully. “Shut up, Jay.”

His laugh echoed softly against the walls, warm and unbothered as his thumb brushed against your knuckles. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

His laugh faded into a soft hum as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. Your joined hands swung lightly between you as your footsteps echoed down the well-lit hallway.

It wasn’t suffocating like you expected—the quiet felt almost soothing with Jay beside you.

You turned the corner and gestured toward a plain door with a faded sign that read ‘Storage Room 3.’ “Well… here it is,” you murmured, reaching for the handle.

Jay followed you in as you pushed the door open. The faint scent of cardboard and paper hit you immediately, and you flipped on the light, revealing rows of neatly stacked boxes on industrial shelves.

“We need to at least carry three full boxes of paper,” you said, stepping inside and glancing around for any sign of them.

Jay only shrugged, already tugging his jacket sleeves up his forearms. “Easy. Come on, what do they look like?”

You hesitated, a small flush creeping up your neck. “…They’re in pink boxes.”

That earned you a laugh, his deep voice echoing against the bare walls of the storage room. He let go of your hand to clap once, grinning. “Pink? Seriously? Alright, let’s find your magical ballet pink boxes then.”

You scowled playfully, crossing your arms. “Don’t make fun of them. It’s cute.”

“Sure it is, pretty,” he teased, stepping toward the left side of the room. “You take the right, I’ll take this side. Whoever finds them first wins bragging rights.”

“Bragging rights? What are we, five?” you muttered under your breath, earning another quiet laugh from him as you carefully began reading the labels on the boxes.

Despite how stocked up the storage room was, it was surprisingly clean—no cobwebs or dust layering the boxes. Your fingers trailed lightly over one labeled Event Streamers, then Props, but no pink in sight.

Jay, meanwhile, crouched down to inspect the lower shelves, his brows furrowed in focus as he read each label aloud. “Towels… extension cords… plastic utensils—wow, they really throw everything in here.”

You grinned faintly, peeking at him from the corner of your eye as you scanned another row. “Sounds like you’re losing, Jay.”

Jay’s laugh rumbled warmly across the small room, his head shaking as he crouched down by another row. “Don’t get too cocky, pretty. I’m just warming up.”

You smirked to yourself, fingers skimming over more boxes before your eyes lit up. “Found them!” you exclaimed, pointing upward at a shelf just above your head.

Jay straightened immediately, his brows raising as he strolled over with that trademark grin tugging at his lips. “Have you now?” he teased, coming to stand beside you.

You nodded confidently, turning to him with a triumphant smile and sticking your tongue out at him in mock victory. “Told you I’d win, Park.”

He hummed lowly, amusement flashing in his eyes as he glanced up at the neatly stacked pink boxes on the shelf. His smirk widened, lazy and dangerous, as he leaned a shoulder against the metal rack and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well then…” His voice dipped, rich and teasing. “Get them, baby.”

Your mouth fell open slightly as you turned to him with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

One of his brows arched as he pushed off the shelf, stepping closer—his movements slow. Your breath hitched as you instinctively took a step back, only to feel the cool metal of the shelving press against your spine.

Jay tilted his head, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he nodded toward the boxes. “Go on, pretty. Get them.”

Your cheeks flared with heat, fingers curling nervously at your sides. “I… I can’t,” you admitted softly, your gaze dropping to the floor to avoid the weight of his stare.

“Can’t you?” he murmured, the corner of his lips quirking as if your flustered reaction was his favorite show.

You shook your head, staring intently at a scuff mark on the floor.

“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue, his boots echoing slightly as he took another step closer.

“Too bad.” His voice was low, mocking in its sweetness. “Guess I won then.”

Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing slightly.

“That’s not fair,” you protested, though your voice lacked conviction with how close he was now—his scent wrapping around you, the warmth of his body practically searing into your skin.

“Isn’t it?” Jay hummed, tilting his head. His dark eyes bore into yours, sharp and playful all at once. He leaned down, close enough for his breath to brush against the shell of your ear.

Your back pressed harder against the cold shelves as your lungs forgot how to function.

“What?” His voice was barely above a whisper, smooth as silk.

“You found them…” His lips curled into a smirk you could feel even without looking. “…but I’m the one taking them.”

“That’s not fair,” you repeated, weaker this time as your fingers clutched the edge of the shelf behind you.

Jay chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“Life’s not fair, pretty girl.” His hand came up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear—knuckles ghosting over your heated cheek.

You felt your knees threaten to buckle as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his smirk as wicked as ever.

“Now… are you gonna stand there all flushed,” he teased, gaze flicking down to your parted lips for a split second, “or are you gonna let me claim my prize?”

Your throat felt dry, heart pounding in your chest so loud you were sure he could hear it. The heat of his stare alone made your knees wobble.

He tilted his head slightly, a low hum vibrating in his chest as his hand came to rest on the shelf beside your head, effectively caging you in.

His presence felt overwhelming—like the air had thickened with every inch he closed between you.

“Hmm?” he prodded, voice dropping a pitch lower, rougher.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, cheeks flushed, lips quivering like you wanted to speak but couldn’t form words.

His smirk deepened at your silence. “I need words, pretty girl.” His breath fanned across your lips as he leaned even closer, his nose nearly brushing yours. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Y-yes…” you finally managed to mumble, barely above a whisper.

But that was all he needed. That one shaky word snapped something in him.

“Good girl.”

In the next second, his lips were on yours—hot, hungry, demanding. His hand slid to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you whimper as he pulled you closer.

The other hand cupped the back of your head gently, keeping you from bumping against the unforgiving metal shelves.

Your hands fisted into his shirt desperately, knuckles white from the way you clung to him as though he might disappear.

He groaned low against your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, coaxing a soft gasp from you.

And when you did, he took full advantage—his tongue pushing past your parted lips, tangling with yours in a kiss that was all teeth and heat and want.

Your back arched against the cold shelving as his body pressed flush to yours, his warmth consuming every inch of you. His knee came up, sliding between your legs to part them ever so slightly, stopping you from closing them again.

“Mmph—Jay,” you whimpered into his mouth, trying to press your thighs together out of instinct, only for his leg to hold you open firmly.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured against your lips, his free hand ghosting down your side before gripping your hip tightly. “Keep them open for me, sweetheart.”

Your head felt light, the scent of him and the taste of his mouth making it impossible to think. He kissed you harder, rougher, his tongue claiming every inch of your mouth like he owned it.

Your nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

“Jay—” you breathed out between kisses, your voice breaking from the intensity.

He pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, his forehead pressing to yours as his thumb brushed your swollen bottom lip.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered, voice husky, eyes locked on the way your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath.

You barely noticed his hand sliding lower until you felt his fingertips toy with the hem of your skirt, brushing lightly against the sensitive skin of your thigh.

Your breath hitched as he trailed upward, fingers slipping beneath the fabric.

“Jay—” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat

His lips curved into a knowing smirk as his cold fingers made contact with your warm skin, making you flinch and bite down a gasp.

“Shh… you’re fine,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw, then another to the delicate skin of your neck.

His hand roamed higher under your skirt, his palm hot now as it smoothed up the curve of your thigh. You tried to press your legs together, but his knee was still lodged firmly between them, holding you open for him.

“Fuck, you’re warm,” he growled softly against your ear. His free hand slid around your waist, fingers brushing teasingly against the waistband of your shorts.

He tugged lightly, his knuckles grazing lower before pulling back just enough to tilt his head at you.

“You still with me, pretty?” he asked, voice low and sinful, his thumb tracing slow circles over your hipbone.

You nodded shakily, breath stuttering out of your lungs. “Y-yeah…”

“Good girl,” he praised, a smug grin pulling at his lips.

Then he lowered himself slightly, lips trailing down to your collarbone, peppering kisses over the thin fabric of your shirt before he nipped at your waist. You felt your hands tangle helplessly in his hair, fingers curling tightly as his breath ghosted over your stomach.

“Jay…” His name slipped out in a whisper, so soft you weren’t sure he heard it.

But he did.

His hand dipped lower, fingers slipping past the waistband of your shorts and brushing over the lacy fabric of your underwear. He froze there for a moment, thumb grazing the delicate edge.

“Lace, huh?” he teased, voice dripping with amusement. “You trying to kill me, baby?”

You let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sharp inhale when his fingers pressed lightly against the damp spot just above your folds.

“Oh? Fuck.” His smirk widened as he rubbed slow, teasing circles over the wet patch. “You’re wet already?”

Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, muffling the whimper that escaped.

“Don’t hide from me,” Jay chided softly, his voice thick with heat as he pushed the fabric aside just enough for his fingers to graze your bare skin. “I wanna hear you.”

You shook your head, your other hand clutching at his shirt as though it was your lifeline.

“You’re adorable when you try to be quiet,” he murmured against your stomach, his lips brushing so low you felt them against the top of your shorts. “But let’s see how long that lasts…”

Before you could protest, his fingers hooked under the delicate fabric, pulling it aside with a quiet, deliberate motion. The cold air of the room hit your slick folds, making your entire body shudder.

“Goddamn…” Jay’s breath hitched slightly, his composure cracking for just a second as his fingers slid along your folds—slow, teasing strokes that left your knees weak. “You’re so wet I can feel it dripping.”

“J-Jay—” you gasped, your hand falling from your mouth as your head tipped back against the shelf.

“There’s your pretty voice,” he murmured approvingly, leaning in to press a heated kiss to your jaw before his lips traveled lower, nipping gently at the soft skin of your neck.

Then his fingers slipped lower—finally, finally parting your folds—and one long, skilled finger slid between them, brushing against your entrance.

You let out a strangled whimper, your hips bucking slightly.

“Oh, fuck… you’re so fucking soft.” His voice came out strained, huskier now as he pushed in slowly, his finger stretching you deliciously as your walls fluttered around him. “You’re gripping me so tight already, baby.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders, clutching at his shirt as though it would help you. “Jay—oh my god—”

“Shh…” He pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips, his finger curling ever so slightly inside you before dragging out halfway, only to slide back in again. “Don’t get loud yet. What if someone walks in?”

Your breath hitched, but the thought barely registered as he added a second finger, the stretch making you gasp loudly this time.

“Ah—fuck—Jay—”

“There she is,” he whispered, kissing the shell of your ear as his fingers began a slow rhythm. “So needy. So fucking wet.”

His thumb brushed up to circle your clit, making your hips jerk. “And all this for me?”

You nodded frantically, words failing you as he curled his fingers just right, grazing that spot deep inside that made your legs tremble.

“You’re taking my fingers so well, pretty girl,” Jay growled lowly, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck as his thumb pressed harder. “So fucking tight. So wet I can hear it.”

And sure enough, there it was—the obscene sound of your arousal each time his fingers thrust in and out, filling the tiny storage room with wet, lewd noises.

“Listen to that, baby.” He chuckled darkly, his pace quickening just enough to make you whimper. “Hear how messy you are for me? Fuck.”

Your head fell forward against his shoulder as his fingers worked you open faster, harder. One of your hands slid into his hair, tugging helplessly as the heat in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter.

“Jay—please—”

“Please what, sweetheart?” he asked, his smirk evident even as his voice came out rougher now. His fingers didn’t let up, the pads curling against your sweet spot over and over.

“I—don’t stop—please—” you gasped out, barely able to form a sentence.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Jay’s teeth grazed your earlobe as his thumb circled your clit faster.

“I wanna feel you come all over my fingers, pretty girl. Think you can do that for me?”

Your answer was a strangled whimper, your walls fluttering wildly around his fingers as the coil in your stomach snapped.

“J-Jay—oh—fuck—” you gasped, your hips stuttering as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

“That’s it… there you go, baby,” he murmured lowly, watching your flushed face contort in pleasure as you came undone on his hand.

The slick, wet sounds grew louder as his fingers continued to pump you through your high, slowing only when your thighs trembled violently.

When he finally pulled his fingers out, your legs gave out beneath you, but Jay was quick—his free hand shooting up to catch you around the waist.

“Woah, easy,” he murmured with a small chuckle, his arm steadying you as your shaky legs threatened to collapse completely.

He hoisted you upright, pressing you firmly against his chest. You panted against him, clinging to his shirt as your body trembled from the aftershocks.

Jay looked down at you with a grin that was equal parts smug and soft before lifting his slick-coated fingers to his mouth. He slid them between his lips, sucking them clean with a low hum.

“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he muttered, his eyes locked on yours as heat rushed to your cheeks. “Could get addicted to this.”

“Jay—” you breathed out, burying your face into his chest as your blush burned hotter.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Breathe for me, baby,” he whispered, his tone turning gentle as his thumb brushed over your jaw. “You did so fucking well.”

He carefully tucked a stray strand of hair sticking to your damp forehead behind your ear, his dark eyes softening as he studied you. “So pretty like this… all wrecked because of me.”

You let out a weak sigh, trying to regain feeling in your legs as he kept a steady arm around your waist.

“God…” you mumbled, voice still breathless. “You’re still carrying the boxes.”

That earned you a low laugh from him, his chest rumbling against your cheek as he tilted your chin up with his thumb.

“Really?” he smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “I just made you cum so hard you can’t stand, and that’s all you can say to me?”

You pouted faintly, but your lips twitched into a small grin as you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

Jay laughed again, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers trailed soothingly down your spine.

“You’re welcome, pretty girl,” Jay murmured against your lips, giving you one last tender kiss before pulling back with a soft smile.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your face still warm as he helped you steady yourself.

His large hand wrapped around yours, guiding you up with ease. “You okay now?” he asked, his brows slightly furrowed in concern as his thumb brushed over your knuckles.

You nodded, your lips tugging into a shy smile. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

“Good.” He gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze before letting go and stepping toward the shelf.

Without hesitation, he bent down and grabbed the stack of three pink boxes like they weighed nothing at all, hoisting them into his arms with a casual grin.

Your jaw dropped slightly as you blinked at him in disbelief. “Jay—three boxes? At once?”

He only chuckled at your shock, his eyes glinting mischievously. “What? You thought I was all talk?”

You crossed your arms, still staring as he adjusted the boxes in his hold effortlessly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously strong,” he corrected smoothly, shooting you a wink. “Now, care to open the door for your musclehead boyfriend?”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh but walked ahead anyway, tugging the door open as he followed close behind.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you teased, holding it open just long enough for him to step out.

Jay smirked, walking past with ease and tossing you a smug glance over his shoulder. “This is the only time I’ll let you open the door by yourself, you know. Don’t get used to it, pretty.”

You scoffed playfully, falling into step beside him as the two of you made your way back to the booths. The quiet of the back building gave way to the familiar bustle of the field as laughter and chatter reached your ears again.

Jay set the stack of pink boxes down on the booth’s table with a soft thud, rolling his shoulders slightly from the weight but still wearing that satisfied grin.

Kazuha, who had been snipping at stray threads on one of the fabric pieces, paused mid-cut. Her brow arched high as her eyes flickered from Jay to you, and then back again.

You frowned, adjusting your skirt asKazuha’s grin grew even wider, mischief dancing in her eyes as she nudged Sakura, who had been kneeling nearby sorting through an array of headpiece fabrics.

Startled, Sakura looked up from her pile, her gaze immediately locking on you and Jay standing side by side. you stepped forward. “What?”

She didn’t even try to hide the knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

“What’s wrong?” you asked cautiously, eyes darting between the two girls as your stomach twisted in suspicion.

Kazuha rested her chin on her palm, her expression impossibly smug. “Well,” she drawled, exchanging a look with Sakura. “Looks like you two had fun back there.”

Your brows furrowed as your head tilted slightly in confusion. “Huh? What are you—”

But then you caught it. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jay’s lips—more specifically, the faint shimmer of your glittery pink lip gloss smudged at the corner of his mouth.

Your breath hitched, heat rushing up to your cheeks as mortification settled in.

“Oh my God,” you whispered under your breath, feeling your entire face go hot.

Without thinking, you rushed over to him, grabbing his arm as he blinked down at you in surprise. “Hold still.”

You reached up, using the edge of your sleeve to gently wipe at the gloss on his skin, your movements quick and flustered.

Jay, of course, only laughed—deep and amused as his lips tugged into that teasing grin you both hated and loved.

“Sorry,” he said with a chuckle, not looking the least bit sorry as he let you fuss over him. “Didn’t realize I was wearing your makeup as a badge of honor.”

“Jay,” you hissed under your breath, still dabbing at his mouth as your ears burned hotter.

He tilted his head slightly toward your hand, smirk still firmly in place. “What? I didn’t hear you complaining earlier.”

“Shut up.” You pressed your palm gently against his chest, pushing him back just enough to glare at him—though your flustered expression ruined any chance of it being effective.

Behind you, Kazuha’s laughter rang out while Sakura tried (and failed) to hide her giggles behind a piece of fabric.

“You two are so embarrassing,” Kazuha teased, reaching for her scissors again. “Seriously, get a room next time.”

You groaned, covering your face with both hands as Jay’s chuckle vibrated low in his chest.

You sat cross-legged on the studio floor, fingers deftly tying the little satin ribbons on the fabric pouches while Eunchae sat across from you, her brows furrowed in concentration as she carefully tucked the final satin headpiece inside one.

It was Wednesday late afternoon, the golden light from the high windows spilling across the polished floors. The soft scent of fabric glue still lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the faint hum of a ballad playing from someone’s forgotten speaker.

“I still can’t believe you joined the costume department last minute,” you teased, reaching over to flick her forehead gently.

“Weren’t you so adamant about staying out of this?”

Eunchae pouted, hugging a finished pouch to her chest dramatically. “I didn’t want to be left out! You guys are always so busy with ballet and costumes and meetings… I felt like I was third-wheeling the entire friend group.”

You laughed, your hand reaching up to pat her head affectionately. “Our little baby,” you cooed, making her groan and shove lightly at your arm.

“Don’t say it like that. You’re acting like I’m ten,” she grumbled, though the small smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

You shook your head, setting the last pouch into the basket beside you. “Okay, little baby, we’re done.”

You pushed yourself off the floor and offered her a hand. “Come on, we should be heading home.”

Eunchae accepted your hand with a dramatic sigh, standing and brushing off her pants. “You mean I have to go home and help Yunjin with her meeting with the juniors.”

She shot you a knowing look as she grabbed the basket. “You, on the other hand, have a date.”

You laughed, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you got up from the floor. “Come on, it’s not really a date. We’re just ordering takeout and watching whatever’s on Netflix.”

“Mmhm.” Eunchae’s grin widened as she followed you out of the studio, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floors.

The hallway outside buzzed with life, students pouring out of their classrooms with laughter and chatter bouncing off the walls. It was loud, but comforting in a way—like the kind of background noise you’d grown so used to that it felt like home.

As the two of you made your way down the hall toward the lockers, Eunchae nudged your side with her elbow. “I’m too young to be an aunt, you know.”

You nearly dropped your phone at her words, whipping your head toward her with wide eyes as your hand smacked her arm lightly.

“Come on—you know I’d have to love someone enough for it to even get that far.”

“Oh, uh-huh.” She sang the words out teasingly, leaning closer with a mischievous little smirk. “That’s why your boyfriend’s all over you every chance he gets.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes dramatically as you turned the corner to your locker. “Eunchae—”

“Look behind you,” she interrupted with a whisper-shout.

You frowned but turned anyway—only for your breath to catch slightly at the sight of Jay casually walking toward you.

His bag was slung over one shoulder, his guitar case in the other hand, hair a little messy from practice and a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he spotted you. He raised a hand, waving.

You instinctively waved back, cheeks warming as Eunchae bit back a squeal beside you. “I’ll get going,” she said quickly, balancing the basket of headpieces on her hip.

“I gotta get this to Sakura anyway. Have fun on your not-date.” She winked, slipping past you before you could retort.

“Hong Eunchae—”

Too late. She was already halfway down the hall, and you were left stuffing loose papers from your bag into your locker with a sigh.

“Hi, pretty.”

You startled slightly at the voice so close before realizing someone was leaning lazily against the locker beside you.

Turning your head, you found Jay watching you with that boyish grin, his sharp features softened by the warm light spilling in from the windows.

“Hi,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself as you closed your locker with a metallic clink. “You’re early.”

He shrugged, shifting his weight and tilting his head at you. “You say that like you’re not my favorite part of the day.”

Your cheeks burned instantly as you looked away, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “Smooth.”

“Always,” he teased, his voice low and warm. “You ready to go?”

You nodded, lips twitching into a small smile as you slid your hand into his outstretched one. His fingers curled around yours instantly, thumb brushing absentmindedly across your knuckles as if it was second nature to him now.

You were sprawled out on Jay’s bed, mindlessly scrolling through your phone. The faint sound of oil sizzling and the aroma of garlic and spices wafted down the short hall, making your stomach growl.

With a soft sigh, you set your phone aside and stretched your arms over your head, the thin straps of your silk tank top slipping slightly as the fabric clung to your skin.

You didn’t think much of it as you padded barefoot across his room, the hem of your matching lace-trimmed shorts brushing the tops of your thighs.

Trudging out into the living space, you were greeted with the warm glow of the kitchen light and Jay’s tall figure moving around with quiet efficiency.

His back was turned to you, the muscles in his shoulders flexing under his plain white shirt as he stirred something in a pan. His black shorts hung low on his hips, the scene so domestic it made your chest ache a little.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you moved past the couch and perched yourself on the counter next to the sink, your legs swinging lazily.

“You know…” you said casually, your voice cutting through the gentle clatter of pans.

Jay stiffened slightly before glancing over his shoulder, eyes finding yours—and the sight nearly knocked the air out of him.

You—sitting there with a lazy, knowing grin in that silky tank top that clung to every curve, and those lace-trimmed shorts riding high on your thighs—looked like every sinful thought he’d ever had come to life.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, his eyes dragging up and down your body before he quickly turned back to the stove, gripping the spatula tighter than necessary.

“You’re trying to kill me.”

You giggled softly, leaning back on your hands, head tilted in mock innocence. “What? I’m just sitting here.”

Jay shook his head, his jaw tight as he focused on the sizzling vegetables. “Yeah, sitting there like that.”

You smirked, eyes glinting mischievously as you pointed to the neat arrangement of vegetables and sauces on the far counter. “When I said I was craving Chinese…”

He glanced back again, only to find you swinging your legs lazily, the movement making the hem of your shorts ride up just a little more. He swore under his breath.

“…I thought you’d buy or order. Not this,” you teased, gesturing at the cutting board stacked with colorful peppers and neatly lined condiments.

Jay huffed a short laugh, trying to mask how his chest was tightening just looking at you. “What can I say? I like making things from scratch.”

You gave him a playful pout, legs still swinging. “Mm, so I can’t even be mad… it smells really good.”

“Good.” His voice was lower now, a little rougher. “Because I’m putting my whole heart into it.”

He flipped something in the pan and muttered under his breath, “Trying to distract me too…”

You grinned. “Distract you? Me? I’m innocent, Jay.”

He turned then, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed, spatula still in hand. His eyes locked on you, sharp and unblinking.

“Innocent?” His brow arched. “Sitting on my counter looking like that? You call that innocent?”

Your smile widened. “What? I’m comfy. It’s your apartment, your rules, right?”

“Mm.” He pushed off the counter, taking slow steps toward you, and you felt your heart stutter. “My apartment. My rules.”

He stopped in front of you, his hands braced on the counter on either side of your thighs, caging you in.

“You really have no idea what you’re doing to me right now, do you?” Jay murmured, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

You blinked up at him, feigning innocence even as your lips twitched. “I’m just waiting for dinner…”

His gaze darkened as it flicked to your parted lips, lingering for a heartbeat too long before trailing lower—over the way the silk of your tank top clung to your chest, catching in the faint light of the kitchen.

You swore you saw his jaw flex for a moment before he exhaled sharply through his nose.

But his expression softened. A teasing smirk tugged at his lips as his dark eyes flicked back up to yours.

He leaned in slightly, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Get the plates, pretty,” he murmured, voice low but warm. “Dessert can wait.”

You raised a brow at him, trying—and failing—to hold back the grin tugging at your lips.

“You’re sure about that?” you asked lightly, your tone laced with just enough teasing to make his smirk widen.

“Mm. For now,” Jay replied smoothly, stepping back so you could slide down from the counter. “But don’t test me.”

You laughed softly under your breath, hopping down and padding over to the dishwasher.

As you pulled out two plates, you glanced over your shoulder at him, catching the way he was watching you out of the corner of his eye while stirring the sizzling noodles.

“Kitchen or living room?” you asked, stacking the plates carefully in your hands.

“Living room,” Jay answered without hesitation, a little grin forming on his lips. “I know we’re gonna end up watching something anyway.”

You smiled at that, the domesticity of it making your chest ache in a good way.

“You’re not wrong,” you murmured, carrying the plates over to the coffee table in the living room. You set them down neatly, grabbing glasses from the cabinet and a bottle of juice from the fridge on your way back.

Jay had arranged all the dishes neatly on the counter: a steaming bowl of stir-fried noodles, two smaller plates of dumplings and spring rolls, and a perfectly plated dish of sweet and sour chicken.

“Jay… did you make enough food to feed an entire building?” you teased, your lips curving up as you admired the spread.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I just… made everything,” he said casually, his shoulders lifting in a little shrug as he carried over the large bowl of noodles.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you arranged the glasses and juice on the table. “Overachiever.”

“Guilty.”

Jay sat down next to you on the couch, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the aroma of the food. He grabbed a pair of chopsticks, twirling them in his fingers for a moment before scooping up a small bite of noodles.

“Alright. Moment of truth,” he said, blowing lightly on the steaming food before holding it up toward your lips.

You blinked, startled for a second, then let out a small laugh as you leaned forward obediently.

“You’re feeding me now?” you teased, your lips parting.

“Damn right I am,” Jay replied with a grin. “Open up, pretty girl.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but did as he said, taking the bite as he watched you expectantly. The moment the flavor hit your tongue, your eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, covering your mouth with your hand as you chewed. “Jay, this is so good. Like—restaurant-level good.”

He let out a low chuckle, eyes softening as he watched you. “Yeah? You’re not just saying that to make me feel good?”

You shook your head eagerly. “No! I’m serious. This is amazing.”

“Good,” he said, his grin turning into a satisfied smirk as he grabbed another bite for himself. “Means I’m keeping my girlfriend well-fed.”

You gave him a playful side-eye but didn’t argue, too focused on savoring the rich flavors still lingering on your tongue.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as you continued eating.

Here and there, you’d exchange small conversations—about the day, about how you kept catching your neighbor’s cat peeking through your window, and Jay teasing you about how many shows you’d started but never finished.

But eventually, the plates were forgotten. You found yourself half-lying across his lap, your head resting against the armrest of the couch while his warm hand idly traced shapes on your arm.

The other hand absentmindedly combed through your hair, twirling the strands around his fingers as ‘Bridgerton’ played on the TV.

“This is… interesting,” you mumbled, your voice soft and a little drowsy.

Jay hummed wordlessly in agreement, his eyes fixed on the screen.

He’d been surprisingly quiet for most of the episode—likely too distracted by you sprawled across him in that silk tank top and shorts, looking like the embodiment of temptation.

And then it happened.

The moans. The subtle rustling of clothes. The unmistakable sounds of a sex scene filling the room.

Jay moved slightly beneath you, clearing his throat as his gaze darted away from the screen. His fingers paused in your hair for a beat before resuming their slow motions, though you could feel the slight tension in them now.

You grinned, biting your bottom lip at the rare sight of your usually level-headed boyfriend so visibly affected.

“What’s wrong, Jay?” you teased lightly, purposefully moving on his lap so your body pressed against him in a way that had his breath hitching.

“(Y/N)…” he warned softly, his tone low but lacking bite.

You ignored it, your hand resting innocently on his thigh through his black shorts. But your fingers weren’t so innocent as they splayed slightly, caressing the firm muscle beneath.

Jay’s jaw clenched, a low groan escaping his throat. Still, he said nothing.

So you tried again. This time your fingers traced slow, teasing patterns higher up his thigh.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, almost strained as his dark eyes flicked down to meet yours.

You only hummed in response, a little smile playing on your lips. “Who said I wouldn’t finish?”

Jay exhaled sharply through his nose, the muscles in his arm tightening slightly where his hand rested on your shoulder.

Then you moved again, rolling so you were lying fully on your side, facing him as your fingers toyed with the waistband of his shorts.

“Can I have my dessert now, please?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head with wide, pleading eyes that you knew he couldn’t resist.

Jay swore under his breath, his free hand moving to grip the back of your head, gathering your hair into a loose makeshift ponytail as he exhaled a low chuckle.

“You’re such a little tease, you know that?” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Go ahead, baby. It’s all yours.”

Your grin widened as you tugged down his shorts, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Your palm pressed against the bulge straining through the thin fabric, feeling the heat and weight of him.

Jay’s head fell back slightly against the couch, a deep groan rumbling from his chest.

“No teasing,” he growled, his grip on your hair tightening slightly as his dark eyes bore into yours.

You only looked up at him with a smile that was far too sweet for the sinful things running through your mind.

“Hmm, no promises.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down slowly until he sprang free—thick, long, and flushed a deep shade of red at the tip.

Your breath caught for a moment as you bit your lip, eyes flicking up to meet his.

Jay was watching you closely, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling a little quicker now.

“Pretty…” his voice was low and strained, his thumb stroking the side of your face as he murmured, “Don’t make me lose my fucking mind.”

You only gave him an innocent look—one he didn’t believe for a second—before letting your tongue dart out to give the flushed tip of him a tentative kitten lick.

“Fuck—” Jay’s hand tightened slightly in your hair as his head tipped back against the couch. His thighs tensed under your palm, and you felt the muscle jump as you flicked your tongue against him again.

“Goddamn, (Y/N)…” he muttered, his voice breaking slightly as you trailed your tongue slowly around the sensitive head, tasting the bead of precum that had gathered there.

Your lips curved into a smile as you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip before flattening your tongue and giving one long, deliberate lick from the base to the tip.

Jay let out a low groan, his hand guiding your head forward instinctively.

“You’re such a tease,” he growled, his voice wrecked as you wrapped your lips around him finally, taking him in inch by inch. “So fucking pretty with your mouth on me.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath.

“Shit—don’t do that or I’m gonna—” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale when your hand wrapped around what your mouth couldn’t reach, stroking him in time with the slow bob of your head.

You pulled off just enough to lick a stripe along the underside of his length before taking him back in, cheeks hollowing as you sucked a little harder this time.

Your other hand moved to rest on his thigh, feeling it tense and twitch under your touch.

“Fuck, baby… just like that,” Jay groaned, his thumb rubbing slow, messy circles against the side of your neck as his other hand stayed tangled in your hair.

You felt him hit the back of your throat, and you pushed just a little further until your gag reflex kicked in.

A choked sound escaped you, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you pulled back slightly, saliva dripping messily down your chin.

“Fuck—” Jay’s eyes darkened further at the sight of you so wrecked already, lips red and swollen, eyes watery as you looked up at him.

“You’re fucking perfect.”

You spat softly into your palm, wrapping your slick hand around him again as your mouth returned to the flushed head. Your tongue swirled around it before sucking hard, making him groan deep in his chest.

“Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Jay muttered, his hand guiding your movements now as his hips shifted slightly in the couch cushions.

Your lips and hand worked together, twisting your wrist slightly as you stroked him while your mouth focused on his sensitive tip. Every now and then you’d take him as deep as you could, your throat tightening around him as he cursed lowly.

“F-fuck… just like that, baby. So good for me,” he groaned, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek from the stretch. “Taking me so well. Fucking hell.”

You pulled back with a wet pop, your lips glossy with spit as you panted softly.

“You taste so good,” you murmured, your voice hoarse, before licking a long stripe up his length again.

“Fuck—” Jay groaned low, his hand tightening slightly in your hair as his head tipped back. The hand that had been resting lazily on your arm shifted, dragging down slowly until his fingers hooked at the waistband of your silk shorts.

You felt the tug and froze for just a second, your breath catching around him as he muttered darkly, “These need to come off.”

The sound of fabric sliding down your thighs sent a shiver through you. Half your body was still draped across his lap, your legs bent awkwardly on the couch, but Jay didn’t seem to care.

His dark eyes flicked down, and he let out a low growl when he caught sight of your panties—already soaked through.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he murmured, his thumb pressing a tentative circle over your clothed core.

The sensation made you whimper, muffled around his length as your hips gave the tiniest jerk. The sound pulled a dangerous smirk from Jay as he arched a brow.

“Oh? That made you whine, pretty girl?” he teased, his voice strained but still laced with amusement. “You like having my cock in your mouth and my hands here?”

You let out a broken moan around him in response, your lips tightening instinctively as you sucked harder.

“Shit—” Jay cursed, his fingers moving now with more purpose as he rubbed slow, firm circles over the damp lace.

Then, without warning, he hooked the fabric to the side, fingers sliding against your slick folds.

“Goddamn…” he muttered under his breath, his thumb brushing your clit as two fingers plunged into you in one smooth motion.

Your body jolted at the sudden intrusion, a loud moan vibrating around his cock as your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Fuck, that sound,” Jay groaned, his free hand tugging your hair back slightly so he could watch your wrecked expression as you tried to keep taking him. “You’re dripping, baby. Making a fucking mess for me.”

His fingers curled inside you, finding that perfect spot with practiced precision. Your hips bucked against his hand, and he chuckled lowly.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough now. “Mouth full of me, pussy so tight and wet for my fingers. You’re such a fucking sight.”

You whimpered again, your thighs trembling as his pace quickened. The obscene wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you mixed with the slick, messy noises from your mouth working on his cock.

“Don’t stop,” Jay gritted out, his hand guiding your movements on him as his thumb pressed harder on your clit.

“Wanna feel you fall apart while you’re sucking me off. Think you can do that, pretty?”

You let out a choked whimper around his cock, your hips jerking as he pressed his thumb harder against your clit. The vibration of your moan made Jay’s head tip back with a guttural groan.

“Fuck—always so fucking sensitive for me,” he muttered, his pace in your core quickening.

The slick, wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you filled the room, mixing with the obscene slurp of your mouth working over his length.

Your thighs trembled as you tried to focus on keeping him in your mouth, but the coil in your stomach tightened unbearably. Jay noticed, his hand gripping your hair tighter as his dark eyes bore down on you.

“Don’t you dare pull away,” he growled, curling his fingers perfectly. “Wanna feel you fall apart right here, baby. Wanna feel your mouth go tight around me when you cum.”

A strangled moan vibrated around his cock as your walls fluttered wildly around his fingers, your body arching against the couch cushions.

You tried to stifle the sound, but it came out broken and needy, muffled by the weight of him on your tongue.

“Good girl,” Jay groaned, his thumb brushing soothingly over your clit even as your thighs shook from the aftershocks.

“Fuck, you’re perfect like this. Falling apart for me while keeping me in your mouth. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You whined faintly around him, your lips still wrapped tight as your cheeks hollowed, determined to keep going.

Jay’s jaw clenched, his free hand leaving your hair as he pulled his fingers from your core, bringing them to his lips.

“Fuck—” he hissed as his tongue darted out, licking them clean with a low growl. “You taste so fucking sweet.”

Then, without warning, his now free hand came down in a sharp smack against your ass, making you yelp around his cock. The sudden sting had your hips jerking forward, and Jay groaned deep in his chest.

“Shit—don’t do that unless you’re ready to make me lose it,” he muttered, his breath coming faster now as his hand smoothed over where he spanked you, only to give another sharp slap that had you moaning again.

“I’m close, baby. So close,” he panted, his hand tightening in your hair again. “Just a little more… fuck—”

A deep groan tore from his throat as his hips gave a slight thrust. You felt the first hot spurts hit the back of your throat as he cursed lowly, his chest rising and falling fast.

“Shit, (Y/N)… so fucking good,” he growled as you swallowed around him, not pulling away until he twitched one last time against your tongue.

You let him go with a soft pop, pulling back slightly to look up at him, your lips swollen and glossy with spit. You stuck your tongue out with a little grin, showing him you’d swallowed every drop.

Jay’s dark eyes softened instantly, his chest still heaving as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip. Then he leaned down, cupping your jaw as he pressed a tender kiss to your mouth.

Gone was the feral hunger—this kiss was slow, warm, his lips moving lazily against yours as if he couldn’t bear to break the connection.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured between kisses, his other hand smoothing over your hair.

“So good for me. You’ve got me completely fucking ruined, you know that?”

You giggled softly against his lips, still breathless, and he smiled as he pressed another kiss to your flushed cheek, then your nose, then your temple.

“The dishes can wait,” Jay said suddenly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “You’re all I’m thinking about right now.”

Before you could respond, he was already slipping his hands under your thighs, lifting you easily into his arms. You squeaked in surprise, clinging to his shoulders as he carried you bridal style toward his bedroom.

“Jay—” you began, but he silenced you with a soft peck to your lips.

“No arguments,” he murmured with a small smirk. “You’ve completely worn me out. Now I’m gonna hold you all night.”

It was already Wednesday evening before you realized how late it had gotten. The golden sun cast a warm glow over the grassy field, streaks of pink and orange bleeding into the sky as the sound of music still lingered faintly in the air.

Your practice skirt swished against your thighs as you caught your breath, sweat sticking your hair slightly to your temple.

You’d been in your element all afternoon—perfecting every twist, every sharp turn and graceful extension until it felt like muscle memory.

As the song faded out, Sion released your hand, his breathing a little heavier too, and gave you a bright grin.

“Good job, partner,” he said, offering you a casual fist bump.

You laughed softly, bumping your fist against his. “You too. No more near-disasters with that lift. We’re getting there.”

His grin widened, and he shook his head. “Hey, that one wasn’t my fault.”

Before you could tease him further, your coach’s voice echoed across the field as she stepped onto the small stage set up nearby. She grabbed the mic, drawing the attention of every dancer and techie still scattered around.

The grassy field was littered with colorful balloons and bits of confetti from the earlier events—a chaotic but oddly charming mess.

“Alright, everyone!” she called, her voice warm but commanding. “You all worked incredibly hard today. I’m so proud of every single one of you.”

You smiled as you bent to adjust the strap of your heel, standing straighter when your coach’s eyes briefly landed on you.

“And I want to take a moment to outwardly commend Jeong (Y/N), our White Swan,” she continued, her grin widening.

“You’ve been moving like you were born for the stage. Elegant, powerful—exactly what this choreography needs.”

There was a small round of applause and some whistles from the sidelines, including Sakura and Eunchae from the costume team waving their hands dramatically in your direction.

“Our star dancer!” Yunjin cheered loudly, cupping her hands around her mouth.

“That’s our (Y/N)!” Sakura called, earning laughs from the nearby technical department as they clapped and hollered too.

You shook your head, embarrassed but grinning as you raised your hand in mock salute.

“Thank you,” you called back with a laugh, cheeks warm as your teammates joined in the clapping.

