#jay angst

[bywons]

ME AND MY HUSBAND | PJS

SYNOPSIS all you want is to be seen and loved by your future husband, two of the very things park jongseong has no idea about. but through unspoken protection and warm tension, jongseong lets himself love again.

OR, jongseong falls for you when a series of events pushes you both closer

GENRE arranged marriage au, angst, fluff, hurt & comfort, ‘she fell first but he fell harder’ vibe (?) slowburn-ish

PAIRING cold fiance! park jongseong x female! reader ( ft. other characters )

WARNINGS mention of bruises and fighting, alcohol, arguments, skinship, kissing, underlying misogyny ( not from jay ), crying, alcohol mention and use

WORDCOUNT 19.5k words / 19,557 words

AUTHORS NOTE hey precious readers! i would like to start this special message by an apology because one i am posting this a month late and two this is my first ever long fic. so you know the drill, i havent quite mastered to flow of long fics, so im sorry in advance if there is any type of mistakes in the story TT that being said, i chose a pretty easy topic to work with this time, so im hoping you guys will like it! arranged marriage aus and jay is definitely one of my fav combos, and i hope it delivered it well >< please enjoy and happy reading :3

FEEDBACKS AND REBLOGS ARE VERY APPRECIATED

PARK JONGSEONG HAS NEVER KISSED YOU. 

Maybe you have never even felt his touch, the mere sensation of fingers brushing innocently against each other was unknown to you. 

And as you realise it, your chest tightens, and you dig your fingernails way too deep into your palms until they form little red crescents which burn. You realise he’d never seen you shed your tears as well, so you keep them at bay, praying that it’ll be enough to hide the storm brewing inside you. 

Park Jongseong is your fiancé, an arranged marriage. Bound to you by the weight of expectation, tradition, and a polished ring that sparkles mockingly on your finger.

To anyone else, you might seem like the perfect couple—well-dressed at formal dinners, walking side by side at events, exchanging polite smiles that barely reach your eyes. But behind closed doors, the gap between you feels insurmountable. 

Sometimes during those boring and forced events, all you want to do is to pull Jongseong closer by his arm. You want him to look at you and smile, to hold you by the waist and kiss you, to at least, acknowledge your presence in a room. 

But Park Jongseong is careful, too careful.

His words are measured, his actions restrained, as though every interaction is scripted. When he walks beside you, there’s always a polite distance, just enough to make it clear he’s near but never close enough to feel his warmth. Even when he hands you something—a pen, a glass of water—his fingers never brush yours.

It’s like he’s built an invisible wall between you, one that neither of you has dared to tear down.

“Ah—!” he winces in pain as you dab the medicated damp cotton a little too hard over his bruise on his cheeks. 

“S-sorry, I had something on my mind,” you stutter, immediately discarding the cotton into a trashcan.

“Its fine,” Jongseong whispers. 

“Wait let me see—” you reach your trembling, careful hand towards Jongseong’s bruise, in high hopes to cure it. 

“Its okay I'm fine,” Jongseong reiterates, slapping your hand away in a hurried motion.

Ouch. Does he not want you touching him? 

You gulp. The previous plaguing thoughts dawning over you once again. Doubt, insecurity and disturbance hurls at you at a threatening velocity once again, and you can feel yourself falling into a black void. 

You gulp again, your throat suddenly dry, your fingers tightening around the edge of the bathroom sink. You wish you had something to hold onto, something solid or real. Because standing here, staring at your fiancé, you felt like you were slipping into something dark and unknown. 

Jongseong sits on the marble countertop, his long legs spread apart, hands resting on either side of him like he was trying to keep himself steady. His crisp white dress shirt rumpled, the top buttons undone, revealing the faintest hint of a bruise blooming against his collarbone. His knuckles are scraped raw, his lip slightly swollen, and yet, god, yet he still looked unfairly handsome. Even now, even like this. 

You wish he would just kiss you. 

Just once. 

Just so you could taste something other than this awful, gnawing suspicion twisting in your gut.  

“How’d you hurt yourself?” you finally ask, your voice quiet but firm, pushing past the lump in your throat. The words feel too small in the vast space between you.  

Jongseong exhales sharply through his nose, shifting where he sat, as if he suddenly found the countertop beneath him unbearably uncomfortable. He lifts a hand, raking it through his raven-black hair, the strands falling messily over his forehead. His dark eyes never met yours.  

“Just fell first on my face,” he mutters, his voice tinged with forced nonchalance. “I was late to the office.”  

The explanation is simple. Too simple. Like a script he had rehearsed and rewritten a thousand times before finally presenting it to you. His words echo in the cold, tiled room, but they lack weight. Lack of honesty. 

Your fingers clench at the fabric of your sleeves as you nod slowly, pretending, for now, that you believed him. But the walls around you felt thinner, and the air between you was suffocating.  

Because deep down, you know.  

Jongseong is lying.

You nod slowly, trying to process his words, but they feel so hollow, so rehearsed. Jongseong doesn't even meet your eyes as he speaks, his gaze fixed on the tiled bathroom wall behind you.

“You should be more careful,” you sigh, ultimately rearranging all the medicines back to the first aid kit, with all your hopes of holding a long conversation with Jongseong slipping away into the trash can, “Its okay if you're late to office one day—” 

“How'd you get this?” Jongseong mumbles, his hand was flying slowly towards you from your peripheral vision. 

In a moment he stands up, easily towering over you. You can't dare to look in his eyes, so you settle yours at the loose buttons of his shirt. Your heart thumps faster as he moves in closer, a concerned yet bored tone in his voice. 

And then it finally happens, the impact takes place. The rough, calloused yet gentle pads of his fingers touch the apple of your cheeks. 

An electric shock runs through your veins— Park Jongseong touches your face. 

“Uhm- I uh I was-” you stutter, unable to form a proper sentence. 

“Weird,” Jongseong scoffs, retracting his hand. You wince at the absence of his touch, wishing it’d lasted longer. Jongseong continues, “we got hurt in the same place.” 

Your breath hitches.  

The warmth of his fingers lingered on your skin, even though the touch had been fleeting. Insignificant, maybe, to him. But to you? It was enough to leave your thoughts spiraling, to send your heart into a frenzied rhythm you couldn’t control.  

Jongseong’s expression doesn’t change. It’s still composed, unreadable, but there was something else in his eyes now. Not warmth, not affection, but something bordering on curiosity. As if he were piecing together a puzzle, one he didn’t quite care enough to solve.  

You force out a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “It’s just a coincidence,” you mutter, lying through your teeth. Because, just like him, you aren’t being honest either.  

Because your bruise wasn’t an accident.  

And neither was his.  

For a second, just a brief second, the two of you stand there in silence. The space between you feels suffocating, but not because of proximity. It was the weight of everything left unsaid. The doubts, the unspoken questions, the invisible wall that had existed from the very start.  

You want to reach for him, to bridge the gap. To ask him what had really happened, to tell him you weren’t as blind as he might think. But the words die in your throat when Jongseong took a step back, like he had just realized he’d gotten too close.  

“I should go,” he says flatly, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off some invisible burden. His hand brushes over his lip, pressing lightly against the swelling before he turns toward the door.  

“Jongseong—”  

He pauses. Just barely. Not enough to turn around, not enough to give you hope.  

You clench your fists at your sides. “Be careful next time,” you finish, your voice softer, weaker than you wanted it to be.  

There was a moment where you thought—hoped—he might say something back. But instead, he simply nods once before slipping out of the bathroom, leaving you standing there, alone with your own reflection.  

Your fingers reach up, tracing the ghost of his touch on your cheek.  

Park Jongseong had never kissed you.  

And at this rate, you aren't  sure if he ever will.

THE EVENING AIR BUZZES WITH CONVERSATION AND CLINKING GLASSES.

You sit rigidly at the long aok dining table, forcing a smile.

Jongseong is beside you, distant even in proximity, his fingers lightly tapping against the stem of his wine glass. You steal glances at him when you think he’s not looking, searching for any crack in his polished mask.

Across the table, your cousin Daisy leans forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“So…” she begins loudly enough to catch everyone’s attention, “how’s the arranged love story going? Still playing house or have we upgraded to actual feelings yet?”

The table erupts into laughter. You stiffen, your heart dropping into your stomach.

You try to laugh along, but it comes out awkward and brittle.

“You know, busy schedules. Hard to plan our fairy tale ending around board meetings and conference calls.”

The words taste sour in your mouth. 

You glance sideways at Jongseong, silently begging him with your eyes— Say something. Tell them it’s more. Tell them I’m more to you.

He simply chuckles, a soft, detached sound, and lifts his glass. The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Work always comes first,” he says, voice smooth, almost rehearsed.

There’s a pause. A small, hollow space opens inside your chest, which Jongseong manages to disturb.

Daisy snickers. “So romantic. Truly the love story of the century.”

Someone else jokes about putting bets on how long the marriage will last. More laughter, even more jokes. Insensitive and overlooking.

You feel your face heating up, but it's not embarrassment, it’s humiliation. And Jongseong, just sits there. Smiling politely, like he’s miles away.

You press your lips together tightly, stabbing your fork into a piece of roasted vegetable.

The moment passes, conversation flowing into safer topics, but your appetite is gone. All you can taste is the bitter disappointment.

As dessert is served, Jongseong’s phone vibrates on the table. He glances at it quickly, then tucks it away without a word. The tiny movement feels monumental. Another reminder that there's always somewhere else he'd rather be.

Finally, after what feels like hours, people start gathering their things, pulling on coats, exchanging hugs and goodbyes.

You and Jongseong step out into the chilly night. The cold air slaps your cheeks, a stark contrast to the stifling warmth inside.

You walk side by side in silence towards the car.

You can't hold it in any longer.

“Why didn’t you say anything back there?” you blurt, voice trembling despite your best effort to stay calm.

Jongseong stops walking. Turns to you slowly. His face is unreadable under the dim porch lights.

“About what?” he asks, feigning innocence. Oh, how you hate that face.

“About us,” you snap, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “When they joked, when they implied we’re just business partners?”

He shrugs. “It was just a joke. Why give them more to gossip about?”

You stare at him, blinking rapidly to keep the sting of tears at bay. “Because it’s not just a joke to me.”

He exhales, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’re overthinking it, Y/n.”

You laugh bitterly. “Am I? Because it feels pretty real when you don’t even try to correct them. When you act like you’re fine with everyone believing this marriage is just some... some arrangement you’re tolerating.”

His jaw tightens. “What would you have wanted me to say? That we’re madly in love? That we’re inseparable? That I can’t breathe without you?” His voice is low, cutting. He snaps, “Would that have made you feel better? Lying to everyone?”

You flinch like he slapped you. The hurt pools behind your eyes.

“I don’t need you to lie,” you whisper. “I just—”

The words hang between you, heavy, fragile.

For a second, just a second, something flickers across his face. Regret? Guilt? You can't tell.

But just as quickly, he turns away, walking briskly to the car. “Let’s not do this here,” he says sharply. “It’s late.”

You stand there for a moment, heart pounding, watching his back retreat from you like a closing door.

When you finally move, your feet feel like lead. You climb into the passenger seat without a word. The ride back home is suffocating. Silent. A chasm grows wider with every passing streetlight.

You want to reach out, to grab his hand, to say something, anything, that will fix whatever's breaking between you.

But you’re too afraid you’re the only one who still wants to fix it.

So you stare out the window, watching your reflection blur against the passing night.

And beside you, Jongseong drives on, his hands tight on the wheel, his face carved in stone.

Park Jongseong is giving up, maybe you should too.

PARK JONGSEONG THOUGHT HIS TO BE WIFE HAD FORGOT HIS BIRTHDAY.

But then he reminds himself, all these months of carrying a diamond ring of mockery on his hand— a symbol of bondage, marriage —he had never felt the fleeting touch of his soon to be wife.

And so he doesn't bother to kiss her goodbye, maybe pull her closer by her waist, whisper something not so innocent in her ears to watch her face flush in enticement, and leave for work with the motivation to come back to his fiancé’s arms.

No. He does nothing.

Park Jongseong doesn't even take the day off and stays at home. He leaves in a hurry, first thing in the morning. He doesn’t like celebrating birthdays anyway, it’s just a year closer to his demise, nothing to like about it.

He packs his briefcase in silence as he steals one last glance of you, groaning lazily as you make your way to the washroom. Of course, you have your job too, and Jongseong expected even less. It’s just a birthday, nothing too much.

9:30 am, he reaches his office building.

The heir to the prestigious, Park Company. The weight of expectation hung in the air like a finely spun chandelier, too delicate to touch, too grand to ignore. After all, he wasn’t just any director. He was Park Jongseong. The upcoming CEO. The heir.

The revolving glass doors of the company building spun to a slow stop behind him. Jongseong adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket, eyes half-lidded, movements precise. He could hear the echo of his polished shoes as he walked through the marble tiled lobby, his reflection following him in the towering glass panels.

“Good morning, Vice President,” several voices chorused as he passed, accompanied by clipped bows and tight smiles.

He gave them all the same nod. Unbothered. Distant.

The elevator doors open and steps out alone, the silence laying on him like a second skin. The floor is cool and quiet, save for the typical office noises. He reminds himself that it's just another day, just another date on the calendar which could be overlooked without any problem. His team gathers up to the front door, clapping and smiling at him. Some senior executives push a forced smile in front of their young boss, the juniors more enthusiastic about someone they fear athough Jongseong doesn’t know if theirs are forced or natural.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY JONGSEONG,” they all sing song as confetti pops out in the air and paper freckles of his least favourite colours flutter down on him.

A distant banner said: TO THE FUTURE CEO. He shrugs, a polite smile on his face.

Among the crowd he spots Sunghoon, his first cousin as he steps out with a jovial smile and hands still clapping. He was in line to be the CEO as well, before he put down the offer to be COO instead, saying he's not a natural leader like Jongseong is.

“To the youngest CEO our company has ever seen!” he exclaims to the crowd as he stands beside Jongseong, pulling him to an encouraging hug. “What?” he snickers, “don't like the celebration?”

“No, I love it,” Jongseong hopes his smile is not too fake looking as he faces his team, not all of them are happy to be here, some are bored and waiting for their shift to be over. He sighs, “thank you guys for this, it means a lot to me.”

A celebration follows, and Jongseong does what is needed. A polite tight lipped smile, respectful bows and a small speech. Said the expected words. Cut the cake, nodded through small talk, and endured hugs from coworkers who’d never even dared to speak to him before today.

When noon rolls around, someone chirps, “We ordered lunch in! Come eat with us, Vice President Park!”

But Jongseong shakes his head.

“I’ll stay in,” he says, voice as smooth as glass. “I have calls to take.”

He turns, walks into his office, and shuts the door behind him.

Silence falls like a blanket. The cheers and loud noises quickly fade as the second Jongseong pulls the door close to his office, making slow and steady steps to his chair. He sits down on it, sighing as he lets out a shaky breath.

Birthday.

The word still rolls bitterly in his mind, not festive, not celebratory—just sharp edged and cold. A reminder of time ticking forward, dragging him further into a life that never felt like his own. A year older, a year deeper into expectations that weren’t his to begin with. The title. The company. The marriage.

He remembers the uncomfortable tight-fitting tuxedos, blinding camera flashes, tight lipped smiles of relatives he didn’t know and as usual, a script.

A script he had to learn every year, which is now installed in his brain. Jongseong just has to open his mouth and utter the same, mechanical and monotonous words in front of everyone as his parents would reassure him after, of how well he did, how well he behaved. And before he even knew it, birthdays meant nothing to him.

But then again, it was made cold and unbearable to him by the world. By his parents.

“Whatever,” he sighs and shrugs his blazer off him. And just as he’s about to throw it on his desk, he notices something.

A lunch box, covered neatly in pink satin cloth. A small note on top.

Jongseong doesn’t want to make assumptions, but he does anyway. What if it's from you? What if you really remembered his birthday? With a gulp, he steers his chair closer to his desk and picks up the lunch box, opening his cloth and reading the note in his hands, holding it up close.

Hope you like it. Happy birthday Jongseong, from y/n.

His breath falters, you remember.

His name in your handwriting. A little crooked, like you were in a rush, or were nervous. His throat tightens as he peels the lid off the top container.

And the scent hits him instantly.

Curry.

Rich, warm, and spiced exactly the way he likes it. Not the kind served at expensive restaurants with dainty portions, but the real kind. Homemade. The kind that sticks to your ribs. The kind that reminds him of chilly weekends in Seattle when he was small enough to sit on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs while his grandmother stirred the pot.

Something coils in his chest.

Carefully, he lifts the second container. The rice is shaped into a perfect flat surface. Neatly pressed, fluffy, hot. And across it—seaweed sheet, hand-cut with meticulous patience—spells out three letters.

JAY

Jongseong feels his heartbeat faltering. He winces as his offices’ air conditioning hits the bruise on his cheeks. He carefully sets the curry down on his table, before gaping at the rice again.

It indeed spells, JAY.

He scoffs at this weird feeling. The more he stares at it the more his heart burns and coils.

Only his grandmother had ever called him that. Not his father. Not his mother. No one in the stiff, lacquered halls of his youth had bothered to learn the name that made him feel… human. Small. Loved.

And now here it was. Cut delicately in seaweed. Sitting quietly in a box on his birthday.

By you.

“You’re really not going to join us for lunch?” Sunghoon barges in his office, striding towards Jongseong's desk.

Jongseong hurriedly tries to close the lunchbox, but it’s too late. Sunghoon’s eyes have already zeroed in on it like a hawk spotting prey.

“Is that curry?” Sunghoon gasps, leaning over the desk like an excited child. “Oh my god, it smells amazing. Who got you that? Is it from that expensive place across the street? Is that seaweed spelling your name? That’s so cute—”

“Get your hands away from it,” Jongseong snaps, dragging the lunchbox closer to his chest like it’s a newborn baby he’s sworn to protect with his life.

Sunghoon’s hand freezes mid-reach. His eyebrows shoot up.

“Wow. Wow. Possessive much?”

“This is mine,” Jongseong mutters defensively, clutching the lunchbox tighter. “You guys have a whole lunch downstairs. Go eat that.”

“But that’s communal food,” Sunghoon whines, poking the air toward the lunchbox. “This looks special. Homemade. You should share. It’s what Grandma Jay would’ve wanted.”

Jongseong glares at him.

“Grandma Jay would’ve wanted you to mind your own business.”

Sunghoon snickers, undeterred, and tries to lunge for a bite. Jongseong immediately swivels his chair away, putting his entire body between Sunghoon and the precious lunch like a shield.

“Jesus, you’re like a dragon hoarding treasure,” Sunghoon laughs, hands on his hips. “You’re gonna die alone with that lunchbox in your arms.”

“Good,” Jongseong says without missing a beat. “But I'm not going to share.”

Sunghoon makes one last dramatic, fake sob attack at the lunchbox. Jongseong kicks at him under the desk until he stumbles back, defeated.

Grumbling, Sunghoon heads for the door, shooting Jongseong a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“You’ve changed, man,” he says dramatically. “Fame, fortune… personalized seaweed letters. You’re not the same Jongseong I knew.”

Jongseong just smirks to himself as the door swings shut again. 

Finally, blessed peace.

He opens the lunchbox once more, the smell of curry filling the room, and the sight of your careful seaweed letters warming a space inside him he didn’t even know was still hollow.

A dull sting pulses along his cheek as he chews, and his hand drifts to the bruise you both pretended not to see. He clicks his tongue, annoyed. Coincidence, he tells himself. Nothing more. But the throbbing settles under his skin like a reminder—of you, of your quiet lies, of his own.

But this time, when he takes the first bite, he laughs under his breath.

YOU DESERVED A BETTER GRATITUDE THAN A JUST SIMPLE THANK YOU.

Park Jongseong sighs as he stares at the window of his car, watching the raindrops race against each other. His fingers drum restlessly against the steering wheel, the soft patter of rain against metal filling the silence inside the car.

He leans back against the headrest, staring at the road.

“thank you for the lunch, y/n.” he said last night, “it was so delicious.”

He remembers the tension between your brows, how they knotted up gently and relaxed a second after. Disappointment. He was offhand, rushed and sudden with his words, not even looking into your eyes as he said how warm the meal was. So why wouldn’t you be disappointed? Jongseong remembers the way you rolled your shoulders back, a small sigh escaping you as if you had to physically push the disappointment out of your body, tuck it somewhere he wouldn’t notice.

“you’re welcome,” you said simply, unmuting the ignored show playing on the tv with a soft clenched jaw, which Jongseong wished he wouldn’t notice.

He knew that your welcome wasn’t genuine. And maybe he could’ve tried to find the stars in your eyes to make things better, maybe he shouldn’t overthink.

But he also remembers the way you took a second glance of him when he stood there like a robot, holding his almost empty briefcase in his hands, wanting to say something else than just a thank you.

Your eyes were cold then. Faint traces of tears sticking to your lashes, catching the soft glow of the overhead light as you looked at him like you were trying to read him one last time. He thought you would say something, maybe shout or scoff at his posture.

But nothing came out of your mouth except a tired sigh as you abandoned your discomfort and disappointment on the cold couch as you made your way towards the shared bedroom, agonizingly slow.

Maybe you had that pace intentionally, for him to call you back and say something real. Cause fuck, you remember his beloved nickname which was lost, you remember how he liked his curry, you remember him.

Lost in own thoughts, something interesting catches Jongseong’s eyes.

Is that you?

Jongseong gets startled at the sight. You, in this heavy and cold rain, trying to cross the road with your blazer above your head, which does nothing to keep you dry.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, quickly starting his car as he drives across the road, stopping just beside the pavement.

“Y/n!” He shouts your name clear in the heavy rain, loud enough for you to turn around to his voice, “get in, you’re going to get sick!”

You pause mid-step at his voice, blinking through the rain as you turn to face him. The car idles beside the curb, headlights casting a pale glow across the drenched street. His figure leans across the seat, the passenger door wide open like a quiet plea.

But you stay rooted where you are, water soaking through your shoes, the cold seeping deeper beneath your skin. Your hands clench at your sides.

“I’m fine,” you call out, loud enough for him to hear but it’s tough at the edge, shaking, “go home, Jongseong—”

“Y/n please,” he pleads, although it doesn’t sound like one, “you’re soaking wet, just shut up and get in!”

“I’m- I’m fine,” you snap. You don’t want to get in the car just because he happens to see you and is inviting you to stay dry. That’s the only case, isn’t it? Jongseong is here by coincidence, he wouldn’t deliberately check your location to pick you up in this awful weather. Would he?

“I can go by myself, the rain is not too bad.”

You can hear him sigh, as he gets out of his car, slamming the door behind him.

“Get in,” he steps into the rain, the downpour immediately plastering his shirt to his skin, darkening the fabric, “You will fall sick, y/n. Get in the car.”

He steps even closer, his hair now sticking to his forehead by this insufferable rain as he narrows his eyes. “If you want to be sick so bad, do this another day.”

Your throat tightens. You want to scream at him, shake him, ask him why he always waits until things fall apart before showing up. Why he only steps into the rain once you’re already drenched.

But instead you force your chin up, press your lips into a tight smile as you gather your blazer tighter around yourself.

“Don’t act like you care if i’m sick, Jongseong,” you didn't want to say that, but do anyways.

He blinks. For a second, his expression falters. Barely. “Why not?,” he says quietly, almost like he’s confessing something he hadn’t intended to say aloud. But then his gaze hardens again, guarded. “You’re freezing, Y/N. Stop being stubborn.”

The wind blows past you both, cold and biting. You shiver, teeth clattering as you try to recover whatever warmth the soaked blazer has to give.

“I won’t go—”

“As much as I would love to argue with you right now,” Jongseong cuts off, standing so close that your hands could meet, “I can't let you get sick.”

Your lips part, another protest rising, but before you can speak, Jongseong’s fingers curl around your wrist, not harsh, but firm. His brows draw together, rain sliding down his temples, his lips a tight line.

“I said get in the car,” he repeats, lower this time. His voice carries an edge, not pleading, not begging—commanding. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

You glare at him, heart wrenching in the cold rain as it seeps into your work clothes.

“You only come when it’s convenient for you,” you try to hold it together.

He steps closer, raindrops sliding down the sharp lines of his face. “You think this is convenient for me?” he says bitterly, tone low, controlled. “You think standing here like an idiot in the rain for you is easy?”

The proximity hits you suddenly. He’s standing close, too close, as the rain damps his shirt next. Jongseong’s grip around your wrist tightens, indicating he’s not going back home without you in his car.

And somehow that warms you a bit in this coldness.

His eyes are direct, confronting as they try to soften into yours. Try, you can see it, how his eyebrows lift and slowly fall, trying to find the ease in the situation to gently pull you into the car with no trouble, with no one getting sick.

“Y/n…” he whispers your name, as if for the last time when he finally eases his brows, “get in the car. Please.”

You gulp at his seriousness, a droplet of rain rolls from his chin to fall on your cheeks. It’s cold, making you flinch.

“And if i don’t go?” you test the waters, voice trembling as you watch him roll back his shoulders.

“Then I’ll carry you,” he says without hesitation, his gaze hardening. “Don’t test me right now.”

Something in his tone makes your breath hitch. He’s not bluffing—you know that.

You swallow, lips pressing into a thin line as you hesitate, your pride warring with the exhaustion creeping into your bones. But just as another gust of wind leaves you shivering, your resolution breaks.

You look away first, “You are a very bad liar—”

Jongseong doesn’t speak, doesn’t smile or smirk or gloat. He just scoops you up before you can finish the sentence.

Your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp as Jongseong’s arm slides under your knees and the other wraps firmly around your back, pulling you against him. Your soaked blazer slips uselessly from your shoulders, rain immediately lashing against your skin, but his body blocks most of it. He’s solid, unyielding, warm in a way that makes your chest ache.

“Jongseong—!” you protest, instinctively gripping the front of his damp shirt. His name tears out of you softer than you intended.

“I warned you,” he mutters, jaw clenched as he turns toward the car. His grip tightens reflexively when you shift, as if afraid you’ll fall or run. “Stop fighting me.”

He reaches the car and nudges the passenger door open with his knee, maneuvering you inside with careful precision.

When he slides back into his seat, drenched and stoic, he doesn’t look at you immediately. Just stares ahead as the engine hums softly beneath the rain. And with that, he pulls the car into drive, headlights cutting through the downpour, his hand steady on the wheel even if everything else between you trembles on the edge of falling apart.

“Take this,” he says, reaching towards the backseat and grabbing his dry blazer, “you’ll be cold.”

“T-thanks,” you don’t argue much as your teeth clatter together, quickly draping the blazer over your damp clothes.

“Y-your clothes are soaked too,” you gulp, voice soft and nervous. You glance at Jongseong’s side profile as he drives, “you’ll get sick—”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, his voice low and steady, almost too calm, “I’m not the one shivering. And it’s just a little rain.”

“So much for the guy who didn’t let me walk home in the rain,” you giggle softly, hoping to elevate his mood but his expressions remain stoic, indifferent.

You pull the blazer tighter around yourself. It smells like him. espresso, cologne and ironically, like home.

“Thank you for—” you clear your throat, taking time to rethink your gratitude towards him when he himself barely shows it. He’s always words, one or two, never sentences like you. But at the end of the day, someone has to express something.

“Thank you for the blazer, and for picking me up anyways. I know you didn’t mean to and I’m sorry for being a nuisance—”

“You’re not a nuisance,” he admits, eyes still on the road. Your heart stops. “I’m not that big of a jerk to let my fiance come home with a fever.”

There’s a silence that stretches long and sharp, the rain outside tapping impatient fingers against the windows. You sink deeper into the passenger seat, your hands curling in your lap. His words aren’t romantic. They aren’t sweet. But they tear through something inside you, a part that’s been holding itself together with hope and delusion.

It’s the bare minimum. It’s something, and something is better than nothing. Right?

“Really?” you whisper, unsure if you really heard that right.

He nods slightly, still focused on the road ahead. “What’s there to question? If you don’t want me picking you up next time, just say so.”

Your heart tugs, this is coming from him. You don’t need anything more than this quiet ride, the shared space between you, the knowledge that he’s here. Whether it’s out of obligation or something deeper.

Jongseong reaches forward, turning on the car’s heating system inside.

“You can keep the blazer,” he mumbles.

You leave it here for now, basking into the silence with his cologne around you, questioning whether or not you really have space in his heart.

RAIN ALWAYS MAKES HIM SOFT.

Not in the obvious way. Not the cinematic way where he confesses or reaches for you or lets himself be held. It makes him quiet first—eyes lingering on windows, fingers tapping restlessly, shoulders drawn tight like he’s bracing for something unseen. You notice it the moment you step onto the rooftop, the smell of wet concrete clinging to your coat, droplets sliding down the glass doors behind you.

It’s Sunghoon’s birthday, technically, though no one is really treating it like one. You almost didn’t come. Long days at work, the quiet tension waiting for you at home. But Sunghoon had called, cheerful and insistent, saying it would be “good for everyone,” which usually meant good for Jongseong.

You arrive later than Jongseong and spot him near the bar, surrounded by men in expensive suits. Business partners, maybe friends, you don’t linger long enough to figure it out. After greeting Sunghoon and handing him a gift you picked up last minute, you drift toward the railing instead, letting the city stretch beneath you.

The air is cold. Damp. The kind that creeps under your skin.

He doesn’t see you at first.

Or maybe he does, and pretends he doesn’t. He stands with a glass in his hand, ice melting faster than he drinks it, head tilted just enough to listen without really engaging.

You watch him from the corner of your eyes. Careful, as he would have been. You watch the way his jaw tightens when someone laughs too loudly, his thumb rubs the rim of his glass over and over—a nervous habit he probably doesn’t realize he has. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.

He looks up suddenly, eyes catching you the first thing he looks at besides his drink, as if rehearsed.

You look away quickly. Ever since he rescued you from the rain, he’s gotten quieter. Maybe shy. You notice how quickly he looks away from your eyes, how he hums shakily in response to your soft thank yous, how his cheeks filled with color when you wore his blazer home, rain soaked and cold.

You hope none of that was your imagination.

Sunghoon’s laughter rings behind you, bright and careless, and you force a smile as someone hands you a drink. The rooftop is warm, string lights overhead, music low and conversation easy. You lean against the railing.

That’s when someone steps beside you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” a familiar voice says.

You turn. Sim Jaeyun—coworker, colleague, friend, whatever fits best these days. Casual clothes, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy like he doesn't care. He smiles easily.

“Neither did I,” you admit. “Long week.”

“You look tired.”

“You have no idea.”

He says your name gently. He asks about work, complains about his boss, makes you laugh with a stupid story about getting lost. At some point, without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, fingers grazing your temple.

You don’t pull away.

You don’t notice the shift in the room.

But Jongseong does.

He notices the untouched drink, the way your sleeve keeps slipping, and he sure as hell notices someone else standing in front of you. Touching you. Smiling with you.

The sound around him dulls, like someone turned the volume down. He sees the touch, the way you tilt your head, the smile he doesn’t think he’s ever earned. Something hot and sharp coils in his chest.

He downs his drink.

“Vice President Park, what are your thoughts—”

He doesn’t hear it.

Another glass appears in his hand. He gulps it down. His throat burns.

The weather crawls under his skin. Anger blurs into something uglier, something dangerously close to fear.

Why are you smiling like that?

He tells himself it’s none of his business. He has no claim. You’re his fiancée by contract, not by touch, not by confession.

And yet his feet move before his thoughts catch up.

He doesn’t storm. He detaches himself from the circle, sets his glass down with too much force, and walks. Slow. Measured.

You feel it before you see him.

The air tightens. Jaeyun is mid sentence when your gaze flickers past his shoulder and lands on Jongseong.

He’s coming toward you.

Tie loosened. Hair disheveled. Jaw set hard. Alcohol makes him tipsy, but his intentions are clear.

Your heart stutters.

You straighten, fingers curling around your glass. Jaeyun notices, glances back.

“Uh,” he clears his throat. “Is that—”

Jongseong stops beside you.

Too close.

Close enough that you smell him—whiskey, rain, something bitter underneath. Close enough that his presence redraws the space.

“Jaeyun,” Jongseong says calmly, nodding once. Polite. Cold.

“Vice President Park,” Jaeyun replies, straightening.

Jongseong’s gaze slides back to you. Lingers on your face, the loose strand by your temple, the slipping sleeve.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” he says to you. You swallow. “I told you earlier.”

He blinks, like he’s replaying the memory too late. “You did.” A beat of silence.

Jaeyun shifts, uncomfortable. “I was just keeping her company,” he says lightly, attempting to diffuse. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

Jongseong hums low. His eyes don’t leave you.

“You don’t have to,” he says. Then, softer, but sharper. “I’ve got her. She’s taken.”

Your breath catches.

Jaeyun hesitates, glancing at you. You open your mouth, but Jongseong’s hand lifts first.

Not entirely touching you.

Hovering at the small of your back, close enough that you feel the heat through your dress. A careful, controlled claim.

“I’ll… grab another drink,” Jaeyun says. “Nice seeing you.”

When he leaves, the space collapses.

You’re alone with Jongseong.

Silence stretches, heavy with everything unsaid. He looks away first, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers trembling.

“I can— can talk better than him,” he hiccups.

“Seriously, how much did you drink?” he basically reeks of alcohol and slightly sways side to side as you guide him down the stairs to the empty hallway.

“Are you—,” your sentence is left unfinished a Jongseong cages you against the wall, shaking hands on each side of your head.

He’s close, too close. His eyes are red, unfocused, flickering between your eyes and your lips. His breath is warm but reeking of whiskey. His hands stay planted on the wall, shaking, fingers flexing like he’s reminding himself not to touch.

“You shouldn’t let—” he starts, then hiccups softly, the sound almost humiliating in how it breaks his authority. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, reopens them, tries again. “Let someone who is not your h-husband touch you like that.” The words come out crooked, slurred at the edges, but the intent behind them is painfully clear.

You stare at him, stunned, then a breathy laugh slips out despite yourself. “God,” you murmur, “you’re so drunk.” His brows knit together immediately, offended and wounded in the same breath.

“So what I’m— drunk?” he demands, swaying closer before catching himself, forehead knocking lightly against the wall beside your head. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Yes,” you say, heart thudding. “Jongseong. You did.” You lift your chin, meeting his gaze even as your voice trembles. “You’re not my husband. You’re only my fiancé. And I can have my own friends.”

For a second, something hollow flashes across his face. Then he laughs, short, disbelieving.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head too hard. “No one else w-would check the—” another hiccup, quieter this time, “—weather and deliberately get wet in the rain just to bring you home safe.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, sinking deep and slow, like cold seeping through fabric. For a moment, you can’t breathe properly. You remember the rain too well. The way you’d laughed it off, the way he hadn’t, how he’d checked the rain twice and still stepped outside without an umbrella, coat already darkening at the shoulders because you hated walking alone.

“I would do that,” he continues, voice lower now. “As your— fucking fiancé or husband. Not Jaeyun. Not— not anyone else.”

His hands leave the wall. They hover instead, uncertain, fingers twitching in the space near your waist like he’s begging himself for restraint. He leans in despite it, forehead nearly brushing yours, breath warm and unsteady against your cheek.

“I would do it in a heartbeat,” he whispers.

Your chest tightens, a quiet ache blooming behind your ribs, because no one else has ever noticed the weather for you, has ever overlooked their own comfort for yours, yet some voice in the back of your head insists that he's just drunk.

But the way he says it hurts worse than any confession.

“I didn’t like him,” he admits. “Near you.”

“Why?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand comes up to his chest again, fingers pressing there like he’s trying to steady something beneath his ribs. His breathing is uneven now, shallow.

“Jongseong,” you say, alarm creeping in. “Are you okay?”

He nods too quickly. “I’m fine.”

“I’m fine,” he repeats.

But he isn’t.

You see it when you guide him to the parking lot, cold wind tugging at your hair. He leans too much on you, apologizing under his breath.

“Sorry—sorry, I’m— I’m heavy,” he mumbles, fumbling for the car keys before giving up and letting you take them from his shaking fingers.

“You’re drunk,” you say gently. “Not dying.” He huffs out a weak laugh. “Feels close enough.”

The drive home is quiet, wipers sweeping rhythmically. Jongseong slumps in the passenger seat, eyes fluttering close like he’s afraid of what happens if he lets them stay closed. His breathing evens out only when the car stops at red lights, like only motion keeps him awake.

At one point, he murmurs your name. Just once. Soft. Unconscious.

Your hands tighten on the steering wheel.

Getting him inside is harder than you expect. He insists he can walk, immediately proves he can’t, nearly folding until you hook an arm around his waist.

“Easy,” you murmur. “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” he says. “You always— always do.”

You ease him onto the bed. He collapses face first into the pillows. You tug off his shoes, straighten the blanket, careful not to linger.

When you turn away, it feels like stepping back from something fragile. You make it two steps toward the door.

His hand closes around your wrist. Not rough but enough to stop you.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, barely awake, eyes still closed. His grip tightens slightly, like his body knows what he wants even if his mind can’t form it. “Cold.”

He tugs again, weak but insistent, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. He shifts, arm draping around your waist, face pressing into your side like he’s searching for warmth.

“Rain,” he mumbles into your dress. “Hate it when you’re out in it.”

You freeze.

His words dissolve into half formed apologies, your name tangled with quiet plead. His breathing slows, forehead resting against your stomach like it’s the safest place he knows.

You don’t move.

Because for the first time, his softness isn’t guarded or conditional. It’s just him, clinging in his sleep like he trusts you not to disappear.

And you realize, with startling clarity, that rain doesn’t make him weak.

It makes him tell the truth.

YOU WONDER IF YOU CARE TOO MUCH SOMETIMES.

Because no matter what you do for Park Jongseong, it never feels like enough to quiet the ache that lives with you. Loving him feels like holding something fragile and priceless in your bare hands, knowing that even your gentlest grip might hurt him, knowing that letting go might destroy you both.

You care in a way that feels reckless. Although you do see the consequence of it, that has now finally for once, in your favour.

Jongseong doesn’t pull away after that night.

If anything, he does the opposite.

He lingers.

At first, it’s subtle enough that you convince yourself it’s coincidence. He waits for you in the mornings, jacket already in hand even when the forecast promises clear skies. He sits closer at the dining table, knee brushing yours beneath the polished surface, never once apologizing for the contact. When you move around the apartment, he follows. Not hovering, not watching, just present.

You tell yourself it’s temporary. That he doesn’t remember what he said. That the drunken softness was a one-time fracture.

After all, this whole thing is arranged, and you’ve managed to gaslight yourself into thinking this softness is just obligation wearing a kinder face. That this is him playing his part better now.

You repeat it like a rule. Like something that can keep you at bay.

But rules blur when he learns your steps.

He starts matching his pace to yours without realizing it. Slowing when you slow, pausing when you hesitate, turning back when you forget something even if it makes him late. When you sit on the couch, he chooses the space beside you instead of across the room. When you’re tired, he quietly rearranges his schedule around yours, meetings shifted, calls taken later, priorities subtly rewritten.

It’s never announced. Never even whispered.

It just happens.

And it scares you more than it comforts you. Because this is what you wanted, wasn’t it? For him to care, to notice, to stay. But now that it’s happening, it feels unfamiliar in your hands. It feels like obligation. Plain obligation.

Still, sometimes you catch him looking at you with something like relief. Other times, something closer to fear.

That’s when it starts to bleed through.

In the way his fingers tighten around your sleeve when you mention staying late at work. In the way his jaw sets when your phone lights up with unfamiliar names.

At night, he sleeps closer.

Not always touching, sometimes just angled toward you, arm thrown over the empty space between your bodies like he’s reserving it. Other nights, he curls into you without thinking, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath steadying only once you’re there. When he stirs from whatever restless place his dreams take him, his hand finds you first. Barely there. But always you.

You start waking before him just to watch.

The way his brow smooths in sleep. The way his lips part slightly when he exhales. The faint tension that never fully leaves his body, even at rest. You notice the moments when his breathing stutters, when his hand presses briefly to his chest before settling again. So subtle you wonder if you imagined it.

You don’t ask, even when you know you should.

Instead, you slip out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb the way Jongseong’s arm lies over your hand, loose but deliberate, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You peel his fingers away one by one, apologizing in your head for a crime you haven’t committed yet, and pad toward the kitchen.

The apartment is still. Morning light spills softly through the curtains, pale and forgiving. You make coffee the way he likes it now, without thinking about when you memorized that detail. The realization only hits after the mug is already warming your palms.

You’re setting plates on the counter when the bedroom door opens.

Jongseong stands there, hair mussed, shirt half-buttoned, eyes heavy but searching. He looks relieved when he finds you in the kitchen, like something in his chest loosens at the sight.

“You’re up,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“So are you,” you reply.

He hums and drifts closer, leaning his shoulder against the counter beside you. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you move, each small action tracked like he’s afraid to miss it.

Sunlight catches the faint shadows beneath his eyes.

“You didn’t sleep well,” you say without thinking.

He stiffens for half a second, then shrugs. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

That alone feels like a confession.

The moment lingers too long, fragile, exposed. Jongseong seems to realize it too, because his shoulders tense, his gaze drops, and the softness retracts all at once.

“Schedule’s tight this week,” he says abruptly, voice clipped. “Might come home late.”

You nod, even though you know that’s not the reason the air has cooled.

Breakfast is quiet after that.

He sits across from you instead of beside you, answers short, eyes fixed anywhere but your face. When you pass him the toast, your fingers brush, and he flinches.

It’s barely noticeable.

But you notice.

You lift your mug, letting the warmth settle your nerves. The coffee tastes familiar, comforting in a way that makes your chest ache. You don’t realize he’s staring until he turns back to the counter and starts brewing coffee again.

“You already have one,” you say.

“I know.”

He pours it into a different mug. A plain one. You ask, very confused, “Why are you using a different cup?”

He pauses, then nods toward your hands. “Because you’re holding mine.”

You freeze, eyes dropping to the mug. His mug. Heat rushes to your face.

“I— I’m sorry,” you say quickly, already standing. “I didn’t realize—”

“Hey.” His voice is gentle. He steps closer, stopping you with a light touch to your wrist. “It’s fine.”

You look up at him, still braced.

“It’s just a cup,” he adds, softer.

Something in your chest loosens. “Isn’t it your favorite?” you murmur.

He pours milk into his coffee, hesitates, then adds a little more—your preference, not his. When he notices you watching, he clears his throat.

“I can share,” he says.

You smile, small and careful. This time, he doesn’t look away.

But to your luck, softness doesn’t last.

It creeps into the days quietly, settles into routines, hides in shared cups and matching steps. Until one evening, it snaps under the weight of everything neither of you is saying.

Jongseong comes home late.

You know it the moment the door opens, not because of the time, but because of the way it opens. Sharper. With a thud.

You’re on the couch, half curled into the corner with your laptop abandoned beside you, the apartment lit only by a lamp you forgot to turn off. You look up instinctively.

He doesn’t greet.

His tie is loosened, jacket still on, hair slightly damp like he washed his hands too aggressively and dragged his fingers through it afterward. His expression is shut tight, jaw clenched in a way that makes something in your chest tighten in response.

“You’re late,” you say. Not accusing. Just stating.

“I know,” he replies, cold.

He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t take his jacket off. Just stands there like he hasn’t decided whether to stay or leave.

Something prickles.

“You said you’d text,” you add, softer now.

His eyes flick to yours. There’s irritation there, not fully directed at you, but sharp enough to cut.

“I was busy.”

The way he says it feels deliberate.

You close your laptop slowly. “You’ve been busy every night this week.”

Silence.

You stand as if to confront him. The distance between you shrinks without either of you meaning it to.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, carefully. “But don’t shut me out either.”

His laugh is quiet. Humorless. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“You are,” you say, firmer now. “You come home exhausted, you won’t talk, you won’t let me ask if you’re okay—”

“I am okay,” he snaps.

The sharpness makes you flinch before you can stop yourself.

He sees it.

Something dark flashes across his face—regret, anger, fear, all tangled together.

“I didn’t mean—” He stops. Swallows. “You’re overthinking.”

The words land badly.

“You hate it when I watch you,” you say quietly. “But you hate it more when I stop.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides.

“You don’t get to psychoanalyze me,” he says. “You don’t know what it’s like—”

“Then tell me,” you cut in. Your voice shakes despite your effort. “Stop standing five steps away from me like I’m a stranger in my own house.”

That does it.

He crosses the space between you in three strides.

Too fast. Too close.

You barely have time to inhale before he’s there. Towering, breathing unevenly, the air between you charged and dangerous. His hands come up, bracing against the wall on either side of your head.

The sound it makes is soft.

The effect is not.

Your heart slams against your ribs. You can feel his warmth now, feel the tension vibrating off him, feel how hard he’s fighting himself. His face is inches from yours, so close you can see the faint pulse at his jaw, the way his eyes flicker down to your mouth before snapping back up.

“Don’t,” he says hoarsely. Not a command, but warning to himself.

“Don’t what?” you whisper, breath catching.

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He gulps, as if holding back very specific words. “Like I owe you something I can’t give.”

Your chest aches. “I’m not asking for anything.”

“Yes, you are,” he says, voice low, strained. “You ask just by standing there. By—” His breath stutters. “By caring.”

You don’t move.

You can feel his breath on your cheek. Warm. Unsteady. His lips are dangerously close now, close enough that the slightest tilt would end everything you’ve been holding apart.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to risk.”

“Then why are you here?” you ask, tears threatening. “Why do you come back to me every night if you’re so afraid?”

His eyes darken.

Because he wants to kiss you.

Because you can see it. The way his mouth softens, the way his body leans in despite his mind screaming no. His forehead dips, brushing yours. He gulps again, eyes glued to your lips. For half a second, you think he’s going to give in.

You think this is it.

Then he pulls back.

Abrupt. Violent in its restraint.

He steps away like he’s been burned, dragging a hand through his hair, breathing hard. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks again.

“I need air,” he says, voice rough. “I can’t do this tonight.”

He grabs his jacket off the chair, pauses at the door just long enough for you to think, hope, he might turn back.

He doesn’t.

The door closes behind him, leaving you alone in the charged silence, lips still tingling from a kiss that never happened, heart aching from how close he came.

And how far he ran.

PARK JONGSEONG SMOOTHENS HIS TIE IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR.

He does it twice. Then a third time. Slow, precise movements, like repetition might quiet the unease sitting low in his chest. The mirror reflects a version of him he knows how to wear, pose and pretend. The heir. The fiancé. The man who never falters.

Except his fingers hesitate at his collarbone.

Just for a fraction of a second.

He exhales, steadying himself, and reaches for his cufflinks. The room smells faintly of cologne and starch and something warmer beneath it. Home, he thinks, before he can stop himself.

The bedroom door opens softly behind him.

“Jongseong?”

Your voice.

He straightens instinctively, shoulders squaring before he turns around.

You stand there in the doorway, light spilling in behind you, and for a moment he forgets how to breathe.

The dress drapes over you like it was designed with patience, soft fabric, gentle lines, nothing loud. It doesn’t demand attention. It invites it. The kind that lingers. The kind that stays. Your hair falls neatly over your shoulders, collarbones catching the light, skin warm and real in a way that makes something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

You shift your weight, suddenly self conscious beneath his stare.

“So?” you ask, trying to sound casual. “How do I look?”

The question hangs between you.

Jongseong opens his mouth. But then closes it back.

His eyes trace you—too slow to be polite, too careful to be careless. He notices everything: the way the fabric settles at your waist, the slight dip at your collarbone, the way your hands fidget like you’re bracing for something. For him. Because of him.

Because the last thing he remembers clearly is your breath on his lips and the way he walked away like a coward.

“You look—” Jongseong gulps, the words getting stuck between his throat and his heart. His eyes dart away from your eyes and he opens his mouth again.

“You look—”

“Sir,” the driver’s voice cuts in from the hallway. Why, the perfect timing. “The car is ready.”

The moment collapses.

Jongseong nods once, grateful and irritated all at the same time. “We’ll be right there.”

The door closes again, leaving the words unsaid. You smile at him, understanding, and he hates himself for not being fast enough with his words

----

The family house is already alive when you arrive.

Laughter spills from the open doors. The clink of glasses. Familiar voices layered over one another in practiced warmth. Jongseong’s mother greets you first, eyes sharp and appraising, a practised smile.

“You look lovely,” she tells you, hands light on your shoulders. “Perfect.”

Jongseong’s father nods at him from across the room, just acknowledging his presence with his perfect wife. But he doesn’t come up to you both for once.

“Do you want to sit?” he asks quietly, leaning in just enough that no one else hears. His voice is neutral, but his shoulders are tense.

“I’m fine,” you reply. Then, after a beat, softer, “Are you?”

He exhales through his nose. “I will be.”

That’s not an answer.

You drift toward the window under the pretense of admiring the garden lights. Jongseong follows a moment later, stopping beside you.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer to your ears.

You keep your eyes forward. “Which part?”

His jaw ticks. “All of it.”

“That’s convenient,” you say, not unkindly, just bored.

He glances at you then, eyes dark. “This isn’t the place.”

“No,” you agree, nodding. “It never is.”

Dinner starts shortly after. What is meant to be a family gathering feels like business meeting soon.

Everyone takes their seats, chairs pulled back in unison, napkins folded just so. Jongseong sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours beneath the table, a small anchor in a room that already feels too large.

Conversation starts harmless.

Someone comments on the weather. Another praises the dishes. Jongseong’s uncle talks about a recent business acquisition, his voice carrying authority. You nod when appropriate, smile when addressed, keep your posture perfect.

But then the atmosphere shifts.

“So,” one of his aunts says, swirling her wine, eyes flicking to you with something like curiosity, “have you settled into married life yet?”

Not yet married, you want to say, You know that.

Instead, you smile. “We’re adjusting.”

She hums. “That’s good. It’s important to learn flexibility early. Especially for women.”

Another voice joins in, you don’t recognizethe face. “You still plan on working after the wedding, right? Or is this just, a phase?”

You open your mouth, then hesitate. Choose your words carefully. “I enjoy my work.”

“Of course,” someone else laughs lightly. “But family should always come first. Jongseong’s responsibilities are already immense.”

The implication lands quietly. You are not one of them.

You glance down at your plate, appetite gone. Your hands curl slightly in your lap, nails pressing into skin just enough to ground you.

“But it must be nice,” his cousin adds, smiling sweetly, “to have everything taken care of. Some people don’t realize how fortunate they are.”

Fortunate.

The word lands softly, almost politely—and still, it sinks its teeth into you. It curls somewhere behind your ribs, sharp and humiliating, because you know exactly what they mean by it. Not lucky. Not loved. Arranged. Chosen for you. Your hands rest neatly in your lap, fingers folded just right, posture perfect, because this is what fortune looks like from the outside.

You smile because you’re supposed to, because anything else would be impolite. Your chest tightens anyway. They don’t see the waiting, the wanting, the nights spent staring at a ceiling beside a man who won’t touch you. They don’t see how much of yourself you’ve learned to shrink just to fit into this version of “enough.”

You’re just another asset for them. A doll beside Jongseong.

Your eyes burn, vision blurring just slightly, and you lower your gaze before anyone notices. Because crying here would be unforgivable.

Jongseong’s fork stops moving.

It doesn’t clatter. He doesn’t drop it. He simply stills and puts it down.

He looks at you. Really looks this time.

The way your shoulders have gone rigid. The way your smile hasn’t quite reached your eyes. The way your head tips lower, lashes casting shadows over cheeks that are just a little too flushed, eyes shining with something dangerously close to tears.

“That’s enough,” Jongseong says.

The words aren’t loud. They don’t need to be. They cut through the table cleanly, like a blade sliding between ribs.

Conversation falters. Glasses pause halfway to lips.

His aunt blinks. “Jongseong, we were just—”

“You were being disrespectful,” he interrupts, voice steady and controlled. His hand moves under the table, fingers brushing your knee once. “And you’re not going to continue.”

His cousin scoffs softly. “Oh, come on. We didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know exactly what you meant,” he says. His glare flicks across the table, sharp and unyielding. “And you don’t get to talk about her like she’s a convenience. Or something handed to me.”

The silence thickens.

His mother opens her mouth, but hesitates.

His father clears his throat. “Jongseong,” he says carefully, in a warning tone. “That’s enough. This is a family dinner.”

Jongseong turns to him slowly.

For a moment, his expression falters. Not with doubt, but with something older and buried.

“Just because you never said anything to defend Mom,” he says, voice low and shaking, “doesn’t mean I’ll do the same for my—”

He stops. Breathes shakily.

“—my wife.”

The words lands heavy. Your head snaps up to Jongseong, tears almost running down.

“She is not fortunate,” he continues, eyes never leaving his father’s. “She is capable. She is intelligent. And she does not owe anyone gratitude for being here.”

A pause.

“If you can’t respect that,” he finishes, “then this dinner is over.”

Your throat tightens painfully.

You stand before anyone can respond, chair scraping softly against the floor.

“Excuse me,” you say, voice thin but steady. “I need some air.”

You move before anyone can stop you.

The chair scrapes softly against the floor as you stand, the sound far too loud in the thick silence Jongseong has carved open. Your hands tremble, but your spine stays straight.

No one stops you. No one knows how.

You walk out before the tears can fall.

The hallway feels endless. Too bright. Too quiet. Your heels click too fast against the marble as you head toward the garage, breath coming shallow, chest tight like it’s caving in. You tell yourself not to cry. You’ve done this long enough. You can do this too.

You don’t hear him at first.

“Y/n—!”

Jongseong’s voice cuts through the space, urgent in a way you’ve never heard before. You turn just as your foot slips, heel catching awkwardly on the edge of the concrete ramp.

You twist your ankle, pain shooting up.

You gasp, stumbling forward, but arms catch you.

Strong. Jongseong absorbs you without hesitation, one arm braced around your waist, the other gripping your forearm.

“Shit—” he breathes, crouching instantly. “Don’t move.”

Your ankle throbs, hot and pulsing. You bite your lip hard, tears finally spilling over.

“I’m fine,” you whisper.

“No,” he says, “You’re not.”

He doesn’t ask for permission.

Jongseong lifts you into his arms. Your face presses briefly into his shoulder, the scent of his cologne grounding you despite everything.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “I won’t drop you.”

He carries you to the car, sets you down gently, buckles you in himself with shaking hands. When he slides into the driver’s seat, his jaw is tight, eyes dark with something fierce and protective.

Neither of you speak as he pulls out of the driveway.

The house disappears behind you.

THE APARTMENT IS QUIET WHEN YOU GET THERE.

Muted, like it’s holding its breath with you. Jongseong helps you inside without a word, arm firm around your waist, movements careful in a way that feels practiced and panicked all at once. He sits you down on the couch, kneeling immediately in front of you, jacket discarded somewhere behind him.

“Let me see,” he says, voice low.

You hesitate. “It’s probably not that bad—”

“Please,” he cuts in, gentler now. “Just… let me.”

He slips off your heel slowly, like he’s afraid even the air might hurt you. His hands are warm, steady despite the tension still living in his shoulders. When his fingers brush your ankle, you flinch.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs instantly, retreating. “I’ll be careful.”

He fetches the first aid kit, crouches again, and wraps your ankle with slow precision. His brows knit together, jaw tight, focus unwavering.

The silence stretches.

“You didn’t have to say that,” you whisper suddenly. “Back there.”

He doesn’t look up. “I did.”

“I could defend myself—”

“I know.” His hands pause. Then he looks at you. Really looks at you. “But I wanted to.”

Something in his expression fractures then. Eyebrows relaxes, shoulder dropping. His thumb lingers at your ankle a second too long, like he’s forming words.

You swallow. “You didn’t have to,” you say, even though part of you aches because he did. “Not against your family like that—”

“Yes,” he replies immediately. Too quickly. “I did.”

Your gaze drops to his hands, still hovering around your ankle, fingers warm and careful. He exhales through his nose, steadies himself, and resumes wrapping the bandage, slower now, like he’s afraid any sudden movement might make something crack.

“Maybe they were right,” you murmur, fidgeting with your fingers, warm agaisnt your lap. “About me being fortunate.”

His looks up, immediately. “Don’t.”

“It’s fine,” you add quickly, reflexive. “I’m used to it.”

That makes him stop again.

“No,” he says, quieter. “You shouldn’t be. They were wrong about everything.”

You laugh under your breath, bitter. “Jongseong—”

His thumb presses lightly into your ankle, apologetic and voice soft. “Does it hurt?” he asks.