“Alright, alright, let’s bring it down,” your coach chuckled. “Cool down and get some rest. Big day tomorrow—official performance. Costumes and tech, you’ve done enough for now. Go relax too.”

Sakura, Yunjin, and Eunchae let out exaggerated sighs of relief, fanning themselves with their clipboards as they made their way off the field.

You glanced at Chaewon, who was stretching her shoulders nearby, and gestured subtly for her to step up and lead the cooldown.

Her brows furrowed in mock annoyance, and she placed a hand on her hip. “Me? Again? You’re the coach’s favorite today, (Y/N). You do it.”

You raised your brows, biting back a grin. “Hey, I just nailed a whole routine. My legs are already jelly.”

Chaewon scoffed but took her place at the front anyway, clapping her hands to gather everyone. “Fine, fine. But you owe me, Jeong.”

You exhaled, the weight of hours of practice finally settling into your bones as the cooldown stretches began. Your muscles ached, but it was the good kind of ache—the one that told you you’d given everything today.

As the group dispersed, Kazuha and Chaewon approached with your belongings in their arms.

“Here,” Kazuha said with a warm smile, handing you your bag.

“Don’t forget your water,” Chaewon added, tossing you your bottle with a knowing look.

“Thanks, guys,” you murmured, slinging your bag over your shoulder as the three of you stepped off the stage and down onto the grassy field.

By the time you reached the sidewalk, all three of you were laughing about how Chaewon’s cooldown playlist somehow always snuck in random ballads no one asked for.

But the sound of laughter wasn’t just yours.

You froze slightly at the sight that greeted you. The band was there—all of them.

Jake and Sunghoon were tossing a football back and forth like overgrown kids, their movements occasionally too dramatic, causing the ball to fly dangerously close to other people.

Sunoo and Jungwon were in a full-on sprint, shrieking as Ni-ki chased them like some horror movie villain, his long legs easily closing the distance.

Heeseung was lying completely motionless on the grass, his arm draped over his eyes, probably dead to the world.

But your eyes were pulled magnetically to one figure—Jay.

He was leaning lazily against a lamppost, one ankle crossed over the other, hands in his pockets. But his posture was deceptive because his dark eyes—soft yet sharp—never once left your figure as you approached.

He nodded slightly in acknowledgment, his expression unreadable.

You tilted your head, brows furrowing in confusion. Before you could say anything, Chaewon placed her hands firmly on your back and shoved you forward.

“Hey—!” You stumbled slightly, whipping around to glare at her, but she just grinned and shrugged.

“Kazuha and I need to help the tech team out,” Chaewon said sweetly, already pulling Kazuha away.

“Wait, what—?” you began, but she clicked her tongue like a mother scolding her child.

“You’ve already done enough, babes. You’re the main dancer for a reason. Now shoo—have fun with your man.”

You rolled your eyes, clutching your bag tighter as you turned back toward Jay.

He hadn’t moved from his spot, but now there was the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You tired?” he asked when you reached him, his voice low and warm in the cool evening air.

You shook your head, trying to calm the rapid thudding in your chest.

“Good,” he murmured, reaching out to take your hand. His fingers laced with yours naturally, and you followed him wordlessly as he led you away from the field, past the noise of the others, toward the empty bathrooms near the edge of the grassy area.

“Why are we here?” you asked suspiciously, brows raised as you glanced at him.

He didn’t answer—just gave you that maddeningly calm look as he pushed open the door and guided you inside.

“Jay—”

The next thing you knew, you were pressed against the cool metal of the locked stall door, your bag sliding off your shoulder as he set it neatly on the floor.

Your breath hitched. “Jay… what—”

He dropped to his knees in front of you, fingers already tugging at the waistband of your tights.

“Jay!” you squeaked.

He clicked his tongue, looking up at you with dark, dangerous eyes. “Relax, pretty. I already got you new ones. And another pair for tomorrow’s performance.”

Your jaw fell slack. “You… what?”

“I had to ask Sakura what color to get,” he admitted with a smirk, fingers curling into the fabric of your tights. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Before you could even react, the sharp sound of fabric tearing filled the air. You gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance.

“Jay, you’re insane—”

“Mm,” he hummed in amusement, his thumbs hooking the ruined waistband of your tights to drag them down just enough. “You keep saying that like it’s news.”

And then he was pushing your underwear aside, the cool air against your slick heat making you shiver.

“Already wet?” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. “Were you thinking about me the whole practice, pretty?”

“Jay—wait—”

But he didn’t wait. He dove in, his tongue flattening against your folds before dragging upward in a slow, sinful lick.

Your knees nearly buckled. A sharp squeak escaped you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as a helpless moan tried to break free.

Jay’s hands gripped your thighs firmly, holding you steady as his tongue circled your clit with maddening precision.

“You taste even sweeter after practice,” he muttered against you, his warm breath making you shudder. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this all damn day.”

You let out a muffled whimper, your fingers tangling desperately in his hair as he continued devouring you like a man starved.

His strong hands gripped the undersides of your thighs, holding you up effortlessly against the cool metal door as his mouth worked you open.

His arms weren’t just for show—corded muscles flexed beneath his skin as he kept you steady, your legs threatening to give out from how relentlessly his tongue moved.

“Jay—ah, f-fuck—” you gasped against your palm, trying in vain to stay quiet.

He hummed low in his throat, the vibrations shooting straight through your core as his tongue flicked teasingly at your clit before dragging back down to lap at your folds again.

Sometimes he’d go maddeningly slow, flattening his tongue to savor you, only to suddenly swirl it fast around your sensitive nub, pulling a broken moan from your lips.

He pulled back just slightly, his lips slick and glistening as he looked up at you with dark, hooded eyes. “So fucking sweet, (Y/N). You gonna give it to me?”

You couldn’t even answer, your hips twitching against his mouth as he dipped back in. His tongue thrust past your folds with a groan that vibrated against you, and you fell apart.

Your hands fisted in his hair as a strangled sound escaped you, your back arching against the door. He didn’t stop—not until your body sagged weakly in his hold, trembling with the aftershocks.

“Good girl,” Jay murmured, licking his lips with a satisfied hum as he cleaned every trace of you from his mouth. “Fucking perfect.”

He stood smoothly, his hands steadying you as your legs threatened to buckle. You clung to his shirt, panting as your forehead pressed to his chest.

“Easy,” he said softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he cupped your jaw and kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it made your knees weak all over again.

When he pulled back, his thumb brushed over your flushed cheek as his eyes softened slightly.

“I was jealous,” he said suddenly, voice low.

You blinked up at him, still trying to catch your breath. “Jealous?”

His jaw tensed a little as he nodded stiffly. “Of your partner.”

“…Sion?” you asked carefully.

“Yeah.” The way the name sounded on his tongue—clipped, almost sour—made you press your lips together to keep from smiling.

“You watched the performance?”

Jay gave a little shrug, eyes flicking to the side. “Only the end.”

You tilted your head at him, amusement flashing in your gaze despite the post-orgasm haze. “Just the end?”

His lips quirked in the faintest smirk, but his arms didn’t loosen around you. “Didn’t need to see the rest. I already know you’re the best one out there.”

Your heart fluttered at his words even as your eyes rolled. “Smooth, Park Jongseong.”

He only hummed in response, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he leaned in again, capturing your mouth in a slower, deeper kiss.

His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him like he couldn’t stand even a centimeter of space between you.

But with a small laugh, you placed your palms on his chest and pushed him back slightly.

Jay’s brows furrowed immediately, his lips parting in surprise like a kicked kitten. “What—why are you stopping me?”

“No sex until tomorrow,” you said firmly, though the twitch of amusement at the corner of your mouth betrayed how hard you were trying not to laugh at his expression. “Not even head.”

His frown deepened, his pretty brows drawing together as his hands fell to his sides dramatically. “What? Why?”

You gave him a pointed look, still slightly breathless from earlier. “Jay, I need my legs to work tomorrow. Do you want me limping through the entire performance?”

He blinked at you, processing your words for a second before he sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

“My girlfriend is a god of the stage. I respect that,” he muttered begrudgingly, his lips pressing into a thin line as his gaze dropped to the floor.

“But depriving me of my favorite pastime?” His dark eyes flicked back to yours, narrowed slightly in mock betrayal. “That’s insane.”

You burst out laughing, clutching his arm as your body shook. “Jay, you’re so dramatic.”

He clicked his tongue and bent down, his hands gentle as he helped you step out of your ripped tights and skirt, the remnants of fabric still clinging around your thighs.

His touch lingered longer than necessary, fingers brushing teasingly up the back of your knee, but he didn’t push.

“Guess I’ll suffer in silence then,” he grumbled, straightening back up and plucking your bag from where it lay carelessly on the floor.

He unzipped it and pulled out a pair of your loose pants, holding them out to you like some tragic prince. “Here, pretty. Can’t have my star performer catching a cold.”

You rolled your eyes fondly and took them from him, slipping them on as he watched silently, still looking mildly offended.

Once you were dressed, he stepped closer, brushing his thumb over your flushed cheek. “Tomorrow night, though…”

His voice dipped low, dangerous. “You’re not escaping me.”

You swallowed hard, fighting back the shiver that ran down your spine. “We’ll see.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you swore Sakura could feel it as her fingers carefully swept iridescent glitter across your eyelids.

Each brush sent tiny specks of shimmer catching the harsh backstage lights, making your reflection look ethereal in the mirror propped in front of you.

“You’re okay, (Y/N). Breathe,” Sakura murmured softly, almost like she was trying to steady herself too amidst the chaos that was the backstage.

You tried to smile at her reassurance, but it came out small, weak—like your lungs couldn’t fill fully.

Before you could say anything, Eunchae hurried up behind you, her small hands adjusting the satin headpiece that lined your hair, soft white feathers fanning delicately from it. She clipped a few more pins to secure it in place, her brows furrowed in focus.

“Hold still,” she whispered. “One wrong move and this thing will fly into the audience like a frisbee.”

Despite your nerves, you let out a quiet laugh, and Eunchae smiled in victory. “There. Perfect. You’re going to blow them away.”

Your lips twitched upward, grateful for her efforts, but the sound of the crowd’s cheers—loud, raucous, unrelenting—seeped in through the stage curtains. Your stomach twisted painfully.

Sakura noticed your frown immediately as she touched up the powder along your jawline, her warm brown eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“Hey,” she said gently, her thumb brushing a stray fleck of glitter off your cheekbone. “Don’t think. Just dance.”

You gave a tiny nod, inhaling slowly through your nose.

As Kazuha settled in, her eyes flicked toward you, catching the way your fingers twisted nervously in your lap. She smiled, soft and reassuring.

“You’ll do great,” she said simply, her voice carrying that calm strength she was known for. “You always do.”

You turned your head slightly toward her, eyes narrowing playfully despite the thundering in your chest. “My Duchess,” you teased, referring to her role in the performance.

Kazuha rolled her eyes dramatically, her lips quirking upward as the makeup artist began dusting shimmer across her collarbones. “Keep that up and I will bite you.”

That drew a real laugh out of you this time, enough to loosen the tension knotting your shoulders.

“Violent Duchess,” you murmured fondly.

“Terrified Swan,” she countered with a wink, her words laced with affection.

You let out a shaky breath, finally pushing yourself up from the chair as Sakura patted your shoulder.

“You’re good to go,” she said, tucking the last stray hair into place and stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Now go out there and make them cry.”

You managed a small smile, smoothing your hands down the flowing white fabric of your costume. The feathers on your headpiece caught the warm glow of the vanity lights, dancing like embers with each nervous breath you took.

As you turned toward the side of the stage, your eyes caught movement near the instruments.

Enhypen was there, scattered in various states of pre-show focus—Sunghoon and Jake adjusting their earpieces, Jungwon testing a mic stand, and Ni-ki thumbing through some of the microphones like he was choosing weapons.

But your gaze inevitably locked onto Jay.

He was standing near the amps, his guitar leaning casually against the wall as he tugged slightly at the thick silver chain resting on his collarbones. He muttered something to Heeseung, probably asking for another guitar pick, and adjusted his in-ear monitors.

And for a moment, the noisy chaos around you faded into a hush.

His eyes swept over you in one long, slow drag—like he was drinking in the sight of you dressed in white satin and feathers, glowing under the dim backstage lights.

The corner of his lips parted slightly, his hands pausing mid-motion as though he’d completely forgotten what he was doing.

You didn’t even have time to react before he was moving toward you. His steps were purposeful, his gaze locked on yours until he finally reached you.

Without hesitation, his hands slid onto your waist, thumbs brushing feather-light against the delicate fabric.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice low and reverent. “You look so beautiful.”

Your cheeks warmed under his intense gaze. “Thank you,” you murmured softly.

His shirt—a crisp white button-up lined with bold black and red patterns—caught your attention. You reached up without thinking, unfastening one more button at the collar and smoothing the fabric down with your fingers.

“There,” you said with a satisfied nod. “Now you look handsome too.”

A grin tugged at his lips, boyish and soft as he tilted his head slightly. “Only handsome?”

You smirked faintly. “Devastatingly handsome, Park Jongseong.”

“Better.”

Before you could say more, he leaned down, his nose brushing yours as his lips ghosted dangerously close. But just as his mouth met yours—click.

You both startled slightly and turned your heads to see Eunchae standing there, holding up a camera with a sheepish grin.

“Sorry!” she said, laughing. “But you two were too cute. Can I send this to the team? They’re begging for a backstage update for the school page.”

Sakura stood a few feet away, arms crossed as she gave Jay a pointed look. “Don’t ruin my artwork, Park. I spent twenty minutes getting that glitter perfect.”

You broke into laughter, covering your mouth with your hand as Jay pressed his lips together, his ears faintly red. He looked at Sakura, then back at you, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You’re scary when you’re protective of her, Sakura,” he murmured.

“Damn right,” she replied coolly.

Eunchae giggled again. “So… can I post it?”

Jay’s hand slid from your waist to lace with yours gently, and he squeezed. Then, leaning down slightly, he whispered in your ear, his breath warm and low:

“After your performance.”

You turned your head to meet his dark, soft gaze and nodded, the corner of your lips curving upward.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, pressing the lightest kiss to your temple before stepping back reluctantly. “Now go break their hearts, my swan.”

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove @in-somnias-world @cripplinghooman @yeossified @ateez-atiny380 @chemiru ⤷ piece taglist — @strawjayrries @dearestdreamies @chuuyaobsessed

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[liuhsng]

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ strings and satin ( pjs ! ) — part 2

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jay x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ⤷ word count — 21.3k ⤷ based on this request by 🍓 anon ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — finally part two is here !! i had so much fun writing this—soft moments, stolen glances, and all. i hope you guys feel the slow pull between them as much as i did. part three’s already brewing in my head, so pace yourselves loves, we’re only getting started 🤍

⤷ warnings — college au, guitarist!jay, ballerina!reader, college!jay, college!reader, college!enhypen, band!enhypen, slow burn, friends(?) to lovers trope, soft!jay, mutual pining, reader falls first (definitely), domestic undertones, accidental vulnerability, soft tension, unspoken feelings, skinship, fluff, angst

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — three days. that’s all it takes for the boundaries to shift. one moment it’s just an arrangement—shared hands for the crowd, borrowed smiles for the rumors. the next, it’s late nights spent in quiet kitchens, borrowed jackets that still smell like him, and a warmth that lingers long after the rain has stopped. it’s easy to forget where the act ends and the real thing begins. but then he whispers promises against your hair, and you start to wonder if maybe this isn’t just a game anymore. or, where pretending feels a little too real, and you’re no longer sure if you want him to stop.

Jay walked just close enough that his shoulder brushed yours every now and then, his hand occasionally reaching over to pet Doobu as she purred contently in your arms.

The soft sound of her breathing mixed with your quiet laughter.

“So Heeseung went live on Instagram once,” Jay said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“And for some reason—don’t even ask—he picked up my guitar and started messing with it. He thought he was being funny.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, already grinning. “He didn’t.”

Jay nodded, lips twitching like he was trying to suppress a smile. “He did. And then people started tagging me in the comments. I saw it, tuned my guitar back properly.”

That broke you. A laugh bubbled out of your chest as you hugged Doobu closer.

“Oh my god—that’s like… in ballet terms, that’s as bad as when your pointe shoes get laced up wrong. Total violation of personal space.”

Jay raised a brow, amused. “I have no idea what that means, but… yeah. I’ll take your word for it.”

Still smiling, you tilted your head at him. “Do you want to know about ballet?”

“Actually, yeah. I’ve been wondering,” he admitted as you both turned the corner.

“Take a right here,” you said softly, shifting Doobu slightly in your arms so she wouldn’t slip.

Jay followed, his steps slow and unhurried. “So… why ballet?”

You hummed, thoughtful. “I guess… it was something I really liked. When I was younger, I found the performances so beautiful—my mom told me to try it, and I did. I ended up loving it. So… here I am.”

Jay nodded quietly, his dark eyes on you as a faint breeze ruffled his hoodie. Then he tilted his head, voice dropping into that teasing tone you were starting to recognize. “In Decelis too… You must be rich.”

You laughed, shaking your head quickly. “I’m not. I mean—I got in on a scholarship, so… yeah.”

“That just means you’re really good,” Jay said matter-of-factly, and for a moment, his tone carried no teasing—just simple, quiet admiration.

Your cheeks warmed, but you looked away, pointing at the building with large glass windows just ahead. “That’s my dorm. We’re here.”

Jay’s steps slowed as you approached the steps. He opened the door for you with a small smile. “After you.”

“Thank you.” You stepped inside, glancing at him as he lingered at the entrance. “Do you… want to come up? You don’t have to, but—”

Jay’s hand flexed slightly around the paper bags he still carried. “No, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t.” You shook your head, a small grin pulling at your lips. “Come on. Let’s go.”

His eyes flicked to yours for a beat, and then he let out a quiet laugh. “Okay. Just for a bit.”

You led him to the elevator, your slippers making soft sounds against the tiled floor. He followed close behind, pressing the call button. Almost instantly, the elevator dinged and opened.

“Fifth floor, please,” you said as you stepped inside, shifting Doobu so she rested more comfortably in your arms.

Jay pressed the button, his knuckles brushing the panel lightly. The doors closed with a soft hum, the faint reflection of you both visible in the polished metal.

He looked at you briefly, lips quirking in the faintest smile as he spoke.

Jay leaned against the elevator wall as the soft hum of its ascent filled the quiet space.

His reflection in the polished metal flickered faintly as he spoke, voice low and teasing, “You know, if you ever wanna sneak off again, head to the quad. I’ll pick you up.”

You gasped dramatically, eyes going wide as you turned your head over your shoulder to look at him.

“Park Jongseong,” you said, mock scandal dripping from your tone. “That’s so low of you.”

Jay’s grin widened, the sound of his quiet laugh bouncing lightly off the elevator walls. “What? Your cat’s cute. I wouldn’t mind being her getaway driver.”

You huffed, clutching Doobu closer as she nuzzled contentedly against your hoodie. “I know she’s cute,” you admitted begrudgingly, “but she’s such a little troublemaker. I swear she does this on purpose.”

Jay’s hand reached out instinctively, fingers brushing over the top of Doobu’s head, scratching gently behind her ears.

“Can’t blame her. She’s got a curious streak… kinda like her owner.”

Before you could retort, the elevator gave a soft ding and the doors slid open to reveal the fifth floor’s warmly lit hallway.

“Come on,” you murmured, stepping out as Jay followed closely behind, his hands now tucked casually into his hoodie pockets.

He glanced around as you led the way down the hall, his eyes flicking to the neatly numbered doors as if committing them all to memory. His gaze lingered for a fraction longer when you stopped at one of the nearer units—Room 507.

You shifted Doobu in your arms, the white furball now half-asleep again as you hesitated at your door.

Heat crept up your ears when you glanced back at Jay, who was watching you with a patient, expectant look.

“Um… could you—uh—hold her for a bit? I just need to unlock the door.”

Jay nodded without hesitation, stepping closer. “Yeah. Give her to me.”

Carefully, you handed Doobu over, your fingers brushing his hoodie sleeve in the process. “Thanks,” you murmured with a small, thankful smile as he adjusted his arms to cradle her gently.

“No problem,” Jay replied softly, his voice warm as Doobu immediately settled into his hold, eyes fluttering shut again.

He looked down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “She’s so relaxed. You’d think I was her actual owner.”

You chuckled nervously, turning back to the door as you fished your keys from your hoodie pocket. The soft jingle echoed in the hallway as you found the right one, slipping it into the lock.

“Sorry for the mess,” you mumbled, cheeks heating as you twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

Jay tilted his head slightly, an amused glint in his eyes. “Somehow I doubt your ‘mess’ and my ‘mess’ are the same thing.”

You laughed softly as you pushed the door open, the warm scent of vanilla from your room spilling out faintly. “You’d be surprised,” you said, stepping in first to flick on the lights.

The room wasn’t even messy—just lived in. A soft cream throw blanket draped over your small couch, a few books stacked on the coffee table, ballet shoes peeking from under your bed, and a lingering coziness that smelled faintly of your shampoo.

Jay took one step in, Doobu curling lazily against his chest like she’d been with him all her life.

The room wasn’t even messy—just lived in. A soft cream throw blanket was draped lazily over your small couch, the cushions slightly sunken like it was your favorite reading spot.

A sleek TV sat propped up on a modest wooden stand, a small stack of DVDs and game controllers tucked neatly beside it.

Near the far corner, a vanity mirror framed in glowing bulbs sat atop a dresser cluttered with skincare bottles and a stray pair of earrings.

Fairy lights dangled loosely along the ceiling, their warm yellow glow casting soft shadows across the space. A kitchenette hugged one wall, clean and minimal, with a mug drying upside down on the counter.

A bookshelf stood proudly near your bed, filled with everything from classic literature to ballet history texts, a few dog-eared novels stacked horizontally where they no longer fit.

But it was the wall above your bed that caught Jay’s eye—an entire collage of polaroids and ribbon cutouts, little scraps of you.

Friends laughing in candid shots, blurry pictures of stage lights from performances, faded ribbons from past competitions pinned carefully like trophies. It was vibrant and soft all at once—like you.

Jay blinked, taking in the details quietly, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes.

“Messy,” he said finally, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Sure. This looks like a Pinterest board threw up in here.”

You froze halfway through tugging off your hoodie, cheeks heating. “Shut up,” you hissed, ducking your head to hide your fluster. “It’s… cozy, okay? I like it this way.”

Jay smirked, bending slightly as Doobu let out a soft meow in his arms. “You’re really bad at taking compliments, you know that?”

Rolling your eyes, you took Doobu back into your arms, the little cat stretching her paws lazily before nuzzling into your hoodie again.

“I’m great at taking compliments,” you said, voice muffled as you buried your face briefly into Doobu’s fur. “I just… filter which ones I believe.”

Jay hummed like he wanted to say something more, but instead he leaned casually against the doorframe, hands sliding into the pockets of his cream trousers.

You cleared your throat, setting Doobu gently down on the bed. “Uh—you can… sit down, you know. Make yourself comfortable.”

Jay arched a brow, a teasing glint flickering in his eyes as he pushed off the frame slightly. “You’re telling me to sit down like I’m the guest of honor or something.”

You exhaled sharply, trying not to let your fluster show as you reached for his wrist. “I am telling you to sit. Here. Couch.”

He let you pull him with no resistance, his long fingers still half-tucked in his pockets as his amused smirk grew. “Okay, okay,” he murmured as you stopped him in front of the couch and all but shoved him down gently.

“There. Stay put.”

Jay chuckled as he sank into the cushions, legs spreading comfortably as his arm draped along the backrest.

“Bossy,” he teased lightly, tilting his head to watch you grab fresh clothes from the rack beside your vanity.

You shot him a look over your shoulder, your face already burning. “Don’t. Start.”

He only raised his hands in mock surrender, still wearing that faint grin as you disappeared into the bathroom with your clothes.

For a moment, silence settled in the room again, save for the faint tick of the clock and the low hum of the air conditioning. Jay let his eyes wander, his hands idly drumming against his thighs.

The first thing he noticed was the line of Dior lip glosses neatly arranged on your vanity. He leaned his head back slightly and hummed under his breath.

“Dior, huh? Someone’s got taste…” His gaze swept across the space again, taking in the soft pastel palette of your room, the fairy lights draped carelessly above, the plush throw pillows piled on the couch.

“Talk about contrast,” he murmured, a quiet laugh escaping him as he thought about his own room—dark walls, a clutter of guitar picks and stray lyric sheets, the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air.

Yours felt lighter, softer. Like breathing fresh air after being cooped up too long.

The sound of the bathroom door clicking open snapped him from his thoughts. He straightened slightly as you stepped out, now dressed in light-washed jeans, a black shirt peeking from under a cream hoodie.

Your hair was quickly brushed and your skin glowed faintly in the soft light, a Dior gloss—cherry pink—already in your hand as you dabbed it on without much thought.

“Sorry for making you wait,” you said sheepishly, meeting his eyes with a small smile.

Jay shook his head as he rose to his feet. “You were quick. Don’t worry about it.” His tone was softer now, almost careful.

You grinned faintly, slipping your gloss back into the vanity drawer. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

As you scooped your keys from the table, you turned to Doobu still curled up on your bed. Pointing a stern finger at her, you said, “No more outside time for you, Doobu. I mean it.”

Jay let out a quiet laugh behind you, reaching for the door as you switched off the main light and let the fairy lights cast their warm glow over the room.

The soft twinkle reflected in his eyes as he glanced back briefly, committing the sight to memory.

You locked the door with a click, turning to him. “Where to?”

You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, trying to muffle your laughter as Jay animatedly waved his hands around from across the small ramen shop table.

“No, no—listen,” he said, leaning forward with an exaggeratedly serious expression, his cap casting a faint shadow over his eyes.

“Jungwon was like—” He cleared his throat and pitched his voice higher, imitating the younger’s slightly frantic tone. “‘Come on, Jay. Come on, Jay. Don’t say anything! Stop talking, stop—stop—’”

You burst out laughing, nearly knocking your chopsticks off the table. “Oh my god, stop—you’re too good at that.”

Jay grinned, his eyes crinkling as he shrugged innocently.

“What? That’s exactly what he sounded like. I swear I thought he was going to faint when I said, ‘oh yeah, we’re working on—’” He clamped his hand over his mouth dramatically, earning another fit of laughter from you.

“You’re really one of the funniest people I’ve ever met,” you said between laughs, shaking your head in disbelief.

Jay leaned back in his chair, a smug little smile tugging at his lips. “That’s an achievement. I’ll take the trophy now.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as you reached for the menu. “Seriously, though… almost leaking your own song?”

“It wasn’t even on purpose!” he defended, throwing his hands up slightly. “I guess I was just… too excited for College Week.”

You raised a brow at him, lips twitching. “Oh? You guys have another song?”

He nodded, idly spinning his water glass between his fingers. “Yeah. This time it’s a song called Shout Out. It’s more sentimental than Karma.”

“That’s so fitting,” you teased, glancing down at the menu—only to stiffen slightly at the prices listed beside each dish.

Before you could even open your mouth, Jay’s voice cut in smoothly. “Hey. Don’t think too hard about it. Pick whatever you’re craving—I got it, yeah?”

Your brows furrowed as you looked up at him, lips parting to protest, but he raised a hand like he’d already anticipated it.

“Nope. Don’t even start,” he said firmly, a playful edge in his tone. “Consider it my apology for dragging you and Doobu out so late.”

You let out a sigh but smiled anyway. “Fine. But you’re seriously too much sometimes, Jay.”

Jay smirked, resting his chin in his palm as his eyes softened slightly on you. “Maybe. But admit it, I’m fun company.”

“Unfortunately,” you muttered with a grin as you finally pointed at your choice on the menu. “Okay. I’ll get the miso ramen. And—uh—a side of gyoza?”

“Good choice,” Jay said with an approving nod before glancing at the menu himself. “I’ll get the tonkatsu. Extra spicy. And another side of gyoza. Can’t go wrong with those.”

As the waiter came to take your orders, you found yourself glancing around the small shop. The faint hum of soft jazz played overhead, the warm light above your table casting a gentle glow on Jay’s features as he absentmindedly fiddled with his chopsticks.

When the waiter left, Jay leaned back comfortably again. “So,” he said, that same soft smile still tugging at his lips.

“Tell me more about your performances,” Jay said as he leaned forward slightly, propping his elbow on the table. “You’re going to perform during College Week too, right?”

You nodded, fiddling absently with your chopsticks. “Yeah, I mean… we perform before you guys every year. Like a… opening act?”

Jay’s lips curved into a teasing smirk. “Oh—you’re the ones with the overly lullabying music?”

You gasped dramatically, swatting lightly at the air between you. “Excuse me?” you said with a laugh.

“I guess we are. But hey, someone’s gotta make the crowd feel all dreamy before you guys come in and break their eardrums.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

You twirled your straw in your glass. “Though—I mean, I guess this year’s different. We’re finally performing a pretty huge production piece. Something more memorable.”

Jay’s gaze stayed fixed on you, one elbow propped lazily on the table, his fingers idly tapping against his water glass.

“And I guess…” you continued, lips curving into a small smile, “I have a reason to stay later this time. Since you guys will be performing after us anyway.”

That made him pause, his brows raising slightly as he tilted his head at you. “Wait—you’ve never watched any of our performances?”

You blinked at him, chewing lightly on your bottom lip before tilting your head in return. “Is that… a bad thing?” you asked, voice teasing.

Jay shook his head almost immediately, a faint laugh slipping out. “No,” he said, his grin softening into something warmer. “Just the more reason for me to do better this year. Since you’ll be watching.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and you ducked your head, hoping he wouldn’t notice the heat creeping up your cheeks. But judging from the small, knowing smile tugging at his lips, he definitely noticed.

Still, he didn’t comment—just let the moment hang there gently between you, the quiet hum of the ramen shop filling the space.

The waiter arrived then, placing two steaming bowls of ramen on the table, the rich aroma of broth and spices instantly making your stomach growl.

“Tonkatsu for you, miso for you. Enjoy,” he said politely, setting down a plate of golden-brown gyoza as well.

“Thanks,” you and Jay said in near perfect unison, glancing at each other with faint smiles after.

Jay leaned back slightly, rubbing his palms together. “Alright—let’s eat.” His eyes flicked mischievously toward the gyoza. “But fair warning—if I finish first, I’m stealing those.”

You raised a brow, feigning offense as you adjusted your chopsticks. “In your dreams, Park Jongseong. Those are mine.”

He grinned, the corners of his lips tugging higher than you’d seen all week. “Yeah? Watch me.”

The two of you dug in, the clink of chopsticks and soft laughter between bites filling your little corner of the shop.

Neither of you noticed at first—not the subtle shift of heads from tables nearby, nor the quiet gasps as a few Decelis students did a double take.

“Is that—”

“Holy shit, it is.”

“Park Jongseong. With a girl? And he’s smiling?”

Phones slipped subtly out of pockets as some of the students tried to sneak photos without being obvious.

After all, it wasn’t every day you saw the stoic-faced guitarist of Decelis’ most popular band—the one who rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary—leaning forward over a bowl of miso ramen, laughing and teasing a girl like he’d known her forever.

One table, full of arts majors, whispered animatedly:

“Is that (L/N) (Y/N)? She’s in our department, right?”

“She’s in ballet. I think… I’ve seen her with Kazuha.”

“No way… he likes her?”

Meanwhile, Jay remained completely oblivious—or maybe he just didn’t care. His long fingers twirled noodles effortlessly, his posture relaxed, head slightly tilted as he listened to you animatedly talk about pointe shoes.

At a corner table, three students sat hunched over their phones, the glow of their screens reflected in wide eyes.

“Holy shit, zoom in—is that really Park Jongseong?” one whispered, pinching the screen to enlarge a blurry photo of Jay’s profile.

“It is! Look at the cap and the hoodie—he literally wore that after practice last week,” another hissed back, their tone urgent like they were breaking major news.

“Isn’t this… kind of a good source of gossip?” the first said, eyes darting nervously between Jay and the girl across from him—you.

The third leaned in closer, whispering like they were plotting a heist. “I mean… you could post it on the school’s gossip page. Everyone follows it.”

“Won’t they know it’s us?” the second asked, glancing around anxiously as though Jay might suddenly sense their scheming.

“You can send anonymous posts, dumbass,” the third snorted quietly. “Half the juicy stuff on there’s from people like us.”

They all turned their heads slightly in unison, pretending to sip on their drinks while sneaking another glance at you two.

Jay was laughing softly, head tilted back slightly, and you were smiling so wide it made them freeze for a second.

“…Do you think they’re, like… dating?” one muttered, leaning so far forward their chair creaked.

“Who wouldn’t date him? Look at him.”

Another girl, barely glancing up from her screen, muttered under her breath, “Well… I already submitted it. God, I’m just hoping I don’t get hunted down for this.”

“I—” she lowered her voice even further, leaning in like they were plotting international espionage. “I sent the photo to the gossip page. Anonymous, obviously.” She gestured vaguely to her phone, its screen dimming before anyone else could see proof.

“You’re insane,” the second whispered sharply, eyes wide as they darted between Jay’s table and their friend. “What if it blows up? You know how people get when it’s Jay.”

The third girl bit her lip, bouncing her leg nervously under the table. “This could actually start a war. Like—Decelis girls are rabid for him.”

The first scoffed but kept her voice low. “Please. He’s the one laughing and smiling with her. No one’s gonna blame us.”

The morning air was crisp as you walked beside Kazuha, her long hair tied in a neat ponytail that swayed slightly with each step.

She was already deep in thought, hands gesturing as she discussed the adjustments needed for the ensemble positions in one of the key scenes of your upcoming performance.

“So for that transition after the lift,” she said, brows furrowing, “I think we need to change the diagonal line to a V formation. It’ll fill the stage better once the curtains fully open.”

You nodded, hugging your jacket tighter around you as the cool air bit at your cheeks. “Yeah, that makes sense. The current one feels… a little too cramped for the audience’s perspective.”

Yunjin, walking on your other side with a stack of papers tucked under her arm, glanced up from the rehearsal notes she was scanning. “The performance is in, like… a week and a half, right?”

Kazuha sighed softly but nodded. “Yes. And we still have a lot to go through.”

You groaned, shifting the weight of your dance bag on your shoulder. “Don’t remind me. I can’t even rest without getting yelled at by our coach every morning. I swear she’s got some kind of sixth sense.”

That earned a soft laugh from Yunjin as she flipped to another page. “She probably does. Remember last year? She found out about Chaewon’s sprained ankle before Chaewon even told us.”

Kazuha let out a small laugh too, shaking her head. “Scary but… effective.”

You three turned into the university’s main gates, the familiar sight of towering glass windows and pristine hallways greeting you.

Your steps echoed faintly against the polished floors, but it wasn’t the sound that caught your attention.

It was the stares.

They were subtle at first—lingering glances from groups of students leaning against lockers, hushed whispers trailing in your wake.

You straightened your posture instinctively, forcing your focus on Kazuha as she continued talking about stage placements.

“So, we might have to ask the tech team to adjust the spotlights too,” she said, not noticing the way your eyes briefly flicked to a group of students murmuring to each other by the bulletin board.

“Mm… yeah,” you said quickly, nodding as if to ground yourself in the conversation.

“And maybe we should suggest they do a dry run with us next practice? Just so we’re sure the lighting cues match the music.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” Kazuha agreed, her lips quirking upward slightly as she adjusted her tote bag.

Yunjin hummed in agreement too, her eyes still scanning her notes. “I’ll bring it up to the coach later.”

You exhaled quietly, trying to shake off the feeling of eyes on your back. You forced yourself to keep pace with your friends, asking Kazuha another question.

“Do you know if the props department finalized the backdrop yet? Or are we still waiting on their approval?”

Kazuha tilted her head slightly as she thought. “They sent a draft last night. I’ll show it to you later—it’s actually pretty nice.”

“Perfect. Maybe we’ll finally stop tripping over the old backdrops this year,” Yunjin said dryly as she shifted her papers and reached for the door to your first class. She pushed it open, holding it just long enough for you and Kazuha to slip inside behind her.

You were thankful—at least you had this class together. If there was one silver lining to your packed schedule, it was that the three of you always had at least one class to survive as a unit.

But the moment your group stepped in, the atmoshphere in the room changed.

It was subtle at first, like a hush spreading through the front rows, but then a ripple of murmurs followed—soft giggles, whispers too quick to catch, a few phones held lower than usual like people didn’t want to be caught staring.

It felt like the room had somehow gone quiet and loud at the same time.

You furrowed your brows but kept walking, following Kazuha and Yunjin to your usual seats near the middle. Your steps felt heavier with every glance thrown your way—like everyone suddenly remembered you existed.

Yunjin, ever the bold one, plopped her bag down and raised a brow, glancing at one of your classmates sitting nearby. “Okay… what’s going on?”

The girl blinked at her, hesitated, then leaned in conspiratorially. “You didn’t hear?”

You’d barely set your bag down when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning, you found a small group of students peeking at you from behind their seats, wide-eyed and grinning.

“(Y/N)!” one of them whispered excitedly, like they were sharing a secret. “You never told us you were dating the guitarist of Enhypen!”

You blinked. “…I’m sorry—what?”

The group tittered among themselves, holding back laughter like they’d been dying to bring this up.

“You and Jay!” another chimed in, phone clutched tight as if they were ready to pull up evidence. “You were seen eating ramen together last night—like together together.”

Your brows shot up, and you shook your head so quickly it made your hair sway. “Wait, hold on. I’m not—”

“Then how come you two were on a date last night?” someone piped up from the front row, a smug tilt to their voice.

Your head whipped toward them, your brows furrowing even deeper. “Wait—what? How did you even know about that?”

Another voice chimed in, half whispering but loud enough for everyone to hear. “(Y/N)… there were pictures.”

Kazuha’s head snapped up from where she was unzipping her ballet tote, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What pictures?” she asked calmly, though her tone held an edge sharp enough to cut glass.

Before you could even react, a phone was suddenly shoved in your face. Your breath hitched as your eyes locked on the screen.

It was grainy, taken from across the ramen shop, but clear enough. You and Jay. Sitting across from each other.

Your hand covering your mouth mid-laugh while Jay leaned forward, his knuckles resting casually under his chin as he smiled at you.

The warm lights of the shop softened everything, making the scene look far too intimate—romantic even.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “What… where did you even—”

“An anonymous sender,” someone else piped up behind you, sounding far too entertained. “It got posted on the university gossip page this morning.”

Yunjin, standing beside you, let out a sharp laugh—not out of humor but disbelief—as she snatched the phone from the girl’s hand. “Are you serious right now?” she said, scrolling through the post with narrowed eyes.

“This is what Decelis students are doing with their lives? Playing paparazzi?”

Kazuha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable as her gaze swept over the room. “So let me get this straight—you’re all making up relationship rumors over one picture of them eating ramen?”