“A little.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you can’t tell what he’s apologizing for anymore.

“You didn’t push me,” you try. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“I should’ve been there faster.”

You look at him then. “You caught me.”

“Still,” he insists, a crease forming between his brows. “I should’ve—” He cuts himself off, breath hitching slightly. His hand shifts, pressing briefly to his own chest before he seems to realize you’re watching.

His hand lingers at his chest for half a second longer than necessary.

Then Jongseong straightens.

The shift is subtle but unmistakable. He rises to his full height, standing between your knees, close enough that your breath catches. From where you’re sitting on the counter, he feels impossibly tall, shoulders tense, frame rigid like he’s holding himself together by force alone.

You tilt your head up to look at him.

His expression is unreadable at first. Guarded. Then something in it gives way, like a crack spreading through glass that was never meant to be unbreakable. His jaw clenches. His eyes soften, dark and conflicted, flicking over your face as if he’s memorizing you again.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly.

You don’t answer.

Jongseong finishes securing the bandage. The movement puts him directly in front of you, close enough that his knees brush yours, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

He reaches up hesitantly, knuckles brushing your cheek. His thumb wipes at the corner of your eye before you even realize tears have slipped free.

“You’re crying,” he murmurs, voice rough.

You laugh weakly, giving up. “I think it just… caught up to me.”

His gaze lingers on your face, your red rimmed eyes, the tension in your jaw, the way you’re trying so hard to stay composed even now. Something in him gives way.

“I hate that they made you feel small,” he says quietly. “I hate that you let them.”

You swallow, looking down as if it solves something. “I didn’t want to cause trouble.”

“You didn’t,” he says, “They did.”

His hand stays on your cheek, warmer now, more certain. He uses his other thumb to brush under your other eye. Your heart thumps loud, you hate it and yet you crave it.

“You shouldn’t have to be strong all the time,” he adds. “Not here. Not with me.”

Your chest tightens. “Then why do you keep pulling away?”

The question is soft. Careful. It lands anyway.

His jaw flexes. He looks down at you, then away, then back again.

“Because if I don’t,” he says, voice dropping, “I won’t know how to keep this… contained.”

“Contained from what?”

“From wanting more,” he admits,  voice shaking at its edges. “From wanting you.”

“Do you really want me?” you whisper louder than you meant to.

That’s all it takes.

He leans in slowly, as if giving you every chance to change your mind. His forehead brushes yours first, breath warm against your lips. You can feel the trembling tension in him.

When his lips finally meet yours, it’s soft.

Almost reverent.

The kiss is hesitant at first, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he presses too hard. His lips move against yours slowly, learning, relearning. When you sigh into it, his control fractures.

He kisses you deeper then, still gentle but unmistakably desperate, like he’s been starving quietly for too long. His hand slides up your back, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer until there’s no space left to doubt what this is.

He trails a hot line from your lips down your jaw, then to the hollow under your ear, and you arch without realizing, breath hitching.

“Jongseong—” you whisper, when his mouth finds the tender skin at your neck. The sound breaks somewhere between his teeth and the small gasp that slips out of you trembles against his chest.

“I—” he says, voice swallowed by another kiss. “I’ve wanted—”

“Don’t,” you whisper, pleading, yet a part of you wants him to finish the sentence.

Between his kisses, your thoughts scatter and then narrow to an aching truth—you had wanted this for so long it almost hurts to finally have it.

You don’t know why, because you have always yearned for Jongseong’s warm touch. But right now, you can only hope that you won’t wake up from this.

He pauses, forehead against your temple, eyes dark and vulnerable. “I don’t know if I have the right to want,” he admits, so quiet you almost miss it. Then, louder, “But I do.”

His mouth finds your pulse at the base of your throat and presses, the kiss wet and demanding. Your hands go up, tangling in his hair at the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his strands as he deepens the kiss.

He lifts you without fussing and carries you towards the bedroom. The movement is fluid, as if he’s imagined this a thousand times and finally stepped into it. You wrap your legs around his hips instinctively.

“Careful,” you murmur, breathless, face burning up with shyness.

“I am,” he answers, voice low. “Always.”

He lays you down gently, not breaking the kiss until his forehead rests against yours and you both are dizzy with it. He leans over you lips roaming—down your throat, to the soft slope between collarbone and shoulder—leaving a trail of heated kisses like a map.

“Say my name,” he murmurs against your skin, “Call me Jay, please.”

“Jay,” you answer.

He lifts his head, mouth quirking into something close to a smile. “Good,” he says, and it’s a laugh with no humor.

Jongseong feels himself fading quietly, the way a man does when he’s held something back for too long. Every brush of your lips against his reminds him how close he is to losing the careful distance he built to survive

He’s terrified by how easy it is to forget everything else when you sigh against him, by how instinctively his body leans closer to you and the guilt eats him alive because he never allowed himself to touch you.

“Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?,” you say at one point, trying not to cry, awkward under the weight of his closeness.

“I’m sorry” he simply says, voice hoarse. “I was... scared.”

“Of what?”

He doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he brings his soft, wet lips to yours again, capturing you into another kiss.

MORNING ARRIVES QUIETLY.

The morning light slips in through the opaque curtains and fills the space in the bedroom. The city outside is awake, but your apartment isn’t, not really. It’s suspended in that soft in between where the night hasn’t fully let go yet.

You wake first.

For a few seconds, you don’t move. You just register. The warmth at your back. The steady rise and fall of his chest against you. His arm draped over your waist, heavy and protective, with his face nuzzled deep in your neck.

Last night comes back to you in fragments rather than a rush—his mouth at your neck, the way he carried you like something precious, the way his voice broke when you said his name. The way he held you afterward, forehead pressed to yours, breathing uneven but calm, like he’d finally stopped being cold.

You turn slowly, careful not to wake him.

Jongseong looks different in sleep.

Softer. Younger. His brows aren’t drawn together like they usually are, his mouth slack, lashes resting against his cheeks. There’s no heir, no expectation, no weight in the way he rests right now. Just a man who looks tired in a way that makes your chest ache.

Jongseong stirs when you shift slightly, his arm tightening instinctively around you. He hums, drowsy and half audible, and presses his lips to your hair without opening his eyes.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

You smile before you can stop yourself. “Morning.”

He opens his eyes slowly, dark lashes lifting, and for a split second you see it, his eye are actually soft this time. Then his expression even warms when he focuses on you.

“Did I wake you?” he asks quietly.

“No,” you whisper. “I was already up.”

He hums again, eyes drifting shut as he pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours. His breath is warm, steady. You can feel the way his body relaxes when you don’t pull away, when you fit into him like this is something practiced rather than new.

“Stay,” he murmurs, like it’s a reflex.

You smile, your hands resting against his chest, “I’m not going anywhere.”

That makes his eyes open again.

Something passes over his face. Relief, maybe, or something more fragile. His hand tightens at your waist just a little.

“You’re warm,” he says, almost distracted. “Did you sleep?”

“A little,” you admit. “You?”

He exhales softly, a sound that’s almost a laugh. “Better than I usually do.”

There’s a pause. Not an uncomfortable one. Just space.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, unhurried. It feels different in the daylight. His thumb brushes gently under your eye.

“You’re staring,” you tease quietly.

“Let me,” he replies. “I don’t do it enough.”

Its crazy to think how only just a week ago, this softness intimacy with your own fiance was just a dream, something that you could only imagine. Back then, his touch felt like a concept rather than a reality, his warmth something you imagined in quiet moments before sleep, never something you expected to wake up to, wrapped in it.

Now he’s here, breathing against you, holding you as if he always did, as if he was never any cold to you.

Your chest aches with a cautious kind of hope, the kind that blooms slowly, afraid of being noticed, because part of you is still bracing for him to pull away, for the walls to rise again.

He presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“I’ll make coffee,” he says finally. “Don’t move.”

You laugh softly. “I won’t. Promise.”

He disappears into the kitchen, barefoot and rumpled, sleeves pushed up, hair still tousled from sleep. The sight of him like this, unguarded and domestic, fills you with a warmth that almost hurts.

You sit up on the bed, glancing around the bedroom as you wait.

As the duvet cover pools around you, you can’t help but wonder how he must have felt last night, after sleeping with his back turned to you for months, after restricting your touch for months. You remember the way his voice trembled when you said his name, the way his breathing finally evened out only when you were tucked against him, and you realize he must have been carrying something heavy for a long time.

Maybe, just maybe, he was yearning for you the same way you were yearning for him.

And you let yourself believe that. You believe that mornings will be like this from now on. Soft and domestic. Romantic, even.

You glance around the bedroom as you wait, trying to find to pull you out of your thoughts.

That’s when you notice the folder.

Tucked beneath the edge of the coffee table, partially hidden, beige and unassuming. You wouldn’t have paid it any attention if not for the bold hospital logo printed across the corner.

Your stomach twists.

You tell yourself not to touch it. You really do.

But something twists in your gut, sharp and familiar, the same feeling you had when he pressed his hand to his chest last night. The same unease that’s been following him like a shadow for months.

You stand.

Your bare feet barely make a sound against the floor as you walk over. The folder is thin. You hesitate with your fingers resting against it, heart already racing like it knows what’s coming.

You pull the paper free.

Your eyes skim at first, unfocused.

The papers inside are neatly stacked, clipped together. Medical reports. Test results. Dates. Charts.

You scan the first page. And then the words blur.

Diagnosis: Atherosclerosis.

Your breath leaves you all at once, like someone punched it out of your chest.

Atherosclerosis, a condition in which plaque builds up inside your arteries, which overtime hardens narrows the arteries.

You read the other pages. Slower this time. Clinical language. Risk factors. Progression. Treatment plans that sound too careful, too conditional. Phrases like advanced, monitor closely, high risk.

Your fingers tremble as you keep reading, as if slowing down might somehow soften the meaning.

But it doesn’t.

Is this why he always kept you at an arms' distance? Why he always left you wondering for his love? Never touched you, or held or kissed only until last night? He doesn’t actually have limited time, does he?

A quiet, broken sound leaves your throat before you even realize you’re crying. You clamp a hand over your mouth, but it doesn’t help. Tears spill freely now, dropping onto the papers in dark, blurry spots. Your shoulders shake as you try to breathe through it, try to make sense of the hurricane hurling towards you.

Footsteps sound behind you.

“Coffee will be ready in—”

The sentence dies in his throat.

You hear it. The way his voice stops, the way the air shifts. You don’t look up. You can’t. You’re staring at the paper like it might rearrange itself into something less devastating if you keep looking.

“Y/n…” Jongseong says carefully, slowing down at the threshold of the bedroom.

When you finally lift your eyes, he’s frozen near the doorway, mug in hand, color draining from his face. His gaze drops from your tear streaked cheeks to the papers in your hands.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he says quietly.

The words land softly, but they split something open inside you.

Your fingers tighten around the papers, knuckles white, the thin sheets trembling with you. Your throat burns the moment you try to speak, like your body already knows what your heart is refusing to accept.

“H-how long?” you ask, the question barely holding together. It comes out thin. Fragile. Like if you press any harder, you’ll shatter completely.

He doesn’t answer.

That silence is worse than anything he could have said. It stretches heavy, filling the space between you until your chest feels too tight to breathe.

“How long, Jongseong?” you ask again, louder this time, tears spilling down without restraint. Your voice cracks right down the middle. “How long have you known?”

He sets the mug down slowly on the counter, like even that small sound might break you further. The coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim, unnoticed. His shoulders rise and fall once, a controlled breath that looks rehearsed. Like he’s done this alone, over and over.

“A while,” he admits.

The words feel vague on purpose. Cowardly.

“A while?” you echo, disbelief laced with hurt. Your laugh is short and broken, more like a sob caught in reverse. “What does that even mean, Jongseong? Weeks? Months?”

His jaw tightens. He drags a hand through his hair, fingers shaking just enough that you notice. He looks away from you—toward the window, the wall, anywhere but your face.

“Years.”

The word drops into the room like a blade.

For a moment, everything goes quiet. Not muted, but gone. Like your ears are ringing after an explosion.

“Years?” you whisper, the syllable barely surviving your lips.

Your knees feel weak. Your chest aches so sharply it almost feels physical, like something is crushing your ribs from the inside. You clutch the papers harder, as if they might anchor you to the floor.

“You’ve been—” Your voice gives out. You swallow, forcing the words through tears. “You’ve been sick this whole time?”

“Yes.”

The answer is immediate. Too immediate. Like he’s tired of lying, or maybe tired of carrying it alone.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” The hurt finally spills into anger, your voice rising, shaking, raw. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

He turns back to you instantly, panic flashing across his face, all that carefully built composure cracking at the edges.

“That’s not—” he starts, stepping toward you.

“Then what was it?” you cut in, backing away without realizing it. Your chest heaves, every breath uneven. “What was all that distance? All those nights you wouldn’t touch me, wouldn’t even look at me?”

Your voice breaks again, softer now, more wounded than angry. Memories flood back uninvited, the cold space between you in bed, the way he always kept a careful inch of distance, the way his hands would clench like he wanted to reach for you and stopped himself.

“You made me feel unwanted,” you whisper. “Like I was asking for too much just by loving you.”

His face twists at that, pain cutting through his features so sharply it almost scares you.

“I was trying to protect you,” he says, voice strained. “I was trying to protect us.”

“By shutting me out?” you snap, tears blurring your vision. “By letting me think I wasn’t enough?”

“That’s not what it was,” he insists, stepping closer again. “I couldn’t— I didn’t know how to let you get attached when I don’t even know how long I—”

He stops himself.

Your heart stutters. “When you don’t know how long what?” you take a shaky breath in, “Why after all this time—”

“Because Im dying, okay?” Jongseong snaps.

The words don’t land right away.

They snatch the land away from right beneath your feet, and for a second you feel falling down. For a moment, all you can hear is your own heartbeat beating way too loud agaisnt your ribcage.

“What…?” Your lips move, but the sound barely comes out. “What did you say?”

He looks like he regrets it the instant the words leave him. Like they tore out of him without permission. His shoulders tense, jaw clenched so tightly you can see the muscle jump beneath his skin. His eyes are glossy. Hes not crying yet.

“I said I’m dying,” he repeats, quieter now. Hoarse, and you know that hurts him. “Eventually. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not this year. But it’s there. Hanging over everything.”

You shake your head slowly, as if that might undo it. As if disbelief alone could rewind time to ten minutes ago, when the world still made sense.

“No,” you whisper. “Don’t say that like it’s—like it’s already decided.”

He laughs under his breath, bitter and exhausted. “It kind of is.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “Then why are you standing here?” you demand, tears streaming freely now. “Why are you pretending this is just another argument we can talk through?”

“Because I didn’t want you living your life around a countdown,” he says, voice breaking despite his effort to keep it steady. “Because I didn’t want to be the reason you wake up one day alone, wondering why you stayed.”

You clutch the papers to your chest like they’re the only thing keeping you upright. “So you thought hurting me would be better?”

“I thought distancing myself would make it easier when I leave,” he says quietly.

“When you—” Your breath stutters. “When you what?”

“When I go away,” he admits. “Anytime, Y/n. My whole life is unsure. I don’t get guarantees. I don’t get to plan ten years ahead like everyone else.”

He drags a hand down his face, the movement slow, weary, like the mask is finally too heavy to hold up.

“I didn’t want this marriage,” he says suddenly, the confession sharp and honest. “I didn’t want a wife whom I can just leave behind.”

The words gut you.

“Then why did you agree?” you ask, voice small despite everything tearing through you. “Why stand there beside me, say vows you didn’t believe in?”

His eyes lift to yours then, and something raw breaks open in them.

“Because I didn’t know how not to,” he says. “Because everyone kept telling me it was the right thing. My family wanted stability. I—”

He stops. Swallows hard.

“Because part of me hoped I was wrong,” he finishes. “That maybe I’d get lucky. That maybe if I kept my distance, I could survive it without hurting you.”

Your chest feels like it’s caving in on itself.

You want to scream at him for keeping something this devastating from you, for deciding on your behalf what you could and couldn’t handle. You want to cry for the months you spent feeling unwanted, for the nights you lay beside him wondering what you’d done wrong, for every time you swallowed your need for affection because you thought you were asking for too much.

And beneath all of that, cutting deeper than the rest, is fear.

Your mind keeps replaying every small moment from the past days. The way he would sometimes pause mid-step, fingers pressing briefly to his chest before he noticed you watching. The exhaustion he tried to hide behind clipped answers and silence. He was living life on borrowed time. And now it all makes a horrifying kind of sense. The distance wasn’t indifference. It was fear. Fear of attachment. Fear of leaving you behind. Fear of loving you too much when he wasn’t sure how long he’d be allowed to.

Your hands shake as you clutch the papers, the thin sheets crumpling slightly under your grip. You don’t even notice. All you can feel is the way your chest feels too small for everything trying to live inside it at once.

Anger. Fear. Grief. Love.

Love, most of all.

You take a step toward him before you realize you’ve moved. Your legs feel unsteady, like they might give out at any second, but you keep going until you’re standing right in front of him. He looks braced, like he’s expecting you to push him away, to scream, to tell him you’re done.

Instead, your voice comes out broken and soft.

“So you decided for me,” you say. Not accusing. Just devastated. “You decided that I couldn’t love you through this. That I couldn’t stay.”

His jaw tightens. “I didn’t want you trapped.”

“I wasn’t trapped,” you whisper. “I was confused. I was lonely. I was wondering every day what I did wrong.”

That hits him harder than shouting ever could.

Jongseong’s shoulders sag, like something finally gives up holding itself together. He closes his eyes briefly, breath shuddering as it leaves him.

“I know,” he says hoarsely. “I know I hurt you.”

The word hangs in the air between you.

Dying.

It doesn’t sound real. It feels like a foreign language, like something meant for hospital rooms and strangers, not the man standing in front of you with his jaw clenched and his eyes shining like he’s trying not to break apart in front of you.

Your breath stutters. Your fingers loosen around the papers, and they slip from your grasp, fluttering to the floor.

“You—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help. “Don’t say it like that. Don’t say it so casually.”

Jongseong exhales sharply, like the word tore its way out of him. “I’m not being casual. I’m being honest for once.”

The room feels too small. The walls press in. You take a step toward him without even realizing it, your chest aching with something that feels too big to fit inside you.

“You really did decide a huge part of my life without asking me,” you whisper.

His gaze flickers to your lips and then back to your eyes, conflicted, raw. “Because it hurts more than anything to know I might leave you behind.”

The words knock the breath out of you.

“You already did,” you say softly. “Every time you made me doubt your love.”

His shoulders sag, like the fight drains out of him all at once. “I cared too much,” he admits. “That was the problem.”

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of him, the tension vibrating through his body like a live wire. Your hand lifts on instinct, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt at his chest. You feel his heart beneath it, beating hard and fast, like it’s trying to run from the truth too.

“You should’ve told me,” you say, your voice breaking. “I would’ve stayed. I would’ve chosen you anyway.”

His breath shudders. “I didn’t pity.”

“You really think that?” you say, tears blurring your vision. “It would’ve been love.”

That does it.

Something in his expression finally gives. The careful distance he’s kept for months collapses in a single moment. He reaches for you like he’s been holding himself back from doing it for far too long, one hand coming up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing under your eye where your tears spill over.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs, voice low and unsteady. “If you say that, I won’t be able to pretend anymore.”

“Then don’t pretend,” you whisper. “Not with me.”

For a second, he just looks at you. Really looks at you. Like he’s memorizing every line of your face, every fragile breath you take.

Then he leans in.

The kiss isn’t gentle at first. It’s desperate, like all the words he’s swallowed are finally finding a way out through his mouth instead. His lips press into yours with a quiet, aching intensity, and you gasp against him before melting into it, your hands clutching at his shirt like you’re afraid he might disappear if you let go.

His breath mingles with yours, warm and uneven. The kiss deepens, not rushed but heavy, loaded with everything unsaid—regret, longing, fear, love. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space left between your bodies.

“God,” he exhales against your lips, the word breaking like a confession. “I shouldn’t—”

You don’t let him finish. You kiss him again, softer this time, slower, like you’re grounding him, reminding him that you’re real, that this moment is real. Your forehead rests against his when you finally pull back, breaths mingling, your noses brushing.

“I don’t care about anything,” you whisper. “I only care about you.”

His eyes search yours, dark and vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, lingering, like he’s fighting the urge to kiss you again and losing.

“You make this so hard,” he murmurs.

“Sorry” you reply quietly.

He lets out a breath that sounds like surrender. His forehead drops to yours, his eyes closing briefly as if he’s bracing himself for the weight of what he’s about to say next.

He opens his eyes then, and they’re wet now, shining dangerously. “I didn’t think I’d survive watching you look at me like this every day. Like I was your future.”

Your heart twists painfully.

“You are my future,” you say without thinking.

The words hang in the air, fragile and terrifying.

He shakes his head immediately. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” you demand, voice cracking. “Because it scares you?”

“I can’t promise you anything,” he says sharply, desperation bleeding through his restraint. “I can’t promise you years. I can’t promise you safety. I can’t even promise you tomorrow.”

He gestures vaguely to his chest, frustration and fear tangled together. “My body could fail me at any point. I live knowing that. I didn’t want you living like that too.”

You step closer, until there’s barely any space left between you.

“I would’ve chosen it,” you whisper. “If you’d told me, I would’ve chosen you anyway.”

His breath stutters.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you say fiercely. “Because I already did. Every night you turned away, every morning I woke up hoping you’d look at me differently. I stayed even when I didn’t understand why you were pulling away.”

Your voice softens, trembling. “Do you know how much it hurts to feel unwanted by the person you love?”

He winces like you’ve struck him.

“I never didn’t want you,” he says immediately. “God, Y/n, that was the problem.”

Silence falls again, thick and heavy.

You wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, inhaling shakily. “Then say it,” you challenge quietly. “Say what you were so afraid to say.”

He stares at you, chest rising and falling unevenly, like he’s standing at the edge of something irreversible.

“I was afraid,” he admits finally. “Afraid that if I let myself love you the way I wanted to, it would destroy me when I leave.”

“When you die?” you whisper, hating the word even as it leaves your mouth.

His face tightens, but he nods once.

Your knees feel weak again. You reach out instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself against him.

“And the wedding?” you ask suddenly, voice trembling with the weight of the question. “Will you— will you not—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“I will marry you, Y/n.”

The certainty in his voice steals your breath.

He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks where tears keep falling, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he’s afraid this might be taken from him too.

“I will marry you,” he repeats, softer now. “Not because I have to. Not because anyone expects me to. But because I want to. Loving you is the one thing in my life that feels real.”

Your lips tremble. “Then why were you pushing me away?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice breaking. “maybe because I have limited time.”

Something inside you shatters completely at that.

You press your forehead to his chest, listening to his heartbeat, strong and terrifying and precious all at once. Your tears soak into his shirt as you sob quietly, fingers gripping him like if you let go, he might disappear.

Jongseong wraps his arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other firm at your waist. He holds you like he’s afraid the world might steal you away too.

“I didn’t want to give you a life full of hospitals and waiting rooms,” he murmurs into your hair, his palms caressing your back slowly. “I didn’t want to be the reason you’re scared all the time.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, eyes red and swollen. And then press your face against him again.

His breath catches.

“If I miss someone the most in this world,” he says suddenly, voice thick with emotion, “then it is my grandma.”

You still, listening.

“She wanted to see me grow up. Be successful. Be happy.” His lips tremble as he speaks. “She wanted to share her blessings with my future wife.”

He swallows hard. “But she couldn’t. She didn’t get to see any of it.”

Your heart aches as he continues, voice barely holding together.

“If she’d be here, you would love you,” Jongseong’s voice cracks, but he lets out a melancholic laugh through it. It cracks, brings water to his eyes.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes dropping to look at you.

“I...” His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you, Y/n.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

“I love you,” he repeats, like he needs to hear himself say it. You bring your head up to see him again. A tear slips past his cheeks, enhancing his now flushed features. Jongseong’s breath hitches, “I’m sorry for being a bad fiancé, I’m sorry I made you doubt. But I love you, god, I do.”

A broken laugh slips out of you through your tears.

“I love you enough that it hurts,” he continues, pressing his forehead to yours. “And I should have said this sooner to you.”

You cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears he’s finally letting fall.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, smiling through tears, “Just don't love me halfway anymore.”

He nods slowly, eyes closing as he leans into your touch. “Then stay,” he murmurs. “Even if it’s scary.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, echoing your words from this morning, but now they carry weight. Promise. Choice.

He kisses you then. Again. Not desperate like last night. Not restrained like before. But full and trembling and honest, like he’s finally stopped running from the truth.

And when he holds you afterward, arms tight and protective, you don’t care about anything else in this world.

Park Jongseong has finally kissed you, heck, he's even holding you. And even if he can't do that forever, it’s all that you ever wished for.

EPILOGUE

The wedding does not feel like how weddings are described in stories.

There is no loud music spilling into the street, no crowd pressing in on every side, no overwhelming spectacle. It is small, intimate to the point of fragility, held in the quiet hall of an old heritage house on the outskirts of the city, where the windows are tall and the light filters in pale and gentle, as if even the sun is careful not to intrude too loudly on something this delicate.

Both your families wanted a huge crowd, too many heads to feed in the wedding; but much to their bad luck, Jongseong had stood his ground. He’d said it calmly, without raising his voice, without the sharp edge he used when he was tired or in pain. He didn’t want a stage. He didn’t want a day that felt like it belonged to everyone except the two of you. He wanted something small enough to breathe in. Something that wouldn’t exhaust him before the vows were even spoken, that would feel like yours.

So here you are.

The guest list is trimmed down to the people who matter, the people who know—at least partly—what this day costs him and what it means. There are no distant relatives you barely recognize, no business acquaintances pretending this is a celebration more than a formality.

Except Sunghoon brought in his whole friend group back from his college days, to which Jongseong knew he couldn’t say no to.

Your mother had argued, of course. His family had too. There were expectations. But Jongseong had only said, “Y/n doesn’t want crowds, and I want us to live our wedding day and not rehearse it.” And that had been the end of it.

The hall is simple. Old wood floors that creak softly under careful steps. White fabric draped along the walls. A narrow aisle lined with lilies that smell clean and faintly sweet. The kind of place that feels more like a promise.

You stand at the far end of the aisle, hands folded in front of you, trying to steady your breathing.

Your dress is lighter than you expected it to be, the fabric falling in soft lines instead of stiff layers. You wanted something you could move in. Something that wouldn’t weigh you down. Something that felt like you. The veil brushes your shoulders, and for a moment you close your eyes, just to take it in.

This is real.

When you open them, you see him.

Jongseong is already at the front, standing beside the officiant, posture straight but not rigid. He looks.fragile, in a way that makes your chest tighten. The suit fits him perfectly, but you can see the faint signs of fatigue he never quite manages to hide. The slight hollowness beneath his eyes. The careful way he holds himself, like he’s measuring his energy even now.

And still, when he looks at you, everything else falls away.

His expression changes the moment your eyes meet. The tension in his shoulders eases, just a little. His lips part, like he forgot to breathe for a second. There’s something raw there. Something open. Something that makes your throat ache.

You start walking.

Each step feels slow, because your body seems to understand the weight of this moment better than your mind does. The quiet hum of the room wraps around you. You’re vaguely aware of people watching, of soft movements, of the way the light catches in the tall windows, but mostly, there’s just him.

With every step, memories rise up uninvited.

The distance that used to sit between you like a wall. The silence. The nights you lay awake wondering what you had done wrong. The day you found the papers. The way his voice broke when he said he was dying. The way he looked at you like he was both terrified and relieved that you knew.

And then the nights after that. The long talks. The quiet understanding. The way he started reaching for you again, slowly, like he was relearning how to trust himself with your heart.

You stop in front of him.

Up close, you can see the way his hands are clasped together, fingers tight, knuckles pale. You can see the faint tremor in his breath. But you can also see the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, like you are the only steady thing in a world that keeps shifting under his feet.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The officiant clears their throat gently and begins, their voice low and respectful, as if they, too, understand that this is not a day for grand speeches. The words drift around you—about love, about commitment, about choosing each other not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard.

“In sickness and in health” lands heavier than the rest.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, and Jongseong notices. His gaze flickers to your hands, then back to your face, and he gives you the smallest nod. Like he’s reminding you. Like he’s reminding himself. We’re here. We’re still here.

When it’s your turn to speak, your heart is hammering so hard you’re afraid your voice will shake.

But when you look at him, really look at him, the words come out steadier than you expect.

His eyes shine, but he doesn’t look away.

When it’s his turn, he swallows hard before speaking.

“I spent a long time trying not to want this,” he admits. “I thought distance would protect you. I thought if I didn’t let you get too close, it would hurt less when…” He stops, breath catching, then continues more softly. “When I leave. I was wrong. All I did was waste time I could have spent loving you properly.”

His voice steadies, just a little.

“I can’t promise you forever. I wish I could. But I can promise you honesty. I can promise you every day I’m given. I can promise you that as long as I’m here, you won’t face anything alone.”

Your eyes burn, but you don’t look away.

When the rings are exchanged, his fingers linger around yours, like he’s afraid of letting go even for a second. When he leans in to kiss you, it’s gentle, unhurried. Not a performance. Not for the room. Just for you.

And when the officiant declares you married, there’s no thunderous applause. Just soft clapping. Warm smiles. A quiet, collective exhale.

The room exhales around you, a collective softening now that the vows have been spoken and the weight of them has settled into something real. There’s a quiet shuffle of movement as people begin to rise from their seats, the soft murmur of congratulations beginning to bloom through the hall. The light shifts as a cloud passes outside, turning the windows briefly dimmer, then bright again.

Jongseong’s hand is still wrapped around yours.

His palm is warm, his grip a little too tight, like he’s anchoring himself to the reality of this moment. You squeeze back, a silent reassurance, and he looks down at you with something fragile and bright in his eyes. Relief, maybe. Or disbelief that he’s actually here, standing beside you, that the day did not break apart before it could begin.

“You okay?” you whisper, leaning in so only he can hear.

He nods. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”

You recognize the tone. The carefulness. The way he’s learned to pace himself, even in moments meant to be joyful. You don’t press. You just stay close, your shoulder brushing his arm, your presence a quiet support rather than a demand.

The officiant steps aside, offering you both a small, gentle smile. Someone from the back laughs softly—Sunghoon, probably—trying to cut through the heaviness with something familiar. Your mother wipes at her eyes, her expression torn between pride and worry. His family watches him closely, too closely, like they’re counting his breaths without realizing it.

You and Jongseong take a step forward together.

The motion is small, but you feel the shift in his balance immediately. It’s subtle, you feel it in the way his fingers tighten around yours, in the way his shoulder brushes yours a little harder than before.

“Jongseong?” you murmur.

“I’m fine,” he says automatically, the words practiced. He gives you a faint smile, the kind he uses when he doesn’t want to worry you. “Just stood up too fast.”

You search his face. The color has drained a little, leaving him paler than before. There’s a sheen of sweat at his temple that wasn’t there moments ago. Your chest tightens with a familiar, creeping fear.

“Do you want to sit for a bit?” you ask quietly. “We can—”

“I don’t want to sit,” he replies, more firmly than you expect, though his voice is still gentle. “I want to walk out with you. Just… slow, okay?”

So you walk slowly.

Each step is measured, careful. The old wood floor creaks beneath your feet, a soft, grounding sound. The lilies lining the aisle blur in your peripheral vision. You keep your attention on him, on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

His inner world feels loud in a way you can almost sense without him saying anything. There’s a stubborn pride in him, a refusal to let this moment be overshadowed by his body’s limits. He has fought for this day. He has insisted on being here, standing, choosing this with you. The thought of needing help, of letting weakness show in front of everyone, presses against something old in him.

And yet, even as he tries to hold himself together, there is a quieter fear threading through him. A whisper that this might be too much. That joy, even when it is gentle, still costs him something.

Your own thoughts are no less tangled.

Part of you is floating, still wrapped in the soft glow of being married, of hearing him say vows that felt like a promise against the dark. Another part of you is coiled tight with worry, hyper-aware of every change in his breathing, every slight falter in his step. Loving him has taught you this strange duality, how joy and fear can exist side by side, neither fully eclipsing the other.

You reach the middle of the aisle.

There’s a soft ripple of applause, gentle and restrained, as people make space for you to pass. Someone murmurs congratulations. Someone else whispers his name, concern threading through the sound. The room feels warmer than before, or maybe that’s just your nerves making everything feel too close.

Jongseong exhales, long and slow.

“I’m glad we did it like this,” he says under his breath. “Small. Quiet.”

You smile up at him, though your heart is beating too fast. “Me too.”

His gaze lingers on you, something tender and aching in it, like he’s trying to hold onto this exact version of you in this exact moment. Married. Here. Alive in front of him.

“You look…” he trails off, then shakes his head slightly, eyes glues on yours. “You look like something I don’t deserve.”

You start to protest, but the words die in your throat when you feel his grip falter.

It’s subtle at first, the tension in his fingers loosening, his hand slipping slightly in yours. His step stutters. His breath catches.

“Jongseong?” you say, louder now.

The room seems to tilt.

For a second, he’s still standing, eyes unfocused, like he didn’t expect this to happen now, of all times. His inner world fractures in that moment.

“I’m okay,” he tries to say, but the words come out wrong, thin and unconvincing.

Then his knees buckle.

The world lurches forward in a rush of motion and sound. You feel his weight shift suddenly, too heavy, too fast. Your grip tightens instinctively as you reach for him, calling his name as the room erupts into startled gasps, chairs scraping back, someone shouting for help.

Your arms wrap around him as he falls, your body bracing against the impact, heart slamming painfully against your ribs.

“Jongseong—!”

The lilies blur into white streaks at the edge of your vision. The quiet hall fractures into chaos, voices overlapping, footsteps rushing closer. You sink to the floor with him, cradling his head against your chest, your hands trembling as you search his face.

His eyes are half-lidded, breath shallow but there, still there. His brow is drawn, like he’s fighting to stay with you.

“Stay with me, please,” you whisper, the words pouring out like a plea. “A-Always” Jongseong breaths out.

Around you, the room is a blur of motion and worry, but your world has narrowed to the feel of his weight in your arms, the fragile warmth of his skin against yours, the uncertain rhythm of his breathing.

AUTHORS NOTE hello hello again! thank you so so much for reading this all the way and making it through here 💗 i decided for the ending to be open because making jay pass away would be too sad and i couldnt think of any other endings 😞 so for my angst ending haters, you can just pretend that the epilogue never happened!!! phew, its finished and i definitely took way more time than i should've, but like i was sooo confused on this one. anyways, please let me know how it was and reblog to support! see you in my next long fic 😛

edit: and now to clear up some doubts about the ending, jay doesn't actually passes away in the ending! its just shown that he collapses to the ground, and whatever happens after that is left to your imagination, making this an open ending! once again, thank you for reading <3

©BYWONS, 2026 DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REPOST

[swiftjay23]

────𝓜𝖆𝖘𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖊

𝒮ᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:Your protectors were never protecting you. They were hunting you, claiming you as theirs all along. When the masks come off, the masquerade turns into something darker: a game of terror, obsession, and surrender.

𝒫ᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:Ghostface!Jay x Reader x Ghostface!Jake

𝒢ᴇɴʀᴇ:Horror, Thriller, Dark Smut (VERY NSFW)

𝒲ᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ (ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇʀᴇᴀᴅ): Graphic violence, horror imagery, stalking, knife play, Blood mention, threat with weapons, Manipulation, gaslighting, possessive/obsessive behavior, Non-consensual elements → heavy dubcon / coercion themes, Fear + arousal overlap (fear kink, predator/prey dynamic), Breath play, biting, hair pulling, rough handling, Spit, gagging, oral sex (m+f, f→m), double penetration (oral + vaginal at once), Filthy dirty talk, degradation + praise mix, Twisted comfort → possession, Reader crying, but still aroused, General extreme intensity (this is NOT soft smut!), threesome

𝒲ᴏʀᴅ 𝐶ᴏᴜɴᴛ:11505 words

TO: That one anon, I loved writing this one!

Inspired by the 'Scream' Franchise (only the phone call and parts of the chase) and this awesome fic by @si3rren, i love her sm- she's such an awesome writer! Thank you for existing queen

The dorm room smelled faintly of fresh paint and the lingering tang of cleaning supplies. Your suitcase sat half-unpacked on the bed, clothes spilling over the edge while you fussed with a strand of fairy lights, trying to get them to stay taped above the desk. The glow from the window painted the walls gold, softening the space into something that felt almost yours.

“You’re making this place look so cute already,” Lily said from across the room, perched on her own bed with her chin resting on her knees. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her eyes sparkled with the same excitement she’d carried since she met you downstairs.

“You’re just saying that because my mess distracts from yours,” you teased, even though your stomach was knotted tight the way it always was in new spaces. Anxiety sat heavy in your chest, but Lily’s easy laughter was grounding, like it always had been.

“Well, lucky for you,” she said, standing up and sweeping her arms dramatically, “you’ve got me as your new roomie to make sure you don’t wallow in stress. Starting tonight.”

You gave her a suspicious look. “Starting tonight?”

“I may have… invited a few people over,” she admitted, biting her lip. “Nothing crazy, just a small get-together. You know, so everyone can meet you properly.”

Your brows shot up. “Lily—”

“Don’t worry! It’s not some wild rager. Just Yeji, Sophia, Sunghoon… and a couple guys from my econ class. Jay and Jake.” Her grin widened. “They’re chill. You’ll like them.” You sighed but didn’t protest further. With Lily, resistance was futile. 

By the time the first knock came on your door, your nerves had stretched thin. Lily had shoved a plastic cup into your hands, pressed play on a playlist that was just loud enough to make the walls hum, and assured you for the tenth time that it’d be “fun, promise.”

And she was right, sort of.

The room filled with voices and laughter, the faint smell of cheap wine and convenience store snacks, warmth buzzing in the air like static. Yeji and Sophia were instantly magnetic, chattering like they owned the space. Sunghoon leaned against the wall with a quiet smile, half-listening, half-scrolling on his phone.

And then there were Jay and Jake.

You noticed them the second they stepped inside. Jay was sharp around the edges, dark eyes that seemed to catch everything, a smile that didn’t give away what he was thinking. Jake was easier, boyish charm radiating from him, but there was something about the way he lingered near Jay that made them feel like two halves of the same whole.

They were friendly, warm, even. Jay offered you a handshake that lingered just a little longer than necessary, while Jake made an easy joke about the chaos of moving in. You laughed, even though your chest was tight with nerves, and felt their eyes on you more than once throughout the night.

Conversation flowed, cheap wine dulled the edges of your anxiety, and for a while, you let yourself sink into it. The group teased, swapped stories, spilled crumbs across the floor that Lily would complain about later. At one point, Jay leaned in close to ask about your major, and you caught a whiff of his cologne, subtle, expensive. Jake brushed your shoulder when he passed you a plate.

The music thumped low from Lily’s speaker, a bassline meant more to fill the silence than start a rave. The cramped dorm room buzzed with chatter, the overhead light softened by the fairy lights you’d just strung.

“You really weren’t kidding when you said small get-together,” Yeji laughed, sprawled out on Lily’s desk chair with her legs tucked up. She raised her plastic cup. “This feels like a middle school sleepover that just happens to have alcohol.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Middle school me would never have been this cool.”

Sophia, perched cross-legged on Lily’s bed, chimed in with mock seriousness. “Middle school you cried because you lost your pencil case.”

“Okay, and?” Lily shot back, shoving her. “That pencil case was my emotional support.”

Everyone laughed, and you found yourself relaxing, the knot of tension in your stomach loosening just a little. You sipped from your cup and let the warmth spread.

Across from you, Jay sat with one arm draped casually over the back of the chair, dark eyes half-lidded but sharp as they flicked over everyone. He hadn’t said much yet, but when he did, his voice was low and smooth, the kind of tone that drew you in without trying.

Next to him, Jake was the opposite, animated, grinning wide as he teased Sunghoon for nursing the same drink for nearly an hour.

“Bro, you’re babysitting that cup like it’s your firstborn,” Jake teased, leaning over to tap Sunghoon’s cup with his own.

Sunghoon scoffed. “I just don’t want to wake up regretting life tomorrow.”

“Lightweight,” Jake sang, and his grin was so bright you couldn’t help but laugh. His gaze flicked toward you at the sound, and you froze for a second, caught off guard by how quick and boyish his smile was when it landed on you.

Jay noticed too, you could feel his eyes on you, heavy, unreadable.

“So, what’s your major again?” Jay finally asked, and though his voice was soft, it cut through the laughter.

You blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of the attention. “Uh… English. Literature, technically.”

Jake leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Oh, that explains the fairy lights. Very romantic vibes,” he teased, and Lily immediately howled with laughter.

“Shut up,” you groaned, hiding your face in your cup, but your cheeks burned anyway.

Jay tilted his head, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “Romantic, huh? Makes sense. You strike me as the kind of person who reads at 2 a.m. and forgets to eat dinner.”

Your heart tripped in your chest. “That’s… uncomfortably accurate.”

“Called it,” Jake said, grinning at Jay. They shared a look that made something in your stomach twist, it was too easy, the way they bounced off each other. Like they were used to being in sync.

Sophia groaned, tossing a pillow at them. “Can you two not psychoanalyze our new girl on her first night?”

“I’m just saying,” Jake said, catching the pillow easily and tossing it back, “it’s a vibe. And it suits her.”

Jay’s gaze lingered on you a second too long before he took another sip of his drink.

The room erupted into another round of laughter when Lily pulled out a deck of cards for a quick game of “Never Have I Ever.” The questions were ridiculous,Yeji confessed she’d once gotten stuck in a bathroom window, Sophia admitted she’d kissed someone in an elevator, Jake dramatically put a finger down when someone said “kissed a friend’s sibling.”

Through it all, you found your eyes drifting back to them. The easy curve of Jake’s smile, the sharp intensity of Jay’s stare when he went quiet. The contrast between them was magnetic, pulling you in before you even realized how close you were leaning, how your skin warmed every time Jake’s knee brushed yours, how your breath caught when Jay’s gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second too long.

Small things. Harmless things.

By the time the night wound down and everyone filtered out with lazy goodbyes, you were left with a faint buzz in your head and a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

As you climbed into bed, listening to Lily hum as she washed cups in the sink, you caught yourself thinking about them, about Jay’s steady gaze, about Jake’s laugh, and the realization made your stomach flip.

Maybe Lily was right. Maybe this would be fun.

Campus had started to feel smaller. Not because of its size, but because of how often you seemed to bump into Jay and Jake.

At first, it was coincidence, catching sight of them leaving a lecture hall just as you were entering, or crossing paths on the quad between classes. But soon it felt deliberate, like they always knew where to find you.

“Hey, stranger,” Jake had called out one Tuesday morning, jogging to catch up as you balanced a coffee and a stack of books. “What are the odds? Same route, same time.”

You laughed, adjusting your grip on the books. “I’d say one in a million, but it’s starting to feel like one in five.”

Jay fell into step on your other side, quiet until he spoke: “We’re just reliable. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

His shoulder brushed yours, and you felt your pulse skip.

Soon it became routine.

Study sessions in the library that lasted longer than you meant them to, Jay’s handwriting neat beside yours as Jake doodled cartoons in the margins of your notes.

Coffees at the corner café, Jake charming the barista into giving him an extra shot while Jay teased him for it, sliding your cup toward you with a quiet “Careful, it’s hot.”

Inside jokes that formed too quickly, Jake making fun of your habit of carrying three different highlighters, Jay smirking whenever you spaced out during lectures.

They were easy to be around. Too easy.

But sometimes, you noticed things that caught you off guard. The way Jay always seemed to know what you were about to say, finishing your thoughts like he’d already read your mind.

The way Jake leaned just a little too close when he joked, his hand brushing yours and not moving away right away.

The way both of them always seemed to watch you. Not in a creepy way, at least, not enough for you to call it that. But their eyes were steady, lingering, like they were memorizing your every move.

Once, during a late-night study session, Jake had nudged a strand of hair from your face with a grin. “You’re hopeless when you’re tired.”

You’d laughed, but the warmth of his fingers had lingered long after. Jay had just watched, lips curved in a small smile, eyes unreadable.

Lily noticed too.

“Wow,” she teased one night as you sat cross-legged on your bed, scrolling through your notes while she painted her nails. “You’ve basically got two bodyguards at this point. Should I be jealous?”

You snorted. “They’re just… nice. We have classes together, that’s all.”

“Mhm.” She wiggled her brows. “Classes, coffees, study dates, walking you home—”

“Stop.” You threw a pillow at her, but you were smiling.

Because she was right. They were always there. And the strangest part was how safe you felt with them. Like nothing bad could happen as long as Jay was watching with those sharp, steady eyes, and Jake was cracking jokes to make the air lighter. It should have been overwhelming. Instead, it was comforting.

One night, the three of you ended up sprawled on the grass outside the library, the sky deep with stars. Jake lay with his arms folded under his head, humming a tune, while Jay sat cross-legged beside you, flipping through one of your books.

“You ever think about how weird it is?” Jake asked suddenly.

You turned your head toward him. “How weird what is?”

“This. Like… out of everyone on campus, somehow we all end up here, hanging out like this.” His grin was lazy, but his eyes were sharp in the starlight. “Kinda feels like fate, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s one way to romanticize coincidence.”

Jay glanced up from the book, his gaze locking on yours. “What if it’s not coincidence?”

The words sent a small shiver down your spine, but Jake laughed, and the moment broke. You told yourself not to overthink it. After all, they were just your friends. Just Jay, with his steady voice and unnerving focus. Just Jake, with his jokes that always made you smile even when you didn’t want to. You trusted them. Maybe more than you should have.

It started with whispers. A name murmured in the dining hall line, heads bent together, phones angled low across cafeteria tables. You didn’t pay much attention until Lily sat down beside you one afternoon, her face pale and tight.

“Did you hear?” she asked in a hushed voice, sliding her phone toward you. The headline glared back: Student Found Dead in Campus Library Restroom.

Your stomach dropped. “Dead? As in…”

“As in murdered.” Her voice caught on the word. “They said it was… brutal. They’re not even releasing the details.”

You stared at the screen, pulse quickening. The library wasn’t far, just across the quad, a place you’d studied in only days ago.

For the rest of the day, you couldn’t shake the image, couldn’t stop imagining what those locked bathroom stalls must have looked like with something unspeakable on the other side.

The first murder was almost a rumor at first. Something you overheard through half-closed dorm doors, spoken in whispers that carried down the hallways. At Lily’s insistence, you’d brushed it off as typical campus drama, wild gossip passed around to scare freshmen. But then the emails from administration started pouring in, carefully worded notices with subject lines like “Campus Safety Reminder” and “Increased Security Measures.”

That was when it stopped feeling like a rumor.

The victim was a sophomore, they said. Found in the library bathrooms, blood soaking the cracked tiles until the janitor stumbled upon the scene at dawn. Nobody offered details, but details leaked anyway, the kind that seep into your brain and rot there: that her throat had been slit, that her hands looked defensive, that her eyes were wide open when they found her.

The library itself suddenly felt cursed. Walking past it, you felt as if the red brick walls absorbed the tragedy, the tall windows hiding the ghost of what happened inside. You’d catch yourself staring at the heavy wooden doors, half-expecting them to swing open and spill the horror out onto the quad.

Lily tried to lighten the mood, keeping her voice bright whenever she caught you staring too long. “It’s probably just a freak thing,” she said one night, her legs crossed on her bed as she painted her toenails neon orange. “Like, some psycho wandered in from off campus. They’ll catch him before it ever happens again.”

But it didn’t feel like a freak thing. It felt close. Too close.

Two weeks later, there was another killing. This time, it was a boy from the dorm next door. You didn’t know him, but you’d seen his face in the cafeteria line, a mop of dark curls and a loud laugh that carried across the tables. He’d been found just past midnight, not in some distant corner of campus but on the cracked sidewalk behind the dorms, close enough that Lily swore she could smell blood in the air when she opened your window.

The campus erupted. Some students cried openly in class, others skipped lectures altogether, and suddenly every night felt like a lockdown. The dorm hallways grew thick with fear: doors slamming shut as soon as the sun dipped, blinds drawn like barricades, whispers echoing even in the middle of the afternoon.

You and Lily whispered too, late at night when neither of you could sleep. She’d keep the fairy lights on, soft pink glow washing the room, like it could hold the darkness at bay.

“What if it’s someone from here?” Lily whispered one night, clutching her pillow so tight the seams strained. “Like—not a stranger, but…” She trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.

You didn’t finish it for her, but the silence said enough.

Because by then, you’d already noticed it, that faint sensation of eyes on your back when you crossed campus at dusk, or the way shadows seemed to stretch too long in the lamplight. You carried your keys between your fingers like claws, every set of footsteps behind you making your pulse throb against your throat.

The news called it senseless violence, but it didn’t feel senseless. It felt deliberate. And more than that, it felt like whoever was doing this wasn’t finished. But none of it helped. If anything, the sirens in the distance, the flashing blue lights against dorm windows at night, only made everything worse. You sat cross-legged on your bed, watching Lily pace the room. She tugged at her sweater sleeves until the threads came loose.

“It’s like they’re taunting us,” she said, her voice trembling. “Like they’re not even trying to hide.”

“Stop,” you whispered. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true. First the library, now right outside the union, what if next time it’s here?” Her voice broke, and for the first time, you saw the terror in her eyes, raw and unfiltered.

You swallowed hard, throat tight. “It won’t be. We’re careful. We’ll be fine.”

But even as you said it, you didn’t believe it.

You started walking faster at night, hugging your books to your chest like they could shield you. Every shadow stretched too long, every footstep behind you echoed too close. Jay and Jake noticed. They always seemed to whenever something was off. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jake teased one afternoon when you nearly jumped out of your skin after someone dropped their backpack too loud.

“I just…” You hesitated, glancing around the café, lowering your voice. “Have you heard about the murders?”

Jake’s grin faltered, and Jay set his cup down slowly, eyes steady on you.

“Of course we have,” Jay said softly. “Everyone has.”

You bit your lip, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater. “It’s just, it feels like it’s getting closer. What if—”

“Hey.” Jake leaned forward, his hand brushing yours on the table. Warm, grounding. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Okay?”

Jay’s gaze was heavier, sharper, but his voice was calm. “We’ll make sure of it.” Something in the way he said it made your skin prickle. But you forced yourself to nod, clinging to the reassurance, even as your chest stayed tight.

That night, you and Lily whispered again, both of you curled up under your blankets like children.

“Do you think they’ll catch them?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “But I hate this waiting. I hate not knowing when it’ll happen again.”

Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. When sleep finally came, it was restless, dreams of masked figures in the shadows, knives glinting under the moonlight, laughter echoing just out of sight.

It started with little things. The next week after the second killing, you’d stayed late in the library with Lily. When you finally packed up, the path back to your dorm seemed endless and exposed under the flickering yellow lamps. The shadows stretched too long between each pool of light, and you caught yourself glancing over your shoulder every few steps. That was when Jake fell into stride beside you, his easy grin cutting through your tension like it was nothing.

“Relax,” he teased lightly, nudging your arm with his elbow. “What, you think the killer’s just gonna leap out of the bushes for you?”

Lily smacked him in the chest, scowling, but his laugh was warm, easygoing, almost protective in itself. You hated that it helped. That his presence, his tall frame, his easy confidence, made the darkness feel less threatening. From then on, it was like he and Jay silently decided you weren’t allowed to walk anywhere alone. Jay was subtler about it. He didn’t crack jokes; he just appeared. When you left class, he’d be waiting outside with his bag slung casually over one shoulder. When you lingered in the cafeteria too long, he was suddenly there, holding the door open for you.

And when you protested—“You don’t have to babysit me, you know”—he tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly, a flicker of something unreadable before he smiled.

“We don’t mind. It’s better this way.”

It was protective, yes, but there was something final about the way he said it. Like a rule, not a suggestion.

Their closeness escalated so gradually you barely noticed until it was already part of your routine. Jake carrying your books without asking, brushing it off with a grin, “Don’t worry, you’ve got enough to hold.” Jay’s hand on the small of your back as he guided you through crowded hallways, the weight of his touch firm, steady, grounding.

You told yourself it was comfort. You told yourself you liked it. After all, everyone else on campus seemed to be pulling away, locking their doors, hurrying from class to dorm with their heads down, whispers slicing the air but never lingering long enough to become conversation. But Jay and Jake leaned closer. They filled the gaps left by your fear with presence, laughter, warmth. Sometimes it felt like they were the only solid thing in a campus gone fragile.

One night, Lily was working late on a group project, leaving you to walk home alone. You debated it, half a dozen times you almost texted her to wait, but then you heard Jake’s voice behind you.

“Heading back?”

You jumped, spinning, but it was only him. His smile was soft this time, not teasing, as he held out a hand like he was offering to take something from you. “I’ll walk you.”

Your pulse slowed. Relief swept through you, almost dizzying. You nodded before you even thought about it. And when his hand touched the small of your back, steering you toward the dorms, you didn’t flinch. You let yourself believe it was safety. Because it was easier than admitting how much you’d started needing them. 

The day Lily went missing, everything felt wrong in ways too subtle to name.

It began with the absence of her voice. Normally, when you got back from class, you could hear her from the hallway, singing off-key to whatever was stuck in her head, or laughing at some TikTok with her headphones turned up way too loud. But that afternoon, when you pushed open the door, the dorm was silent.

You set your bag down, half-expecting her to pop out of the bathroom or roll over in her bed and groan about how tired she was. But her side of the room was untouched. Bed still made, fairy lights off, her laptop closed. A quiet so sharp it pressed against your eardrums.

You texted her first. hey, u coming back soon?

Then again, twenty minutes later. lil, where are you?

No answer. By the time the sky outside dimmed from gray to navy, your nerves had begun to spiral. The dorm felt too big, too hollow. You paced from one wall to the other, chewing your nails until the skin stung. Every creak in the hallway sounded like footsteps, every muffled laugh like it might be hers.

But she never came. By the time you finally called Jay, your voice shook so much you barely recognized it.

“She’s not back, I don’t know where she is, she’s not answering—”

He cut you off gently. “Breathe. We’re coming.”

They arrived faster than seemed possible. A knock at the door, and when you opened it, Jay and Jake stood there like shadows stretched into human form, framed by the dim hall lights. Calm. Too calm.

Jake was the first to step in, all easy warmth, brushing past you to set his bag down like he belonged there. “You’re panicking,” he said softly, his hand brushing against yours in a way that felt accidental but wasn’t. “Sit down, yeah? We’ll figure this out.”

Jay shut the door behind him, the lock clicking louder than usual. He didn’t speak at first, just crossed the room and leaned against Lily’s desk, arms folded, watching you with unreadable eyes.

You sat because Jake guided you there, pressing gently on your shoulders until you sank onto the bed. Your hands twisted in your lap.

“She should be back by now,” you whispered. “She always texts me, even if she’s late, even if she’s—” Your throat closed around the words.

Jake crouched in front of you, close enough that his knee brushed yours. His hands found your thighs, warm and steady, and you didn’t move away. “Hey. Look at me,” he coaxed. His thumb traced slow circles against your leg. “You’re okay. You’re not alone.”

Your breath shuddered out, uneven. The warmth of his touch helped, but it also sent a strange heat crawling up your neck, guilt tangled with relief.

Jay finally spoke, his voice low. “Panicking won’t bring her back.”

The bluntness made you flinch. You looked at him sharply, expecting to see annoyance, but his expression was unreadable. Almost… thoughtful.

You swallowed, voice cracking. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

The question hung in the air like smoke.

Jake’s hand stilled on your thigh. Slowly, he lifted his head, eyes meeting Jay’s across the room. They shared something in that look, something you couldn’t interpret, though the weight of it pressed heavy against your ribs.

Neither of them answered.

Instead, Jake brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. The gesture was intimate, grounding, almost tender, but paired with the silence, it hollowed you out.

You wanted them to say yes. To lie, even. To promise that Lily would walk back in the door any second, apologizing for making you worry. But all they gave you were touches. Lingering, deliberate touches, like reassurance was something physical they could press into your skin. Jay shifted, stepping closer, until he stood behind Jake. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm, grounding. Between them, you felt boxed in, warmth pressing at you from two sides, too much for your trembling body to make sense of.

You whispered again, quieter this time. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

Jay’s thumb stroked absentmindedly against your shoulder. Jake’s gaze lingered too long on your lips before flicking back to your eyes. Still, no answer. The silence felt like the loudest sound in the room.

The week after Lily disappeared, you stopped recognizing yourself. Classes blurred past without you. At first, you told yourself you’d go tomorrow, that you just needed a day to rest. But tomorrow turned into the day after, and the day after into a stretch of blankness where the only thing you did was keep the blinds closed and stare at the ceiling.

The campus outside might as well have been another world. You unplugged your laptop, silenced your phone. The quiet should have been a balm, but instead it pressed heavy against your chest, making every small noise sound like a threat. A footstep in the hall, a door closing down the corridor, they all made you flinch. You didn’t eat much. Some days, not at all. The thought of leaving your room to walk to the cafeteria felt impossible. The thought of running into someone who would ask, Have you heard from Lily yet? worse.

And yet, Jay and Jake kept coming. You never told them to. They just… appeared. Sometimes they knocked; sometimes they didn’t. Always with food in their hands, takeout containers, or sandwiches wrapped in paper, or steaming cups of instant ramen they insisted you eat while it was still hot. Jake had a knack for making it seem lighthearted, a smile tugging at his lips as he pressed chopsticks into your hand. “Don’t make me spoon-feed you, babe,” he joked once, though his eyes didn’t waver until you obediently took a bite.

Jay, on the other hand, didn’t smile much. He was quieter, steadier. When you couldn’t get out of bed, he simply sat at the edge of it, setting a cup of water within reach. His hand would rest lightly against your ankle through the blanket, as though anchoring you. “Drink,” he said once, and though the word was simple, you found yourself obeying.

At first, you told yourself you were grateful. You needed them. Without them, you weren’t sure you’d even be surviving. But their constancy gnawed at you. Because they never seemed to leave. Even when you insisted you were fine, Jake would stretch out on Lily’s bed like he owned the space, scrolling on his phone. Jay would sit at your desk, flipping absently through your textbooks.

“We just want to make sure you’re not alone,” Jake said when you tried to protest once. His grin softened it, made it sound sweet, but his gaze was sharp in a way that left your skin prickling.

Sometimes you caught them watching you. Not in an obvious way, but you’d look up from your untouched food and find Jay’s eyes on you, unreadable. Or Jake would let his hand linger on your back a little too long when he leaned in to coax you upright.

They were always there. You told yourself it was safety. You told yourself you needed it. But late at night, with their shadows stretched long against your walls and the taste of food you didn’t want still in your mouth, you couldn’t shake the creeping thought that maybe you weren’t being cared for at all. Maybe you were being kept.

The evening it happened, the dorm was too quiet, almost… normal. But you knew it really wasn’t.

You hadn’t left your bed in hours. The blinds were still shut tight, the only light a thin strip leaking in from under the door. Even your phone screen glared too bright against the dark when you scrolled, aimless and half-numb.

You almost didn’t answer the call. The sound split the silence so suddenly you jumped, your phone rattling where it lay by your pillow. Unknown number. For one dizzy second, you thought about letting it ring out. But your hands moved before your brain could catch up, swiping across the glass.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was low. Sultry. Amused. Deep. Deeper than your fear went. “Do you wanna play a game?”

Every muscle in your body froze.

“…Who is this?” you whispered.

A laugh answered, smooth, unhurried, curling in your ear like smoke. “Aw, don’t sound so scared already. I’ve been waiting for this.”

Your throat worked around words that wouldn’t come. The silence stretched, until the voice purred again, softer this time, almost intimate. “You look cute when you’re curled up in bed like that. All jumpy, waiting for something bad to happen.”

The phone slipped in your damp palm. You bolted upright, heart hammering, eyes darting around the room. The blinds were closed. The door was locked. Still, you felt watched.

“This isn’t funny,” you hissed. “I’m— I’m hanging up—”

“Go ahead,” the caller said smoothly. “But we both know you won’t. You want answers, don’t you?”

Your hand trembled so hard the phone shook against your ear. “What do you want?”

The pause that followed was worse than words. Then, in a whisper sharp as a knife’s edge: “I want to see how fast you can run.”

The line went dead.

The silence afterward was deafening. You sat frozen, clutching the phone so tightly your knuckles ached. And then, a floorboard creaked. Not in the hallway. Inside. You turned toward the sound, stomach hollowing out. At first, there was nothing. Just the heavy dark of your dorm room. Then, from the corner near Lily’s bed, the shadows shifted.

He stepped forward. Ghostface. The mask gleamed bone-white in the dark, the mouth stretched in its eternal scream. A knife glinted in his gloved hand, catching what little light filtered through the blinds. Your breath caught on a sob. You scrambled backward off your bed, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“Stay away from me—”

He tilted his head, slow, deliberate, as though considering. Then he took one step closer. You lunged for the door. Your hands fumbled with the lock, slick with sweat. You wrenched it open, and froze.

Another figure filled the doorway. A second Ghostface. The mask stared down at you, the knife in his hand catching the hall light like liquid silver. The scream clawed its way up your throat but came out strangled. You stumbled back, the door slamming shut again as the second one stepped inside.

Trapped. Your back hit the wall. The first Ghostface advanced slowly, savoring every second, knife raised. The second lingered near the door, blocking your only exit, silent as death. Their breathing was the only sound in the room, low, steady, inhumanly calm beneath those plastic faces. Your body shook so hard your knees nearly gave. The space between them narrowed with every step, until the air itself felt suffocating. You realized then, with sudden clarity, that they weren’t rushing. They weren’t afraid you’d escape. They were enjoying this.

The air split with the sudden movement. The first Ghostface lunged. You screamed, shoving off the wall, your shoulder colliding with Lily’s desk as you scrambled past. Books clattered to the floor, pens scattering like needles across tile. The knife caught the glow of the desk lamp as it swung wide, so close you felt the air stir by your cheek.

You didn’t think. You ran. Across the small room, toward the narrow gap between the beds, heart slamming like a fist inside your chest. You dove low, squeezing under Lily’s bed, scraping your knees raw on the floor. Your breath came in shallow gasps, too loud, too fast. You clamped a hand over your mouth, praying.

For a second, just a second, you thought you’d managed it. The world was still, the only sound the blood rushing in your ears.

Then a heavy weight dropped to the floor. Boots. Inches from your face. You slapped a hand over your mouth harder, chest burning. From this angle, you could see the knife dragging slow against the floorboards, the tip screeching a lazy trail. A low chuckle echoed inside the mask, muffled but unmistakable. You bit back a sob, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. The bed frame creaked above you. He crouched, the mask lowering, tilting to look directly into the shadows where you hid.

“Found you,” the distorted voice rasped.

Panic ripped through you. You shoved yourself backward, out the other side, barely clearing the bedframe before his hand swiped for your ankle. You scrambled upright, crashing into the dresser, pain shooting up your hip as you shoved it toward him. It toppled halfway, drawers spilling clothes, slowing him for only a second.

You bolted for the door. The second Ghostface was still there. He filled the space like a wall, knife raised. The black fabric of his robes rippled as he stepped forward, deliberate, patient.

“No—” Your voice broke. You darted sideways, making for the window instead, clawing at the blinds until they ripped free. The latch stuck beneath your shaking hands, nails bending painfully as you yanked.

Behind you, footsteps thundered closer. The window finally gave. You shoved it up, cold night air flooding in, but before you could haul yourself out, a hand fisted in your hair, wrenching you back with brutal force. You screamed, twisting, kicking wildly. Your heel connected with a shin, hard enough to make the masked figure grunt. He let go, just long enough for you to lunge forward, straight into the other one.

He caught you mid-stride, arms iron around your body, the knife’s cold edge kissing the side of your throat. You thrashed, nails raking against fabric, against plastic, but he didn’t loosen his grip. His chest rose and fell behind you, steady, unhurried, as though your fight only amused him.

The first Ghostface straightened, mask gleaming pale in the dark, knife raised like an extension of his arm. Together, they closed the distance until you were pinned between them, every exit gone, your screams swallowed whole by the night.

They close the space around you like the last folding of a trap. The two of them move together, one at your front, one behind, so coordinated it’s as if they share a single shadow. The knife at your throat is cold and steady, the tip pressing so lightly it barely breaks skin, but the threat in it is absolute. Your hands shake as you press them flat against the air between you and the blade because there is nowhere else to put them.

One of them tilts his head, and that small motion is intimate in a way that makes bile rise in your mouth. He doesn’t speak at first; he simply lets the silence hang, listening to the sound of your breathing, the thud of your pulse in your ears. Then, softly, almost fondly, he says a name.

“Remember that stupid poem you read in the quad?” he murmurs. “You read it wrong on purpose because you were nervous. You told Jay that after class and then you laughed and said—” His voice drops into the spaces between words, and he finishes it for you, the private line you’d only ever said to Jthem in the back of the economics lecture, the sentence that had felt like a secret when you’d whispered it at 2 a.m. over takeout: “I’m always more honest when I’m scared.”

Your breath stops. The room tilts. Heat flares behind your eyes.

They could have learned it from anyone, except they couldn’t have. That detail was small and stupid and nobody else knew. It was something you’d trusted to the two of them, to Jay and Jake, in a halting confession that had felt safe at the time. And now the knowledge is a hand around your wrist, a proof they’d been closer than you thought possible.

The first movement is sudden and disorienting: a gloved hand lifts at the jawline and brushes your hair away. The gesture is gentleness and a threat braided into one. You wanted to recoil, to hate him for the touch, but your whole body answers in reflex, muscles tensing and that stupid, traitorous flutter of something dark and electric skittering through you.

“Do you remember telling us you always read like that?” the other says, voice low and even. You feel rather than see the smile in it. “Because I remember. We both do.”

Your chest aches with cold realization. They knew. They’d known so much more than you ever let yourself admit. The relief you’d felt when they stayed, when they carried your books and sat with you through nights you couldn’t sleep, that relief now catches in your throat like splinters.

Then, with a deliberate slowness meant to make the image burn, they lift their masks. Plastic peels away. Breath fogs the hollow hollows where the scream mouths had been. Jake’s grin is sharp and boyish underneath the loosened restraint of his hair; Jay’s face is an impassive study in composed menace, dark eyes catching the light in a way that seems to map you out.

Recognition slams into you like a physical force. You know the slope of Jay’s nose, the set of Jake’s jaw; you’ve seen those expressions a hundred times, the comfortable amusement in Jake’s smile, the faint, unsettling curve of humor at the edge of Jay’s mouth. Your world tilts so hard you’re sure you’ll fall; the boundaries you thought existed between friend and stranger, protection and possession, shred in a single second.

Horror tastes metallic on your tongue. It is immediate and absolute. And beneath it, infuriating, confusing, impossible to wholly deny, there curves a thinner, darker thread: adrenaline-slick heat that every instinct in your body misreads as something close to the pull you’d felt in their presence before this night. It is not consent. It is not want. It is survival and shock and something your body cannot yet parse from the hormone-fogged terror.

Jay’s fingers, bare now, impossibly close, trail a slow line down your cheek, and the motion is almost tender. He leans in, not to kiss, but to speak right in your ear where only you can hear. His breath is cool.

“We told ourselves we’d keep you safe,” he says quietly, like explaining an unavoidable weather. “We told ourselves we’d watch you, keep you from being alone. It was supposed to be protection.”

Jake’s laugh is a small, dangerous thing. “Protection,” he echoes. “But protection gets complicated.”

There is no frantic explanation in them, no fevered plea. Just statements, soft and precise as the blade that still hovers at your throat. When Jake says, “You’re ours,” the sentence is not shouted; it’s folded into the room and somehow made denser by the lack of noise. It lands with the weight of inevitability.

Everything inside you wants to recoil, to escape, to tear yourself free of their proximity. Every rational part of you screams that this is betrayal, that the men who put themselves between you and danger were the ones who brought the blade in the door. Yet your limbs move slowly, as if the shock has turned them to lead. Your mind scrambles for something solid and finds only the remnants of their kindness, the books they carried, the ramen left at your bedside, the late-night jokes, and how those things were always threaded through with something else, something sheerer now in the harsh light of your panic.

They don’t push further, at least not yet. Jay keeps his palm flat at the base of your throat, a pressure that is equal parts security and suffocation. Jake brushes a thumb across your knuckles like someone testing a string, gentle enough to be maddening.

“We could end it,” Jay says after a beat, voice flat as weather. “We could make sure you never have to be afraid again.” The sentence is a promise and a statement. You can imagine the options implicit in it: protection tightened into control, safety bartered for surrender.

You want to lash out, to scream yourself hoarse until the walls answer you back. You want to hate them for the way they stand so close you can feel the heat of their bodies, for how the knowledge they had, intimate and private, has become another chain. You try to wrench yourself free, but the knife at your throat and the hands that hold you are unyielding.

Around you, the room is a blur of overturned furniture and scattered books, a life made suddenly small and breakable. You are inked onto their palms now, a private possession they can touch and name. The cold reality settles in your bones with the same slow certainty as a sentence finalized: you had trusted them. They had been inside your life for a reason. And whatever “protecting” meant to them, it was nothing like what you’d believed.

For a stuttering second you lock eyes with Jay. In them is the strange, calm appraisal of a man who believes himself justified. There is also, unmistakably, something else, a possessive pleasure, a satisfaction that makes your skin crawl.

You do not know what will come next. The world narrows to knife edge and breath and the sound of your own heart pounding a frantic rhythm against the silence. You think of Lily, of the way the apartment had been quieter that day, of the unanswered texts, and a cold fury rises that sits beside the terror, separate and sharp.

Jake’s fingers tighten against your wrist, just enough to remind you you cannot move. “Don’t be afraid,” he says, and the phrase is poisoned by everything that just happened.

Fear floods every part of you, but beneath it, the memory of their earlier kindness, so small and so deliberately cultivated, treads a thin, dangerous line. You are still alive, still thinking, still aching to make sense of the men who claim to have kept you safe.

Outside, the night is indifferent. Inside, the two of them loom like twin fates, and the last thing you hear before everything compresses into a single, unbearable moment is Jay’s soft voice, as close as breath: “You’re ours.”

The silence after the masks drop is worse than the phone call, worse than the knives, worse than the pounding of your blood in your ears. Jay. Jake.

Their faces are right there, familiar and strange at once, so achingly ordinary under the fluorescent light of your dorm room. No dripping fangs, no monstrous deformities, just the boys you’d laughed with in class, shared coffees with, leaned against when your chest felt too tight to breathe. The boys who are now holding knives.

Your breath sticks in your throat, broken and shallow. This isn’t real. It can’t be real.

“Wh—what—” Your voice fractures before it forms a word. Your back hits the wall, fingers scraping against the peeling paint. “Why—why are you—”

Jay tilts his head, calm, too calm. The black fabric of his hoodie is pulled tight against his throat, a line of sweat glistening just beneath his jaw, though his voice is steady, almost soothing. “Don’t waste your breath, sweetheart. You already know.”

Jake, by contrast, is breathing heavy, erratic. He twirls the knife in his hand like it’s an extension of him, eyes gleaming with the kind of fever you’ve only ever seen in the shadows of nightmares. He paces two steps forward, two back, then closes in fast enough that you flinch. His laugh is rough, sharp, hungry. “God, you should see your face. You’re fucking perfect when you’re scared.”

“Don’t—” You press yourself flatter against the wall, palms lifted as if you can hold them off. “Don’t touch me.”

Jay’s lips curve, not into a smile, but into something that feels like the memory of one. Controlled. Patient. “Touch you?” He lifts his knife, presses the cold flat edge beneath your chin, tilting your face up until you can’t look anywhere but into his eyes. His tone is velvet wrapped around a blade. “Sweetheart, we’ve been touching you all along.”

And it’s true, isn’t it? Every brush of his hand against your shoulder, every time Jake’s palm lingered at the small of your back, comfort disguised as something else. You feel it now, the weight of all those little gestures caving in on you, redefined, poisoned.

Jake closes in behind Jay, his movements all sharp edges where Jay’s are smooth. His free hand slams against the wall just by your head, caging you in. His breath ghosts against your cheek as he leans close, knife still dancing in his other hand. “You know what the best part is? You let us in. You opened the door, you smiled, you trusted.” His tone dips into a growl. “And I’ve been going insane watching you pretend you didn’t want us back.”

“I—no—” Your throat closes, words choking before they can form. But the betrayal, the terror, the undeniable heat in their gazes has your pulse tripping over itself.

Jay watches, studies, catalogues your reaction. His knife slips from under your chin to trace along your collarbone, light enough to make your skin shiver, dangerous enough to make you shake. “She’s trembling,” he murmurs, but it’s not mockery. It’s reverent. He leans in until his lips almost brush your ear. “But not just from fear, hm?”

The denial dies on your tongue because your body betrays you, the air feels thick in your lungs, your thighs press together without your permission, and Jake notices instantly. His grin is sharp, wolfish.

“Fuck, I knew it,” Jake mutters, dragging the blade down the wall beside your head, carving a jagged line in the plaster just to make you flinch. His other hand drops to your thigh, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “Your body’s smarter than your mouth.”

“Stop—please—” The words pour out, shaky, desperate, but weak.

Jay finally lowers his knife altogether, setting it carefully on your desk like he’s proving a point, that he doesn’t need it anymore. His fingers replace the blade, stroking your jaw, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with infuriating tenderness. “We’ve been protecting you from the beginning,” he says softly, eyes catching yours and refusing to let go. “Every night you couldn’t sleep, every time you were too scared to walk home, who was there?” His thumb skims across your trembling lower lip. “Us. Always us. Because you’re ours.”

Jake laughs again, sharper this time, but his hand on your thigh stays, creeping higher with every second. “She’s still fighting it, Jay. Look at her. She wants to scream, but she’s wet for it already.”

“Jake.” Jay’s tone holds a warning, though his eyes never leave yours. Then softer, to you, like a secret: “You don’t have to be afraid. Not of us. We’ll never hurt you. Not really.” His thumb presses gently into your cheek, coaxing your face upward until you’re staring at him, unable to look anywhere else.

But Jake’s grin only widens. He leans closer, his breath hot on your ear. “Not unless you like it.”

The words drop like a stone into the pit of your stomach, and your breath stutters, your whole body trembling between the wall at your back and their bodies caging you in.

You want to scream, but your throat has forgotten how. Your body is trapped between contradictions, the sharp blade-edge of fear and the molten pull of something you don’t dare name.

Jay leans in, his lips grazing your temple like he’s kissing away your panic instead of feeding it. His voice pours into your ear, low and syrup-slow. “Breathe for me, sweetheart. In. Out. That’s it. You’ve done so well… always so good for us.”

Good for them. The words curl inside you like poison wrapped in silk, and your chest stutters as if your lungs can’t decide if they want to obey.

Jake doesn’t bother with gentleness. His hand is already sliding up the curve of your thigh, fingers digging into flesh with bruising insistence. He chuckles darkly when you jolt, when your knees threaten to buckle. “She’s shaking so pretty. Bet she’ll sound even prettier when she breaks.”

“Jake.” Jay’s reprimand is soft, practiced, like he’s soothing a wild animal. His palm smooths down the line of your arm, circling your wrist until you almost lean into it before catching yourself. “Don’t frighten her more than necessary.”

“Necessary?” Jake laughs, pressing his body flush against yours, the knife grazing the wall beside your head. His grin is feral. “Scaring her’s the whole point.”

“No,” Jay counters smoothly, his thumb stroking over your racing pulse, calm eyes locking yours. “The point is making her understand.” He tilts your chin with two fingers, holding your gaze until it burns. “And she will. Won’t you, sweetheart?”

You can’t nod, can’t speak, can barely breathe. but your silence betrays you all the same. Jay smiles, not wide, not cruel, just devastatingly sure. “That’s my girl.”

The words hit harder than Jake’s grip on your thigh. They sink, they root, they make your stomach flip in ways you don’t want to acknowledge.

Jake’s laugh sharpens, satisfied. “She liked that.” His hand pushes higher, skimming beneath the hem of your shirt now, rough calluses dragging fire along your skin. “Fuck, I knew it. All those nights curled up with us, pretending we were just friends… you wanted this. Didn’t you?”

“I—no—I didn’t—” The protest comes out as a gasp when his fingers graze the waistband of your shorts.

Jay’s hand slides from your chin to cup your cheek, steadying you, coaxing you into stillness. “Shh.” His lips brush your ear, words coaxing, hypnotic. “Don’t fight it. You’re safe with us. We’ll never let anyone touch you but us. We’ll take care of you… like we always have.”

His tone is so soft, so reasonable, that for one terrifying second you almost believe him.

Then Jake yanks at your waistband, just enough to make you yelp, his teeth scraping down the side of your neck. “Taking care of you? Fuck that. We’re claiming you.” His laugh is ragged, unhinged. “And you’re gonna love every second of it.”

Your hands slam against their chests out of instinct, but it’s useless, Jay catches your wrists easily, pinning them gently but firmly above your head, his body pressing close enough that you feel the heat of him through every layer of clothing. His smile is maddeningly patient, his voice a silken thread. “See? You don’t really want to push us away.”

Jake noses along your throat, teeth nipping hard enough to sting. “Her pulse is racing,” he mutters against your skin, voice dripping with hunger. “She’s terrified… and it’s making her wet.”

“Jake.” Jay’s warning is half-hearted this time, his focus fixed entirely on you. His lips hover just above yours, not kissing, not yet, just letting you drown in the closeness. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “tell me you don’t want this, and we’ll stop.”

It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap. But your lips part anyway, your breath trembling against his. No sound comes out. And that silence, your silence, seals it. Jay’s smile deepens, victory and devotion tangled together. “That’s what I thought.” His lips finally press to yours, slow, devastating, coaxing your mouth open until you’re dizzy.

Jake groans at the sight, biting your neck harder, his hand slipping fully under your shorts now, fingers pressing against you through thin fabric. “Fuck, she’s already wet.” His laugh is ragged, triumphant. “Knew it. Knew it.”

You jolt, whimpering into Jay’s mouth, but Jay swallows the sound like it belongs to him. His kiss is molten, patient, designed to unravel you thread by thread, while Jake is all teeth and claws, ripping reactions out of you whether you want to give them or not.

Your mind screams fear, but your body betrays you, hips twitching into Jake’s rough touch, lips parting for Jay’s hungry kiss, every nerve ending alight with terror and unbearable heat. You don’t know where fear ends and desire begins anymore. And that, that, is the most terrifying part of all.

The second the door slammed shut behind them, your chest heaved like it could tear itself from your ribcage.

Jay was at your front, knife laid casually aside now, his hands replacing the blade, sliding under your arms to pin you gently, possessively. His thumb brushed across your jaw, tilting your face up until your lips met his without thinking. His calm, deliberate kiss burned slow, dragging heat down your spine, whispering promises you didn’t know you wanted.

Jake moved behind you, body pressed into the small of your back. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin through your shorts, dragging them lower inch by inch. His teeth nipped at your neck, biting and sucking, sharp enough to make your spine shiver, your knees buckle, your breath stutter.

“Shh,” Jay murmured into your ear, voice silk wrapped in steel. “You’re ours now. You don’t get to fight it. Not with us.”

His lips moved to your throat, warm and firm, coaxing and claiming, while Jake’s hands pressed you harder into the mattress. One of his hands slid between your thighs, hot, rough, exploring the dampness that fear and adrenaline had already created.

“Fuck…” Jake growled. “You’re so soaked already. I can feel it through your shorts. I’ve wanted this from the start.”

You gasped, trying to push back against them, but your muscles betrayed you. The knot in your stomach tightened, twisting with a mix of panic and heat. Every push of their hands, every brush of their lips, set fire to your nerves in ways you didn’t understand.

Jay tilted your chin up again, kissing you slowly, tasting the tears and trembling fear on your lips, letting you drown in the paradox of tenderness and threat. “We’ve been taking care of you,” he whispered, voice low and intimate. “Every night you couldn’t sleep, every time you were scared, you didn’t realize it, but we were always here. For you.”

Jake’s teeth grazed the sensitive skin behind your ear, hot and biting, making a ragged moan rip from your throat. His fingers slipped fully inside your underwear, curling against your wetness, while his other hand pressed down on your hip to trap you in place.

“You like that, don’t you?” Jake hissed. “Like we’ve been watching, protecting, keeping you just for us… and now you’re ours.”

You whined, trying to shake your head, trying to deny it, but the movements of your body betrayed you.  Jay smiled against your lips, slipping a hand beneath your shirt, fingers ghosting over the swell of your breasts. He cupped you, thumb brushing your nipple, pinching lightly, dragging a small gasp out of you that sounded like surrender even though your mind screamed resistance.

Jake pressed forward, his fingers now teasing inside your folds, curling and pressing in ways that made you whimper, made your knees tremble, made you forget fear in the tidal wave of sensation. His teeth found the hollow of your neck again, biting, nipping, marking. “So fucking wet for us,” he growled, voice raw. “We’ve wanted this, and now you’re giving it to us.”

Your hands clutched the bedsheets, nails digging in, as the world narrowed down to their bodies, their hands, their mouths. Jay’s kisses grew firmer, demanding, tugging at your lips while his hand teased over your ribs and down to your hip. Jake’s weight pressed into your back, his hips brushing against yours, teasing the flush between your thighs.

Jay’s palm flattened across your stomach, sliding lower, until he joined Jake’s fingers between your legs. Their movements synchronized, teasing, coaxing, claiming. Every stroke and press ignited the confusion, fear and desire twisting together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Say it,” Jay murmured against your lips, teeth grazing the curve of your jaw. “Say you’re ours.”

You gasped, a shudder wracking your body. “I—I’m… yours,” you whispered, voice trembling, raw with desperation and want.

Jake growled low in response, thrusting a little harder, curling his fingers inside you, dragging every nerve taut. His teeth sank gently into your shoulder as Jay’s tongue flicked over your lips, deepening the kiss, coaxing sounds from you that you didn’t know you could make.

They moved together, one coaxing, one claiming, one soft and persuasive, the other wild and rough. The rhythm built, hands, mouths, teeth, hips, until the room was filled with the raw, unholy symphony of your gasps, moans, shivering.

Your mind screamed, your body obeyed. Every fiber of you was theirs. The fear, the adrenaline, the betrayal, the lust, they all coalesced into a single, overwhelming wave. You couldn’t separate them. You couldn’t resist. You couldn’t think.

Jake finally pressed you fully onto your back, his fingers inside you curling with deliberate ferocity, while Jay straddled your legs, lips and teeth working over your chest and mouth. They claimed you in every way they’d wanted from the start, feral, deliberate, intoxicating. You cried out, body trembling, mind fracturing, as both of them moved with precision and obsession, claiming, marking, teaching you that you weren’t just safe with them anymore, you were theirs, in every sense. And when you finally tumbled over the edge, trembling, shuddering, gasping, it wasn’t relief. It was surrender. Complete, absolute, inescapable surrender, to fear, to desire, to them.

They collapsed over you after, Jay’s hand stroking your hair back, whispering in your ear, “See? You’re safe now. Only with us.”

Jake’s weight pressed into your back, teeth grazing your shoulder with a wicked grin. “Try running again, sweetheart. I’ll enjoy it.”

You were theirs. Every shiver, every moan, every gasp belonged to them. And the worst, and most intoxicating, part? You didn’t want to fight it anymore.

You’re trembling on the bed, limbs slick with sweat, hair plastered to your forehead. Every nerve in your body is screaming, every gasp and whimper betraying you. Jay pins your wrists above your head with one hand, brushing strands of hair from your face with the other, lips skimming across your jaw and ear. His touch is soft, but firm, measured, like velvet over steel, coaxing, commanding.

Jay presses into your back, his chest hot, solid, feral. One hand curls into your hip, the other thrusts between your legs, curling inside you with fingers that grip, pull, and stretch. You’re gasping, arching, pressing into him even as your mind screams no, no, no.

“God, you feel perfect,” Jay growls, lips nipping along your shoulder, teeth dragging marks into your skin. “So wet, so ready for us. All for us.”

It is now Jake’s mouth that finds yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. Tongue, teeth, lips, he teases, coaxes, pulls sounds from you you didn’t know you could make. His hips press against yours, not enough to enter, but enough to remind you that your body is his now, that every shiver and moan is a gift he can claim.

Jake’s hand lingers at your throat now instead of between your legs, his grip firm but not choking, grounding you in the heat of his body pressed against your back. Jay has taken his place lower, his hips slotting against yours, the blunt head of his cock teasing your entrance. Your walls clench at nothing, already wet and fluttering from Jake’s earlier torment.

“You’ve had your turn,” Jay mutters to Jake, voice smooth but edged with steel. He pushes forward slowly, letting the stretch burn in the sweetest, sharpest way. “Now she’s mine.”

The breath rips from your lungs, back arching as Jay fills you inch by inch. It’s overwhelming, heat, pressure, the shocking fullness of him, every ridge and vein making your walls tighten instinctively. Jake groans behind you, his hand at your throat flexing as he watches you take Jay, his free hand roaming down your stomach to press lightly against your lower belly.

“Fuck, look at her,” Jake snarls, teeth dragging along your shoulder. “Taking you so good. She was dripping, begging for it.”

Jay doesn’t rush. He bottoms out and holds there, chest pressed to your back, one of your wrists still captured in his grip. His free hand traces circles over your hip, soothing, coaxing, like he owns every inch of you. Then he pulls back and thrusts in again, harder this time, forcing a cry from your lips that melts into a whimper.

“Don’t fight it,” Jay whispers against your ear, tone low and hypnotic as he sets a steady rhythm. “Every shiver, every gasp, you like it. You want it. Don’t you?”

Jake’s hand tightens slightly at your throat, just enough to make you gasp, to feel the edge of control. “Answer him, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you choke out, desperate, trembling as Jay’s cock pounds into you, hitting deep, unrelenting spots Jake’s fingers could never reach.

Jay groans, kissing down your jaw, possessive and consuming. “Good girl. Ours. You’ve always been ours.”

The duality presses in on you again, Jake, rough and feral at your back, his words sharp, teeth scraping skin; Jay, smooth and calculated in front of you, hips grinding deep, lips coaxing confession after confession. Together, they dismantle you, break down every defense until your moans spill out raw and helpless.

“You’re mine,” Jay growls, thrusting harder, making your body jolt with each movement. “You feel that? That’s me inside you, deeper than anyone else has ever been.”

Jake groans low, lips at your ear, adding, “And you’ll let him ruin you… because you belong to us. Don’t you?”

Your voice cracks on a whimper, but the words still tumble out: “Yes. Yours.”

The sound drives Jay feral. His thrusts quicken, slamming into you, while Jake’s hand roams down to toy with your clit, circling fast and messy until your whole body shakes. The bed creaks, sheets twist beneath you, sweat beads at your temples. The sensation is unbearable, fear, arousal, safety, danger, blending until you can’t separate them.

Jay groans as your walls flutter around him, fucking you through the chaos of it, coaxing every broken sound from your throat. Jake’s grip keeps you upright, his rough growl in your ear only adding to the overload.

“Say it again,” Jay demands, thrusts relentless now.

“I’m yours,” you sob, back arching, pleasure spiraling out of control.

Jake bites your neck hard enough to sting, muffling his own groan. “Good girl. Perfect girl.”

And when the climax tears through you, it’s violent, shattering, a scream caught between pleasure and desperation. Jay buries himself deep, grinding through your release, groaning into your neck as Jake holds you steady.

The room is filled with the sounds of it, skin, breath, broken cries, your body collapsing into their possession, claimed utterly and willingly. Jay pulls out slowly, leaving you trembling and dripping, your body clenching on nothing as you whimper at the loss. He strokes himself lazily, smirking down at your wrecked state.

Behind you, Jake wastes no time. He shoves your knees wider, his palm pressing into your lower back to arch you for him. The mushroom tip of his cock drags through your soaked folds, teasing, and then he pushes in hard, filling you in one rough thrust that knocks the air out of your lungs.

“Fuck yes,” Jake groans, hips slamming against your ass. “Tight little cunt was just waiting for me.”

You moan helplessly, body lurching forward from the force of him, straight into Jay’s waiting hand. He cups your chin, thumb smearing your spit across your lower lip as he brings the tip of his cock against your mouth.

“Open,” Jay orders smoothly, tone calm but absolute.

Your lips part, still swollen from his earlier kisses, and he slides into your mouth with a low groan. He doesn’t force too deep at first, just lets you wrap your tongue around him, the salty taste filling your mouth as Jake pounds into you from behind.

The rhythm is brutal, Jake’s hips snapping forward, Jay’s cock sliding over your tongue, their voices mixing in groans and curses. Jake’s grip on your hips is bruising, each thrust rougher than the last, his teeth dragging across your shoulder when he leans down to growl in your ear.

“God, you’re perfect like this,” Jake snarls, fucking you hard enough the bed squeaks under the strain. “Taking me so deep while choking on him.”

Jay threads his fingers into your hair, guiding your head as he slides deeper into your throat. His voice is smooth, steady, dangerously hypnotic. “Breathe through your nose. That’s it. Good girl.”

Your eyes water, spit dripping down your chin, the dual assault overwhelming every sense. Jake slams into you mercilessly, the wet slap of your bodies obscene in the quiet room, while Jay uses your mouth, hips rolling slow and deliberate.

Tears prick at your lashes when Jay pushes deeper, the blunt head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag, moaning around him, and he groans low, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“She’s so pretty like this,” Jay murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek as he holds you there for a second before easing back just enough for you to gasp. “So obedient.”

Jake’s pace quickens, his groans harsher, almost animal. He reaches around to toy with your clit, rubbing hard circles that make your legs shake violently under the strain.

“Fuck, I can feel you clenching,” he growls, pounding into you. “You’re gonna come on my cock while you choke on his. You love this, don’t you?”

Your answer is muffled around Jay’s length, but the way you moan, the way your walls flutter around Jake, says everything. Jay smirks, thrusting shallowly against your tongue. “She does. Look at her. Made for us.”

The pressure builds impossibly fast, Jake’s rough thrusts, his fingers circling cruelly at your clit, Jay filling your mouth, pushing you deeper and deeper. You can’t breathe, can’t think, can only sob around the thick length in your throat as your body teeters on the edge.

Jake groans, hips stuttering. “Come for me, sweetheart. Soak my cock.”

Jay tilts your head, voice calm and commanding. “Do it. Now.”

The order rips through you, your climax detonates, body spasming violently, walls milking Jake’s cock as you scream around Jay’s. Jake growls, pounding into you through your orgasm, while Jay groans low, hips rocking as he uses your mouth until he pulls back just enough to let you breathe again.

You collapse forward onto the sheets, shaking, drool slicking your chin, your body wrecked between them. Jake slaps your ass once, hard, groaning as he thrusts deep and stills, spilling inside you with a harsh curse.

When you collapse against them, trembling and spent, Jay strokes your hair back into place, whispering in your ear: “You’re safe now. Only with us. Only ours.”

Jake presses against your back, still hot, feral, grinning wickedly. “Try running again, sweetheart. I’ll enjoy chasing you next time too.”

The room is thick with sweat, scent, and the undeniable mark of possession. You are theirs. Completely. Every shiver, every gasp, every moan, claimed, owned, and utterly irreversibly theirs.

And the worst, and most intoxicating, part? You feel relief.

~Fin

masterlist

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands, ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie,  ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk  ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful,  ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @artemesiareads, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw,  ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy,  ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001  ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq, ⟡ @strawberrykkk1

✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

⟡ @rosepetals09, ⟡ @cherry-blossomfrag, ⟡ @mari-marimar,  ⟡ @paradieseoul, ⟡ @microwavedstrawberries3,  ⟡ @thatonerandomblondechick, ⟡ @heebambilee,  ⟡ @simjaeyunsdoll, ⟡ @sinceresilverstrawberry,  ⟡ @heeseungslefttoee, ⟡ @shayinthesims, ⟡ @larichard,  ⟡ @noinspirationkisstoday, ⟡ @frenziedseerdesolation,  ⟡ @wtfisgoingright, ⟡ @heekijakey, ⟡ @luvwonsito,  ⟡ @cheetosthabratt, ⟡ @en-ner-jay, ⟡ @shouldergangsterrj,  ⟡ @brennanmeijalover00,⟡ @wondash, ⟡ @kimuranishi,  ⟡ @thep3rfectgirl25, ⟡ @doraemon02, ⟡ @rotttenhalo,  ⟡ @oldeubois-blog, ⟡ @putrescentpoet, ⟡ @jinnibug, ⟡ @vayuzzz,  ⟡ @kimmyaaaa, ⟡ @ppcarolina9, ⟡ @giagotthezoomies, ⟡ @numberoneheeslut, ⟡ @lovestruck-sky ⟡ @roze-latte-zz, ⟡ @sociallyawkward18 ⟡ @lyserie @enstarzzi

[fullsunberry]

Always.

You and Jay have been secretly dating for years, but his group doesn’t know you live with him. When you finally meet, they’re cold and suspicious—Jay stays clueless, happy to see you together. You keep the peace, but after one tense dinner, you disappear, leaving Jay stunned and alone.

word count: 9.6k

content warning: ANGST!! (with fluff ending), shift of perspectives, arguments, basically all of enhypen being cold and rude at some point, and jay getting mad and depressed.

authors note: ahh i loved writing this one <3

The sound of keys jingling in the lock was your cue to put the kettle on.

Jay always came through the door like the world outside was a costume he could finally peel off. Here, in the apartment nobody knew he shared with you, he didn’t have to be Park Jongseong, idol, performer, Enhypen’s beloved ace. Here, he was just Jay —your Jay. The one who danced with you while brushing his teeth, who left shoes scattered in the hallway, and who whispered stupidly sweet things into your shoulder when he couldn’t sleep.

No one knew.

Not really.

No one knew. The members knew he had a second apartment. A “quiet place.” They didn’t know about your toothbrush beside his, or the cardigan hanging off his desk chair, or how your presence had quietly settled into every corner of the space. Two years of careful balance. Secret. Contained.

Until tonight.

“Wifey,” Jay called from the front door, voice already smiling, “you didn’t burn the place down while I was getting the groceries, right?”

You laughed, meeting him halfway to steal a quick kiss and grab a bag from his arms. “Not yet. But there’s still time.”

He grinned. That same soft, boyish grin that made your chest ache.

The members were coming over for dinner —for the first time. The idea had started as some hopeful wishing, then turned into Jay sitting on the edge of the bed one night saying he was tired of splitting his life in half. He wanted the people he loved in the same room.

You’d hesitated. You understood what secrets cost in this industry.

“They’ll like you,” he’d said, stubborn and hopeful. “They just don’t know it yet.”

You weren’t convinced.

----------------------------------

When the doorbell rang, you forced yourself to breathe before opening it.

Jungwon. Heeseung. Jake. Sunghoon. Sunoo. Ni-ki.

Polite greetings. Polite smiles.

Their eyes moved slowly over the apartment. Your shoes by the door. The framed photo turned slightly toward the wall. The lived-in warmth that didn’t match the story they’d been told.

Jay, oblivious, clapped his hands once. “See? Not a cave.”

You offered drinks. Jake thanked you with an easy smile. Sunoo complimented the smell of the stew. Heeseung nodded warmly.

Sunghoon’s gaze lingered.

He stepped closer to the shelf, fingers brushing the edge of the photo frame before straightening it —just enough to reveal it fully.

A candid of you and Jay on the couch, his head tipped toward yours.

Sunghoon’s expression didn’t change. “Didn’t know this place was… decorated.”

His tone was cold. Too cold.

Jay laughed from the kitchen. “What? I live here.”

Sunghoon hummed softly. “Right.”

The word wasn’t agreement. It was assessment.

Jay returned with side dishes and slid an arm around your shoulder. “This is who I’ve been talking about,” he said proudly. “My wife—okay, not legally, but basically in my heart.”

You laughed, but you felt it—that slight tightening in the room.

Ni-ki muttered something under his breath. Heeseung shot him a look.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair. “That’s a bold title.”

Jay grinned. “I’m a bold guy.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked to you. “I guess so.”

Jay didn’t hear it. Or pretended not to.

A few minutes later, Jay stood abruptly. “I forgot the sides. You guys talk. I’ll be right back.”

The second he disappeared into the kitchen, the air shifted.

You folded your hands in your lap. “So… schedules have been intense lately?”

Jake nodded politely. Sunoo smiled faintly. No one elaborated.

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly. “How long has this been going on?”

His voice was calm. Casual.

“Two years,” you answered, because lying would be worse.

His eyebrows lifted —just a fraction. “Two.”

There was something sharp in the way he repeated it.

“That’s… impressive,” he continued. “Keeping something like this hidden.”

You couldn’t tell if it was admiration or accusation.

“We were careful,” you said quietly.

Sunghoon’s gaze held yours. “You’d have to be.”

Jungwon stood then, muttering something about getting water. You excused yourself soon after, heart beating too loud in your ears.

The hallway felt narrower.

You’d barely taken two steps before Jungwon’s voice stopped you.

“You know this could ruin his career, right?”

His words were steady, controlled. Protective.

Your stomach dropped, but you kept your voice even. “Jay wanted you to meet me.”

“And if someone finds out?” Jungwon pressed. “You think the company’s going to protect this?”

The words hit like a slap.

You blinked. Swallowed. Your heart thundered behind your ribs, but you kept your voice calm, light, like you didn’t feel like throwing up.

“Jay’s been really excited for this dinner,” you said simply.

And then you slipped past him without another word.

You didn’t cry. Not when Jay returned to the table and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. Not when he laughed with his members, completely unaware of the tension you were wading through. Not even when he kissed your temple and whispered, “See? I told you they’d love you.”

You smiled and nodded and laughed at the right times.

You even helped clean up when they left.

And when Jay, blissfully unaware, fell asleep beside you that night, arm slung across your waist and smile still ghosting his lips

you got up. Quietly.

Finally letting the tears fall.

By the time the sun rose, your side of the bed was cold. Your toothbrush was gone. Your keys were missing from the hook.

And the apartment —the secret home you’d built together— suddenly felt a little too big for one person.

----------------------------------

The morning light slipped gently through the blinds, drawing soft golden lines across the bedspread. Jay stirred, groaning as he rolled over, expecting to bury his face in your shoulder, to feel your warmth curled into him like always.

But you weren’t there.

His arm stretched across the sheets, landing in the dip where your body should’ve been —but there was only the faint warmth left. 

Still half-asleep, Jay blinked his eyes open, the smile already forming.

“Babe?” he mumbled into the pillow.

No answer.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The covers were still in place, the pillow you always used still nestled beside his —creased, slightly indented. Like you had only just left. It still smelled like your shampoo.

For a second, he closed his eyes again and inhaled the scent of you. He smiled faintly, thinking maybe you were in the kitchen. Maybe you were making toast, humming something off-key.

But something felt… off.

Jay stood, letting the blanket fall away as he padded out into the apartment.

No music. No tea kettle. No faint tapping of your feet on the floor.

He moved through each room, slower now. A creeping heaviness pulling at his limbs.

The mug you always used —gone. Not just in the sink. Gone.

He turned to the coat rack. Your favorite jacket? Missing. The hoodie you always said he stretched out too much when he wore it? No longer slung over the back of the couch.

He blinked rapidly, heart thudding harder.

He rushed back to the bedroom, flinging open drawers.

Empty.

Not completely —but enough.

Enough to know this wasn’t some morning errand. This wasn’t a walk to clear your head.

This was intentional.

The bathroom counter didn’t look like you brushed your teeth there this morning. The book on the nightstand you’d been halfway through? Gone.

Jay’s throat tightened as he looked around the space that was no longer a shared home —but just a place where you used to be.

His phone buzzed, dragging him out of the haze.

A group chat notification.

Jungwon [8:03 AM]:

Thanks again for last night. Good food. Hope you got some rest.

Jay barely read it.

He opened your contact instead.

Jay [8:03 AM]:

Princess, where are you?

Jay [8:04 AM]:

Are you okay?

Jay [8:07 AM]:

Please just tell me you’re safe.

He stared at the screen.

Nothing.

He sank back onto the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress, his knuckles white.

----------------------------------

Inside the dorm, he didn’t even take off his shoes. Just stormed in like a man possessed.

The air was off immediately.

They were all there. Relaxed. Normal.

He wasn’t.

“Where is she?” he demanded, eyes sweeping the room.

Confused glances. Uneasy shifts. A tension that wasn’t new—but now he could feel it like static in his chest.

Jake looked up from his phone. “What?”

“Y/N. She’s gone.” Jay’s voice cracked, but he kept going. “She left last night. Took her things. No note. No text. Nothing.”

His phone buzzed in his palm again.

He didn’t even try to hide it this time.

He looked.

Missed call: Mom

Not you.

His stomach twisted.

“She wouldn’t just leave.” His voice was softer now. “She wouldn’t do that unless something happened.”

He scanned their faces. Heeseung looked down. Jake bit his lip. Jungwon wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Jay’s heart sank.

“You knew something was wrong last night,” he said, realization hitting like a brick to the ribs. “You all knew, and you didn’t tell me.”

No one answered.

He looked around at them, at the silence that followed. Their guilty eyes. The way Jungwon didn’t even try to look surprised.

And that’s when it clicked.

He felt it like a slap.

“You knew,” he said, voice low. “You knew something was wrong last night.”

Jungwon finally stood. “Jay, you lied to us for years.”

“I protected her,” Jay snapped. “Because this world is brutal, and you know it. I wanted her to be safe. I never thought I had to protect her from you.”

His phone buzzed again. He fumbled for it this time, breath hitching

Random Email Notification 

He shut his eyes, pressing the phone to his forehead like it could stop the ache crawling through his chest.

“I let you guys meet her because I thought you’d love her,” he said, voice tight. “Because I love her.”

Sunghoon stepped forward cautiously. “We were hurt. It felt like you shut us out.”

“You think this is about you?”

Jay turned on them, rage and grief mixing in his throat.

“She sat at that table smiling through every cold stare. She went to that dinner knowing it might not go well —but did it anyway. For me. And when you guys left, she pretended it didn’t bother her. She kissed me goodnight like everything was fine.”

His voice cracked.

“And I believed her.”

He looked down at his phone again. No messages. No missed calls. No signs of you.

“Every time my phone buzzes,” he said quietly, “I pray it’s her.”

The screen lit up again.

Another random email.

He shoved it into his pocket.

“I don’t care what any of you think,” Jay said, backing toward the door. “I’m going to find her. Even if I have to check every café, park bench, and corner of this city.”

And before any of them could speak, he was gone.

----------------------------------

The soft hum of Chae’s hair dryer in the bathroom was the only noise in the apartment.

You sat on her couch, knees tucked under your chin, one of her oversized hoodies drowning your frame. Your duffel bag sat by the door —half unpacked, but still zipped just enough to suggest this was temporary.

Because part of you kept waiting for yourself to go back.

To him.

Your phone buzzed.

Again.

You didn’t have to check it. You already knew who it was.

Jay [11:03 AM]

I don’t know where you are, but I need you to know I’m sorry. If something happened last night that hurt you… please just tell me. Please.

You stared at the screen.

You had read every single one.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

Chae emerged from the bathroom, towel-wrapping her damp hair, eyeing you from across the room. “You’re gonna make a hole in the floor if you keep staring like that.”

You managed a weak smile. “Sorry.”

She plopped down next to you, pulling her legs up. “You don’t have to apologize to me. But maybe you should to yourself. For holding it all in that long.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line.

“I really thought they’d like me,” you said quietly.

Chae’s gaze softened. “I’m sure some of them do. But let’s be real, Jay dropped a bomb on them and expected them to throw a party.”

You stayed quiet.

She glanced down at your phone, which was now lighting up again.

Jay [11:10 AM]

I swear I didn’t know they treated you like that. I thought last night was perfect. I was so happy. I was so happy…

You locked the screen again.

“I don’t want to ruin his life, Chae,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

“You didn’t,” she said gently. “You were his life.”

You looked down at your hands. “Then why did it feel like I was the one being punished for it?”

Chae leaned her head on your shoulder. “Because people don’t like being left out of things that matter. And you mattered. A lot.”

You felt your throat tighten.

“I didn’t want to leave,” you whispered.

“I know.”

You turned your phone over so the screen faced down.

“I just don’t want to be the reason his dream fails...he works so hard.”

And finally, for the first time since you left, the tears came. Quiet and slow. The kind that didn’t demand attention but dragged every ounce of hurt to the surface.

Chae didn’t say anything more.

She just stayed with you —still and safe.

Outside, the city moved on. The world didn’t know anything had fallen apart.

But in Chae’s tiny living room, curled up in borrowed clothes and borrowed time, you felt like you were still holding on by a thread.

Your phone buzzed again.

But this time, you didn’t look.

Not yet.

----------------------------------

One Month Later

The dorm felt smaller somehow.

Louder. Heavier. Even when no one was speaking.

Jay sat at the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed, fingers absently curling into the hem of an old t-shirt that didn’t belong to him.

It was yours.

Soft and worn, the faded fabric still held your scent —barely, but enough that he kept it close. He hadn’t washed it. Couldn’t. Like it would erase the last piece of you that clung to him.

Your pillow was behind him, propped against the dorm mattress like it didn’t belong there —because it didn’t. It looked wrong surrounded by his things. Out of place, like you were now.

He hadn’t gone back to the apartment.

Not since that morning.

He moved back in with the members after you left. Said it was just temporary. Said he needed “a change of scenery.”

But they all knew the truth.

He couldn’t bear waking up in that place without you.

Still, he hadn’t canceled the lease. The rent quietly left his account every month, untouched. The fridge was still stocked. Your slippers were still by the door.

He didn’t even know where to start looking.

You had friends, of course. A few he remembered from stories you’d told him in passing. But no one close enough that he knew their address.

He’d texted. Called. DM’d. Nothing.

He even emailed.

Nothing.

And every time his phone buzzed, he dove for it like a mad man.

One new notification

He looked.

A label reminder for a livestream.

Not you.

He tossed the phone down.

Then picked it right back up.

Opened your chat thread again.

Jay [9:17 AM]

I’m sorry. I know I said that a hundred times already but I need you to know I mean it. I’d say it a thousand more. Just tell me where you are. Please.

No reply.

The members had noticed.

Heeseung said nothing at first, but started showing up at his door with coffee.

Jake checked on him constantly, always trying to get him out of the dorm —even just to walk.

Sunoo tried to make him laugh, but even he started giving up when Jay’s smiles never reached his eyes.

And Jungwon…

Jungwon watched him like someone waiting for a string to snap.

“You should go back to the apartment,” Jungwon had told him once.

Jay shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Jay’s voice had been quiet. “It still feels like hers.”

----------------------------------

“Okay, no offense, but you’re starting to blend into the couch.”

You didn’t even look up from your spot, curled into Chae’s throw blanket like a blanket burrito, half-scrolling, half-sulking. “It’s a nice couch.”

Chae dropped beside you with a thud, tossing a pillow at your legs. “It’s a couch that’s seen you in the same hoodie for five days straight.”

You grumbled into the cushion. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Exactly the problem.” She sighed. “Y/N, I love you, but this isn’t healthy. You barely go outside, you haven’t touched your makeup bag, and you’re on your fourth rewatch of weightlifting fairy kim bok joo.”

You tried not to smile, but your lips betrayed you just a little.

“Fine,” you muttered. “I’ll get out. But I’m only going for snacks. Your snacks, by the way. I’ve been stress-eating all your chips.”

Chae rolled her eyes, “As long as sunlight or moonlight hits your skin at least once today, I’ll allow it.”

You threw on a baseball cap, hoodie, and sunglasses —just in case. Not because you expected to see anyone you knew.

Especially not them.

The walk to the convenience store was quiet, the way you liked things now.

No questions. No stares. No reminders of the life you’d walked away from.

You wandered through the aisles aimlessly, grabbing a drink, a few bags of chips, and the candy you love. The place was mostly empty —just you and a guy grabbing ramen cups near the back wall.

It was peaceful.

You turned the corner toward the refrigerated drinks and froze.

There he was.

Jungwon.

Baseball cap pulled low, black hoodie, earbuds tucked in. He hadn’t seen you yet.

You ducked, heart slamming in your chest. Of all people —why him?

You turned fast, heading for the register.

“Y/N?”

Your name cracked the air like a whip.

You didn’t turn around.

Just dropped your items on the counter, trying not to shake as the cashier scanned them.

“Hey—wait! Y/N, it’s me!”

His voice was louder now. You could hear his footsteps behind you, closing in.

You tossed a crumpled bill onto the counter and grabbed your bag, mumbling a thank-you before turning sharply toward the door.

“Y/N, please—can we just talk for a second?”

You didn’t answer.

Just shoved the door open and walked faster.

Maybe if you could get around the corner. Maybe if you just made it to the end of the block—

“Y/N!”

You glanced back for half a second.

He had dropped the basket he was holding. Left it right there in the middle of the store. He was coming after you.

You turned back around and started walking faster.

But it was too late.

Jungwon was already jogging to catch up, calling your name like he has any right to. 

“Y/N—wait, please.”

You kept walking, arms crossed tight over your chest, shoulders hunched like you could fold yourself into invisibility.

But Jungwon caught up anyway.

He slowed beside you, breathing lightly, trying to keep pace without crowding you. “I just want to talk—just for a second.”

You said nothing.

“I didn’t know you were staying around here,” he said, cautiously. “Jay’s been trying to find you.”

You flinched at the name.

He saw it.

“Y/N,” Jungwon said, softer now, “he’s not okay.”

“Stop.”

Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

He blinked. “What?”

You turned to face him for the first time, your chin trembling even as you held your ground.

“Don’t,” you said. “You don't get to talk to me about him.”

He froze. You weren’t yelling. You were hurting.

Tears had begun to form at the corners of your eyes, glistening beneath your lashes, but you refused to let them fall.

Jungwon stepped back like he’d been slapped. “Okay. I won’t.”

Silence settled over both of you, thick and heavy. Cars passed on the street behind you. The city moved on, uncaring.

You took a breath.

Then another.

Then, without saying a word, you turned and started walking again —back toward Chae’s apartment. 

But behind you, after a few seconds, you heard his footsteps again.

Still there.

Still following.

You kept your pace steady, trying not to let the tears fall as you walked back toward Chae’s apartment. Jungwon matched your steps without a word.

The streetlights flickered on as dusk crept in, casting long shadows over the cracked sidewalks. The city buzzed faintly around you, but all you could hear was the steady sound of your own breathing —and the soft footsteps behind you.

As you reached the building, your heart hammered harder. You slowed, then stopped just before the entrance, the familiar doorframe suddenly feeling too heavy.

You turned quickly, catching Jungwon’s gaze.

His eyes were steady, calm —no judgment, no expectation. Just watching.

No words passed between you.

Jungwon nodded, then stepped away into the darkening street, his figure blending into the shadows as you pushed open the door and disappeared inside.

You didn’t look back.

But you knew he was still watching.

----------------------------------

The next day, the apartment door clicked open and Chae stepped inside, dropping her bag by the door with a tired sigh.

“You won’t believe this,” she said, toeing off her shoes as she crossed the room. “Some weird guy’s been hanging around the building all afternoon.”

You glanced up from the couch. “Weird how?”

She tossed her keys onto the counter, brow furrowing. “Black hoodie. Mask. Just pacing near the entrance like he’s waiting for someone.”

Your chest tightened before your brain caught up.

Jungwon.

You swallowed, the memory of his voice from the night before settling heavy in your stomach. Without thinking, you leaned forward and reached for your shoes. “I’m just going to check something.”

Chae blinked. “Check what?”

“I’ll be back,” you said, already standing.

Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, the sky just beginning to darken. You took the stairs instead of the elevator, your pulse loud in your ears. And then you saw him —leaning against a lamppost near the entrance, hood pulled low, posture tense but patient.

He looked up when you approached, surprise flickering briefly across his face before smoothing out.

“Y/N,” Jungwon said quietly.

“What are you doing here?” You kept your voice even.

He hesitated, then straightened. “Can we talk? It’s not about Jay. I promise.”

You studied him for a moment, weighing exhaustion against curiosity. Finally, you nodded. “Okay.”

You walked together, not back inside, but away from the building —toward a small park a few blocks down, half-forgotten and mostly empty. The city noise dulled there, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the low hum of traffic in the distance. A few streetlights cast soft circles over empty benches.

You sat beneath a large oak tree, the space between you careful, deliberate.

“I want to know who you are,” Jungwon said after a moment. His voice was low, cautious. “Not just… who you are to him.”

You let out a tired breath. “Yeah. I guess to you I’m just ‘Jay’s girlfriend.’”