“It wasn’t just ramen!” a boy in the back said, clearly trying to hold back laughter. “There’s another picture! He even walked her back to her dorm. And—”

“Enough!” Yunjin snapped, slamming the phone down onto the nearest desk, making a few students jump. Her eyes darted back to you, voice softening slightly.

“(Y/N), don’t let this get to you. You know how fast this place eats up any ‘scandal.’”

You exhaled shakily, your face burning as you forced a small laugh. “It’s… fine. Let them think whatever they want. It’s not like it’s true anyway.”

Kazuha placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, her voice calm and steady. “You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. They’re the ones crossing the line.”

You nodded slowly, biting down the retort building in your throat. What was even the point?

Anything you said now would only feed into their gossip. Instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line and lowered your gaze, forcing the words down.

“Yeah,” you murmured faintly, though your voice lacked conviction. “You’re right.”

Kazuha’s thumb rubbed small circles against your shoulder before she pulled her hand away, slipping into her seat beside you.

Yunjin, on the other side, gave your arm a reassuring pat as you sank into your chair, the weight of every pair of eyes still prickling at your skin.

“Just breathe, okay?” Yunjin whispered under her breath, leaning slightly toward you as she began to pull her own papers from her tote.

“This will blow over. It always does.”

You offered her a small, tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes before dropping your bag onto the desk with a soft thud.

Slowly, methodically, you began pulling out your notebook, your pen case, your planner—anything to keep your hands occupied as your brain tried to ignore the hiss of whispers that still laced the air around you.

“Didn’t think she was his type…”

“She’s probably just using him to get clout.”

“Or maybe he’s the one using her.”

The murmurs continued, hushed but cruel, as though you weren’t even there.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you uncapped your pen, the tip pressing too hard against the paper as you absently doodled a small flower in the corner of your notes.

“Hey,” Kazuha said softly, turning in her seat to face you. “Ignore them. They don’t know anything.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes still fixed on the messy little flower sketch blooming under your pen. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” she said simply, her voice a quiet anchor.

Yunjin leaned her elbow on the desk, glaring subtly at the students across the room who hadn’t stopped sneaking glances at your table.

“God, the audacity of people here. You laugh with one guy, and suddenly you’re Decelis’ hottest headline.”

“Yunjin—” you started, but she waved you off.

“No, seriously. Let’s see them try saying this crap when Jay himself walks in here. Bet they’d choke on their words,” she muttered, flipping through her papers a little too forcefully.

You forced a laugh at that, though your cheeks burned with unease. “He’s not going to walk in here. This isn’t even his class.”

But even as the words left your lips, a flicker of dread pooled in your stomach at the thought.

What if he heard the whispers and saw the looks and thought… you’d started them?

You shoved the thought down and focused on underlining the date on your planner with shaking hands.

You grumbled under your breath, fingers dragging harshly through your hair before you pressed both hands over your face, willing your nerves to settle.

Your lunch sat cold and forgotten in front of you, the kimchi barely touched except for the absentminded pokes you’d made with your chopsticks.

Eunchae, sitting across from you, watched quietly with knitted brows, her spoon clinking softly against her bowl.

“Hey…” she said hesitantly, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the cafeteria.

Before you could respond, a sharp, irritated voice cut through.

“What?”

Your head snapped up just in time to see Chaewon glaring daggers at a group of passing students. The group, caught in her icy stare, immediately looked away and scurried off like startled mice.

You blinked, startled at her sudden bite. “Chaewon…” you murmured. “You don’t have to scare everyone.”

She sighed, breaking her glare as her eyes softened on you. “You’re too nice for your own good.”

Kazuha, sitting beside her, nodded solemnly as she stabbed at her salad. “She’s right. If you don’t put them in their place, they’ll keep thinking they can talk about you like that.”

You let out a small, humorless laugh, staring back down at your tray. “I don’t want to make things worse…”

Before Kazuha could even open her mouth to argue, a shift in the room’s atmosphere made you freeze.

It was like someone had blanketed the entire cafeteria in a thick hush. Conversations faltered. Spoons hovered midair. Heads began to turn, whispers threading their way from table to table.

You frowned slightly, confused, until Yunjin tilted her chin subtly toward the entrance.

“Don’t freak out,” she murmured.

But then you saw them.

Seven boys—each effortlessly drawing attention without even trying. They strolled into the cafeteria with unbothered expressions, eyes straight ahead as if the stares and hushed gossip didn’t exist.

Your stomach flipped violently as your eyes caught on a familiar figure in a black bomber jacket and lightwash jeans.

Jay.

As the group cut through the rows of tables, Heeseung cracked a grin at something Jungwon muttered. Jake ruffled Ni-ki’s hair before Ni-ki swatted him away. Sunghoon trailed behind, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

But then Jay slowed.

Halfway through the cafeteria, he casually bid the others goodbye, gesturing toward an empty table near the windows. The others gave him nods, and he peeled off—heading straight for your table.

You could’ve sworn your soul left your body.

“Oh no,” you whispered, staring down at your untouched kimchi like it held the answers to life.

“This is it. He doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore. He’s going to say it’s better if we don’t talk.”

Yunjin moved closer to you, catching your panicked expression.

Her sharp eyes flicked to Jay as he approached with long, unhurried strides. “Hey. Breathe. It doesn’t look like he’s about to bite your head off.”

But you couldn’t move—not as he stopped right beside your table, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes soft but unreadable as he looked down at you.

“Hey,” Jay said, his voice warm. Softer than you expected. “Do you want to talk?”

Your head shot up, eyes wide in surprise as your lips parted soundlessly. “I—”

Your friends all exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from smug to encouraging.

Chaewon arched a brow at you meaningfully. Yunjin gave you a small nudge with her elbow. “Go on.”

Kazuha smiled faintly, folding her hands on the table. “We’ll keep your food safe.”

Your throat felt tight as you glanced between Jay and your friends. His gaze didn’t waver—not impatient, not demanding, just patient. Waiting.

Finally, you nodded once, small and tentative. “Y-Yeah… okay.”

He smiled, relief flashing across his features before he stepped aside slightly to give you space.

You pushed your chair back slowly, heart thundering as you stood. “Sorry,” you mumbled to your friends, though you weren’t sure what for.

“Don’t be,” Chaewon said with a teasing smirk. “Text us if we need to drag you back.”

“Or if we need to fight,” Yunjin added with a wink.

You shot them a flustered look before following Jay as he led the way out of the cafeteria, his pace unhurried. You could feel the weight of countless stares on your back as you went, whispers blooming like wildfire in your wake.

Then, out of nowhere, you felt it—a warm, reassuring hand settling lightly against the small of your back.

Your breath hitched. Your steps faltered for half a second.

Jay leaned down slightly, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of his breath by your ear as he murmured, voice low and steady, “Ignore them. They don’t deserve any of your attention.”

You stiffened for a moment, not out of discomfort but from the way your heart stuttered in your chest.

Slowly, you turned your head up to him, your voice barely above a whisper, tinted with curiosity. “Then, who does?”

Jay glanced down at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His dark eyes softened as he tilted his head ever so slightly, his thumb brushing against the edge of your blouse.

“Me,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Your cheeks flamed, heat crawling all the way to the tips of your ears.

But surprisingly, you didn’t move away. You let him guide you gently, his hand remaining in place only long enough to steer you past the stares and into quieter hallways.

The sound of your sneakers against the polished floor filled the silence as you both walked, the hum of vending machines and distant chatter fading with each step.

The tension in your chest eased little by little, though your mind refused to stop replaying the warmth of his hand on your back and the casual confidence of his words.

Finally, Jay stopped in front of a plain wooden door tucked into a quieter corner of the building. He pulled a key from his pocket, unlocking it with a faint click before glancing back at you.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now.

You stepped inside carefully, your eyes scanning the empty room.

The fluorescent lights flickered to life above, revealing chairs pushed neatly against the walls and two lone seats set in the middle—almost like a makeshift interview setup. A faint scent of fresh paper and disinfectant lingered in the air.

Jay followed you in, letting the door close with a muted thud behind him. “This room’s usually like this,” he said casually, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of one of the chairs.

“They use it for business proposal presentations… or council meetings when the big room’s full.”

He gestured toward one of the two chairs, his expression easygoing. “Sit. Please.”

You hesitated for a beat before moving forward and sinking into the seat, clutching your hands nervously in your lap.

Jay took the other chair across from you, leaning back slightly as he rested one ankle on his knee, fingers lacing loosely in his lap.

For a moment, the only sound between you was the faint buzz of the lights above. Then Jay exhaled softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his tone calm and careful, like he didn’t want to startle you.

You inhaled shakily, eyes falling to your lap where your fingers were fiddling nervously with the edge of your blouse. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Jay didn’t push. He stayed still, leaning slightly forward in his chair as if closing the gap between you would make the words come easier.

“Everything’s happening too fast,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “And it feels like my life, my choices—suddenly became everybody’s business.”

Your words cracked faintly at the end, and you swallowed hard, forcing back the tightness in your chest as you finally dared to look up at him. Your eyes were glassy, a sheen of tears catching the sterile light.

Jay’s brows furrowed slightly, his expression tender as he leaned in closer. He sighed softly.

“Is this how you usually feel?” you asked, voice small and unsure.

He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, reaching into his jeans pocket and pulling out a neatly folded black handkerchief. Without a word, he held it out to you.

You blinked at it before murmuring a quiet, “Thanks,” and taking it hesitantly.

“Yes,” Jay said finally, his thumb brushing against his palm as if grounding himself.

“But that doesn’t mean I let it get to me. I don’t care about their noise when they don’t even know me.”

He hesitated for a breath before his hand reached across the small gap between you, gently closing over yours where it gripped the handkerchief too tightly.

His touch was warm and calming, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as he spoke again.

“(Y/N), I know they’re spouting bullshit out there. Gossip is just… gossip. They don’t know anything about you. Or me.”

You sniffled, trying to lighten the thick air between you. “Says the famous one,” you teased weakly, your lips tugging up just slightly.

Jay let out a low chuckle, the sound deep and warm in the quiet room.

“Mmhm,” he hummed, his smile softening as he tugged the handkerchief gently from your hold.

Before you could react, he leaned in a little closer, his hand deft and surprisingly tender as he dabbed under your lashes, catching the tears that had managed to escape.

“Stop crying now,” he murmured, his voice gentle but laced with a hint of teasing. “I pulled you away to talk to you, not make you cry, you know.”

A small laugh bubbled out of you, watery and embarrassed, as you lowered your gaze. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Jay shook his head slightly, his dark eyes still fixed on you as he tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket.

Then he leaned back slightly, his fingers brushing against his knee as he exhaled through his nose. “I have a proposal.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “A proposal?”

His lips quirked—not quite a smirk, but something softer, almost shy. “Yeah. How about we give them something real to talk about?”

You blinked, tilting your head slightly as your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Jay’s gaze flicked to the side for a second, his fingers tapping against his thigh nervously. “Well… only if you’re comfortable with it. And I—I don’t want to force you into anything, okay? Like, if it’s too weird or—”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped as you reached forward, your fingers brushing his arm lightly. “Jay, calm down.”

He stuttered to a stop, his cheeks blooming a faint shade of red as his lips parted. “Sorry… I just—I mean…” His voice dipped lower as he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes for a moment.

“What if we fake date?”

Your brows shot up, surprise written all over your face. “Fake date?” you repeated, leaning back slightly in your seat, head tilting as you regarded him.

“How is that going to help?”

Jay sat up straighter, determination replacing some of his earlier hesitation. “It will. Think about it—if we own up to it, maybe people will stop talking. They’ll stop whispering and speculating because there won’t be anything left for them to ‘discover.’”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly. “All they’ve talked about this morning was me and you.”

Your lips parted in shock. “You’ve heard that too?”

He shrugged, his expression wry. “They weren’t exactly subtle.” His hand shifted, propping against the armrest of his chair as he leaned his chin into his palm, eyes fixed on you with quiet expectation.

“So… are you in?”

You glanced down at your hands for a moment, thoughts swirling. Part of you knew it was risky—dangerous even—letting people believe something that wasn’t true.

But at the same time, maybe it could help. If you and Jay played into the rumor, controlled the narrative, maybe the stares and whispers would die down faster.

And—your mind whispered traitorously—if it’s with Jay, would it really be so bad?

Your eyes flicked back to him slowly, his posture so relaxed yet his eyes holding just a flicker of nervousness. You nodded once, small but certain.

Jay’s brows lifted a fraction. “Wait—that’s a yes?”

A small laugh bubbled from your chest, easing some of the tension in the room. “It’s a yes.”

“Oh god,” Jay muttered, letting out a relieved laugh as he leaned back in his chair, covering his face with his hands for a second. “Great. Because this would’ve been really embarrassing otherwise.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “Jay…” you said with a laugh, watching as he peeked at you through his fingers, still looking half-shy and half-relieved.

“What?” he said, dropping his hands and smiling sheepishly. “You don’t understand—if you’d said no, I’d have had to transfer schools or something.”

“Oh, come on,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a soft laugh. “You’d survive.”

Jay lowered his hands, the grin still tugging at his lips as he shook his head. “You do realize people see me as some emo guitarist with no heart, right?”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him as your smile lingered. “I don’t.”

He blinked at you, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in your tone. Then—just faintly—his lips curled into a small, quiet smile that didn’t quite reach his usual confident smirk.

It was softer. It was real.

Jay didn’t say anything else. Instead, he stood up smoothly, extending his hand toward you. “Come on.”

You blinked at his outstretched hand, then placed yours in his, letting him pull you up.

“What now?” you asked curiously, steadying yourself as he grabbed his black jacket draped over the back of his chair.

He stepped closer—close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his cologne—and carefully draped the jacket over your shoulders.

The fabric was warm and smelled faintly of cedar and clean laundry. His fingers lingered for a moment as he adjusted it, tugging the lapels gently until you were snug in the oversized material.

You blinked up at him, flustered. “Jay…?”

He met your gaze, the corner of his lips tugging upwards. “We do this naturally,” he said, voice low but steady.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you slid your arms properly through the jacket sleeves, the oversized fit practically swallowing you whole.

“There,” Jay said softly, satisfied as he took a small step back to admire his handiwork.

Then, without missing a beat, he grabbed your hand again, his long fingers curling loosely around yours. “Come on. Let’s go.”

You let out a surprised laugh as he tugged you gently toward the door. “Wait—where are we going?”

“What’s your next class?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you with an easy grin.

“Performance training. Fourth floor,” you replied, trying to ignore the way your heart was thudding at the casual way he held your hand.

“Perfect,” he said simply. Jay pulled his keys from his pocket with his free hand, locking the room behind you with a soft click.

As the two of you stepped into the quiet hallway, his thumb brushed idly against the back of your hand, sending a small spark of warmth up your arm.

“You know,” he mused lightly as you walked, “people are going to lose their minds when they see us.”

You shot him a teasing glance, hugging his jacket closer to yourself. “And you’re okay with that?”

Jay looked down at you, his smile curling mischievously now. “Let them talk. Isn’t that the point?”

You could only laugh, shaking your head at his words, the sound soft but real. “You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, letting him tug you gently toward the nearest elevator.

“Unbelievably charming?” Jay teased without missing a beat, glancing back at you with that same mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Unbelievably something,” you retorted, hugging his jacket a little tighter around your shoulders.

The elevator doors slid open with a chime, revealing an almost full car of students. The hum of conversations dulled instantly when you both stepped in, as if the air had been sucked out of the space.

You could feel the weight of their stares burning into your back, whispers beginning to bloom like wildfire again—but you and Jay? You didn’t so much as flinch.

If anything, Jay’s grip on your hand only tightened as he subtly moved his body closer to yours, his arm brushing yours in the cramped space.

“What room?” he asked you quietly, voice low enough that only you could hear over the faint hum of the elevator.

You tilted your head slightly toward him. “Room 408.”

He nodded, his thumb rubbing lazily over the back of your hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The small, absentminded gesture made your chest tighten for reasons you couldn’t quite place.

You caught sight of your reflection in the polished metal of the elevator walls—his black jacket still draped over your shoulders, your hands linked, his posture casual yet protective.

You wondered, briefly, if this was what it might look like if it weren’t fake.

The elevator chimed again, the doors sliding open on the fourth floor. Jay stepped out first but didn’t let go of your hand, tugging you gently along.

The whispers started again behind you as the doors closed, but you barely heard them this time.

Maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

It was six in the evening and the studio was buzzing with muted conversations, the faint squeak of ballet shoes against polished wood, and the soft shuffle of fabric as dancers adjusted their skirts.

You nodded eagerly, brushing a stray hair from your face as your coach clapped her hands loudly.

“Alright, dancers—positions! Let’s clean the second half from the top,” she called, her voice stern yet warm. “And please—fingers! Hands are not claws. You’re not hunting prey.”

A few girls giggled softly at her remark, and you couldn’t help but smile too as you wiped the sheen of sweat forming on your forehead with the edge of your sleeve.

You were about to walk back to the center when your coach’s eyes caught yours. She raised her hand and beckoned you over.

“(Y/N), come here a second.”

You jogged toward her, the sound of your slippers padding lightly against the floor. “What’s the matter, coach?” you asked, catching your breath as you stopped in front of her.

She smiled kindly, her hands folded behind her back. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. Actually, I wanted to ask if you wouldn’t mind helping me out.”

Your brows furrowed slightly in curiosity. “Of course. What do you need?”

“Well…” She leaned in just a little, speaking low so only you could hear.

“After practice, would you and Yunjin mind getting everyone’s measurements for the final fittings? I need them sent over tonight so the costume department has time to adjust. I’d do it myself, but…” she gestured to the clipboard in her hand with a small sigh, “I’m staying back for a meeting after this.”

You nodded instantly. “Not at all, coach. I can handle it.”

“Perfect. Thank you, sweetheart. You’re a lifesaver.” She patted your shoulder briefly before straightening.

“Now get back into formation before I change my mind about calling you a sweetheart.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you jogged back toward your place.

The coach clapped her hands again, her eyes sweeping over the group like a hawk. “Alright—last run for today! I want grace, I want strength, I want artistry. And no, before you ask—falling out of a pirouette does not count as artistry.”

Groans rippled through the room, but you all fell back into your spots, shoulders lifting as you prepared.

Your chest rose and fell in rhythm as you lifted your arms, letting your body melt into the choreography. The music filled your lungs, your legs burning slightly as you held your arabesque a beat longer than usual.

“Good, good,” your coach’s voice echoed over the melody.

“(Y/N), mind your port de bras—don’t let it droop. Kazuha, sharper in the turns! And everyone—remember, this isn’t just steps. Tell me the story!”

The floor creaked faintly under your weight as you moved, sweat trailing down the back of your neck, but you didn’t falter.

Not when college week was so close. Not when this performance mattered so much.

As the music came to its tender close, you exhaled deeply, chest heaving as you dropped your arms gently.

Your coach clapped once. “Better. Much better. That’s the energy I want! Take five, then we’ll cool down.”

You bent slightly, hands on your knees as you caught your breath, already running through the routine in your mind again.

From across the studio, Yunjin—clipboard in hand, hair tied in a loose bun—flashed you a thumbs up.

Around you, the room hummed with life again as the dancers dispersed—some chatting in clusters, others flopping onto the floor in dramatic exhaustion.

“Kazuha, please,” you heard Chaewon wail from somewhere to your right. “I still have energy for at least another hour!”

“You’ve been dancing for four,” Kazuha said calmly, pressing her hand to Chawon’s shoulder like she was trying to ground a hyperactive child. “Sit down before you combust.”

You stifled a laugh and made your way over to Yunjin, clutching your water bottle like a lifeline. She was scribbling something on her clipboard, her brows furrowed in deep thought.

“Hey,” you said softly, trying not to startle her. “Coach asked me to rope you into measurement duty later.”

Yunjin looked up, eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh really? She knows I’m too much of a pushover to say no.”

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “We can do it tomorrow if that’s okay with you. I mean, we’re both dead tired—”

But Yunjin shook her head before you could even finish. “No need.” She made another quick note on her clipboard and clicked her pen shut.

You blinked at her, confused. “No need? What do you mean?”

She tucked the pen behind her ear and gave you a breezy grin.

“I’ve already got it handled. I’ll coordinate with the other members of the costume department tonight. I’ll send out a group chat to set up measurement stations tomorrow. You don’t need to fuss over it.”

“Yunjin…” You let out a heavy sigh, guilt tugging at your chest. “I was supposed to help with that. Now I feel bad.”

“Don’t,” she said simply, waving you off as she slung the clipboard under her arm.

“You’re already carrying enough. Besides, I’m not in pointe shoes for four hours straight, so I have no excuse.”

You exhaled, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over you. “Thanks, Jin. Seriously. I owe you.”

“You can repay me by buying me milk tea later,” she teased with a wink. “Large size. Extra pearls.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Deal.”

“Alright, everyone!” Coach’s voice boomed across the studio, cutting through the chatter. “Circle up for cooldown. Don’t make me say it twice—your muscles will hate you tomorrow if you skip this.”

The dancers groaned collectively but began gathering in a loose circle, some dragging their feet dramatically. You joined the group, dropping down onto the polished wood floor with a tired huff.

Next to you, Kazuha stretched her arms overhead, giving you a knowing smile. “Survived another day.”

“Barely,” you murmured, already easing into a seated forward fold as Coach clapped her hands and started the cooldown routine.

It was comforting—the soft shuffle of tired dancers, the stretch of overworked muscles, and the low murmur of voices winding down after hours of practice.

But in the blink of an eye, the calm turned into a wave of movement.

One by one, your classmates started piling out of the studio, chattering about dinner plans and upcoming assignments, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor.

The sound of duffel bags zipping shut and water bottles being tossed into totes filled the air.

It wasn’t long before the room emptied, leaving you and Kazuha as usual—the last two standing. Or rather, sitting.

She remained cross-legged beside you, her expression relaxed as she scrolled through her phone, strands of hair sticking to her temples from sweat.

“Okay, okay. I need to use the restroom,” Kazuha finally said, pushing herself up with a small groan.

She grabbed her jacket off the floor and slung it over her shoulder. “You’ll be fine for five minutes, right?”

You glanced up at her with a tired grin. “Go. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

Kazuha paused near the doorway, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Do you want me to grab you anything on the way back? Food? Bubble tea?”

You narrowed your eyes at her teasing tone, already knowing where this was heading. “Don’t you dare start.”

But before you could even huff properly, she bolted out of the studio like a flash, laughing under her breath as her voice echoed down the hall. “Think about it! You might need comfort food after this!”

You let out a long sigh, shaking your head with a small laugh as you leaned back on your palms. “Typical Zuha.”

The studio fell silent again, save for the faint creak of the air conditioning and the dull thud of your heartbeat finally steadying.

You glanced around—bags piled neatly by the mirrors, ballet shoes strewn on the benches, lights faintly reflecting off the polished wood floor.

Pushing yourself off the ground with a little groan, you grabbed your phone from your tote bag and connected it to the studio speakers.

With a few taps, a familiar melody filled the room, echoing warmly in the open space. You huffed, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face.

“Might as well be productive,” you muttered to yourself, rolling your shoulders as you stepped into position.

The soft piano introduction sent a wave of calm over you, your body falling naturally into the choreography.

Your satin skirt fluttered around your legs with every turn, the delicate fabric catching in the faint light.

Your movements grew fluid—each arabesque melting into a pirouette, each plié steady and precise. It was just you and the song, the rest of the world fading beyond the mirrored walls.

As the final notes played, you eased into your ending pose. A deep exhale escaped your lips, a sheen of sweat clinging to your skin. Straightening your posture, you let the quiet settle again.

But before you could fully catch your breath, three soft knocks sounded against the studio door.

You blinked, startled, and quickly dusted yourself off, running a hand over your slightly damp hair. Without bothering to peek through the glass panel, you strode over and pulled the door open.

Jay.

Guitar case slung casually over one shoulder, a plastic bag hanging from his other hand. He was still dressed in the same black shirt and jeans from earlier, his sleeves slightly rolled up.

“Hey,” he greeted simply, voice warm in the otherwise quiet hallway. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Jay? What… are you doing here?”

He tilted his head slightly, his usual stoic expression softening into a small grin. “My last class ended early, and band practice doesn’t start for another hour,” he said casually, stepping fully into the studio. “So, I thought… might as well be early.”

You moved aside instinctively, still gripping the door as you gestured for him to enter. “Oh. Right. Makes sense.”

As he stepped past you, you caught the faint smell of cologne mixed with something earthy and clean—like he’d walked straight from the evening breeze.

“And,” Jay added with a little more playfulness this time, setting his guitar case carefully against the wall and pulling a plastic bag from his wrist, “I’m trying to be a good boyfriend anyways.”

That made you pause mid-step, your breath catching faintly as your cheeks flushed.

You glanced at him, your lips twitching between a nervous smile and something incredulous. “Boyfriend, huh?”

He caught your gaze briefly, smirking faintly but saying nothing.

Instead, he grabbed two nearby chairs, scraping them gently across the polished wood floor. He turned them to face each other before sliding them up against the wall.

“Come sit,” he said simply, gesturing for you to take one of the chairs. “You look like you could use a break before your legs decide to give out.”

You let out a soft huff of a laugh, still flustered but oddly comforted. “Fine. But only because my legs actually might.”

You crossed the room and sat on the chair he set out, purposely scooting it a little away to put some space between you.

But Jay’s brows furrowed ever so slightly as he noticed, his hand reaching out without hesitation to grab the edge of your chair.

“Hey,” he muttered, pulling you closer until the legs of your chair lightly scraped against his. “None of that distance stuff. We’re supposed to be dating, remember?”

You sputtered, warmth creeping up your neck. “I—Jay!”

“What?” he asked innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Before you could argue further, he reached for the plastic bag resting at his feet and pulled out a small carton of banana milk and a neatly wrapped loaf of milk bread. He held them out to you casually.

You blinked, genuinely surprised. “Wait—how’d you… how’d you know I like milk bread too?”

Jay didn’t miss a beat as he grabbed his own drink from the bag—an energy drink, the top already popped open.

“I asked Ni-ki,” he said matter-of-factly, taking a sip. “Who asked Kazuha.”

You stared at him incredulously, unable to stop the smile forming on your lips. “Kazuha already unblocked Ni-ki?”

Jay shrugged, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. “I guess so. Or maybe Ni-ki just bribed her for information. You know how he is.”

As you were still processing that, Jay gently reached over again, plucking the banana milk from your hands.

He tore the straw from its wrapper with one swift move and punched it into the carton with ease before handing it back to you.

Your fingers brushed his as you took the carton back, cheeks warming even more at the simple gesture.

“Thanks,” you murmured, trying not to let your voice give too much away.

Jay leaned back in his chair, resting one ankle casually on his knee as he watched you take a sip. “You don’t have to thank me every time, you know.”

You glanced at him from over the rim of your carton, lips quirking. “Maybe I just feel like you’re spoiling me.”

He smirked faintly, his gaze flicking away briefly as if to hide the warmth creeping into his eyes. “Good. Get used to it.”

You let out a soft breath, leaning your head back against the cool studio wall. The fatigue settling into your limbs made it feel easier to just sink into the stillness for a moment.

Jay tilted his head, watching you with those calm, unreadable eyes before giving your arm a light nudge.

“Don’t lean on the wall,” he said, voice low but teasing. “Lean on me instead.”

You shot him a sideways glance, lips pressing into a thin line like you were considering fighting him on it, but the way he was already patting his shoulder expectantly made you sigh in defeat.

“You’re so persistent,” you muttered, shifting closer until your head came to rest on his shoulder.

The scent of his cologne—subtle yet expensive—immediately filled your senses. It wasn’t overpowering, but warm and grounding, the kind of scent that could become addicting if you weren’t careful.

You forced yourself to take another sip of your banana milk, hoping the sweetness would mask the strange flutter in your chest.

“Are you like this with every girl you date?” you asked quietly, almost testing, as your thumb rubbed over the carton’s edge.

Jay hummed, his head turning slightly so the side of his face brushed against your hair. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever dated.”

You let out a short huff of disbelief. “Stop lying, Park Jongseong.”

He chuckled at your reaction, his voice low and rich as it rumbled in his chest. “I’m not lying. You really are the first.”

The confession made your throat tighten for reasons you couldn’t quite name. You turned your gaze down to the milk bread still resting in your lap, picking at the edges of the plastic wrap nervously.

“Well, you’re mine too,” you admitted softly, a small smile tugging at your lips, “even if it’s fake.”

Jay chuckled quietly at that, but it wasn’t the amused sound you were used to—it was quieter, almost bitter around the edges. “Yeah,” he murmured, leaning his head gently against yours.

The weight of it sent a little shiver down your spine, and for a second neither of you moved, the faint thrum of the studio speakers humming in the background like a heartbeat.

Without thinking, you reached for his free hand, fingers brushing against his knuckles before intertwining with his. His larger hand folded instinctively around yours, warm and steady, as you pulled it onto your lap.

Jay didn’t say anything, but you caught the faintest upward curl of his lips reflected in the mirror across the studio.

He leaned in a little closer, gaze softening as he studied your mirrored forms—your loose hair slightly frizzed from practice, his dark shirt and jeans stark against your lighter tones.

His lips twitched, almost like he was amused at the contrast, but the smile he gave himself was small, private, and a little too fond for comfort.

“Kazuha’s taking too long,” you said after a moment, trying to shake off the quiet.

“Yeah?” Jay asked lazily, his thumb tracing a light circle over the back of your hand. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Said she needed to go to the bathroom,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “But knowing her, she’s probably halfway back from the convenience store.”

Jay let out a soft laugh, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Just like Ni-ki. I swear those two are more alike than they’d ever admit.”

“They really are,” you said with a small laugh of your own. “Chaos magnets.”

“Mmhm,” Jay agreed, the corners of his mouth quirking upward again.

He set down his half-finished energy drink on the floor beside him, leaning forward slightly as he fished his phone from his jeans pocket.

You blinked as he opened the camera app and tilted the screen toward the two of you, positioning it just right.

“Come on, pretty,” he coaxed, voice soft but playful as his thumb hovered over the shutter button.

You bit your lip, cheeks warming again as you leaned slightly closer to him for the photo.

Jay’s arm brushed yours as the phone clicked softly, capturing the two of you in the warm, lazy glow of the studio lights.

Before you could pull back, he flipped the camera one more time, holding it at a slightly higher angle.

You turned your head just as he snapped another picture, catching your profile in the frame, your loose hair falling effortlessly over your shoulder.

Jay studied the second photo, lips quirking upward faintly like he was proud of his candid capture. “Perfect,” he murmured to himself.

“Can I see?” you asked, craning your neck a little.

He angled the phone toward you, and you caught the sight of yourself leaning slightly against him, hair a little messy but soft, his hand still intertwined with yours in your lap.

“Not bad,” you teased lightly, sipping at your banana milk.

Jay let out a small chuckle, thumb hovering over the ‘post’ button as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Can I put this on my story?”

You froze for a heartbeat, eyes darting between him and the phone. But the image staring back at you didn’t feel awkward or fake—it felt oddly comfortable.

“Yeah,” you said softly, giving him a small nod.

His grin widened—barely, but enough for you to notice—as he quickly typed out a single little swan emoji followed before he hit ‘post.’

You blinked at the words, trying not to let your smile give too much away as you took another sip of your drink. “White swan?” you asked, amusement creeping into your tone.

Jay glanced down at you, his dark eyes glinting. “What? You don’t like it?”

You shook your head, cheeks warming as you ducked slightly. “No… it’s cute.”

The studio felt more like a playground than a rehearsal room.

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt as Jake bolted across the space, Sunghoon hot on his heels with a rolled-up sheet of paper like a sword.

“Sim Jaeyun!” Sunghoon yelled, his voice cracking slightly as he swung the paper at Jake’s retreating back.

Jake screeched dramatically, nearly tripping over a stray cable. “It was an accident, I swear!”

“Accident my ass!” Sunghoon shouted, finally whacking Jake on the shoulder with the makeshift sword. Jake yelped and flailed like a kid caught red-handed.

From his seat, Jay gave them a tired glance. “This is a music studio, not a playground,” he muttered under his breath.

Meanwhile, Heeseung, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, couldn’t hide his grin. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

On the other side of the room, Kazuha was locked in a bickering match with Ni-ki over a knotted mess of amp wires.

“I told you to untangle these before rehearsal!” Kazuha snapped, tugging on one stubborn cable.

Ni-ki threw his hands up defensively. “Hey! Don’t blame me—Jay was the last one to use this amp!”

“Ni-ki, don’t you dare drag me into your mess,” Jay said lazily without even looking up.

Amid all this, Jay finally set his guitar aside and stood. He made his way to where you sat on the floor with your knees pulled up and your bag acting as a makeshift backrest.

Without a word, he dropped down beside you, his long legs stretching out in front of him, and then—to your surprise—he gently laid his head across your thighs with a dramatic sigh.

“They scare me sometimes,” he murmured, staring blankly up at the ceiling as if Jake and Sunghoon’s antics were some unsolvable cosmic riddle.

You bit back a laugh, reaching down instinctively to run your fingers through his dark hair.

“Shouldn’t you be used to it by now?” you teased, your fingers combing gently through the soft strands.

Jay let out another exaggerated sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into your touch. “Hell no. You don’t get used to idiots. You just survive them.”

You shook your head, laughing under your breath. “Survive them? You’re dramatic.”

“I’m honest,” he shot back, cracking one eye open to look at you. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re lucky you haven’t been around them for long. Me? I’ve seen things.”

You raised a brow, fingers still threading lazily through his hair. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Jake pouring an entire bottle of soda on his guitar case because he thought it was waterproof,” Jay deadpanned. “And Sunghoon trying to dry it with a blow dryer while the guitar was still inside.”

You couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out of you at the mental image. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I was.”

You were about to tease him again when you realized—the room had gone eerily quiet.

The laughter, the yelling, even Kazuha’s dramatic scolding of Ni-ki—all of it had stopped.

Your fingers froze in Jay’s hair as you slowly looked up, only to find everyone staring.

Heeseung stood frozen mid-page flip, eyes wide. Jungwon had paused with his pencil half-raised like he’d forgotten what writing was. Kazuha and Ni-ki were no longer bickering about wires, now both gawking at you like you’d grown a second head.

Sunoo was the first to break the tense silence with his sharp voice cutting through: “Since when did you two get so close?”

Jay cracked open one eye, looking at Sunoo lazily as though this wasn’t the most incriminating position to be in—head in your lap, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

“…We’re dating.”

You could feel your soul leave your body.

“What?!” Ni-ki shouted so loud Kazuha flinched. “What the fuck—since when?!”

Kazuha blinked rapidly, voice rising in pitch. “I’m sorry—what?! Jay, repeat that!”

“Since when?!” Sunoo echoed again, clutching his chest like Jay had just personally betrayed him.

Jay sat up slightly but didn’t move far, propping his chin lazily in his hand as his smirk grew wider. “Do I need to print you all a timeline?”

Heeseung’s jaw dropped as Jungwon mumbled under his breath, “This has to be a prank. Jay doesn’t even like people.”

Kazuha’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. “You—you’re dating—(Y/N)?”

Jay’s dark eyes slid to her as he tilted his head. “Problem?”

She sputtered. “No! I just—I didn’t—I didn’t know you knew how to date!”

“Rude,” Jay said dryly, but there was amusement tugging at his lips. He finally leaned fully away from you, though not before brushing his hand over yours casually.

You, meanwhile, wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Jay—” you hissed under your breath, cheeks burning.

“What?” he whispered back with the faintest smirk. “We’re fake dating, right? So why not sell it?”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you muttered, face still hot as you looked away from the group.

Jay only smirked, standing up and casually ruffling your hair as he passed. “Says you, pretty.”

You swatted at his hand, glare sharp, but it only made him chuckle lowly as he strode off—the picture of someone completely unbothered.

As your eyes lingered on his back, you felt someone sit beside you. Kazuha had dropped onto the floor next to you, her brows arched so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.

“(Y/N),” she whispered sharply, leaning in close, her ponytail swinging. “You have three seconds—three—before I combust. Start talking.”

You pressed your lips into a tight line, waving your hands slightly. “Shh—it’s fake.”

Kazuha blinked. “…Fake?” Her voice was still hushed but dripping with disbelief.

“Yeah,” you whispered, shifting uncomfortably as you leaned your head back against the cool mirror behind you.

“We did it so… everybody would shut up. About all the gossip. About me. About him.”

Kazuha’s brows furrowed as she processed the words. Her gaze flicked between you and Jay across the room—where he was now slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder, laughing at something Jungwon said.

She moved a little closer, her tone softer now. “Well… as long as you two don’t regret it.”

You offered her a small, tired smile, fingers playing with the edge of your sleeve. “Yeah. I know. It’s not… it’s not like we’re planning for this to last forever.”

Kazuha sighed, her hand settling gently on your arm in a way that made the tightness in your chest loosen slightly.

“I just… don’t want you getting hurt, (Y/n). You’re too soft for this, and he’s—” She stopped herself with a quiet exhale. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will,” you whispered back, looking at her with a faint smile. “And… I’m glad you care about me that way.”

Your gaze drifted back across the room—unwilling, yet magnetic.

Jay had his guitar fully strapped on now, his fingers effortlessly checking the tuning as his bandmates huddled around him.

Despite his focus on Jungwon’s animated explanation, he caught your eyes across the distance.

The faintest smile tugged at his lips. One so soft and unguarded it felt wrong for it to belong to the Park Jongseong people whispered about.

Then he turned back, nodding at something Jungwon said, his voice low but calm.

You swallowed down the weight blooming in your chest, unsure what to call it.

It had been three days since you agreed to fake date Park Jongseong.

Three days of shared meals.

Three days of him showing up at the studio earlier than necessary, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you practice with that lazy smile.

Three days of him walking you to your next class—hand in hand like it was second nature—his own classes long forgotten as he grinned at you like you were his syllabus.

And now, you were alone.

The warm air of the coffee shop clung to your oversized bomber jacket, the faint remnants of Jay’s cologne still lingering in the fabric like a quiet ghost.

Your fingers flew across your keyboard, the laptop screen glowing harshly against the dim, cozy lights of the café. Half-empty mugs littered the table—one of them yours, the other untouched, bought out of habit as if Jay were here too.

You let out a groan, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. “Ugh. Why is this so hard?” you mumbled under your breath, staring at the blinking cursor taunting you with the words ‘final paper due before college week’ at the top of your document.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the lack of Jay.

You sighed again, slumping into the wooden chair.

Dangerous. This was dangerous. Because Park Jongseong wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Like air you couldn’t stop breathing. Like the warmth in your chest when he’d casually brush the back of your hand with his thumb during a walk.

‘You’re getting attached,’ a voice in your head whispered—you knew it was true.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, sliding slightly on the table. You blinked, snatching it up as your heart did a stupid little leap at the name lighting up your screen.

jay 🐈‍⬛ [3:27 P.M.]: what are you doing right now, pretty?

You exhaled, typing back quickly.

you [3:27 P.M.]: drowning in a final paper. what about you?

It didn’t even take him thirty seconds to reply.

jay 🐈‍⬛ [3:27 P.M.]: i know, look outside.

Brows furrowing, you twisted in your seat, eyes scanning past the glass window. And there he was.

Park Jongseong, dressed casually in a black cardigan layered over a white shirt and jeans, a black messenger bag slung across his body. Black-framed glasses sat neatly on his nose, catching the warm café lights. A small grin played at his lips as he walked toward the entrance, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Your laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, your cheeks warming as he stepped into the cozy café light and headed straight for your booth. He moved with that same calm, unhurried stride that always made people turn their heads without him even trying.

As he reached you, Jay tipped his chin toward the empty space on the leather seat next to you, one brow raised playfully. “Is this seat taken?”

You shook your head with a grin, scooting over instinctively to give him space. “Nope. All yours.”

“Good,” he said softly, his voice laced with amusement as his gaze flicked briefly to the faint remains of your croissant on the plate.

But instead of sitting down, he rested his hand casually on the booth’s backrest and asked, “What do you want?”

“Food,” he clarified with a small smile, nodding toward the menu displayed on the table. “What do you want? You’ve been here for hours—you’ve probably run off caffeine alone.”

“I already had coffee,” you admitted, gesturing to the half-empty cup beside your laptop, “and a matcha latte. Plus…” You pointed sheepishly to the empty plate. “A croissant. Even.”

Jay’s eyes followed your gesture, then drifted back to you, unimpressed. “That’s it?”

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a sheepish smile.

But he only shook his head slowly, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. “Do you want those red velvet cookies you like? And another cup of matcha?”

Your lips twitched into a small, embarrassed grin as you nodded, unable to argue. “Maybe… yeah.”

“Thought so.” His voice softened with a quiet fondness as he glanced down at your nearly drained cup again.

“Oh,” you said quickly, remembering, “I actually got you coffee earlier, but…” You gestured toward the untouched cup in front of you, ice long since melted. “It’s, uh, a little sad now.”

Jay looked at it, then back at you, the corner of his lips twitching upward as he interrupted, “I’ll drink it. Don’t worry.”

You raised a brow. “You sure? It’s basically room temperature coffee-flavored water at this point.”

“I’ve survived worse.” His grin deepened as he reached for the cup and took a sip anyway, not even flinching. “See? Still good.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in disbelief as you muttered, “You’re unbelievable.”

Jay set his messenger bag down gently beside you, only grabbing his wallet before straightening up again.

“I’ll get your order. Stay here. And don’t touch your laptop for five minutes, okay? Your brain needs a break.”

You watched him retreat toward the counter, his black cardigan catching in the warm café lights, and you couldn’t help the way your heart squeezed a little at how effortless he made it feel—this caring, this being around you.

It didn’t even take two minutes before he was back, balancing a small plate in one hand with a red velvet cookie neatly placed in the center and an iced matcha latte in the other.

He set them down gently on the table like they were precious cargo, the ice in the matcha clinking softly as he slid the plate closer to you.

“There,” Jay said with quiet satisfaction, sliding into the booth beside you. He pulled his messenger bag into his lap, unzipping it to fish out his own laptop. “Now you have no excuse not to take a break.”

You smiled at him gratefully, fingers curling around the cold cup. “Thank you, Jay.”

He arched a brow at you as he flipped open his laptop, the corners of his lips twitching into that familiar teasing grin. “So, how’s my pretty girl doing?”

You nearly choked on your sip of matcha, setting the cup down with a soft thunk. “You—” You groaned, burying your face into your hands as your cheeks burned. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” His tone was casual, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes as he rested an elbow on the table, chin propped in his palm. “It’s the truth.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered through your hands, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

Jay only chuckled, reaching out to gently tug your hands away from your face. “C’mere.”

You sighed in defeat and leaned against his shoulder, feeling his warmth seep into you as his arm automatically draped across your shoulders. His thumb rubbed slow, lazy circles against your upper arm.

“This paper’s going to be the end of me,” you mumbled, your voice muffled as you pressed your face lightly into the soft fabric of his cardigan.

Jay tilted his head slightly, glancing down at you with a soft huff of laughter. “No, it’s not. You’re too stubborn to let a paper win.”

You groaned again, closing your eyes as he gently shifted his hand to squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. “I’m serious, Jay. I’ve rewritten this paragraph five times. I feel like my brain’s turned to mush.”

“You’re too cute when you’re frustrated,” Jay teased, his thumb rubbing slow, lazy circles on your shoulder as you buried your face in your hands.

You groaned louder this time. “Stop trying to charm me and help me instead,” you mumbled through your palms.

He laughed under his breath, warm and soft. “Alright, alright. I’ll help you. Come on—send me the document.”

You peeked at him from between your fingers, eyes narrowing playfully. “You? Help me? Jay, you hate English too. I know you do.”

Jay smirked, leaning slightly closer as his black-framed glasses slipped just a little down his nose. “Are you forgetting I grew up in the States?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard before a laugh escaped your lips. “Oh my God… yeah. I forgot about that.” You leaned your head back against his shoulder, eyes closing briefly.

“That’s actually so unfair. You’re good at everything, aren’t you?”

Jay chuckled, his hand moving from your shoulder to tap your chin so you’d look at him. “Not everything. But helping my pretty girlfriend survive her final paper? That I can do.”

You tilted your head at him, trying not to smile too hard as you asked, “Are you really sure about helping me? I don’t want to hear you complain halfway through.”

“Do you even have to ask?” he replied smoothly, already pulling out his laptop and sliding it closer. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he murmured, “Password?”

You sighed dramatically but couldn’t hide your smile as you pushed your laptop toward him. “Fine, Mr. Fluent. But if I still fail this paper, I’m blaming you.”

Jay laughed, eyes crinkling as he adjusted his glasses. “Deal. But trust me—you won’t. Now, let’s see what’s turning your brain to mush.”

The warmth of his presence next to you, his voice laced with soft amusement, made it dangerously easy to forget this was all supposed to be fake.

Before either of you noticed, time had slipped past. The soft hum of the coffee shop dimmed as people filtered out, chairs scraping lightly against the floor.

Your eyes wandered to the window, catching the faint blur of water streaking down the glass.

“It’s raining,” you murmured, voice soft with surprise.

Jay’s fingers paused on the keyboard, his black-framed glasses reflecting the dull glow of his screen as he looked at you. Then, he turned his head toward the window, sighing. “Well, we can’t do anything about it now.”

You frowned, hugging the bomber jacket closer as your thoughts drifted. “I need to feed Doobu.”

Jay’s gaze flicked back to you, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as if he couldn’t help it. “You really are such a mom to that cat,” he teased lightly.

When your frown deepened, he chuckled and shut his laptop with a soft snap. “Good thing I’m prepared then.”

Your brows knitted as he leaned back in his chair and reached for his messenger bag. With an almost theatrical flourish, he pulled out a sleek black umbrella and gave it a little twirl in his hand.

“Really?” you asked, surprise breaking through your pout.

“Really,” he said, grin widening as he stood and offered you a hand. “Now pack up, pretty. We’re heading back before the rain gets any worse.”

You hesitated for a beat, staring at his outstretched hand and the casual way he said we’re heading back—like it was natural for him to be the one bringing you home.

With a soft huff, you started gathering your things, mumbling, “You act like I didn’t have a plan for getting back.”

Jay smirked knowingly. “Did that plan involve walking back alone in the rain with your laptop and a stack of papers?”

“…Maybe.”

He clicked his tongue, amusement glinting in his eyes.

As you zipped your bag and pushed it onto your shoulder, Jay was already standing, the black umbrella held loosely in one hand. His other hand was outstretched toward you, palm open, waiting.

You blinked at his hand for a moment before slipping your own into his, feeling the gentle but firm grip as his fingers curled around yours.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice soft, laced with a teasing undertone, dark eyes watching your face like he was memorizing it.

You gave a small nod, lips tugging upward despite the way your cheeks heated under his gaze. “Yeah. Let’s go before it gets any worse.”

The dorm lobby was alive with chatter—the low hum of voices, the occasional squeak of wet sneakers against polished floors, and the rhythmic drip of umbrellas shaking out rainwater.

You stood just inside the entrance, your bomber jacket clinging damply to your frame as Jay stepped back from the glass doors, his black cardigan wrung tightly in his hands.

He sighed, running a hand through his rain-dampened hair, water droplets falling to the floor with each movement. One foot still hovered near the door as if he’d been contemplating braving the downpour again, but he turned back to you instead.

“Here,” he murmured, slipping the soaked bomber jacket from your shoulders with a gentle tug. “No use keeping this on. You’ll catch a cold.”

You groaned softly at the clammy sensation of the fabric leaving your skin. “Ugh. I can already feel it in my bones.”

Jay chuckled under his breath, tucking the wet jacket over his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re so dramatic,” he teased, his dark eyes crinkling with amusement as he reached for your hand again. “Dry enough to head up?”

You nodded, though a small frown lingered on your lips. “I guess so.”

He caught the expression and tugged lightly at your hand, guiding you toward the elevators as laughter slipped past his lips. “Why’re you frowning like I just stole your cat?”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, cheeks warming as you grumbled, “Because I feel gross, and it’s all your fault for saying we’d be fine with one umbrella.”

Jay grinned, unbothered by the small cluster of students watching from the lounge area—phones in their laps, murmurs passing quickly between them like wildfire.

It was still strange for them to see Park Jongseong—Decelis’ stoic, untouchable guitarist—smiling like this, soft and easy, his hand wrapped around yours as if he had no care for the whispers.

“Alright, I’ll take the blame,” he said warmly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze as the elevator dinged open. “But for the record, we were fine. I didn’t hear you complaining when you were stealing my body heat earlier.”

You huffed, attempting to mask your flustered smile as you stepped into the elevator. “That’s because I had no choice. You’re warm. Like… unnaturally warm.”

Jay followed you in, his grin growing wider as he leaned slightly against the elevator wall, still holding your hand as if letting go wasn’t an option. “Maybe I just run hot because of all the staring we’re getting.”

You shot him a look, realizing just how quiet the lobby had become behind you, the eyes still trailing as the elevator doors began to close.

“Let them stare,” Jay added, his tone softer now, eyes on you instead of anyone else. “They’ll get tired of it eventually.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, shaking your head as you muttered, “You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You rolled your eyes fondly but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips as you leaned against him, the soft fabric of his soaked cardigan brushing your cheek.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your frame, tugging you closer in a loose embrace despite being drenched himself. His warmth was faint but grounding, his palm rubbing slow circles on your shoulder in an effort to coax heat back into your chilled body.

Jay smirked faintly, eyes soft as he looked down. “Then we’ll be sick together. At least we’ll match.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculousness. “That’s not something to be proud of.”

The elevator dinged softly as the doors slid open to the fifth floor, cool air greeting the both of you as you stepped out.

Jay’s hand remained at your lower back, fingers resting lightly as you walked side by side down the hallway.

It didn’t escape your notice how natural it felt—how his steps matched yours, how he didn’t even have to ask which door anymore.

You shuffled the keys in your hand, fiddling with them briefly before finally finding the right one. “I swear my hands have turned numb,” you mumbled, attempting to insert the key while Jay hovered just close enough to catch it if it slipped.

“You need gloves,” he said absentmindedly, watching you with a small crease in his brows. “I’ll bring you some next time.”

“Next time?” you teased lightly, pushing the door open.

He grinned, unbothered. “Yeah. What, you think I’m letting you walk around in this weather alone again?”

Before you could respond, a familiar meow cut through your thoughts. Doobu padded toward you, tail flicking as her paws made soft thuds against the floor.

You couldn’t help the grin that bloomed on your face. “Hi, girl,” you cooed, crouching slightly to hold your hands out. “Give us a moment, yeah?”

Jay chuckled softly behind you, closing the door after you both stepped inside. He immediately began toeing off his sneakers, placing them neatly by the door. You followed suit, tugging off your damp socks and placing them near your shoes.

“Doobu looks offended you came home late,” Jay teased, eyes flicking to your cat as she stood by the doorway, watching him like a sentinel.

“She’s just being dramatic,” you said, waving Doobu off playfully. “She missed me, didn’t you, baby?”

Doobu blinked slowly at you before turning her gaze—suspicious and unyielding—back to Jay.

To your surprise, Jay crouched down, resting on the balls of his feet as he extended a hand toward her.

“Hey there, princess,” he murmured softly, his voice warm and careful, like he was approaching royalty.

You watched with wide eyes as Doobu—your notoriously selective little cat—didn’t hesitate. She leaned her fluffy head into his hand, her tail flicking lazily as she allowed him to scratch under her chin.

Jay’s grin widened, eyes softening at the white fluffball now purring beneath his fingers. “See? I told you she loves me.”

You swallowed hard, your hands rubbing your arms absently as your chest tightened—not with unease, but something else you refused to name.

Clearing your throat lightly, you asked, “Jay…?”

He hummed in acknowledgment, not even looking up as his fingers continued their careful strokes through Doobu’s fur.

You shifted your weight nervously from one foot to the other, cheeks burning as you avoided his eyes. “Do you… uh…” You paused, gripping the hem of your shirt tightly. “Do you want to stay over?”

That caught his attention. Jay’s hand stilled in Doobu’s fur as his eyes flicked up to you. He didn’t speak immediately—just watched you with a look that was almost unreadable. Your gaze darted away, heat climbing all the way to your ears.

When he finally did speak, his lips twitched into an amused smile as he let out a soft laugh.

“No need. The rain’s gonna stop eventually.” He stood, brushing his palms on his jeans, still looking at you with that knowing glint in his eyes.

You raised a brow skeptically, stepping closer to the window just as a loud clap of thunder rattled the glass. Sheets of rain poured relentlessly outside, heavy and unyielding.

“Really, Jay?” you asked, your voice deadpan as you turned back to him with a single raised brow.

Jay ran a hand through his damp hair, laughing under his breath. “Okay, okay… maybe not. But hey—we’ll see, yeah?”

You sighed, fighting the way your lips wanted to curl upward. “Right.” Gesturing toward your vanity chair, you added, “Sit down, will you? You’re dripping all over my floor.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, plopping down in the chair with an exaggerated sigh as Doobu circled his feet like she’d adopted him already.

You knelt by your drawer, pulling out a folded set of your clothes and tossing them gently onto the bed for later. “Do you want to shower first or…?” You glanced back at him briefly, then looked away just as quickly.

“I’ll need to throw your clothes in the dryer if you’re planning to head out when—if—the rain stops.”

Jay leaned back in the chair, his black-framed glasses slightly fogged from the temperature change. His eyes glinted with amusement as he watched you shuffle through your drawer.

“Offering me your shower, your dryer… should I be worried you’re trying to make me stay longer?”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, though your lips threatened to betray you with a smile. “Don’t make me take it back.”

He chuckled, stretching his arms above his head lazily. “Fine, fine. I’ll shower. Only because my clothes are sticking to me like a second skin.”

“Gross.” You wrinkled your nose teasingly, standing up with your hands on your hips.

Jay grinned as he began pulling off his damp cardigan. “You offered. Don’t act so surprised.”

You caught his smirk as you quickly turned your back to him, cheeks blazing. “Bathroom’s to the left. Towels are in the cabinet.”

“Got it.” He stood, ruffling your hair playfully as he passed you. “Thanks, pretty.”

You swatted at his hand half-heartedly, muttering, “Just go already.”

As the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut echoed in the room, you exhaled, shoulders sagging a little as if trying to shake off the heat blooming in your chest.

But of course, that didn’t help.

Trying to distract yourself, you knelt again by your drawers, fingers fumbling slightly as you rummaged for an oversized shirt and a pair of soft pajama pants—something Jay could wear while his clothes dried.

Your hands stilled for a moment as you stared at the folded fabric in your grasp.

Shaking your head, you pushed to your feet, clutching the clothes to your chest like a flimsy shield. You padded toward the bathroom door and raised a hand to knock, hesitating for half a second before rapping lightly on the wood.

“Jay?” you called softly, praying your voice didn’t betray the fluster simmering in your veins. “Are you… um, are you fully dressed, or…?”

There was a beat of silence, then the door creaked open just enough for his face to peek through.

Black hair damp and sticking slightly to his forehead, glasses fogged faintly at the edges from the bathroom’s heat—he was still fully clothed, a teasing grin tugged at his lips as his dark eyes flicked to the bundle of clothes in your arms.

“Planning to see me naked or what?” he drawled, leaning a little too casually against the doorframe.

Your mouth dropped open, heat crawling up your neck. “W-what?!”

Jay’s grin widened, clearly enjoying himself as he tilted his head. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame you, pretty. I know I look good—”

“Shut up.” You grumbled, shoving the bundle of clothes against his chest hard enough that he had to catch them. “Here. Wear these before I regret offering you my dryer privileges.”

His laugh echoed warmly as you grabbed the door handle, avoiding his gaze entirely. “Relax, I’m kidding—”

The words were cut off when you shoved the door closed in his face, his amused chuckle lingering through the wood like a ghost haunting your sanity.

You slumped forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the door, the faint sound of running water starting again on the other side.

“What am I getting myself into?” you whispered to no one in particular, clutching the edge of your hoodie as if it could steady the wild thrum of your heart.

Doobu, perched on the corner of your bed, blinked at you like she knew. Like she always knew.

Every little thing felt dangerous now.

It wasn’t part of the deal. None of this was.

You were supposed to keep this clean. Keep it simple.

But how could you, when the lines between fake and real blurred every single time he looked at you with those soft, knowing eyes?

Doobu’s tail flicked lazily against the sheets, her gaze still fixed on you.

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “Don’t look at me like that,” you whispered to her. “I know. I’m an idiot.”

Your shoulders shook as you tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh.

Jay’s reflection in the mirror only made it worse: his black-framed glasses slightly fogged from the heat of the room, fluffy, towel-dried hair falling haphazardly over his brows as he pouted behind you, hands working the blow dryer through your still-damp strands.

“Seriously, (Y/N),” he groaned, swaying slightly on his feet like it physically hurt him to say it, “pink Hello Kitty pajamas? With matching socks?”

You bit your lip hard, but the laugh still slipped out. “You look adorable, though.”

His eyes flicked up in the mirror, narrowing playfully at you. “Adorable? I’m a grown man, you know. The guitarist of a band. Not your—your sleepover buddy in Sanrio merch.”

“Mmhm.” You met his gaze in the glass, your grin widening as you teased, “You’re matching with me too, so you can’t even complain.”

Jay huffed, dramatic as ever, and reached up to push his glasses higher on his nose. Then, with a resigned sigh, he placed his chin carefully on top of your head, his fingers still gently raking through your hair.

“Be glad they’re fluffy,” he muttered. “If they weren’t, I’d have thrown a fit.”

You giggled, patting the top of his head like he was a sulky cat. “You’re surviving, big guy. Promise.”

When he was satisfied your hair wasn’t damp anymore, he switched off the blow dryer and set it aside. You stood, stretching a little as he followed you wordlessly to the bed. Both of you sank down onto the edge, the springs giving a soft creak.

Outside, thunder rolled low and lazy, followed by a flash of light that seeped through the cracks of your curtains.

Jay sighed, tipping his head sideways until it rested on your shoulder, his voice quieter now. “At this rate,” he murmured, “I think I’ll have to sleep over.”

You tilted your head slightly, catching sight of his soft profile, his lashes brushing his glasses. “That’s what I’m saying,” you replied with a small smile.

His lips curved into a grin against your shoulder. “Do I get extra points for being a respectful fake boyfriend and asking first?”

You laughed, leaning your head lightly against his. “I think you’ve already earned them, Jongseong. You dried my hair in Hello Kitty pajamas.”

He chuckled, shoulders shaking faintly. “Touché.”

Another rumble of thunder echoed outside, but in the warmth of your room, with Jay pressed comfortably against your side, it didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Jay shifted, leaning back slightly so he could meet your eyes, his voice soft but teasing. “Do you want to eat?”

You blinked at him, eyebrows raising as you glanced at the window where rain still poured in heavy sheets. “Jay, no one’s going to deliver food in this weather.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I didn’t say anything about delivery. I’ll cook.”

You turned to fully face him now, your expression somewhere between incredulous and amused. “You can cook?”

He stood, stretching a little as your shirt fell loose around him, then looked down at you with that confident half-smile of his. “I can. I’m pretty good at it, actually. So, what do you want?”

You paused for a moment, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them. “Anything with soup. I want something warm.”

His grin widened as he gave a mock salute. “Soup it is. Your personal chef, at your service.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he made his way to the small kitchenette tucked into the corner of your dorm. He flicked on the light above the stove, already pushing his black-framed glasses up into his hair to keep them from fogging.

“Alright, chef Park Jongseong reporting for duty. What do we have to work with?”

You leaned back against the pillows, watching him open the fridge. “Literally everything.”

He shot you a playful look over his shoulder as he started checking the contents of your fridge and drawers. “You know, for someone who claims she doesn’t cook much, you’re stocked like a mini grocery store.”

You let out a small groan, pulling the comforter over your head like a turtle retreating into its shell. “That’s because Yunjin’s always dragging me to the supermarket with her. She acts like we’re shopping for a family of five.”

Jay laughed as he pulled out a few ingredients, setting them on the counter. “So basically, I should thank Yunjin for keeping you from starving?”

“Exactly.” You peeked out from under the blanket just in time to see him open a cabinet, finding pots and pans with a triumphant little hum.

He moved like he belonged there—like stepping into your small kitchen wasn’t foreign to him at all. In one smooth motion, Jay set the pot on the stove, grabbed vegetables from the fridge, and pulled oil and condiments from the shelves as if he’d memorized where everything was.

You didn’t even remember showing him.

It was amazing. Endearing, too, in a way that made your chest ache.

How did he manage to fit so seamlessly into your world? Into your space?

You hugged your knees tighter, eyes following the way his shirt shifted with every movement, the soft strands of his hair falling into his face until he brushed them back with a flick of his fingers.

With a small huff, you pushed the blanket off and stood up, padding softly across the room until you were behind him.

Jay was just tilting the bottle of oil over the pot when you slipped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against the warmth of his back.

He froze mid-pour, setting the oil bottle carefully down on the counter. His hands hovered for a moment before he let them fall over yours, thumbs brushing lightly against your knuckles.

“…What’s up?” he asked quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, “Nothing.”

His head turned slightly, as if trying to catch your expression. “Doesn’t sound like nothing, pretty.”

You exhaled shakily. “Thank you… for everything.”

Jay let out a quiet chuckle, one hand leaving yours to rest over your forearm, squeezing it gently.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just—” He stopped himself when he felt you press a little closer, like you didn’t want to let go.

Slowly, he turned in your embrace, his hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed softly under your eyes, catching the faint glassiness there.

“Hey… why do you look like you’re about to cry?” he murmured, his brows knitting together as he searched your expression.

You shook your head quickly, eyes falling shut under the intensity of his gaze. “I’m not,” you whispered, though your voice betrayed the tightness in your chest.

Jay sighed, his hands gentle as ever as he tugged you closer. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he said quietly, leaning down until his lips brushed the crown of your head.

He pressed a lingering kiss there, the warmth of it sinking straight into your bones.

For a moment, neither of you moved—just standing there in the soft kitchen light, his forehead resting against your hair as his arms curled protectively around you.

“Stay here for a bit,” he whispered, his voice almost lost in the sound of the rain outside. “Let me take care of you.”

You stayed still for another moment, his warmth and the steady thrum of his heartbeat making it so tempting to stay there forever. But with a small sigh, you loosened your hold on him.

“Go on. Finish cooking, Jay,” you said softly, stepping back.

His brows furrowed as he caught your wrist, keeping you close. “Promise me you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low but firm.

You blinked up at him, meeting those searching brown eyes behind his glasses. For a heartbeat, it felt like he was seeing through every wall you’d ever built.

But you managed a small, reassuring smile, nodding as you said, “I’m okay, Jay. Really.”

His eyes scanned your face one more time, as if memorizing every detail, before he let out a quiet breath and nodded. “Alright,” he said gently, finally releasing your hand. “But you tell me if you’re not, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your smile growing just a little softer.

He lingered for half a second before turning back to the stove, picking up where he left off with his chopping and stirring. You, on the other hand, padded back to the bed, curling up against the pillows as you grabbed the remote.

“What do you want to watch?” you called out, flipping through the streaming apps idly.

“Anything,” he replied without hesitation, his focus on carefully stirring the pot.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so easy to please.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Not really. I just trust your taste, pretty.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you quickly turned back to the TV, muttering, “Fine. But don’t blame me if we end up watching some cheesy rom-com.”

“Cheesy rom-com with you sounds perfect,” he teased, and you groaned, burying your face in the pillow as you tried—and failed—not to smile.

In the kitchen, Jay hummed softly under his breath, the sound blending with the gentle clatter of utensils and the comforting scent of soup starting to fill your dorm.

Every now and then, he’d glance your way, his expression softening like he couldn’t believe you were really here—like this wasn’t just some arrangement.

Time slipped quietly between you both after that. The sound of the rain outside became background noise to the soft dialogue of the movie you’d picked—a mellow rom-com that played lazily on the screen.

You had gotten so lost in the plot, your legs curled up beneath you, blanket tucked over your lap, that you didn’t notice when Jay padded softly around the room behind you.

At some point, the faint clinking of dishes came from the kitchenette, followed by the low hiss of something being poured. But your eyes stayed glued to the screen as your fingers fidgeted absently with the edge of the blanket.

It wasn’t until the bed dipped gently beside you that you tore your gaze away, startled.

Jay sat down next to you, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he placed two plates down on the small table in front of you—each holding a hollowed-out round of bread filled generously with steaming vegetable chowder.

Your brows arched in surprise as you glanced from the plates back up to him. “Wait, what’s this?”

“Vegetable chowder,” he said simply, brushing his slightly damp hair from his forehead. “In bread bowls. Thought I’d go a little fancy for you.”

Before you could answer, he got up again, moving back to the kitchenette where he grabbed two glasses of water.

He returned and set them down neatly beside the plates, as though he’d done this a hundred times before.

You blinked at him, warmth blooming in your chest as you murmured, “You didn’t have to, Jay.”

He looked at you then, his eyes soft, almost teasing. “You say that like I don’t want to.”

Your lips twitched upward into a small smile as you reached for the plate he slid toward you. “Thank you,” you said softly, wrapping your fingers around the spoon resting on the side.

Jay’s eyes followed your movements as you scooped up a bit of the steaming chowder, bringing it to your lips carefully.

You blew on it a little before tasting it, the warm, savory flavor melting on your tongue.

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise as you looked back at him. “Wait… this is actually really good.”

“Actually?” he repeated with a mock frown, though there was amusement dancing in his eyes. “That’s all I get?”

You laughed, the sound slipping out before you could even stop it, and quickly covered your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Okay, okay,” you said between little giggles. “It’s really well made. Creamy, perfectly seasoned, not too heavy—I love it.”

His grin softened into something warmer as he leaned an elbow on his knee, chin resting against his palm as he watched you take another bite. “Thank you,” he murmured.

You licked your lips, savoring another spoonful before looking up at him again, curiosity flickering across your face. “Seriously though… where did you learn to cook this good? You’re like—surprisingly domestic.”

Jay chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling pleasantly in his chest. He leaned back against the headboard, stretching one arm across the top as he thought.

“My mom, mostly. She loves to cook, so she made me help out the chefs a lot when I was younger. Said every man should know how to make at least one good meal.”

You grinned at the image of a tiny Jay peeling vegetables or stirring soup under his mom’s watchful eye. “That’s so cute. And the ‘chefs’ part?”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well… them too. I mean, my parents hired some of the best chefs back home. I picked up a lot just by hanging around the kitchen when I didn’t feel like doing homework.”

Your eyes went wide, and you pointed your spoon at him dramatically. “Wait—you have chefs? Oh my God. You really are rich rich.”

Jay let out a laugh that had his shoulders shaking, his head tilting back slightly. “I told you,” he said with a smirk, “I’m not rich. My parents are. Big difference.”

“Uh-huh.” You rolled your eyes playfully, but there was a smile tugging at your lips as you took another bite. “Totally sounds like something a rich person would say.”

Dinner passed in a comfortable ease, the sound of rain still thrumming heavily against the window, but it felt less suffocating now—almost soothing.

You found yourself laughing too easily at Jay’s sarcastic remarks about the plot of the movie playing faintly in the background, and he seemed just as content throwing glances your way between bites.

By the time both your bowls sat empty on the small table, the two of you had migrated further up the bed.

Jay’s glasses had been discarded somewhere near the footboard, and you were now curled beside him, the both of you cocooned in the thick duvet as the movie rolled on.

“I still can’t believe he didn’t run after her in the first place,” Jay muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the screen where the male lead was pacing a dimly lit airport.

“Like, are you serious? She literally confessed, cried, and this guy just stood there like a log.”

You hummed, nodding faintly as you shifted closer to him. “I know, right? Classic. We love emotionally constipated male leads,” you mumbled, voice quieter now as you rested your head fully against his shoulder.

His arm tightened instinctively around your frame, hand brushing lightly up and down your upper arm as his focus returned to the screen.

Another scene played out—a heated fight, tears, a final desperate plea—and Jay made another comment, his voice soft and laced with mock exasperation. But when there was no reply, his brow furrowed slightly.

“(Y/N)?” he murmured, glancing down.

You didn’t answer.

Instead, he found you sound asleep against him, lips parted slightly, your lashes casting delicate shadows over your cheeks.

His expression softened in an instant. A quiet laugh left him—low, breathy, fond—as he carefully reached for the remote to lower the volume.

“Of course you’d knock out now,” he teased softly, though there was no bite to it.

Jay shifted carefully, sliding down until his head rested against the pillows. He pulled you with him, repositioning you so your cheek rested comfortably over his chest, his arms wrapping securely around you.

Your fingers, loose at first, instinctively curled into his shirt like they belonged there.

He smiled at the small gesture, his thumb brushing tenderly over your shoulder as he pressed his lips lightly to the crown of your head.

“Sleep, pretty girl,” he whispered into your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Outside, the rain continued its steady rhythm against the glass, but in the warmth of your room, nestled in Jay’s arms, it felt a world away.

Light spilled into your room in faint golden streaks, slipping past the curtains and painting your walls in a quiet, sleepy glow.

The world outside was still a little dark, the rain from last night leaving droplets clinging to the window.

You moved slightly under the covers, the movement making you aware of the steady warmth pressed against your side.

Your brows furrowed for a second before the memories came flooding back—his laugh over dinner, the way his fingers brushed your hair dry, his arm pulling you closer as you both sank into the mattress.

It wasn’t a dream.

You sighed softly, instinctively shuffling closer to the heat, letting the fabric of his t-shirt brush against your cheek as you tucked your face against his chest.

He smelled faintly of your soap and something that was just… Jay. Comforting. Familiar.

If this was fake, your heart was clearly doing a terrible job at remembering it.

You tilted your head slightly, gaze catching on his sleeping face—his dark hair a little messy, strands sprawled across your pillow; his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks as he breathed steadily, lips parted just slightly.

He looked younger like this. Softer.

A smile tugged at your lips before you sighed again and started to moved away, only to freeze as his arms instinctively tightened around you, pulling you back flush against his chest.

“Jay,” you whispered under your breath, trying not to laugh as you wiggled slightly. “You’re literally—like—a human seatbelt right now.”

His hold didn’t loosen.

Groaning softly, you reached out blindly for your phone on the nightstand, your fingers barely grazing it before it almost slipped.

You let out a panicked squeak, fumbling as you caught it just in time. Relief washed over you as you lay back with a soft sigh, unlocking the screen to check the time.

6:07 AM. Just in time.

A low, sleepy groan sounded from above you, and you turned your head slightly to see Jay’s lashes flutter as he stirred. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

“…what time is it?” he murmured, his brows drawing together slightly.

You glanced back at your phone before looking at him again, his dark eyes only half-open but focused on you now. “Six. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

He hummed low in his chest, voice still heavy with sleep. “Mm… six? Too early.”

“I know,” you whispered, a small laugh escaping as you tried to slide away again. “But I should get up—”

Before you could finish, his arm looped fully around your waist, tugging you back so quickly that you let out a surprised yelp.

“Jay!”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled into your hair, voice muffled and almost childlike. “You’re warm.”

You froze for a moment, your cheeks heating as you stared at the ceiling. “…You’re clingy.”

“Mmhm.”

But still, you let yourself relax back into his hold, your phone falling onto the mattress beside you.

“…You drool in your sleep,” you teased after a moment, just to distract yourself from how loud your heart was pounding.

His lips curved lazily against your hair. “Liar.”

You huffed out a laugh, fingers instinctively starting to trace light, absentminded circles over the fabric of his shirt—right along his stomach.

Jay flinched slightly at the ticklish touch but didn’t stop you, a soft chuckle rumbling low in his chest.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as his hand shifted to cradle the back of it gently.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, his dark eyes still heavy with sleep but impossibly warm as they softened on you. “Good morning,” he whispered.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Good morning,” you whispered back.

Jay let out a deep sigh, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. “We have classes this morning, right?” he asked, his voice quiet but laced with reluctance.

“Mm,” you hummed a yes, not trusting your voice to sound normal with how close his face was to yours.

He groaned dramatically, his head falling back onto the pillow. “This is way too early. Who invented morning classes? I just wanna talk.”

You laughed, patting his chest lightly. “This is normal for me. I take forever to get ready.”

His brows raised slightly, a playful grin tugging at his lips as his hand rubbed soothing circles on your arm. “You? Taking forever to get ready? No way.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, rolling your eyes with a laugh.

Before he could say something else, the mattress dipped, and both of your heads snapped to the side just in time to see Doobu hopping up onto the bed.

Her fluffy white paws padded across the blanket until she stopped right at Jay’s stomach.

Without hesitation, she circled twice then plopped herself down, curling up like she owned the spot.

You blinked at the sight, and Jay glanced down in surprise as the small weight settled on him. “Well… good morning to you too, Doobu,” he said with a soft laugh, lifting a hand to tentatively scratch behind her ears.

You reached over to pet her as well, smiling at your cat. “Hi, Doobu. You’re really getting comfortable there, huh?”

“She’s got good taste,” Jay teased, watching as Doobu purred loudly under your combined affection.

“Or maybe she just likes warm, grumpy guitarists,” you shot back, laughing when Jay gave you a mock-offended look.

“She doesn’t even know I play guitar.”

“She knows enough.”

Jay snorted, shifting slightly as he kept petting Doobu. “Great. My competition for your affection is your cat. I can’t win this one, can I?”

You leaned your chin back on his chest, grinning at him. “Not unless you can purr like her.”

He raised a brow. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you countered with a cheeky smile.

He chuckled, his fingers brushing over your jaw for a brief moment before settling back on Doobu. “Fair enough.”

Eventually, the two of you managed to drag yourselves out of bed—though not without Jay dramatically groaning about how ‘it’s illegal to get up this early.’

You rolled your eyes and tugged him toward the kitchenette where the two of you brushed your teeth side by side at the small sink.

Your reflections stared back at you from the faint sheen of the kitchen window, where rain streaked down lazily and blurred the view of the nearby field outside.

The ground was still soaked, puddles reflecting the gray morning sky.

Jay wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his black-framed glasses slightly fogged from the temperature shift.

“We both have rehearsals today, right?” he asked, his voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Mm-hmm.” You nodded, spitting out toothpaste foam before grabbing your hand towel.

“There was a bunch of guitar cases when I peeked into the studio yesterday. Were those yours?”

Jay leaned his hip against the counter, grinning sheepishly as he folded his arms. “And the others too. We all kind of tried to ditch practice early yesterday, but I guess karma’s making us pay for it today.”

You laughed softly, handing him his folded clothes that had been hanging near the bed to dry. “Here. Better change before your precious guitars start a search party for you.”

He smirked, taking them from your hands. “Aye aye, captain. I’ll get dressed real quick.” He disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

While he changed, you rifled through your drawers and quickly pulled out your outfit—black jeans, a pink frilly blouse, and your favorite soft pink cardigan.

As soon as Jay emerged, now looking effortlessly put together in his black cardigan layered over his white shirt and jeans again, you darted into the bathroom to change and wash your face.

By the time you came out, he was standing by your vanity, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag.

You took his place at the seat, doing your skincare and swiping on some lip gloss as Jay picked up his phone to check something.

“You ready?” he asked after a moment, watching you toss your lip gloss back into your pouch.

“Almost. Can you refill Doobu’s bowl, please?” you said without looking up, focused on zipping your bag.

“Sure. Where’s her food?”

You pointed to the lower drawer by the fridge. “There.”

He crouched down easily, pulling it open and fishing out the bag of Doobu’s food. She must’ve heard the familiar sound because she immediately pranced over, tail held high and brushing against Jay’s shin.

“You’re so spoiled,” Jay murmured to the cat, shaking out the food into her bowl before straightening. “But I get it. You’re cute.”

“She’s training you already,” you teased, sliding your laptop into its sleeve.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, smirking as he put the bag back and shut the drawer. “Not hard. Your whole apartment’s kind of training me.”

“Training you?” you asked, amused as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

“Yeah.” He grabbed cardigan from the back of your chair and shook it out lightly before slipping it on.

“To… I don’t know. Make dinner, feed cats, be the kind of guy who carries an umbrella without forgetting it in every store.”

“Sounds like you’re saying I’m turning you domestic.”

“Sounds like you’re admitting you like having me here.”

You shot him a playful glare as you brushed past to put on your shoes. “Shut up and put your shoes on, Park.”

But you didn’t miss the soft grin tugging at his lips as he obeyed, crouching down beside you at the door.

You tried—tried so hard—not to let your eyes linger. Not to let your heart skip at the way he tied his sneakers with practiced ease, one hand braced casually on his knee.

But it was useless. Everything about him was slipping through the cracks you’d carefully built in your chest.

If this was fake, if all of this—his quiet laughter in your kitchen, his hands in your hair, his patient presence folded into your small world—was just part of the act—

Then what did it say about you that you wanted the real thing?

You shook the thought away quickly, standing as Jay followed suit. His shoulder brushed yours lightly, and for a second it felt… too normal. Too easy.

You grabbed your keys from the counter, sparing one last glance at Doobu still curled up on your bed. “Bye, Doobu. Be good while I’m gone, yeah?” you said softly.

Jay crouched slightly, pointing at her like he was scolding a child. “And stop stressing your mom out, okay?”

You laughed, fumbling with your lock as he straightened up, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured as the door clicked shut.