He shook his head slightly. “That’s not fair. To you. Or to him.”

You stared at your hands, twisting the hem of your sleeve. “I just try to keep him grounded. That’s all. It’s harder when the people he trusts don’t even know I exist.”

Jungwon didn’t interrupt. His expression softened, not pity, but something closer to understanding.

You found yourself talking anyway. Small things at first. Your favorite coffee shop tucked between two bookstores. Your love for old movies with terrible endings. How you once tried to learn guitar and gave up because your fingers hurt too much.

For a few minutes, it didn’t feel like a confession. Just conversation.

Then you smiled faintly and added, “Jay tried to teach me once. I got the pick stuck between the strings and panicked like the guitar was attacking me.”

Your laugh came out uneven.

“He looked so offended,” you continued, voice wavering. “I laughed until I cried.”

The memory settled heavy in your chest. Your eyes burned, and you turned your face away before the tears could spill.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

Jungwon reached out, resting his hand lightly against your arm. He didn’t grip it. Didn’t push. Just there.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly.

You stood abruptly, brushing at your face. “I should go.”

He rose too, hesitating. “Can I walk you back?”

After a beat, you nodded.

The walk back was quiet —not awkward, just careful. When you reached the building, he stopped a few steps short of the entrance.

“Thank you,” he said. “For trusting me.”

You nodded once and went inside.

Over the next seven days, it became routine.

Each evening after practice, Jungwon would wait near Chae’s building. No messages. Just a shared understanding. You’d walk together to the same small park, sit on the same bench beneath the oak tree, talk about nothing and everything until the city lights felt softer.

Day 1

You talked about your childhood —the small town, the slow afternoons, the music that first made you believe there was more out there. Jungwon listened with genuine focus, asking questions, smiling at the right moments, laughing softly when you shared stories you hadn’t told in years.

Day 2

He opened up in return. About the weight of leadership, about how being relied on so heavily sometimes left him feeling unsteady and unsure. You didn’t interrupt, just nodded, letting him speak. It felt like trust was being built, piece by piece.

Day 3

The conversation lightened. Movies, shows, half-serious debates over characters and endings. Jungwon admitted he was terrible at binge-watching but promised —hand to heart— that he’d try your favorites anyway. You teased him for it, and he laughed, unguarded.

Day 4

That night was quieter. He spoke about missing normalcy —walking without being watched, existing without expectation. You didn’t offer solutions or reassurance. You just stayed, shoulder close to his, letting silence do what words couldn’t.

Day 5

He told you stories from the group’s early days, the embarrassing ones he clearly didn’t share often. You laughed until your sides hurt. By the end of it, the other members felt less like distant figures and more like people you almost knew.

Day 6

You brought snacks as a peace offering. He showed up with coffee from a nearby street cart, slightly too sweet, still warm. The exchange was small, almost trivial, but it felt like a bridge —something solid between two very different worlds.

Day 7

By the end of the week, words came easier. You talked about Jay —not the idol, not the image, but the person he was when no one was watching. Jungwon didn’t comment, didn’t judge. He just listened. When your voice wavered and you wiped at your eyes, he passed you a napkin without a word.

That quiet understanding stayed with you long after the night ended.

----------------------------------

The dorm felt quieter than he remembered.

Not because it actually was —someone had music playing down the hall, laughter drifted in and out from a late-night game— but because everything reached him like it was underwater. Muted. Distant. As if the world had lost saturation.

Jay sat on the edge of his bunk, the familiar creak of the mattress barely registering. In his lap was the hoodie you used to steal, fabric worn soft from being claimed as yours. Beside him lay a pillow he’d taken from the apartment, still holding the faintest trace of you.

He’d tried washing one of your shirts once.

The scent disappeared too fast.

He never made that mistake again.

It had been over a month.

He still paid the rent on the apartment. Still transferred the money on time, every time. But he hadn’t gone back —not once. The thought of stepping inside felt unbearable. Every room existed in his mind as it was the last time he saw it: untouched, suspended, full of echoes he couldn’t face.

The guys didn’t mention you.

Not directly.

They spoke carefully, like your name was something fragile, something that might break him if handled wrong. And maybe it would have. But Jay wasn’t angry. He couldn’t be. Anger required direction.

What he felt was hollow.

He knew he’d missed something. More than one thing. He’d been so wrapped up in finally letting himself be happy that he hadn’t noticed the cracks forming around him. The way your voice tightened around his members. The way your smile stayed polite instead of warm. How your laugh that night never quite reached your eyes.

He should have known.

Every day, he checked his phone too often. Every vibration made his heart jolt before reason caught up. But it was never you. No texts. No calls. Nothing to explain the silence.

At night, he played guitar quietly, careful not to wake anyone. He’d started writing again —lyrics that weren’t meant for stages or albums. Just fragments. Lines about the way you used to curl into his side. About the empty space you left behind.

Sometimes he dreamed of you coming back, standing in the doorway with that familiar smile, teasing him for losing his keys again.

Other nights, he stayed awake until dawn, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment he realized you were gone.

He didn’t know where you were. He didn’t know how to fix what he’d broken.

But every day, without fail, Jay still waited.

Just in case you came back.

----------------------------------

Jay came back from practice exhausted, sweat clinging to his skin, limbs heavy, head still pounding from a full day of pretending he was fine.

The dorm was unusually quiet. Most of the guys were still out or or haven’t left their rooms yet. He barely registered it as he pushed open the door to his shared room —until he stopped short.

Something was wrong.

His bed was… neat. Not the way he left it.

The blanket was tucked in, smooth in a way it never was. The sheets were freshly changed. His pillow —your pillow— sat fluffed at the head of the bed, perfectly arranged.

His stomach dropped.

“No,” he muttered, crossing the room in two quick steps. “No, no—”

He grabbed the pillow and pressed it to his face without thinking, breathing in desperately.

Nothing.

The warmth was gone. The faint scent that had lingered for weeks —yours— had been stripped away, replaced with clean cotton and lavender detergent. Sterile. Wrong.

His chest tightened. His breath came shallow, uneven.

“Jay?” Jake’s voice came from the doorway.

Jay turned sharply, eyes wild. “Did you do this?”

Jake froze. “Yeah—I mean, yeah. I thought it needed to be washed. It hadn’t been touched in weeks, and you’ve been looking wrecked, so I just… I thought I was helping.”

“You washed it?” Jay said, his voice cracking before he could stop it. “You washed her pillow?”

Jake took a cautious step forward. “Jay, I didn’t know—”

“That was the last thing I had that still really smelled like her,” Jay said quietly. Too quietly. “It was all I had left.”

The words hung there, heavy and unmoving.

Jake’s expression shifted, guilt settling in fast. “Shit. Jay… I’m sorry. I really didn’t know.”

Jay didn’t respond. He sat down hard on the edge of the bed, staring at the pillow in his hands like it had betrayed him.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he murmured.

Silence filled the room. Jake stayed near the door, unsure whether to leave or stay, the weight of it pressing in on both of them.

Jay hunched forward, the pillow still in his lap, his thumb tracing the seam absently, like muscle memory might bring something back.

Then, barely above a whisper, he said, “I bought her a ring.”

Jake looked up sharply. “You—wait. You were going to propose?”

Jay let out a hollow breath, shaking his head. “Not like that. Not… officially.” He swallowed. “We knew marriage wasn’t possible. Not publicly. Not like normal people.”

Jake didn’t interrupt.

“I just wanted her to have something real,” Jay continued, voice strained. “Something that meant I was serious. Even if no one else ever saw it.” His jaw tightened. “We joked about being married all the time—‘wifey,’ ‘hubby’—but I didn’t want it to just be a joke to her.”

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling. “I was waiting. I thought after she met you guys—after everything went well—I’d give it to her.”

A bitter laugh slipped out. “I didn’t even notice how uncomfortable she was that night. I didn’t see it. I just kept smiling like an idiot, thinking it was the best night of my life.”

His voice dropped. “Meanwhile, she was already halfway gone.”

Jake finally moved, sitting beside him. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Jay shrugged weakly, eyes glassy. “Because if it got out… if the company found out… I couldn’t let her become a secret someone else exposed. I couldn’t do that to her.”

He reached for the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a small velvet box. His hands hesitated before opening it.

Inside lay a simple gold band, a single diamond catching the light. Elegant. Unworn.

Jake stared. “She doesn’t know?”

Jay shook his head once. “She never even saw it.”

His voice broke on the last word.

Loud voices cut through the room before either of them could speak again.

A door slammed. Sneakers scraped hard against tile. Something hit the wall with a dull thud. The sound shattered the fragile quiet Jay and Jake had been sitting in, the room suddenly too small, too thick with unspoken pain.

Jay blinked and snapped the ring box shut on instinct. He didn’t put it away. The weight of it stayed pressed into his palm.

Jake stood first, already turning toward the door. “What the hell was that?”

Jay followed without answering.

They moved down the hallway, the voices growing sharper with every step. When they turned the corner into the main room, Heeseung stood near the front door, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Jungwon had just come in. His shoes were half off, hair damp from the humid night air, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He didn’t look defensive.

He looked guilty.

“Are you serious right now?” Heeseung snapped. “It’s past midnight. You left without telling anyone. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“I’m not a kid,” Jungwon muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.

“That’s not the point,” Heeseung shot back. “You disappear constantly lately. No texts. No location. Nothing.”

Jay stepped forward, his voice low. “What’s going on?”

Jungwon looked up, startled to see him. His gaze flicked between Jay and Jake, lingering a beat too long on Jay before dropping again.

Jake glanced between them. “You okay?”

Jungwon didn’t answer.

Jay’s chest tightened. Something felt wrong —more wrong than it already had. “Where were you?”

“I just needed air,” Jungwon said quietly.

The answer was too careful.

Jay narrowed his eyes. “That’s all?”

Silence.

Jungwon’s gaze lifted again, sharper this time —and then dropped.

To Jay’s hand.

The ring box.

Jay hadn’t even realized he was still holding it, thumb pressed into the velvet lid like it might disappear if he let go.

Jungwon’s breath caught.

Jake noticed too and stepped forward quickly. “Okay—let’s not do this right now. Everyone’s exhausted. We can—”

“What is that?” Jungwon asked, already knowing.

Jay lifted his eyes slowly. “It’s a ring.”

The room went dead quiet.

Heeseung looked between them, confused. Jake winced.

“For her?” Jungwon asked.

Jay nodded once.

“Jay,” Jake tried again, gentler. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes,” Jay cut in. “I do.”

He looked at all of them now —eyes tired, hollow, stripped bare. “I bought it before dinner. Before everything fell apart. She never knew. None of you did.” His voice faltered just slightly. “Because I didn’t trust anyone else to keep it safe.”

Jungwon dropped his gaze, guilt curling tight in his chest.

“I thought if she met you guys, it would finally feel right,” Jay continued. “Like the two best parts of my life could exist in the same room.”

He exhaled sharply. “I was wrong.”

No one spoke.

Jay turned toward the hallway, the ring box clenched hard in his hand. He needed air. Silence. Something that didn’t hurt this much.

He barely made it two steps.

“I know where she is.”

Jay froze.

The words were quiet, almost gentle —but they split the air cleanly in two.

Slowly, Jay turned back.

Jake tensed. Heeseung went still.

“What?” Jay asked. His voice was flat. Dangerous.

Jungwon met his gaze. “I know where Y/N’s been staying.”

Jay’s grip tightened. “How long?”

“A little over a week,” Jungwon admitted. “I ran into her. By accident.”

Jake dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

“And you didn’t tell me,” Jay said.

“I didn’t know if I should,” Jungwon replied. “She didn’t want to see you. She didn’t even want to talk about you.”

Jay took a step forward. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t,” Jungwon said steadily. “I kept it quiet. She was hurting, hyung. And I was part of why. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Jay’s breath came fast. “You’ve been seeing her.”

“I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“And is she?”

Jungwon didn’t answer.

Jay’s voice broke. “You don’t get it. I lost the only person that mattered. And you knew.”

“I know,” Jungwon said softly. “That’s why I’m telling you now. She’s not okay. But neither are you.”

Jay laughed once —short, hollow. “So what? You sneak out every night to see my girlfriend?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” Jay snapped. “You know where she is. You talk to her. You’re the one she trusts now—not me.”

Jungwon didn’t raise his voice. “She didn’t choose me over you. She needed space.”

“Then why keep going back?”

“Because she’s hurting,” Jungwon said quietly. “And because after I understood her… I realized you needed to understand too.”

Jay shook his head. “I don’t need—”

“Tomorrow,” Jungwon interrupted. “Go tomorrow. I was supposed to meet her. You should go instead.”

Jay stared at him. Raw. Unsteady. “She won’t want to see me.”

“She will.”

Jay looked down at the ring box, knuckles white around it.

“She still loves you,” Jungwon added, gentler now. “She just thinks she’s the problem.”

Jay didn’t respond.

He stood there, the weight of everything pressing in —grief, anger, longing —all of it tangled around a small velvet box in his hand.

And for the first time in weeks, hope hurts worse than the silence.

----------------------------------

You go to the park the same way you always do.

Same path. Same bench beneath the crooked tree with the peeling bark. Same time of night, when the air is still cold and the city is sleeping.

You sit, hands folded in your lap, eyes drifting across the walking trail.

The park is almost empty at night, but that doesn’t make you feel safer.

Streetlights cast uneven pools of yellow across the paths, and every passing car makes your shoulders tense. You sit on the familiar bench anyway, hands tucked into your sleeves, eyes flicking toward the entrance every few seconds.

Jungwon is late.

He’s never late.

Your stomach twists. You tell yourself not to read into it, not to spiral—but the quiet feels heavier tonight, like something is about to break.

Then you sense him.

Not footsteps. Not movement. Just that pull you’ve never been able to explain.

You look up.

Jay stands half-hidden beneath a tree near the edge of the park, hood pulled low, mask on, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He hasn’t stepped into the light. He’s watching you like he’s afraid you might disappear again if he blinks.

Your breath catches.

“No,” you whisper.

You stand immediately, heart racing —not because he’s here, but because someone else could be. Because this is exactly how things go wrong.

You cross the distance quickly, keeping your voice low and tight. “What are you doing here? You can’t —Jay, this is insane.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t sure.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you hiss. “One person. One phone. That’s all it takes.”

He steps closer, careful. “I missed you.”

Your chest aches at how small his voice sounds.

“That’s not a good enough reason,” you say, even as your hands curl into fists to keep from reaching for him. “You have too much to lose.”

“I already lost you.”

“That’s different,” you say immediately. “I chose to leave. Your career didn’t.”

Jay exhales, slow and shaky. “Do you really think loving you was ever a risk I regretted?”

You shake your head, blinking hard. “I love you too much to let you ruin your life for me.”

The words hurt both of you. You can see it on his face.

You take a step back, forcing space between you. “We shouldn’t be standing this close.”

He doesn’t move. “I didn’t come to pull you back into something you’re not ready for.”

You look at him again, surprised.

“I came to ask for a redo,” he continues. “That night. Meeting everyone. I failed you. I was so focused on how happy I was that I didn’t see how scared you were.”

Your throat tightens.

“I want another chance,” he says. “But this time, I promise I won’t let you disappear beside me. I’ll see you. I’ll protect you.”

You shake your head instinctively. “Jay… that’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

“You can’t promise things like that.”

“I can promise to try,” he says. “And if I can’t do it right, I won’t do it at all.”

Silence stretches between you, filled with the hum of the city and the distant sound of traffic.

“I shouldn’t,” you whisper finally.

His shoulders drop, just slightly. “Okay.”

The disappointment in that single word hurts more than anything else.

You step forward before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing his sleeve. “I didn’t say no.”

He looks up, eyes wide in the dim light.

“One redo,” you say softly. “That’s it.”

Jay lets out a breath, almost a laugh, almost a sob. “I swear I won’t waste it.”

You glance around the park again, anxiety spiking. “You need to go. Now.”

“I will,” he says quickly. “I just—”

You step closer, heart pounding, and press a brief kiss to his cheek. It’s soft, familiar, and far too intimate for how dangerous this moment is.

“For your walk home,” you whisper.

You pull away immediately and walk back toward the path, not daring to look back.

Behind you, Jay stays where he is, fingers lifting to his cheek like he needs to remind himself it was real.

You don’t breathe properly until you’re back inside Chae’s apartment.

The door clicks shut behind you, locks sliding into place, and only then do your shoulders finally sag. Your heart is still racing, hands trembling slightly as you slip off your shoes and pad down the hallway. Chae’s bedroom door is closed, the apartment dark and still.

Safe.

You sit on the edge of the guest coach, phone resting in your palm like it weighs too much.

You stare at the screen for a long moment.

Then, before you can overthink it, you type.

I made it back.

You hesitate, then add:

Please be careful getting home.

You hit send and immediately regret how fast your heart jumps afterward.

Jay is still awake. He’s lying on his bunk, phone face-down on his chest, staring at the ceiling like sleep might eventually take pity on him. His mind is still in the park —your voice, the kiss, the way you walked away without looking back.

The vibration against his chest makes him freeze.

He grabs his phone so fast it almost slips from his hand.

Your name.

For a second, he just stares at the screen to make sure he’s not imagining it.

Then he sits up abruptly.

I’m home.

He types, deletes, types again.

Thank you for texting me.

Too much? He exhales and keeps going.

I couldn’t stop worrying.

There’s a pause. Thirty seconds that feel like thirty minutes.

Then his phone buzzes again.

I know. I was worried too.

Jay smiles without realizing it.

Really smiles.

His fingers move before his nerves can catch up.

We’re off this Thursday.

He hesitates, heart pounding, then sends the next message anyway.

If you want… you could come by the dorm.

Another pause.

Jay presses his thumb against the screen, trying not to spiral. He’s already bracing himself for a polite excuse, a careful boundary.

Then—

I’ll think about it.

It’s not a yes.

But it’s not a no.

Jay exhales, leaning back against the wall, phone clutched tight in his hand.

That’s enough for me.

He adds, softer:

I’m really glad you’re safe.

On the other side of the city, you lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, phone resting on your chest.

You close your eyes.

For the first time in weeks, the quiet doesn’t feel so lonely.

----------------------------------

Thursday comes faster than you expect.

You stand outside the dorm longer than necessary, hands tucked into your sleeves like you might still turn around if you wait long enough.

You’re just about to knock when voices leak through the door.

Loud. Chaotic.

“I swear to God, if anyone touches the food before she gets here, I will actually kill you.”

Jay.

You freeze, then smile before you can stop yourself.

“There is no way you’re threatening murder over some food,” someone laughs —Jake, you think.

“I’m serious,” Jay snaps. “It has to be perfect. The plates, the drinks—why is that cup there? Who put that there?”

“It’s a cup, hyung,” Sunoo says, amused. “Relax.”

“I cannot relax,” Jay says loudly. “This is important.”

“Bro’s pacing like it's life or death,” Ni-ki adds, followed by more laughter.

You let out a quiet breath, something warm loosening in your chest.

These are the people Jungwon talked about. The ones who bicker and tease and show up loudly for each other. Not the tense, guarded strangers you met that night. Not the silence.

You lift your hand and knock —soft, almost hesitant.

The noise inside stumbles to a stop.

Footsteps approach. The door opens, and Jungwon’s face appears, eyes widening slightly when he sees you.

“Oh—hey,” he says, voice gentle. “You made it.”

You nod, suddenly shy. “Yeah.”

Before he can say anything else, there’s a rush of movement behind him.

“Move.”

Jungwon barely has time to step aside before Jay pushes past him, hands already on the door, eyes locking onto you like the rest of the world just shut off.

“You’re here,” he says, breathless.

You smile, small but real. “Hi.”

For a second, he just stares at you, like he’s confirming you’re real. Then he steps back abruptly, glancing over his shoulder.

“Shoes off—no, wait—actually, yeah, shoes off. I mean—come in. Please. You’re—yeah.”

Someone snorts behind him.

“Hyung, breathe,” Jake mutters.

Jay shoots him a look without taking his eyes off you. “Don’t start.”

You step inside, the door closing softly behind you.

Jay hovers, clearly unsure what to do with his hands.

“I, uh,” he starts, then stops. “Are you okay? Did you—was it hard getting here?”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “Really.”

He nods, still searching your face. “Okay. Okay.”

Jungwon watches the two of you for a moment, then quietly clears his throat. “I’ll—uh—give you guys a second.”

Jay barely registers it.

You glance around the room again, hearing laughter from down the hall, the clatter of dishes, someone arguing about music volume. It feels… normal. Alive.

You look back at Jay. “This is the side of you he told me about.”

Jay blinks. “What?”

You smile a little wider. “The loud one. The one who cares too much and pretends he doesn’t.”

His ears turn red instantly.

“Oh,” he mutters. Then, softer, “I’m really glad you came.”

You nod. “Me too."

The tension you carried in with you slowly fades as the night settles.

It starts small. Sunoo handing you a drink and immediately asking if you like mint chocolate ice cream. Jake insisting you sit because “Jay’s been pacing for hours and someone needs to ground him.” Heeseung hovering just enough to make sure everything’s okay, but not pushing.

Jay stays close without smothering. Always half a step behind you, like he’s ready to step in but doesn’t want to crowd you. You notice it. You don’t comment.

Dinner turns loud fast.

Ni-ki complains about the portions. Jay snaps back that he cooked and therefore decides who starves. Someone puts music on too loud. Someone else argues about it. You find yourself laughing before you realize you are.

It feels… easy.

At some point, Ni-ki eyes you over the table, grin sharp and mischievous. “So,” he says, dragging the word out, “you’re the reason Jay turns into a domestic menace.”

Jay straightens immediately. “Hey—”

You beat him to it.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, unfazed. “I trained him. He didn’t even know how to properly wash rice before me.”

Ni-ki bursts out laughing. “No way.”

Jay sputters. “I knew how.”

“And you flooded the kitchen,” you add calmly.

The table erupts.

Jay opens his mouth, ready to defend himself —or you, it’s unclear—but stops when he sees you smiling, eyes bright, completely unbothered.

Ni-ki points at him. “She’s scary.”

You lean back in your chair. “You’re welcome to challenge me, but I don’t recommend it.”

“Hyung,” Ni-ki says, still laughing, “how do you survive?”

Jay just watches you, something soft settling in his chest. “I don’t,” he says quietly. “I just accept my fate.”

You glance at him, amused. “Drama queen.”

He smiles to himself, small and private, like he’s storing the moment away.

Later, when the plates are cleared and someone suggests games, Jungwon sits near you, noticeably more relaxed than before. He listens as you talk, nods along, fills in details when needed. The awkward edge from before is gone.

At one point, Jay goes to grab more drinks, and Sunoo leans toward you conspiratorially. “He’s been like this all week, you know.”

“Like what?”

“Cleaning. Stressing. Threatening violence over anything.”

You laugh. “That tracks.”

Jay returns just in time to hear Sunoo say, “We like you.”

Jay freezes. “You do?”

Sunooi shrugs. “Yeah. You make him less annoying.”

“Rude,” Jay mutters.

You smile, warmth spreading through you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As the night winds down, Jay finds himself standing a little apart, watching you laugh with his members, watching how naturally you fit into the noise.

Not forcing. Not fading.

Just there.

And for the first time in a long while, the tight knot in his chest loosens.

By the time the board games come out, the night has fully settled into something comfortable.

You’re cross-legged on the floor between Sunoo and Jake, surrounded by scattered cards and pieces, laughter coming easier now. Someone keeps changing the rules mid-game. Someone else keeps cheating badly enough that it’s obvious.

Ni-ki, obviously.

“That’s not how you play,” you tell him flatly, taking the card out of his hand.

“It worked though,” he argues.

“That doesn’t make it legal.”

Jay laughs from across the room, leaning back on his hands. “See? She’s on my side.”

Sunghoon snorts. “You say that like it’s rare.”

Heeseung watches the chaos for a moment, then stands. “Okay,” he says, stretching. “We’re switching gears.”

He disappears briefly and comes back with a couple bottles and cups. Nothing wild. Just enough.

“To relax,” he says simply, setting everything down.

The energy shifts —still light, but slower. Softer.

Jay’s laughter fades just a little.

You don’t notice at first when he stands. He does it quietly, slipping toward the hallway like he doesn’t want to draw attention.

Jungwon notices.

Jay murmurs something under his breath —an excuse about grabbing something— and disappears into his room.

You’re distracted anyway.

Jake pours drinks, handing you one carefully. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

You smile. “I’m good. Thank you.”

Ni-ki squints at you. “You’re surprisingly normal.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Jay made you sound intimidating.”

Jay’s room door clicks softly down the hall.

You laugh. “He’s dramatic.”

Sunoo grins. “We know.”

Conversation drifts easily after that. Stories from trainee days. Dumb arguments. Inside jokes they pause to explain for your sake. You listen, ask questions, fill in where you can.

Sunghoon sits nearby, quieter than the others but relaxed, watching the way you fit without effort.

“You’re good for him,” Jake says suddenly, not even looking at you.

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs. “He’s happier when you’re around.”

The words land heavier than you expect.

Before you can respond, footsteps sound down the hallway.

Jay reappears.

He looks… different.

Not obvious enough that anyone else would notice, but you do. His shoulders are a little tense. His jaw set like he’s bracing himself for something. One hand disappears briefly into his pocket before he sits back down beside you.

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly.

He nods. “Yeah.” But his knee bounces.

You don’t push. You just stay close, your arm brushing his, grounding him in the noise and warmth of the room. He glances at you once, eyes soft.

The night continues around you, laughter rising and falling, the game resuming like nothing shifted.

But something has.

And Jay knows it.

----------------------------------

Jay tries to talk to you. He really does.

Every time he leans toward you, someone appears.

“Hey, have you tried this card combo?” Jake asks, shoving cards between you.

Jay opens his mouth— “Hyung, you’re sitting on my phone,” Ni-ki says, crawling halfway across the floor.

Jay exhales, nods, waits.

You meet his eyes again—

Sunoo plops down beside you. “Okay but settle this. Pineapple on pizza.”

Jay closes his eyes.

He shifts closer again— Heeseung asks him something about tomorrow’s schedule.

By the fourth interruption, Jay’s jaw is tight, leg bouncing, hand flexing like he’s holding himself back.

You notice.

“Jay?” you murmur.

He huffs out a breath, stands abruptly. “I need a drink.”

It’s not angry, exactly —but it’s close.

He heads for the kitchen, shoulders stiff. You hesitate only a second before standing and following him.

The dorm kitchen is dimmer, quieter. Just the low hum of the fridge and the faint noise of laughter drifting from the living room.

Jay grabs a bottle, twists the cap off with more force than necessary.

“Sorry,” he mutters without looking at you. “I’m not mad at you. I just—”

“I know,” you say softly.

That makes him stop.

He turns, really turns, and for a second the words look like they’re choking him.

“This might be the only time tonight I get you alone,” he says quietly. “So I’m just gonna say it. Okay?”

Your heart starts racing. “Jay—”

“I love you,” he says immediately. No hesitation. No buffer. “I’ve loved you since before I knew how dangerous it was. And I don’t care.”

You shake your head, panic blooming. “You can’t say things like that—”

“I would risk everything,” he continues, voice shaking now. “My career. My image. My life as I know it —if it meant I got to be with you honestly.”

Your chest tightens. “Jay, stop, you’re scaring me—”

He steps closer. “I’m not asking you to ruin anything. I know we can’t have the real thing. Not yet. Maybe not ever the way people expect.”

He reaches into his pocket.

Your breath catches. “Jay—”

“I know,” he says quickly when he sees your eyes widen, your body tense. “I know. Just—listen. Please.”

He pulls out a small velvet box.

“I don’t want a big moment. I don’t want pressure. I just want you to have something that proves this wasn’t a secret to me. That you weren’t something temporary.”

Your hands shake. “Jay…”

“I need a better reason to call you wifey,’” he says softly, almost smiling through the nerves. “Something real. Something that says I chose you. That I’m choosing you.”

Then, slowly, deliberately, he lowers himself to one knee on the kitchen tile.

Your breath leaves you in a soundless rush.

“This isn’t a proposal,” he says. “It’s a promise. That I see you. That I won’t miss you again. That no matter how hard this gets —I’m yours.”

He opens the box.

The ring catches the low light, simple and perfect.

“Will you let me give you this?” he asks. “Will you be my wifey… for real?”

You’re crying before you can stop yourself.

“Yes,” you breathe, then louder, breaking, “Yes.”

Jay laughs —a shaky, relieved sound— and stands just long enough to slide the ring onto your finger before you surge forward, grabbing his face and kissing him hard.

It’s desperate. Joyful. Real.

Somewhere behind you—

“OH MY GOD.”

You break apart just as the kitchen fills.

Jake, Sunoo, Ni-ki, Heeseung, Sunghoon, and Jungwon—all crowded in the doorway, clearly having been watching for longer than they should’ve.

Jungwon grins. “We said don’t interrupt him again.”

Jay groans, burying his face in your shoulder. “You all are dead.”

You laugh through your tears, holding him tight, ring warm against your skin.

For once, the secret doesn’t feel so heavy.

For once, it feels like a promise kept.

-permeant taglist- enhypen: @naqkja @rikismura @nocturnebite @sunooselle @staarflowerr @luvteyamm @opiumhee @kristynaaah @ancnymcnzjy @b3lly-we1lyy1009 @gojoslittlecumbucket @aliceskzfan @candidupped @livie23 @in-somnias-world @fialtorelle @osmoisiss @inlovewithparkjisung @st4rg1rlies @kpoplover667 @kireistrawberryjayla @yatta-exe @jaerisdiction @enhalxvr @ah-2212 @sa1ky @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @c9b7luv @twinklingsparkling @levisswaifuu @why-th0 @hellkithy @parkedsunghoon1009 @wooohh1324 @heavnrth @bangtanniesimjaeyun @vtyb23 general: @chenlesfeetpic @haolovre @vampgege @yuyita-rosier @page0brooklyn @walkintoclouds @zealouscookierebeltrash @multifandom-messsss @enhacolor @dana-nite

[sundives]

Play dates ✶ pjs.

Summary: A drunken one night stand went wrong when news of the darling socialite was seen leaving the penthouse of CEO Park Jongseong, one of the most sought bachelors in Korea. In order to save face and reputation, a fake dating contract of six months was proposed.

The problem? Turns out you and Jay were ex-lovers — a secret relationship that ended up in a bad light and three years after not seeing each other, you two ended up in the headline of the tabloids and gossip articles. Fake it 'til you make it, they say, and it doesn't help that your ex-boyfriend is great with the act, blurring the lines between repressed feelings and acting like everything's fine between the two of you.

Third installment of Big reputations series.

✰ Song inspirations: Call it what you want by Taylor swift, Radio by Lana del rey, Love me like you do by Ellie goulding

✰ Word count: 25k

✰ Tags: CEO au, ex-lovers, fake dating, aged-up characters (both of them are 28), miscommunication? No, the other party doesn’t want to communicate, repressed feelings, both of them are bad with their feelings, not-so-slow burn!!! yearning!!! They’re kinda toxic ngl, rich people activities lmaooo, fluff and angst!!! smut, reader is kinda a spoiled brat (and is actually just a heartbroken girl, let her live), jay is a mix of green and red flag, heeseung is a menace, kys jokes, mentions of kpop idols (ft. jangkku as a couple.) NOT PROOFREAD.

✰ CW: plot with porn ofc. Soft vanilla sex that’s mwa, p in v sex, unprotected sex (pls don’t), makeup sex, cumming inside, they’re just very tender and in love. I am not sorry at all, oral (f receiving), body worship, praise, soft aftercare, crying after sex.

✰ Asul's note: this was so harddddddd, why is fake dating so harddddd!!! Anyways, I wrote this at 2 am so sue me if its messy. But think of this as an advance christmas gift ig?? Also, I only have a little knowledge about formula one, sue jay for influencing me in this one. I also eyeballed the places mentioned, sorry once again. I think this is the most romantic smut I have ever wrote lmaoo, i live for makeup sex.

Enjoy this fic! sending loves and an advance merry christmas to everyone! <3

✰ Series taglist: @kyutiepeachy @rosepetals09 @toastmenace @k1ttyjwon @kikidoul @brokenengene @tatikeu @ddeondalandan @ellyre @addictedtohobi @fancypeacepersona @heeseungsgf26 @axfyl @dollvtte @saraabbas @meloncholatte

-

Sunlight peeked through the black curtains of the bedroom, giving light through the dimmed, masculine room. It landed on your face directly, earning a groan from you as you turned your body away from the light. The silence was relaxing, save it for the soft and comfortable bed that you’re on —

That’s when it sank into you. Opening your eyes slowly, you come face to face to the sturdy back beside you. Your eyes widened and you freezed on your position, slowly, you looked into your body and that’s when you realized that you’re left with nothing but your panties.

Embarrassment washed over you. You couldn’t believe that you just had a one-night stand — a drunken one to be exact! You’re not even the type to do casual sex! You groaned internally before you felt him moved beside you, completely startling you. 

But he didn’t wake up, he just fixed his position. So you quietly moved your way out of the bed, careful not to wake him up, and you were thanking the gods that he’s a heavy sleeper. 

Your hangover’s still had your head throbbing, last night’s drinks hitting you like a baseball bat which made you wince at every movement. You managed to find your clothes scattered around the place and shame was all you felt as you picked it one by one. 

You found your phone inside your sling bag on the floor, picking it up to see the missed calls and texts from your brother. You cursed internally, preparing from his lecture as you called him back.

“Where the fuck are you!?” Heeseung’s angry tone welcomed you, making you wince as you brushed your messy, bed hair.

“I don’t know but can you pick me up please please,” you plead, whispering as you tiptoe your way out of the bedroom. 

“Mama’s worried sick! What the fuck y/n —”

“Can you save all your naggings when you see me, I’ll send my location and fucking pick me up!” you whisper-shouted, cutting off the call and sending your location to your brother.

Heeseung 😛: Fifteen minutes. Stay put and I’ll call you if I’m outside.

8:43 AM

You let out a deep sigh before you started walking away from the long hallway. As you reached the living room of his place, your eyes went wide at the sight of the living room. It was huge and luxurious, with designer furniture and rare figurines on display. You also noticed a few formula one merchandise which made you curious about the guy you slept with. 

Unfortunately, there’s not a single picture of him on display inside the area, so you quickly brushed it off, since it was just a drunken one night stand, he’d forget about it just like what you’re planning to do.

You found the exit of the place, the hallways were exquisite and clean, and it just sinked into you that you ended up in someone’s penthouse. Oh well. You thought. At least he’s some snobbish rich guy. Your drunk self still has taste. 

As you rode the elevator down, that’s when questions started running through your head, adding more headache for you.

Where are you? Who’s the guy sleeping on the bed? How did this happen? It’s pretty obvious that you were black-out dead last night and was convinced that something happened but what led you to sleeping with him? 

You tried to recall last night’s events but the only thing you remembered was you buying another bottle of tequila and after that, everything was a blur. You don’t even know where he popped into the night.

Was the sex even good!? You mentally groaned when you felt your phone vibrate. Picking it up to see that your brother’s almost near. 

The lobby of the building had a few people on it when you arrived. Observing their proud faces and designer clothes, it is safe to assume that you ended up at a high-end sky building somewhere in the city. The front-desk agent gave you a small smile and nod which you reciprocated awkwardly before you exit the lobby.

You waited for a few minutes before you noticed the white ford mustang and familiar car plate of your brother’s, making you sigh in relief.

You smiled as you opened the door of the passenger seat, ignoring your brother’s stabbing glare as you put on the seatbelt. 

“Go on, nag all you want but a little disclaimer, I have a hangover so all your words will just fly away from my mind,” you stated as you rested your head by the window.

“You’re so reckless y/n,” Heeseung started as he drove away from the building.

“I am careful,” you replied, knowing that you’re also wrong. 

Heeseung chuckled sarcastically, “careful? Right, because if you’re being careful you would’ve ended up going home last night and not to some random stranger’s place.”

“Hey! At least you found me at some high-end building and not some cheap motel, alive and breathing if I may add.” you justified.

“Not my point but whatever,” Heeseung sighed, accepting defeat. “Just stay out of trouble, I know that you love to party but tone it down please, you still have a reputation to hold.”

“Yeah, gonna keep the family name clean,” you mocked. 

“I’m serious.” he warned and that made you shut up.

You’re one of the most-loved socialites in your country. The darling of the crowd, a head-turner at every formal event or dinner you attend. The sweet, youngest daughter of the Lee family — one of the well-known names in South Korea. 

You’re the life of the party. Always present at every party, fashion weeks, and formal events with confidence. Free days come in the form of luxury shopping and traveling around the world. Everyone may look at you as the young and spoiled, socialite of your family, but you didn’t care about it because honestly? It’s true though.

Your family lets you do whatever you want. Whether it involves your family’s business or just spending their money on luxurious items, you’re living the life. You don’t have a permanent job but because of your name and influence, you were able to earn money independently by collaborating with brands and luxurious houses.

Your parents didn’t force you to work for the family business since your older brother had already taken over the company. They told you that you’re free to do what you want as long as you don’t ruin the family’s name.

You’re careful. You were always careful about your image. It leaves you anxious even though you’re used to the spotlight. As much as you had the freedom, there are still consequences whenever you made irrational decisions, hence why despite shrugging casually to your brother’s lecture, you were nervous deep inside.

You’re not the type to do one night stands and all that casual sex and situationships. You hated those kinds of things. Love is a sentimental thing for you. That’s why you were nervous deep inside. You ended up at a stranger’s house, and based from his fucking huge penthouse, he’s not just any rich man — he probably had a reputable name in your country.

You’re curious about him. It left you pondering about his identity, but at the same time, you were silently praying that last night wouldn't blow up in a huge portion.

-

You don’t know why your brother was eager for you to go to his office on a Tuesday afternoon. 

You almost ignored his chat, but when it ended with a note of cutting off your credit card, you had no choice but to visit him. 

As you entered the office, you weren’t even able to greet him because he looked at you mad, like you did something unforgivable

“Look at what you have done,” he said with an angry tone. Heeseung took heavy strides before he flashed his phone screen in front of you. 

Lee Y/n and Park Jongseong caught leaving Royalty together — is it a new romance brewing? Or just a night of happiness? 

You freezed. 

No way. You thought. No fucking way, there’s no fucking way —

You grabbed his phone and scrolled through the article. Pictures of you being carried outside the club, by the lobby of the building, and when you were leaving the building. Your eyes widened. You couldn’t believe that they followed you and even waited for you outside the building. It was obvious that it’s you. They didn’t even attempt to hide your face! God, you couldn’t believe that you were smiling ear to ear in the first photo — like you were madly, deeply with the man who was carrying you.

Park Jongseong.

His name still gives chills to your body, and just seeing his face, which was smiling too, had your heart beating. You don’t know why your heart started acting like that. Was it out of nervousness? Pain? Anxiety? You were confused and stunned at the same time.

Out of all the men in this world, it has to be Park fucking Jongseong. Your secret ex-boyfriend. Your whirlwind semester romance. Your best and worst mistake. The guy that you gave your everything that the moment he left, you were completely nothing.

You wanted to curse him. Three years have passed and he’s still handsome as ever — more handsome than ever. He got rid of his rebellious silver-like blonde hair and ear piercings, and grungy, rockstar outfits and had it replaced with the more sophisticated and clean get-up, living up to the reputation of the old money Parks. 

Three years passed and he’s now back in South Korea. He’s here and that thought made you anxious. 

He’s here. In South Korea. Breathing the same air as you — you just felt your world ended. 

“I told you to be careful,” Heeseung warned, snapping you away from your thoughts.

“I was being careful! I didn’t know that there were paparazzis there! Why would they be invested to get a scoop from me!?” you questioned.

“You were out partying with other socialites. Royalty is a high-end club — damn it y/n! It’s not only you who they wanted a scoop from, it’s also them and Jongseong — do you even know him?”

Of course. Of course you do. You know him damn well. You know what his cologne combination was and every name of his guitar collection. You know that he’s allergic to flowers, that's why not once did you receive a bouquet from him when the two of you were together. You knew Park Jongseong too well, but unfortunately, you couldn’t say it out loud to your strict brother. 

“What’s with him anyway,” you crossed your arms instead. The last time you’ve heard from Jay was three years ago, when the two of you had a fight because he’s leaving for America.

You wanted him to stay, he wanted to go to America. He called you selfish and spoiled, you called him heartless, and perhaps, both of it were true because you two called it off that same night. Jay moved to America while you returned to South Korea, spending more than you used to in hopes that it’ll ease your broken heart. 

“His name is currently on-trend along with his twin brother, Park Sunghoon, formula one driver for Ferrari. Both of them are promising bachelors here. Charismatic and old money rich, Jongseong’s currently the CEO of Park Land and Leisures. And you? The sweet and darling socialite of Northern Stars Inc., just happened to have slept with him. You two are a fucking scandal at the moment,” Heeseung explained and you only rolled your eyes. 

“It’s not like he’s married, oh my god Heeseung, he’s single! And so am I! What’s wrong with what we did?” you pointed out.

“People are still conservative y/n, one night stands and things like that are still scandalous, mom and dad are fucking furious at the moment,” he rebutted and your eyes widened.

“They knew!?”

“Of course y/n, they knew, your name’s all over the headlines and newspapers!” Heeseung argued before heaving out a sigh, eyes still leaving heavy glares on you. “That’s why I am proposing something.”

Your forehead creased, “what do you mean?”

A knock on the door interrupted your conversation, you turned around and from the glass door, you froze when you saw who it was.

It felt like a movie — a horror movie to be exact. It was like seeing a ghost, the ghost of your past to be exact. You became quiet, heart beating rapidly that it’ll burst out of your chest any moment now. With your throat turned dry and cold sweat forming on your skin, you were nailed from where you were standing as you watched Jay walk into the office.

He still looks as good as ever. Much sophisticated and clean, far from his rebellious and roughed image back then. You watched as he passed by you — completely ignoring you as he approached Heeseung with a smile and firm handshake while your eyes remained at him.

“Thanks for coming,” Heeseung greeted, making you snap out of your daze.

Jay chuckled, “no worries, we need to clean some rumors right?” 

His eyes landed on you. A frown on your face as you crossed your arms.

“Nice meeting you again y/n,” Jay greeted and you scoffed at his words.

Heeseung’s forehead creased, “you guys know each other?”

“No!?” you shouted defensively, panic starting to get into you. Heeseung raised an eyebrow before shaking his head out of disappointment.

“I guess you were really too drunk to remember that night,” Jay taunted and you scoffed at his words. You swear to God, he was testing you.

“Whatever, why are you even here?”

“Because of the rumor, of course,” Jay explained casually. “It’s going to be hard to convince the public that what happened that night was nothing, especially when they captured us in different locations. They even followed us in our building.”

“There’s nothing to worry about that, my family knows how to handle bad pr,” you rebutted. 

“Good for you, but I also have a reputation to hold on,” he stated.

You raised an eyebrow, “Why? Afraid to lose your hottest bachelor image, Mr. Park?”

“You’re right, Ms. Lee, I don’t want the public to see me as someone who’s a playboy of sort, casual shits like this aren’t my things.” Jay smirked casually.

You only rolled your eyes at his answer. He even had the audacity to taunt you? You swear if only Heeseung wasn’t present in this room, you would’ve kicked his balls out of rage.

“That’s why I’m here to resolve your problem,” Heeseung butted in. “Think of it as a punishment for your recklessness too y/n.”

You chuckled in disbelief, “a fucking punishment? What am I, sixteen?” 

“The proposal is simple. We convince the public that you two are currently seeing each other on good terms, date publicly and act the deal, then break up due to busy schedules.” Heeseung explained, ignoring your words and how your face distorted into confusion.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” You cursed.

“When do I joke about this kind of thing y/n? I told you to be careful, and these are the consequences of your reckless actions, so owe up to it,” Heeseung authoritatively stated, making you flinch at his tone.

It really was a fucking punishment for you. What do you mean you’re going to fake date your ex-boyfriend for the sake of the publicity? It was like the devil had possessed your brother that he resorted to that idea.

“How long?” Jay asked.

“Six months.” Heeseung answered quickly.

Six months? What a fucking joke — it’s the same length you and Jay dated. You don’t know if they’re playing tricks with you but one thing is that you aren’t pleased with the situation.

“What if I don’t want to?” you asked.

Heeseung glared, “and why the fuck not?”

“I don’t like him.” you pointed out Jay who only smirked at your comment.

“Why? You basically met him last Saturday, you two are barely strangers,” Heeseung pointed out. “Unless you two met prior to this one.”

You became quiet. You only looked away as you heard Jay’s soft chuckle was all you heard — making you even more irritated.

“It’s just six months,” Jay casually commented. “It’s not like we’re going to see each other everyday, Ms. Lee, we can set dates and public events where we’ll go together. We can also set boundaries too, since we’re just faking it after all.”

His words hurt you. You don’t know if the two of them were setting you up or everything about this was just a mere coincidence. But knowing Heeseung, if he knew your past with Jay, he would’ve confronted him about it. And yet, the two of them were seemingly civil, which leaves you completely hopeless knowing that as much as you oppose the idea, your brother doesn’t change his mind that easily. 

One thing for sure was that you had pushed your brother’s patience this time. He could’ve brushed it off. Casually deny the rumor or let it die down but he chose this weird publicity stunt just to tame your attitude. You groaned internally. In the end, you’re still at fault too.

“I don’t have a choice in this one, right?” you crossed your arms, as a defeated look formed on your face. 

“Mom and dad already approved this proposal,” Heeseung shared. “For once they hope that you’d tame your lifestyle now that you’re linked to Jongseong.”

“Just like how they threw me in Barcelona for that fucking fall semester,” you muttered under your breath, yet loud enough for your brother to hear.

“Just read the damn contract y/n, and hurry up, I have a meeting in an hour,” Heeseung grabbed the envelope from his desk and handed you a copy which you accepted in defeat.

You began reading the contract. It has a lot of terms and conditions that you skimmed through but basically, you and Jay are going to pretend to be dating for six months. Attending events together are a must unless the other party’s on an important schedule. There were no rules of skinships between the two of you, hugs and kisses are a must since it convinces the public that you two are real. Dates aren’t required but it’ll be good publicity for your relationship.

This also meant that you’re not allowed to date anyone and so does Jay. You don’t know why but reading it assured you somehow. It meant that for the next six months, the only girl Jay will be seeing is you and no one else. That’s a small win for you for sure.

Jay said earlier that you two didn’t need to meet everyday. Which is good for you. You just have to keep yourself busy for the next six months — maybe travel around the world or join a cruise ship, if it means avoiding Jay at all cost.

The idea was bright in your mind. You nodded at yourself before you placed down the contract at the coffee table.

“Fine, give me a pen, I’ll sign it,” you announced, making the two men look at you.

“That was fast,” Heeseung comments before going to his desk to grab a pen. 

“It’s just six months, I think I can manage,” you shrugged, completely signing the contract. You placed down the pen and glanced at Jay with a taunting smirk. “Let’s just say that we keep our relationship private, so that means we don’t need to meet in public and date outside. Let’s just wait for six months to pass by and then call it off, sounds good right?” 

“Y/n, wait —”

“Now, if you excuse me, I have a spa treatment with my girls, so goodbye to the two of you,” you gave them a teasing flying kiss before you walked out of Heeseung’s office, completely ignoring him calling you out. 

You could only laugh mischievously as you skipped your way towards the elevator. As you reached the area, you pressed down the button and while waiting, a hand grabbed your arms suddenly, completely startling you. 

“What the fuck — let me go!” you snapped your arms away from Jay who only looked at you angrily.

“We’re not done yet y/n,” he stated, making you raise an eyebrow.

“That’s not what you said to me three years ago,” you smiled.

But instead of getting irritated, Jay chuckled in disbelief, “oh my god, you’re still not over that, am I right?”

Your forehead creased, “dream on Jay, why are you even here? I thought you’re living your life in America.”

“I have a company to take over with, which from what I recall, I informed you about that one, but someone thinks that I am staying in America for good.”

“Because you were.” you sassed.

“Oh my god, are we really going to dump our issues here? We could settle this down —”

“No Jay, I am not going to settle this down. We’re done and we’re through, we made that very fucking clear that night.” You breathed out, feeling your heart getting heavy as you said those words. “And don’t you think just because I signed the contract doesn’t mean I wanted to act according to it. I am not going to show up to you Jay. Just being near you makes me sick.”

The elevator door rang. You didn’t wait for his answer. You went your way inside the elevator, pushing the close button in hurry as the last thing you saw was Jay’s disappointed face.

-

When did your love story with Jay even start?

Fall in Barcelona. One semester at a prestigious international school that specializes in business and economics. It sounds so preppy and nice to hear but you attended it by force. 

You were young. Living on your daddy’s credit card and older brother’s headache. Your mother enabled you and your grandparents loved their beautiful and only granddaughter. You get away with everything, well, almost.

It wasn’t a huge scandal that involved your name getting tainted and your company’s stocks going down. Your father was just sick of you partying and traveling around the world with no clear goal about your future. Sure, you have a degree in fashion merchandising, but the moment you got your diploma, you threw everything you’ve learned and just spent your life spoiled and loved. 

Hence, your cards got declined and you were forced to pack your bags and move to a foreign country just to study again. It was a punishment, you insisted, but your parents justified that in case you’re needed in the company, you have the basic skills about how business works. What a lame excuse, you think.

Of course, you’re not going to waste your parent’s money by not attending the semester. You’re actually fine with it. At least it’s in a foreign country. You’re living alone in a decent-size dorm room inside the university, and somehow, taking a crash course about something you’re quite interested in would be preferable than living the routine of your wild, youthful life. You still benefited from it since it was something productive and you also wanted to prove to your parents that you still have directions in your life.

Jay was a classmate of yours. He sticks out like a sore thumb from the whole section. He looked like he’s the one whose parents forced him to attend the semester rather than you.

Jay looked like a mixture of a rebel emo and a rockstar. Wearing nothing but rugged and baggy streetwear clothes in the shades of black and gray, and nothing else. Even his accessories were silver along with his almost silver-like blonde hair that looked like it’s been bleached a hundred times to achieve the shade.

It was easy to say that he did catch your attention. But you’re not the type to make the first move, and particularly, he wasn’t your type at first. Perhaps it was just a small crush, a fleeting feeling inside your stomach because despite his intimidating image, Jay was one of the impressive students in your section. 

It happened a month later. At a small gathering with your other classmates after class, you accepted it shyly, and unbeknownst to you, Jay was also there. The gathering was nice. At a restaurant nearby the school that’s known for its paella and wine. You conversed happily with some of them, and as an hour passed by, Jay had joined in naturally. 

The conversation started small. You didn’t even notice that it was just the two of you talking to each other later on. The wine had hit off, and the two of you were laughing your hearts off. He felt familiar — Jay reminded you of home given that both of you are from South Korea. You didn’t even realise that you were homesick until you had a talk with Jay.

He walked you home, the conversation and laughter never stopped and somehow, fall felt warm compared to its weather. He bid you goodbye with a smile which you reciprocated.

As you reached your dorm room, the smile on your face never left. Your heart was beating rapidly and you felt like a teenage girl experiencing her first love.

Jay entered your life naturally. The two of you became friends after that night. The sense of having someone you could relate to was the comfort that you needed in Barcelona. You’ve learned so much about Jay — his passion for music, love for cooking, and traveling. He was also a family man, the oldest among the two sons of the Park family.

He has a twin brother. A total opposite of him who chose his dream of becoming a racer. Jay was left to take over the business even though he had a liking for producing music. You also learned that he took the semester program so that he doesn’t have to do an internship under his uncle in America. His parents agreed with his deal and as soon as the semester ends, just like you, he’ll go home to South Korea.

You don’t know when it started. That crush of yours became deeper and soon, you could hear your heart beating rapidly than it should. Your cheeks warming just being near Jay, and the slightest actions that he does — placing you on the safer side of the road, carrying your bag, and dropping you off to your dorm building after class, makes you wonder if there’s a deeper meaning to it. You couldn’t even look into his eyes anymore.

You tried to conceal your feelings. Afraid to ruin the friendship — only for Jay to ruin it first.

The confession came unexpectedly. Really unexpectedly. At his apartment room after dinner. The leftovers of takeouts were still on his dining table. You were laying on his bed while he’s seated on the huge bean bag that he insisted was his couch, strumming his guitar named Tongtongie as he hummed an unfamiliar song by Bon Jovi. 

Then he stopped, stared at you for a while. The phrase, “I like you,” slipped out of his lips suddenly, your eyes widened and you almost fell off his bed out of shock. You hated him for catching you off-guard that night but you were happy because he has feelings for you — it was the easiest acceptance you ever did and the last thing you remembered was Jay’s blissful smile before he pulled you for a kiss. 

That night ended passionately. Tangled in the sheets and warmth shared with each other. You two weren’t each other’s first, but it felt so special than your past experiences. When you woke up next to him, looking at him who’s still in his slumber, the only thing you could think of was how lucky you were — and perhaps, it was fate that brought you to Barcelona so that you could meet Jay.

Your whirlwind relationship with Jay started. Suddenly, everything felt so right and there’s nothing in this world that matters except you and Jay. You two were on your honeymoon phase during the duration of the semester. Always together, crashing into each other’s place, and traveling to other cities as dates. Fights rarely happened and you two felt like you two understood each other the most.

The two of you didn’t hide your relationship from your family not because they won’t accept it, but it just so happens that you two are in Barcelona, you didn’t feel the need to tell your family about it and so did Jay. You were focused on your relationship with Jay. The codependency was there and it may seem sickening for others to always see you together everyday, but for the two of you, the world would probably end if one of you aren’t with the other.

Months passed and your relationship with Jay became deeper. More stronger and intimate. Promises were made and the future seems to be bright for the two of you. There are talks of ‘what-ifs’ and future plans, and one of them was that when two of you returned to South Korea, you’d tell everyone your relationship with Jay, and so will he.

Soon, the fall semester ended. You stayed for another month just to travel around Europe with Jay. Enjoying your time together before you two return home. Everything felt so right for you. It was perfect — way too perfect that the news that came after hit you harder than a bullet straight to your heart.

Jay wasn’t going to return to South Korea. He’s going to America to work for his uncle. To work. Not just a temporary internship but work. A stable job with stable income. Something that he needs to do before taking over his parent’s company. 

You were betrayed. Tears started to blur your sight as Jay casually told you the news. Destroying every plan and promises you two had. Your luggage was packed. Everything was settled. You were just about to wait for tomorrow to come for you to take your flight home, all excited and happy but Jay had to ruin it.

He insisted that your relationship could still work and his promises weren’t broken — just halted. You asked him when he will return to his home country. He couldn’t give you a definite answer and that was your cue.

You exploded and he was irritated. You two had a shouting contest, not one wanted to lower each other’s pride. It was messy, arguments became less logical and flaws started to be brought. In the end, you were a desperate mess as you begged him to stay with you. You were crying as you fell onto your knees and asked to stay with you.

Jay didn’t budge. He was mad at you. He couldn’t understand why you couldn’t understand that he was needed by his family? He’s doing this not only for his future, but your future together. He’s just going on a detour with his future — and you couldn’t understand that. He told you that not everything would go in your way just because you were spoiled growing up.

You slapped him right there. His left cheek burned and turned bright red, you called him every name you could think of like you didn’t love him for the past few months. Despite that, he didn’t say another thing about you. Jay just looked you dead in the eye and broke up with you. You didn’t fight for it, too tired and heartbroken that him calling it off didn’t hurt you anymore.

That was the last time you saw him. No goodbyes or closure. Jay left you there alone and devastated. The next day, you went home to your home country. Pale, depressed, and heartbroken. You acted like you were fine, but every time your family or relatives asked you about Barcelona, there was still a stinging pain in your heart. All you could think of was him.

You blocked him on every social media platform. Deleted every picture you had with him. Threw and burned every gift he has given to you, whether expensive or not — even the Cartier ring he brought you as a promise ring. You burned everything that’ll remind you of him — even the clothes you wore when you were in Barcelona. You did it in hopes that you’d get over him and heal your broken heart.

Three years had passed. You thought that you’ve moved on. You’re living your life now! You have a good reputation. Not a stable job but hey, at least your name has a price tag on it. You’re still a headache to your older brother but less tamer now. You didn’t date anyone around because of the trauma you had with Jay, you thought that it was better to keep yourself single for now. 

Now, fate seems to have other plans. Three years of moving on and suddenly you’re now going to be stuck with him for the following six months. Life could be cruel sometimes.