“Ridiculously charming,” he countered with a wink that had you rolling your eyes—but not without smiling.

Outside, the air was cool and damp, the faint smell of rain lingering as Jay stretched his hand out toward you expectantly.

“Come on,” he said with a small tilt of his head, fingers wiggling slightly like he was daring you not to take them. “We’ve got all morning before classes start.”

You stared for a beat too long before slipping your hand into his. His grasp was warm, familiar.

“You’re turning soft, Jay,” you teased, the words laced with something you couldn’t quite name.

His lips quirked as he squeezed your hand, a flash of mischief lighting his eyes. “Only for you.”

And maybe—just maybe—you let yourself believe him, if only for a moment.

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove @in-somnias-world @cripplinghooman @yeossified ⤷ piece taglist — @strawjayrries @dearestdreamies

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[liuhsng]

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ strings and satin ( pjs ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jay x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 19k ⤷ based on this request by 🍓 anon ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — finally here it is ! i loved writing this so, so much—i hope you guys fall for it the way i did. there’s definitely a second part coming, so don’t forget to pace yourselves, loves 🤍

⤷ warnings — college au, guitarist!jay, ballerina!reader, college!jay, college!reader, college!enhypen, band!enhypen, slow burn, strangers to lovers trope, soft!jay, emotionally constipated!jay (but he’s trying), late-night cat hunt (we love doobu), subtle mutual pining, jay is in denial (maybe), reader is confused (definitely), domestic undertones, accidental vulnerability, soft tension, unspoken feelings, kpop demon hunters reference, fluff

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — as a ballet major with a bleeding heart and a cat that bites, you’ve learned to keep your world simple: dance, stretch, cry a little, repeat. you don’t do rumors, don’t do games, and you definitely don’t do campus heartthrobs with guitars and god complexes. so when a blurry photo and one harmless conversation spark a wildfire of dating rumors between you and park jongseong—guitarist, campus enigma, known for broken amps and colder stares. except, he’s nothing like they say. or, where he plays like the world’s his stage, but you're the only thing that makes him nervous.

The practice room was warm. Not hot, exactly—just the kind of warm that stuck to your skin, that lingered in your collarbones and made your bangs cling annoyingly to your forehead.

You stood in front of the mirror wall, catching your breath, fixing the satin skirt tied loosely around your waist.

Your black cropped shirt had already slid down one shoulder, exposing the strap of your leotard underneath. You didn’t bother fixing it.

Your focus was elsewhere—mostly on your discomfort, and the silent scream your thighs were making from doing that god-awful développé combo three times in a row.

“Hey,” Kazuha called softly from the side, wiping her neck with a towel as she approached you, “you okay?”

You nodded, lips pressed together in a tight smile. “Yeah. Just… not my usual skirt,” you muttered, glancing down.

Kazuha tilted her head. “I noticed. It’s shorter than usual.”

You gave a dry laugh, fingers tugging lightly at the tie. “Yeah, it’s my old one. From high school. My usual skirt’s in the laundry and I forgot to grab it this morning, so I’m surviving with this thing.”

Your reflection blinked back at you from the mirror—sweaty, flushed, still catching your breath. Your ponytail was coming loose and you were already sure your tights were rolling at the waist.

You turned slightly to the side and tugged the skirt again, voice flat. “This is what I get for being too lazy to do laundry.”

Kazuha laughed, leaning back on the barre. “It’s kinda cute, though. Retro. You look like you're in a throwback recital.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway.

Getting into Decelis University hadn’t been easy. The performing arts department—especially the dance conservatory—was known across the country for its prestige and high expectations. Hundreds auditioned every year. Not all made it past the first round.

You did.

On your first try.

Full-ride scholarship. Competitive record. Trophies and tears to back it all up.

People said you made it look easy, like you were meant to be there. But it wasn’t ease—it was effort. It was years of calluses, missed parties, bleeding toes, and sacrifice. You didn’t just want to dance. You needed to.

Kazuha tossed her towel on the bench, pulling her leg up on the barre to stretch. “You staying late again tonight?”

You nodded, eyes fixed on your reflection again. “Yeah. I have to perfect the solo for finals. My second rotation’s on Friday.”

“You know,” she grinned, “you say that like you’re not already one of the top students here.”

You shrugged. “Perfection’s the bare minimum.”

Kazuha blinked at you like you were insane, but she didn’t push it. She knew you well enough by now.

The speaker clicked as the next song loaded, soft classical strings filling the room again. You took a breath, stepped forward, and let your body move—not perfectly, not effortlessly, but honestly.

Your feet kissed the marley floor with a quiet grace, arms extending with purpose as you lost yourself to the swell of the violins.

You didn't think, didn't worry—this was the part where everything else slipped away. Just you, the music, and the ache in your chest that only dance could reach.

Just as Kazuha stepped forward to join you in the center, the door handle jiggled behind you.

You both froze mid-pose.

Then—knock knock knock.

Sharp. Persistent. Not polite.

You blinked at Kazuha, who mirrored your confusion, and as you turned toward the door, you caught a chaotic shuffle of movement behind the foggy glass panel.

“What the hell—” you muttered, already walking over as Kazuha crossed the room to pause the music.

Three heads crammed into the glass at once, pushing and jostling to get a peek inside, like some low-budget Scooby-Doo skit come to life. Behind them, more bodies shuffled around, some holding instruments.

You squinted. One had a guitar case strapped to his back. Another was holding drumsticks. Someone in the back had an amp cord looped around his neck like a scarf.

Kazuha tilted her head. “Are we being… robbed? By a band?”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms across your chest. “Who even lets them in here?”

The glass panel fogged slightly from the nose of someone pressing into it a little too eagerly.

You sighed, took a few steps forward, and called out—loudly enough to be heard through the semi-soundproof barrier, “Do you need something, or are you just here for a group peep show?”

That did the trick.

The door burst open like someone forgot subtlety existed. Seven guys came tumbling in, all trying to talk at once, their words tangling into a mess of “wait—no you ask—dude, she’s literally glaring—” while you stood, unamused, watching the circus unfold.

Kazuha blinked, frozen in place like her brain short-circuited at the sheer volume of testosterone in the room.

The boy with dyed blonde hair lit up like a switch. “Kazuha!”

Her head whipped around at the sound of her name, and when she caught sight of the voice—tall, bleach-haired, grinning like a kid—her face softened instantly.

“Oh, Ni-ki,” she said with a small laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s you.”

You blinked.

Wait. Ni-ki?

As in—her cousin Ni-ki?

The one who, according to Kazuha, played bass ‘like he was born doing it’ and could barely stay out of trouble for longer than a week?

The dots connected in your head like a quiet click—that was the cousin who hung out with some band. That was the chaos she warned you about when she said don’t mind the noise if you hear it down the hallway.

“Wait,” you said slowly, glancing between her and the group of rowdy boys trying to look innocent while still blocking half the studio entrance. “This is your cousin?”

“Yup,” Kazuha replied, already looking more amused than confused. “And that—” she gestured loosely toward the rest of them, “—is his band, I’m guessing.”

“You’re guessing?” you deadpanned. “They walked in here like they were about to headline Coachella.”

The boy in the front—tall, dark eyes, jet-black hair pulled back under a hoodie—finally stepped forward, less loud than the others, but still undeniably present. A black guitar case hung across his back, the strap slung casually over one shoulder like it belonged there, like he belonged here.

He wasn’t smiling.

He looked at you, at the studio, at your sweat-damp shirt and worn-out ballet shoes, and then back at you.

He raised a brow.

And then he said, “Is this the part where we pretend to be sorry for barging in?”

Your arms stayed crossed, lips twitching. “That depends. Is this the part where you explain why you’re here like this is a battle of the bands?”

Kazuha snorted. Ni-ki cackled.

The guy with another guitar case nudged the hoodie boy with his elbow. “Jay, say something normal, you’re scaring them.”

You raised an eyebrow.

The rest of the room seemed to pause, some failing to hide their grins while others tried very hard not to look like they were watching a drama unfold.

The so-called Jay hadn’t looked away from you once—dark eyes unreadable, the weight of his stare almost intrusive if it didn’t feel so curious.

You refused to break eye contact. If he was testing you, he’d have to try harder.

Kazuha stood quietly beside you, arms lightly crossed over her chest now, the tension in her jaw suggesting she was just waiting for someone to say something stupid so she could comment.

Finally, someone near the door cleared his throat—a polite, practiced sound that immediately drew your attention. The boy who stepped forward looked nothing like the storm standing across from you.

He was shorter than Jay, cleaner cut, dressed neatly in a dark crewneck and jeans. He smiled, dimples flashing as he extended a hand toward you.

“Hi,” he said with a slight bow, voice warm and measured. “I’m Yang Jungwon. Sorry to barge in all of a sudden. I know it’s unexpected, but…”

He reached into his back pocket and unfolded a neatly creased slip of paper, holding it up for you to see.

“It says here on the permit that we were assigned this studio for band practice at 7:30 PM,” he added carefully, his smile faltering just slightly. “And, uh… well…”

His voice trailed off as you took the paper from him, your eyes skimming over the familiar university header. You read the fine print, squinting at the date and time listed in the middle of the page.

Your jaw tightened.

It was 7:32 PM.

You looked up. Right on cue, another boy—tall, broad-shouldered, impossibly pretty—piped up from behind Ni-ki, his tone light and almost too casual.

“Well, it is 7:30,” he said, shrugging one shoulder, an easy grin on his face. “Technically.”

You gave him a flat look. He smiled wider, clearly not sorry.

“I’m Lee Heeseung,” he added, a little sheepishly this time, like that would soften the blow.

“Oh,” you said dryly, crossing your arms. “So your plan was to just burst in and interrupt mid-combo because you had a slip of paper and a sense of entitlement?”

Heeseung winced, looking to Ni-ki for backup, who was definitely not paying attention—too busy playing with the hem of his oversized jacket while whispering something to Kazuha.

Jay finally blinked, his voice low and slow as he spoke for the first time. “No one said it was a good plan.”

Your eyes flicked to him again, sharp. He still hadn’t moved from where he stood—hoodie half-zipped, guitar case slung over one shoulder, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. He didn’t look embarrassed. He looked bored. Or tired. Or both.

“And you’re Jay?” you asked, tone unimpressed.

His head tilted slightly. “Unfortunately.”

You gave him a look. He held it again.

“God,” Kazuha muttered under her breath beside you, “do you two want a chair so you can keep eye-fighting in comfort?”

Jungwon, ever the peacemaker, gently stepped between you again, holding up his hands.

“Look, I think the admin office made a mistake. We’re not trying to kick you out or anything. We just… really need a place to rehearse tonight. Our usual room’s under maintenance.”

You glanced at the clock near the mirror.

Your solo practice was supposed to end at 7:30, but you usually stayed longer—everyone knew that. No one ever came after you. No one dared.

Until now.

You inhaled slowly, then exhaled.

“Fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “Give us five minutes to cool down and grab our stuff. You guys can have it after.”

Jungwon looked relieved. “Seriously? That’s—thank you.”

Heeseung threw a little fist bump in the air, whispering a triumphant “yes” under his breath.

Without another word, the group finally started moving—some quieter than others—as they drifted further into the practice room. You and Kazuha stepped aside instinctively, watching as they began unloading.

The boy with the second guitar case unclipped it and set it gently on the floor. Jungwon followed him, coiling a few amp cords neatly, while someone near the door nearly dropped a whole keyboard with a loud thud.

You flinched.

Your jaw tensed. "Seriously?"

“Sorry!” the boy called out quickly, already scrambling to fix it.

Ni-ki ducked around him and pushed the door open again, holding it wide with his foot as another boy wheeled in a full drum kit like this was a full-blown arena setup and not just a shared university room.

“Careful with that, I tuned the snare this morning!” Jungwon scolded, and Ni-ki just huffed dramatically but helped anyway.

Across the room, someone handed Heeseung a mic stand like it was a sword and he was about to lead them into battle. You watched with a quiet sigh as chaos began blooming in your sacred space.

Beside you, Kazuha chuckled under her breath.

You nudged her shoulder with your bag. “Your cousin’s just as hardheaded as you, you know that?”

She laughed softly, looping her sweatshirt over her arm. “I know. I’m sorry. It runs in the family.”

You knelt down to grab your ballet flats, towel already half-hanging from your tote, when a shadow fell across your line of sight.

You looked up.

It was the same boy who had nearly dropped the keyboard earlier. He was standing in front of you now, hands clasped in front of him, an almost apologetic smile stretched wide across his face.

His hair was cropped short, brushing just above his brows. His eyes practically sparkled.

“Hi,” he said brightly, almost like he meant it. “I’m Sunoo. I—uh—just wanted to say I’m really sorry about earlier.”

You blinked. He had that kind of smile that felt like it came with its own lighting—warm, unguarded, maybe a little too charming for your own good.

You stood, slipping your shoes into your bag. “It’s not that big of a deal,” you said lightly, waving a hand as if to brush it off.

Still, he bowed slightly, earnestness in every movement. “Still. I apologize. Jay usually isn’t that…”

He hesitated, searching for a polite word.

You offered, “Intense?”

He laughed. “Yeah. That. Or dramatic. Or socially incapable, depending on the day.”

You let out a small, unwilling laugh. Damn him and his infectious energy.

Behind him, the tall boy who had helped Ni-ki drag the drum set in let out a sigh as he leaned against the mirror wall, arms crossed.

“Yeah, seriously,” he said, brushing hair away from his forehead. “We don’t usually come in here, and we didn’t mean to crash your rehearsal or anything.”

You turned to him, a little caught off guard by his voice—deep, smooth, kind of casual in a way that made you think he wasn’t used to saying sorry out loud.

“Oh—yeah, I’m Sunghoon,” he said quickly, standing up straighter. “I play bass. In the band. That’s here. Right now.”

You raised an eyebrow at his awkward phrasing. He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling under his breath.

“Sorry. That came out weird.”

Before you could respond, Ni-ki—who’d reappeared from behind the keyboard stand—elbowed Sunghoon in the ribs with a mischievous grin and said, “You mean I’m the better bass player.”

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. He just deadpanned, “Ni-ki, shut the fuck up.”

“You say that now,” Ni-ki replied, holding up a guitar clip like it was a trophy. “But when I go solo and top the charts, don’t come crying.”

Kazuha laughed, grabbing your arm gently as she looped hers through yours. “Okay, that’s our cue. We should go before my cousin starts making powerpoints about why he deserves a bass solo.”

Ni-ki beamed. “You’d watch it, admit it.”

“I wouldn’t,” she said flatly, already tugging you toward the door.

Despite Ni-ki being the only one actually saying goodbye, a soft chorus of murmured goodnights and lazy waves followed behind you—Jungwon giving you a polite nod, Sunoo offering a sparkly smile, and Heeseung shooting a goofy two-finger salute like this was some kind of after-school special.

You glanced back once, just briefly—only to find Jay still watching you.

Still standing near the mic stand, still quiet, expression unreadable.

There was no smirk, no apology. Just stillness. Like he was memorizing something, but didn’t want to show it.

The door shut with a soft click behind you.

The hallway outside was colder—empty, quiet, the lights humming faintly above your head. Your footsteps echoed against the tiled floor, and Kazuha’s arm still looped around yours like second nature.

You sighed as you leaned into her slightly, the ache in your shoulders finally catching up to you.

“My God,” you muttered, pressing a palm to your forehead. “Your cousin’s band is weird.”

Kazuha laughed, eyes crinkling as she bumped your hip with hers. “I told you they were rowdy. You just didn’t believe me.”

“I thought you meant, like… normal band rowdy. Tattoos. Bad rehearsal schedules. Not actual sitcom-level weird.”

“Oh, that is their normal,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You let out a soft scoff, nudging her with your shoulder. “You say that like you hang out with them.”

“I don’t,” Kazuha said quickly, laughing. “Not really. I mean, I’ve never actually seen them practice or perform—Ni-ki just never shuts up about them.”

You hummed in response, the sound quiet between your steps as the two of you walked in sync down the empty corridor. Your shoes squeaked faintly against the tile, the overhead lights casting soft shadows on the tiled floor.

Now that the noise and tension of the room had faded behind you, your body started to relax, step by step.

Kazuha glanced at you, her expression thoughtful. “But like… I have heard they’re popular or something?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Popular how?”

“Like… actually good,” she said, lifting her hands a little as if that explained everything.

“Ni-ki said they’ve won the university’s Battle of the Bands for the last few years. Every time. So now they automatically get a slot in all the school events—like festivals, College Week, charity nights…”

You slowed your steps, head tilting slightly. “Wait,” you said, frowning. “You mean… those guys are the ones that perform after us during College Week?”

She blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

You furrowed your brows, trying to remember. You knew College Week. Your dance troupe always had one of the final performances. But you never stayed long enough to watch what came after.

By then, you were usually backstage, catching your breath, fixing your makeup, or already halfway home with sore feet and sore everything else.

“Huh,” you muttered. “Weird. I’ve never actually heard them before. Like—properly.”

Kazuha hummed in agreement beside you as the two of you turned left at the corner, heading toward the student entrance.

“They’re good,” she said casually. “From what I’ve heard. Ni-ki plays me demos sometimes when I sleep over and pretend to be asleep.”

You looked at her. “That’s creepy.”

She snorted. “He puts his phone under my pillow. He calls it subliminal promotion.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing lightly down the hall.

The two of you finally spotted the main exit doors at the far end of the building, glowing under the fluorescent lights like a way out of chaos.

Kazuha reached forward to push one open, and the second the glass door swung wide, a rush of cold night air swept in—sharp and biting, cutting through the warmth clinging to your skin from practice.

You shivered, instinctively hugging your arms over your chest. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath, stepping outside. “I forgot to bring my leg warmers again.”

The sky had already deepened into a soft navy, stars just barely peeking out beyond the clouds. The faint buzz of field lights nearby hummed in the distance, illuminating the quiet path that cut across campus toward the dormitories.

Kazuha slipped her arm back through yours. “You’re always forgetting those.”

“I was in a rush!” you said defensively. “Besides, I wasn’t planning on staying that long. Or dealing with an entire band.”

“I’d say that’s your own fault for being talented and dedicated,” she teased, bumping your hip lightly.

You groaned, breath fogging in the air. “Wanna crash at my dorm tonight?”

Kazuha perked up immediately, turning to you with eyes bright. “Wait—are you gonna cook curry?”

You narrowed your eyes at her, lips twitching. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope,” she grinned, not even a second of hesitation.

She tightened her hold on your arm and tugged you faster down the pavement.

“Come on, let’s stop by the convenience store near the dorms first! You need something warm. Let’s get you that fancy black tea you like—what’s it called again? The one that smells like actual flowers and money?”

You rolled your eyes, but let her pull you anyway, the weight of her excitement warming you more than your sweatshirt did.

“It’s not that fancy,” you mumbled. “It just doesn’t taste like cardboard.”

Kazuha snorted. “Mm, cardboard tea. A classic.”

Your steps fell in sync again, the gravel path crunching beneath your shoes as the golden glow of the dorms and the soft neon flicker of the convenience store came into view.

“Do we need anything else?” you asked absentmindedly, your voice quiet against the wind.

“Just curry cubes,” she said, already scanning the store shelves from outside. “And maybe a pack of Pocky if you’re feeling soft.”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m not feeling soft.”

“You will be,” she grinned, tugging open the door. The bell jingled.

The lock clicked softly as you turned the key, Kazuha hovering patiently behind you with her arms full of grocery bags and her cheeks pink from the walk.

You pushed the door open with your shoulder, and the familiar scent of soft linen, citrus cleaner, and a little bit of cat greeted you instantly.

The moment the door cracked open—a little white blur padded across the wooden floor, tail high and curling like a question mark.

You lit up. “Hi, Doobu! Mommy’s home,” you cooed, immediately crouching down to scoop her up.

She let out a pleased trill, practically melting into your arms like she’d been waiting all day for this moment. Her fur was as soft as ever—warm and fluffy and slightly dramatic as she pressed her face to your chin and gave a little snuffly sigh.

“God, clingy,” you mumbled affectionately, rubbing your cheek against hers as her tail flicked lazily behind her.

Kazuha stepped in behind you, carefully closing the door with her foot as she dropped the plastic bags down on the small table beside the TV.

“For a school dorm, you’re living kinda luxurious,” she muttered, glancing around.

She wasn’t wrong.

Your dorm was unusually spacious—one of the perks of applying early and having ‘scholarship kid who needs personal space for daily injury recovery’ written in your file.

There was a small kitchenette in the corner, a two-seater couch against the wall, fairy lights strung up along your bookshelf, and a thick pink carpet you refused to get rid of even though Doobu had shed all over it.

Speaking of—

Doobu sniffed at your shirt suspiciously.

“Yeah, I know,” you said, following her nose with a fond eye roll. “I had to deal with weird boys today.”

Doobu gave a grumpy-sounding purr, like she understood exactly what that meant.

Kazuha came to your side, reaching out to scratch behind Doobu’s ears. “I don’t know what you feed her, seriously,” she said with a shake of her head. “She’s so chonky.”

You laughed. “Cat food, duh.”

Doobu meowed again like she agreed, batting her paw gently at your necklace before giving a little yawn and curling closer into your arms. Her soft belly pressed against your forearm like a warm pillow.

Kazuha leaned her head on your shoulder. “Okay, I vote we wash our faces, put on something fluffy, and start on curry.”

You tilted your head. “You mean I start on curry.”

She gave you an angelic look. “Well, someone’s gotta entertain the cat.”

You both giggled, shoulders bumping gently, the warmth of home already settling around you like a blanket.

Not long after, you’d changed into your fluffiest oversized tee and tied your hair into a messy bun, steam from the rice cooker wafting through your dorm.

Kazuha sat cross-legged at the small dining nook peeling open packets of curry mix like she’d done it a hundred times.

Doobu, in the meantime, had circled your feet three times before flopping dramatically onto her back like she owned the floor.

Fifteen minutes and one mini kitchen disaster later, you were perched on your bed with a steaming bowl of curry and rice, your legs stretched out under a throw blanket.

Kazuha sat beside you, her own bowl balanced on her lap, a green clay facemask smeared evenly across her cheeks—yours was a little more chaotic, mostly because she insisted on artistic freedom when applying it on you.

The TV played softly in the background, some K-drama with way too many dramatic hallway scenes and brooding men in trench coats. You weren’t even fully following the plot anymore, just laughing when Kazuha made commentary.

“Oh my God,” she said, mouth full of rice, “he’s literally been staring at her for five minutes. Say something, you dramatic coat rack.”

You snorted. “He’s trying to speak with his eyes, Zuha. Let him suffer in silence.”

“Okay Shakespeare, relax.”

You giggled again, leaning back on your hands as you spooned more curry into your mouth, warmth blooming in your stomach.

Doobu had settled into her cat bed just under your bunk, tail flicking occasionally as she napped peacefully, her belly rising and falling in the soft golden glow of your fairy lights.

Just as you reached for your water, your phone buzzed loudly on your bedside table.

Both of you froze at the sound cutting through the moment, your ringtone echoing awkwardly in the room like it didn’t belong.

Kazuha paused the drama with her chopsticks still in hand. “Who is it?”

You glanced at the screen, brow lifting. “Unknown number.”

She hummed. “Might be important.”

You sighed, putting your bowl on the side table and swiping to answer as you leaned back against your headboard. “Hello?”

“Hey, um—sorry—hi! Is this (L/N) (Y/N)?” the voice asked, polite and just slightly breathless. “This is Jungwon. From earlier.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“…How’d you get my number?”

There was a pause on the line, followed by the distinct sound of Ni-ki laughing in the background.

“Oh—I, uh—sorry! I came from Student Affairs with Ni-ki and Jay just now,” Jungwon explained quickly, clearly flustered. “Ni-ki was trying to reach Kazuha but apparently—uh…”

“She blocked him,” you finished flatly, glancing at Kazuha.

She didn’t even flinch. “Deserved. He replaced my healing playlist with Mongolian throat singing.”

You blinked. “…That’s so specific.”

She shrugged. “It was an experience.”

Back on the phone, Jungwon stammered, “Y-Yeah, well, I’m only calling because, uh—not me, technically—Jay gave me his phone to call you.”

You blinked again, this time slower.

Your fingers tensed a little around the device. “Jay?”

“Mhm,” Jungwon said sheepishly. “I mean—it’s his phone number, not mine. But, like, he told me to—um—just give him the phone. Give—give me a sec—”

You heard more shuffling, the soft thud of something being handed over, and then a low, familiar voice spoke next.

“Hey.”

You sat up straighter without meaning to.

Jay’s voice was smooth. A little quiet. Just like earlier. But something about hearing it now—soft and direct, in your private space—made your stomach flutter once.

“This is kind of last-minute,” he continued, “but our practice room’s under construction. There’s water damage and they’re doing renovations.”

You blinked. “Okay…”

He sounded mildly annoyed now, like it physically pained him to say the next part.

“It’ll be down for at least two weeks,” he muttered. “And apparently we need to share your room. The studio, I mean. Starting tomorrow.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed.

You blinked at the wall.

“…You’re calling to tell me that we’re gonna be stuck together for two weeks?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Jay said, voice dry.

“Wow. You sound thrilled.”

“I’m always thrilled,” he deadpanned.

You pulled the phone away from your ear slightly and looked at Kazuha.

She was already wide-eyed. “What? What’d he say?”

You pressed the phone back. “Why do you guys even need to use the studio again?”

There was a pause. A beat.

Then Jay said, quieter this time, “Because we have a performance soon. A big one. We need the space.”

You exhaled through your nose, head tilting back against the wooden headboard, your eyes focused on the ceiling as a long silence stretched between you. The line didn’t hang up. He didn’t say more.

Neither did you.

There was a pause. Then—

“Seven onwards,” Jay replied, tone steady.

You closed your eyes for a beat, pressing your lips together. That meant long nights. Tired legs. Sharing mirrors. Sharing space.

“Okay,” you murmured. “Got it.”

Another pause. Faint static hummed between your ears. And then—

“…Thanks.”

The line went dead before you could say anything else.

You lowered your phone slowly, setting it on the nightstand beside your lamp, and let out a low cough—half irritation, half disbelief—as you mumbled under your breath:

“Rude.”

Kazuha was still staring at you, her bowl long forgotten, chopsticks perched against the rim like they’d been abandoned mid-bite.

“Well?” she prompted, peeling the now-dry mask from her cheek. “What did they want?”

You leaned back against the headboard again, letting your legs stretch out in front of you as Doobu gave a tiny sneeze from her bed below.

“They need the studio,” you muttered.

Kazuha blinked. “Again?”

“For two more weeks.” You rubbed your temple. “Apparently their practice room’s under construction or whatever. Water damage.”

She blinked again, expression unreadable. Then she shrugged. “Well… that’s not that bad.”

You whipped your head toward her. “You weren’t the one being stared down by Hoodie McBrooding in the middle of rehearsal.”

She snorted. “I was there. He wasn’t that scary.”

“He looked at me like I insulted his guitar.”

“Maybe you did.”

You threw a pillow at her, making her laugh as she ducked and caught it mid-air.

“I’m just saying,” she said with a grin, fluffing the pillow behind her, “if they’re really sharing the space, this might actually be kind of fun.”

“Fun is not the word I’d use,” you muttered, eyeing your phone like it might ring again.

Kazuha leaned back beside you, slipping her feet under your blanket. “Mm. I give it three days before someone flirts with you.”

You blinked. “Why would you say that?”

She grinned. “Because I know men. And I know your face.”

You groaned, pulling your blanket up over your head. Doobu meowed from below, clearly siding with Kazuha.

It was six in the morning when you blinked awake to the weight of soft fur pressed against your arm.

The bed wasn’t empty—Doobu was curled into a fluffy comma by your side, tail twitching as if to say how dare you even think about moving right now.

You reached over to gently run your hand down her back, your fingers brushing the warmth of her little body as she gave a contented little sigh in her sleep.

Your phone buzzed.

You squinted against the sudden brightness as you grabbed it, groaning as your dry eyes adjusted. The first thing on your screen was a message from Kazuha.

zuha [6:00 A.M.]: left at 5am to get ready, good luck waking up loser 💗

You scoffed under your breath, thumbs already typing a grumpy reply before tossing the phone aside. Still, you sighed and sat up, letting your legs dangle off the side of the bed.

You stretched slowly, your spine cracking, and rubbed the sleep from your eyes as Doobu rolled onto her back like a little queen.

“Be good today,” you murmured as you leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head. She purred, obviously pleased.

You padded into the bathroom, letting the warm spray of the shower melt away the heaviness from your limbs. Afterward, you tied your hair up, added a little makeup—just some blush and gloss and eyeliner to hide how tired you felt.

You pulled on a soft white ruffled blouse, tucked it into a pair of pale jeans, and layered a white jacket over it. Warm enough to fight the cold, but still light enough to move in.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled faintly.

You kissed Doobu goodbye at the door, her round eyes blinking sleepily up at you from her cat bed.

“Don’t start a coup while I’m gone.”

She meowed like she made no promises.

The walk to campus was quiet.

The sky was still tinted pale gray, the kind that hinted at the rising sun behind soft clouds. Your boots clicked softly on the pavement as the cold air kissed your cheeks, your breath visible in soft puffs.

You moved slowly, soaking it in. The silence. The morning stillness. The kind of peace that only existed before the world woke up.

Until footsteps joined yours.

At first, you thought it was coincidence. But they fell in sync with yours too easily, too closely. Your shoulder barely brushed against fabric—black fabric.

You turned slightly, just enough to see the hem of a long, inky button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms, a silver watch glinting at the wrist. Black jeans. Clean loafers. And a guitar case slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing.

Jay.

You raised a brow. “…Stalking me already?”

He didn’t look at you, but you saw the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I live across the quad. You just happen to be slow.”

You blinked. “Not slow. Calm. It’s called appreciating the morning.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s cold. That’s all I’m appreciating.”

You gave him a look, then returned your gaze to the path ahead. “Nice fit, though.”

That made him pause for half a second. Then he glanced down at his shirt like he forgot he was even wearing it. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

You caught a glimpse of his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the calm in his eyes, the way his hair was still slightly tousled from the wind.

Admittedly, the man had taste.

“Didn’t think black-on-black was a thing before sunrise,” you said dryly.

Jay glanced sideways. “You’re wearing white like you’re in a coffee commercial.”

You choked. “Excuse me?”

“All white, floating around in a dreamscape,” he deadpanned, eyes still forward. “All you need is a cup and a wind machine.”

You couldn’t help it—you let out a laugh, the sound cracking through the crisp air.

Jay didn’t say anything, but you saw the faintest quirk at the edge of his lips again. Like he was trying really hard not to smile.

“…You’re weird,” you mumbled, glancing at him again.

“Takes one to know one,” he replied.

You scoffed, raising a brow in mock offense as your eyes flicked toward him.

“Wow,” you muttered, hands deep in your jacket pockets. “Coming for my entire personality before sunrise. That’s bold.”

Jay only shrugged, unbothered, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smirk. “You started it.”

The two of you fell into silence again—not the uncomfortable kind, but the type that sat easily between two people who didn’t know each other well enough to fill it, and maybe didn’t mind that.

Your eyes trailed over the field as you passed it, where a few student athletes were already stretching, setting up cones and goalposts. You watched as one of them kicked a ball lazily toward the net.

“You play bass like Ni-ki and Sunghoon?” you asked suddenly, keeping your gaze forward.

Jay shook his head once. “No. Electric guitar.”

You nodded, quietly filing it away in the drawer of things you weren’t sure why you wanted to remember.

He didn’t offer more, but you didn’t really mind. You were content with the crunch of gravel beneath your boots, the wind playing with the strands of your hair that had come loose. The cold nipped at your cheeks, leaving them pink, but you liked the sting—it kept you awake.

A soft rustle came from your side, and you noticed Jay glancing at you again.

He wasn’t subtle about it. Not really.

He looked at your hair where it swayed against your shoulder, at the faint shimmer of your highlighter catching the morning light, at the soft pink ribbon that dangled from your tote bag—a leftover from the ballet shoes you had shoved inside before leaving.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look away either. Not until you caught him.

You turned slightly, brows raised, your mouth tugging upward at one side. “Staring’s kind of rude, you know.”

Jay blinked, deadpan. “You have glitter on your cheek.”

You blinked back, lifting your hand to swipe at your face. “Do I?”

He watched you try, then sighed and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of tissues. Wordlessly, he offered you one.

You took it with a quiet thanks, dabbing carefully.

“Better?” you asked.

Jay looked at you, slower this time. “Yeah.”

Another moment passed before you tilted your head toward him. “So what’s the big performance all about?”

He looked back at you, one brow lifting slightly. “Don’t we have College Week?”

You blinked. Froze. Then groaned like something hit you physically.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “I totally forgot about that.”

Jay actually laughed—soft, deep, amused under his breath. “You perform every year, don’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t remember until like, the week before,” you grumbled. “Last year I sprained my toe trying to cram the choreography into three days.”

Jay’s eyes widened. “That’s possible?”

“Apparently,” you said, exasperated. “My teacher still makes fun of me for it.”

A beat passed.

“…You’re kind of dramatic,” Jay said.

“You’re one to talk. You wear black button-ups at dawn.”

Jay gave you a look, but you caught the way the corners of his lips pulled upward.

The gates to the building appeared ahead of you, golden light just beginning to slip past the horizon behind it. You exhaled, watching your breath cloud in the air.

Jay suddenly spoke, quieter this time. “You looked like you liked the morning.”

You turned to him, a little startled by the softness in his tone.

“I do,” you replied, voice matching his. “It’s quiet.”

He nodded. “You look like you belong in it.”

That made you pause.

You didn’t have time to respond—Jay pulled the heavy glass door open for you and gestured subtly for you to go ahead. His face was unreadable, that same practiced neutral he always wore, but the soft pink dusting the tips of his ears gave him away.

“Thanks,” you murmured, stepping inside.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied simply, the door shutting softly behind the two of you as the cold gave way to polished floors and tall ceilings.

You both fell into step again, your footsteps echoing slightly as you walked side by side down the long hallway of Decelis’ east wing. The building was quiet this early in the morning—some classrooms still locked, lights flickering to life one by one, janitors mopping in the distance.

Jay glanced over at you. “What’s your first class?”

You blinked, glancing down at your schedule in your head. “Oh. Arts. I think we’re covering expressionist pieces this week.”

He hummed, nodding. “Makes sense. You… kind of give that vibe.”

You squinted at him. “What vibe?”

He looked straight ahead. “You know. All poetic and floaty and stuff.”

You snorted. “Wow. So insightful.”

Jay smirked, just barely. “I try.”

“And you?”

“Business math,” he replied, as if the weight of the world rested on those two cursed words.

You groaned instantly. “Ugh. Math.”

Jay turned to you, brow lifting. “You don’t like it?”

“Hate it,” you declared with no hesitation. “With a burning passion. I think numbers were invented just to make me cry.”

That made him laugh under his breath. “That’s dramatic.”

“You look emo right now. Don’t talk to me about dramatic.”

You saw the corners of his lips twitch again, his eyes dancing with quiet amusement.

And then—just like that—you came to a stop.

You glanced at the plaque beside the door:

ROOM 1B-04 ART HISTORY – PROF. CHOI

“Well,” you said, adjusting your tote bag higher on your shoulder. “This is me.”

Jay looked up at the sign and nodded once. “Art history. Got it.”

You looked up at him, lips quirking into a soft smile. “Try not to die in math.”

“No promises,” he said with a small shrug.

You hesitated just a second longer. “Bye, Jay.”

He gave you a small wave—fingers lifted, the gesture almost lazy, but his eyes lingered for a beat too long. “Later.”

The door clicked shut behind you as you entered, and Jay stood there for a second, just looking at the nameplate again.

Then—without a word—he turned and walked all the way back down the same hallway the two of you had just come from. He passed the entryway, the glass doors you came in from, then turned toward the elevators at the far side of the west wing.

When he stepped inside, he hit the button for the third floor.

Business math wasn’t even remotely on the way.

And yet he walked you the whole time anyway.

Now, alone in the elevator, Jay leaned back against the cool wall, head tilting up as he let out a long breath.

‘It was just a nice gesture’, he told himself.

Nothing big. Nothing deep. Just something to make up for being—well. Kind of an asshole last night.

He shook his head once, jaw tightening at the thought. He’d been tired, irritated, and none of that was an excuse—but still. You didn’t deserve that.

You didn’t even react the way most people did. No sarcasm, no petty comeback, no wide-eyed awe or annoying flirtation. You just went silent at him. Met him exactly where he was.

Yeah. Had to make up for it. That’s all.

The elevator chimed softly.

The third floor was just starting to wake up—some lights flickering on, the coffee machine across the hall hissing in the break room, students murmuring half-asleep greetings as they passed. Jay walked down the long corridor, muscle memory carrying him as he reached the classroom near the end of the hallway.

He pushed the door open with one hand.

“Yo,” came Jake’s voice from across the room, already lounging with a pen in his mouth. “You’re a few minutes late.”

Jay didn’t even glance at the clock. “Yeah. I was busy.”

Jake raised a brow, his smirk a little too knowing. “With what?”

Jay walked past him, slinging his guitar case off his shoulder and leaning it carefully against the chair next to his. “Just busy,” he said simply, voice flat as he pulled his seat out.

Jake snorted. “Okay, then. Mysterious rockstar things, got it.”

Jay didn’t respond, only exhaled through his nose, resting his arms on the desk.

Jake didn’t press any further.

It was only after the classroom started to fill in around them—students trickling in one by one, the professor still nowhere in sight—that Jay reached into the pocket of his pants.

He pulled out his phone, screen lighting up with a soft glow.

He opened his contacts and stopped at the one number Jungwon had dialed last night to call you.

Just a random string of digits. No name. No photo.

He hesitated, then tapped edit.

Then paused. His eyes flicked to your tote bag again in his mind, to the soft pink ribbon hanging out like a little flag.

He typed in your name slowly, deliberately—

(Y/N) 🎀

Jay stared at it for a second. Just long enough for the corner of his mouth to lift—barely there, just the ghost of a smile.

Then he hit save.

And tucked the phone away like it meant nothing.

Even though, deep down, he knew it already meant a little too much.

It was just past one in the afternoon, and you were quite literally seconds away from collapsing into your desk.

The sun filtered lazily through the windows of the arts building, golden and too tempting, especially when paired with the drone of your professor’s voice at the front of the room.

“…and if we consider the range of motion relative to the joint axis, then the flexibility of the hamstring significantly affects the body’s—”

You drowned her out halfway through.

Kinesiology. Again.

God, how many times do we have to talk about hamstrings?

Your cheek rested on your fist, elbow propped on your desk, lips pursed in a subtle pout as your professor continued with the enthusiasm of someone who had never seen the sun in her life.