A week has passed and you’re in your bedroom. After last week’s fiasco at Heeseung’s office. You shut yourself in your room. Ignoring all the invitations your friends invited you, cancelling your treatment appointments, and just spending in bed rotting as you scroll through your social media.

The dating article of you and Jay had been confirmed by both sides. It was said that the two of you were seeing each other for almost a month. You two met in Italy wherein you attended the Milan fashion week while Jay was at the F1 grand prix to support his brother. An acquaintance set you two up and you two hit off right away. Yeah right.

The two of you agreed to keep your relationship a secret at the moment since you two are at the courting stage. It was also said in the article that Jay picked you up at the club wherein the paparazzis had taken photos of you and let you stay at his place which shouldn’t be anything malicious given that the two of you are seeing each other. You wanted to laugh at their lame excuses, and yet, it was still believable since the public believed it anyway.

They also stated to give respect to your relationship and the two of you would prefer for it to be private, which made you smile. That’s right. You thought. Keep it private, so you won’t have to act along with Jay in public.

You closed your phone and went out of your room to have your first meal of the day. It was ten in the morning. The whole house was empty except for the house helpers and the head butler. You gave them a simple greeting and smile before you proceeded to the kitchen to find something to eat.

“Ms. Lee,” you turned around to see a maid holding a huge box which stopped you.

“Another pr package? Could you place it inside my room? I’ll open it there, thank you,” you ordered with a smile.

“Of course Miss, it also came with a flower bouquet. Would you want to place it in a vase? It was quite big too.” she explained.

Having used these kinds of packages, you only nodded to her question. “Who sent them anyway?”

“It’s from Park Jongseong Miss.”

You stopped. Almost dropping the tupperware of your overnight oats as you heard his name.

“Throw it, I don’t care if it’s big — just throw it okay?” you ordered before eyeing at the box. “Leave that here. Next time, when you receive a package from Park Jongseong, just throw it okay? If it benefits you, you can keep it, just don’t give it to me nor inform me about things like that okay?” 

Shaking in fear, the maid nodded, “yes miss.” 

She placed the box in front of the kitchen island while you closed the fridge. Having no appetite anymore, you decided to open the sturdy box and to your surprise a dress was neatly folded inside.

But it wasn’t just any dress. It was a vintage Prada dress. You quickly placed the cover on the side and grabbed the dress. Placing it in front of you, your forehead creased as your hands trailed at the delicate piece. Clothes like these don't surprise you, but you were shocked that Jay had sent you this one.

Was it an invitation? I might be. You thought. There’s no way that Jay would send you a dress out of blue especially when you walked out of him last week.

“Miss, this came along with the bouquet,” your attention shifted to the maid who handed you over a small envelope.

You mumbled your thanks before eyeing at the envelope. It was small with a wax seal in the middle. You opened it quietly as your hunches were right — Jay has given you an invitation.

Save the date. — like it was a wedding or something. You couldn’t help but to roll your eyes as you eyed at the invitation once again. The logo of their company stood out on the corner while Jay’s signature was on the bottom right corner of the paper. You wondered what it was about but you guessed that it involved their company.

You decided to bring everything back to your room. Closing the door, that’s when you noticed the numerous missed calls from an unknown number.

Please don’t tell me this is Jay. You thought before pressing the number and letting it ring.

“Good, you picked up, I’ve been calling you for minutes now,” you closed your eyes out of frustration. You were right. It was Jay who called you.

“How did you get my number?” you asked.

“Heeseung gave it to me, since you walked out last week when we have a lot of things to talk about —”

“Wow, “a lot of things to talk about?” good call Mr. Park,” you sarcastically remarked. “When clearly, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Ms. Lee, I wanted to inform you that whatever we had in the past is in the past, there’s no need to bring it up. I am talking about our publicity stunt that involves our image and reputation.” Jay spoke with a formal tone and you are fighting the urge to curse him on the phone.

“Clearly, I don’t give a fuck about the publicity stunt,” you answered, smiling sweetly as you spoke. “And I made myself clear last week, we can just convince the public that we like to keep our relationship secret and there’s no need for public exposure and stuff.”

“This involves my family Ms. Lee, clearly they don’t know that we’re dating for the sake of publicity.”

“Then that’s a you-problem Jongseong, not mine.”

“Have you even read the damn contract or just skimmed it and called it a day?” Jay asked with an irritated tone. “It is implied there that if one of the parties doesn't comply with the contract’s conditions, they have to pay five billion won as a fine?”

Your eyes widened, “what kind of damn contract is that!? Five billion won!? Are fucking kidding me!?”

“Heeseung made the contract, he made sure that you’re going to comply with it, whether you like it or not. Your signed contract was notarized now by your family’s lawyer by the way,” Jay explained, and you swear to God that you could see his teasing smile over the phone.

“I’m gonna kill him and then I’m gonna kill you after.”

“That’s really nice babe but I still need to show up at my company’s housing project’s grand launching on Saturday — oh by the way, I hope you received the dress, the jewelry set should arrive this afternoon, wear it okay?”

“I guessed I’d just kill myself instead,” you answered instead. “And don’t ever call me that.”

Jay chuckled from the phone, “what? Do you want me to call you ‘wifey’ instead? I don’t mind though. We can settle with the endearments on Saturday, all right? I’ll pick you up at six this Saturday. Goodbye wifey.”

The call ended. You stood there frozen as your phone’s still on your ears. The silence deafened you as Jay’s words kept on ringing in your ears for a minute.

It’s been so long since you heard him call you that. That endearment that used to be so meaningful for you, now became something traumatizing to hear. You could have your heart tearing up once again as you bite your lips to conceal yourself from crying once again.

You don’t understand why Jay was acting like what you had in the past was just something light and casual — like you two didn’t end in a bad light and had many issues to talk about. You couldn’t comprehend in your mind how Jay talked to you like you were his business partner — as if he didn’t make you the happiest girl back in Barcelona.

But then again, this is Jay that we’re talking about. The same guy who left you for his career. He’s just doing this for the sake of his image and reputation. He’s not doing it for you, you convinced. You’re just a stain that almost ruined his image — nothing more and nothing less.

-

A black sleek Mercedes-Benz arrived at the doorsteps of your house by six in the evening. 

Upon the announcement of his arrival, that was cue. You grabbed your purse that matched the dress’ color, and with a few touches and perfume spray, you left your room. 

Jay was waiting by the living room, perfect in his three-piece suit as he checked his cufflinks last minute. Only did you get his attention when your Louboutin's clinked against the marbled tiles of your house’s staircase. Jay’s head turned quickly, eyes locked on you who’s walking downstairs.

His hand reached for you instinctively, and you quickly rolled your eyes as you ignored his hands, going downstairs on your own — it didn’t take too long for him to grab you by your arms.

“Oh my god, are you going to keep on grabbing my arms!?” you shrieked, tugging your arms away but his hold tightens. “Jay, you’re hurting me —”

“Could you please be professional for once and just go along with the contract?” he asked with a serious tone, making you raise an eyebrow.

“Unlike you Jay, I could never act professional when you’re around,” you stated. “Call me immature or whatever but do you think it’s easy for me to forget everything about us?”

“I am not asking you to forget about it,” he replied sharply. “Just for six months. Six damn months just go along with it. Just for the sake of our reputation, just do it. After six months, you can hate me all you want — loathe me, I don’t care! Just play pretend for once.”

Perhaps it was his tone that settled your anger down. The mixture of frustration and desperation. You hated that you quickly understood Jay despite all the hatred you had for him — just like you, he doesn’t like the situation too, but for reputation’s sake, he had no choice.

You wanted to lash out, to push him away, and tell him to fuck off, you don’t want to see his face ever again — but you signed the contract. You have to comply with every condition written there. 

For your family’s name and for your reputation. That’s all you had to look after, not your past with Jay or whatever lingering feelings you have with him.

Six months. Just six months. You could pretend that you two are okay, and he’s the love of your life — what a damn joke.

It’s a sickening play to act, but you had no choice. Everything was your fault after all. That’s why you lowered your pride this time, face softening as you look at him.

“Fine.” you said in defeat.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me Jay, don’t you ever thank me,” you dictated. “I’m doing this for myself.” 

The drive on the way to the convention hall was idly quiet. It was a silent truce for the two of you. The act had just begun and you’re internally praying for your frail heart to not be weakened by whatever scheme Jay will pull up from his sleeves.

Once you two reached the entrance, Jay had left his seat, giving the keys to the valet before opening your car’s door. You only gave him a glance before accepting his hand, his hold firm on yours, giving you the warmth that you’re in denial to accept.

“Ready?” he asked.

You looked at him before giving him a short nod. He removed his hand and placed it with his arms, you wrapped yours around it and with one last glance, the two of you went inside the convention hall.

The hall was bustling with people. Known names and wealthy businessmen gathered together for the grand launch of another housing project of the Park’s company. Press and reporters were also present, that’s why it didn’t surprise you when flashes of cameras welcomed you the moment you two entered the hall. 

Whispers became louder and the camera’s flashes became blinding, and yet, you kept your smile as your hold on Jay’s arm tightened. You could feel your heart bursting out anytime, your nerve coming all over you now that the attention’s on you and Jay.

Unlike you, Jay was calm and collected, wearing his usual formal smile as he looked at the cameras one-by-one before he tugged you towards the direction of his parents. 

“So this is the girl who swept your feet Jongseongie?” his mother started, eyeing at you with a smile. You felt intimidated as it felt like she was dissecting you.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Park,” you greeted with a soft tone. “I do apologize because of the trouble I caused —”

“Nonsense! Young love, and rumors, articles tend to be overexaggerated. I’m sure that what you and Jongseong had is real." she quickly brushed it off before giving you a genuine smile, making you chuckle out of nervousness.

“Nonetheless ma’am, I wish you could’ve known my relationship with Jongseong in a better manner,” you insisted.

The old woman chuckled once again at your words and instead of saying anything, she just pats your shoulder, “it’s not your fault sweetie don’t worry, I just wished Jongseong had introduced you earlier.”

“Mom, we’re taking things slow, it’s been just a month for us,” Jay justified. “Could you please excuse us now? I think y/n needs a drink.”

His mother eyed her son for a second before nodding. “Alright son, seems like you just want some alone time with her.”

Jay ignored his mother’s teasing tone before pulling you away from her — almost dragging you towards the wine section.

“She seems nice,” you commented.

“And interrogative,” Jay objected. “She’s just playing along, my mother almost fainted because of our scandal. She doesn’t believe that what we’re doing right now is real.”

You raised an eyebrow, “well, she has a good sense then, why not just tell her the truth?”

“Because she’s conservative, she believes in the sanctity of marriage and seeing me having a one-night stand scandal outraged her — why would I even have sex with someone I don’t even want to marry?”

“Right, why would you Jay? To someone you don’t want to marry?” you asked with a teasing tone.

He glanced at you, eyes glaring as he passed you the glass of wine which you accepted, electrified by the small touch of his skin, “you don’t even remember that night y/n.”

“And I could see that you were sober enough to know what happened,” you pointed out. “So why? Why would you sleep with me, knowing well of our past?”

“Have you ever thought that maybe it was you who threw herself to me that night?” he rebutted and you merely hummed.

“And you took advantage of it, right? I was drunk Jay, I was not in the right mind — while you? I supposed you’re sober that night since you keep on insisting that I barely remember anything.” 

Jay didn’t say a word, he only stared at you as he took a sip on his wine. You chuckled in disbelief as you took a sip of yours.

“So why?” you asked once again.

“We’re not having that conversation here.” Jay stated.

You smirked, “right, gonna play lovers first, alright hubby, what’s the next agenda?”

“Y/n.”

“What? You asked for this didn’t you?” you smiled.

He wasn’t able to rebut your words because someone had approached him regarding the formal opening of the event. He glared at you one last time, and you offered him a sweet smile before he decided to just follow the organizer of the event instead. A sigh of relief escaping you since you had won this time.

You were left to entertain your own. Some were friendly enough to approach and strike a conversation with you, knowing that your family’s a prominent name in the country. You’re used to these scenarios, so with a fake smile and sweet tone, you played nice in front of the public — just like what your family wishes you to do.

Conversations were mostly about you and Jay. Same questions; when did you guys meet, what did you like about him, and apologies for getting caught with the scandal. It annoyed you for a moment, but you just decided to brush it off and gave them the information that they wanted. 

Another hour had passed before the event had formally started. Jay was in front, a glass of champagne on his hand as he recited his speech about their company’s new housing project somewhere in Seoul.

Everyone applauded, while you stood there, eyes never leaving him. He looked so mature — so clear of his future. Far from the Jay you met in Barcelona. He knew the words that he needed to say and the words were eloquent and appropriate — far from your reckless and spoiled self, and that stung you for a bit.

It felt bitter. Seeing your ex-boyfriend achieving everything that he wanted. He’s the CEO of their company now. He has a bright goal for his company while you’re still hung up with your freedom — still hung up with your past relationship with him.

Now, watching him from a distance, you wondered what would’ve been if you weren’t that drunk that night. Maybe, you could’ve saved you and Jay’s reputation. In that way, you could’ve saved your heart from its incoming pain too.

“So, you’re my twin brother’s girlfriend,” you flinched when you heard a voice from your left side. 

There stood a man who’s pale as a ghost. Hair cleaned and bangs down along with his glasses, he was wearing a more leaned smart casual compared to Jay’s expensive suits. He was smiling at you, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Jay’s twin brother?” you asked.

“Park Sunghoon,” he introduced as he stretched out his hand.

“Oh, the racer,” you remembered before accepting his hands. “You’re quite handsome.”

“Thanks, I get that a lot,” he spoke and you smiled at his words. 

“More handsome than Jay though.” you clarified and he chuckled at your compliment.

“I have a girlfriend, for your information.”

You smiled became sweeter, more flirtier as you removed your hands from his. “Can I compliment you without thinking that I am hitting on you?”

“You said I’m more handsome than your boyfriend.”

“Why? It’s a subjective preference,” you insisted, casually shrugging. “Despite being more handsome than him, Jay’s still my type though. Hope that eases you that I am clearly not interested in you.”

“You’re weird, I wonder why Jay talks about you like you’re a goddess or something.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I know,” he smirked. “I hope you'll take good care of Jay.”

“What am I? His caretaker?” you raised an eyebrow. 

“Just looking after him. Do you know that he used to work in America?” Sunghoon asked and you shook your head as answer.

“Why? What’s up with America?” you asked.

Sunghoon leans close to you, your breath halting as you feel him too close to you. 

“Why don’t you go and ask him about what happened to him in America?” he whispered in your right ear before giving you a meaningful stare, making you confused as to what he meant.

“What do you mean?”

But Sunghoon only smirked as he glanced at your back, making you turn around only to see Jay walking towards the two of you.

“Well, I guess our conversation had been cut short, I hope I’ll see you around y/n,” Sunghoon raised his wine glass before walking away from you — just in time for Jay to arrive at your place.

“People are looking y/n,” he warned and you raised an eyebrow.

“I am just talking to your brother, if you see it with any malicious intent, that’s your problem,” you stated. “Unless you’re jealous.”

He scoffed, “I am not jealous. I am just making sure —”

“That my image is good? I care for it too Jay. There's nothing wrong with talking to Sunghoon. Was I the one who leaned close to him? No right? So don’t you think that I was doing something bad here, ” you refuted.

“Just be careful,” he advised once again. 

“I am careful,” you smiled at him sweetly. “It’s you who should be careful. Now, if you want to convince people that we’re a couple, give me a smile and kiss rather than throwing daggers at me with your stare.”

Jay’s serious expression softened for a moment. He heaved out a sigh before wrapping his arms around your shoulder, before you knew, his lips landed on the temple of your face. Murmurs began to fill the venue but you chose to ignore it as you stare at Jay with a devilish smirk on your face.

“See? It’s not that bad right?” you taunted.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered to you.

“Not if you killed me first,” you whispered back. “But then again, you agreed to this idea, so you better suck it up, Park.”

Jay didn’t say another word — not when his father tapped his shoulder, requesting his presence to talk to some business partner. Jay nodded at his father’s request and you’re sure that he was about to leave you alone, but Jay had pulled you along with him. His right hand snaked around your waist, holding you tightly as he leaned to your ears.

“Better put on a great show wifey,” his words sent chills down your spine. You only stared at him and the next thing was he had stolen a kiss from you. With a smirk on his face and the shocked expression of yours, it was easy to say who had won the argument that moment.

You weren’t able to refute his words. You stuck beside him as your persona changed into that sweet and darling socialite of your family, now in a more upgraded version of being Jay’s significant other.

The whole night, you stood beside Jay, like a trophy wife of his. Smiling and charming every businessman he talked to which left them impressed by your presence.

Jay easily went along with it. He felt natural with the way he held your waist dearly, the subtle kisses on your temple and forehead, and even leaning down when you wanted to say something — you two could pass as actors just for the show.

Never did he think that your insides were churning, every smile and gestures he made you want to throw up.

If this is what you’ll be doing for the next six months, you’d soon feel yourself slowly being killed inside — and yet, you suck it up. It was out of sheer spite. You wanted to prove him wrong that you could be professional and set aside everything you two had, just to prove to him — to everyone, especially your family that you could comply with the stunt.

The event ended before the clock struck twelve.

Jay dropped you off at your place. The whole ride was nothing but mere silence. Something about tonight felt so draining compared to the past events you’ve attended. You assumed it was because pretending was way harder than you thought, especially when you have to deal with your ex-boyfriend who seemed to be casual with the idea.

Thankfully, Jay didn’t bother you throughout the ride. He could’ve sensed that you had no energy to talk to him and he let it be. Drowning the silence of the ride with the music humming on the radio.

“Thank you,” Jay blurted out before you could even get out of the vehicle. “For playing along.”

You blinked, sinking in what just happened that night. You looked at him dead in the eye. “I told you to not thank me Jay. I am doing this for my own good.”

“You’re quick to dissolve the act,” he commented.

“It’s just the two of us here, there’s no need to pretend,” you mumbled before opening the door. “I hope tonight was enough for you, don’t call me or text me anymore, I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“You know you have to put up with me for the next six months right?”

“Why?” you glanced back at him. “Why Jay? Why do we have to suffer in this pretend relationship when both of us are too angry at each other?”

“Who says I am angry at you?”

You looked at him for a minute. His expression was serious yet soft, and you almost fell for it. 

A scoff of disbelief escaped your lips instead, stepping out of the car before leaning down to look at him. “Jay, I hate you enough that I don’t want to see your face, and I am saying this again, I am doing this for my reputation, not yours, and I am not going to be at every event and public appearance you have. I hope this will be the last time we see each other.”

Jay didn’t say a word. The door slammed so hard that he had gritted his teeth at the sound. He watched as you entered your house and did not even bother looking back at him — leaving him there looking like a fool, as he brushed his hair out of frustration before deciding to drive away.

-

If only the contract had a one month validation then you would have peace.

Surely, it’s been a month since that Saturday event occurred. You were thankful that Jay was still a CEO nevertheless — which means he’s a busy man, and that also means he’s too busy to spare time for you. 

Jay didn’t text nor call you for a month, and you could feel relieved at the idea that your past isn’t haunting you — and hopefully, for the next few months, he won’t either.

You kept yourself busy. You attended events, went to brand launches, and spent your free time with just you and only you alone, like you used to do. Acting like you don’t have a boyfriend who is supposed to be there to carry your bag, to shower you with love in public, but whatever, you’re good on your own.

Perhaps a month was too long because it caught you off-guard that Jay showed up at one of the charity events you launched along with your friends, wearing smart-casuals and holding a huge bouquet of lilies on his hands.

“What are you doing here?” you asked the moment you’re in front of him, glaring at him whose nose was runny and red, a funny sight for you.

“Congratulations on the event, I didn’t know you’re the type to throw events like this,” he said before handing you the bouquet, way too harsher than he supposed but you know that he couldn’t breathe properly at that moment, so you accepted.

“You’re so performative,” you commented, eyeing at the gorgeous flower arrangement which should’ve flattered your heart but Jay’s continuous sniffing wasn’t helping. “Stop giving me flowers if it’s going to be the death of you, showing up would be fine — how did you even know about this?”

“A friend of a friend informed me that you’re one of the main organizers, which saddens me that you didn’t inform me about this.” Jay explained, making you roll your eyes.

“It’s a charity event Jay, you think that it’s necessary for us to show PDA when there are children dying?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Touchè.” he commented and you only groaned at his comment.

“Are you done? You could leave now, I am busy here and if you’re going to disturb me then —”

“Pack your bags,” Jay told you, halting your words.

“Excuse me what?”

“Pack something worth a week, it’s f1’s grand prix in Singapore this week, we’re going to watch it.” he explained.

“Jay, I have plans this week.”

“Already asked Heeseung to clear them,” Jay replied. “We’re going to support Sunghoon. Singapore is his lucky country.”

“Is this necessary? Would it be bothersome that your twin’s race would be overshadowed by us?”

Jay chuckled at your words, “the Park twins in one event? It’s a blast, with their girlfriends? That’s another headline to watch out for.”

“Is that really necessary?” you asked once again, groaning against his words.

“Just supporting my brother wifey,” he answered.

“You’re going to be the death of me Jongseong,” you mumbled back, and yet, you were left with no choice, knowing if you didn’t comply, you had to pay the fine. “Alright, this event will end around three, I don’t know what you want to do, maybe stick around and donate a huge amount — just don’t disturb me at the moment, I am busy.”

“I already did donate earlier, I’m just passing by,” he didn’t let you say another word when he placed a quick peck on your cheeks, completely catching you off-guard. You watched as the smirk on his lips became evident as he stared at you. “I’ll pick you up later at eight wifey, don’t worry about the expenses too, I had it covered.”

He left you there with jaw-dropped and a blushing mess. You badly wanted to throw the lilies back to him but you concealed it, changing your demeanor and pretending that what he did just made your heart skip a beat.

-

Singapore was heated — both from the weather and the grand prix.

You and Jay arrived at the day of the race, gathering attention from the media and crowd. You wore a muted red dress that’s thin enough for the hot weather, while Jay was wearing a red polo shirt with Ferrari's logo embroidered on the right chest area — a perfectly curated choice of outfit for the race and the stunt. You were holding hands with Jay as you plastered your smile as the media continued taking photos of the two of you. 

After a short interview about how you two feel about the race, you two moved towards the Ferrari team’s pit garage. Jay seemed to be used to the place, greeting the staff and team there with a smile and firm handshake, along with introducing you to them. You gave them your bright smile as they guided you to an area where you could monitor the race.

“Wonyoung!” Jay shouted, calling the attention of the girl who was monitoring the screen. She glanced at the two of you before giving them a smile and wave.

“Y/n this is Wonyoung, Sunghoon’s girlfriend,” Jay introduced as she waved once again.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she greeted with a smile which you reciprocated immediately. 

“It was nice meeting you two — wow, you’re so beautiful,” you complimented, making her smile wider. “What do you do for a living? You could be a model, you know?”

“Thank you, I’m taking law at the moment, but I’m also a professional ballerina,” she shared and that amazed you further.

“How long have you and Sunghoon been together?” you asked.

“About four years. We met in New York,” Wonyoung shared, before eyeing you and Jay. “You two are fairly new right? Sorry, Sunghoon talked about you two that’s why I knew.”

“It’s okay, I’m used to it.” you assured before continuing your conversation with her. 

The race started a few minutes later. With the countdown going down to zero, all you could hear was the loud sprint of race cars towards the route for the following moment.

Unfortunate to you, you have zero knowledge about formula one and racing. Wearing earmuffs, you stared at the screen with your mind blank, only eyeing Sunghoon’s car that had an 8 placed on it, not knowing what’s happening as the announcer continued to ramble about the race. 

You aren’t used to this kind of event. It’s too noisy, too masculine, but Wonyoung, who was standing next to you, seemed to be used to it. Eyeing carefully at the monitor screen as her hands clasped like she’s praying for her boyfriend’s safety.

Your eyes would shift to her from time to time, feeling a small envy at how she’s maintained her long relationship with Sunghoon. Even after your short conversation with her earlier, you’ve felt that their relationship was a fairytale-like dream especially with how they met. 

While you? Here you are playing pretend with your ex-boyfriend. Jay was too focused on the race, too distracted that he’s being too loud and noisy — and it irritated you. 

“Jay, could you please calm down? You’re like a kid who ate a whole jar of sugar,” you nagged and Jay only eyed you.

“You don’t understand, Sunghoon’s on fifth — that’s his highest place in his career, if he could pass the others, he might have a chance of getting a podium.” he explained and yet, everything he said just flew past your head.

“Frankly, I really don’t understand Jay, you literally dragged me here just to watch Sunghoon’s race.” You reiterated.

“Could you at least act like you’re enjoying the race?”

“Jay, you know me, these kinds of things aren’t exactly my type of hobbies.” you pointed out. “What kind of boyfriend are you if you’re going to bring your girlfriend to places that she clearly doesn’t give a fuck about?”

“What kind of girlfriend are you if you couldn’t support your boyfriend’s brother’s career?” he spatted. “And stop frowning, cameras are everywhere.”

“Funny that you warned me about that when you’re the one who looks like an angry bird here.”

“Just shut the fuck up.” he commanded and you smiled at him.

“Or what?” you taunted, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you guys fighting?” you two stopped when Wonyoung’s voice hovered in the area. The two of you turned your heads towards her, who had a worried expression on her face.

“Just a small misunderstanding, y/n was just asking some questions,” Jay immediately reasoned out. “What happened?”

The girl seemed to be convinced, nodding as she shifted her eyes back to the screen. “Still halfway through the race, Sunghoon’s place is still fifth — just praying everything’s going well.”

Jay nodded at her words, focusing his attention towards the screen while you grumbled something under your breath as you tried to watch the race once again.

“Behave.” Jay spoke with an authoritative tone.

“You’re not the boss of me Park,” you sassed.

He stared at you for a second, ice cold that you flinched. 

But you were startled when his lips landed on yours perfectly. Loud and soft that it didn’t process in your mind what just happened.

“That’ll shut you up,” he smirked before shifting back towards the race leaving you alone.

You became quiet for the remaining moments — the only thing you were thinking of was how warm Jay’s lips were on yours. Kisses were still part of the contract, but you didn’t expect him to kiss you on the lips — in front of the public, if you may add.

It didn’t even process in your mind that the pit garage started to become more noisy and rougher as an announcement that felt deaf to your ears boomed through the whole place.

“What happened?” you asked. 

“Sunghoon just secured a podium after taking over Mercedes,” Jay explained, excitement written all over his place. “If he remains in his position until the final lap, it’ll be his first podium since he started his career.”

“Oh, is that great?” you asked, internally wincing at how dumb you feel right now.

“Of course, it means that his career won’t go to waste,” Jay shared. “It’s also a big slap to our parents that he’s on the right path.”

You nodded, eyes darting back on the screen. You don’t know how many laps are left in the race but Jay became louder, shouting encouraging words and curses as he watched his twin brother’s race against the other sports car. You only stood there watching as your eyes remained on the screen, still processing everything that’s happening.

Then it came. A shout. A string of curses as Jay and Wonyoung started screaming. The whole pit garage started to celebrate. Everyone was crying and shouting in happiness while you only looked at them confused.

“Oh my god!” Wonyoung shouted, eyes almost like a saucer and mouth opened wide. “Oh my god Jay!”

“Holy shit!” Jay shouted as he roughly brushed his hair, a deep exhale escaped his lips. “P1! He got a fucking p1!”

“Sunghoon won! He won — oh my goodness!” Wonyoung shouted, tears started to drip from her eyes as her knees weakened at the news.

“What —” you weren’t able to process everything when Jay hugged you all of the sudden. Your eyes widened at his action but you weren’t able to do anything but to let his whole body swallow you whole.

“Sunghoon won! He won this race y/n!” Jay announced. Lifting you up and spinning you around like a doll. That’s when it sinked into you why the team became more loud, more rougher as their cheer boomed inside the pit garage. 

You eyed the monitor. Seeing Sunghoon’s car drawing circles inside the track before getting out of the car. His voice was loud enough as he screamed for his victory. He removed his helmet out of excitement, running towards his team where he was welcomed with scream and cheers. 

Then Wonyoung went out of the garage, jumping in joy as Sunghoon ran towards her. Lifting her up as he gave her the most bone-crushing hug you have ever witnessed. You watched as Wonyoung kissed Sunghoon who reciprocated it more aggressively. Cameras started to swarm them — it looked like something straight out of a romance movie. Your eyes were on them that it hadn’t sinked into you that Jay was still hugging you, his hug becoming tighter as his head rested on top of yours.

“Fuck — holy shit —” you could hear his muffled sobs, which surprised you, that’s why you became concerned as Jay’s body started to shake.

“There, there,” you hushed as you rubbed circles on his back. “Sunghoon did great, he won.”

“I’m so proud of him,” Jay shared before lifting his head. You looked at him as his eyes were watery and red. Quipping a smile, you only cupped his cheeks, brushing it tenderly as you felt a sigh of relief escaping his lips which settled you down.

“I’m sure you are,” you only told him with a smile. 

“Thank you, thank gods — I,” you nodded at his stutters. Knowing it was hard to process his twin brother’s win, you let him crash down on you as you pulled him on a hug once again even though your heart was panicking deep inside. 

-

Sunghoon’s win was historic.

His name was all over the news and everything varied; his win, his victory kiss with his girlfriend, and of course, Jay’s presence in the pit garage along with you. Every article was filled with positive feedback from the public, and even your moment with Jay at the pit garage trended because of the sweet moment. 

After the race day, Sunghoon stayed in Singapore for another day. The twins had surprised you and Wonyoung with a double date, and you weren’t able to reject it since it’s a celebration of Sunghoon’s win too.

The Marina Bay Sands looked breathtaking by evening. You arrived at the dock around seven in the evening. The waters were calm as the night was filled with a chill breeze. You were wearing something casual for the night, not knowing what the Park twin’s plans were as the four of you arrived by the dock.

“What do you mean this isn’t a double date?” you whispered to Jay as the two of you were being separated from the couple, going to another yacht parked nearby.

“Sunghoon has plans,” Jay shrugged. “Just enjoy the night, think of it as a celebration of his win.”

“Right, but he’s not my boyfriend.” you objected.

“Of course, he’s your boyfriend’s twin brother.”

You scoffed, “you’re enjoying this too much hubby.”

“I like teasing you wifey,” he smirked before he leaned closer to you. “And don’t forget to smile, photographers are everywhere. You don’t want to make a scene right?”

You only stared at him before rolling your eyes. Jay chuckled at his win, grabbing your hands as the two of you were guided towards the yacht’s entrance.

The yacht sailed off. You enjoyed the breeze of the night as it flew past the waters and stopped somewhere in the middle wherein it’s far enough from the land yet still near to see a portion of Singapore. The night fell into a cool breeze, and thankful enough, you were wearing a long-sleeved blouse for tonight.

Jay led you outside wherein a table for two was set along with the candle lights and fancy wine. You stared at it for a second before Jay guided you towards your seat. He was chivalrous enough to push the seat for you before going to his seat.

“So, Sunghoon and Wonyoung are having the same thing?” you asked, eyeing at the yacht a few meters apart from the two of you.

“Of course,” Jay said. “We planned this after all.”

“Planned?” you raised an eyebrow. 

“For publicity of course,” he reminded, making you quiet before a bitter smile formed on your lips. 

“Right, of course,” you mumbled. “Then don’t forget your sweetest smile then Jay — like you’re hopelessly in love with me.”

“Do you really want it? You might fall in love with me again.” he tested.

“I’d rather fall out of this yacht than let it happen.” you told him with a smile.

“Then I’d dive in to save you.”

You scoffed at his words, “can we start eating now?”

Dinner was served a few minutes later. Despite the tension you two had earlier, you ate with ease. The food was great, a bit cold but you understand that it’s been sitting inside the yacht for hours, and since you were hungry, you ate without any complaints.

The two of you ate in silence — in an awkward, quiet silence since this has been the first time you two had gone out for a “date.” you ignore the way Jay kept looking at you from every minute. It had you wondering if he wanted to strike a conversation or maybe, he just wanted to check on you.

As the night became deeper, the tension started to dissolve as the plates became clean and the bottle of wine had been half-emptied.

“Did you enjoy Singapore?” Jay asked out of nowhere.

“It was okay,” you answered bluntly, since for the past few days, you were just at the grand prix with Jay. “I’ve been here a hundred times, so this is nothing new for me.”

“Even the grand prix?”

“I was totally clueless about it,” you stated. “I think I’m going to trend for looking bored inside the pit garage.”

Jay looks at his phone, smiling as he shows you the screen, “I think we’re trending for a different reason.”

You knew what he meant. You nodded at his words, “You were crying.”

“I was just overjoyed. Sunghoon’s been pushing himself hard just to get a podium — but a win? It was more than we wished for.”

“You’re proud of him.”

“I am, of course I am,” he only smiled and that made your heart skip a beat. “Thank you for comforting me too. That’s the reason why we’re trending too.” 

“Good job to us then,” you only said, hoping that your words didn’t feel bitter. “So what’s Sunghoon’s plan?”

“You’ll see.” Jay shortly replied.

“Does that mean we have to wait til it happens? I’m getting sleepy now.” you complained and Jay only chuckled.

He then glanced at his watch, smiling as the time ticked before looking up to the sky. “Just wait, it’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Just in time he had finished his words. A loud explosion of fireworks lit up the sky, surprising you. Colorful lights and fire hovered over Singapore's sky. A gasp escaped your lips as you stood up from your seat. Head staring at the sky as you watch the continuous fireworks show.

“Oh my god!” you shouted the moment your eyes landed on the other yacht.

“He’s proposing! Sunghoon’s proposing!” you shouted in excitement as you looked at Jay who only had a small smile. 

“I told you he has plans,” Jay stated, eyes on you who was watching the scene unfold. 

Your heart glistened in bliss as despite not hearing their conversation, you knew that Wonyoung said yes. The way she jumped in joy, hands covering her opened mouth before placing her right hand in front of Sunghoon. 

They hugged and Sunghoon pulled her to a loving kiss — and you became quiet yet filled with joy for Wonyoung.

“Wow,” it was the only thing you could say before sitting back on your seat. “It was so beautiful.” 

“Really?” Jay amusingly asked.

You nodded. Smile still wide at the thought. “They’re made for each other too — I just, gosh, being in love is such a beautiful thing right?”

Jay’s stare on you never left, his gaze softening as he replied, “of course.”

The atmosphere changed. Throughout the remainder of the night, the two of you talked like a couple who’s out on a date. None of your minds ever crossed what you two used to be. No one dared to ruin the atmosphere of the night. Perhaps just for once — the two of you wanted to set it aside, confined with the pretend relationship you two had — that is, if you two are even pretending at that moment.

Because you didn’t notice how Jay’s eyes glistened as he stared at you, or how you talked nonstop to him, sharing gossip and laughter as if you weren’t rolling your eyes at him earlier. The night shifted into this atmosphere that somehow felt peaceful for the two of you.

Even when you two had arrived back at the dock, the smile on your face never left. It even became wider when you approached Wonyoung who gave you a tight hug.

“It’s so gorgeous!” you complimented as you looked at the silver band with a huge deep peridot as the stone. 

“It’s my birthstone,” Wonyoung smiled. 

“It’s a Park tradition,” Sunghoon explained, his smile proud. “The ring she’s wearing is a family heirloom. It means that she’s part of the family now.”

“Congratulations,” you bid to Wonyoung again.

“I’m expecting you at my wedding,” she stated.

You only nodded at her words before you two looked at the ring once again, ignoring the twins who looked at the two of you with much fondness.

“Someday, you’d be in my place too,” Sunghoon whispered to his twin.

Jay bitterly laughed, “you think so?”

“Just hold on there man,” he stated before shifting his gaze back at you. “It takes time after all.”

-

Perhaps it’s the way he holds you — or the way Jay looks at you. Your heart doesn’t skip a beat anymore and all your anxiety starts to wash off.

Slowly, you’re convinced that you’ve grown adjusted to it. 

Got used to his hands wrapped around your waist, his hand holding yours — even brushing your hair. Got used to his hands, the kisses — cheeks, temples, and hands. It feels natural every time he does it that your heart doesn’t betray you anymore. It got so used to all of it that you’ve become numb at it.

You also got used to his dates and invitations. The big public appearance on important events or just a stroll by the park. You had the choice to refuse, make up a lie and convince him that you’re not feeling well. But you always say yes because in the back of your mind, if you don’t comply, you have to pay a hefty amount of money — as if it was even a problem in the first place.

“You okay?” your thoughts snapped out when you heard Jay’s voice.

“I’m okay,” you immediately replied. “What are we doing again?”

“We’re going to our family seamstress, we need to get your own dress for Sunghoon’s wedding,” Jay explained.

“Is this why you invited me over lunch?” you asked as you took a sip on your juice.

“You don’t turn down my invites though,” he rebutted.

“Well I don’t want to pay five billion won,” you said. “Why is it necessary for us to go and shop for clothes together when you could just have it delivered to me like the previous dresses.”

“Because I want us to match,” he suggested, and you raised an eyebrow at him. “And just think of it as a last gift for you.”

“So romantic,” you sarcastically replied and yet you let him be, because you’re used to this scenario. The dates that were always filled with bitterness and remarks. The way he smirks and you scoff at his words as the tension between you continues to leak and yet —  from an outsider’s perspective, you two are just a couple who’s in love with each other.

You two didn’t end up at the shopping district — Jay drove towards a farther shop outskirts. You raised an eyebrow as you ended up somewhere less crowded and in a more quiet street in the area.

“We have a custom tailor for weddings and important family events,” Jay shared as he opened the car’s door for you. “They’ve been making our suits and gowns for generations, that’s why I brought you here.”

“I’m not even going to be part of your family,” you stated and Jay bitterly smiled.

“I just want to give it to you as a gift.” he reasoned out. “Come on.”

The store was huge nonetheless. The first thing you saw were the hundreds of ready-to-wear gowns and suits on display. It was quiet, faintly smelled like fabrics and peppermint tea. You wandered at the photos displayed on the walls, seeing their creations and designs that left you in awe.

The two of you were greeted by an elderly couple who seemed to have known Jay since he was baby. With a couple of instructions and suggestions, Jay was being led by the old man while your eyes were still on the photo wall.

“Why don’t you try some first?” Jay suggested. “I needed to get my measurements done, you can go check out some of the gowns.”

“Alright,” you proceeded to skimmed at the rack, choosing some different gowns before proceeding towards the fitting room.

Every gown was perfect for you. The material, the design, and even the color. You badly wanted to take them all but you knew it’ll be too much to ask — you just needed the perfect gown for the wedding.

You returned to the rack a few minutes later before proceeding to grab a few more to try. You were so busy looking at the displays that you didn’t notice that the old lady had approached you.

“Try this one,” the old lady said, handing you a white one, making your eyes wide.

“Oh, I shouldn’t wear that, it’ll be disrespectful for the bride,” you said.

“Of course dear, but would you like to try?” she asked. “You’re here nonetheless, might as well try on the gowns you’ve never seen before.”

You stared at her before she insisted on the gown. Hence, you grabbed it without any complaints and returned to the fitting room.

The gown doesn’t even suit your taste. A huge ballgown that has an off-shoulder and long-sleeves, it felt too old and traditional for your taste and yet you were surprised how it fit you like a glove — that old lady picked the right one for you.

“You look gorgeous dear,” the owner spoke. “Oh, Jongseongie chose the right girl for him.” 

You laughed at her words, “thank you ma’am.”

“Should we show it to Jongseong?” she asked. You stood there for a second before you nodded to her request.

Jay was too busy with getting his measurements checked, not even noticing your presence as the seamstress helped you with carrying the train of the gown. 

You didn’t even need to call him out, the tailor who’s measuring him tapped him and pointed at you, and the moment he turned around, you held down your breath.

Jay — in a slow motion, walked towards you. Eyes wide and breath stolen by your mere presence in the white wedding dress.

“Woah,” he breathes out. “You…you look like a bride.”

“Thanks,” you shortly replied with a smile.

“No seriously,” Jay stated, eyes still on yours. “It suits you, you look ethereal.”

You laughed at his words, “using deep words now Jongseong?”

“You know that I like using deep words to compliment someone that I really like.”

“I know, it makes you more smart than you look.”

He smiled and before you knew it, he held your hand and kissed it gently — too gentle for the act as he stared at you like you’re on your wedding day and he’s your groom.

“You’d be the most beautiful bride the world will see,” he stated and your heart stopped.

Not because his words flustered you nor did you blush by his act, but because you found it ironic that he’s the one who’s telling you that compliment.

And yet, you didn’t have the guts to ruin the moment, so you gave him a smile and nod, “thank you Jay.”

The conversation was cut short. You found a cute powder pink gown for the wedding and not long after, they took your measurements for the alterations before you and Jay left the shop for some coffee and pastries back in the shopping district.

“You should buy the wedding gown,” Jay suggested making you glance at him.

“Where would I even use it?” you asked, laughing.

“For your wedding.”

“Really? You think I’ll still get married?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Someday,” he spoke, eyes gleaming softly. “It’s your only dream right? To have your own happy ending?”

“You’re making it sound like it’s a childish thing to dream for.”

“No, I always admired that for you,” he said. “You have everything already, it’s the only thing you wanted the most.”

“I could’ve had it,” years ago. If only you two worked out. But you only stared at Jay and he knew immediately what you meant. 

He took a sip on his drink, and you followed him shortly. Letting the silence pour between the two of you — a sudden halt in the conversation as you two telepathically decided that it was best to keep that afternoon quiet instead of letting the atmosphere turn sour by bringing up the past. 

And yet, it left a bitter impression on you. At how Jay could be so casual about inviting you on dates and events. How he doesn’t seem to be bothered by your past and everything he does were strictly in compliance with the contract, meanwhile your heart’s burning in ache just by being a few meters near him.

Still, you’ve adjusted to him — and you hated that he had swooned you in just a short span of time, internally cursing your poor heart for being too weak for Park Jongseong.

-

It didn’t help that a few weeks later, Jay showed up at your house for a family dinner — making you raise an eyebrow.

“Your parents invited me,” Jay shared.

“Why?” you asked.

“Why not?” it wasn’t him who answered but instead, your older brother. “They’re curious about Jay, they haven’t formally met him after all. Both of you are still the talk of the town at the moment.”

“Why? They both know that we’re pretending,” you justified.

“Yet, Jay managed to tame you for a bit,” Heeseung smirked and you rolled your eyes.

“That means I don’t have to act sweet towards you,” you snarled at Jay. “good, I’m getting tired of it.”

“You seem used to it,” Jay commented with a devilish smirk.

“Don’t push my buttons Jongseong,” you barked before going towards the dining room.

“Sorry about her,” Heeseung apologized to the younger male, while Jay only laughed.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it,” Jay assured and Heeseung raised an eyebrow knowingly, clicking his tongue as he pats the former’s shoulder.

“Used to it huh?” He spoke with a meaningful smile. “I guess you two got to know each other in just that short span of time.”

Dinner happened around seven in the evening. Complete course meals with rare delicacies and your favorite salad. The first few minutes were just for small talks, but when the wine started to be poured and desserts had sweetened everyone on their seats, conversations became endless, coursing through your pretend relationship and business-related topics.

“You’re a very fine man Jongseong,” your mother spoke with a smile. “Very charming right y/n?”

You chose to ignore her words, focused on your cake which earned a dead air in the table.

“y/n, mom’s talking to you,” Heeseung called out, making you glance at them.

“Yes, Jay’s charming — deadly charming I must say,” you said in a venomous tone. 

“Do you have any problems with Jongseong, y/n?” your father asked, raising a suspicious glance at the man.

“She’s just being stubborn again,” your brother justified.

“Wow, it feels like he’s your pretend boyfriend with the way you defend him,” you commented at your brother.

“Because you’re acting like Jay killed you or something — why do you even hate him?” he asked you back, and you suddenly became quiet.

Would it be a perfect way to ruin the dinner by confessing to them that Jay used to be part of your past? Perhaps, if you were feeling irrational tonight, you would’ve let that secret pass your lips, and hopefully, your parents would’ve understood why you had an attitude with the man sitting next to you.

But before you could even speak, Jay’s hands grabbed yours underneath the table. You looked at him who had a genuine smile on his face as he looked at your brother.

“Heeseung, it’s okay,” Jay interjected. “I know it’s not really ideal, our relationship you must say, I understand where y/n’s coming from and don’t worry, there are no hard feelings for both of us.”

“If Jay has no problems, then you shouldn’t be too stubborn y/n,” your father commented. “It’s embarrassing for Jongseong if you keep that attitude.”

“Clearly, he’s used to my attitude,” you spoke before standing up. “And clearly, I am not going to let myself be tamed by some guy just because of one mistake.” 

“Your mistake I may add,” Heeseung butted in and you groaned heavily.

“One mistake doesn’t define me,” you gritted before glancing at Jay. “and one mistake is enough for me to learn my lesson. I have enough of this.” 

You left the dining room. Your slippers striking against the marbled floor before Jay moved, standing up and excusing himself to follow you eventually.

“That’s quite a show,” Heeseung commented before taking a sip on his wine.

“Heeseung,” his father called out and he only hummed.

“Just trust me with this one dad,” he smiled meaningly. “Just be patient, Jay knows what to do with her.”

You don’t know how Jay somehow found you in your mother’s garden, by the bench nearby the orchid walls. Sitting with your arms wrapped around your knees, a thing you do when you’re worried. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, tone cold and angry that Jay was taken back.

“What the hell is your problem?” Jay asked as he approached you with his expression turned into confusion. “I thought we’re okay? We were fine weeks ago.”

“That’s the problem,” you pointed out. “We’re okay when we’re not supposed to! I should be loathing you Jongseong! Cursing you for breaking my heart and leaving me devastated.”

“You’re still hung up with that!? It’s been three years, you have to move on.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to move on, you don’t dictate that to me when for the past three years that’s what I’ve been trying to do!” you shouted at him, standing up just to face him with nothing but hatred. “Then suddenly, you’re here with this fake relationship stunt, and you’re acting like we’re okay and I hate you for thinking that you could casually enter my life again!”

“We’re in a damn contract y/n, I told you for six months just set everything aside. Just for six months.” he reminded.

“You think I could handle that? Do you think I can handle everything you do to me? Touching me, kissing me, and smiling at me like you’re still in love with me!? You’re so damn good in this pretend act Jay that I don’t even know if what you’re doing is real or not.” you rebutted.

Jay became quiet. He looked at you with a meaningful stare — and that immediately hit you.

“No fucking way.” you breathed out.

“I am not faking it,” Jay confessed. “Everything I do, it’s real.”

“Fuck you.” you sneered.

“y/n, I still love you —”

“No! Don’t finish that sentence, don’t ever say those words when three years ago you broke my heart.” 

“What do you want me to do then? Beg for your forgiveness? Say sorry for what happened that night? It’s not my fault that you couldn’t understand that I’m doing it for our future —”

“Because you knew! You knew that you were going to America and yet you made those promises! You acted like everything’s fine and then you fucking dropped the bomb the night before our flight! Why did you have to hide it from me?” you shouted at him.

“Because I was scared of hurting you!” Jay immediately interjected.

A chuckle of disbelief escaped your lips, “I can handle it, you hurted me more than you were scared of!”

“I didn’t mean to.”

You shook your head. “You promised me that once we settle here we’ll announce our relationship then we’ll get married after two years, but it didn’t happen Jay. You just made empty promises.”

Jay looked at you, his eyes softened, a much calmer demeanor than your angry ones. He looked at you with pleading eyes as he spoke, “those aren’t empty promises y/n. I am still planning to fulfill my promise.”

“Liar.” you dictated.

“I am here y/n, why can’t you see that!?”

“Because I don’t want to see you anymore Jongseong,” you shook your head once again. “You can’t just — can’t just enter my life again, swoon me with gifts and grant gestures. You can’t. It’s unfair.”

“Could you please understand me? Have you ever thought of hearing my side? Do you even know what I went through in America for the past three years?” he pleaded as he tried to get close to you but you immediately took a step back.

“No. I don’t want to. One was enough for us.” you dictated.

“See? You don’t even want to hear my side, now tell me, who’s the selfish one here?” he accused and your forehead creased.

“Is it bad that I want peace? That I want to save myself from hurting again? Call me selfish Jay but I don’t want any of us, not now, not even in the future. I am done with you.” you reasoned out.

“You know we can still make this work right?” Jay spoke. “I can see it y/n, don’t deny it. I know you. I know that your heart still beats for me.”

“I know! And I hate that you still managed to capture my heart even after breaking it.” you confessed. “I hated everything about us because it feels so terribly wrong to still be in love with the man who ruined me that I became nothing. Do you think it’s easy Jay? No, it’s never going to be easy for the two of us.”

“Then we’ll get through it, through hardships, we can make it work this time, alright?” he convinced once again, hands finally getting a hold on you as he pulled you close to him.

“I love you Jay,” you confessed, tugging yourself away from you. “But I love myself more, and I don’t want to be hurt again, and not from the same person all over again.”

Jay was left in daze the moment you confessed those words. He stood frozen as you gave him a soft yet pitiful look, a desperate plea to let you go. He didn’t say another word but instead, let you walk away from him.

-

A knock on the door interrupted Heeseung’s focus on his switch yet he didn’t bother raising his head.

“Heeseung?” you peeked from the small gap of the door, eyeing your brother who’s in his house clothes, playing his switch like a kid — a usual scenario when he’s on his free day.

“Can I come in?” you asked and without sparing a glance, your older brother nodded.

You closed the door of his room and lay beside him, staring at the ceiling of his childhood room which still has glowing stars stuck on it — the same glowing stars that comforted you whenever you had nightmares back when you were just a kid.

Somehow, it gave you a sense of relief. It’s been two weeks since you walked out of Jay. Two weeks of silence and it is eating you alive.

You knew it was Heeseung who started the commotion. It was your brother who started the idea of a pretend relationship in order to save image. Somehow, you wanted to blame your older brother for everything, and yet, you still found yourself running towards him when things became too overwhelming for you.

After all, he doesn’t know about you and Jay. 

You have a few months left. You convinced yourself that you can do it and you’d do it out of spite to prove everyone wrong. But fuck it, you don’t need everyone’s validation. The only thing you wanted now was peace in your mind and heart, and continuing your fake relationship with Jay would just tear you furthermore. You couldn’t find the courage to face Jay anymore. Your insides couldn’t handle the feeling of just being near Jay.

Two weeks and you’ve been locking yourself inside your house. Sleeping, eating, and doing nothing — just like what you did when you returned to Barcelona. What a funny deja vu. You thought. What’s more ironic was that it’s because of the same person again.

“Are you here to bother me or do you want to talk about it?” your thoughts snapped away when you heard Heeseung’s tone. Not angry nor annoyed, somehow authoritative and brotherly that your heart frailed for a second.

You gulped at his words, tears started to flow from your eyes as a small sob escaped your lips. “Heeseung — Jay —”

“What about him?” he asked, still playing his game.

“I used to date Jay,” you confessed. “And — and remember Barcelona? I met him there and we dated for months and he broke up with me and it was a really bad breakup. Now the fake dating isn’t helping me at all because I feel like I love him again when I’m supposed to hate him and now I’m scared because I don’t want to get hurt anymore.”

Your cries echoed inside the room. Your older brother was still in his game, still focused for another minute, letting you cry on his bed before he let out a deep sigh. His game was finished, he closed his switch and placed it on the table before shifting to you.

“I know.” Heeseung simply said.

Your crying stopped. Looking at him before sitting up from your position, “wha — what? What do you mean?”

“y/n, I know you and Jay are exes, but not before the scandal,” Heeseung shared, quipping a small smile. “I knew it the day you signed the contract. I followed you two by the elevator and I saw you two fighting.”

Your eyes widened. “You were there?”

Heeseung nodded, “yeah, I was curious why Jay followed you and I witnessed the scene. Right after that, I kinda snooped into Jay’s profile and information and later on, I discovered that he also entered that same fall semester in Barcelona, and I just kinda connected the dots after.”

You stared at him with your eyes still wide before you cried loudly once again. Your brother merely chuckled as he rubbed circles on your back.

“You looked like you went through hell when you returned,” your older brother added. “You barely go out, eat, and you even burned some of your stuff. I didn’t ask you about it because it looked like you were traumatized during your stay there.” 

You didn’t say a word but instead you cried once again while your brother chuckled at your childish behavior. He continued to rub your back softly while you let the tears fall from your eyes.

“I’m sorry for causing trouble during our dinner, I was hoping you’d tell the truth to us — but I shouldn’t have pressured you to do so.” he immediately spoke and you only shook your head.

“No, it’s my fault too, I should’ve told you about Jay — even when I was in Barcelona,” you explained.

“Do you want me to pull the ‘older brother’ act and scare him? I haven’t brought it to him that I know about your relationship, I supposed that you two will eventually fix it,” he asked.

“No, I — I don’t know, Heeseung, I just hate him,” you told him. “I hate how he casually entered my life again when the only thing that I’ve been trying to do was forget him.”

“So your feelings came back?”

You nodded as an answer. “And I hated it. I hated that I had fallen for him once again,” you confessed before sniffling your tears. “How can I not? Everything felt real. Us, our pretend relationship, it felt so real and nostalgic for me Heeseung. It’s like Barcelona all over again.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you two used to date, I should’ve prevented it but the contract was already sealed,” Heeseung softly apologized and you shook your head as an objection.

“It’s not your fault Heeseung, things just didn’t go our way. We were planning to tell everyone once we return here but…he left me for America.” you deeply exhaled as you sniffed your tears in. “Now, he’s here, asking for another chance and — and I’m scared that he might hurt me again.”

“It sounds like you wanted to give him a chance, you’re just scared of falling apart again,” Heeseung pointed out. “You know love isn’t always going to be perfect right?”

“I know, I know there will be hardships and challenges,” you mumbled. “But there’s still a part of me who’s afraid.”

“Of getting hurt? It’s pretty normal.”

“Yet I don’t want it to happen again. Once is enough, you know? Why would I give the guy who broke my heart another chance?”

“Because you love him,” Heeseung stated, making you face him. “And even if he had ruined you, if you love him enough that you could forgive him and give him another chance. You’ll live y/n. I know you, you’re stronger than you think.”

With your brother’s words, your heart eased for a bit. You nodded to his words, “can I think about it?”

“You don’t need to rush your feelings, you’re still hurting after all.” Your older brother spoke before giving you a hug. “If it helps, you could lay low — which reminds me, how many months left in the contract?”

“I don’t know, I don’t care about it anymore Heeseung, I don’t want to be near him anymore.” you answered.

“Alright, don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” your older brother assured. “For now, rest, all right? I’ll take care of your contract with Jongseong.”

“You’re not going to punch him aren’t you?”

Heeseung merely chuckled. “Nah, just a few kicks and maybe threats —”

“Heeseung!”

-

The past months moved in a blur. It became an unsteady series for you — filled with fear and anxiety as the time ticks you still couldn’t process everything that just happened to you.

It didn’t help that now, you’re on your way toward Sunghoon’s wedding. Wearing the powder pink gown Jay had delivered at your footsteps a few weeks earlier.

It was his only request — to be his date at his twin brother’s wedding. After that, you two will call it quits and after a month of silence, the two of you will officially call it off to the public. He won’t bother you anymore and your heart, like you wished to be, would be at peace now. 

“You’ll be okay,” your older brother comforted the moment he parked the car in front of the entrance. It wasn’t crowded. Only closest friends and relatives were invited to the wedding. It eases you a bit that there’s less people to put on a show to. 

“Thank you.” you mumbled to him.

“Just enjoy the rest of the day, alright?” you nodded to his words. “Jay will be driving you home later, would that be okay?”

“Okay, thank you Hee,” were your last words to your brother before you stepped out of the car. You watched as he drove away from the place, leaving you alone with your anxious mind and cold, sweaty hands. 

But becoming too anxious wouldn’t help you at all. You decided to enter the venue, informing Jay that you have arrived. He had reserved a seat for you but for now, he couldn’t be with you since he’s helping with Sunghoon’s preparation. Good. That thought relaxed you for a moment.

You kept yourself entertained while waiting for the ceremony. Looking around the ceremony hall wherein photos of the couple were on display in the hallway, filled with arrangements of white baby breaths and powder pink roses. Your smile becomes wider as you look at every photo — love has always been a beautiful thing for you, and attending Wonyoung’s wedding was still something you look forward to.

A few minutes later, you were guided to Wonyoung’s room to give your congratulations. The bride was glowing in her immaculate white gown, smiling as she accepted your gifts before taking a smile. 

“You’re nervous?” you asked as you sat beside her.

She merely shakes her head, “not really, I am confident that he’s the one that I wanted to marry after all — I hope you have that same confidence with Jay.”

You meekly smiled, “thank you.”

“Someday, it’ll be your turn,” she whispered to you. “And I hope that I'll be invited.”

“Of course you will,” you lied, smiling at her genuinely before giving her one last hug.

You returned to your seat when the event planner announced that the ceremony will be held in a few minutes later. Soon, the hall was filled with people — friends, families, and people who had witnessed the couple’s love grow.

Sunghoon and Jay entered the venue first. Sunghoon stood in front of the altar with Jay beside him. Immediately, it was noticeable that the groom was nervous, but your eyes were on Jay, and in that minute, your heart skipped a beat.

In contrast to Sunghoon’s white suit, Jay was wearing a black suit, with a pink rose pinned on his side. He was calm and relaxed as he stood beside his twin, easing his nerves as any moment now, the bride will be entering the hall. 

A familiar love song from the 80s started to be played by a violinist. The crowd stood up in sync as the door opened, revealing Wonyoung in her wedding dress. Smiling ear-to-ear as she slowly walked in the aisle.

Everyone was in awe. Wonyoung was glowing like a goddess, eyes locked on her future husband who’s waiting at the end of the aisle. But you couldn’t even stay your gaze at the bride. Every second your eyes would shift to Jay — hoping that your eyes would meet. Wondering if he had seen you or was he keeping his distance like you asked him to. 

The ceremony started. The vows were simple and the kiss was breathtaking. The newlyweds were smiling ear to ear as everyone stood up to applause and congratulated the couple. You shed a few tears at the love you just witnessed.

You clapped your hands as the couple kissed once again in front of you, your eyes shifted to Jay once again and just like you wished for — your eyes met.

Jay looked at you softly. With a nod, he mouthed, “thank you.” and you knew what he meant, so you just gave him a small smile as you returned your gaze to the newlyweds who cheered at the celebration of a new chapter in their life.

The reception was more glamorous — loud, and fun. The couple had changed into more comfortable reception outfits as they did wedding traditions like their first dance and of course — throwing off the wedding bouquet, which Wonyoung insisted that you should join.

In your relief, someone else had got it. You watched the fun fold further as the night deepened. A few minutes later, you decided to grab a glass of wine since you were feeling parched.

“Enjoying the party?” you turned around to see Sunghoon standing in front of you.

You smiled at him. “Of course, congratulations Sunghoon.” 

“Soon it’ll be your turn, you know?” Sunghoon smiled, and your smile turned bitter.

“That’s too good to be true,” you answered, knowing that after tonight, you and Jay will part ways.

“Why? Can’t forgive him after what he did to you at Barcelona?”

You flinched at the mention of the place. Your eyes wide at Sunghoon who flashes a smile. “What? You think I don’t know you two are just pretending? He’s my twin brother, he tells me everything.”

“And here you are telling me that it’ll be my turn.” you commented with an eye roll.

“You know he was planning to propose to you back then?” Sunghoon shared. “He always rambles about you, how you’re the love of his life and all that romantic shits, telling me that he can’t wait to go home and introduce you to the family — he’s so hopelessly in love with you, you know?

“I know because I’ve witnessed it, Sunghoon. But shit happens” you stated. “Telling me this wouldn’t convince me Sunghoon, this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

“You’re the only one who makes him happy,” Sunghoon added, tone softer than usual. “And I am saying this as his twin brother, you’re the only one he truly loved. You don’t know how depressed he was when he was in America. I couldn’t even meet him because he’s just working his ass off —”

“Just to forget about me? I did the same thing here in Seoul. If that’s what really happened, then our breakup was hell and we’re just not meant to be.” you insisted.

“I didn’t mean to disregard your pain,” he acknowledged. “But things like that always happen in relationships. Wonyoung and I? We had a bad breakup two years ago. We didn’t talk to each other for months and it was the worst season in my career. But we made it work, because we love each other.”

“How?” you asked, words almost whispered. “How did you make it work, knowing that you have hurt each other?”

“It came naturally, we’ve talked, we settled down, love works like a miracle, you know?” he spoke with a smile before glancing at his wife who’s dancing with her father.

“I wish it was that easy for us.”

“It’ll be easy for both of you, love is still there after all.” Sunghoon assured. 

“Even if the love we had is killing us slowly?” you asked.

“It’s not love if it kills you,” he pointed out. “Maybe what you two had back in Barcelona was just a mere infatuation. Now, three years have passed and maybe, what you two have right now is the love you two deserve.”

“Now you’re confusing me,” you chuckled. “If that wasn’t love, then why now?”

“Time heals everything. You two settled down, set aside feelings for this pretend relationship — does it ever cross your mind? Despite hating him and everything, you still went here? Because deep inside you still care for him.”

You only stared at him, and Sunghoon smiled at you softly. “He deserves a chance y/n — so do you. It’s never too late to fix everything.”

You watched as Sunghoon turned his heel away from you. You stood there frozen as his words lingered in your mind. You mindlessly took a sip on your wine before turning around — only to bump into Jay.

“You okay?” he asked as he held your arms. You stared at him before nodding. This has been the first time you two have been together since you’ve arrived.

“I didn’t stain your suit, didn’t I?” you asked worriedly as the glass of wine remained in your hands.

“You didn’t, don’t worry.” Jay assured. “Were you talking to Sunghoon earlier?”

You nodded, “he knows about us.”

“Yeah, I told him. I told him way back in Barcelona.”

“Oh.” you breathed. “Why?”

“I just couldn’t help it,” Jay confessed. “Not when you’re something that I am proud of.”

You remained quiet to his words. The two of you stood there as the tension between the two of you arose. Quiet and suffocating before Jay cleared his throat. 

“Do you want to dance?” Jay asked out of nowhere, making you look at him. 

Then your eyes shifted at the couples on the dance floor, dancing in their own world. Feeling the romantic atmosphere of the event. 

“Of course,” you took his hand, you let it be — you knew that this will be the last time for you two after all.

Jay held you close — too close for your preference, too close for your poor heart because if only, you weren’t so angry and hateful towards him, and all of this was just for a show, then maybe you would’ve been savoring the moment.

Both of his hands were wrapped around your waist, while yours were resting on his shoulders only, but you let yourself fall for his warmth, hence, you rested your head on his chest. Hearing the soft faint of his heartbeat as well yours. 

The two of you danced around in circles, it would’ve looked stupid on the outside but for you — maybe for Jay too, this was the only way you two could be this close without the past lingering on your mind. Without any hindrance of each other’s feeling because the second Jay released his hold on you, you sighed in relief, looking at him with eyes almost glassy which made him give you an assuring smile.

“Thank you,” he said with much gratitude that your heart shrivelled in pain. To add to that, he kisses the top of your forehead leaving you speechless.

You wanted to ask him why he had to do that? But you had no energy to confront him anymore, too tired to deal with everything you and Jay had. That’s why the only thing you did was smile bitterly at him.

The night ended with a glamorous firework display. Sparklers were given to each guest as they waved for the couple’s exit. With one last kiss for the night, the newlywed had driven off from the villa using Sunghoon’s Ferrari.

“Let’s go?” Jay asked, making you glance at him. His right hand opened with a soft smile on his face.

“Okay,” you muttered before accepting his hand. The newlywed had left. Everyone was either leaving or going back to their room. It’s time to go home.

It meant that the night had ended — you and Jay had officially ended.

Jay’s hold tightened onto you. The whole villa was still a beau for you as you wandered around. Eyes looking around as the two of you seemed to be darting further from the open field.

“Is this where your car’s parked?” you asked, and Jay chuckled at your question. 

“No, we’re going somewhere.”

“Somewhere?”

Jay stopped, “think of this as our last goodbye.”

His words stung, and yet, you faintly nodded to his words. This is the last time you two are going to be together, might as well endure everything he had prepared for you.

You let Jay lead the way, walking further and further until you two stopped. 

“Jay? What is this?” you asked, eyeing at the small helicopter parked downstairs on a wider cemented lot.

Jay only smiled and tugged you downstairs. You were appalled, speechless as the two walked towards the vehicle. You watched as Jay talked to some men with a smile and nods, a few handshakes before they handed something to him.

“Let’s go?” Jay asked, and you weren’t able to do anything when he helped you enter the helicopter. 

“Wait — you can drive?” you asked, noticing that it was Jay who sat on the driver’s seat. He casually closed the door. Putting your seatbelt and ear muffs on you before putting on his.

“Yeah, I got my license in America,” he proudly said.

“What? Why?”

“I told you, I’ll fulfill your promise,” Jay said and you weren’t able to say another word.

You watched as Jay turned on the engine with much skill. Pressing unknown buttons and keys in front of you before you heard the noisy turn of the helicopter’s rotor blade. Slowly, the vehicle was being lifted in the air while you held onto your seat tightly.

“Can you really drive?” you asked once again, too nervous for the sudden ride.

“Of course, just trust me,” he smiled at you. “I’m not going to put you in danger after all.”

Your tensed body relaxed for a moment. You sat there as the helicopter slowly rose from the ground until you could see the villa becoming small from your vision. 

“Hold on tight,” Jay whispered to you and you let out a small yelp when the vehicle moved faster yet smoothly glided through the sky. The moon beamed in the peak of the night along with the stars that scattered throughout the horizon.

You kept on glancing at Jay who’s relaxed as he controlled the helicopter, driving farther and farther from the land until you could only see nothing but the deep blue sea that’s pitch black in the night yet you were appalled at the view.

You two were up in the air for half an hour before Jay landed at a small island, completely surprising you. A villa that has the same exterior as their country villa welcomed you, the lights were on but the whole place was surprisingly quiet. 

“Where are we?” you asked, eyeing at the area.

“Our private villa,” Jay shared as he helped you get down from the helicopter. “This is supposed to be for Sunghoon’s honeymoon but Wonyoung has a schedule in Paris, so they decided to just go there for their honeymoon.”

“Then why —”

“I asked Sunghoon if we could go on behalf of them.” Jay spoke. “You told me one time that you wanted to go here, remember? When I show you some photos from when I was a kid. Well, we’re here now. It’s very beautiful here during the daytime.”

You became quiet as your heart started to race again, betraying you as Jay guided you inside their villa. It was huge and spacious. Its interior was a vintage coastal complementing the cool waves outside. You wander around the space as Jay watched you from a far, a smile on his face beamed.

“It’s beautiful here,” you whispered, looking at Jay.

“We always make sure it’s well-maintained and clean, every summer, we’d have a family reunion here for a week, everyone in the Park lineage would be here to enjoy a week of vacation.”

“Sounds like a dream.” you whispered. Settling down on the couch as Jay remained on where he was standing, eyes on you as the silence deafened the two of you.

“Can we talk about it?” Jay opened up. “Please?”

You knew what he meant. You don’t want to talk about it anymore but perhaps, it is for the betterment of your peace. A closure you could say, since when tomorrow arrives, the two of you would go separate ways.

“Okay, I’ll listen.” you said in defeat.

“Thank you,” Jay merely nodded, hands clasped as he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m deeply sorry for hurting you. I know I shouldn’t compete but I was hurt too. I was devastated when I went to America. Drown everything by working, day and night, I didn’t stop — it was unhealthy for me, but I did it just to forget about you too.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you and hiding it from you, I was scared that I might ruin our moment. I don’t want our happy days to feel like it should be something that we should cherish because it’ll come to an end — you were so happy, and I was happy that you were. I don’t want to ruin it.” he explained and you only stared at him who held a bitter smile on his face.

“It’s my fault, mostly it’s mine. I’m sorry and I know that I’ve hurt you enough but please, you’re all I want,” Jay whispered, begging as he looked at you with tears in his reddening eyes. “I still love you y/n, there’s not a day where I think of you and if you’re doing fine.”

He then approached you, propping on his knees that it caught you off-guard. “You don’t know how much it kills me whenever you looked at me with nothing but hatred and coldness in your eyes — it fucking kills me that it’s my fault that you couldn't look at me the same way anymore, but please — I still want that future with you.”

A tear dropped from your eyes as you stared at him. You couldn’t bear to see Jay crying. You were hurt by him, and he was hurt by his actions too. Maybe Sunghoon was right. Maybe what you two had was just a mere infatuation. You two were immature back then, too stuck in the honeymoon phase that when the real challenge came, it ended badly.

And it’s not too late for the two of you. Not when everything that happened for the past few months were clear signs that both of your hearts still yearn for each other. 

You’re just too scared. Too afraid to be hurt by Jay again. 

And yet here you are, heart weakening at the sight of Jay who was crying his soul out in front of you. You didn’t say anything but instead you pulled him out from his place and wrapped your arms around him, head buried on his chest as you started to cry in his arms. Jay’s arms tightened his hold on you. His body twitched at every sob he emitted, holding it back as he kissed the top of your head.

“I’m sorry, I was selfish too,” you apologized. “But it really, really hurt me, Jay.”

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, okay? I’m going to make things right, for us,” Jay promised. “I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here for good — for you. No more lies, no more acting, I want us to be real this time. I want you to give your full trust to me.”

“Prove it to me Jay,” you asked him. Looking up to meet his eyes, both yours were puffy and red as your lips shook from crying too much. “I want you to prove to me that this is going to be real. We’re going to be real and there’s a future that awaits us.”

Jay didn’t say a word but instead, leaned close to you. His lips landed on yours so perfectly that it felt heaven was placed down on you.

He moved his lips to get a better taste of you. Deeper, hungrier — yet, there’s no rush. You two have the whole night — the whole future to make the moment last. 

From there, you kissed him back, with the sense of longing craving for him, you reciprocated his kisses as you snaked your arms around his neck. You tugged him closer to you, feeling his body against you — you could only moan softly, it’s been so long since you two were this close.

Both your worlds fell apart. Jay didn’t want to miss any chance anymore. He grabbed you by the waist and carried you bridal style, earning a yelp from you as he ran his way towards the nearest bedroom. 

He placed you down on the bed gently before hovering over you for another heated kiss. Soon, the temperature became hotter. Sweat started to bead as the soft hum of the ocean waves served as a background for the two of you.

Jay’s lips never left yours as he took off every piece of clothing he wore, mindlessly threw it away  before he separated and pulled you to stand up and turn around.

His breath was fanning down on your neck, sending you goosebumps as his hands trailed on the zipper of the dress that you were wearing. Gently, he pulled it down as you shrugged off the strap of the dress until you were left with nothing but your undergarments.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jay admired, kissing your nape then towards your shoulder as his hands trailed on your arms before wrapping it around waist. His hands pressed on your stomach, caressing every skin his hands could reach. You could only throw your head back to his touch as his lips continued to leave kisses on your neck while his hands reached your breast, cupping it gently, he playfully teased your perked nipples which made you moan softly. 

“All mine, all of these — are going to be mine,” Jay possessively said before he lay you down to the bed once again. Your back hitting softly against the mattress, you watch as Jay crawls over you, eyes locked on yours as a soft smile formed on his lips.

“And I’m going to be yours, wifey, you like that right? Make me yours?” he teased and you weren’t able to say another word when he kissed you once again. Soft and steady before he separates and kisses you on your cheeks, down to your jawline — until it goes slowly down your neck and shoulder. 

“I can’t believe I lost you,” he whispered against your skin. He looked at you whose eyes were red and stained with mascara, yet you still the most beautiful girl in his eyes. “I’m gonna make it up to you — even if it’ll take years or decades — just let me prove to you that you’re the only one I love.”

“Jay —” a whimper escaped on your lips as his lips travelled on your breast. His teeth grazing on your nipples before biting and sucking it making you moan louder than you should’ve. Jay hummed at the sound as his tongue swirled around it playfully before giving attention to your other breast, repeating the same action that had you whining heavenly at the pleasure. 

Before you knew it, Jay's lips travelled down to your stomach, soft and careful as he looked up to you who’s holding her breath. His hands hold the panty’s waistband and you only nod as a signal, with that, he tugs it down with his gentle hands leaving you bare in front of him. 

He kneeled in front of you, hands on your thighs as he stared at you lovingly, “always so beautiful for me. My prettiest girl,” he kisses your inner thighs, soft, peppered kisses as an act of devotion to you. His hold became firm as Jay spread your thighs wider, giving him a clearer view of your cunt. 

The kiss was slow — too slow for your own good. You whined at his actions, wanting more than he could give, but Jay was savoring his time. The kiss was then replaced by his tongue. Giving your cunt a huge stripe before giving full attention to your throbbing clit.

“God, you always taste heavenly, so sweet for me,” Jay swore before he latched into your pussy once again. This time, his tongue did the wonders of teasing your core, lapping onto it messily as he pushed his head deeper. His mouth and chin smeared with your slick and his saliva as he became hungrier than before while you writhe against his mouth. 

Jay devoured you for minutes. He didn’t stop, not even when you were crying your hearts out as the stimulation had become overwhelming to you. He wanted to see you writhing in pleasure, it turns him on to see you being pleasured by him. Jay’s grip on your thighs tightened, ignoring your heel that sinked deep on his back as his mouth continued to invade your cunt that’s been sensitive for the past few minutes. 

He felt your hands on his hair, tugging a handful making him look up to you. Your breathing’s unstable, sweat beads on your body, glistening against the moon’s reflection. He could only smile at the view before he kissed your throbbing clit. 

“You’re going to cum aren’t you?” he asked and you barely nodded. 

“I want you inside me,” you breathed, almost a mumble. “I want to cum with you inside me.”

“You’d have that later wifey,” Jay smiled. “But let me savor my moment of proving you my love.”

Another cry of pleasure escaped your mouth as Jay lowered himself to your cunt once again. This time, he’s in a rush. A more desired plea to make you cum in no time. He laps in between your labia upwards your clit, sucking that little bud harsher before using his tongue to protrude your entrance. 

It was too much for you. Your legs started to shake on his hold as Jay continued eating you out until that coil in your stomach snapped. Your back arched naturally as you writhe out of his hold. Jay didn’t stop, but instead, became more hasty, more sloppy than before, drinking all the juice his tongue could taste. Moaning loudly as he finds himself drunk in your pussy.

“So fucking good for me,” he stated as he removed himself from your cunt. He wiped off the excess using the back of his hand before he crawled over you. You let him kiss you, whining at the taste of your own juice from his lips.

Jay’s kisses became torrid, asserting dominance as he pushed his tongue to enter your mouth. Licking every inch of you as you couldn’t do anything but to let him devour you in the most animalistic manner. 

“Jay — I need you, right now,” you whispered the moment the kiss broke off.

“I know love, I know,” he softly hushes you with a kiss, making you whine. “Do you want to be on top? Ride me just like before or —”

“No, I just want you close — this close Jay, please,” you begged and only a gentle kiss was all you received. 

Jay pulled down his brief, revealing his hard and girthy length, already red and beading with pre-cum. He kneeled in front of you whose legs already spread, he grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you close to him. You watched as he spat on his palm before stroking his shaft. Gulping at the sight, your heart started thumping out of nervousness. 

“Just relax for me,” he gestured, free hand brushing your hair as his right hand nudged his cock on your entrance. Stroking it up and down, and circling on your clit makes you whimper.

“Good girl, look at me, alright?” Jay ordered and you looked at him. His eyes were calm, lifting your worries before the fat head of his cock started to penetrate your entrance. You could only suck your breath hard as your hold on Jay’s arms tightened.

Jay slides his cock inside with ease. You were so warm and wet for him as he buried it further, ignoring the muted whines escaping your lips. He sheathes in fully, glancing at you whose eyes were searching for his — eyes began to water as your nails dig deep on his skin.

“Comfy?” he asked.

“I’m so full,” you confessed, biting your lips as your warm walls pulled his cock tightly. “So full — Jay, please move.”

Jay complies. He started to thrust in and out of your cunt, finding a pace wherein you could feel him all the way to your cervix. It wasn’t rough that it had you curling your toes — but it was enough for you to feel him take you all over again. It felt euphoric just by the sheer thought that you had Jay this close once again.

All those years and pain started to fade away, tears started to swell as Jay captured your lips again, igniting the heat in between the two of you. It felt surreal. It hasn’t sinked into you that Jay’s within your reach again — proving his love and devotion to you in the most intimate way.

If this was a dream, you don’t want to wake up — but the moment he breaks off the kiss and looks at you, cupping your cheeks so dearly that tears trailed down your eyes that’s when it sinked into you — Jay’s here and he’s not going anywhere. 

He smiled softly before wiping off the tears from your eyes, kissing your temple so gently and lightly before resting his forehead on yours, his hips started to move faster and soon the tranquil feeling was replaced with the intense pleasure on your core.

“Jay — ha! Ah!” moans started to break out of your lips. Jay was fucking you good underneath that you couldn’t help but to thrust your hips upwards, meeting his movement in the middle, creating more pleasure and friction on your cunt.

“Fuck, that’s it — fuck, you’re doing good for me, wifey,” Jay assured as his strokes become more rough, more eager to meet your pussy in between, his right hand trailed on your left hand, intertwining with your fingers, assuring you further as you continued your movement.

“So good — hhhh, Jay! Jay!” you shouted as your right hand held onto his shoulder tighter.

“I’m right here — look at me wifey, ‘right here alright,” he ordered as he pushed his cock deeper in you, pushing your hips down the mattress as he continued to rail your pussy with much intensity.

“Gonna cum — want to cum,” you mumbled in between your whimpers.

“Just cum wifey, I got you,” Jay whispered to you, kissing the shell of your ears. 

Jay changes his angle, finding your g-spot that had you arching your back instinctively, that’s when he knew. He continued pounding at the spot, right hand squeezing your hand tightly, burying it down on the pillow as his free hand held on the headboard for balance. The bed squeaked due the intensity, banging against the wall as Jay thrusted deeper inside you, hungry to feel you come underneath him.

In a glimpse your orgasm came, along with a broken moan and cry as your pussy clamped around Jay’s cock, squeezing him tight as he groaned against the sensation. He didn’t stop his movement, not when he could feel your warm juices lubricating his length more, the squelching was so obscene inside the room but it only made him go animalistic. 

“Gonna cum, ‘m going to,” Jay stated in between his raspy groans, eyes locked onto yours as he removed his hands from the headboard and rested it on the side of your face.

“Inside Jay please,” you ordered. Ignoring how he’s making you oversensitive all over again, you found strength to wrap your legs around his waist, locking his position on you which made him cursed under his breath.

“Don’t — I can’t —”

“Please Jay,” you begged, hands finding their way to cup his face. “Want to feel you again, please?”

He didn’t answer you but instead, placed a long, deep kiss on your lips which you responded immediately.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips before resting his forehead on the crook of your neck, you wrapped your arms around him, coddling him dearly as he repeated the words like a mantra.

“I love you too Jay, so much, so fucking much,” you confessed as you felt his lips biting down on the skin near your collarbones.

Jay comes in no time. His groan muffled against your skin, biting down harsher earning cries from you. Hot cum spilled inside you, painting your walls white, Jay continued pumping inside you, thrust becoming slow as his energy dies down due to the high.

With the last drop of his semen spilling inside your cunt, he kisses the bite on your skin before lifting his head up to look at you.

Then a cry — that ugly cry of yours when things get too overwhelmed started. Jay was surprised at first but he instinctively lay on his back before pulling you to his side.

“It’s okay, I’m here, I’m not going to leave you,” he whispered, hands drawing circles on your back as you cried on his chest.

“You’re not going to leave?” you asked in between your sobs. “This is real right? This isn’t just nothing right Jay? You’re not going to leave me? I don’t want to be hurt again.”

“I’m sorry for hurting, I really am,” Jay apologized once again. “But I’m here now, I am not going to let you go. See? I’m here wifey, just cry it all out. If you’re still mad at me, punch me or slap me, I deserve it.”

“Sorry,” you whispered to him, nuzzling against his skin. “I’m sorry, I’m being spoiled and weak again, I just — this is real right Jay?”

“Of course, this is real wifey,” he assured, planting a kiss on top of your head. “We’re going to be okay alright? Just be with me, okay?”

You hummed, your emotions finally calming down as you felt Jay’s faint heartbeat. “Okay.”

With that one word, Jay’s body felt relieved. He continued rubbing your back before removing himself from you, startling you who looked at him who quickly gave you a comforting smile, “just trust me okay?”

He gets up from the bed, grabbing the black coat he was wearing earlier before scrambling inside its inner pocket.

“Jay…” you were speechless the moment Jay returned to bed holding a small velvet box. You were reluctant to accept it, but with Jay’s patient expression, you grabbed it from his palm, opening it and revealing to you a ring with your birthstone as its centerpiece.

You knew what it was. You looked at him with teary eyes as he smiled at you, hands grabbing the box, taking out the ring and placing it on your ring finger — to your surprise, it fitted perfectly like it was made for you.

“We’re you planning to?” you asked.

“Of course not during Sunghoon’s wedding,” he answered. “I just — I brought it, just in case, you gave me another chance.”

You looked at the ring in front of you, the sheer size of the gemstone was nothing but mesmerizing for you. You always dream of this day. To have your ring finger occupied by the most exquisite engagement ring you could ever have. You’d never thought that that day had finally arrived.

“I am doing this, not because I wanted to fulfill my promise three years ago,” Jay started, hands trailing at your delicate ones. “But I want it to be a new start for us, a stepping stone for our future. I know I can’t just say forget everything about our past, but I hope this is a second chance for us.”

“It is Jay,” you assured, nodding before your eyes started to water again. “It is — thank you, I can’t believe — I love you, I love you so much Jay. I love you enough that I forgive you about everything.” 

Jay gave you an assuring kiss on the forehead. Light and gentle before he pulled you to his touch, letting you sob incoherently as his warmth gave nothing but comfort to you. 

“Thank you y/n, I love you too — we’d start anew, you don’t have to worry about us anymore.”

-

Morning swept through the thin curtains in the form of salty breeze and ocean waves. It kissed your skin, gently and yet, the warmth of the man beside you was no match for the morning sun.

You opened your eyes slowly and steadily. Hair falling through your shoulders as Jay’s peaceful, sleeping face was the first thing you saw. You were resting on his arms thrown over the pillow. His other arm around your waist like he doesn’t want to let you go. 

The wave crashed behind the background. Everything was serene and like a dream — but you knew, everything was real when you felt the cold band of your engagement ring on your ring finger. 

Your hands crept onto Jay’s face. Tracing his face gently, afraid of waking him up as you ponder what happened last night — everything felt right suddenly for the two of you.

And it was as if he heard your worries, Jay’s free hand grabbed yours, intertwining his fingers as he placed it on his lips, a smile forming before he hummed.

“Good morning wifey,” he greeted as he opened his eyes. “I could get used to a view like this. Feels like I’m in paradise.”

You chuckled at his words, “well, we’re in paradise hubby.” 

“Paradise is anywhere with you,” Jay pointed out, chuckling to his words. “Want to go out and take a dip?”

“That sounds nice — but I don’t think I have proper clothes to wear,” you reminded, remembering that both of you are naked under the sheets.

Jay only hummed, his smile becoming menacing before he grabbed you by your waist, standing up from the bed as you let out a startled yelp.

“Jay — oh my god, Jay! We’re naked!” you shouted as he had tugged the sheets along with you. 

“It’s just the two of us here, don’t worry wifey,” he assured, walking towards the exit of the bedroom where the beach was in full view.

“What are you planning — Jay, I swear to God!”

But your words fell deaf when he ran quicker towards the waters — and before you could’ve processed everything, you felt your body splashing into the cold, morning sea.

Your scream echoed in the small island the moment you two rose from the waters. You were gasping for air while Jay laughed beside you, both wet and a mess from his action.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you!” you shouted, splashing water on him who’s still laughing hysterically as his arms wrapped on your waist tighter.

“You were panicking,” he teased.

“Because you suddenly carried me into the sea! You know I don’t know how to swim Jay,” you stated and quickly, you were shut up when his lips landed on yours.

“I’m not going to let you drown of course,” he smiled. 

Despite rolling your eyes on him, it wasn’t hard that you were flustered by his actions. The only thing you could do was slap him in the chest as you stare at him.

“You brought our blanket along with us,” you pointed out.

“We have a lot of blankets — and rooms, we could stay here as long as you want.” Jay explained and you became quiet.

“I don’t have any clothes Jay.”

“Already prepared a bag for you, thank your brother wifey,” he said.

That made you raise an eyebrow. “You and Heeseung planned this, didn’t you?”

“I did, I just asked permission from him,” Jay shared. “He has a pretty good kick, you know?”

You hummed, “He used to do Muay Thai, I hope you got what you deserve.”

“It’s worth it, now that I got his approval,” he shared before you a quick kiss. “And I got my second chance from you.”

You only smiled as you looked at him — a better view of his face now that you had held him this closer and longer. 

Even after years have passed, he’s still the Jay that you’ve loved. He’s still here, smiling at you, looking at you lovingly as his hold on you tightened. Your right hand caressed his cheeks, he kissed it softly, just right above the ring he gave you last night, and that assured you further as your heart convinced you he’s the right one for you.

“Do you even remember the night that we had a one-night stand?” Jay asked, making you tilt your head confusingly.

“Still a blurry memory to me to be honest.” you answered. “What happened back then?”

“I was invited there by my friend, and then I saw you — dancing and heavily drunk,” he chuckled. “And I don’t know why, but I had the urge to approach you and then, you didn’t even recognize me, but you know what you told me?”

“What?”

“That I look like your first and last love,” he smiled. “And that you’re not going to love anyone anymore if it wasn’t me.”

“Well, you’ve changed drastically, I probably didn't recognize you,” you pointed out.

“And that is because you’re too drunk too.” Jay added.

“What happened then?”

“We danced, and kissed — and you wanted more, almost begging me, and maybe I just missed you so fucking much that I agreed.”

You only stared at him, memories still blurry and hazy, you wanted to remember — wanted to know more of that night.

“I’m sorry if I took advantage of you,” Jay apologized. “I’m sorry for the mess it led to.”

“I don’t care anymore,” you simply said. “Well, it did lead me back into you. It really was a second chance for us.”

“I know, and I’m glad Heeseung decided to pull a publicity stunt for us.” he grinned and just that thought made you smile.

“You enjoyed it too much Jongseong,”

“Well, I wasn’t pretending the whole time after all.”

You blinked for a second before smiling at him, “I know.”

“No more pretending?” he suggested and you only hummed.

“No more — and lying, no more.” you added.

Jay pulled you to kiss once again, you let yourself fall for him as you cupped his face and reciprocated the kiss. As he broke away from the kiss, he stared at you lovingly as he smiled. “Of course.” 

[heewnss]

diet pepsi ⸺ camp counselor!jay (sounds to scenes collection)

( ★ ) ⸻ jay spent the entire summer pretending that he wasn't into you. ignoring every single one of your advances, because it made sense. you were younger. he was leaving. it just wouldn't work out. avoiding you just made the most sense. until he's letting himself slip on your last night together and he's quickly realizing that he's made a huge mistake.

۶ৎpairing: mentor!jay x mentee!reader ۶ৎgenre: heavy angst... smut. summer camp au. age gap (reader is 18, jay is 24). established relationships. ۶ৎtw: smut (mdni!) descriptive making out, loss of virginity, mutual pining. unexpected heeseung closure. fingering, dry humping. slight dirty talk. unresolved feelings. cortis!martin makes an appearance. bnd!jaehyun. car sex. subtle masturbation (m.), relationship ending. gone the next morning... post sex abandonment? unprotected sex (not in this economy pls). ۶ৎwc: 16.5k+

⸻ playlist | diet pepsi. addison rae, bound. the ponderosa twins plus one, late night talking. harry styles, electric love. borns, love grows (where my rosemary goes). edison lighthouse, tenerife sea. ed sheeran, perfect places. lorde, bad habit. steve lacy, get you. daniel caesar ft. kali uchis, summertime sadness. lana del rey, vienna. billy joel, the scientist. coldplay.

by the time the sun was setting, camp barely looked like camp anymore. the campers that had spent the past three months running from cabin to cabin had been picked up hours ago. said cabins cleaned up and empty, ready for the winter that slowly crept around the corner. the lake was still. for the first time all summer, there wasn't a schedule to follow, no activities, no headcounts. no one asking where the arts-and-crafts supplies were. you and the eleven other counselors were the only ones left, closing out the summer with a well deserved bonfire barbecue.

martin, sakai and jaehyun dragged picnic tables to the beach before setting the folding chairs up to surround the fire, while jungwon set up his speaker, viv and lex arguing about whose playlist should be shuffled. the smell of charcoal hung heavy in the air as heeseung started up the grill, expertly cutting thick pieces of beef while brin stole bites directly off the serving tray.

he's rolling his eyes the third time her tongs chase his, “those are for everybody,” he grumbles, she nods with a grin – pushing a big piece past her lips. “mhm!” she's reaching for another piece, but he's nudging her away with his hip. she easily reaches around him, popping the pork into her mouth before he can steal it back. “brin.” he tries to sound stern, but the natural softness of his voice never leaves him. “you've eaten like a full cow by now,” he jokes and she grins wide up at him, shoulders lifting in a shrug.

“put more on,” she says simply.

mindless chatter is heard all throughout the beach, a red solo cup clutched in every hand. sunoo is stationed behind a folding table he deemed the bar, two coolers hidden underneath filled with juice and several bottles that had been hidden for the better half of the summer and an obnoxious amount of fruit. mia argues as he hands her drink over, “you shouldn't eyeball vodka,” she nags and he's snorting out a laugh. “it literally won't matter in ten years, just drink.” he encourages, repeating what had become his mantra these last few days.

and no matter how scary that sounded, he was right. all the moments that seemed huge, everything that made you cry, smile, laugh – most likely wouldn't even matter ten years from now. but that's what made every last moment that much more special, what made the goodbyes that you all knew were looming that much more devastating. because despite promising to stay in touch, you all knew that this was all temporary and in ten years, everything would be so different. you all would be completely different.

you sit close to the fire with the other girls as the chaos settles, slowly rotating a marshmallow over the flames. the heat warming the bare skin of your thighs left by the dress you picked this morning. subconsciously putting more thought into your appearance, knowing what tonight meant. it was the last night, yes, but it always was a last chance. so you’re choosing the strapless dress that hugged your frame, a bright orange with pretty pink flowers scattered over it, the colors seeming to pop against your sun-kissed skin.

you hoped you looked as pretty as you felt and that a certain someone took notice, the moment he's drifting into your thoughts – your eyes shift to where he stands. leaning casually against one of the surfboards, head tipped back as he laughs at something jungwon said. jongseong park. jay. you remember reading his name on the welcome sheet on your very first day, the man in charge of the music lodge and all of the instruments inside. your mentor for the next three months and the man who you'd be replacing at the end of the summer when he left for grad school.

that's what he was introduced to you as, but after meeting him, after spending every single day with him for the last ninety-two days, he had become so much more. he was funny, smart, kind, generous and extremely talented. the kids loved him, looked up to him and he gave them a good reason to with how patient and encouraging he was with every last one of them. he was an all around good guy and him being without a doubt the hottest guy you've ever laid eyes on only added to that.

jay was sexy without even trying to be, from his facial expressions to the way his fingers moved over the strings of his guitar, everything he did seemed to draw you in. and god you were so bad at hiding it. from day one, you couldn't keep your eyes from finding him in the crowd, couldn't mask the insistent blush of your cheeks or the way giggles would slip past your lips before you could even think twice.

and the craziest part of all of it, was that he also seemed interested in you. you never missed the way the touches would linger, the way his eyes would drop to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes. you've even caught him watching you from the pier one night when you and the other girls went out for a late swim. but you never once made a move, just treaded dangerously close to the line and it all but drove you insane.

“you're drooling,” you hear from beside you and your body startles, nearly dropping your marshmallow into the fire. viv laugh besides you, leaning into your shoulder as she does. you can already feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “no i'm not,” you uselessly defend and she nods as if she actually believes you, “why don't you go say something?” brin makes an attempt at whispering, leaning across viv to look at you.

you feel the anxiety blooming in your chest before she's even finishing her sentence, “are you crazy!?” while you were like 89% sure jay also thought you were cute, there was still that 11% chance that he was just being nice. and you were terrified by that 11%. viv lifts her drink to her lips, taking a big gulp of it before she's setting in the sand, deciding she was done with it. “he leaves tomorrow... forever.” she reminds with a pointed look. “and then in ten years, none of this will matter...”

as if he could sense he was being talked about, jay's eyes drift in your direction. not even half surprised that he caught you and the other girls staring, it sort of been the theme of the summer. and the way he wiggles his fingers in a slight wave makes everything worse, because you're gasping, marshmallow actually hitting the ground as laughter erupts between your friends.

the night stretches just like that, conversations bouncing between you, drinks and food being passed and lingering stares between you and jay that everyone else pretending they didn't notice. by the time the sky was dark and the stars were twinkling, everything seemed to settle. the feeling of finality that everyone had been avoiding thickening with each flicker of the fire.

“i can't believe i won't be back here next year,” heeseung says, earning a chorus of loud eye rolls from each of you. he's only mentioned it a trillion times in the past three months. “oh my god, wait! it's your last summer!?” lex fakes a gasp that has laughter spreading, heeseung lifts his middle finger in her direction while brin slaps at her shoulder playfully. “cut him some slack, he's been here since they filled the lake.” she teases.

jungwon is quick to interject, a smirk playing on his lips. “nah, that was jay. he poured the water in himself, one cup at a time,” he punctuates his words with a tip of his own cup, letting the last few drops of his liquor hit the sand. “seriously, though, we're going to miss you guys.” sakai starts and you can already hear the quiver in her tone. “it's going to be so weird not smelling brin making bacon before sunrise, or hearing jay fighting with the kids for hiding his drumsticks, no more heeseung waking us up past midnight for ramyeon...” her lips form a pout before she can even finish her thought and you're reaching over to hug her.

“aw.” martin coos, setting down his drink before clapping his hands together. “think tonight calls for some goodbye speeches,” agreement is immediate and it's not long before brin is standing. she talks about her love for the camp, when she started and how close she's become with every one of you, highlighting funny moments, sad ones and ones that she swears she'll never forget. heeseung follows, starting with “i can't believe this is my last summer...” and ending with the same words, head shaking.

jay stands next and you feel the way your heart flutters for no good reason. his hand rubs at the back of his neck, teeth tugging at his lower lip as he fought to put the right words together. he looked handsome, face lit by the fire, hair dyed blond after losing a dare to one of the campers on the first week. it suited him. “i hate public speaking,” jungwon leads the chorus of boos that follow his words, pulling a laugh from him which seems to ease the tension between his shoulders.

he continues on despite the thump in his chest, despite knowing you're sat less than a few feet away, watching him. “honestly, this place has been home for a long time. i started when i was seventeen?” he ignores the groans that come from the group, out of all the counselors, he's been there the longest and he never let them forget it. “get off the stage, unc!” jungwon shouts, hands cupped around his mouth.

jay's eyes drift from the lake, over to the music lodge sitting at the edge of the camp, back to the friends he's grown closer to every summer. and then to you and the way you smile at him has him losing his train of thought for a full three seconds. “seriously, though, i've spent almost every summer here and i thought that would make leaving harder but it isn't. of course, i'll miss the campers, you guys and obviously my music room, but...” his eyes are back on yours and everyone notices the way his gaze, “i think the reason it's kind of easy is because i know everything i love is being left in good hands,” exaggerated gasps are heard around the fire.

jay does his best to ignore them, eyes never breaking from yours. his gaze said everything he had been swallowing for the past few months, mixed with the regret of not having the courage to make a move sooner. stood in his own way each and every time. “yn, i'm so relieved to know you'll be the one replacing me. you're so good with the kiddos, you're smart, funny... patient and creative... way more organized that i've ever been. thank you for making leaving a little bit easier, i appreciate you,” an unmistakable blush has settled on his cheeks and he's moving to sit, “and you look pretty in all your dresses,” the words are jumbled together, alcohol giving him just enough courage to mumble what he had been thinking every morning you walked into the music lodge.

the silence lasts for less than a second before obnoxious cheers erupt through the group. “better late than never!” jaehyun whistles, while sunoo claps wildly beside him. apparently, he had mentioned it to everyone but you the way they were reacting like it was this long awaited thing. it was. you ignore the flutter in your chest long enough to thank him. you can't stop replaying the last three words of his speech: 'all your dresses'. all like every one of them? which meant he had noticed every one. and he thought every one was pretty.

and he waited until the night before he was leaving to say something about it. bittersweet wasn't even the word.

the rest of the evening passes in a blur. all of your crowded around the fire, reminiscing and sharing secrets. it has the expected warm feeling the end of summer would, but you can't seem to fully enjoy it with the way your eyes keep drifting to jay. as the hours tick on, the group starts to break apart around the beach. heeseung and martin had volunteered to get more drinks and jay had hopped up to help, since then the three of them had been seated at the table a few feet away. they're talking quietly but you don't miss the not so discreet way one of them would point in your direction.

viv and mia only make it worse, shoving and hitting your arm wildly when jay finally stands to head toward the coolers. “okay, okay. go now.” you hear one of them say, nearly shoving you off of your chair. and you don't miss the kissing noises they make as you're walking away.

the coolers sit near one of the set up of kayaks that jaehyun swore he'd get put away before sundown. it was ten pm. jay is already crouched beside one when you approach, pushing aside melting ice as he searched for another drink. “hi,” your heart is pounding so rough against your chest, it's all you can muster. you catch the way his hand stills, body stilling for just a second before he's shaking it off – pulling two wine coolers from the ice before standing to face you. he hands one over with the prettiest of smiles.

“hey.” he says through one of his nervous laughs you've gotten so familiar with.

“i liked your speech,” it's all you can think of saying because it's all you can think about. his gaze drops to the sand, a hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck. and for the first time all evening, all summer even – jay actually looks embarrassed. the past three months, you've been the one blushing, the one caught staring, you've been so sure you've been making a fool out of yourself with your loud crush. when it reality, he's been noticing you this entire time too. he was just so much better at hiding it.

his shoulders lift in a slight shrug, “i was just being honest.”

“honest? you were flirting with me,” you accuse playfully and that has his cheeks going pink. “oh my god,” he laughs and it's a real pretty one, it has a smile lifting on your lips almost immediately. his eyes find yours for a moment, but he's quickly finding something else to focus on. and then he's slowly coming back, allowing himself to actually look. his stare is so intense that it has you shifting, searching for something to say, anything to fill the silence. your lips part, but he's beating you to it. “i meant it. i really like you, yn. but...”

he's getting ready to reject you, you can just tell. jay didn't like loose ends and despite all the quiet glances, subtle flirting that you're now just realizing was flirting, he was still leaving in the morning. he was starting a whole new chapter of his life and there could be no maybes left behind. so he needed a clean break. you're interrupting him before he has the chance. “and you said i was pretty in all my dresses. you know, i knew you were staring every morning... you'd always act like you were look at your bon jovi poster,”

jay is letting out a low laugh, “it's a nice poster!” he defends. “but yeah, it was you.” it feels so weird to say out loud, he had been so careful all summer and admitting that he had been admiring you this whole time didn't feel like him. “you looked good in every one. extremely distracting by the way.” he's twisting the cap off of his drink as he speaks, taking a long sip from it.

and you realize why he's not holding back anymore, the semi permanent flush of his cheeks and glossy look in his eye. “every one?” you prompt with a grin, following his lead and taking a sip from your drink too.

he nods without a moment of hesitation, “all of them.” the confidence in his voice catches you off guard, because this was jay we were talking about. the same jay that spent three months carefully putting distance between you every time you got too close. who would find excuses to rush away whenever you'd start flirting with him. the same jay who'd look away whenever you caught him staring, spouting off nonsense facts about bon jovi instead of saying what he truly wanted to.

that jay was looking at you through hooded eyes, gaze dragging over the curves of your body. and a lazy smile stretches on his face that makes your stomach twist. he's nodding his head as if he's confirming a question he had asked himself. “yeah, all of them.” he says quietly. “the long blue one with the slit on the side,” your lips part slightly, the exact morning flashing in your mind. it was only the third day and he called you in early to do one final sweep before the campers were arriving later that day. you remember just throwing the dress on, annoyed that you were up before sunrise when everyone else was sleeping in.

“you remember that?” he's nodding before you're even done speaking. “yeah, you wouldn't stop giving me attitude all day.” he's laughing with a shake of his head. he's taking a step closer, turning so he's facing you fully and you feel your stomach twist. “the white one you wore to the talent show,” he continues, lip tucked between his teeth. he had stood on the other side of the room the entire show, barely speaking two words to you when it was over.

“and...” his head tilts slightly, eyes dragging over you in the way that makes it so painfully obvious that he's been forcing himself not to look at you all summer. he's grinning. “the short orange one you're wearing now,” you actually feel the way your brain short-circuits, eyes wide as your jaw drops. it's usually the other way around, you coming onto him and him ignoring you. so now that the roles were reversed, you have no idea what to do with yourself.

“okay, stop.” you're laughing, hand lifting to slap his shoulder. “what? i can't compliment you? you compliment me all the time.” you shake your head quickly, “tit's different when you do it. especially now.” you point out and jay goes quiet, because he knows you're right. it is different. everything is. summer was over, all the campers were gone, he was leaving tomorrow morning and everything just felt... heavier?

before either of you can say anything else, a scream cuts across the beach. both of you turn at the sound to find sunoo pealing his shirt from his body, sprinting toward the water. “LAST SWIM OF THE SUMMER!” he shouts as he runs. chaos breaks out within seconds, your friends abandoning their drinks and kicking off their shoes. shirts and shorts fly through the air as they reveal the swimsuits they'd been wearing all night.

the firelight flickers across the beach as everyone runs toward the lake. viv jumps on jaehyun's back, his hands clutching her thighs as he runs. jungwon, martin, sakai and lex have already started climbing up a nearby cliff. mia and heeseung are in search of a beach ball. it's so obvious that everyone was trying to drag out time, trying to cram in as many 'lasts' as they could before morning was rolling in and all of this was ending.

you're smiling, gaze shifting back to jay. and you find him already look at you, he smiles brightly before tapping his bottle against yours, tipping it back and swallowing the rest down. you do the same. his head tilts toward the lake once you're finished, brow lifted slightly. “race you,” he's running off before you can even register what he's said, bottle ditched somewhere in the sand and you're quick to follow behind him.

jay's laugh is loud and unrestrained as he runs into the water, pulling his shirt over his head in the process. you've never heard him laugh like that, ever and it's incredibly contagious. your dress joins the liter of clothing at the shoreline as you rush in. the lake is freezing and you're squealing the second it hits your legs. jay turns to face you, he's already fully submerged himself into the water and he's reaching a hand out to you.

“you gotta jump right in,” you've been saying that to him all summer. the irony is funny to you. still, you take hold of his hand and he's easily tugging you toward him. the two of you float there, treading water and staring at each other. it's like he was getting in all the looking he had missed out in the past months. “what?” you're laughing and he's shrugging his shoulder slightly. “just remembering...” you hate the way his words make you feel. you don't want to think about it being the last night, or all the time wasted. so you splash him instead, a hard wave that soaks his hair. jay's laughing, hand pushing his hair back out of his eyes to see that you've swam away and he's quick to swim after you.

you're swimming right through the middle of the impromptu game of water volleyball, jaehyun deciding you're apart of his team and sending jay to join heeseung's side. sunoo teases mia about winning now that they had you and she had jay, she rolls her eyes before roughly serving the ball. it hits jaehyun in the chest and viv shouts from the pier for you all to be careful with her man, brin laughing beside her.

across the lake, jungwon, martin, sakai and lex have made it to the top of the cliff. their voices echo as they argue about what actually counts as a flip. martin deciding to shut them all up by launching himself off of the rock, body flipping naturally in the air whooping loudly just before he's hitting the water with a loud splash and lex follows behind him, looking less graceful but gaining a supportive chant from the girls when she resurfaces.

the game of volleyball melts into a shouting match after the first three rounds, arguments about points that nobody had been even keeping track of in the first place, sunoo swearing that he didn't cheat and heeseung and jay going back and forth about something neither of them seem particularly passion about. the beach ball floats away forgotten by both teams.

eventually, you're paddling your way back toward the dock, pulling yourself up beside viv and brin. water drips from your legs as you stretch them out in front of you, back laying against the warm wood. viv immediately scoots closer, grin wide as her eyes drift to where jay and heeseung fight to pull each other under the water. “so,” you feel the heat rise in your cheeks. “does he like you? does he want to kiss and get married and have five kids?” she's asking and you're barking out a laugh.

“yeah, right.” you roll your eyes. “we didn't say much, really. just that he liked me dresses.” you catch the way brin rolls her eyes, letting out a soft huff. “he's hopeless,” she sighs, but is quickly moving to change the subject, pointing across the lake as sakai shoves jungwon into the water before jumping off behind him. “can you believe she's going to be in charge next year?” brin had spent the past three months training sakai on how to run this place and come next year, she'd be the new head counselor.

viv is shaking her head, “wild. this is the same girl who faked pneumonia to get out of cooking duties, by the way.” you're snorting out a laugh. “i'm going to miss this,” the admission settles between all three of you. waking up and not have your friends right outside your door, no more staying up late to watch the stars. this place somehow became home without any of you noticing and in less than twelve hours it all would be over.

the dock shifts slightly, a large splash following and the sound of jaehyun's laughter. viv is rolling her eyes, kicking her foot out to him but instead of hitting him, he's catching it by the ankle. he's tugging her slightly, earning a swift kick with the other leg. he's laughing. “come here,” his thumb traces her ankle, hand slowly dragging up her calf. “i'm having a conversation,” viv says, gesturing between you and brin.

jaehyun is shrugging quickly. “you can have it in the water,” his fingers tighten around her leg, a sly grin spreading across his lips and anyone can guess what he's thinking. “jaehyun, don't.” he's looking up at her, mischief dancing through his eyes. “what? i'm just touching you. i love you. i can't touch you?” they're ignoring the gagging noises that come from beside them just like they always do.

“i can feel you–” she is not even able to finish her sentence before he's yanking his arm toward him, successfully pulling viv off of the dock and into the water. he catches her instantly, arms around her waist as her legs secure themselves around his waist. “say bye to your friends,” he says already swimming further into the water.

a few feet away, heeseung is waving both his arms in your direction. “are you two planning on sitting there all night?” he shouts with his hands now cupped around his mouth. “maybe!” you're shouting back and he's quickly shaking his head, waving you both over. “get in the water!” brin is quickly pointing at you, despite the fact her legs and hair were still dry. “she doesn't want to,”

“what!? you're still dry,” you point out. she's rolling her eyes, slipping in just as heeseung has started swimming over. you follow behind her. the group gathers together slowly, floating in the middle of the lake as conversations overlap. you're all drifting between each other, talking about plans for the next few weeks, sharing excitement for next year, worries. jungwon's group eventually get their fix of cliff diving and join the rest of you in the water. lex puling herself comfortably on sunoo's back, reaching forward to steal his drink. mia starts another argument this time with sakai about who slept in the most.

and somehow in the midst of all of this, you end up beside jay again, without even fully realizing it. at least that's what you tell yourself when your shoulder bumps against his. one moment, he's laughing at something heeseung says, the very next you're stealing his attention away, in your tiny yellow bikini that barely covers yours ass. he knows. he checked.

you're so close to him, but you're completely enthralled in conversations. laughing loudly and engaging freely. your legs brushes against his whenever a soft wave rolls through and each time neither of you move away or say anything about it. you don't realize that the two of you are floating away at first. you were listening to the others, jungwon's laugh carrying across the water as martin exposes him for never really being on duty.

their voices come and go with the ways, but slowly it seems like they're fading into the background. you shift onto your break, letting the water hold your weight as you stare up at the twinkling stars scattered across the sky. jay stays close to you, tanned skin glistening in the moonlight. his hair is wet and slicked back, dark eyes sparkling as he watches you.

“you stare a lot,” you're pointing out with a laugh.

he's quick to nod his head, not even bothering to deny it. his hands find their way underneath you, floating uselessly beneath your back as if he's holding you up – but not actually touching you. just looking for excuses to be close to you, to touch you. even if it was through the water. “you're so different tonight, i'm not used to this jay.” you're saying after a minute and jay's gaze is dragging up to your eyes.

“am i?” he's asking like it's not the most obvious thing. “yes. you're actually looking at me, complimenting me, not rushing away when i get too close. where was this all summer?” besides the time the two of you spent working together in the music lodge, there were very few times where you were alone. no matter how much you wanted to be. “i was trying really hard to be professional. i'm your mentor.”

“not anymore,” you're quick to point out and you notice the way his eyes drag down the line of your neck to to the swell of your breasts all the way down to the curve of your waist. his eyes catch the gold jewelry that dangles from your navel before he's snapping his eyes back up to yours. “not anymore,” he repeats with a nod. you feel the way the palm of his hand grazes your thigh as he floats closer to you.

you're sure the pounding in your chest can be heard by your friends on the other side of the lake. you try to appear as composed as possible. “so, what else have you been keeping to yourself?” jay's lips shift into a smirk, head tilting to the side slightly. of course you want to know what he's been thinking about you since he was first meeting you. and he's kept his cards so close to his chest up until now, it was only fair. “you want the whole list?”

your head tilts so your able to look at his face fully, eyes wide. “there's a list?”

“a long one,” he's nodding quickly. “like how cute i think you look biting your lip when you play the piano. the way i admired how easily you were able to bond with the kids in our class...” he's actually searching his mind for more things to tell you and you find that unbelievably adorable.

but still, something about all of this just doesn't sit right by you. “why'd you wait so long to say something?” he's letting out a soft sigh, stepping back slightly as his hand rubs at the back of his neck. “i'm leaving in the morning, yn. and i'm not coming back. i mean, i liked you from the start but it didn't seem smart to start something with you i knew i wasn't going to be around to finish.” it made sense. he wasn't coming back, this was his last summer before he went to start his life in new york or california or wherever life took him. this was his past now.

“and i knew you had a crush on me too, it just didn't seem fair.” he's explaining with a sigh and you're nodding, because he's right. you hated to admit it, but he was right. now you knew, though. and you still had the rest of the night. there was no sense in moping around about the fact that this would be the last time you'd see each other when you could be reveling in the time you still had.

you're shifting in the water so you're upright again. “you know, i really thought i was embarrassing myself all summer. turns out you were crushing on me just as bad,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him that has him smiling. “no, you were.” he's clarifying and you reach over to slap at his chest. “i was not! you kept a mental inventory of my dress collection,” you're pointing out.

“yeah, but i was subtle. you knocked over an entire box of guitar pics when i touched your hand,” the memory makes him smile, you were wearing a green halter dress than, hair pulled into a sleek bun. and you smelt like caramel. “okay, but-” you try to defend yourself, but he's interrupting you. “and let's not forget the time you spilled juice in your lap when i sat by you,” white dress with red and pink flowers all over it. it was ruined. rip.

you embarrassed yourself in front of him more times than you could count and there was denying that, so you don't try to. “you know what,” you're grumbling, hands pushing the water hard enough to send a large splash toward him. it hits him directly in the face, soaking his hair all over again. and you don't miss the dangerous smile on his lips as he reaches up to wipe the water from your eyes, you're already swimming away before he's opening them.