“Now, these handouts,” she said, finally changing the slide on the screen behind her. “Please read them thoroughly—we’ll be applying this next week during assessments. Pass them around.”

You barely resisted the urge to groan. The stack of papers was passed to the row in front of you, then to you. You took one, handed it back without a glance, and immediately began packing up the moment the bell rang.

Your bag hit your shoulder with a soft thump, the only thing more desperate than your escape being the dramatic sigh you let out as you pushed through the doors and stepped into the hallway.

The cafeteria was already buzzing when you got there. Somehow still not flooded—yet. You weaved between groups of students chatting loudly, trays clinking, the smell of coffee and fried chicken lingering in the air.

You spotted a seat by one of the tall windows—sunlight spilling across the table like it was calling your name.

You made a beeline for it and dropped into the chair with a soft huff, letting your shoulders relax for the first time all day.

Pulling out your laptop and your phone, you set them both down and opened your notifications—only to be met with a string of messages from your group chat with your friends.

zuha [1:14 P.M.]: guys i can’t make it to lunch TT i have to finish two portfolios before 3

chaewon [1:14 P.M.]: same! i’ve got a crit w/ my prof in 20 minutes

yunjin [1:14 P.M.]: i’m dying in editing class bye

manchae [1:15 P.M.]: pls save me

kkura [1:15 P.M.]: sorry baby i’ll treat you to strawberry milk later

You sighed, thumbs tapping out a quick reply.

you [1:15 P.M.]: okay study well :( don’t forget to eat!!

You turned off your phone, placing it face-down on the table, and opened your laptop with a soft click. A sea of reports blinked back at you—deadlines lining the corners of your screen like silent threats.

You pulled one up, adjusted your seating, and leaned in to start typing, the warmth of the sun kissing your cheek as your fingers danced across the keyboard.

The ambient chatter faded into soft background noise—until a shadow crossed over your screen.

You paused, blinking, then glanced down—familiar shoes coming into view. Black loafers. Paired with dark jeans cuffed slightly at the ankle. And then—

“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice asked, low and smooth.

You tilted your head up, eyes meeting a very Jay-like expression: blank, almost bored, but eyes just a bit too focused on you to match the rest of his face.

He wasn’t carrying his guitar today. Just a laptop tucked under his arm and his phone in hand. Minimal, neat. The sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt were still rolled up to his elbows.

Jay nodded once and sat down across from you, sliding into the chair with quiet ease. He placed his laptop on the table, phone on top of it. His eyes flicked over to your trayless setup.

“You’re not with Kazuha?” he asked, voice lower than it needed to be—like the question was just for you.

You sighed, slumping slightly in your chair. “Nope. All my friends bailed on me for deadlines.”

Jay’s head tilted slightly to the side. “But you’re here. In the cafeteria. And…” he glanced at your table, “you’re not eating anything.”

You let out a short laugh, soft and almost embarrassed. “I’ll eat in a few. I was gonna finish something first.”

Jay said nothing for a second. Then stood up, brushing invisible lint off his shirt. “What do you want?”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

He looked down at you, dark eyes steady. “To eat. You said you’re not eating yet. So what do you want?”

“I—Jay, you don’t have to—” You frowned a little, sitting up straighter.

Jay clicked his tongue lightly, cutting you off. “Come on. What do you want?” His voice was gentle, but it left no room for arguing.

And god—he was tall. Standing there with the sun lighting up the ends of his hair, shirt slightly wrinkled from his classes, his height felt… kind of overwhelming. You sighed, giving in.

“Fine,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. “Anything. I’m not picky.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

You pursed your lips, thinking. “…Banana milk. And maybe tonkatsu with curry if they still have some.”

He nodded. “Any allergies?”

You shook your head. “None.”

Jay gave the smallest smile—so quick you almost missed it—and turned around to head toward the food stalls.

You watched him go, unable to stop your gaze from lingering on the clean lines of his back, the careful way he walked, the way he held his phone in one hand and checked something on it like he was making sure he got your order right.

The heat was crawling up your cheeks before you even realized it, blooming just under your skin and warming your ears.

You looked away, exhaling through your nose as you tapped your keyboard blindly, pretending to be busy—even though your fingers weren’t even on the right keys anymore.

But, your eyes found him again.

Jay stood by the food stall, head tilted slightly down as he tapped on his phone with one hand, the other holding the receipt.

He said something to the lady behind the counter—voice too soft for you to hear from this distance—and you saw her nod and begin plating the orders.

Your gaze wandered—he stood so casually, weight resting on one leg, hair slightly mussed from the wind earlier. There was a quiet patience to him, one that surprised you more than it should have.

You sighed softly, more to yourself than anything, muttering under your breath as you leaned forward, “I could’ve bought my own food…”

Still, you didn’t move. Just watched. And when he finally turned and walked back toward you—two trays balanced carefully in his hands—your heart had the audacity to skip.

He placed them down with quiet precision, yours sliding just in front of you as the scent of warm curry hit your nose.

You blinked. “Thanks.”

Jay gave the tiniest smile, barely there. “No problem.” And he sat back down like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You glanced at the tray. Banana milk, tonkatsu, steaming white rice with curry just the way you liked it. You didn’t even remember saying half the details.

He pushed a set of utensils toward you without a word, and you blinked again, heart fluttering at the small gesture.

“Thanks… again,” you murmured, accepting them as you pushed your electronics aside.

Jay did the same, nudging his laptop farther away as he grabbed his chopsticks and cracked them apart with a soft snap.

There was a moment of comfortable silence. Just the two of you and the hum of the cafeteria around you.

You fiddled with your banana milk straw for a second before asking, “Where’s your band? Thought they’d be glued to you.”

Jay took a sip of his miso soup, looking unbothered.

“They’re all busy. Practice. Class. Jungwon’s chasing down a professor. Ni-ki’s retaking a test he didn’t study for. Heeseung’s probably asleep somewhere.”

You laughed. “Sunoo?”

“Also probably asleep.”

You shook your head, smiling. “I didn’t know you did lunch like this.”

Jay didn’t look up as he stirred his curry around gently with his spoon. “I don’t,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Oh.”

That one word fell from your lips heavier than intended—softer, a little too laced with disappointment. Your smile faltered just a bit, a quiet frown forming before you could stop it.

But then Jay set his spoon down, the quiet clink of metal against tray pulling your eyes back to his. “But,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet yours, “I love curry.”

You blinked again, confused, but then—

“And you,” he continued, voice calm but not cold, “need to eat.”

Your breath caught, just for a second.

Jay was staring at you—not in a way that felt overbearing or cocky, but in a way that looked like he was trying to read you.

Not just the expression on your face, but the space behind your eyes, like there were answers only you could give. His gaze was steady, thoughtful, just the faintest softness lingering in the corners.

You stared back, lips parting slightly. You weren’t used to this side of him—not the aloof reputation, not the guitar-slinging campus enigma that everyone whispered about. No, this was something else entirely.

You smiled, quiet and warm. “Thank you, Jay. Really.”

His lips twitched into a small smile as he nodded once. “No problem.”

He went back to his food like it was no big deal, but your heart felt anything but calm.

You tried to do the same, digging into your curry with a distracted hum, before glancing back at him. “So… how much do I owe you—?”

“No,” he said instantly, cutting you off.

You blinked. “What?”

“No,” he repeated, tone firm but not unkind.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “But I want to—”

Jay gave you a look—before he reached across the table, plucked your unopened banana milk off your tray like it was his, and silently started unwrapping the straw.

You stared as he poked the straw through the foil with surgical precision, then slid the drink back in front of you without a word.

“…Still,” you mumbled, fingers wrapping around the bottle.

Jay met your eyes. “And I said no. You’re not paying me for any of the meals you’ll be eating when you’re with me.”

That made you pause.

Your hand froze mid-air. Your brain might’ve, too.

“…When I’m with you?” you repeated, voice a little more breathless than you meant it to be.

Jay’s lips curled into the tiniest smirk. It wasn’t smug—it was playful. Mischievous. The kind of smirk someone wears when they know exactly what they’re doing to you.

“Depends,” he said, eyes flicking from your drink to your face. “Are you planning to eat lunch alone again tomorrow?”

You opened your mouth to respond—maybe to say yes, maybe to say something clever—but all that came out was a short laugh and a shake of your head.

“I guess that depends,” you echoed back, your grin growing.

He raised a brow, a subtle challenge.

“On whether you’re showing up with curry again,” you teased, sipping your banana milk.

Jay chuckled under his breath, low and smooth. “Then I guess I’ve got my answer.”

You tried to focus on eating after that, really—you tried—but something about the warmth on your cheeks and the smug little tilt of his mouth had you poking at your rice with more enthusiasm than coordination.

Still, you managed a few bites, asking him casual things between sips of banana milk.

“So… when did you start playing guitar?”

“Middle school,” he replied, chewing thoughtfully. “My dad had one lying around. Got curious.”

“Is it hard?” you asked, chin resting lightly on your palm.

He raised a brow. “Compared to what?”

“Ballet.”

He scoffed a quiet laugh, like it was the most ridiculous comparison he’d heard all day. “Hard to say. You make ballet look easy.”

You blinked, heart hiccuping a little. “…You’ve seen me dance?”

“Once,” he said with a little shrug, lifting his tray. “Before I scared the shit out of you in your studio.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Right.”

Jay smirked faintly, standing. “Mhmm.”

Before you could pick up your own tray, he was already reaching for it—wordless, fluid, like it was second nature. You moved to stop him.

“Jay—”

“Nope.” He cut you off smoothly, stacking both trays before walking off without looking back.

You sighed, lips twitching upward as you shook your head.

When he returned, he checked the sleek black watch on his wrist, lips tugging down a little. “Come on. We both have one more class this afternoon.”

You blinked, glancing at your laptop. “Already?”

Jay nodded, and just as you started packing up your things, he reached out a hand toward you. You looked at it, confused.

“…What?”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned over, hand brushing against your side as he effortlessly plucked your bag from the seat beside you.

You blinked. “Hey—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, tucking his own laptop under one arm and slinging your bag over the other.

You reached out again to take it back, but he shot you a look—stern, brow raised like a tired parent dealing with a particularly stubborn child.

You huffed. “You’re annoying.”

He chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

Grumbling under your breath, you fell into step beside him as he pushed open the cafeteria doors for you. “So… where’s your next class?”

You sighed dramatically. “Second floor. Art theory.”

Jay nodded. “Come on. I’ll walk you.”

You side-eyed him. “Why are you suddenly so nice to me?”

He smirked, not bothering to look at you. “Maybe I just like carrying your stuff.”

You rolled your eyes, walking a little faster to hide the way your smile grew too wide.

The studio lights cast long shadows over the polished floor, the mirrored walls reflecting every movement with brutal honesty.

You and Kazuha were the only ones left—again. Yunjin had dropped by earlier, but a project pulled her away, leaving you and Kazuha stuck in the studio running Swan Lake for the nth time that week.

You landed on your toes with a little huff, arms curved above your head as you wobbled slightly. “I didn’t even wanna be the White Swan, like come on, give me a break.”

Kazuha looked up from her own stretch, raising an unimpressed brow. “Stop acting like you didn’t fight blood and bone to audition.”

You groaned, flopping back down onto the floor and stretching your legs out in front of you. “Okay, fine. I do want it. But the work is slowly killing me.”

She laughed as she sat beside you, pulling her foot up into a butterfly stretch. “That part’s valid.”

You sighed, leaned back on your hands, and casually added, “Oh, by the way, Jay treated me to lunch earlier.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Kazuha stopped mid-stretch, twisting to look at you so fast you thought she might’ve pulled something. “What?”

You blinked at her, deadpan. “What?”

“What?” she repeated, louder, eyes wide. “Park Jongseong, rock band Jay, treated you to lunch?”

You shrugged, rolling your neck as you moved into another stretch.

“Yeah. We bumped into each other this morning. He walked me to class, then sat with me during lunch ‘cause you all were busy.”

Kazuha stared at you like you’d just said you got proposed to. “Girl—what the fuck? You let that man walk you to class and feed you?”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, brushing your hands over your thighs to shake off the lingering ache.

The hem of your skirt settled lightly against your legs as you turned toward her with a half-annoyed, half-exasperated look. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” she said, stepping forward dramatically, finger pointed, “is that Jay doesn’t just do that. He barely talks to people unless it’s his band. Even Ni-ki was surprised he agreed to this whole studio arrangement.”

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “I mean… he’s not that bad, Zuha. He just did it ‘cause he was eating alone, too.”

Kazuha looked at you flatly. “Yeah. And I’m Korean.”

You squinted. “But you aren’t.”

“Exactly,” she huffed, walking back to the speaker as she tapped the screen and said, “Shut up and get into position.”

You stifled a laugh, fixing the ribbon on your skirt and stepping slowly toward the center of the room. The soft opening chords of Swan Lake echoed through the studio, and almost instinctively, your entire body shifted.

Your breathing slowed, arms lifting in delicate arcs as your chin tilted slightly upward.

Light from the windows caught the sheen of sweat on your collarbones, the glow on your cheekbones, and the pale shimmer of your satin skirt.

You moved like you were born from the music itself—weightless, barely touching the ground.

Kazuha couldn’t help but smile, her gaze soft and proud as she leaned her hip against the mirrored wall, arms folded loosely. “Yeah, (Y/N)’s made to play the White Swan.”

But just as you bent into the first arabesque, a loud bang sounded on the studio door.

Kazuha groaned and immediately pressed pause. “What now—”

You blinked out of your daze, lowering your arms with a frustrated sigh. You padded toward the door, soft steps echoing faintly across the floor as you pulled it open—

And were greeted with a tuft of blonde hair and the brightest grin you’d seen all day.

“Hi there,” Ni-ki said cheerfully, pushing a rolling cart in front of him that carried half of Jungwon’s drumset. His own bass was slung over his back, dangerously close to sliding off.

Behind him, the rest of the band stood loosely huddled with various instruments in hand—Jungwon with his sticks poking out from his tote, Sunghoon balancing his amp like it weighed nothing, and Sunoo waving excitedly.

“Delivery boys,” Heeseung deadpanned with a mock bow.

You blinked. “You’re early.”

“We came straight from class,” Jungwon said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder as he stepped around Ni-ki. “Didn’t want to waste time.”

“You guys could’ve texted,” Kazuha called from inside.

“We did,” Sunoo pouted, stepping in behind Ni-ki. “But someone blocked Ni-ki.”

Kazuha threw him a pointed look. “I told you, deserved.”

Ni-ki dramatically clutched his chest. “I’m literally your family.”

“I said what I said.”

You shook your head fondly as the group started filing in like they owned the place, all noise and energy and guitar straps.

Ni-ki rolled the cart in with zero regard for studio etiquette, and Jake was already dragging an extension cord from the corner like he’d done it a hundred times.

You stepped aside quickly, flattening yourself against the door as Heeseung strode in next, his mic stand folded neatly under one arm and the actual mic dangling precariously from his other hand. He shot you a polite, small smile as he passed.

“Thanks,” he murmured, careful not to bump into you.

Then came Sunghoon, carrying his bass like it was a part of him, the strap slung lazily over one shoulder. He gave you a nod as he maneuvered around Ni-ki’s still-parked cart.

Jay entered last.

His black button-up was slightly unbuttoned now, revealing a sliver of skin that caught the light just enough to make your throat dry.

The strap of his guitar bag sat snug across his chest as he adjusted it, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. He glanced at you and offered a soft, “Hey.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the acknowledgment, but quickly recovered. “Hey,” you replied, stepping back to let him through.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the studio seemed to hum alive with the sounds of their set-up—clinks of metal stands, low murmurs of discussion, and the occasional curse word when Ni-ki nearly dropped part of the drum kit.

Sunoo had gravitated toward Kazuha in the corner, the two chatting animatedly as she tied her hair up again.

“Woah—really? Swan Lake?” Sunoo’s voice carried easily over the sound of Heeseung testing his mic.

Kazuha glanced up at him, her face bright with amusement. “Yeah. Me and (Y/N).”

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “Wait—you’re both in it? That’s… that’s huge, isn’t it? Like, I swear even people who don’t care about ballet know that one.”

Kazuha smirked as she crossed her arms. “She’s playing the White Swan.” She tilted her head toward you with a subtle grin.

Sunoo’s gaze shot to you so fast you froze mid-step. “The White Swan? That’s the big part, right? The main girl?”

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of Jay adjusting his amp a few feet away. “I mean… yeah, but it’s not really finished yet, so—”

“Still,” Sunoo cut in, his grin infectious. “That’s insane. You’ve got to invite us when it’s done. I wanna see it.”

You blinked, surprised at his genuine excitement. “Uh… sure?”

“Promise?”

“I—uh, yeah. Promise.”

“Good.” Sunoo’s smile widened, almost mischievous now as he added, “Jay would wanna see it too, right?”

You caught Jay’s eyes flick up briefly from where he was adjusting his guitar strap. He didn’t say anything, but there was the faintest quirk of his lips before he looked back down.

You cleared your throat softly, heat creeping up your neck to the tips of your ears as you turned on your heel, walking back to where Kazuha and Sunoo were crouched over a tangled mess of speaker wires.

Sunoo shot you a knowing grin the second your shadow fell over them, his eyes sparkling mischievously like he’d caught the tail end of something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Need a hand?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the slight edge of nervousness betrayed you.

Sunoo smirked wider. “We’re good here. But you seem… flustered. Everything okay?”

Kazuha, bless her, didn’t even look up. “Leave her alone, Sunoo.”

You barely had time to respond before Ni-ki came bounding over, rolling his bass strap into his hand. His dyed blonde hair fell into his eyes as he grinned down at you, full of mischief like he was ready to stir up trouble.

“So,” he started, rocking back on his heels, “are you and Kazuha staying to watch? It’s gonna get loud in here, but I promise it’s worth it.”

You blinked up at him, caught a little off guard by his enthusiasm.

“Oh—well, I’m not really sure. We might have to run through some choreography again,” you admitted, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt as you glanced at Kazuha for backup.

“We’ll stay,” Kazuha said simply, already settling herself cross-legged by the speakers like she was setting up for a full private concert.

“Oh,” you murmured, caught between protesting and following her lead. “I guess we’re staying then.”

Ni-ki’s grin widened. “Good. You’ll love it.”

And maybe you were imagining it, but when you caught movement in the mirror across the room, you realized Jay wasn’t watching his reflection like the others.

No—his eyes were on you.

He knelt by his amp, one knee pressed to the hardwood, black button-up sleeves rolled messily up his forearms as he plugged the cable into his guitar.

His fingers moved with practiced ease, but every now and then, his gaze flicked up—not to the tuning pegs, not to his bandmates, but to you. Like he couldn’t help himself.

You froze for half a second under the weight of it, lips parting slightly, feeling every bit like a bunny caught in headlights as Ni-ki kept rambling about their setlist.

Jay’s expression didn’t change, but there was something unreadable in the tilt of his head, the faint crease of his brows, the way his eyes followed your movements even as he reached for the volume knob.

You weren’t sure what to make of it. But it made your chest feel too tight for comfort.

You padded quietly across the wooden floor, the sound of your ballet flats muffled against the worn panels.

Kazuha glanced up at you as you settled beside her, tucking your legs neatly under you. She offered a small smile, the kind that said she noticed the pink lingering on your ears but wasn’t about to say a word about it—not yet anyway.

Your gaze drifted back to the seven boys scattered across the studio. They were lost in their element, voices low but urgent as they muttered among themselves, hands moving quickly as they adjusted knobs, checked wires, and tested mics.

Jungwon stood near the drum set, leaning slightly on a cymbal stand as he gestured toward Sunghoon’s bass. “You’re a little flat on the E string, try tuning up just a hair.”

Sunghoon gave a small nod, fingers turning the tuning peg with practiced precision as he strummed lightly. “Got it. How’s that?”

Heeseung, crouched with his mic in one hand, grinned. “Better. Jungwon’s ears never fail.”

Jake, who was sitting cross-legged by the amp, chimed in. “Do we want to start with Karma or Blessed-Cursed? Karma has a softer open, might be easier to soundcheck.”

Jay was leaning against the wall now, his black top unbuttoned just slightly at the collar as his fingers skimmed the strings of his guitar in a soundless rhythm. He hummed, low in his throat, eyes on the floor but clearly listening.

“Go with Karma. Better flow into the setlist that way.”

“You guys read my mind,” Jungwon said with a grin.

Ni-ki was already setting his bass strap across his shoulder, bouncing slightly on his heels. “Let’s not waste time. I wanna hear how the mix sounds in this room.”

Sunoo, who had been coiling cables neatly, added, “We’ll need to check the balance too. The acoustics here aren’t what we’re used to.”

You couldn’t help but watch them, your chin resting lightly on your knees. There was something mesmerizing about it all—the way their movements fit together like gears in a clock, efficient and familiar. It was chaos, but it was their chaos, and somehow it worked.

“They’re… really good at this,” you murmured softly to Kazuha, not taking your eyes off the group as Heeseung tested his mic with a smooth, “Check, check, one, two.”

“They’ve been at it for years,” Kazuha replied, her voice low but warm.

“Even if some of them don’t seem like it, they’ve always been serious about music. Ni-ki says they barely ever waste a practice session.”

Sunoo pressed a few keys on his keyboard, the warm synth notes cutting softly through the quiet air of the studio.

“Sorry for the wires,” he said into his mic with a sheepish grin, his voice light and melodic even in the test run.

Jungwon cracked his knuckles, adjusted his drumsticks in his hands, and leaned slightly toward his mic, his expression calm but focused.

“We are Enhypen,” he said, voice smooth yet commanding, like he’d done this introduction a hundred times. “And this is Karma. An original.”

You blinked, sitting up straighter. Original?

Before you could fully process it, Jungwon tapped his sticks together—“One, two, three, four”—and the room came alive.

The first sound was Jay’s guitar, low and steady, the distorted riff crawling like electricity over your skin. His fingers moved fluidly over the strings, confident and deliberate.

It wasn’t flashy, but there was weight in every chord, a rhythm that anchored the entire song as Jake joined in with his own guitar, layering bright accents and counter-melodies like sparks dancing over embers.

Then Jungwon came in. His drumming wasn’t frantic—it was calculated, tight, every beat hitting perfectly as his foot worked the bass pedal with precise force.

You could feel it in your chest, that deep, steady thrum that pulled you in and refused to let go.

The rock instrumental wasn’t loud in the grating way you expected from underground bands—it was powerful but clean, addictive even. The kind of sound that could fill an arena yet still feel intimate in a room like this.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until Kazuha nudged your knee.

“They’re… insane, right?” she whispered with a grin, her eyes locked on Ni-ki as he stepped forward for a small bass run.

You could only nod, your eyes catching briefly on Jay again. He wasn’t looking at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn’t looking at his bandmates either.

He was looking at you. Fingers steady on the strings, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

Your eyes were locked on Jay, unable to look away even if you tried. He was in his zone—fingers gliding across the frets with a practiced ease that spoke of years spent mastering his craft.

The way he leaned into his guitar slightly during heavier riffs, the faint furrow of concentration between his brows, even the subtle tap of his foot in time with Jungwon’s drums—it was mesmerizing.

And damn it, he knew how to play. No unnecessary flair, no overcompensation. Just clean, precise chords that bled into Jake’s bright melodies and Sunghoon’s heavy bass lines like they belonged there all along.

They all were good—no, they were phenomenal. Voices layered perfectly, harmonies slipping in like silk as Heeseung and Jake took turns on the vocals, with Sunoo and Jungwon occasionally adding backing vocals that rounded everything out.

Even Ni-ki’s occasional adlibs on the bass fit seamlessly, his energy infectious as his head bobbed with the beat.

As the song started to wind down, the final chorus hit with one last punch of sound—Heeseung’s voice raw and gripping, Jay’s guitar sliding into a clean, lingering note that seemed to hang in the air long after Jungwon gave a final, decisive hit on his snare.

The silence that followed felt heavy but electric.

You exhaled, realizing too late that you’d been holding your breath for most of the song.

Heeseung was the first to break it, pulling back from his mic with a grin. He ran a hand through his hair, sweat sticking a few strands to his forehead as he looked over at you and Kazuha.

“Well?” His voice echoed lightly through the room, still amplified by the mic. “How’d we do?”

You blinked, caught off guard at suddenly being the center of seven pairs of eyes.

Kazuha let out a low whistle, clapping her hands together. “I mean… that was insane. You guys sound like you’re ready to headline college week and then some.”

“Right?” Sunoo grinned, tapping a few playful notes on his keyboard as he leaned toward you. “(Y/N), what about you? You were pretty quiet over there.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, trying to find the words.

“I… you guys were incredible. Like, seriously. I didn’t expect it to sound that—” You made a vague gesture in the air, your mind still fogged from the performance. “—that good. That clean.”

“Clean?” Ni-ki raised a brow, smirking. “That’s it? We pour our souls into the song and all we get is ‘clean?’”

“She’s stunned.” Jay’s voice cut in suddenly, calm but with the faintest edge of amusement. He still sitting on his amp, one leg crossed casually over the other as he adjusted the knobs on his amp. “You can tell.”

Your head snapped to him, but he didn’t look up—fingers busy with the guitar strap, lips twitching into what looked dangerously close to a smirk.

“Guess we’ll take that as a compliment,” Jake chuckled, his dimples deepening as he leaned his guitar against the wall.

“You should.” Your voice was softer now, almost too quiet as your eyes flickered back to Jay. “It was really good.”

The clock above the studio door blinked 11:03 PM in harsh red digits when Jungwon clapped his hands, declaring, “Alright, pack it up before someone locks us in here.”

The sound of zippers, metal clasps, and light chatter filled the space as the boys moved quickly—Jake carefully winding his guitar cable, Sunghoon clicking his keyboard case shut with a soft snap.

Jungwon muttered under his breath as he berated Sunoo, “You almost killed my snare earlier—careful, man. That drum costs more than my entire existence.” Sunoo only laughed sheepishly, clutching said drum like it was a newborn child.

Kazuha was kneeling near the mirrors, folding up her jacket as she handed you your pointe shoes with a little grin.

“Here. Thought you’d want to put these away before they get stepped on.”

“Thanks, Zu,” you murmured, fingers moving to re-lace them neatly before slipping them into your tote. The satin was frayed at the edges, little scars from all the rehearsals you'd been throwing yourself into lately.

By the door, Sunghoon glanced over his shoulder, bass case in hand. “Everyone done?”

“Yes,” came a chorus of voices, yours included as you adjusted your bag strap.

Ni-ki, ever the chaotic younger one, suddenly grabbed Kazuha’s arm as she tried to slip past him.

“Did you film me? Tell me you filmed me—I swear my solo was sick.”

You laughed at Kazuha’s wide-eyed expression as she tried to shake him off. “Ni-ki, let her breathe. She’s not your personal videographer.”

“Should be,” he shot back with a pout, finally releasing her.

The group filed out into the hallway, their footsteps echoing off the polished floors. The building was quieter at this hour—no chatter from other students, no professors barking reminders.

Just the shuffle of sneakers and the occasional creak of instrument cases shifting against shoulders.

You hung back slightly, letting the line of boys and Kazuha move ahead as you pulled your jacket tighter around you. The hall’s faint chill clung to your cheeks. You didn’t notice Jay slowing down until you caught up beside him.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his pace shifting effortlessly to match yours.

“Hey.” His voice was low, almost lost to the quiet hallway.

“Hey,” you replied, tucking your hands into your coat pockets.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just the sort of silence that settled when two people didn’t feel the need to fill it.

The air smelled faintly of dewy grass and cold concrete, your breath coming out in soft little puffs that fogged in front of you. Your gaze drifted to the field outside, now cloaked in darkness with only a few stray lampposts keeping it alive in faint golden light.

“…What did you think?” Jay’s voice broke the quiet, low and steady, pulling your attention back to him.

You blinked at him, tilting your head slightly. “Huh?”

“The songs,” he said, his dark eyes catching a glint of light as he glanced sideways at you. “Were they… good?”

You nodded almost immediately. “Oh—yeah. They’re good. You guys are really good.”

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, his lips pressing together in a subtle nod. But you weren’t done.

“And you’re… really good at playing that guitar,” you added, words softer now. You didn’t know why your cheeks felt warmer as you said it.

Jay looked at you fully this time, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a small, quiet smile. “Thank you.”

You returned it with a shy one of your own before tucking your chin back into the soft folds of your white jacket.

Silence settled again, but this time it felt a little different—like it wasn’t just there by default, but because neither of you wanted to disturb it.

“…Aren’t you cold?” you asked suddenly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He glanced down at you, buried like a marshmallow in your jacket with your tote bag swinging at your side. The faintest laugh escaped him. “No, not really.”

“You’re insane,” you huffed, your breath fogging in the chilly night. You exhaled again on purpose, watching the puff disappear like smoke as you hugged yourself tighter.

Jay chuckled under his breath but didn’t argue.

The group had slowed as they reached the path that split off toward the quad. The boys began murmuring their goodbyes as Sunghoon and Ni-ki led ahead, Sunoo falling back slightly to walk closer to you.

Jay suddenly stopped and turned slightly. “Guys, this is my stop,” he said, jerking his chin toward the dimly lit path across the field.

“Oh yeah, mine too,” Heeseung added, adjusting the strap of his mic stand case on his shoulder.

“See you tomorrow,” Jungwon called, waving his free hand.

Jay’s eyes flicked back to you once more. “Bye, (Y/N).”

Your name on his lips—simple, soft—sent an odd warmth rushing up your neck. You raised a hand hesitantly, giving him a small wave. “Bye.”

Heeseung shot you a bright grin and waved too before both boys began crossing the field.

You didn’t notice Jay slowing for just a moment, glancing back over his shoulder one last time.

His eyes caught on you, furrowed brows and lips parted slightly as you nodded at something Sunoo animatedly explained to you, trying your best to keep up.

A small smile tugged at Jay’s lips as he shook his head almost imperceptibly. Then he turned back, shoving his hands into his pockets and falling into step beside Heeseung as their voices faded into the cool night air.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the sound of their shoes against the pavement echoing faintly in the stillness of campus. The air smelled faintly of cold grass and leftover rain.

“Hey,” Jay said suddenly, voice calm but a little lower than usual. “You wanna stop by Prada with me tomorrow?”

Heeseung’s brows shot up slightly in surprise as he glanced at his friend. “Prada? Sure, I guess. I need a new bag anyway—my old one’s starting to look beat up.”

Jay nodded absently, his gaze fixed ahead at the dimly lit path. “Thought so. You’ve been carrying that same one since last year.”

Heeseung chuckled, adjusting the strap of the mic case on his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. So, what about you? What do you need?”

Jay’s hand brushed against his guitar case as he shifted it slightly, his expression neutral as he replied, “A scarf.”

“A scarf?” Heeseung repeated, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Since when do you get cold?”

Jay’s lips quirked faintly—not enough to call it a smile—as he muttered, “It’s not for me.”

“Oh?” Heeseung tilted his head, curiosity written all over his face. “Then who’s it for?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jay’s tone was final but not sharp, and he quickened his pace slightly as if to move the conversation along.

Heeseung raised his hands in surrender, smirking. “Alright, alright. Your secret’s safe, Romeo.”

Jay shook his head with a quiet scoff, but the faintest flush crept up his neck under the dim streetlights.

They didn’t speak again as they reached their dorm building, the sound of the door clicking shut behind them echoing in the empty hallway.

It was Saturday morning—the kind of golden, lazy one that draped sunlight through your open curtains and made the dust motes dance in the air.

Your dorm room smelled faintly of Sakura’s lavender hand cream and the cup of instant coffee you’d abandoned hours ago.

The TV buzzed softly in the background, some slice-of-life K-drama playing with warm colors and melodramatic music. Laughter bubbled from the floor where Yunjin, Kazuha, and Eunchae sat sprawled out on blankets, their hair tied messily back, snacks scattered between them.

You were curled up at the head of your bed, your laptop balanced on your knees as you furiously typed.

Beside you, Sakura sat cross-legged, her hands skillfully moving a crochet hook through pastel yarn. The soft sound of her work was oddly calming against your clacking keyboard.

“Is that your Art History paper?” Sakura asked without looking up, her voice soft but teasing as she looped another stitch.

You let out a distracted hum, barely glancing at her. “Yeah… it’s due at three. I’m almost done.”

“Almost done, she says,” Yunjin snorted, tilting her head back from the floor to peer at you. “Why are you even cramming that? Didn’t the professor give you like… a week?”

“I thought it would be easy, okay?” you muttered defensively, your brows knitting as you hit delete on a sentence for the third time. “Turns out, it’s not.”

Chaewon let out a giggle from where she was cradling Doobu in her lap. The cat was purring like a tiny engine, squishing its face happily into her hoodie sleeve.

“Yeah, you hear that, Doobu? Mommy’s a really bad crammer, huh? Good thing your aunts aren’t.”

You shot her a mock glare over your screen, your lips twitching despite yourself. “Ha. Ha. So funny, Chae. Keep talking—I’ll assign you to finish this paper for me.”

Eunchae snorted and threw a pillow lightly at you. “She’d probably do a better job.”

You caught it with one hand, tossing it back at her with a small laugh. “Traitors. All of you.”

“Not a traitor,” Kazuha said from the floor, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of tteokbokki she’d brought from the convenience store earlier.

“I’m just saying… you’ve been acting busy all week. Between rehearsals and… other things.”

Her voice trailed, and Yunjin’s head snapped toward her with a grin. “Other things? Wait. Wait. Did something happen?”

You felt your fingers hesitate on the keyboard for a second too long, and that was enough for Yunjin to pounce. “Oh my God. You’ve been quiet since yesterday too. Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“I think there is,” Sakura chimed in, side-eyeing you with a knowing little smile, her crochet work still going steadily.

“There’s nothing,” you said quickly, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. “Seriously. You guys are so dramatic.”

But Kazuha just leaned back on her hands and raised a brow at you. “Is it about Jay?”

You froze mid-type, your fingers pausing above the keyboard. “…Excuse me?”

“Jay who?” Yunjin asked immediately, her head snapping between the two of you like she’d just caught the scent of drama.

“The one from my cousin’s band,” Kazuha replied casually, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger.

Sakura’s crochet hook stilled as she turned her full attention to you, eyes widening slightly. “Wait… Park Jongseong?”

“The emo guitarist?” Eunchae added in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “The one Ni-ki’s always talking about in Biology? That guy?”

“Oh yeah,” Kazuha chimed in, nodding thoughtfully as if she’d just remembered a passing detail. “I forgot you guys are in the same class.”

Chae-won tilted her head at you from the floor, still holding Doobu lazily in her lap. “So? What’s up with him?”

You let out a groan, throwing your head back against the headboard dramatically as your laptop slid slightly down your thighs. “First of all, he’s not emo—he just… owns a lot of black clothes, okay?”

The room broke into quiet snickers, Sakura biting back a smile as she picked her crochet back up.

“Second,” you continued, shooting them all a weak glare, “he’s… nice. That’s it. He’s just nice, okay?”

Kazuha’s grin widened as she dropped her bomb. “And he bought her lunch yesterday.”

You buried your face in your hands, muffling a groan. “Zuha—”

“Oh, oh!” Kazuha added cheerfully, “And he walked her to class too.”

Yunjin’s jaw dropped as if you’d just confessed to dating a K-drama male lead. “What? Jay? That Jay? Doesn’t he like… not talk to anyone at all?”

“I don’t know!” you burst out, throwing your hands up in defense as your friends all gawked at you like they were watching the climax of a drama. “Maybe he just—was being polite? Or he felt bad? I don’t know! Stop looking at me like that.”

“Polite?” Eunchae repeated, raising a brow.

“Girl, he looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole whenever Ni-ki drags him to our morning classes, and you’re telling me he voluntarily walked you to class and bought you lunch?”

You let out an exasperated groan, flopping back against the headboard and covering your face with your hands.

“I don’t know, okay? I’ve barely even talked to the man! I already told you guys—he’s just nice. End of story.”

Sakura, sitting cross-legged on the other end of your bed with her crochet still in hand, hummed thoughtfully. Then she said, far too casually, “What if—and it’s a very big what if—he likes you?”

You peeked through your fingers, shooting her a look so sharp it could cut steel. “Sakura.”

“What?” she said with a little shrug, feigning innocence as her eyes sparkled like she’d just lit a fuse.

Kazuha, lounging lazily on the floor with her hair tied up, raised a brow and added fuel to the fire.

“I mean… it’s not impossible. Ni-ki literally says he’s single, and—if we’re being honest—Jay doesn’t seem like the type who cares about romance.”

“Exactly!” Eunchae said, snapping her fingers. “So what if you’re like… the first person who’s caught his eye or something?”

“Guys—seriously?” you muttered, your ears already burning as you hugged a pillow against your chest.

“You’re all making this sound like some kind of webtoon. He’s not interested. He’s just… being decent. That’s it. End of story. Period.”

But Yunjin, sprawled on your rug with her legs propped up on the edge of your bed, smirked knowingly. “You don’t sound very sure, babe. Are you sure it’s not you who’s starting to like him?”

Your head snapped down, “Yunjin.”

“What?” she said with a laugh, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m just saying. You’ve got that look on your face when we brought him up.”

“I do not—” you began, but Kazuha cut you off with a teasing grin.

“Yeah, you do. You’re blushing right now.”

“I’m not—oh my god.” You buried your face into the pillow, groaning as the girls broke into laughter and squeals.

When the sound died down just enough for you to breathe, you peeked out from the pillow, face still flushed, and mumbled under your breath, eyes fixed anywhere but at them.

“He’s… popular, you know? And he’s intimidating. Like… the way he carries himself? I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”

Kazuha raised a brow, smirking as she picked up her water bottle. “You’re saying that like you’ve been analyzing him.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly, grabbing your laptop again and pulling it onto your lap as a weak distraction.

The sound of your fingers clacking on the keys filled the room as you added, softer this time, “I’m just saying—I have to agree with Kazuha. Maybe he’s not into romance at all.”

You took a breath, forcing a little laugh that sounded too tight. “So yeah. He probably just… took pity on me or something. Like, no big deal.”

The room fell quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

You didn’t look up, too focused on pretending to type as if your project was suddenly the most important thing in the world.

Then Sakura’s weight shifted on the bed, and you felt her scoot closer. Her hand landed softly on your knee as she said, voice gentle but firm, “(Y/N), don’t say that. Okay? Don’t ever say that about yourself.”

Then Sakura’s weight shifted on the bed, and you felt her scoot closer. Her hand landed softly on your knee as she said, voice gentle but firm, “(Y/N), don’t say that. Okay? Don’t ever say that about yourself.”

You blinked, your fingers pausing mid-word.

“We all know you—inside and out. You’re beautiful, and you’re talented, and you’re so kind it’s almost annoying sometimes,” she said with a small laugh, her eyes searching yours. “Jay wouldn’t be taking pity on you. Not a chance.”

“Exactly,” Yunjin chimed in from her spot on the floor, propping her chin up with her palm.

“And we’re not saying this just because we’re your friends. You really are that girl. Like, honestly? Half the campus has been trying to get your number since freshman year.”

You snorted, shaking your head, but Eunchae leaned forward too, her expression serious for once. “Plus,” she said matter-of-factly, “don’t you, like, reject guys every month? All because they’re too into you, or too clingy, or whatever?”

You groaned again, tugging the pillow back up to your face as their words made your ears burn even hotter. “Oh my god. Can you guys not bring that up right now?”

“Nope,” Chaewon teased, scratching Doobu’s chin as the cat purred in her lap. “Because we’re trying to remind you who you are.”

“You’re not someone he’d ‘pity,’” Sakura said softly. “You’re someone people fall for. And maybe he’s no exception.”

You blinked at her, the words sinking in like warm tea on a cold day. Your lips tugged up, small but genuine, and you nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice quiet but full of gratitude. “Really. You guys are… way too good to me.”

Yunjin stretched her arms over her head with a dramatic sigh, the elastic between her teeth as she tied her hair up into a quick bun.

“Good to you? Babe, we’re saving you from spiraling into overthinking about some tall broody guitarist who might actually like you.”

“Yunjin,” you said with a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“What?” she grinned, hands on her hips now. “It’s true. Anyway, I’m hungry, and clearly you’re too distracted to feed yourself, so—” She pointed at you with mock accusation. “What do you want? Name it.”

You shook your head, amused. “Anything will do. There’s still stuff in the fridge.”

Yunjin nodded like she was preparing for battle. “Perfect.” She waved dramatically as she made her way toward the kitchenette. “Come on, Eunchae. You’re my sous-chef.”

“Eh? Why me?” Eunchae grumbled but still hopped up from her spot on the floor to trail after her. “Fine—but I’m not cutting onions!”

You shook your head fondly, the soft smile still lingering on your lips as you turned your attention back to your screen. Fingers danced across the keyboard, the steady click of the keys mixing with the sounds of Sakura’s crochet hook tapping against itself.

Then you felt a slight weight on your shoulder. Sakura had leaned her head there, peeking at your screen. “You spelled ‘kinesiology’ wrong.”

You snorted, backspacing quickly. “I always do.”

She hummed softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know, (Y/N)… we’re really proud of you. Not just because of ballet or school or whatever. Just… for being you.”

You paused, the words catching you off guard, and turned slightly to glance at her. She wasn’t looking at you—her eyes were on your laptop, her expression calm and warm.

“You guys are seriously going to make me cry today,” you teased lightly, though your throat tightened a little.

Sakura’s lips curved into a small smile, her eyes finally meeting yours. “Good. Means we’re doing our jobs as your best friends.”

You laughed softly and shook your head before turning back to your screen. “I really am glad I have you all, you know?”

“We know,” she said, patting your leg before picking up her yarn again.

In the background, you heard Yunjin yelling something about “Where’s the sesame oil?” and Eunchae responding with “You’re holding it!”

The scent of something beginning to fry wafted from the kitchenette, and you let yourself relax—shoulders uncoiling from a tension you didn’t realize you’d been carrying all morning.

It was perfect. Cozy. The kind of afternoon that felt like a bubble outside of time.

You smiled faintly as you hit the final save on your document, Sakura peeking over your shoulder to murmur, “Finally.” You chuckled. “Took me long enough.”

By the time six in the evening rolled around, the sky outside your window was a watercolor wash of peach and violet. The air had cooled further, and one by one, your friends began gathering their bags, the lingering laughter softening into sleepy goodbyes.

“Thanks for letting us crash your dorm,” Yunjin said with a grin, pulling her hoodie over her head.

“Don’t mention it. Come any time,” you said, hands resting on the doorframe as you watched them shuffle into their shoes. “And thanks for doing the dishes, Zuha.”

Kazuha waved you off, tugging Eunchae’s sleeve to hurry her along. “You let us stay; it’s the least I could do.”

Chaewon turned back briefly, holding Doobu like a baby in her arms. “Bye-bye, mommy’s little princess. Don’t keep her up too late.”

You laughed. “Goodnight, guys.”

“Night!” they chorused back, their voices overlapping as they spilled into the hallway.

Doobu trotted out after them as if to see them off. You crouched and scooped her up easily, cradling her against your chest. “Come on, girl,” you murmured, pressing your cheek into her soft fur. “Let’s get some sleep.”

You nudged the door closed with your foot, the faint click echoing in the now-quiet room. The air still smelled faintly of fried rice and buttered eggs.

As you laid Doobu gently onto the bed, she circled twice before curling into a neat ball beside your pillow. You smiled, slipping under the covers, pulling the blanket up to your chin and her tiny body close to yours.

The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, joined by faint footsteps down the hall—someone passing by, a door closing a few rooms down. It was soothing in a way, grounding.

Slowly, sleep crept in, your eyes fluttering shut as your breathing evened out.

You didn’t know how long you’d been out when your phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.

With a groggy groan, you reached out blindly, fingers fumbling until you grabbed it. Blinking against the harsh light of the screen, you squinted at the time. 9:12 PM.

“Ugh.” You stretched lazily, arms above your head, a yawn spilling out as you rubbed your eyes.

But when you turned back, your brows furrowed. The blankets were rumpled—too rumpled—and the familiar soft weight of Doobu was missing.

“Doobu?” you called softly, still half-asleep.

Silence.

“She’s probably under the bed,” you mumbled to yourself, slipping one foot to the floor. You crouched down, peeking under. “Doobu?”

Nothing.

Maybe the bathroom. You padded over, cracking the door open. Empty.

“Come on, girl, where are you?”

Panic didn’t hit right away—not until your eyes flicked to the door and you noticed it.

A sliver of faint golden light where there shouldn’t have been any. Your door wasn’t fully shut.

“…Shit.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you crossed the room, heart thudding. You tightened the knot of your hooie over your pajamas and cursed under your breath again.

Pulling the door shut behind you with a quiet click, you huffed out a shaky breath, shoving your phone into the pocket of your oversized hoodie.

“Shit… okay, okay, don’t panic,” you muttered, yanking on your outside slippers so hard you almost tripped. Fingers raked through your hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame the mess from your nap as you stepped into the hallway.

The air outside was cooler than your room, and the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above you. You padded quickly down the corridor, whisper-yelling, “Doobu? Come on, girl… where the fuck did you go?”

Your voice echoed faintly against the closed doors lining the hall.

“Shit, shit, shit—she can’t have gone far,” you hissed to yourself, scanning every corner like a deranged detective.

You peeked around the trash bins, past the stairwell, even crouched briefly to check under the benches near the elevator. Nothing.

You bolted up the stairs to the next floor, slippers slapping quietly against the steps. As you rounded the corner, a small group of arts students you recognized from studio night looked up at you from where they lounged against the wall, sketchbooks in hand.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” one of them greeted cheerfully.

“Hey,” you said a little breathlessly, not slowing your pace as your eyes darted around. “Sorry—uh—if you guys see a white cat, she’s mine. She slipped out.”

“Oh no,” another said, eyes wide. “We’ll keep a lookout!”

“Thanks,” you called over your shoulder, already halfway down the hallway.

“Doobu!” you hissed again.

“Do not make me climb this entire fucking building in my pajamas. I swear to god—” You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Way to go, (Y/N). Lose your cat and look like a sleep-deprived idiot in the process. Great job.”

Your slippers squeaked faintly against the linoleum as you turned another corner, scanning the dimmer end of the hall where the lights flickered faintly.

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, your breath visible in the cold drafts slipping through the windows.

“Doobu? Baby girl? Please don’t make me cry right now…” you muttered desperately.

You made your way down the other floors, checking every nook and cranny, even peering behind trash bins and under staircases. Your slippers scuffed against the stairs, the sound almost swallowed by your frantic heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Every student you passed got the same frazzled question. “Hey—sorry, have you seen a white cat? Fluffy, kind of round?”

Some shook their heads apologetically, others blinked in surprise at the sheer panic in your tone before nodding.

“Oh, I’ll keep a lookout!” a girl carrying an armful of books promised.

“Thanks—thank you so much,” you said breathlessly, bowing your head slightly before bolting down the next set of stairs.

When you reached the ground floor, you didn’t even pause. The cold air slapped you in the face as you pushed open the glass doors to your dorm building, the metal handle biting into your palm from your tight grip.

“Shit—Doobu, where the hell are you?” you whispered harshly, stepping into the crisp night air.

The campus was quieter now, the golden glow of the streetlamps casting long shadows across the empty walkways. You scanned the quad, your eyes darting across the open field, the benches, even the bases of the trees.

Your slippers whispered against the pavement as you jogged lightly toward the benches near the edge of the field.

“Doobu!” you called again, voice cracking slightly. “Come on, girl… don’t do this to me.”

Muttering curses under your breath—“Goddammit, (Y/N), you’re so careless…”—you almost didn’t notice it.

But then—there it was.

A tuft of white fur. A bushy tail flicking lazily.

Your breath caught in your throat. Doobu sat primly on one of the benches under the golden streetlights, her little face upturned like she owned the entire campus.

“Oh my god,” you whispered in disbelief, your knees nearly giving out in relief. You walked closer, slowly, carefully, afraid that a sudden movement might startle her away again.

Your cat sat so calmly on the bench, tail curled neatly around her paws, completely unbothered as if she hadn’t just sent you on a heart attack-inducing campus-wide manhunt.

You started walking closer, slow and careful, not wanting to startle her away. But as you got nearer, your steps faltered.

You started walking closer, slow and careful, not wanting to startle her away. But as you got nearer, your steps faltered.

There was someone sitting on the bench with her.

A man.

He was leaned back casually, one arm resting along the backrest as his other hand absentmindedly stroked Doobu’s fur. She—your Doobu, who notoriously despised every single male human who dared to even look her way—was preening under his touch.

The little traitor was even leaning her head closer, purring so faintly you could hear it from where you stood.

Your eyes flicked up, scanning the guy. Black hoodie pulled over his head. A gray cap tucked low enough to shadow his face. Cream pants loose but clean. His sneakers looked a little scuffed, as if he actually walked around campus instead of just cutting through in a car.

Then he laughed quietly—low and warm, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it—and said to your cat,

“I bet your owner’s losing her mind looking for you, huh?”

Your jaw nearly dropped. He was talking to her?

You let out a shaky sigh, deciding to ignore him completely as you stepped forward. “Hey, Doobu,” you murmured softly, crouching slightly as you reached a hand out. “You scared the shit out of me. Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?”

At the sound of your voice, Doobu’s ears twitched. She gave a soft purr, standing on her paws to hop down—only to pause when the guy slowly drew his hand back, letting his palm rest on his knee.

That’s when he finally looked up at you.

Sharp eyes under the cap. Lips quirked in an almost imperceptible smile.

“She’s got a habit of wandering off, huh?” he said, voice low and smooth with the faintest trace of amusement.

Your heart stuttered at the sound, recognition dawning like a wave crashing down on you.

“…Jay?”

He chuckled under his breath, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. “You didn’t notice? Thought you were too focused on your runaway cat to see me.”

You straightened, blinking at him incredulously as your cat jumped off the bench and started rubbing against your legs.

“I—You—what are you even doing here?” you asked, your voice tight from a cocktail of exhaustion and mild embarrassment.

Jay didn’t answer at first. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, reaching down to grab two sleek Prada paper bags sitting on the concrete by his feet.

He swished them in the air casually, the crisp sound of the handles snapping into place breaking the quiet night.

“Shopped a little,” he said, his tone easy. “Went with Heeseung. We had some free time.”

You blinked at the bags, then back at him as he patted the now-empty spot on the bench beside him. “Sit down. You look like you ran a marathon.”

Hesitating only a moment, you bent down to scoop Doobu off the concrete, clutching her soft, warm body against your chest as you crossed the few steps to the bench.

Sitting down beside him, you let out a slow, shaky breath. Doobu purred against you, seemingly unbothered by her little adventure.

Jay was already looking at you—one elbow draped casually over the backrest, his dark eyes unreadable under the brim of his cap.

You glanced down at the bags and pointed at them. “So… you’re rich-rich, huh?”

His lips quirked, a small laugh rumbling out of him. “Not me. My parents are.” He nudged one of the bags with his foot before adding, “And anyway, I bought these using my own money. No trust fund involved.”

Jay chuckled again, softer this time. “I guess.”

There was a beat of silence before he tilted his head slightly, his eyes darting to the white fluff curled in your lap. “Can I?” he asked, one hand lifting a little as he gestured toward Doobu.

You looked down at your cat, who blinked up at you lazily as if granting her approval herself. “Sure,” you murmured.

Jay shifted closer, his fingers brushing over Doobu’s head with surprising gentleness. She pressed into his touch, tail flicking lazily as a faint purr rumbled from her chest.

“She likes you,” you said quietly, unable to hide the faint trace of surprise in your voice.

“She’s cute,” Jay murmured, his thumb stroking behind her ear. Then his eyes flicked back to yours. “So… what happened? How’d she get out?”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping as you leaned back slightly against the bench. “I didn’t close my dorm room all the way. Must’ve been when I fell asleep earlier. She probably pushed it open and slipped out.”

You buried your face briefly in Doobu’s fur, muffling a groan. “God, I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t,” Jay said simply, his voice steady and calm. “She’s safe now. That’s all that matters.”

You peeked up at him, startled by how sincere he sounded. He wasn’t looking at you anymore—his eyes were on Doobu as he continued stroking her fur—but there was something in his tone that made your chest tighten.

“…Thanks,” you murmured, hugging your cat a little closer. “For finding her.”

Jay glanced at you again, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t find her. She found me.”

You huffed a small laugh despite yourself, your nerves slowly beginning to settle. “Typical. Little traitor.”

Jay chuckled too, his hand still absentmindedly stroking Doobu’s fur. “She’s got good taste, though.”

You froze slightly at that, unsure how to respond as the warmth from his words and the gentle sound of Doobu’s purrs filled the air. Your eyes flicked to his, catching the way he was already looking at you—something soft and unspoken in his expression.

Then his gaze dropped, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head toward you. “Not sure about her owner, though. Teddy bears and choo-choo trains? Really?”

You blinked in confusion for a moment before glancing down at yourself, realizing too late he was talking about your pajama set—the faint pastel print of tiny teddy bears riding toy trains now painfully obvious.

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Oh my god—Jay!” You slapped his arm, mortified.

He let out a laugh—louder this time, low and warm in his chest—as his hand came up to rub the spot where you hit him. “What? I’m just saying.”

“Shut up!” you hissed, cheeks flaming as you buried your face in Doobu’s fur. “I was in a rush, okay? I didn’t think anyone was going to see me like this.”

Jay’s grin softened, his dark eyes glinting under the streetlight. “Okay, okay. No need to hit me. I surrender.” He raised both hands in mock surrender before leaning back against the bench again, his posture relaxed and easy.

You frowned at him anyway, though the heat in your cheeks didn’t let up. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he said with a light shrug, still smiling.

The evening breeze picked up then, making you instinctively pull Doobu closer to your chest. You shivered slightly, tugging at your thin jacket as a chill ran through you.

Jay’s eyes flicked to you, catching the way your hair was slightly mussed from sleep and the faint flush on your cheeks. The corner of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly—not in amusement this time, but in something gentler.

He glanced down at the Prada bag at his feet, pulling one of the items out. The soft, knitted material clung to his hand as he carefully tore off the tag, fingers meticulous so as not to snag the fabric. Without a word, he scooted closer until his knee brushed yours.

You blinked as he draped the scarf around your neck, the sudden warmth making you jolt slightly. “Jay—?”

“Relax,” he said calmly, adjusting it so it sat snug yet loose enough to breathe. “You need it. You’re freezing.”

Your hands went up to touch the scarf, the fine, soft knit catching between your fingers. “Jay, I… I can’t accept this. It’s Prada. This probably costs—”

“No returns, I’m afraid,” he interrupted smoothly, his dark eyes meeting yours again with a quiet finality.

“But—”

“Don’t,” he said simply, voice low but firm as he reached over again. His hands were careful, almost tender, as he wrapped it more securely around your neck. “And you’re still cold. So don’t argue.”

You stared at him, your protest catching in your throat. The scarf smelled faintly of new fabric and something warm—something that somehow reminded you of him.

“…You’re ridiculous,” you murmured finally, lips twitching into a small smile.

“Maybe,” Jay said again, his lips curving ever so slightly as he leaned back, resting an arm on the bench’s backrest. “But I’m also right.”

You ducked your head, hiding your warming face in Doobu’s fur as she purred sleepily in your lap.

Jay glanced at you once more, his fingers flexing faintly like he wanted to reach for you again but thought better of it. Instead, he moved just slightly closer, the edge of his shoulder brushing yours as the cool night settled comfortably around you both.

“So… any plans after this?” he asked, his tone casual but his gaze unreadable as it lingered on you.

You tilted your head slightly, thinking for a moment before shaking your head. “No, not really. Why?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, just barely. “So you’re free.”

A small giggle escaped you before you could stop it, the sound carried away slightly by the night breeze. “Yeah, I’m free. Why?”

He looked ahead for a second, lips twitching as if debating saying the next words. Then he glanced back at you, meeting your curious eyes. “Do you… want to eat dinner?”

Your face lit up, eyes widening a little in surprise. “Yeah—sure. If it’s not a bother?”

Jay shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as his eyes softened. “Never. It’s not.”

He glanced down at the white ball of fluff curled in your lap, still purring lightly. “But… what about Doobu?”

You followed his gaze, only now realizing your cat had made herself at home again, her tiny body rising and falling against your arms as she napped.

“Oh. Right.” You laughed a little sheepishly. “Would it be alright if I take her back to my dorm first? I should probably change too—”

Your voice trailed off as the memory of his earlier teasing came back, cheeks heating instantly. “—before you start commenting on my pajamas again,” you muttered under your breath, burying your face in Doobu’s soft fur.

Jay laughed at that—low, warm, and unrestrained this time. It sent a strange flutter through your chest.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, standing smoothly as he grabbed his paper bags off the concrete. “I really am. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You stood too, cradling the now-sleeping Doobu in your arms. She stirred slightly at the movement, her tiny head tucking into the crook of your shoulder as her tail curled closer to you. You adjusted your hold on her carefully, trying not to wake her.

Jay’s eyes softened further as he watched you fuss over your cat—something unreadable flickering behind them. Then he shifted his bags to one hand and gestured with the other.

“Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said simply, his tone making it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “But I want to.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting down the smile threatening to break through. “Okay… thank you.”

Jay only nodded, falling into step beside you as the two of you started walking back toward the dorms. His steps were unhurried, his presence steady next to yours as the faint sound of crickets and your own quiet breaths filled the night.

Doobu shifted slightly in your arms, letting out a soft sigh as if content, and you felt your chest loosen—somehow lighter with Jay’s warmth just a few inches away.

⤷ read part 2 here !

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© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 29. post defamation dinner date

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SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ if i haven't replied to your ask yet i'm not ignoring dw!!! i'm gonna get them tomorrow i'm just too tired to reply now and don't want to give half-hearted replies 🥲

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[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 26. the athenaeum

JAY HAD GONE THROUGH NUMEROUS INTERVIEWS IN HIS LIFE; THIS WASN'T ANYTHING HE HADN'T EXPERIENCED BEFORE.

The Athenaeum, which was the building designated for the Order members, looked grand on the outside, but it was even more magnificent on the inside. The living space was adorned with decorative sculptures and Corinthian pillars, and a spiraling staircase led to several upper levels. Jay swallowed hard when he realized that he would be living here if he was selected. That would surely make it harder to hide that he was only here for his assignment.

He walked in at 8:06 p.m. on the dot, hoping he had made the right decision, and a little anxious knot unraveled in his chest when Kim Jennie approached him with a pleased smile.

"Right this way to your interview, Jay," she said in a sweet voice, although her smile dropped as she tried to maintain a stoic expression.

In retrospect, the interview itself didn't sound too intimidating. A thirty minute interview with several people asking questions would go by quickly. But a room's worth of eyes were on him, and he felt his throat closing up. Surely, there were scarier things in the world than fifteen pretentious college students sizing him up, but Jay couldn't seem to think of anything but how stuffy the large room seemed to feel.

They were all sitting high above him, circling around the one chair in the middle of the room like a committee of vultures. They were all wearing dark cloaks with a golden wreath adorning the tops of their heads. It looked a little silly, but he tried not to stare too long at the headpieces.

Park Sungjin, Sunghoon's older brother, was seated right in the middle, eyes flitting between Jay and the sheet of paper in front of him. Jay looked around the room for a brief second, making eye contact with Jeonghan, who nearly cracked a smile before returning to looking impassive.

"Welcome to your interview, Jay," Sungjin began with an overwhelming air of authority, motioning for him to sit down. Jay cautiously took a seat, but he immediately felt swamped by everyone's gaze. "We've spent the past semester getting to know you and your accomplishments. All of us are quite familiar with your merit, but this interview is for us to get to know you on a deeper level to see if you have what it takes to be part of our next delegation."

Before Jay could even open his mouth to respond, Sungjin turned to the member to his right, asking, "Baekhyun, would you like to start us off?"

Byun Baekhyun nodded before leaning forward on his forearms. "Jay, if you could be president, during which historical event would it be?"

Jay almost gawked at him. Almost.

He treated the question as if it was any other professional interview question, though. If the Order was taking it seriously, then he had to, as well.

"Probably during the Great Depression," he answered after a few moments of pondering. "I would've done the opposite of whatever Hoover did with his laissez-faire approach, meaning more government intervention, more relief efforts, and less tariffs. Without the Great Depression, Germany probably wouldn't become fascist, so they would have no reason to form a huge army and start the second world war."

"Nice answer," Sungjin praised, which left a surge of relief flooding Jay's chest. "Jisoo?"

The pretty senior smiled coyly, scooting up in her seat to ask, "If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?"

Jay seriously thought this was all some sort of sick joke. What kind of question was that? Had he been taking all of this way too seriously?

"Maybe one of those Moon Trees," he said. "I think it's pretty cool that the seeds were still viable after going to the moon and back."

Kim Taehyung was next to ask a question, clearing his throat loudly to cover up Jeonghan whispering to Xu Minghao about where they could find a Moon Tree seed.

"Jay," Taehyung started, "if you could slap any person—living or dead—who would you slap?"

Jay leaned back in his chair, taken aback by the question. Was there a correct way to go about such a question? Could he really just list any person? He could perhaps say Hitler or Stalin, but that was stupid; anyone would slap those two if they were given the choice.

He could go for a more entertaining route, but Jay's mind was currently blanking and he could only think of one person that would have been completely inappropriate to blurt out. He knew you told him to be honest, but honesty would probably do him more harm than good.

However, the seconds were ticking by, and Jay was suddenly overly-conscious of everyone's blank stares. His heart started to beat faster when he realized that everyone was waiting for him to respond.

"Park Sunghoon."

Jay didn't even realize the words actually came out of his mouth until he noticed that the room was dead silent. As if he wasn't nervous already, his blunder made his heart beat against his rib cage like a drum while his palms grew clammy.

It was over.

There was no recovering from such a royal fuck-up. Jay had to find another way to go about this mission. He would have to tell his client that he failed. Maybe he would finally be let go, but then he would have to leave—

A snicker. Then another. And another.

Soon, the entire room had burst into laughter over Jay's answer, including Park Sungjin. Although most of them still looked as if they were in disbelief, they found it absolutely hysterical.

Kim Doyeon, who was currently wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, fought down giggles as she said, "We need you to elaborate."

"Looks like your brother pissed someone off again," Oh Sehun joked, nudging Sungjin from behind.

Sungjin returned a half-grin before folding his arms across his chest and looking down at Jay. "I'd like to hear why, too."

"Uh..." Jay was floundering for an excuse, buying himself time by rubbing his nose. He surely couldn't mention anything that had gone down between Sunghoon and you, so he thought back to a previous memory with the junior. "He puked on my new shoes last semester and never acknowledged it after that. I had to clean them by hand, and he puked on them again."

More laughter chorused from the fifteen of them, and Jay felt a little relieved that he managed to come up with a believable excuse to throw them off. As dumb as their questions were, he almost got himself into trouble there.

Once Sungjin managed to calm down the rest of the members, he shot Jay an apologetic look. "Sorry about them. This is supposed to be a professional interview." He shot pointed looks around the room, but even he wasn't taking his own words seriously. "None of us have ever laughed this hard over an interview question. How about we move onto Minghao?"

Minghao, who Jay couldn't tell was smiling because of his answer about wanting to punch Sunghoon or because Jeonghan had finally shut up about the Moon Trees, straightened his back and squared his shoulders. "Jay, how would you describe the color yellow to someone who's blind? You can take your time to think about this one before you answer."

Jay frowned as he thought long and hard about Minghao's question. It wasn't that it was anything challenging to answer, but he was never really a big fan of the color yellow in the first place.

Sunshine. Dandelions. Canaries. Sunflowers.

Sunshine—but he wasn't really keen on bright, blinding sunlight. Jay more so enjoyed the yellow hues of a sunset or a sunrise. He supposed people associated the color yellow with happiness, but he couldn't really see it.

And then he thought harder about those bright yellows, wondering what it was about the vibrance that made people feel so much joy. He furrowed his brows, and then it came to him all at once.

It wasn't the sunshine itself. Sure, maybe it was a contributing factor, but he remembered that hike he went on while he was back in Washington for winter break. You were standing on a large tree root with your hands on your hips, squinting up at the brilliant sun before nearly tripping over your feet and then laughing hysterically. Something warm and joyful exploding in his chest back then, making him wish he could freeze time.

Maybe that was yellow.

"When you're sad, you say you feel blue," he responded, "so I'd tell a blind person that yellow is their happiest memory. It's like that feeling you get when you look up at the sun and feel its heat on your face, or seeing someone you care for smile really big."

(He swore he could hear Bae Joohyun cooing at his answer from the left end of the room.)

"I think we'll have to wrap this up soon because the next interview is gonna be soon," Sungjin said. "Jennie, would you like to take this one?"

"I can," she said with a nod. "Jay, can you tell me your interpretation of how the name 'Order of Kryptos' came to be?"

Rather than his mouth going dry this time, Jay was more than ready to answer this question—a real question, unlike the previous icebreakers he had been getting. He had done his research far before he even started going to networking events for the Order.

"If I remember correctly, Kryptos is in reference to the sculpture by Jim Sanborn—the one outside the CIA headquarters. It contains four messages, the first three being solved and the fourth remaining one of the most famous unsolved codes in the world," Jay explained. "The name 'Kryptos' itself is the ancient Greek word for 'hidden,' so I believe your society's goals revolve around seeking intelligence and discovering the unknown."

"And what do you think the number 786 signifies?"

"The passcode to the building?"

"Correct."

"Seven-eight-six..." he mumbled, trying to rack his brain for an answer. "The sculpture contains a total of 1,800 characters and only 768 of them are decoded. That's the only connection I can make in my head that relates to 786. Other than that, I don't really know."

Jennie smiled. "Thank you, Jay."

He swallowed thickly. Did he mess up? No, he couldn't have. Jay had been on thin ice when he said he'd punch Sunghoon, but everything else, for the most part, had gone smoothly. There was no possible way he had any idea of knowing what the passcode was for.

"That concludes your interview, Jay," Sungjin said. "We are still deciding on when we're starting Tap Week, so we'll reach out with more information once we've solidified plans. Thank you for meeting with us today."

"Thank you," Jay echoed through the dry mouth and slack tongue.

He went around giving everyone firm handshakes before walking out of the Athenaeum. Although he didn't feel like his interview went terrible, Jay had a sinking feeling that his answer about Sunghoon was going to come back to bite him.

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SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ SORRY WILL ANSWER ASKS WHEN I WAKE UP! so eepy rn

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @hooniesuniverse @zerasari @enhalov @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @en-happiness @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @enhypens-baby @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowwww @enha-stars @isawritesss @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct

[simpjaes]

jay was complaining on weverse about his favorite place to buy cherries shutting down and my mind got thinking about jay absolutely loving when his girl wears cherry flavored lip gloss but it gets the point where he can’t eat cherries without popping a boner but lucky for him you’re always ready to spread your legs at any and all times

ah, fuck.

you learned he liked cherries and then proceeded to train his ass into getting hard anytime he so much as smells a goddamn cherry? with all that perfume, all that lip-gloss, that delicious flavor of the cherry gum you chew specifically to drive him insane?

it's not even that he was obsessed or like, in love with cherries before all of this. you literally made him obsess over it, to the point that now he can't even stroll by the fruit section of a grocery store without remembering the time you smeared that tinted gloss all down his cock with those pretty cherry lips.

the good news about being trained to chub up in his pants though? you're free-use to him. meaning, there have been countless times he's fucked you right there in the car, at noon, in the middle of a parking lot because you just haaaad to mention buying more cherries while popping one into your mouth and tinting your lips with the deep red cherry juices.

all those times at home? where it's not even fully intentional on your part and you spray on your regular perfume only to have your boyfriend grabbing you from behind and making you late to work because he had to fuck his cum into you first? Totally accidental.

maybe jay is just obsessed with you rather than the cherries, but the sweet flavor just makes it all the more fun and all the more sweet.

it's the fact that you were able to take something so normal and mundane and turned it into a huge turn on for jay. arguably, he will never be able to eat a single cherry without thinking of you.

a goddamn cherry kink.

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 25. heart-to-heart

jay's invitation:

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @hooniesuniverse @zerasari @enhalov @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @en-happiness @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @enhypens-baby @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowwww @enha-stars @isawritesss @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct

[atrirose]

𝒥 : PLACES THEY LOVE TO KISS — enha

はい bf!enha x f!r . . . 🍵 warning. kissing duh ! + FLUFF ★ seiu msg: wanna get back on to writing stuff soon in the mean time enjoy this! rbs/feedbacks are appreciated

— HEESEUNG LEE

heeseung loves kissing your neck because he knows it gets you hot and bothered, he loves the sudden shocked squeak you let out when he random kisses your neck, he came behind you, gracing his cold lips on your neck “AH what’s wrong with you seung” you turned towards him, your hand on the place he kissed “my lips are cold, i ate ice cream” he said pulling you back “so?”

“so i gotta warm them up” he said as he bit ur neck lightly, kissing it, his breath leaving tingling feels down your spine, something about neck kisses just makes you feel light headed “i know you love it princess” he whispered, his hands roaming around your body as he blabbers like a loser.

— JAY PARK

jay loves kissing your lips, though it very common but for him it is special, he love the feeling of his lips against yours, especially after you put on lipgloss or lipstick “jayyyy i just put it on, look it’s all smeared and on your lips too” you said frustrated as you try to fix your lipstick, “it’s a nice colour i like it on you” he said snaking his hands again around your waist as he turns you around “doesn’t give you an excuse to ruin it, and we have to go or else we will be late to the party” you said resisting his touch as he leaned over again.

“doesn’t matter” he said as his lips moved against yours, his hands around you waist, him teasing your lips by lightly nipping on it, your hands in his hair tousling it.

“we got stuck in the traffic sorry” he said to his friend as you shot him glares, did i forget to tell you that he loves kissing you when you are mad at him? works like a charm, all the anger goes poof.

— JAKE SIM

jake loves to nom on your cheeks , he says it’s like bread. he loves to peck your cheeks at any given moment, or just have his face smooshed by yours, if he could he could live under your skin. jake likes to bite your cheeks while pecking them despite being warned a hundred times to not, but how can you resist his puppy eyes.

sometimes he get this kissing aggression towards you where he just keep on kissing and giggling as you try to escape him “jake too much” you say as he kissed you all over your face, “not enough” he said as he continues smooching your cheeks, biting them “nom, you taste like strawberries” jake hugs you as he calms down, cuddling you.

— SUNGHOON PARK

he loves collarbone kisses, loves to randomly feather kisses around your collarbone while cuddling, exact reason that despite being so tall he like you be a small spoon most of the times, likes to be a princess “hoon it tickles” you said as he pressed kisses, he loves when you wear off shoulder as he gives him easy excess but if not then he just pulls the piece of clothing you are wearing to expose your collarbone, now that has gotten him in trouble when he accidentally rip your clothing’s neckline but that obviously never stopped him.

“i will get you more mmm” he said as he kept kissing you, he loves to inhale the soft and mild scent of your perfume.

— SUNOO KIM

loves to kiss your forehead, to appreciate even the smallest of things you do for him, while that’s very sweet of him and you love it with all your heart, there are times when he likes to annoy you by kissing you after applying your lip tint so now you have kiss mark on your forehead, or kissing it and then telling how small you are.

towers over you sometimes so you look up at him and he can kiss your forehead.

“i got nice scores this time” you told sunoo as he smiles and kisses you forehead “im proud of you love”

— JUNGWON YANG

he likes to kiss your nose, just a little boop to make you laugh, you talking about your day? oh he is so in love, boop, you are cooking? he is drawn in by your beauty, boop, you are just laying around? you look so cute, he can’t believe you are his, boop.

“why do you like kissing my nose so much” he looks at you as he smiles, eyes closing like a cat as he kisses your nose “because you are cute” it’s a way he expresses his love, it’s his way of saying he treasures you and a simple expression of his limitless love for you

— RIKI NISHIMURA

he loves to bury his face in your neck after a long day and kiss your shoulders, just like sunghoon he loves when you wear off shoulder dress or else he just pulls on them, but lucky for him you wear his oversized hoodies all the time so it’s easy to gain excess, sometimes it’s hard to express who he feels, or how much he loves you so he just kisses your shoulder and hope you understand his attempt to say ‘i love you’s’.

“what’s wrong baby” you asked as you played with hair as he buried his face in the crook of your neck “just tired” he said nuzzling “aww poor baby” you said as you kissed his head “you better not tell how act with you” he warned you still kissing your shoulders.

“like a baby? AHH-” your giggles turned into sudden shock as he bites you “oh that left a mark” you smacked him with a pillow as he laughed and dodged it “not tired anymore huh?” you said pouting moving away from him just to get pulled back to his lap “i am” he pecked you “meanie” he snicked at your pouty lips before kissing it.

[forjongseong]

the reward // jay (ENHYPEN)

pairing: student!jay x tutor!fem!reader

genre: campus!au, smut (minors dni) // warning: older reader, they call reader "Noona", profanity, mentions of studying (lol), Heeseung makes an appearance, the rest of hyung-line are mentioned, making out, a lot of making out, just making out, fingering, protected sex (because Jay is responsible) // wc: ~9.5k

summary: you teach for a living, and you had been picking up tutoring since the extra money wasn't that bad. most of your meetings consist of essay-writing, mock tests, and speaking exercises; so when Jay became your student, you weren't expecting the lessons to include rewards.

author’s note: what?? two fics in the span of three days? with this I announce my retirement...

just kidding I STILL HAVE the secretary!Jay series to finish so I won't be retiring soon. this one is based on the rimless glasses series which is like, a random note I made for my wips, and believe it or not, while I made Bite Me sit and marinate on the shelf for so long, I finished this fic below within seven hours. yes, sometimes I am very motivated.

ANYWAY since I kept getting ideas for this one, I decided to sit down and write everything in one go, because if I pause to pick it up later I end up feeling not that confident with my work.

with that being said, I totally loved this one, so I hope you guys will enjoy it AS MUCH AS I DID writing it.

special mention to @excusememissiloveyou who was there the whole time virtually giving me mental support and good reactions

taglist: @thots4hee @end-hyphen @nyanggk @yoursjaeyun @maggstar @bucketofhiros @dimplejaehyuncutie @shinkenprincess-oh @mochimchimo @jongseonglogy @strawberrification12 @xiaoderrrr

You took the last sip of your latte as you tried to hold in your laughter. You then carefully swallowed your drink before chuckling and putting your cup back on the table, and then swatting the guy in front of you for cracking a joke and deliberately trying to make you laugh and choke at the same time.

“No, but seriously, thank you,” Heeseung said, tapping his fingers on the table. “I reached my target score.”

“What was it again?” You asked, at the same time unlocking your phone to check the time.

“7.5,” he answered.

You frowned. “That’s literally the same score you had before you took lessons with me, is it not?”

Heeseung nodded. “But without your help, I probably would have scored lower. Thanks for all the practice. And your time.”

You smiled and waved your hand, pretending to be humble. “Well, you’re welcome. I’m just doing what I get paid for.”

This time Heeseung was the one who chuckled, and before he could say another word you had to excuse yourself because it was time for your afternoon class.

“I’ll make the transfer tonight,” Heeseung said as he stood up, collecting the used napkins on the table. “Oh, by the way, Noona, I gave your number to my friend. He said he needs a tutor too. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Sure, you can broadcast my number to everyone who needs a tutor, to be honest. I’d love the extra money.”

Heeseung snickered and waited for you to start walking. He sped up and held the door open for you as you both exited the café.

“What’s his name? Or her, sorry, I just assumed.” You fixed your bag’s strap on your shoulder before taking out your phone again.

“Jay. He’s a med student too. We’re in the same class.” Heeseung started typing on his phone. “I’ve just let him know that you know he’s going to text you.”

“Awesome,” you said with a smile. “I’ll see you around, Heeseung. Good luck with the semester abroad.”

---

The waitress eyed the empty plates you had set aside before you started scrolling on your phone, and when you made eye contact with her you nodded, and she immediately took the plates away. You then placed an order for a cold drink since you were sure your new student was going to be running late.

“Punctuality,” you sighed to yourself, “should literally be counted in every single score…”

You heard the bell chiming as someone entered the restaurant, and your eyes immediately fell on him. The guy had his hair slicked back with a couple of strands hanging on his forehead, he was wearing a white button-down with a suede jacket on top, and the straight-cut pants he was wearing made you want to ask him where it was from.

“Y/N Noona,” he greeted you with confidence before you could even stand up, “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Hi, Jay,” you watched as he took his backpack off and set it on the chair beside him. He then sat down and looked at you with a huge smile.

The fuck? What is he so attractive for? You thought, smiling back.

“I didn’t know this place existed on campus,” he began, initiating small talk. His eyes were scanning the place, and as he looked around in wonder you thought for a second that he looked like a majestic black cat. And you love cats.

“Yeah,” you said before the silence became too loud. “It’s my favorite place to grab lunch or to hold private sessions like this. So, what do you need an IELTS score for?”

“Same as Heeseung,” Jay answered you only after he looked around for a waiter. He quickly placed his order and refocused his attention back on you. “Did you order yet?” He asked, sounding concerned as he looked around and saw nothing in front of you.

Your drink order arrived, and you thanked the waitress in a whisper and a smile, and you made an effort to explain yourself before Jay started to speculate.

“I already ate, and this is my dessert,” you said, turning the cup around and making sure it was the right order. “You can go ahead and eat while I answer any questions you might have about our lessons.”