“oh, you're done.” you hear from behind you and you make the mistake of looking back, catching the way he dips under the water. he's scarily fast. you're letting out a squeal as you rush away from him. he's laughing at how easily he's able to close the distance between the two of you. and you hate this version of him. no, actually that was a lie – you hate how much you like this version of him.

this is the jay everyone else around you apparently knew about it. the one that wasn't watching every word or always stepping back. he was no longer trying so hard to keep up with this stiff image of himself, he was just being. and you hate that it took until the very last day for you to finally experience him this way. you're laughing so hard you can barely defend yourself, screaming when jay is finally catching you. “jay!” you shout as he's easily lifting you over his shoulder and tossing you behind his back into the water.

you're resurfacing quickly, jumping onto his back without a bit of hesitation. jay stumbles forward, laughing as you wrap your around his shoulders trying with all your might to get him under the water. “i'm going to fucking drown you,” the threat comes between laughs, ruined by the fact that you're barely even able to move him. “you?” he says amused, a large hand lifting to wrap around the arm you've got around his neck. “are we sure about that?” the confidence in his voice should've been your warning, but you barely have time to question it before he's shaking you off and right back into the lake.

you're bobbing to the surface with a gasp, shoving wet hair from your face as your eyes find jay standing across from you. he's bent over laughing so hard he's basically wheezing, eyes shut as he clutches his stomach and you're taking the chance. you're jumping on him before he can react, sending both of your bodies under the water. you're quick with swimming to the surface, coughing and laughing as jay wipes water from his eyes. “get over here,” his laugh follows his words, and you're instantly swimming away.

you hear the water shifting behind you. way too fast. and you're swimming straight for the rocks, planning on getting out of the water entirely and getting away from him on foot, but you're barely able to touch them when you feel his arm wrap around your waist. he's pulling you toward him swiftly, your spine colliding with his solid chest – hands braced on the rocks in front of you. you were literally trapped between a rock and a hard place. “i warned you,” his voice is right beside your ear and you're suddenly becoming painfully aware of how close you were.

you can feel the way his breathing has changed against your back, hands dropped down to your hips as he holds your body against his. his grip tightens for half a second as another wave rolls between you. you feel him shift behind you, pulling you close and you're gasping when you realize what he's doing. your ass is pressed right against his crotch, his stiffness pressing against your ass. his head tilts slightly, a hand lifting to push your hair off of one shoulder. “done running from me?” he mumbles but you can't even form a proper sentence right now.

you're nodding, breathless, pulse is racing and slowly you're turning around in his arms, hands landing on his shoulders. he looks like he's ready to devour you. hair dripping into his eyes, cheeks flushed and eyes slowly drinking you in. and for once, he's not looking away when your eyes meet. instead, he's moving in closer. your bodies shift until your back is pressed against the rolls and there is no where else for you go besides into him.

his hand lifts from your body, finger latching onto the front strap of your bikini – right between your breasts. he grins at the sound of your breath hitching, the soft gasp you let out when he's tugging you toward him. the water ripples, your chest hits his and he's backing you back against the rock before his leaning down. you can almost hear his resolve snap before his mouth finds yours and you're immediately melting into it.

overhead, jungwon is launching himself off of the cliff after successfully convincing his group to climb back up. his body rotates easily through the air, the best backflip that he's all summer and he can hear the cheer of his friends as they look up at him. and then he's catching movement, seconds before he's about to hit the water. it's you and jay, further from the rest of the group still. standing a bit too close.

he's eyes are widening when jay is lifting his hand, finger hooking into your bikini top and tugging before he's tugging you toward him. “no way,” the words leave his lips just as he's hitting the water, the splash that follows is huge but he can't even reveal in that as he fights to the surface. he swims to the edge of the lake, pulling himself out of the water as he shoves his wet hair from his face. eyes finding the two of you again, still very much kissing. and when he reaches the top of the cliff again, you're in the same spot.

martin is still standing near the edge of the cliff, sakai trying to convince him to belly flop. lex spots jungwon first, brow furrowing. “you said last jump, why you back?” he nearly slips as he rushes toward the edge of the cliff, pointing aggressively down at the water. “look.” martin follows the direction of his finger, sakai tilting her head to the side as she squints and lex crouches down slightly.

“oh my god.”

jay's groaning against your mouth and the sound shoots straight through you. his mouth moves over your swiftly, tongue pushing it's way past your lips. your brain is reeling, completely drowning in the taste of him. everything in the background just ceased to exist, you were no longer worried about tomorrow, or next summer or even your friends that were right behind you. all you could think, breathe, feel was jay.

your mouth tastes like the blueberry wine coolers you've been drinking, you smell like caramel the way you always do, and the way you feel against him is enough to drive just about anyone insane. your arms are around his neck, chest pressed to his and head tilted as your tongue is rolling into his mouth. he doesn't miss the soft whine you're letting out, the sound muffled by his mouth but his dick responds anyway. pressing firmly against you, you're shifting closer.

jaehyun sits on the dock, hands spread out beside him with viv perched between his legs. she's droning on about her new campus and her new roommate that she was so excited to meet. he's half listening, but his attention seems to drift across the water. a habit he's picked up throughout the summer, sort of like canvasing. checking where everyone had ended up, what you're all doing.

brin is floating in the water by heeseung, talking about their first summer here... six years ago. she had these atrocious bangs and braces, he still hadn't even grown into his nose. it was crazy how to two of them grew up. mia and sunoo sit at the edge of the water, legs kicking in front of them as sunoo gushes about finally being reunited with his boyfriend back home.

jungwon, martin, lex and sakai are still on that damn cliff, but instead of doing flips like they had been all night, they're crouched down staring below them. jaehyun follows their gaze and he's nearly falls over when he's seeing what they see. “oh, no way.”

“baby, i'm telling you a story.” viv says from between his legs, turning to look at her man who was clearly no longer paying attention. his hand reaches for her jaw, turning her head in the direction of you and jay. she's gasping, moving quickly like the queen of gossip he knew she was. she's waving her arms dramatically trying to catch mia's attention and it takes less than a few seconds before she's looking over.

'what?' she mouths and viv is pointing in your direction. her eyes land on the two of you instantly and she's grabbing sunoo's arm, pointing across the lake. sunoo is letting out a loud gasp, leaning forward like he's about to charge right over to you. mia is holding him back just in case. “heeseung,” jaehyun is whisper-shouting, catching the older boy's attention pretty quickly.

'look at jay.' he mouths and heeseung's brows are furrowing before both him and brin are turning around. the grin that spreads on his face can only be described as proud. finally. after three months of pining, finally. he has to hold back from applauding his friend.

jay moves like he's been starving for this. hands dropping to your thighs and squeezing roughly until you're taking the initiative and climbing onto him, legs wrapping easily around his waist. he's sucking your lip into his mouth, teeth grazing it as he presses his hips forward, effectively pinning you against the rocks. your hands have made their way into his damp hair, tangled in the strands.

neither of you have any idea that all of your friends bought front row tickets to your first kiss and it's evident in the way jay is shifting his hips forward, half hard cock pressing against him and you're pressing down just as hard. he's humming out a moan and you feel it throughout your body, heat pooling between your legs. his fingers spread against your skin, slowly sliding up your thighs.

you're pulling back just enough to catch your breath, a soft laugh falling from your lips at the dazed look in his eyes. cheeks flushed pink beneath the moonlight, lips swollen from the kiss, chest rising and falling unevenly. droplets of water fall from the hair that covers his forehead. he doesn't say anything, just stands there taking you in. the sight alone has another giggle falling from you lips and that has his gaze dropping to your lips. he's leaning in again before he can think twice about it.

“let her breathe, let her breathe!” sunoo's voice echoes across the lake and you feel jay's body go rigid against you. his eyes squeeze shut as if he's suddenly remembering where he is and the fact that it wasn't just the two of you out there. “that's it! get your man!” mia is whooping, lifting her drink the air as she cheers for you. your shoulders shake, a horrified laugh escaping you as your forehead falls onto jay's shoulder. the sound is quickly swallowed by the shouts that come from your friends.

jay is letting out a low breath through his nose. his head lifting toward the sky for a second with a shake of his head. and when he's looking back down at you, this is the first time you've ever seen him have his composure rocked. usually so calm and careful, but here he looked almost boyish? obviously blushing as the teasing from your friends filled the air. his hands stayed resting on your thighs the entire time, holding your body close to his as jungwon shouts about having seeing it happen first.

“this is so beautiful!” sakai shouts from the top of the cliff, leaning on martin as tears well in her eyes. clearly more emotional about leaving camp than she let on. martin wraps an arm around her waist before leaning forward where jay is able to see him. “look what y'all did! you made kai-baby cry.” he points down at the girl in his arms who also cried after seeing all the beds made this morning.

“kiss again!” jaehyun is shouting from the dock, earning a supportive whistle from viv. the group erupts at the suggestion, childishly chanting 'kiss' as jay stands there mortified. and you think it's hilarious, he looks so cute embarrassed, trying to hide the fact that his heart wasn't pounding and despite how badly he wanted to kiss you, he was all of a sudden feeling shy.

“come on, the first one didn't count!” brin is shouting through the chants. “how would that not count!?” jay shoots back, finally turning back to look at your friends. his reaction only fueling their chants and you can practically feel the heat coming off of him now. they're all a perfect orchestra. heeseung leads the chants, hands cupped around his mouth as cheers for another kiss. lex is leaning over the edge of the rock, sending exaggerated kissy faces your way. and brin is holding her hands up, making them kiss as her lips pucker.

and despite how desperate jay looks to escape their attention, you're addicted to peer pressure. a laugh slips past your lips as your hand is reaching down, fingers pressing against his jaw gently – just enough to turn his head back toward you. the shouting gets louder instantly. you're leaning down against instantly, mouth slotted against his and he's letting out an involuntarily groan at the feeling. the cheers that follow are obnoxiously deafening and it has your laughs dying against jay's lips.

the cold of the lake slowly becomes unbearable and one by one, you all begin making your way back toward the shore. the like that had been full of shouting and splashing just minutes ago is now quiet behind you, water still. wet footprints trail through the sand, towels stolen and half finished drinks recovered from where they had been abandoned hours ago.

you're settling in front of the fire with jay who swiftly positions himself behind you. the fire crackles in front of you, casting a warm light across the campgrounds. hair and body still wet, but you're settling further into jay's chest until going to find a towel. he doesn't seem to care much either, arm looping around your waist as he holds you close to him.

neither of you seem particularly interested in talking about what just happened, instead you just smile way too wide each time your eyes meet. you can hear brin from across the grounds, hair wrapped in a towel and a large hoodie covering her frame. she's rubbing at her stomach as she speaks. “i'm starving!” heeseung snorts as he walks past, his wet swim trunks in hand a pair of dry short hanging loose on his hips. he's digging through the coolers, without even looking up.

“we still have a bunch of meat left. should we kill it?” he suggests and brin's body immediately perks up. “say swear,” she says, taking quick steps to where he stands. he's letting out a soft laugh, pulling two unopened packets of pork belly from the ice with one hand, three packets of brisket in the other. “swear,” brin is squealing, reaching up to take the packets in hand. “see? this is why you're my favorite.” she says, leading the way toward the grill.

heeseung is rolling his eyes, but following closely behind. “yesterday you said lex was your favorite,” he points out and brin is nodding happily. her hand extends so she's able to boop the tip of heeseung's nose, he's scrunching it immediately. “today it's you.”

you spot sunoo walking toward the fire a few seconds later carrying four drinks, two in each hand. “good news,” he announces in a sing-song tone, lifting the bottles toward his face. “i found a full box,” viv and jaehyun trail behind him, stealing one of the bottles before settling on one of the lawn chairs. sunoo hands you a bottle, before passing the next one to jay and plopping down by the fire. “this is starting to feel final,” you say with a pout and you feel the way jay stiffens behind you.

“we live close! we should plan something, yn.” viv reaches her hands out to you and you're agreeing instantly. you two were only a forty-five minute drive apart, it wouldn't be hard to make plans together before next summer, it was just harder when you weren't just a few doors away. rather than across the country.

lex, mia and jungwon take responsibility for the mess they spent most of the night helping create. jungwon is already collecting empty bottles to recycle, lex is carrying a trash bag that's somehow bigger than she is, while mia complains but about everyone being pigs while she cleans up the leftover food. she's mainly yelling at martin who's pretending he can't hear her from where he still sits at the lake with sakai beside him.

they're sat near the edge of the water in the sand, sakai is wrapped in a large blanket and martin has his head resting on her shoulder, fighting the sleep that's creeping up on him. sunoo is rummaging through his bag for something, his bottle pressed between his knees as he looks. “oh wait!” he's exclaiming loud enough that it catches the attention of the people sitting closest to him.

“what?” jungwon is asking, head peeking up from the trash bag he had been separating.

sunoo is pulling a small stack of envelopes from his bag, holding them up with a wide grin. “we forgot these!” he's standing before anybody call say anything else, shuffling through the envelopes and making his way around the camp to hand them out. they're goodbye letters. you know, because you written eleven of your own. everyone had to, it was camp tradition according to brin.

but as sunoo makes his way through the group, the energy changes, you can feel it. the distribution was like a blaring indicator that it was over. eventually, you'd all have to go to sleep and face tomorrow. the fire was going to die down, heeseung was going to run out of food to make, at some point you'll run out of memories to share, stories to tell. it had to end. and you all had to say goodbye.

“i'm going to miss how you always steal my hoodies, even though you have a man.” sunoo says dramatically to viv while handing her the letter he wrote, he's shooting jaehyun a pointed look at the mention of him and then shuffling to find the letter for him. viv is taking hers with a laugh, tucking it safely beneath her leg. “and i'm going to miss pretending not to notice when you and viv disappear,” jaehyun takes his letter with a roll of his eyes, drink still pressed to his lips.

“you never pretended.” he points out and sunoo is nodding with a laugh. “because you guys are gross,” he sings before turning to continue his rounds.

by the time sunoo is dropping back down beside the fire, you've noticed a handful of your friends disappearing into their cabins and coming back with their own letters. but none of you talk about it, none of you make an announcement to pass them out, it sort of just happens.

the grill sizzles, brin stealing a piece of meat before it's finished cooking and heeseung is meeting her with an individual plate with the letter he wrote her tucked underneath it. she doesn't make a big deal out of it, takes the plate and the letter before plopping down at the picnic table to eat. jungwon complains about people not separating recyclables correctly, pulling glass bottles from the trash bag that should only be filled with food. martin is standing above him, note extended in front of his face.

“if that's another bottle, martin, i'm going to drown you in the lake. and then myself,” jungwon grumbles as he looks up, eyes finding the crisp envelope inches from his nose. he takes it quickly, tucking it into his pocket then goes right back to complaining. martin walks up, making his way back to where he had been sitting with sakai before, only now she's standing.

the blanket he had lent to her folded neatly a sad look on her face as she hands it over, the note she wrote for him resting on top. “i'm going to miss you so much,” she says through a sob and martin is chuckling softly, plucking the note from the top before grabbing the blanket. unlike everyone else, he's tearing into his note immediately despite sakai's protests. his eyes move quickly across the paper before they're slowing, taking in every written word and the meaning behind them.

sakai notices the shift, she recognizes it. “martin?” her head tilts up to get a better look at his face but he's quickly looking away, folding the note and tucking it back into it's envelope. “i'm fine,” he rushes out, wiping at his eyes with his knuckle. “let's go help clean up,”

a note seems to fall from the sky as jungwon passes, hitting your knee and landing on jay's lap. “read it away from me,” he mumbles before disappearing with his trash bag. jay is picking it up with a small smile. leave it to jungwon to literally run from any type of emotional exchange. “let me go put this away,” jay says, nudging at you leg gently and you're standing to allow him to slip from behind you and disappear into his cabin. you take the chance to slip away as well, grabbing the stack of letters you had spent the past week writing from underneath your pillow.

jay catches heeseung on his way to the bathroom, “hyung, wait.” heeseung's turning to the sound of jay's voice, eyes instantly landing on the thick envelope in his hand. “what is that like ten pages?” he asks with a laugh, reaching his hand out to take it. “it's only like seven,” he defends and heeseung is shaking his hand, tearing into the letter before jay can say anything of it.

“you know i have to read it out loud,” he says through a chuckle. jay is rolling his eyes, both hands pushing his hair back on his head as he feels his cheeks darkening. “you're so embarrassing,” he says with a shake of his head, but he doesn't fight it. heeseung would just find him and read it out loud later, he did it every summer for the past six years.

he's straightening his back and clearing his throat before bringing the note up to eye level, reading it like it's a scroll. “hyung. i tried keeping this short...” he lowers the letter to shoot a deadpan expression toward the younger boy. “seven pages?” he teases and jay is waving him off with a roll of his eyes. “just hurry up and read it,” much to his surprise, heeseung continues reading. “thank you for spending the past years putting up with me. though, i've been here longer than you... i never truly had someone to look up to until you arrived. we're the oldest, so everyone looks up to us. but i'm thankful i have you to look up to too.” jay doesn't miss the way the playfulness leaves heeseung's tone. realization that this was the last letter finally hitting him.

“i don't know if anybody else realizes how much this place has your fingerprints on it. you came up with most of the things we know call tradition, you've helped me write more songs than i can count. i even heard martin repeat one of your inside jokes his first week here... half the things the campers think have always existed started because of you, you're the blueprint.” heeseung pauses to grin because he had been screaming that for the past four years and finally he was getting the recognition for it.

the letter continues on like that, highlighting the memories they made together in the past six years, how close they've become. jay's plans for the future and how he promises to keep in touch, though, no one ever really did. but heeseung can tell that he meant it. the only difference is, heeseung was leaving too. not for the summer, forever. they both were on different paths of their lives now and seeing each other every summer was going to be a thing of the past.

he doesn't ruin the moment by pointing that out, though.

“you've been apart of almost every version of my adult life and it's going to be so hard imagining moving into my next phase without you standing ten feet away making an unnecessary comment. i don't really know how to end this, because i feel there shouldn't be an end to us. to our friendship. so i'll just say, thank you for being my friend and i'll see you soon.” heeseung looks up at jay to find him trying to look anywhere else, he's shaking his head laughing softly while flipping the pages over in his hands.

there's a few sentences scribbled on the back of the last one. “oh! there's more,” sarcasm drips from his words and jay's letting out a laugh. “i had a lot to say, shut up.” heeseung continues reading. “ps. stop giving relationship advice. even if you're right 99% of the time, stop it. your 'i told you so' face is so annoying. but, you were right again... i regret not telling yn how i feel. and i regret not kissing her when i had the chance,”

heeseung is looking up with a knowing smirk on his face, brow arched and jay is shoving at his shoulder. “that face! you're so irritating,” he says through a laugh while heeseung is carefully folding the note back up. “you kissed her, though. what changed your mind?” judging from the end of his note, it's clear that jay had no intention to actually make a move with you. but he saw the way jay kissed you in the water and how he's been all over you all night. this jay was very different from letter jay.

jay is clapping his hand on heeseung's shoulder with a shake of his head, “those fucking dresses, man.”

the night officially starts to settle around you. letters distributed and tucked away safely. the fire that had been roaring all evening has started to die down, only crackling whenever a piece of wood breaks. the loud shouts of your friends have dwindled into soft murmurs heard throughout the grounds. each one of you losing the battle against sleep, it was impossible to keep fighting it.

the food is gone, the coolers are empty. jungwon has organized every single piece of trash he could get his hands on. there was nothing left to do, there was nothing left to say. sakai and sunoo disappear first, walking into the bathroom with arms linked to do their skincare routine together for the last time of the summer. brin is a few steps behind them, yawning loudly and rubbing at her eye with the heel of her palm.

viv is curled up in jaehyun's lap, his hoodie working as a blanket as her head rests beneath his chin. every few minutes, she'll mumble something into his chest and he'll reach down to smooth a hand over her hair. jaehyun is still wide awake, talking quietly with jay from across the fire. you still sit comfortably in jay's lap but you're zoned out staring at the burning embers of the fire.

jungwon, martin and heeseung have migrated into their cabin, changed into their pajamas and laying on their beds. they talk softly, finding random things to say as they fight off the inevitable sleep. their voices drift through the open window every so often before dissolving back into sleepy laughter. across the lake, lex and mia have claimed the hammock and have been laying there with the past twenty minutes. neither of them have managed to finish a complete sentence, settling for quiet sighs and toying with each other's fingers.

jay feels you shiver against him for the fourth time and it has him realizing rubbing his hands over your arms was useless in warming you up. “you cold?” he asks, head tilting to the side so he can look at you. you're tired but you're fighting it, long curls pulled in a bun at the top of your head and pretty orange dress doing nothing against the cool night air. you're turning to look at him, head bobbing in a nod.

“i have a sweater in the car, should we...” he says it because he wants to spend more time together, that part is obvious. he could've very much you suggest you go to bed, put on warm sweats of your own and call it a night. but in reality, he wasn't ready for his night with you to end and neither were you, which is why you're standing to follow him.

the walk to his jeep isn't long, he parked close to the entrance out of his need for efficiency. he was set to leave early tomorrow morning, had spent the better half of the day loading up his car. it only made sense that it would be parked a few feet away. his arm settles over your shoulders as you walk, a comfortable silence falling over you and you're finally finding the courage to ask him what you've been wondering for the past hour and a half.

“did you forget to write me a letter?” you try to keep your tone playful, masking the echoing doubts in your mind. everyone had a letter, each passed out one by one and you watched jay hand out a letter to each one of your friends. yet, the one that he should've written for you never came. you don't miss the smile that breaks onto his features, a soft laugh falling from his lips as he shakes his head. “no, god no. i just couldn't stop rewriting it,” that peaks your interest. because, yes there must've been unspoken feelings when he sat down to write it, but actually rewriting it felt different.

it took you a good three hours to decide what you were going to say to him. everything you decided just felt too elementary, but even still you only wrote one draft. and that was the one tucked away somewhere in his cabin. “you did? how many did you write?” you're reaching his car just as the question leaves the lips and he shrugs, pulling the car door open before leaning in.

“nine.” he says it so casually, half his body in his car, your eyes are widening anyway. “nine!? you wrote me nine letters!? jay...” he's standing with a black sweater clutched in his hands. it's one you recognize right away, he's worn it enough for you to. just a simple black hoodie with 'miami' written in bold red letters, the word cut off by the deep-v cut into the neckline. he's easily pulling it over your head, guiding your arms into it.

it's such a simple gesture but it's so jay that your heart flutters. hand reaching down to find the side of his neck as he straightens the hem of his sweater against your thighs. you're gently pulling him toward you, to plant a soft kiss to his lips which he returns instantly, arm wrapping around your waist to pull you into him. “nine letters?” you're saying again as he pulls away and his face breaks into a soft smile.

“relax, you're only getting one.” he's reaching back into his car, rummaging through a bag before pulling out the folded piece of paper. number nine. the final draft of his goodbye letter to you, but it felt outdated now for some reason. still, he's handing it over to you with a sad smile. “read it later,” he feels the need to clarify, traumatized by heeseung's traditional presentation.

you're tucking the letter safely into the pocket of his hoodie and silence falls between the two of you. it's a charged silence that holds the words that neither of you are willing to say. instead his eyes stay trained on you as your eyes drift into the back of his jeep. slowly, you're stepping forward to get a better look. and the sight makes your chest tighten. boxes stacked neatly on top of one another, duffel bags shoved into every available corner of his trunk. his guitar. his backup guitar. binders upon binders of sheet music. seven years packed into the back of a car. your breath catches in your throat as you're eyes shift to look back at him, body leaning against the frame of the open car door.

“so... this is really it, huh?” jay follows your gaze, a soft sigh falling from his lips as he nods. “yeah, i guess so,” you feel the way your heart drops, which is stupid, because you had known he was leaving. for the past three months it's all he could talk about. grad school, apartment hunting, moving dates. the weather in his new city, he was never not talking about leaving. but somehow seeing it packed into the back of the car hit differently. it felt real. “it's like you fit your whole cabin into your car, looks weird...”

jay lets out a quiet laugh through his nose, hand lifting to rest just above your head against the car. “tell me about it. my cabin looks weirder, all empty.” your eyes drift back to the boxes, trying hard not to picture how his cabin would look empty. you poked your head in too many times to see if he was around to now think of the reality of him never being around again.

“you did this all day?” you say it just to make conversation, because you have nothing else to say that didn't feel totally depressing. and jay seems to catch on, because he is playing along. he nods simply, lips pulling into his mouth as his eyes drift back to you. “yeah, some of it yesterday.”

“you cried, huh?” you tease and that manages to pull another pretty laugh for him, “i absolutely did not,” he defends halfheartedly, but you're not buying it. “oh, now i know you cried. you're such a liar,” your eyes narrow up at him and that has him laughing even harder and for a second it almost feels normal again. but then your eyes are drifting back, catching sight of his guitar case again.

you're changing the subject quickly. “you know...” your voice trails off, forcing a smile on your lips. “i thought you hated me for like the first two weeks.” jay's head snaps toward you so fast it makes you laugh, his brows raised high toward his hairline. “are you serious?” he says through a laugh, your hand slaps against his chest. “yes! did you forget about how you'd avoid me? and ignore me, even if i was talking directly to you.”

he's laughing, eventually nodding along. because it was true. the first few weeks he couldn't even be around you without his brain short-circuiting and when he'd try to say something, anything – he found himself getting tongue tied more often than not. but still, “you were impossible to ignore. but, yes. i did try.” he had it in his head if he just didn't talk to you, then his feelings wouldn't grow. he was so wrong.

“you'd walk into a room and all of a sudden everyone's attention would be on you. including mine.” his eyes drop to his hoodie and how it swallows your frame, covering up one of your many pretty dresses. then slowly back up to your face, you're staring up at him with the same heart eyed expression you've been giving him all summer. “you flirted with me constantly too, even when i tried not to look your way,” you're laughing, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.

“i had a feeling it would end up being effective,” you grin and he's smiling, hand lifting to rest on the small of your back. “trust me, it was. it was all i could talk about with heeseung,” but never to you. he never gave away to the slightest bit of interest and that drove you insane every single day. it almost bothered you more that he waited until the last day to finally say something. he could've just left you clueless, able to move on and say that you tried. because you did try, so hard.

and for some reason him waiting until there was no time left to meet you halfway just didn't feel fair. the pout is forming on your lips before you can fight it, hand resting on his cheek. “i wouldn't change a second of this summer, truly. i loved meeting everyone and spending my days with you.” it's hard to ignore the sadness in your eyes, the obvious way you're fighting back tears as you speak. “but, fuck, jay... i wish we had more time,”

he knows exactly what you mean without you having to say it. you spent all summer wanting him, loudly. but every time he caught himself wanting you back, he'd find a reason to keep his distance. to walk away, to play it safe. he'd find a reason not too look too long, not too linger in conversations with you. especially if they were about your shared love for music.

he was so strategic in the way he interacted with you, careful not to let himself enjoy the way your fit lit up whenever you spotted him hanging out in his cabin. he had spent months convincing himself that this was the right way, that he was doing the right thing. the smart thing. that all of this would be easier if he kept his distance, and maybe that would've been true if tonight never happened.

because standing here now, knowing exactly what it feels like to kiss you, makes what should've been an easy goodbye feel impossible. “well,” he's saying with a soft smile, arm lifting so his wrist is in view. and you follow his gaze to the watch on his wrist. “it's only... 2:49AM. there's still five hours and eleven minutes until it's over.” he says with a proud smile, probably at his mental math and that has you laughing softly. “what should we do with that time?” his finger taps at his chin and you're tilting your head to the side.

without missing a beat, you're leaning up to press your lips against his. he's kissing back instantly. his hands fall down to grasp your hips, easily pulling your body against his. your worries about tomorrow seem to melt away as soon as his lips are on yours, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as you hold him to you. jay kisses you with a rushed, starved almost desperate need and it makes it difficult for you to focus on anything but him.

his tongue is pushing past your lips easily, brushing against yours before he's changing his mind and catching your lower lip between his teeth instead. you're gasping, the sound pulling a soft chuckle from his mouth. it dies on your tongue. “you're so perfect,” he sighs, hand resting against the side of your face as he leans back enough to look at you. he's easily tilting your head to the side with his hand, revealing more of your neck to him.

his head is dropping to the side, soft lips finding your skin. salty from the lake but he sucks kisses against the length of it. “jay,” you're gasping, hand reaching out to clutch the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him close. and his arm tightens around your waist, holding you tight against him as his lips roam your skin. he's focusing his lips just above your collarbone, sucking the skin into his mouth and it has your head lulling back. his body shifts, hands tracing the curves of your body before he's carefully lifting you into the backseat.

it's cramped between all his bags and boxes, and the idea of his new life. but he's climbing in behind you, letting the door slam behind him. closing the two of you in to your own private space and you're on him instantly. his back hits the door from the force of your lips, a soft laugh falling from both of your lips. you kiss him desperately, every push of your lips screaming finally and all he can do is try to keep up. he groans as your hands sneak underneath the fabric of his shirt, nails dragging over his stomach.

your tongue pushes and twists against his, his hands shoving his hoodie and your dress out of the way. his fingers spread over the skin of your ass, squeezing gently and the moan you let out has his dick jumping. jay is easily pulling you further onto him with the grip he has on your ass. it's so uncomfortable, you've got your legs on either side of his waist, he's hanging half way off of the seat, back pressed against the door. all of the crap from his cabin surround your bodies, making it that much more difficult to move. yet, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

not when you were hovering over him like this, panting into his mouth while pushing your ass back into the palms of his hands. “oh, fuck.” he's sighing when your lips trail down the length of his jaw, you follow the same pattern as he had before. sucking kisses into is skin, before grazing your teeth over it. focusing on a particular sensitive bit while your hips grind down onto his. a low, untamed growl catches in his throat as he feels the way your body moves against his.

the thin material of your bikini bottoms doing very little to mask the wet heat dripping from between your legs and onto his shorts. his head dips down to find your lips, mouth covering yours quickly and he wastes no time with licking into your mouth. jay's easily pulling you into a deep, needy, almost frantic rhythm that has your head spinning. you're moaning, hips pressing roughly against his. the length of his cock presses delicious against your clothed clit and your hips roll toward his, body shuddering as pleasure spreads throughout your core.

“oh my god,” you're whining into his mouth, hips moving frantically against his. he does his best to lift his hips to meet yours, fingers digging in to the flesh of your ass as heat rises up his neck. “you feel so... holy shit,” he's grunting, head falling back to rest against the door as you basically bounce on his lap. through hooded eyes, he watches the way your body moves against his. the needy roll of your hips paired with the look on your face just makes him harder.

you've got your lip tucked between your teeth, head dipped back as your hands travel up your torso. they find your breasts almost instantly and he watches as you squeeze and toy with them through fabric. he finds it hot how you refused to take off his sweater despite how much you probably want to. your hips move swiftly, pretty moans filling the cramped car as his hard length drags between your folds.

his hips lift to meet each one of your movements, using the grip on your body to press you down harder against him. every last bit of restraint has snap, he's no longer able to hold himself back. chest rising and falling in untimed breaths as a flush creeps onto his cheeks. he tries and fails to hold his whimpers back, but the way you're moving just feels too good. or he's just too sensitive, either way the pressure builds at the pit of his stomach and it's impossible to ignore.

and to make matters worse, jay can tell you're close too just from the unfocused timing of your hips and the helpless whines you're letting out. “jay,” you're gasping, fist clutching the fabric of his shirt as he watches the way your eyes roll back, your thighs squeezing together the best you can with his body between them. and he's quickly deciding he'd rather feel you cum, rather than see it.

“wait, baby... wait.” jay is shifting up, hands moving down to your thighs, stilling your movements. and he finds the pout that takes over your features especially cute, he's pressing a soft kiss to it without thinking. “i want to feel you,” he says simply. he's carefully leaning you back, your body resting against the boxes behind you as he moves to hover above you now.

his fingers sneak underneath the hem of your dress, latching onto the strings of your bottoms as his eyes drag up to look at you. you're shooting a nervous smile in his direction that has his heart softening. “is this okay?” he's asking softly, slowly tugging at the strings. you're nodding quickly, “please, jay.” you're breathing out, hips lifting off of the car seat to make it easier for him.

jay's letting out a soft chuckle before dragging your bottoms down your legs, tossing them somewhere behind him. his eyes drop down to catch the way your folds glisten, large hands pushing the hoodie and your dress up toward your belly button. “fuck,” he sighs with a shake of his head and you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, feeling unbelievably vulnerable under his lustful gaze. he's leaning forward, nose dragging along the length of your neck before his tongue pushes out to drag against your skin.

his hand slides expertly between your legs as his mouth moves to suck a hickey into your skin. your legs spread almost instinctively, moaning as his fingers trace between your folds. “you're so fucking wet,” he's groaning, fingers pushing slowly past your entrance. the warmth of your pussy surrounds his fingers as he slides in all the way to the knuckle. your hips lift to meet his hand and he's grinning down at you. “does it feel good? having my fingers stretch you out?” he asks softly as he curls his fingers inside you.

your walls clamp down around them, head bobbing in a nod. “yes... f-fuck, jay. it feels so good,” you're admitting. jay's fingers thrust deep inside of you, thumb pressing against your clit before he's rubbing slow cirlces against it. it's not long before he's falling into a steady rhythm, free hand lifting to hold your hips still as his fingers fuck into you. you're whining softly, legs spreading wide for him. “jay...” you're pleading, yet you have no idea what you're asking for.

his eyes lift to find yours, head tilting to the side slightly. “what, baby?” he grins, speeding up the movement of his hand and easily pulling a loud gasp from your lips. the sound of his chuckle follows, his eyes dropping back to your pussy. you're basically dripping around his fingers walls pulsing with each thrust. “i need... more, jay please.” your words break on a desperate cry, his fingers scissoring inside of you as his thumb presses harder against your clit.

“whatever you want,” he says, but the truth was he couldn't wait much longer either. not with this insistent throb between his legs, and the way you were looking up at him, so needy and ready. he had waited long enough for a moment like this with you, he was done waiting. jay pulls his hand away slowly, hands flying to push his shorts out of the way. his wet hand wrapping around his thick length and you watch as he strokes himself slowly, coating his shaft with your arousal.

the sight makes your mouth water. he stays knelt there for a few moments, just rubbing his hand over himself and watching you and the intensity in his stare makes your body hot. “spread your legs for me,” he's saying after a minute and you're separating your knees without a word, pussy clenching at the groan he lets out. “jay. fuck me, please.” you're whining, hand dropping down the length of your body to spread your folds for him, showing him just how badly you needed him.

he's leaning forward quickly, mouth covering yours in a needy kiss as the bulbous head of his cock bumps against your fingers. he takes his time with lining himself up with your tight hole, pushing his hips forward slowly until he's feeling you stretch around him. you have to remind yourself to relax as he pushes forward, breathing through the pain that comes with each inch of him. your fingers clutch his hair the moment that he's bottoming out and he feels the way your body stiffens.

“relax, baby. take your time.” he soothes, hand stroking your hair gently as he watches you adjust. he leans down to press soft kisses against your skin. switching between sucking hickeys into your neck and twisting his tongue with yours. he waits patiently for you to loosen up for him, but the moment he feels you shifting, he's taking that as his go and thrusting his hips forward. “fuck!” you shout, back arching as much as it can and he's pinning you back down with his hips.

slowly, he's pulling his hips back, allowing you to feel every rigid inch of his cock. “you're squeezing me so tight,” he says before he's quickly slamming back in. your body jerks, hips lift, whines falling from your lips as he falls into a steady pace. your hands are on his shoulders, nails dragging against his skin. jay fucks into you slowly and incredibly deep. his grip is tight on your waist, dragging your body down onto him with each thrust. his face remains buried in your neck, mouthing at your skin as his cock splits you open.

you feel him so deeply, he's no longer holding back and the desperate movement of his hips has an electric need shooting through your body. you needed to be closer. needed to feel him deeper. needed his hands on you like this forever. his teeth bite into your skin, muffling the long groan threatens to slip out and you're matching it with a needy whimper. his thrusts become brutal, hips snapping against yours in a overwhelmingly rough pace. your nails drag over the muscles of his back, legs spreading wider for him as desperate cries fill the car.

“jay, oh my god. i'm gonna...” you don't know if you should push him away or pull him closer, heat spreading throughout your body as the knot at the pit of your stomach tightens. jay keeps up with the pace as best he can, hand dropping down to find your clit again and he rubs figure eights into the sensitive bud. his head lifts so he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure.

your orgasm tears through your body, eyes rolling all the way to the back of your head as your back arches off of the seat. it's unlike anything you've felt before, body going numb as his hips continue to move between your thighs – fucking you through it. “god, look at you.” he sighs, burying himself deep inside of you, balls slapping against your ass with each thrusts. he moves until you're coming down for your high, watching the way your body relaxes in his arms. and only then is he pulling back, slowly drawing his hips away from your body and twisting his body so he's sitting upright on the seats.

“fuck,” he breathes, hand wrapping over his cock to keep it from falling limp. “i had the craziest cramp in my leg,” he says through a laugh, eyes shifting to find you. you're half way off of the seat, back resting against a box and hair falling messily around your face. “you okay?” he asks, smiling softly the second you're nodding. his free hand reaches out toward you, beckoning you over with a grin.

you're lifting slowly, allowing his arm to wrap around his waist and for her to tug you onto his lap. “come ride me, i'm almost there,” there's quiet begging in his tone as he lifts your body slightly, enough to pull you into his lap. your heart jumps, body freezing as you stare over at him with wide eyes. “oh, uhm... i've never? i don't think i know how...” you feel the heat rising in your cheeks and jay's brow furrows at your words.

“you've never rode someone before?” he asks because it sounds almost insane. of course you've rode someone before. he takes in the look in your eye, the shy blush that darkens your cheeks. “well, no... that was my first time,” you say sheepishly and his eyes are flying open, his hand falling from his cock to push his hair back on his forehead. “what?” he says it, even though he's positive he heard you clearly.

he just couldn't believe it. didn't even stop and consider it. and now he feels terrible because he just took your virginity like it was nothing. like it was something you could just hand out. it should've been special, he should've made it special. “yn, you can't lose your virginity in the back of my car!?” you're laughing at his distress, the wrinkle between his brow as they furrow in pure worry.

you don't know why you find him so cute this way. your shoulders lift in a shrug, hands settling on his shoulders. “too late?” you're saying through your laughter and he's shooting you a pointed look. “not funny, yn. i should've been gentle,” you're quick to shake your head, hands covering his cheeks as you lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips. he kisses you back slowly, hands resting on your waist much lighter now. you're pulling back slowly, head tilting slightly.

“come on, you already took it. don't clam up now,” you're leaning down to plate a kiss to his lips that has his worries melting away. your tongue wrapping around his, fingers curling in his hair as you lift your hips to climb further up on his lap. his head rests on the back of the chair when you pull away, looking up at you through his lashes as your hand reaches down wrapping around his cock. his hips twitch as you position his head at your entrance, “teach me,” you say with a pout and just like that his restraint is gone.

again.

–

you're not heading back to jay's cabin until the sun is already peaking over the mountains. it's weirdly empty, just like you imagined. his bed made in the middle of the room. he doesn't let you dwell on the look of it for too long, not wanting you to sleep too deep in your thoughts while you're having such a good time. he's pulling you into bed beside him, easily tucking your body into his as the two of you finally drift off to sleep.

and you stay like that in his arms for god knows how long. your head on his chest and his arm wrapped securely around your waist. he doesn't dare move, even when sleep finally takes over. which doesn't last as long as he would have hoped, his alarm blaring at exactly 7:15am. he's careful not to wake you as he slips out of bed, showering and changing his clothes as you shift and pull at his sheets. you don't even budge when he's making his bed, or when he's taking the last bag out of his room and into his car.

there's so much more he wanted to say. and he hated that he had no more time. for a long while, jay just stands there. keys in hand as his eyes scan over his empty cabin, save for you curled beneath his blankets. the morning sun peaks in through his window, golden streaks fanning across the bed. and you don't even shift. you're dead asleep, drooling onto his pillows and the sight has a soft laugh falling from his lips.

“wow,” he's shocked because even like this, smushed face and messy hair – you still look so pretty. he should leave, he needed to get on the road before the gps estimated a different arrival time. there were a list of things that he needed to get done back at his apartment before he was heading to the airport, he needed to leave. instead, he's making his way back into the cabin. setting his keys back on his desk before pulling out the blank notebook from one of the drawers, stealing a page.

he starts writing. the words coming to him much easier now that he's no longer hold back. he's ran out of reasons not to tell you exactly how he feels. he spent the last nine drafts trying to sound reasonable and failed every single time. because, this wasn't reasonable. falling for you was the most unreasonable thing that he has ever done, but he loved every second of it.

jay doesn't stop once as he writes, not a single typo. his feelings hit the page unfiltered, for the first time all summer. he's saying everything that he's wanted to, to you, about you. for you. he doesn't make a single edit. every for sentences, his eyes would drift over to where you lay, curled in his hoodie and drowning in his sheets. and then three more sentences would come to mind, two more after that. he writes until he's filled the entire page and then some more on the back.

once he's finished he's folding it carefully, slipping it into an envelope before scribbling something across the front. he's moving to stand beside the bed one last time, setting the note on his empty pillow before his eyes drift over to you. the urge to wake you up hit him intensely, he wanted so badly to say goodbye properly, to steal one more kiss, one more touch, one more hour. but he knew that was wrong. that he'd end up wanting to stay longer, actually seeing him walk away might hurt you more.

so he doesn't. he just sets his hand on your head softly, brushing your hair back so he's able to press a soft kiss to your forehead. his lips linger there for a moment, silently hoping that you'd wake up on your own. and when you don't, he's standing. he grabs his keys from his desk, takes one final look at you, before he's heading out of the cabin, closing the door tight behind him.

you're stirring awake two hours later. the first thing you notice is that you feel warm, surrounded by jay's familiar scent. you sink further into the mattress, sunlight spilling from the windows and warming your skin and for a few seconds you don't open your eyes. instead, you nuzzle yourself into jay's warmth as moments from the night before flood your memory.

playing with jay in the lake. kissing jay against the rocks. jay holding you by the fire. walking with jay to his car, his arm around your shoulders. jay fucking you in that same car, in so many different ways. you could still feel the stretch of him between your legs. a smile spreads across your lips, remembering exactly how he felt beneath you as you rode him for the first time ever. and you're suddenly filled with the need to try it again. to feel him again.

you're reaching out before your mind can tell you differently, eyes snapping open when your hand is met with nothing but emptiness. your eyes find the clock sat on his nightstand, reading the flashing numbers that stare back at you. 10:17AM. your stomach drops, a deep frown replacing the sleepy smile you had been wearing before. “oh,” you're sighing as realization hits, jay was gone.

you knew he'd be leaving early, he told everyone that he was going to be gone before anyone was really waking up. but despite knowing, not seeing him beside you still stings. slowly you're sitting up in his bed, the over-sized hoodie shifting over your shoulders as you reach to rub at your eyes. everything feels heavy, your heart thumps uselessly in your chest as your eyes scan over the room.

he was really gone. the bathroom had been emptied out this morning, his desk was completely cleared off, posters torn down and folded neatly. there was no trace of him left in this room besides you and the fact that he took everything and left you behind has your throat tightening. your eyes drift back toward his pillow, eyes furrowing at the sight of the crisp envelope that laid on top of his blue pillowcase. you're reaching for it quickly, reading over the words written across the front of the envelope. “make it ten versions,” you read and you don't waste a second before tearing the note open.

❝ yn.

i've written this goodbye letter to you so many times that i almost forgot the point of it. the first few letters sounded like i was giving you a college recommendation... then i got too emotional about leaving the music lodge in your care. the third version was so embarrassingly raw that if you ever somehow read it i'd most likely evaporate where i stand. the one that I gave you, version nine, was the one that felt the most honest to me. at least at that time. now, it just feels like it was written by someone else.

someone that was still pretending he hadn't fell for you. i spent the last three months pretending that i wasn't looking for you in every room. pretending that i was fine with keeping things professional. wasted so much time pretending that i didn't feel the same way that you did and i think i owe you an apology for that. i owe you a lot of apologies, honestly.

i'm sorry that i waited until the last day to make a move. i'm realizing now, seated at my desk and you snoring behind me that, that was the wrong move. i should've said something sooner, i shouldn't have let you wonder if you were the only one with the crush. or at least stuck to my guns, said nothing, and left quietly. because this sucks so much worse. leaving after just one night of getting to know how it feels to be with you feels horrible. but i don't regret it, don't get me wrong. i'm happy that our last night together was every bit of perfect, i just wish i got it together sooner. for the both of us.

and that brings me to my next apology. i'm sorry that you spent all summer being brave enough for the both of us. you were so loud about your feelings, you never hid, you flirted with me in front of everyone despite their teasing. you made your feelings so clear and gave me every opportunity to meet you halfway and i kept coming up with excuses not to.

i convinced myself that keeping my distance would be best for the both of us. there was no point in starting something that i couldn't finish, but i realize now i was too focused on that small detail. because while the future was clear and we both knew this summer would end, we could've still enjoyed each other for three full months rather than one night. that's my fault, i'm sorry i robbed us of that.

for the last seven years, this place has been my home away from home. i know the walls, i know the smells, every last detail is engraved in my brain like a sixth sense. so naturally, i figured no longer having it as a constant would be the hardest thing of all, the thing that i'd miss most. but now i'm realizing (again) that i was wrong, because what i'm going to miss most is you.

i'm going to miss the way your face lights up when you talk about music, the way you manage to make every conversation last twice as long as they should. your laugh, your smile, the taste of your lips. i'm going to miss how warm you felt sleeping against me. and most of all, i'm going to miss all the things that i want to experience with you and now know it's too late.

fuck, i hate that it's too late...

for the first time ever, i have no idea what will happen next. because as you read this, i'm probably already on the road, heading home or toward the airport and even though, i know that has always been the plan, i can't help but wonder if i should be doing something different. or if it's stupid to make such huge life changes over someone you just met. for the first time ever, i don't trust my own plan and that scares the shit out of me.

but i kind of like it, because if there's one thing this summer taught me, one thing that you taught me... it's that all of life's best moments happen when you stop trying to control them. it took me until last night to realize it, that's why i kissed you when i did. none of that was part of the plan, but i'm so happy that i let myself enjoy being with you, even if it was just once.

i know i don't have to tell you this, but don't worry too much about me... enjoy your school year, enjoy your life. go on all the dates, make new friends and be as happy as you can possibly be. i hope that one day the universe will bring us back together, but in the meantime... keep my hoodie safe. it looks better on you, anyway.

jay.❞

forever tags: @noidnoentry @lilpeachgrl @jakeycakeys @str4rxy7 @jaxenberry @noisyjunglegorgon @prettygirlthings-world @yeseoist @rayofsunshineeee @mayawastaken26 @beomluvrr @tinyenha @w2heehoon @rikisonline @reading-wh0re @nodoubtily @lilllslayswanderwoodsan

[sunishake]

boyfriend ISSUES : enha hyung line

✿︎ 𝐕𝐎𝐋 19 : enha hyung line as your older boyfriend ───── ✹ 𝑺𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐒 ! ... angst ,, fluff ,, older bf agenda ,, cuties in love ... [ library ]

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐚𝐩𝐬 : I MISSED WRITING ANGST SM URVHSBSNAN.

HEESEUNG ✹

The ramen smelled obscene. The smell crawled into your head and refused to leave ,, sharp chili oil, garlic, something fermented and sinful simmering together until your mouth watered despite yourself. You had already finished your bowl, slurped down to the last drop of broth, but the craving hadn’t eased. If anything, it had sharpened, your lower stomach aching dully in that familiar, miserable way that made everything feel louder and brighter and more unfair.

Across the small kitchen island, Heeseung was still eating. Unfair.

He leaned back against the counter, one hip cocked, sleeves rolled up like he always did when he cooked. His hair was slightly damp from the steam, glasses perched low on his nose as he scrolled through something on his phone between bites. Completely unbothered. Completely unaware of the hormonal storm waging inside you.

You hovered closer, chopsticks still in your hand out of habit. “That looks really good,” you said casually, eyes fixed on his bowl. He hummed, distracted. “Mm...It is.”

You waited with a pout hoping he will somehow know what you wanted but he didn’t offer.

You leaned in and, without asking, dipped your chopsticks into his ramen, fishing for a tangle of noodles slick with red oil. Heeseung reacted instantly. He lifted his bowl out of reach, eyebrows knitting together. “Hey!— What are you doing?”

You blinked up at him. “Eating?”

“You already ate yours.”

“I know.” You smiled cheekily. “But yours looks spicier.”

“It’s the same ramen.”

“It tastes different,” you insisted. “Can I just have a bite?” He shook his head, half amused, half firm. “Nope. I’m hungry.”

You scoffed. “So am I.”

“You literally just finished an entire bowl !”

“And yet,” you said, trying again to reach for it, “I’m still hungry.”

He turned his body away, shielding the bowl with his arm. “No. Go make more if you want.”

Something sharp twisted in your chest. You froze, chopsticks lowering slowly. “You won’t even give me a bite?”

Heeseung sighed, that low, patient sound he made when he thought you were being unreasonable. “Baby, I cooked this for myself too. You always do this.”

The word always landed wrong and you straightened. “Do what?”

“Eat your food and then steal mine.”

You laughed once, humorless. “I’m not stealing. I’m asking.”

“And I’m saying no.”

There was a pause. A small, dangerous one. You stared at the bowl in his hands, then at his face. He still looked calm, mildly defensive, like this was a silly domestic squabble he could win with logic. He didn’t see your fingers trembling slightly, the way your throat tightened for no good reason at all.

“It’s just ramen,” you said quietly.

“I know. That’s why you can make more.”

“Why are you being so stingy?”

His jaw tightened. “Why are you being so dramatic?”

The word slipped out too easily.You felt it immediately, the burn behind your eyes, hot and sudden. You swallowed hard, blinking, but it was already too late. Your lips pressed together as you turned away from him, placing your chopsticks down with exaggerated care.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” you muttered.

Heeseung frowned. “You just said—”

“I said I’m not hungry.” Your voice wobbled despite your effort to keep it steady. You folded your arms, shoulders curling inward as you moved toward the couch, putting distance between you and the kitchen, between you and the stupid bowl of ramen.

Behind you, he exhaled in frustration. “Why are you like this?”

That was it. The tears spilled over, silent at first, blurring the room as you sat down and stared at nothing. You hated crying over something so small. You hated that your chest hurt like you’d been rejected over something much bigger than noodles.

A few seconds passed. Then you heard footsteps. Heeseung stopped in front of you. “Hey,” he said, softer now.

“You’re really mad over ramen?” You didn’t answer. He leaned down slightly, trying to catch your eye. “Come on. Look at me.” You shook your head, lips trembling as a tear slipped down your cheek.

The change in him was immediate. “Oh...No no...” His voice dropped. “Hey—hey, no.” He set the bowl aside hastily, forgotten, and crouched in front of you. His hands came up, hesitant at first, then cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing away tears. “Why are you crying?”

You sniffed. “Because you’re mean.” His eyebrows drew together, guilt flashing across his face. “I wasn’t mean.”

“You were,” you whispered. “You didn’t want to share. You called me dramatic.” He closed his eyes briefly, like he was replaying the moment in his head and hating what he saw. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You never do,” you said, voice breaking. “But it still hurts.”

Heeseung sighed, long and heavy, then leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. “Baby… are you okay?”

You shook your head again, fresh tears welling. “I just wanted it. I’ve been craving spicy food all day. Everything hurts and I feel gross and you wouldn’t even give me a bite.”

His hands stilled “…Everything hurts?” he repeated slowly. Oh shit.

You sniffled. “I’m on my period.”

The realization hit him like a slap. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh my god.” His face softened instantly, regret flooding his expression. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I shouldn’t have to,” you muttered.

“You’re right,” he said quickly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He leaned in, kissing your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, each touch gentle and apologetic. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was being an idiot.”

You hiccupped softly, tears still falling. He stood up suddenly. “Stay here.”

You barely registered him moving before he was back in the kitchen, already reheating broth, adding more chili paste, more oil, more of everything he knew you liked. Within minutes, he was back, holding a fresh bowl of ramen, steam curling upward. He sat beside you and held it out. “Extra spicy. Just how you like it.” You looked at it, then at him. “I’ll share,” he added quietly. “Always.”

Your lip wobbled again, but this time he was ready. He pulled you into his chest, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other steadying the bowl on the table. He pressed a kiss into your hair and held you there, rocking slightly. “I’m sorry baby,” he murmured. “I forget sometimes that I’m older and I should be more patient. Especially when you’re hurting.”

You sniffed, voice muffled against his shirt. “You’re still annoying.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. But I’m yours.” He lifted a bite of noodles with his chopsticks and held it to your lips. “Eat, baby.”

JAY ✹

He really had been trying.

You could tell from the way Jay chose his words carefully, like he was stepping around glass, slower, gentler than usual. From the way he kept glancing at you whenever you spoke, checking your reactions like he was still learning the rules of something fragile.

Dating someone younger than him had clearly rewired parts of his brain. He was softer. More mindful. Almost overly considerate. Which made it worse when he slipped.

The car hummed softly beneath you, late afternoon traffic crawling by as sunlight spilled through the windshield. Jay drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on your thigh, thumb drawing absent-minded circles through the fabric of your jeans. The playlist had switched automatically, your playlist, something upbeat and loud and very much yours.

You sang along under your breath, tapping your fingers against the door, feeling oddly happy. Safe.

Jay glanced at the screen, then chuckled. “Soda Pop?...That’s… interesting,” he said.

You paused. “What?”

He hesitated, already backpedaling a little. “I mean—it’s catchy. But it's for kids” There it was.

You turned your head slowly. “Wow. Okay.” Jay winced almost immediately. “That’s not what I meant.”

You leaned back in your seat, crossed your arms, and stared out the window, silent treatment activated already. Your jaw tightened as you focused on anything but him, the passing shops, the red light ahead, the faint reflection of your own expression in the glass. Jay noticed the shift instantly. “Hey,” he said carefully. “Baby?”

Nothing.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean young like… bad. Just different. From what I usually listen to.” You swallowed. Your chest felt tight, irrationally so, but emotions didn’t care about logic. You were already spiraling, replaying his tone, the way it had sounded like a judgment even if he hadn’t intended it to be. “So it’s stupid,” you muttered.

Jay frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The light turned green, but he didn’t move right away. He drove a little slower now, grip tightening on the wheel. “I’m not saying your music is stupid. I was joking.”

“It didn’t sound like a joke.”

Silence settled between you again, heavier this time. You stared straight ahead, blinking rapidly, refusing to let your eyes sting any more than they already did. You hated how easily things got to you. Hated that a throwaway comment could unravel your mood so quickly.

Jay exhaled, long and quiet. “Okay,” he said. “I messed up.”

You didn’t respond. A minute later, he pulled the car over into an empty side street. The engine idled softly as he shifted into park. You looked at him then, startled.

“What are you—”

He turned toward you fully, expression stripped of teasing now, all warmth and concern. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I wasn’t thinking.” You shrugged, still guarded. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he replied gently. “You wouldn’t be this quiet if it was.” That did it. Your lip trembled, just barely. You looked away again, and Jay caught the movement instantly. His heart sank. “Hey,” he murmured, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Come here.”

“I’m okay,” you insisted weakly. He didn’t argue. He just reached over, unbuckled you too, and gently pulled you toward him. You resisted for half a second before giving in, letting him guide you across the center console until you were half in his lap, sideways, his arms wrapping around you securely. Jay cradled you like it was instinct, one hand splayed warm and steady against your back, the other cupping the back of your head. He pressed a kiss into your hair, lingering there. “I’m really trying,” he admitted softly. “I know I sound like an asshole sometimes. I don’t mean to.”

You sniffed. “You made me feel dumb.” His arms tightened. “God, no. Never.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing under your eye. “I like that you’re different. I like that you show me things I wouldn’t find on my own.”

Your voice came out small. “Then why say it like that?” He sighed, forehead resting against yours. “Because I forget how things land sometimes. I’m older, not wiser.” A faint, self-deprecating smile. “And I hate that I hurt you.”

Your shoulders relaxed a little. He reached forward and tapped the screen, bringing your playlist back up. “You can play whatever you want,” he said. “As loud as you want. Teach me what you like.”

You looked at him, searching his face. He was sincere—open, apologetic, a little undone. “…Really?”

“Really.”

You nodded and leaned back slightly, fingers hovering before selecting a song. Music filled the car again, brighter this time. Jay listened, actually listened, head bobbing faintly after a few seconds. “It’s not bad,” he admitted. “I get why you like it.”

You huffed softly. “That’s not what you said earlier.” He smiled. “I’m correcting myself.”

The tension eased, warmth creeping back in. Jay’s hand slid to your waist, thumb pressing gently as he leaned in. His voice dropped. “We okay?” You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he murmured, and then he kissed you, slow, soft, reassuring. You leaned into him, fingers curling into his jacket as his mouth moved against yours with growing confidence. He kissed like he meant it, deepening it just enough to make your head spin, just enough to make you forget why you’d been upset in the first place. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against your left cheek, breath warm, smile lazy. “Still mad at me?”

You smiled back, small but genuine. “Maybe a little.” He kissed you again, quick and sweet this time. “I’ll survive.”