“Right,” Jay shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “So, I want to get a higher score than Heeseung, but I’ve never taken the test before, so how many meetings do you think we should have so I can achieve that?”

Confident, curious, and ambitious, you thought. You could definitely work with him.

“Alright,” you began, clearing the space in front of you and taking out your notebook and a pen.

You spent the next two hours talking to Jay, mostly stuff regarding lesson plans, but after that, you asked him about his studies, and he also asked you about your experiences and your current work. He mentioned the names of the students you had previously tutored, Jake and Sunghoon, and only then did you learn that the four of them must have their own clique.

“Where do you usually have your lessons with them?” Jay asked, wiping his mouth with a clean napkin after he finally finished his meal.

“Since they’re only available in between my classes, I usually ask them to go to cafes around the campus,” you replied. “I literally just go where I am asked, though. You guys are the students, so.”

“Can I pick the place for our next meeting?” Jay asked, grabbing his phone. “I’ll match your schedule first.”

You opened your calendar on your bullet journal and started jotting down Jay’s availability while he typed in your schedule on his phone.

“Right, so on Tuesday, since you only have a morning class, let’s have lunch at this place, hold on,” Jay said, eyes glued to his phone as he pulled up a website of the place he was referring to. “Here.”

You craned your neck to look at Jay’s phone, and when you read the address, you tilted your head. “I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like it’s walking distance from campus.”

“Oh, I’ll pick you up.” Jay blinked at you innocently. “I’ll drive you back to campus too. Or your home?”

“Campus is fine, I carpool with my brother,” you quickly replied. “Thank you.”

Jay shrugged and checked the time on his watch. “We’re done here, right?”

You nodded. “Unless you have more questions?”

He smiled and shook his head, and you hated the way you thought he was just so damn handsome. He then stood up and made his way to the booth, and you saw him take out his wallet while gesturing to your table. When he walked back to his seat, you leaned in and whispered.

“Did you just pay for my meal?” You asked, trying to be discreet.

“Why are you whispering? Of course, I did,” Jay replied, also whispering to match your energy.

You chuckled and mouthed a ‘thank you’ before you stood up, and you were slightly surprised at how fast he walked ahead of you just to hold the door open.

“I’ll see you Tuesday?” Jay asked, stretching out his hand.

You realized he was going for a handshake, so you took his hand. His fingers grabbed your hand firmly and you had to hold in a wince.

“Tuesday,” you replied, keeping your cool. “Bye, Jay.”

---

After a couple of meetings with Jay, you realized that the guy had grown on you and that he might be your favorite student ever if you were even allowed to have one. Skill-wise, he needed a lot of help, but he was a quick learner, and he took all your advice seriously, putting it into action almost immediately and showing up with instant results.

“Can I ask you what your thought process is like when you write an argumentative essay like this?” You said previously on your second meeting with him, at a café that he picked out.

“I look at the topic and begin writing, and I just… write as I go,” he answered truthfully.

You sighed and he took a quick glance at your face. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.”

You began explaining how outlining an essay was essential to make sure you can get your points across, and as you were speaking you kept looking at your notes, his hands, the window, and everything else except his face. But you can feel his eyes glued to yours. He attended every single meeting with the type of energy that you had never found before in any of your other students, and somehow, he just exudes positivity and passion.

During the meeting after that, he handed you over his homework, along with an extra essay that was written according to your input. He could not hide his stupid grin every time you complimented a sentence structure, and for the first time, you finally made him speechless.

“Thank you,” you said after ending your feedback.

Jay tilted his head and frowned. “What for?”

“For taking my input seriously,” you continued.

Jay became even more confused. “Isn’t that what students do?”

You scoffed and shook your head. “A lot of my students don’t.”

“Well, they’re just dumb, then.”

Your mouth hung open in shock at Jay’s sudden insult, and he found your face hilarious that he just had to cackle, his laugh echoing throughout the place. You covered your mouth and giggled silently, helplessly smacking his arm so he would quiet down.

On your fourth meeting, you requested to have the lesson at the campus café since you had to go home as soon as your session with him ended. This time, however, he was running late, and you had to spend a couple of minutes alone chugging down your latte to stay awake.

“Noona, I’m so sorry,” Jay said as soon as pulled the chair beside you. He sat down and started complaining. “My professor just announced this urgent assignment that we had to do, and…”

The annoyance that came with almost being stood up evaporated completely when you heard Jay yapping about what happened in his class. Maybe you were just too tired to be angry, or maybe you were just happy to see him.

“Shall we just practice Speaking then for now?” You asked after he finished his explanation.

Jay nodded quickly. “Anything you want. Do you want me to order another drink for you?”

“It’s fine, calm down,” you said, chuckling lightly. “Alright, let me look for a topic.”

You quickly browsed your phone and began asking him questions. You made a gesture and pointed to his phone, signaling him to record himself speaking, so he did so without breaking eye contact with you. For the next part, you picked a topic that required him to talk about a close friend, and as he began to elaborate on his answer, it was your turn to look at him intently.

“What I like about her is,” Jay spoke in the middle of his answer. He then paused as if he was searching for the right word to use, but you were feeling sleepy and goofy, so you interrupted him.

“Her smile?” You asked in a teasing tone before you started laughing.

Jay became flustered and quickly waved both his hands to deny your guess. “No, not that!”

He then joined you laughing, and you had to apologize for stretching the time limit he had. You then asked him to continue and wrap up, and after that you immediately gave feedback. However, when you were speaking you got tongue-tied a lot, and you kept saying the wrong words or taking too long to find one.

“Noona, if you’re really tired, we can end the class early, I don’t mind,” Jay said calmly, looking at you with concern but also smiling like he somehow found you adorable.

“No!” You said with an unreasonable tone of refusal. Jay flinched in his seat from how loud you spoke. “No, you already came late, so I’m not cutting this meeting even shorter.”

“Alright,” Jay chuckled to himself. He looked to the ground and saw that you had your shoes off.

Eventually, you gave him constructive feedback and even managed to pull up the previous essay he had written and gave him pointers on the spot. When it was time to wrap up, Jay cleared his throat before proposing an idea.

“Noona,” he began, “can we have the next meeting at my place?”

“Sure,” you replied without hesitation. “What’s the name of the café this time?”

Jay smiled and shook his head. “I meant my place, as in, my house.”

“Oh?” You paused and let your hand hover over your book, trying to formulate a response. “Uhm, I have never—”

“If you feel uncomfortable, it’s fine. We can go to another place. You can choose!” Jay quickly revised his statement, worried that he made the wrong decision of even voicing his idea.

“Well, where do you live?” You asked, genuinely curious.

“Not walking distance from campus,” Jay said with a smile. “But again, I’ll drive you there and back. I live alone, it’s my parents' house, but they’re currently living in another city to take care of their business, so they left the house to me. And we won’t be alone, I’ve got some workers who are doing renovations, so…”

You realized how flustered he became, and by now you already know that Jay tends to say a lot of words when he was nervous, so to save him from further embarrassment, you nodded. His eyes lit up when he finally got an answer from you.

“I’ll text you when you can pick me up,” you said. “Don’t be late.”

Jay licked his lips before grinning widely. “I won’t.”

---

You were lounging on a huge sofa, a couple of pillows under your head and between your legs, and you winced as you heard the sound of ongoing construction outside the house. You glanced over to Jay, who had his eyebrows knitted and his rimless bluelight filter glasses perched on his nose, studiously reading the questions on his laptop screen. The noise-canceling headphones you brought proved to be useful, as he seemed to stay focused really well, and you wondered why he did not own a pair.

After introducing the idea of taking mock tests online and reviewing them right away, you ended up staying for longer hours whenever your meetings were held at Jay’s place, and when you first came there, one of the workers mistook you for Jay’s girlfriend. You then began to wonder if he had brought home other girls as well.

“Noona,” Jay called for you, breaking your chain of thoughts. “There’s no way I can answer this one correctly.”

Jay pulled his headphones down and gestured for you to sit next to him, so you did, and he pushed his laptop to your side so you can see its screen better. He was complaining about the true-false-not given questions, and he was getting frustrated because he could not tell the difference between false and not-given.

As you began to explain, Jay pulled the laptop closer to his side again, and you wanted him to read but also listen at the same time, so instead of pulling it closer to you, you moved closer to him. You ended up sitting closer to the coffee table and closer to the screen, with Jay sitting right behind you.

“So, if you see this passage here, the third paragraph,” you said, pointing at the screen. You did not hear a reply. “Jay?”

“Sorry,” Jay quickly replied, shaking his head. “Sorry, I zoned out. You smell so good.”

You were not going to let Jay see you blush, so you merely chuckled and cleared your throat. “Okay, moving on.”

You continued explaining, and Jay kept responding to you with one-word answers or mere hums, and you thought as long as he was paying attention, you did not need to check on him.

Little did you know that as you were speaking, his eyes were scanning your whole body. He leaned in ever so slightly to take in your scent better, and he noticed how sheer the button-down you were wearing was. He could barely see the outline of your light blue bra strap, and as you adjusted your position, he realized he was leaning in too close, so he quickly backed away before he got caught.

“Do you get it now?” You asked, looking back at him.

Jay was leaning against the sofa, a fair distance from you, but his eyes were focused on your lips, and that was a hard thing not to notice. To be frank, you were fighting yourself and trying to regulate your heartbeat whenever it beat faster when he came a little too close to you, and now you were beginning to think that the feeling might be mutual.

“Jay?” You asked. You then waved your hand in front of his face. “You seem out of it—”

You could not finish your sentence as you were in shock from the way his hand grabbed your wrist. You froze instantly, and your heart was beating even faster than when he was up close.

“Sorry,” Jay said, clearing his throat. He lowered your hand and let go of your wrist. “Sorry about that.”

“We can end the session now if you don’t feel well—”

“Noona,” he interrupted, “don’t end it now.”

“Okay,” you replied as you shifted in your seat and turned to face him. “How can I help you understand this better?”

Jay licked his lips and looked at the screen before looking at you, and within a short moment, he was flipping coins in his head, trying to imagine the different possible outcomes that would happen if he suggested what he was thinking the whole time.

“If I get the answer right,” he began, “would you show me your boobs?”

The question came out of nowhere and your immediate response was to laugh out loud, but once you looked at his face you realized he was dead serious, and since he asked politely you decided to entertain the idea.

“Alright, why not? Nothing to lose here,” you replied, confident that he would get the answer wrong. It was one of the types of questions that you hated the most because of how tricky it was, so you were convinced that even he would not get it right.

You were glad that you were wrong, for the first time in your life.

“I got it right, didn’t I?” Jay asked minutes later as you leaned closer to look at the screen, scanning the answer key and looking at Jay’s answer.

“Goddamnit,” you muttered, mindlessly clicking the mouse all over the screen.

You heard Jay whisper a ‘yes’ triumphantly and you sighed to yourself before turning around to face him. You began pulling your button-down up from the tuck in your pants, and Jay’s eyes immediately widened.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” He shouted, reaching his hands out to stop you. “What are you doing?”

“Flashing you?” You asked back, fingers frozen at the edges of your shirt.

Jay chuckled and fell back leaning his head on the sofa, taking his glasses off and covering his eyes with his forearm. “Noona, I was just joking.”

You felt disappointed, for some reason, and a little bit humiliated. Was he really just using you to feel motivated? And did that actually work? Were you secretly hoping for him to get the answer right?

“Really?” You asked again for confirmation. Jay nodded.

You paused for a second and then smiled. Jay thought you were going to say, ‘Good one’, but then you began scooting closer to him, and he immediately tensed up.

“So, when I sat down in front of you, and you got distracted, that was part of the act?” You asked, almost batting your eyelashes at him.

You could basically hear him gulp. “Yes,” he said, eyes on yours.

“You said I smelled good, was that just a joke too?”

“No,” Jay answered, chuckling this time. “You really do smell good.”

You reached a spot close enough to hear his thoughts, your breasts just inches apart from his chest.

“I really hope you’re not lying,” you whispered, your lips almost grazing his.

Jay let out a soft grunt before he pulled you by your wrist, and you yelped as he somehow managed to maneuver you to sit on his lap. You then kissed him first, pushing him back and letting his head rest on the seat cushion. Both his hands began riding up your thigh as you mercilessly dominated the kiss, quickly tangling your fingers in his gorgeous hair.

His hands moved to your ass to give it a squeeze and you moaned into his mouth, your body shaking and quickly succumbing to his touch. You began grinding on him, barely feeling his bulge, but as he began to dominate the kiss you heard feet shuffling right out the terrace.

“Jay?”

You jumped out of his lap at the sound and immediately made your way to the open kitchen, pretending to busy yourself. Jay cleared his throat and wiped away his saliva, or maybe yours, from his mouth. He stood up and walked over to one of the construction workers who called him, and you tried to observe them quietly as he spoke to him. He held himself with so much composure, almost like he did not even get caught making out with his tutor.

The worker then nodded, and Jay waved slightly at him, and you assumed that the man just gave Jay an update before excusing themselves for the day. You took a deep breath and held the empty glass you took in one hand while massaging your temple. You saw Jay making his way towards you with an apologetic smile on his face.

“Sorry again,” Jay said, standing on the opposite side of the counter. “I actually… don’t have anything else to say.”

You chuckled and looked down to avoid eye contact because you were sure that one more look from him would make you combust.

“Are you okay?” Jay asked, voice full of concern.

“I am, why?” You replied, confused.

Jay shook his head, unsure. “I just did not want to come off as a… I just hope you know that I’m not taking advantage of you, and I really don’t want you to feel—”

You began laughing softly and Jay had to stop speaking.

“Noona?”

“It’s fine,” you said as you began walking to him. You fixed a strand of his hair that was out of place from how much you were ruffling his hair earlier. “I’m okay.”

Jay kept his eyes on you, and you detected a different emotion. Before, you saw that it was lust, but now his eyes seemed hopeful.

“If you’re really okay with it,” Jay spoke, placing a hand behind his neck, “do you think it would be cool if we make it, like, a regular thing?”

“Elaborate, please.”

Jay chuckled softly. “I meant like, I think I could get motivated a lot if there was a reward waiting if I get a question right. Or if I reach a certain score in a mock test, don’t you think?”

You liked the idea very much that there was literally no reason to refuse. “I actually agree.”

“You do?” Jay started smiling widely. “Okay, cool, so the next meeting—”

“You’ll have to pick me up again after my class,” you interrupted, “and we’ll probably need some snacks here.”

Jay nodded firmly as if he had just negotiated a great deal. “Wait, Noona, you don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

You shook your head. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Of course not,” Jay scoffed. “I just didn’t want to get in between of anything.”

You pouted and nodded, understanding. “Well, you’d probably be getting in between something.”

Jay tilted his head in confusion, and you brought your hand to your thigh, patting it. Jay closed his eyes and sighed. You giggled at his reaction.

“This session is over. You need to drive me back,” you demanded, placing the glass you were holding the whole time back on the counter.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Jay muttered before winking at you and turning around to go grab his car keys. You rolled your eyes before following him.

---

To say that you could not wait for your next session with Jay would be an understatement. You were literally counting the days, down to the minute, and you were checking your phone a ridiculous number of times just so you could respond to his chats in an instant. When he picked you up and you saw him getting out of the car to open the door for you, your heart was beating like a drum.

It was understandable, and pretty logical, actually. You had not been intimate with anyone in a long time, and Jay was, quite frankly, fucking hot. It did not help that he was intelligent as well, which was definitely your type. Your heart was racing, and your mind was imagining a thousand different scenarios that you did not even realize that you had arrived at Jay’s place.

You quickly noticed the absence of noise when you stepped out of the car. Jay walked up to the door and looked back at you, noticing how you were also silent.

“It’s a day off for the workers, today,” Jay explained, “it’s just you and me.”

“Thank God,” you muttered.

Jay chuckled. “What?”

“Did I just say that out loud?” You asked back in shock.

Jay laughed, genuinely finding you amusing. “You said it under your breath, but I heard it.”

“How embarrassing,” you said to yourself as you entered the house after him.

“On the contrary,” Jay responded, “I find it adorable.”

For this session, you decided to stay as farther away from Jay as possible, to let him focus and also to clear your mind. He was doing a mock test on his laptop after he received major feedback on his homework essay, and you took the time to wander around his kitchen and check his supplies.

“I can hear you opening the cabinets,” Jay spoke in a louder tone, all the way from the living room.

“Don’t mind me,” you shouted back. “Just focus if you want to get a good score.”

“What was the reward again?” Jay asked, smiling to himself as he scanned the question on his screen.

“A make out session if you reach 7,” you reminded him despite knowing full well that he just wanted you to recite it back to him. “And if you reach 8, I’ll give you a blowjob.”

“Fuck,” Jay muttered to himself.

You were unsure if it was because the thought made him unable to focus, or if he was actually struggling to answer the questions. After a few more minutes, he finally finished his Reading mock test, and you walked over to check his score.

“Noona, I present to you,” Jay began speaking, proudly, “a 7.5.”

Your eyebrows knitted as you observed the screen and scanned the page, checking Jay’s answers and matching them with the answer key. Meanwhile, Jay was leaning back and stretching his arms up, cracking his neck and basically doing preparations as if he was about to run a marathon.

“Good job,” you said, pushing the laptop towards the center of the table. You then turned around only to find him sitting comfortably on the sofa, arms to his side and his lap looking so inviting.

“Can I get my reward now?” He asked, eyes glowing and expecting.

“I’ll count it as a 7, since we never agreed on anything if you get a .5 score,” you said, taking the scrunchie from your wrist and tying your hair up in a messy bun.

“I’ll take anything,” Jay whispered, his arms welcoming you as you carefully straddled him.

You paused to place your hands on the sides of his face, and you bit your lower lip slightly before you leaned into him. His lips greeted yours warmly, and you could not help but sigh into his mouth once you felt his heat envelop you. Jay roamed his hands around your waist, up to your back, and lingering on your shoulders for a moment, pushing you even closer to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered into your lips. “You taste so good, Noona.”

You smiled and kissed him even harder, hoping it would translate into gratitude. You felt his fingers going under your shirt, grazing your skin and you shivered at his touch. He continued kissing you, licking your lips, tugging on your tongue, teeth slightly clashing with yours when the two of you got way too passionate. His fingers tugged your bra and he pulled away only to ask you a question.

“Can I?” He spoke, voice raspy from the lack of air. You wanted it just as much as him, so you nodded quietly.

He unhooked your bra with one hand and immediately moved his hand to the front, squeezing your tits as he continued to devour your lips. You began moaning helplessly, and you could feel him growing hard against your core.

“Jay,” you whined, “your reward is just a make out session.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know, but doesn’t this feel so good?”

You felt him pinch your hard nipple slightly and you flinched before giggling, hiding your blushing face in the crook of his neck. You realized that he had a birthmark there, so you began kissing it, then licking it, then sucking on it, and only then did Jay let out a moan that sounded new to you.

“Noona,” he said, breathless. “We need to establish clearer rules and rewards.”

You kissed him all the way up to his jawline before meeting his lips again. “What do you mean?” You spoke against his lips.

“How about,” Jay said, pausing to groan since he felt his hard-on getting too restricted against his jeans. “For 7.5, I get to finger you?”

You pulled away from him to look him in the eyes and chuckled. “That sounds like more of a reward for me than it is for you.”

“But I really want it,” Jay confessed. “Please let me finger you.”

“Now?” You asked, placing your hands on his shoulders.

Jay nodded. “Aren’t you wet yet?”

He took the liberty to slide his hand under your pants, which happened to be elastic, thank God, and placed two fingers right along your slit. You elicited a whimper, and Jay could swear that you even shuddered at the sudden contact.

“You are,” Jay announced boldly. “Would you let me?”

His palm was right on your core anyway, and you thought that it would be stupid of you to refuse since he was already making you feel so good. Besides, his argument made sense.

“Okay,” you answered breathlessly, and within a second Jay was pulling your pants down to the floor.

“Seamless,” he commented as he eyed your panties. “Why am I not surprised?”

You shook your head and chuckled. “Why? Do you prefer a lacey thong?”

Jay stroked the inside of your thighs gently as he guided you by your waist to sit back down on the sofa, letting him hover his body over you.

“I would actually prefer nothing,” Jay whispered before closing the gap between your lips.

You felt his tongue enter your mouth and his fingers slipping inside of you almost at the same time, and the immense pleasure made you arch your back. His two fingers curled up inside you, making a ‘come hither’ motion that somehow felt gentle and harsh at the same time. He was moving his fingers at a slow pace, but the pressure he put on made you see stars.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, reaching for Jay’s arms to hold on to. “Jay…”

He loved the way you moaned his name, so he curled his fingers one more time and you whimpered, feeling your legs beginning to shake.

“Fuck,” you muttered again, tilting your head to the side, and letting Jay leave love bites along your neck. “Fuck, Jay, I’m gonna cum.”

“Please do,” he whispered into your ear, maintaining his pace the moment you told him so.

When you finally reached your high, your legs were shaking, and your body was spasming, and Jay had to wipe the sweat that formed on your forehead, tucking your hair behind your ear at the same time. His hand was drenched, and you could feel your cum trickling down onto the sofa.

“Oh my God, sorry,” you said in an instant.

Jay shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said calmly, waiting for you to catch your breath before he deemed it was time to pull his fingers out of you. When he did, you watched as he stared at them, two fingers glistening with your essence. He brought his hand up to his mouth and took a sniff before tasting it. The sight made you roll your eyes back.

“It’s unfair,” Jay began, “the way you taste as good as you smell.”

“God,” you said to yourself, and Jay laughed lowly, proud of how he was able to render you speechless. “What about you now?”

Jay tilted his head and then looked down at the obvious tent in his pants. “Oh, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it later.”

“In that case,” you said, pushing his chest slightly so he could move away from you. You tugged down your panties that had stayed on the whole time, and when you took them off your ankles you handed them to Jay.

“For later.”

You smiled as he took your panties in his hand, and you cackled the moment he took a sniff dramatically.

“Thanks, Noona,” Jay said, leaning in to leave a quick peck on your cheek. “Time to drive you back now.”

---

The next couple of meetings were spent in the same manner, more or less. Jay would try his best to get a score as high as he could, but he would never go over 7.5, so all you did was make out with him in his living room, in his bedroom, or even in his car on the ride back to campus. He took it like a champ, though, and he never insisted on taking things further than what you had previously agreed on.

You had one meeting left with him before his scheduled test, and you were dreading the day. Usually, you would be looking forward to meeting him, but all things come to an end, even private lessons, so you halfheartedly dolled yourself up in front of the mirror in your faculty’s restrooms, still determined to look your best for your favorite student.

The car ride to his house was spent in comfortable silence, and you did not mind the way his hand reached for your thigh, resting it there as he rubbed his thumb along your skin. You were wearing a short skirt for a change, and you loved the way it had caught his attention in an instant. Once you arrived, Jay took you by your hand and led you straight to his bedroom for privacy, since the workers were currently at his house.

“Noona,” he called for you before starting the mock test on his computer. You were halfway making yourself comfortable on his bed. “Can you sit with me while I do this?”

“Where?” You walked towards him.

He spun his chair towards you and patted his lap. “Here.”

You chuckled. “Why?”

“It’s our last meeting and I want to be close to you.”

You were underestimating the effects of his words and you felt like your stomach did a flip. You never shied away from his advances, though, so doing it now would be weird. And you did not want it to backfire and end up demotivating him.

“Okay,” you said, turning around before you carefully sat on his lap. You had to adjust your position several times to make sure he was comfortable, and he wrapped an arm around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder as he began the test.

“You can answer in your mind if you want,” Jay said, tilting his chin towards the screen.

You answered by reaching your hand back to stroke his hair, and he hummed in delight as he began answering the test. Eventually, you leaned your back towards his chest and sat comfortably, almost falling asleep from his warmth. You eyed the screen and noticed that he was about to answer a question wrong, so you placed your hand over his and moved the mouse to the right option.

“Isn’t this cheating?” He asked, genuinely unsure.

“I’m giving you a pass, Jay,” you answered calmly, patting his cheek.

After a while, he finished his mock test, and you saw the results come up as soon as he clicked next.

“You did it,” you said, staring at the screen. “That’s an 8.”

You noticed that Jay was silent for too long, and then you realized you had sat on his lap for too long, so you quickly stood up and stretched your legs, smoothing your skirt down.

“Are you ready for your reward?” You asked, eyes full of anticipation.

Jay licked his lips and shook his head. You immediately frowned.

“I feel like if you hadn’t corrected that one question, I would still get a 7.5,” Jay confessed. “It’s okay, I’ll skip the reward.”

“What?” You said, almost spitting your words out. You did not know why his refusal got you so worked up.

“Noona,” he began, reaching for your hands as he stood up from his seat. “I appreciate what you’ve been doing for me, but I also don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

You continued to frown, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I’ve loved the sessions we had, and I’m really thankful for all the rewards, but I need you to know that my goal remains the same, and it’s to get the highest score possible. The test is in a week, and I need to remain focused.”

He really did it, you thought. He used you to his advantage until he didn’t need you anymore.

But you knew that, deep inside. You knew that this way of giving him motivation would be dangerous, more for you than for him. You knew that Jay is a professional and that he takes his studies seriously, so you knew that catching feelings would be out of the picture for him.

Sadly, you forgot to set the boundaries for yourself.

You really thought that you could keep it casual, and you really thought that you were not going to start having feelings for him since it had been ages anyway since you had loved someone, so why does his professionalism hurt you? When in fact, you should be thankful that he respected you?

Your mind was running a mile a minute thinking of possible scenarios, and his face was becoming concerned. Eventually, you managed to fake a smile and you nodded before you said your response.

“As expected,” you began, “from the top student in class.”

Jay blinked, not expecting you to remember the one fun fact that Heeseung had told you about him.

“Your essays have improved so much since the first meeting. Your speaking is fine, just remember not to use fillers too much. You have no problem with the listening section, and for reading, I suggest you keep practicing during the few days before the test.”

Now, Jay was the one with a frown on his face. He was wondering why you were acting so formally again.

“I’ll text you good luck before the test, and when the results are out, tell me your score,” you continued.

“If I get over 7.5—”

“I’ll treat you to lunch.”

Jay scrunched his nose. “Pardon?”

“I’ll treat you to a nice lunch, okay? My pick this time,” you said with a smile so convincing that it was hard for him not to smile back.

“Okay,” Jay smiled back at you, trying to hide the tone of disappointment in his voice.

---

Days had passed by since Jay took his test, and even since the results of it came out. You held back from texting him first since he never responded to your good luck text on the day of his test. You then swallowed the bitter fact that, maybe, or most likely, Jay really was using you and your dumb self had consented to it.

But it could not be, you convinced yourself. He was a gentleman. Would he really do that?

You gave up trying to find answers that might make you feel better, so you decided to busy yourself with other freelance work that came your way. You felt bad turning down the other students that Heeseung had referred you to, and you had to come up with lame excuses like you had no time or you had way too much on your plate.

The real reason was that everything about the test prep now reminds you of Jay, and you would not want to take out your anger and disappointment on your new student. You thought it was best to stop tutoring for a while until you had completely moved on.

One of the latest gigs that got you a little too excited was speaking for a panel discussion in a workshop that was related to your teaching experience on campus. Previously, you attended these events as a participant, sitting in the audience and actively taking notes and recording the speakers, but now you get to see it from the other side of the stage, and you could not help but feel proud of yourself.

You dressed your best to impress, for once not dressing for yourself but for the audience, and when you sat in between the other speakers on stage you became so engrossed that you almost did not realize the familiar figure sitting on the front row but at the farthest chair from the stage.

Jay noticed you looking at him, so he threw you a soft smile and a tiny wave with his hand. You smiled and quickly turned towards the host who had called out your name to address a question. You answered the question and looked at the other speakers on your side, and you were glad that they were nodding along to your response, signaling that you had indeed answered the question correctly.

Surprisingly, it was not hard to stay focused on the rest of the discussion. Jay sat pretty far from your sight, so all you had to do was look anywhere except in his direction. You did look at him one more time, though, and you caught him looking at the huge screen that was focusing on your face as you were speaking. You almost sighed in relief a little too loudly when the session ended, and you gathered your belongings as well as your thoughts as the other people swarmed towards the outside of the hall.

You could feel someone approaching you from behind, and when you turned around Jay was looking at you with a soft gaze in his eyes.

“Noona,” he said.

“Hey, Jay,” you greeted him back.

“Listen, can I speak to you somewhere else private?” He asked before looking around and spotting several people still lingering inside the hall.

“This seems private enough,” you said as you looked around too. “I barely know anyone here.”

Jay became visibly uncomfortable, and you instantly felt bad.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I can drive you home and we can talk on the way, or—”

“Or, you can come up with me to my room,” you suggested.

Jay’s mouth was slightly open as he tried to process your words.

“I am staying here for the weekend. You don’t have to drive me anywhere,” you said with a smile, turning around to grab your bag. Your heart was beating a little too fast to your liking.

Jay tailed you and kept silent as you both waited for the elevator to open. Once it did, you entered and he followed behind you, waiting until the doors closed before he finally began to speak.

“I got an 8.5,” Jay said, looking down at the floor.

Your eyes widened. “Jay, that’s amazing!”

“I’m sorry,” he then said.

You were confused. “What?”

The elevator dinged and two people came inside. You decided to wait until you reached your floor to continue the conversation.

“I’ll explain once we’re inside, I promise,” Jay said as he matched your pace, walking beside you until you reach your door.

His face instantly switched from worried to wonder when he realized that you were walking all the way to the end of the hall.

“The event gave you a suite?” Jay asked, pure curiosity getting the best of him.

You could not help but chuckle. “No, I upgraded myself. Come in.”

As soon as you closed the door, you felt Jay pull your hand before he quickly trapped you between his body and the wall. You did not even have the time to be surprised because the next thing you knew his lips were latched onto yours, and your body betrayed you by reciprocating him and pulling him closer to you.

Jay quickly pulled away when he felt your fingers hooked on his belt. You licked your lips and let your eyes search for his.

“I’m sorry, I owe you an explanation,” Jay said, rubbing his hand on your waist. “I shouldn’t have lunged at you like this.”

You cleared your throat and fixed your hair, gently pushing him away from you before you made your way to the loveseat in the center of the room.

“Have a seat,” you replied, sitting on the sofa yourself and bringing your legs up to your chest.

Jay sat down and took his bag off, letting it fall to the floor as he let out a huge sigh.

“I don’t know where to start,” he confessed.

“Take your time,” you responded, stretching your arm and leaning your head on it. “Maybe start with why you didn’t reply to my texts?”

“I lost my phone,” Jay began. “Literally the night before the test. I had no time to get a new one, and I didn’t want to get distracted, so I just went on and took the test. Right after, though, my professor… that jackass…”

Your eyes widened at Jay’s frustrated insult, and you had to hold back a smile.

“It was just class after class, task after task, I really did not have the time or mental capacity to get back to you, and I don’t want you to think that I consider you as less of a priority, because I don’t, and I really tried to ask Heeseung for your number again, but it’s… you know what? These are excuses. I don’t want to give you excuses.”

You frowned but at the same time, an amused smile was slowly creeping up your face.

“I should have contacted you the minute I could, but I didn’t, and I let other stuff take up my time. That’s my mistake. I’m sorry.”

“Alright, apology accepted,” you said, tapping your fingers on the sofa.

Jay looked at you in confusion. “Really? That easy?”

You clicked your tongue and tilted your head. “That still does not explain why you kissed me a second ago, though.”

“Right,” Jay continued. He took a deep breath before he spoke again. “Right.”

You chuckled lightly and adjusted your position. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Because you’re so fucking gorgeous, and I have feelings for you but I’m not sure you have the same.”

You held a hand over your mouth in shock. “Jay,” you mumbled.

“You understood me wrongly,” he continued. “The day of our last meeting when I said I needed to remain focused. I was trying to confess to you.”

Your eyes were looking into his and you nodded once, telling him to continue.

“I really did not want you to think that I was taking advantage of you. I just grew to like you a lot, and you can’t even imagine how fucking relieved I was when you agreed to my proposal of rewards. Every single time I spent with you only deepened my feelings even more, and I…”

Jay paused to look at you, and you straightened your position.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Rambling when I’m nervous?” Jay said, almost stuttering towards the end of his sentence.

You smiled to yourself before you pushed your body up. You made your way to his side and sat close beside him, touching your thigh with his.

“Well, let me tell you that I’m fucking relieved that you’re here to straighten things out,” you stated, resting a hand on his thigh. “Because guess what?”

You ended your question by inching your face closer to his.

“What?” He muttered under his breath.

“I have feelings for you, too.”

Jay sighed out of relief and smiled before he leaned in to kiss you, and as his hands found their place on your waist, you moved to straddle him. You were both in a familiar position, taking you back to the hours you would spend at his house, making out with him as a reward.

“Noona,” he spoke against your lips in between kisses. “When I said if I get more than 7.5, I was going to say I wanted to eat you out.”

You broke down laughing against his lips and you had to move your face to his neck so he wouldn’t choke on your breaths.

“You just had to interrupt me and say that you were going to treat me to lunch,” Jay continued before bringing your face back up and devouring your lips again. “You kind of owe me.”

You hummed against his lips and guided his hands to go underneath your shirt. He unhooked your bra with ease before moving his hands to cup both your breasts.

“God,” you muttered, grinding your hips harder against his crotch.

“Noona,” Jay breathed, moving his hand to unbutton your shirt. “Can’t you moan my name instead?”

“Oh, Jay,” you whispered, chuckling when you see him smile as your hands cupped his face. “You sweet little thing.”

Jay had managed to take both your bra and your shirt off in an instant, and you brought his head closer to your breasts so he could fondle them with his mouth. You moaned louder as he nibbled on your nipple, grinding faster against his hips and placing your hands firmly on his head.

“Why don’t I treat you to lunch now?” You proposed, tugging his hair and making him look up at you.

Jay nodded and you moved away from his lap, standing up and bringing him to his feet too. You started unbuttoning his shirt as you walked backwards, leading him towards the bed. He placed his hands firmly on your waist, letting you do your thing. Once the back of your legs hit the bed, you sat down and took off your panties and trousers in one go. Jay immediately kneeled in front of you.

“I still have your panties, Noona,” he said as you rested your legs comfortably on his shoulder.

“What do you do with it?” You asked, challenging him.

“I touch myself with it and imagine doing this to you.”

His lips brushed against your folds without warning, and you immediately fell back to the bed, lying down. He kissed your clit before running his tongue along your slit, and the warmth and wetness of his mouth drove you crazy. You began pulling on his hair, determined to get him even closer, and he reacted by hooking his arm around your thighs, humming as he lapped up your arousal.

“Jay,” you whimpered. “You’re doing so good.”

He began making loud wet noises deliberately, knowing how it would make you moan louder, and when you were squirming under his touch he inserted a finger, all the while toying with your clit using his tongue.

“Fuck!” You hissed, arching your back and lifting your ass from the bed. “Don’t stop, Jay, please.”

You pressed the ball of your foot against Jay’s back as he continued to eat you out, taking you to your first high of the night and cumming against his mouth. You were breathing loudly, panting so much like the air was sucked out of you. Jay squeezed your thigh before unlatching his lips, then he gently caressed your folds with his fingers, collecting the remains of your cum before licking them dry.

“Come here,” you begged, your hands reaching out for nothing until he moved and placed himself between your legs.

Jay leaned down and began kissing your jaw, and you took the liberty of unbuckling his belt and tugging his pants down as he devoured your neck. You felt the bulge underneath his boxers and almost froze at the contact.

“What’s wrong?” Jay asked, noticing how you stopped moving for a split second.

“You’re…” You tried your best to look down at his crotch. “You’re fucking huge.”

Jay was the one with a breathy chuckle now, amused at your reaction.

“That’s because it’s hard, and that’s because of you, Noona.”

“Fuck me, then,” you replied, bringing one hand to squeeze his biceps. “Literally, please.”

“Wait, let me just…”

Jay moved away from you to reach inside the pockets of his pants before kicking it off then he pulled his boxers off completely, and only then you realized he was holding a condom.

“That condom was in your pocket this whole time?” You asked in disbelief. “Were you expecting this to happen?”

“Noona,” Jay looked at you with a smirk. “You know how driven I am.”

“Oh my God,” you retorted, chuckling and covering your eyes with your arm. “Can’t believe I fell for it.”

Jay unwrapped the condom and slid it down his length with ease.

“Staying safe, are we?” You asked with a smile as you welcomed him back into your embrace.

“Well, I’m a med student, so…”

“Okay, enough, let’s just fuck.”

Jay kissed your face a couple more times until it got annoying because he was clearly stalling. You grabbed his face and he chuckled, biting his lower lip.

“You’re really pretty,” he confessed all of a sudden.

“And you’re hot as fuck, so can you just fuck me please?”

Jay nodded and kissed you with a smile, aligning his tip with your slit. “Take a deep breath,” he whispered.

You did as he said, and you were glad you did. Jay filled you up and once again you had underestimated your own predictions. Back when you were still just making out and straddling him, you only had a faint idea of his size, and he was wearing loose pants all the time, so it was not like you were able to tell easily. Your breath became shaky as you felt him bottom out, and he brought his hand up to caress your face.

“Tell me if it’s okay to move,” he whispered ever so gently before kissing your nose.

You opened your eyes and found him staring at you. You were breathing from your mouth, so he tilted his head to kiss your cheek softly. After that, you reached your hands under his arms, latched them on his shoulders, and then you nodded.

He pulled out of you and thrusted back in gently, and the force already had you gasping for air. Once he found a steady rhythm, you began matching his pace, thrusting your hips upwards and meeting him halfway. It was impossible to hold back your moans, and if you weren’t moaning you were whimpering, or breathing his name with every stroke he made.

“I’m close, Noona,” he spoke against your lips.

You nodded and ran your fingers through his hair. “Me too.”

Jay began increasing his pace, thrusting into you with a little more force. He looked down and placed a hand under your thigh, keeping your leg secure beside him. He then looked up at you to check if you were still okay. You licked your lips and pulled him into a kiss. His thrusts soon began to grow sloppy, and after he finally released his seed, your walls clenched around his shaft, letting him know that you had reached your high too.

You slowly try to catch your breath, and Jay kissed you once more before pulling out of you, careful not to make a mess. He took the condom off and tied it before quickly chucking it in the bin, and he made himself comfortable lying beside you. Your hand was looking a little lonely, so he took it and intertwined his fingers with yours.

The two of you sat in silence as both your chests heaved up and down. You turned your head to look at Jay and he was closing his eyes as if he was savoring the moment. You scooted closer to him, taking your hand away but letting him wrap you in his arms.

“So, what are we?” You asked in the most straightforward manner.

Jay’s heavy breaths turned into a chuckle, and soon after you were both just laughing like idiots madly in love.

-END-

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