JAKE ✹

You had warned him, with small, half-joking comments as you walked beside him through the crowded street. About how his legs were stupidly long. About how he walked like he had somewhere important to be even when he didn’t.

About how you were, objectively, much shorter and definitely not built to keep up with his stride.

Jake laughed, squeezed your hand once, promised he’d slow down. He forgot.

It happened gradually. One second his fingers were loosely laced with yours, warm and familiar, and the next he was a step ahead, distracted by something, a storefront, a passing thought, the way crowds parted for him without effort. You tried to match his pace, took quicker steps, almost jogged for a moment.

Still, the distance grew.

“Jake,” you called once, but your voice dissolved into the noise of the city. Cars honking. People talking. Music spilling out of an open café door. He didn’t hear you.You slowed, chest tightening, watching his broad back move further and further away. He looked so sure, so comfortable navigating the world at his speed, while you were left weaving through elbows and shoulders, nearly bumped by strangers who didn’t notice you at all.

It stung more than it should have. So you stopped.

You stepped out of the flow of people and sat down hard on a bench near a bus stop, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the pavement. Your feet dangled slightly above the ground when you swung them, the motion restless and small.

You told yourself you weren’t upset. Just annoyed. Just tired. But the longer Jake didn’t turn around, the more your throat burned. Minutes passed. Maybe less. Maybe more. Time warped when you were stewing.

Then Jake turned.

At first, it was casual. A quick glance over his shoulder, probably expecting to see you right there, rolling your eyes at him. His steps slowed. Then stopped.

You saw it from across the street, the way his posture stiffened, the way his head snapped around more urgently. He scanned the crowd once. Twice. His hand lifted, palm open, like he could just reach out and grab you back into existence. “Hey—?” he called, voice rising.

You didn’t answer. Panic hit him visibly. He spun in a full circle, eyes wide now, searching faces, ducking around taller people, checking behind him like you might have slipped into a crack in the sidewalk. He jogged back the way he’d come, breath already uneven.

“Baby?” His voice cracked on the word.

Your chest squeezed painfully when you saw his face as he finally spotted you, sitting small and alone on the bench, looking every bit like a lost kid waiting to be claimed.

Relief crashed into him so hard it nearly took his knees out. “Oh my god.”

He crossed the street without looking, nearly getting honked at, and skidded to a stop in front of you. His hands hovered for half a second, unsure, before he cupped your face like he needed to confirm you were real.

“I—I thought I lost you,” he breathed. “I thought—”

His voice broke. Your anger faltered instantly.

Jake swallowed hard, eyes glassy, chest rising too fast. “I didn’t see you and I—fuck, what would I even tell your mom?” he said, half-laughing, half-panicking. “Hi, ma’am, sorry, I walked too fast and misplaced your daughter?”

Tears welled up despite yourself. “I called you,” you muttered. “You didn’t hear.”

His expression crumpled completely. “I’m so sorry,” he said, words tumbling over each other. “I wasn’t thinking. I swear I wasn’t doing it on purpose. I just—God, you’re so much smaller than me, I should’ve been paying attention.”

Your lip trembled, and you looked down, blinking rapidly. “You always forget,” you said quietly. “You walk like I’m not even there.”

Jake made a broken sound in his throat and dropped down in front of you without caring who was watching. His knees hit the pavement as he pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you tight, desperate. “No,” he said fiercely. “Never that. I just messed up. I messed up so bad.”

He pressed kiss after kiss into your hair, your forehead, your cheeks, too many, clumsy and frantic, like he was afraid you might disappear again if he stopped. His hands trembled as they slid over your back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmured, over and over. “Please don’t cry. I’ll slow down. I swear I will. I’ll match you. I’ll count my steps if I have to.”

You sniffed, fists curling into his jacket. “You scared me.”

“I scared myself,” he admitted hoarsely. He pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing under your eye. “I turned around and you weren’t there and my brain just—went to the worst place.”

Your tears spilled then, quiet and embarrassed. Jake immediately tugged off his jacket and wrapped it around you, cocooning you in warmth until you were bundled against his chest like a human burrito.

“There,” he said softly. “Now you’re not going anywhere.” He stood carefully, keeping you tucked against him, one arm firm around your shoulders, the other threading your fingers through his. This time, he adjusted his pace immediately, shorter steps, deliberate, attentive.

Every few seconds, he glanced down at you.

“You okay?”

“Still here?”

“Tell me if I’m walking too fast.”

You huffed a watery laugh. “You’re being crazy.”

“I almost lost my girlfriend in a crowd,” he said seriously. “I earned this.” He lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles, lingering. “Tell me when I mess up,” he added quietly. “I don’t want to be the reason you feel small.”

Your heart ached in the best way. You squeezed his hand back. “Okay.”

Jake smiled, soft, relieved, still a little shaken and slowed even more, matching you perfectly as you walked on together, wrapped in his jacket, safely at his side.

SUNGHOON ✹

You hadn’t expected to be nervous. It was just a birthday party, Sunghoon’s birthday party, but standing at the threshold of his family’s house, smoothing your outfit for the third time, you felt suddenly hyperaware of everything.

Of how young you probably looked beside him. Of how composed he was, as always, hand warm and steady at the small of your back as he guided you inside. “You’re okay,” he murmured, leaning down slightly. His kiss brushed your temple, careful and chaste, like most of his kisses were in public. “They’ll love you.”

That was Sunghoon. Serious. Thoughtful. Sometimes so restrained he felt more like a guardian than a boyfriend, always checking if you’d eaten, if you were cold, if you were tired. You loved him for it. Truly.

But sometimes, you wanted him to forget himself. The house was loud with laughter and music, relatives moving around easily, greeting Sunghoon with fond exclamations and affectionate scolding. He relaxed here, shoulders loosening just a fraction, polite smiles coming easier. You stayed close, fingers curled around his sleeve, letting him introduce you again and again.

Then his cousins arrived. They were friendly—well too friendly, smiling wide, asking you questions, leaning a little too close when they laughed. One of them complimented your outfit. Another teased you about how quiet Sunghoon was, joking that you must be the fun one between the two of you. You laughed awkwardly, glancing at Sunghoon.

He was still smiling. Still polite. But his jaw had tightened.

His hand found yours, grip firm. Possessive in a way he rarely let himself be. You felt it immediately.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of cake and candles, of people pulling Sunghoon aside for conversations while you hovered near, sipping a drink you barely tasted. Every time his cousins drifted near you again, Sunghoon’s eyes followed. Darker now. Watchful.

When someone brushed past you and laughed too close to your ear, Sunghoon’s patience snapped. “Excuse us,” he said curtly, already tugging you away.

You barely had time to protest before he was steering you down the hallway, past closed doors, up the stairs. He opened his bedroom door and pulled you inside, closing it with more force than necessary.

The silence was sudden. You turned to him, heart racing. “Sunghoon?”

He stood there for a second, breathing hard, hair slightly mussed, eyes fixed on you like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. “You,” he said quietly, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it. “Do you know what you do to me?”

You swallowed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s the problem.” He stepped closer, hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, tender, then his mouth crashed into yours. The kiss stole your breath. This wasn’t the careful, measured Sunghoon you knew. This was hunger. Frustration. Weeks of restraint unraveling all at once. He kissed you deeply, desperately, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long. You clutched his shirt, startled and thrilled, melting into him as he backed you toward the bed. His lips left yours only to trail along your jaw, down your neck, lingering there as he kissed you again and again, murmuring your name like a promise. “Mine,” he whispered against your skin. “You’re mine.”

Your pulse raced. “Sunghoon—”

He shushed you with another kiss, softer this time but no less intense, hands sliding to your waist, holding you close. His mouth moved everywhere, your neck, your shoulder, the place just below your collarbone, reverent and possessive all at once.

“I hated it,” he admitted quietly, voice muffled against you. “The way they looked at you. The way they talked to you like I wasn’t standing right there.”

A small, almost sulky sound left him as he rested his forehead against your chest. “I don’t like sharing your attention.”

You laughed softly, fingers threading through his hair. “ayee were you jealous...?”

“I was,” he said without hesitation. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes shining, lips slightly swollen. “And I didn’t like it. I wanted to drag you away. I wanted you alone.”

You smiled, heart fluttering. “You act like a grandpa half the time.” He huffed, pouting faintly. “Only because I don’t want to scare you.”

Your hand slid to his cheek. “You don’t.” Something in him broke then, softened, deepened. He leaned into your touch, kissing your palm, then your wrist, then pulling you back down onto the bed with him. The world outside his room faded. Time blurred into warmth and whispered reassurances, into the quiet creak of the mattress and the way his arms held you like you were something precious. He kissed you slower now, deeper, every touch full of intention. When he finally rested his forehead against yours again, breathing steadying, his thumb traced gentle patterns against your side.

“I’m sorry if I was too rough,” he murmured. You shook your head, smiling. “I wanted you to unravel.”

His lips curved, shy but satisfied. “Then… happy birthday to me.”

Later, when the noise of the party felt impossibly distant, he pulled you closer, tucking you into his chest, all seriousness gone. “You’re my only,” he whispered again, softer this time.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO ©SUNISHAKE

[ikeu05]

husband diaries: jay

synopsis moments in the life of jay and yn as a married couple.

paring chaebol husband/dad! jay x fem! reader

genre engaged! au, married! au, parents! au, fluff, angst, established relationship! au

warnings nothing is proof read (unfortunately), this is all fiction!!! nothing is to be taken seriously please, suggestive/18+ content at times (will mention it in the chapters), yn is not korean, they are very much in love with each other, lots of drama ngl, more to be added...

nessie 🗯️ surpriseeee (not really) but here's the return of husband diaries.. with jay!!!! a lot of y'all really loved this series with sunghoon so it made sense to bring it back and with jay UGH the dream ideal husband <3 just a little heads up that he's gonna make you feel insanely single but wtv he's the dream :3 ANYWAY, i hope y'all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing this. love all of y'all cuties kissies and love <3

status ongoing | updates on alternate days

release date 17 01 26

taglist open! comment or send me an ASK <3

tags sorry if you didn’t wanna be tagged!!

@jaysguitarstring @wenomakiluvr @amatariki @dyitpink @wonzzziezzzz @ezekiel-bublz @rairaiblog @1-itsneverthatserious-1 @yuyita-rosier @haechansbbg @jakeznii @xoenhalover @dolluvsyun @luhvletters @baekmiyaa @hollxe1 @unintentionalbee @ikeuheartz @luvchaew @heelovesmeknot @kirakun @shhh1233728 @weepingsweep @tinyteezer @firstclassjaylee @dazeymazey11 @lovenha7 @simjaeyunlvrclub @zoe1love @wonietree @wonuziex @seyoungiesleeps @ori2ari

chapters

01. dinner with the parks 02. happy days around the mansion 03. wedding errands 04. wine drunk 05. kiss me now? 06. mishaps 07. internal conflicts 08. heavy head 09. all of you 10. stupid stick 11. wedding chaos 12. wedding bells 13. reception 14. speeches and polaroids 15. like this for the rest of our lives, please 16. TO … uh… where are we going jay? 17. yellow bikini 18. day one in amsterdam 19. changing rooms 20. sleepy lips 21. nude beach 22. home seattle home 23. back to work 24. fender bender 25. the real boss 26. can’t talk like that 27. tailing 28. workaholics 29. kick, please? 30. water broke 31. aiden evan park 32. mama’s boy 33. never again 34. not going anywhere 35. from you 36. moonlit boys 37. thumb war 38. boxy grin x2 39. crawl monster 40. separation anxiety 41. bumpy head 42. dada’s day out 43. poor baby

more to be added..

©️ ikeu05, 2026

[lac4ygal]

THE HIGH LIFE — p.js

Musician!JayPark x NepoBaby!Reader

: ̗̀➛ Genre: Angst, Smut, Toxic Relationship, Musician AU, Nepo Baby AU, Addiction, Tragedy, No Happy Ending

: ̗̀➛ Summary: You’re the daughter of a powerful music executive— gorgeous, privileged, and bored with your silver-spoon life. Jay Park is the rising star your father just signed— talented, damaged, and running from demons you can’t see yet. What starts as a reckless hookup at an industry party becomes an addictive spiral of drugs, sex and destructive love. As Jay’s status rises and his addiction deepens, you’re pulled into a darkness you can’t escape. Some love stories don’t have happy endings. Some people are too broken to be saved. And sometimes, love isn’t enough to keep someone alive. Will any of it matter when he burns it all down?

: ̗̀➛ Content warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), graphic drug use (cocaine, alcohol), substance abuse and addiction, fatal overdose, verbal and emotional abuse, degradation (sexual), rough sex, dubious consent (both parties under the influence), cheating and infidelity, toxic codependency, self-destructive behavior, manipulation, childhood trauma mentions, no condom use, graphic descriptions of drug use and overdose, character death, grief, depression, no happy ending, tragic ending.

: ̗̀➛ Word count: 22.3k

: ̗̀➛ Song: Ultraviolence by Lana Del Rey

: ̗̀➛ Authors note: This fic destroyed me to write, so I hope it destroys you to read. Jay and reader are based in 2007 LA— flip phones, paparazzi culture, and the height of industry excess. This is a tragedy about addiction, toxic codependency, and the brutal reality that love alone cannot save someone who’s determined to self-destruct. There’s no redemption arc here, no happy ending, no lesson learned. Just two people who loved each other in the most destructive way possible. Reblogs, commmets, likes and feedback keep me writing, but please take care of yourselves while reading this.❤️

: ̗̀➛ My masterlist

The party is already in full swing when you arrive, fashionably late because that’s what’s expected of you.

Your father’s label has rented out the entire top floor of some pretentious hotel in West Hollywood—the kind of place with marble everything and champagne that costs more than most people’s rent. The bass from the speakers thrums through the floor, some remix of a top 40 hit that’ll be forgotten in a month. Crystal chandeliers catch the light from the DJ booth, scattering fragments of gold across the crowd of executives, artists, socialites, and people who are famous for being famous. You’ve been to a thousand parties exactly like this one. You’re bored before you even step off the elevator.

Your mother air-kisses both your cheeks without actually touching you, careful not to smudge her lipstick. She’s wearing Chanel— she’s always wearing Chanel— and her smile is the same one she uses for magazine covers. Practiced. Perfect. Empty.

“Darling, you look beautiful,” she says, even though she helped pick out the dress. Black lace slip dress that barely reaches mid-thigh, red bottom Louboutins that make your legs look endless. Your father’s credit card swiped without a second thought at Barneys yesterday afternoon.

“Thanks, Mom.” You accept a champagne flute from a passing waiter, though you have no intention of drinking it. Champagne is for people who want to look like they’re having fun. You prefer substances that actually deliver.

Your father appears at your mother’s elbow, already deep in conversation with some A&R rep whose name you’ve forgotten. He notices you and his expression shifts into that particular brand of paternal pride that’s really just self-satisfaction. “There’s my girl,” he says, pulling you into a one-armed hug that’s more for show than affection. “I want you to meet some people. Come on.”

You follow because that’s what you do. Smile, shake hands, laugh at jokes that aren’t funny, let men twice your age hold your hand a little too long while their wives pretend not to notice. You’re good at this. You’ve been trained for this your entire life.

The party stretches out before you like every other party—a blur of small talk and stale ambition. You excuse yourself after twenty minutes, slipping through the crowd toward the balcony where you know you’ll find relative privacy.

The Los Angeles skyline glitters below, smog softened by distance into something almost beautiful. You pull a pre-rolled joint from your clutch— you’d rolled it this morning, something to take the edge off— and light it with your Cartier lighter.

The first inhale settles something in your chest. The second makes the party sounds fade to background noise. By the third, you’re floating just enough to tolerate going back inside.

You smoke two joints in quick succession, letting the high build until the world has that pleasant fuzzy quality that makes everything bearable. When you finally return to the party, your eyes are glassy and your smile is genuine for the first time all night.

That’s when you see him.

He’s standing near the makeshift stage with your father and two other men, and you know immediately he’s the rising star your dad’s been going on about all week. Some musician the label just signed, the “next big thing,” another artist who’ll either make it or burn out spectacularly within a year.

Jay Park.

You’ve heard the name. Seen it on some blog or another. But you weren’t prepared for him to look like that.

He’s wearing all black— fitted shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms that are surprisingly cut, dark jeans that sit low on his hips, leather jacket slung over one shoulder. His hair is longer than the usual corporate clean-cut, falling into his eyes in a way that’s probably calculated but looks effortless. There’s a silver chain around his neck catching the light.

He looks like sex and danger and bad decisions.

And he’s staring directly at your ass. You catch his eyes flick up when he realizes you’ve noticed, but he doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. Instead, he smirks— slow and deliberate— before turning his attention back to whatever your father is saying. Cocky. You hate that it works on you.

Your father sees you approaching and his whole face lights up with that particular brand of enthusiasm that means he’s about to use you for networking.

“And here she is!” He reaches for you, pulling you into the circle. “Gentlemen, my daughter. Sweetheart, I want you to meet Jay Park. He’s the artist I’ve been telling you about— the one who’s going to change the game.”

Jay extends his hand, and when you take it, his grip is firm, his hand warm. His eyes meet yours and there’s something sharp in them, assessing. Like he’s trying to figure out what you’re worth.

“Pleasure,” he says, and his voice is lower than you expected. Rough around the edges in a way that suggests cigarettes and late nights.

“The pleasure’s mine,” you reply, your tone bored even though your pulse kicks up a notch.

Up close, he’s even more attractive. Sharp jawline, full lips, eyes that are almost black in this lighting. There’s a restless energy to him, like he’s barely containing something wild. You can smell whiskey on his breath, see the slight dilation of his pupils that suggests he’s not entirely sober.

“Your father says you’re interested in music,” Jay says, though the way he’s looking at you suggests music is the last thing on his mind.

“I’m interested in a lot of things.” You let the words hang, ambiguous and inviting.

His smirk widens. “I bet you are.”

Your father, oblivious to the undercurrent, launches into some speech about Jay’s demo, the sound he’s cultivating, the tour they’re planning. You tune it out, watching Jay instead. The way he nods along, saying all the right things, playing the part of the grateful artist. But his eyes keep finding you, trailing down your body with an appreciation that’s just shy of inappropriate given the setting. You wonder if your father notices. You wonder if you care.

“Jay’s performing tonight,” your father says, finally wrapping up his pitch. “A few songs, let people hear what we’re working with. You should stay and watch.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you say, directing the words at Jay rather than your father.

Something flickers in Jay’s expression— heat, promise, danger. He holds your gaze for a beat too long before your father is pulling him away, introducing him to someone else, someone more important.

But before he goes, Jay leans in close enough that you can feel his breath against your ear. “Stick around after,” he murmurs. “I’ve got something you’ll like.”

Then he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and heat pooling low in your stomach. You need another joint.

An hour later, you’re leaning against the bar nursing a vodka cranberry you haven’t touched when the lights dim and your father takes the stage.

He gives the usual speech— thanking everyone for coming, talking up the label, building anticipation. Then he introduces Jay, and the crowd shifts, attention focusing on the stage as Jay steps into the spotlight.

He’s ditched the leather jacket. The stage lights catch on the silver chain, on the rings on his fingers when he picks up the guitar. There’s a moment of feedback, then he’s playing— something dark and hypnotic, all minor chords and driving rhythm. And then he starts singing.

His voice is raw and raspy, the kind of voice that sounds like it’s been dragged through gravel and smoke. The lyrics are explicit without being crude, sexual without being tacky. It’s the kind of music that makes you think of sweat-slicked skin and tangled sheets and the kind of mistakes you make at 3 AM.

You watch his fingers move on the guitar strings, watch the way his throat works when he hits the high notes, watch the way he rolls his hips slightly on the downbeat. It’s hypnotic. Sexual. Deliberate. And he’s looking right at you while he does it.

The song builds, tension coiling tighter and tighter until it finally breaks on the chorus, and you feel it in your body— that same tightening, that same need for release. Around you, people are nodding along, but you’re frozen, trapped in the pull of his gaze. He performs three songs total. Each one filthier than the last. Each one feeling like it’s meant for you specifically.

By the time he finishes, you’re wet and you haven’t even touched him. The crowd applauds. Your father looks pleased. Jay sets down the guitar and disappears backstage, and you wait exactly ninety seconds before you follow.

You find him in the hallway outside the green room, leaning against the wall with a bottle of wine in one hand. He’s already drunk half of it, you notice. There’s a restlessness to him now that the performance is over, that manic energy that needs an outlet.

“Enjoy the show?” he asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

“You were okay,” you lie.

He laughs— sharp and knowing. “Liar. You were eye-fucking me the entire time.”

“Maybe I was just trying to figure out what all the hype is about.”

He pushes off the wall, closing the distance between you in two strides. Up close, you can see the sheen of sweat on his skin from the stage lights, can smell whiskey and something sharper underneath. Drugs, probably. The thought should concern you more than it does.

“You’re pretty when you lie,” he says, his voice low. “But you’re even prettier when you’re high. How many joints did you smoke before you came back inside?”

Your breath catches. “Two.”

“Mm.” His eyes drop to your mouth. “You got any left?”

“Maybe.”

“You gonna share?”

“Depends.” You tilt your head, looking up at him through your lashes. “What are you offering in exchange?”

His hand comes up, fingers curling around your jaw, tilting your face up. “What do you want?”

The honest answer is you. The honest answer is that you’ve been wet since the moment he looked at you. The honest answer is that you want him to push you against this wall and make you forget your own name. But you don’t say any of that. Instead, you lean in close enough that your lips almost brush his ear.

“Surprise me.”

For a moment, neither of you moves. The hallway is empty, the party sounds muffled through the walls. There’s nothing but the sound of your breathing and the tension crackling between you like a live wire.

Then Jay’s hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, gripping hard enough to make you gasp, and he’s kissing you.

It’s not gentle. There’s nothing sweet or exploratory about it. His mouth is hot and demanding, his tongue pushing past your lips, tasting like whiskey and want. You kiss him back just as hard, fisting your hands in his shirt, pulling him closer even though there’s no space left between you.

He walks you backward until you hit the wall, never breaking the kiss. His free hand finds your waist, your hip, slides down to grab your ass through the thin lace of your dress. You moan into his mouth and he swallows the sound, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth. “You’re trouble.”

“So are you.”

His hand slides higher, fingers brushing the edge of your dress where it’s ridden up. “Your daddy know you’re out here with me?”

“My daddy doesn’t know a lot of things.”

“Good.” His fingers hook under the hem of your dress. “Let’s keep it that way.” Then he’s pulling back, grabbing your hand, dragging you down the hallway. You follow without question, your pulse pounding in your ears, heat coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

He pushes open a door— a bathroom, marble and gold and excessive like everything else in this fucking hotel— and pulls you inside. The lock clicks.

For half a second, you just look at each other. His pupils are blown wide, his breathing ragged. There’s a wild look in his eyes that should scare you but instead just makes you wetter.

“Last chance to walk away,” he says, but his hands are already reaching for you.

You grab his shirt and pull him in. “Shut up and fuck me.”

Something in him snaps. He spins you around, pushing you forward until you’re bent over the marble sink, your palms flat against the counter. The mirror reflects both of you back— your flushed face, your kiss-swollen lips, his hands already shoving your dress up over your hips.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “Daddy’s little girl, bent over and desperate for it.”

“Fuck you,” you gasp, but there’s no heat in it.

“Oh, I’m going to.” His hand comes down hard on your ass and you bite back a moan. “But first, I want to see how wet you are.”

His fingers hook into your panties, dragging them down your thighs. You hear his sharp intake of breath when he sees how soaked you are, and it sends a bolt of satisfaction through you.

“Dirty little thing,” he says, almost to himself. Then louder: “You get this wet for everyone, or just for me?”

“Just you,” you admit, and it’s the truth.

“Good answer.” His fingers slide through your folds, teasing, and you push back against his hand. He laughs, low and mean. “Desperate already? We haven’t even started.”

“Then start,” you demand, and he responds by pushing two fingers inside you without warning. You cry out at the sudden fullness, and his other hand clamps over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he commands. “Unless you want everyone at this party to know what a dirty money whore you are.” The words should offend you. Instead they make you clench around his fingers, and he notices.

“Oh, you like that.” His fingers pump in and out, rough and fast. “You like being reminded that underneath all that expensive lace and designer heels, you’re just a spoiled brat who needs to be fucked.”

You moan against his palm, your hips rocking back to meet his thrusts. His fingers are thick and skilled, finding that spot inside you that makes your legs shake. But it’s not enough. You need more.

As if reading your mind, he pulls his fingers out, and you whimper at the loss. You hear the sound of his belt, his zipper, and then his hand is on your hip, positioning you.

“Condom?” he asks, and there’s a hint of hesitation there, the first crack in his dominant facade.

“Pill,” you gasp. “I’m on the pill. Just—please—”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

“That’s better.” He pushes inside you in one hard thrust and you both groan. He’s bigger than you expected, the stretch almost too much, almost painful. But then he’s moving, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, and the pain melts into pleasure so intense you see stars.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunts, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “Taking my cock like you were made for it.”

He sets a brutal pace, each thrust driving you forward against the sink. The marble is cold against your palms, a sharp contrast to the heat building inside you. You watch in the mirror as he fucks you— his face twisted in concentration, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that’s almost musical.

Your own reflection is wrecked— hair falling out of its careful styling, makeup smudged, lips parted as you try to stay quiet. But it’s getting harder with each thrust, each time he hits that spot deep inside that makes your whole body light up.

A particularly hard thrust makes you cry out, and his hand moves from your hip to your mouth again.

“I said quiet,” he growls. “Or do I need to give you something to keep that pretty mouth busy?” He pulls his hand away just long enough to push two fingers past your lips. You suck them obediently, tasting yourself on his skin, and he groans. “That’s it. Suck my fingers like the good little slut you are.”

His other hand snakes around your body, finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles. The combination of sensations— his cock inside you, his fingers in your mouth, the pressure on your clit— is overwhelming. You feel your orgasm building, that familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter.

“You gonna come for me?” he asks, his voice rough. “Gonna come all over my cock while your father’s just down the hall?” You nod frantically, unable to speak around his fingers, and he picks up the pace. His thrusts become erratic, harder, and his fingers on your clit are relentless.

“Come,” he commands. “Come for me right fucking now.” And you do.

Your orgasm hits you like a wave, so intense your legs actually give out. He holds you up with one arm around your waist while you shake and spasm around him, and you feel it— a rush of wetness that you’ve only experienced a handful of times before.

“Fuck yes,” Jay groans, feeling you squirt around him. “That’s it, that’s my girl, give it to me—”

He fucks you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you’re sobbing against his fingers, overstimulated and wrung out. Only then does he let himself go, his rhythm stuttering as he buries himself deep and comes inside you with a low groan.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You’re both breathing hard, the bathroom filled with the sound of it and the lingering smell of sex. Slowly, he pulls out, and you feel his cum drip down your thigh.

He tucks himself back into his jeans while you straighten up on shaky legs. Your reflection in the mirror is obscene— thoroughly fucked, makeup ruined, hickeys already blooming on your neck and collarbone that you’ll have to cover up before you go back out there.

Jay meets your eyes in the mirror, and for a moment something passes between you. Recognition, maybe. Or acknowledgment of what you’ve just started. Then he smirks, adjusting his shirt.

“You should clean up. Can’t have daddy seeing you like this.” The spell breaks.

You pull paper towels from the dispenser with shaking hands, cleaning yourself up as best you can. Your panties are ruined, so you ball them up and shove them in your clutch. Your dress is wrinkled but there’s nothing you can do about that. The hickeys are going to be a problem, but you’ll figure it out. Jay watches you the entire time, that infuriating smirk still on his face.

“What?” you snap, suddenly irritated with him, with yourself, with this whole situation.

“Nothing.” He reaches for the door handle. “Just thinking this is going to be fun.”

“What is?”

“This. Us.” He looks you up and down one more time. “Whatever the fuck this is.”

Then he’s gone, slipping out of the bathroom without another word, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the ache between your legs.

You wait five minutes before you follow. Long enough to fix your hair, dab at the hickeys with concealer you don’t have, give up and hope no one looks too closely.

When you finally emerge, the party is still going strong. Nobody seems to have noticed your absence.

You spot Jay across the room, surrounded by industry people, playing the part of the grateful artist again. He catches your eye for just a second, and the heat in his gaze makes your breath catch.

Then someone hands you a drink, pulls you into a conversation, and you’re back in your role too. Daddy’s perfect little girl. The socialite. The trust fund baby who has everything. But underneath the expensive dress and the fake smile, you can still feel him between your legs. Can still taste his fingers in your mouth. Can still hear his voice calling you a dirty money whore.

And you want more.

—

You don’t hear from him for a week. Not that you expected to. You didn’t exchange numbers, didn’t make plans, didn’t do anything that would suggest the bathroom at your father’s party was anything more than what it was— a quick fuck between two people who wanted each other.

Still, you check your phone more than you’d like to admit. Flip it open during boring lunches with your mother, during shopping trips on Rodeo Drive, during another insufferable charity gala where you smile and nod and pretend to care about whatever cause is trendy this month.

You tell yourself you don’t care. There are plenty of other guys— actors, models, trust fund brats who’d love to get their dirty hands on you. You’ve fucked half of young Hollywood already. Jay Park is nothing special.

Except you can’t stop thinking about the way he bent you over that sink. The way he called you daddy’s little girl. The way he made you squirt all over his cock while your father was down the hall. You smoke more weed than usual that week but it doesn’t help.

It’s the following Friday when you see him again.

Your father’s having another industry thing—this time it’s a showcase at some trendy club in West Hollywood, the kind of place with velvet ropes and a guest list that determines your worth as a human being. Several of the label’s artists are performing, including Jay.

You almost don’t go. But your mother insists— “It’s important to support your father’s work, darling”— and you’re bored enough that even a shitty showcase sounds better than another night alone in your apartment getting high and watching reality TV.

You dress deliberately. A red slip dress this time, even shorter than the black one. Fuck-me heels. Your hair loose and wild. If you’re going to run into him, you atleast want him to remember exactly what he’s missing.

The club is packed when you arrive, already thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of expensive cologne. The music is too loud, the drinks are overpriced, and everyone is trying too hard. Standard LA bullshit.

Your father finds you immediately, pulling you into the VIP section where he’s holding court with various executives and artists. You accept a vodka soda from the waitress and settle in for a long night of forced conversation.

That’s when you see them.

Jay is standing near the bar with a woman you don’t recognize. She’s older than you— maybe late twenties, early thirties— dressed in a crisp white button-down tucked into fitted black pants. Professional. Put-together. The kind of woman who actually has her shit figured out.

They’re standing close, her hand on his arm as she talks to him. She’s laughing at something he said, and he’s smiling back, comfortable in a way you haven’t seen him before. Something ugly twists in your stomach.

“Ah, there he is!” Your father’s voice cuts through your thoughts. He’s waving Jay over, and you watch as he says something to the woman before heading your way.

Up close, he looks good. Too good. Black t-shirt, leather jacket, jeans that fit perfectly. His hair is slightly messy like he’s been running his hands through it. When his eyes land on you, something flickers in his expression, but it’s gone before you can identify it.

“Jay, you remember my daughter,” your father says, oblivious as always.

“Of course.” Jay extends his hand like you’re strangers, like he wasn’t inside you a week ago. “Good to see you again.”

You take his hand, your skin tingling at the contact. “Likewise.”

The woman from the bar appears at Jay’s elbow, and your father’s face lights up. “Ginny! Perfect timing. Have you met my daughter?”

So this is Ginny.

She’s even more polished up close— sharp features, calculating eyes, a smile that doesn’t quite reach them. She extends her hand and you shake it, noting the expensive watch on her wrist, the diamond studs in her ears.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Ginny says, her voice smooth and professional. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Have you?” You keep your tone light, disinterested.

“Ginny is Jay’s manager,” your father explains. “She’s been instrumental in his development. We’re lucky to have her on the team.”

“How nice.” You take a sip of your drink, your eyes flicking to Jay. He’s watching you with that same unreadable expression.

Ginny shifts slightly, and that’s when you see them. Hickeys. Dark purple bruises just visible above the collar of her white shirt. She’s tried to cover them with makeup but the lighting in here is unforgiving. Your stomach drops.

You look at Jay, and he’s smirking. Actually fucking smirking at you. He did that. You know he did.

“We should probably get ready for soundcheck,” Ginny says, her hand landing on Jay’s arm again. Possessive. Familiar. “They want you on stage in twenty.”

“Right.” Jay nods to your father. “I’ll see you after the set.”

“Looking forward to it,” your father says.

Jay’s eyes meet yours one more time before he walks away, and there’s a challenge in them. A taunt.

What are you going to do about it?

You down the rest of your drink in one swallow.

Jay’s set is different from the party performance. Rawer. The venue is smaller, more intimate, and he feeds off the energy of the crowd. His voice is rough and hypnotic, the lyrics even filthier than before. He moves across the stage like he owns it, guitar slung low, every motion deliberate and sexual.

And he keeps looking at you. Not obviously enough that anyone else would notice. But you feel his gaze like a physical touch, burning across your skin, reminding you of things you’re trying to forget.

By the third song, you’re wet and furious about it.

Ginny is watching from the side of the stage, her arms crossed, her expression proud. Like she has any right to be proud of him. Like she has any claim to him at all. But those hickeys say otherwise.

The set ends to enthusiastic applause. Your father is beaming, already talking about booking bigger venues, planning a tour. Jay says all the right things, plays the humble artist, but his eyes keep finding you in the crowd. You need air.

You slip away from the VIP section, heading toward the back of the venue where you know there’s a door that leads to the alley. You need to smoke, need to clear your head, need to figure out why the fuck you care that Jay is apparently fucking his manager.

You’re halfway down the dim hallway when you hear footsteps behind you.

“Running away?” Jay’s voice cuts through the darkness. You turn. He’s leaning against the wall, backlit by the glow from the club, and he looks like every bad decision you’ve ever made.

“I needed some air,” you say coolly.

“Bullshit.” He pushes off the wall, stalking toward you. “You’re pissed.”

“Why would I be pissed?”

“Ginny’s hickeys.” He’s close now, close enough that you can smell whiskey on his breath. “You saw them.”

“So what if I did?”

“So you’re jealous.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Then why are you out here instead of in there with daddy and all his important friends?”

You lift your chin, refusing to back down even though he’s crowding you against the wall. “Maybe I just don’t want to watch you perform like a trained monkey.”

His hand comes up, fingers wrapping around your throat— not squeezing, just holding. A reminder of what he can do to you.

“You’re such a bitch,” he murmurs, but there’s heat in his voice.

“And you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah.” His thumb presses against your pulse point. “But you’re still thinking about me fucking you. Still wet for me even though I left marks on someone else.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the plan.”

He kisses you hard, his tongue pushing into your mouth, tasting like whiskey and cigarettes and bad choices. You kiss him back just as rough, biting his lip, fisting your hands in his jacket. This is stupid. Your father is in the club. Ginny is probably looking for him. Anyone could walk back here.

You don’t care.

Jay’s hand slides up your thigh, pushing your dress up, and you spread your legs for him without hesitation. His fingers find you already soaked, and he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he breathes. “All from watching me on stage?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You reach for his belt, but he catches your wrist. “Not here. Too exposed.” He glances around, then grabs your hand. “Come on.”

He pulls you further down the hallway to a door marked “Storage.” It’s unlocked, and inside is exactly what you’d expect— boxes of liquor, cleaning supplies, random equipment. And barely any light. Perfect.

The door barely closes before Jay is on you again, spinning you around and pushing you face-first against the wall. Your cheek presses against the cold concrete as his hands yank your dress up over your hips.

“No panties?” He sounds genuinely surprised.

“I learned my lesson last time.”

“Good girl.” His hand comes down hard on your ass and you bite back a moan. “Learning so fast.”

He’s already unbuckling his belt, the sound of his zipper obscenely loud in the small space. Then he’s pushing inside you in one brutal thrust and you both groan.

“Fuck,” he grinds out. “Still so fucking tight.”

There’s no finesse to this. It’s fast and rough and desperate, his hips snapping against yours hard enough that you’ll have bruises tomorrow. One hand is fisted in your hair, pulling your head back, while the other grips your hip hard enough to hurt.

“This what you wanted?” he growls in your ear. “Wanted me to fuck you like the needy little slut you are?”

“Yes,” you gasp, past the point of pride.

“Say it properly.”

“I wanted you to fuck me.”

“And I’m doing that, aren’t I? Giving you exactly what you need.” His hand slides around to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. “Even though your daddy’s right out there. Even though Ginny’s probably wondering where I went. You don’t care, do you?”

“No.”

“Because you’re addicted to this cock.”

You want to argue, want to tell him he’s wrong, but he chooses that moment to change his angle and hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

“That’s it,” he encourages, feeling you clench around him. “Take it. Take all of it.”

His hand moves from your throat to your mouth, two fingers pushing past your lips.

“Suck,” he commands. You do, hollowing your cheeks, tasting the sweat on his skin. He groans, his rhythm getting erratic.

“Gonna come,” he warns. “Gonna fill this pussy up and send you back out there dripping with my cum.”

The thought alone nearly pushes you over the edge. His other hand finds your clit, rubbing harsh circles, and that’s all it takes. You come hard, your whole body going taut, and you feel him follow a moment later— his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep and fills you.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You’re both breathing hard, your legs shaking, your mind blissfully blank.

Then Jay pulls out and the spell breaks once again. You straighten up on unsteady legs, smoothing your dress down. He’s already tucking himself back into his jeans, running a hand through his hair.

“You should get back out there,” he says, his tone casual like he didn’t just fuck you in a storage closet. “Before someone notices you’re gone.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll wait a few minutes. Can’t have people talking.”

Right. Because that would be bad for his image. Bad for the career your father is building for him. You head for the door, but his voice stops you.

“Hey.” You turn. “This works, right? Us?” He gestures between you. “Just fucking when it’s convenient?”

Something in your chest tightens, but you force a smile. “Perfectly convenient.”

“Good.” He leans back against the wall, and in the dim light you can see the hickeys you left on his neck at your father’s party the other week, already fading. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

You slip out of the storage room and make your way back to the club, your legs still shaky, his cum slowly dripping down your thigh. No one seems to notice your absence. Your father is still talking business, your mother is holding court with the wives, and Ginny is back at the bar, scanning the crowd. Looking for Jay, probably.

You grab another drink from a passing waitress and down it, trying to ignore the bitter taste in your mouth that has nothing to do with vodka.

This is fine. This is what you wanted, just really good sex when the opportunity presents itself. So why does it feel like you just lost something you never even had?

The pattern establishes itself quickly after that.

You run into each other at industry events— always with your father present, always having to play the part of polite acquaintances. Jay performs, you watch, and somehow you always end up fucking in whatever private space you can find.

A bathroom at a restaurant during a label dinner.

The backseat of his shitty car in a parking garage.

Your apartment when your parents think you’re at a friend’s house.

His apartment— a cramped studio in a building with questionable plumbing— when Ginny is out of town.

It’s never planned. You don’t text each other to make plans, don’t call just to talk, hell you don’t even have eachother numbers. You just… find each other. And when you do, you fuck. Hard and fast and without words beyond the dirty talk that gets you both off.

Sometimes he’s drunk. You can taste it on his tongue, smell it on his skin. He’s rougher those nights, meaner with his words, more likely to leave marks.

Sometimes you’re high. Everything is softer then, slower, your body more sensitive to every touch. He seems to like you better that way— pliant and needy and willing to do whatever he asks.

You never ask about Ginny. He never asks about the actor you were photographed with last week, or the model the week before that.

Because this isn’t that. This is just sex. Convenient, really fucking good sex. That’s all it is. That’s all it needs to be.

Three months in, your mother brings it up over brunch at some overpriced restaurant in Beverly Hills. “Your father tells me you’ve been seeing quite a bit of Jay Park,” she says, delicately cutting her egg white omelet into precise pieces.

You nearly choke on your mimosa. “What?”

“Don’t play coy, darling. You’re always at the same events, you’re seen talking to him, leaving around the same time…” She gives you a knowing look. “Are you two dating?”

“No,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. “No?”

“We’re just… friends. Barely that. I’m being polite because of Dad.”

“Mm.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, if you were dating, I’d approve. He’s quite talented, your father says. And he’s going to be very successful. That’s the kind of man you should be associating with— someone with ambition, drive. Not these vapid actor boys you usually waste your time with.”

You stare at her. “You’d approve?”

“Of course. He’s rough around the edges, certainly, but that can be polished. And having a successful musician on your arm would be good for your image. Make you seem more… substantial.”

Substantial. Like you’re a product that needs better marketing.

“I’m not dating him,” you repeat.

“But you could be.” She sets down her fork, fixing you with that look she gets when she’s about to give you life advice you didn’t ask for. “Darling, you’re twenty-three years old. It’s time to start thinking about your future. About building the right associations. Jay Park could be very good for you.”

For you. Not for your heart, not for your happiness. For your image. For the family brand.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say, reaching for your mimosa again. Your mother smiles, satisfied, and returns to her omelet.

You finish the brunch on autopilot, nodding and smiling in all the right places, and all you can think about is how fucked up it is that your mother would approve of you dating Jay for all the wrong reasons.

Almost as fucked up as the fact that you’re not actually dating him.

You’re just letting him fuck you in storage closets and leave his cum dripping down your legs while he goes home to his manager with the hickeys on her neck.

Yeah. Totally not fucked up at all.

Four months into whatever this is, and you still don’t have his number. It’s almost laughable. You’ve fucked him in more places than you can count, you know exactly how he likes his whiskey (neat, expensive), you know the sounds he makes when he comes— but you don’t have a way to contact him outside of these chance encounters at industry events. Not that it matters. You always find each other eventually.

Tonight is another one of your father’s things of course— a celebration at some exclusive club in Hollywood. Jay’s first single just hit the Billboard charts, and your father is practically glowing with pride. “I told you he was the next big thing,” he keeps saying to anyone who’ll listen, and for once you don’t even roll your eyes because he’s right.

Jay’s everywhere now. Radio, magazines, MTV. The label is pushing him hard, and it’s working. He’s still raw, still edgy enough to be interesting, but polished enough for mainstream success.

You’re proud of him, you realize. Which is stupid, because you’re not together. You’re not anything. You’re just two people who fuck sometimes. Well, a lot actually.

The club is packed, bass thumping so hard you feel it in your chest. Your father has the VIP section locked down, of course, but you got bored of that scene within the first hour. The same executives, the same conversations, the same fake smiles.

So you’ve migrated to the dance floor. You’re three drinks in and feeling good— that perfect buzz where everything is softer around the edges but you’re still in control. The music is loud enough to drown out thoughts, and you let yourself get lost in it.

A man pulls you close— older, maybe forty, expensive suit and the kind of watch that costs more than most people’s cars. You don’t know his name and you don’t care. He’s just a body, just hands on your hips as you grind your ass back against him.

You can feel him getting hard against you, and it’s gratifying in a shallow way. This is what you’re good at. Being wanted. Being desired. Being the girl everyone notices.

His lips find your neck, kissing up to your ear. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, and you smile even though the words mean nothing.

Another man joins you— younger this time, maybe early thirties, pulling you against his front so you’re sandwiched between them. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your dress.

This is dangerous. Reckless. Your father is upstairs, probably wondering where you are. You don’t care.

The music shifts, something darker and heavier, and you lose yourself in the rhythm. The older man’s hands are on your hips, guiding your movements, while the younger one kisses your shoulder, your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat on your skin.

You need to pee.

Reluctantly, you extract yourself from their grip, ignoring their protests as you head toward the back of the club where you know the bathrooms are. The hallway is dimmer, quieter, the bass reduced to a muffled thump through the walls.

That’s when you hear it. A familiar voice, low and rough, followed by laughter. You follow the sound to a darker section of the hallway, a semi-private area with velvet couches and low lighting. And there he is.

Jay.

He’s sprawled on one of the couches with three older men you don’t recognize— industry types, probably, based on their expensive clothes and the way they carry themselves.

There’s a glass table in front of them, and on it— lines of white powder, neat and precise.

Jay leans forward, a rolled-up hundred dollar bill in his hand, and snorts a line in one smooth motion. He sits back, his head tilting up, eyes closed, and even from here you can see the way his jaw clenches, the way his whole body goes taut for a moment before he relaxes.

Then his eyes open and land directly on you. A slow smirk spreads across his face.

“Well, well,” he drawls, his voice rougher than usual. “Look who found the fun.”

He’s drunk. You can tell by the way he’s sitting, loose-limbed and careless, by the glassiness of his eyes. But the coke has sharpened him somehow, given him an edge that makes your pulse quicken.

“Didn’t know you were here,” you say, trying to sound casual even though your heart is racing.

“Your daddy’s party and you didn’t know I’d be here?” He laughs, the sound bitter. “That’s cute.”

The men with him are looking at you now, their gazes sliding over your body in a way that should make you uncomfortable but instead sends a thrill through you. You recognize the look— hunger, want, the kind of attention you’ve been craving all night.

“Come here,” Jay says, and it’s not a request. You should walk away. You should go back to the dance floor, back to VIP, back to safety.

Instead, you walk toward him.

He reaches out when you’re close enough, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you down onto the couch next to him. His arm immediately goes around your shoulders, his hand sliding down to grope your ass possessively.

“Gentlemen,” he says to the men, “this is—” He pauses, his smirk widening. “Actually, I don’t think we’ve ever established what you are to me. What should I call you?”

“Don’t call me anything,” you say, but there’s no heat in it.

“So mysterious.” His hand squeezes your ass harder. “They know who you are, though. Everyone knows who you are. The exec’s daughter. The trust fund baby. The girl who gets everything handed to her.”

There’s an edge to his words, something sharp beneath the surface, but you’re too focused on the way his pupils are blown wide, the way his hand feels on your body.

One of the men leans forward, pushing something across the table. A credit card, a small plastic bag of white powder. “You want some?” the man asks, looking at you.

You glance at Jay. He’s watching you with those dark, glittering eyes, waiting to see what you’ll do.

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“No.”

“Want to?”

You should say no. Weed is one thing— harmless, relatively speaking. But cocaine is different. Cocaine is the kind of thing that ruins lives, that turns people into hollow versions of themselves.

But Jay does it. And he seems fine. And you’re so tired of being good, of being careful, of being the perfect daughter who does everything right.

“Yeah,” you say. “I want to.”

His smirk turns into a full grin. “That’s my girl.”

He doesn’t let the men prepare it. Instead, he takes the bag and the credit card himself, cutting out a line on the table with practiced precision. It’s smaller than the one he did, you notice. Considerate, in his own fucked-up way.

“You’re gonna feel it hit fast,” he tells you, handing you the rolled bill. “It’s gonna make your whole face go numb, and your heart’s gonna race. You might feel like you can’t breathe for a second, but that’s normal. Just go with it.”

“Okay.”

“And after, you’re gonna feel fucking incredible. Like you can do anything, like you’re on top of the world.” His hand slides up your thigh. “Like you need to fuck immediately.”

Your breath catches.

“Do it,” he encourages, his voice rough with want.

You lean forward, press the bill to your nose, and inhale. The burn is immediate and intense, worse than you expected. Your eyes water and you sit back quickly, your hand flying to your nose.

“Breathe,” Jay says, his arm tightening around you. “Just breathe through it.”

You do, and he’s right— your face goes numb almost instantly, this strange tingling spreading from your nose to your cheeks to your whole head. Your heart starts racing, pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat, and for a second you think you might be having a heart attack.

Then it shifts.

The numbness fades into something else entirely. Every nerve ending in your body lights up at once. The music from the club, muffled before, suddenly sounds crystal clear and impossibly good. The lights are brighter, more vivid. And Jay’s hand on your thigh feels like fucking fire.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

He laughs. “Good, right?”

“So good.”

“Told you.” His hand slides higher, his fingers brushing the edge of your underwear. “How do you feel?”

“Like I could run a marathon. Like I could fuck for hours. Like—” You turn to look at him and the intensity in his eyes steals your breath. “Like I need you right now.”

“Yeah?” His fingers slip beneath your underwear, finding you already wet. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

“Your fault.”

“My fault for being so hot? For corrupting daddy’s little girl?” His fingers slide through your folds, teasing. “What would he think if he knew you were down here, high on coke, letting me finger you in front of strangers?”

The men are definitely watching now, not even pretending to look away. One of them adjusts himself through his pants, and the knowledge that they’re getting off on this makes you even wetter.

“I don’t care what he thinks,” you gasp as Jay’s fingers find your clit.

“Liar. You love the thrill. Love knowing you could get caught.” He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re such a bad girl. And I fucking love it.”

Then he’s kissing you, hard and demanding, his tongue pushing into your mouth. You kiss him back desperately, your hands fisting in his shirt, and you don’t care that people are watching. You don’t care about anything except the way he tastes, the way his fingers feel inside you, the way the coke is making every sensation a thousand times more intense.

He breaks the kiss, breathing hard. “We need to go. Now.”

“What about—” You gesture vaguely at the men, at the scene.

“Fuck them. I need to be inside you.” He stands, pulling you up with him, and you’re unsteady on your feet for a moment before the world rights itself. Everything is so bright, so loud, so much.

Jay grabs your hand and starts pulling you toward the exit. You catch a glimpse of the VIP section as you pass— your father is still there, surrounded by people, completely oblivious to what his daughter is doing. Good.

The fresh air hits you like a slap when you step outside, and you gasp. The coke is still thrumming through your system, making your skin feel electric.

“Where’s your car?” Jay asks, already pulling you toward the parking structure.

“I got dropped off.”

“Mine then.” The parking structure is dimly lit and mostly empty this high up. Jay’s car— still the same beat-up Honda— is parked in a far corner. He unlocks it with shaking hands, yanking open the back door and practically shoving you inside.

You hear a voice calling out— “Jay!”— and you both freeze. Ginny is walking toward you from the elevator, her expression thunderous.

“Shit,” Jay mutters.

“What are you doing?” Ginny demands when she’s close enough. Her eyes flick from Jay to you, and her face hardens. “We’re supposed to be at the label meeting in twenty minutes.”

“Tell them I’ll be late.”

“You can’t be late, it’s—” She stops, really looking at him for the first time. At his dilated pupils, his flushed face. “Are you high?”

“So what if I am?”

“So we have a meeting, Jay. An important one. You can’t show up like this.”

“Watch me.”

Ginny’s gaze lands on you again, and the look she gives you could strip paint. “This is your fault.”

“Excuse me?” You’re high enough that her hostility is more amusing than threatening.

“Every time you’re around, he gets worse. Drinks more, uses more, makes stupid decisions.” She steps closer. “He doesn’t need you dragging him down.”

“Ginny—” Jay starts, but you cut him off.

“Dragging him down?” You laugh. “Sweetheart, he was doing lines before I even showed up tonight. Don’t blame me for your inability to control your client.”

“He’s not just my client.”

The implication hangs in the air, and even through the coke haze, it stings.

“Then maybe you should be a better girlfriend,” you shoot back. “Because he certainly doesn’t act like he has one when he’s fucking me.”

Ginny’s face goes white, then red. “You little—”

“Enough!” Jay’s voice cuts through the tension. He steps between you, facing Ginny. “Go to the meeting. Make an excuse. I don’t care. But I’m not going.”

“Jay—”

“I said I’m not going.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Now leave.”

Ginny looks like she wants to argue more, but something in his expression stops her. She shoots you one more venomous look before turning on her heel and stalking back toward the elevator.

The moment she’s gone, Jay rounds on you. “Get in the fucking car.”

The shift in his tone sends a thrill through you. You climb into the backseat and he follows, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, both breathing hard. Then you’re moving at the same time, crashing together in a tangle of limbs and desperation.

You climb into his lap, straddling him, and his hands immediately go to your ass, yanking your dress up around your waist. Your hands work his belt, his zipper, freeing his cock with shaking fingers.

“Condom—” he starts, but you shake your head.

“Don’t care. Need you now.”

“Fuck yes.”

You sink down onto him in one swift motion and you both groan. The coke makes everything sharper, more intense. You can feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein, and it’s almost too much.

“Ride me,” he demands, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Show me how bad you need this cock.”

You do, lifting up and slamming back down, setting a brutal pace. His head falls back against the seat, his throat exposed, and you lean forward to bite down on the tendon there.

“Fuck!” His hips buck up to meet yours. “You’re such a needy little slut for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, too far gone to care about pride.

His hands slide up to your breasts, yanking down the top of your dress so they spill out. He leans forward, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking hard.

“Jay— oh god—”

He switches to the other nipple, biting down hard enough to make you cry out. You’ll have marks tomorrow, evidence of this, and the thought makes you clench around him.

“You like that?” he growls against your skin. “Like when I mark you up? So everyone knows who you belong to?”

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Liar.” His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. “You belong to me. This pussy belongs to me. Say it.”

“Make me.”

He releases your throat and before you can process what’s happening, his hand comes down hard on your ass. The sharp crack echoes in the small space, and the sting sends pleasure shooting straight to your core.

“Say it,” he demands, spanking you again.

“Fuck you.”

Another spank, harder this time. “Wrong answer.”

You’re close, so close, the combination of the coke and his cock and the pain pushing you right to the edge. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing you say it.

His fingers find your clit, rubbing harsh circles, and that’s all it takes. You come with a scream, your whole body convulsing, and you feel him follow a moment later— his cock pulsing inside you as he fills you up.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You’re both breathing hard, covered in sweat, your body still trembling with aftershocks.

Then you feel his phone buzz in his pocket, and reality crashes back in.

You climb off him, wincing at the soreness already setting in. Your dress is ruined, your makeup definitely smudged, and you can feel his cum starting to leak out of you.

Jay tucks himself back into his jeans, running a hand through his hair. He looks wrecked— pupils still blown, lips swollen, scratches visible on his neck where you dug your nails in.

“Give me your phone,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

“Your phone. Give it to me.”

You pull your phone out of your clutch— a flip phone, because this is 2007 and smartphones don’t exist yet— and hand it to him. He flips it open, punches in some numbers, and hands it back.

“That’s my number,” he says. “Text me when you get home.”

Something in your chest tightens. “Okay.”

“And next time you want to see me, don’t wait for some fucking industry event. Just call.”

“Okay,” you repeat, softer this time.

He leans over and kisses you— softer than before, almost gentle. “Go clean up. I’ll get you a cab.”

You text him that night, just a simple made it home.

He responds immediately: good. same time next week?

your place or mine?

yours. your bed’s bigger.

You smile despite yourself. ok

wear that dress. the red one.

why?

because I’m gonna fuck you in it.

And just like that, everything changes. You trade numbers. You make plans. You start seeing each other outside of chance encounters— though you still fuck at industry events too, because the risk is half the fun.

He comes to your apartment three times a week. Sometimes you fuck immediately, quick and desperate against the door. Sometimes you do lines first, letting the coke build the anticipation until you can’t stand it anymore. Sometimes he brings his guitar and plays for you— raw, unfinished songs that he says aren’t ready but that you think are beautiful.

You learn things about him in those in-between moments. That he takes his coffee black. That he’s left-handed. That he has nightmares sometimes and wakes up swinging. That his father used to tell him he’d never amount to anything, and some part of him still believes it no matter how successful he gets.

You don’t tell him about your own fears, your own insecurities. But sometimes, when you’re both high and loose-limbed and honest, things slip out. How you feel like a fraud. How everyone loves the version of you they’ve created, but no one actually knows you. How you’re terrified that if they did, they’d realize there’s nothing there worth knowing.

“That’s bullshit,” Jay says one night, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your bare stomach. “You’re more than your father’s name.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. You’re also incredible pussy.”

You smack his chest and he laughs, catching your wrist.

“I’m kidding. Mostly.” He pulls you closer. “You’re smart. Smarter than you let people see. And you’re funny, even if your humor is mean as fuck. And you…” He trails off.

“I what?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

But something in his tone makes you think he was going to say something else. Something that mattered. You don’t push.

The cocaine becomes regular. Not every time you see each other, but enough that you start to recognize the signs— the way he gets when he needs it, jittery and irritable until he can get his fix. He never offers to sell you any, but you give him money sometimes anyway. Call it a contribution to his habits. Call it enabling.

You’re not proud of it. But you’re not going to stop either.

—

Six weeks into your new arrangement, Jay cancels on you for the first time. You’ve just gotten home from a charity luncheon with your mother, and you text him: im home. you coming over?

The response takes twenty minutes: can’t tonight. something came up.

You stare at the message, trying to ignore the disappointment curling in your stomach.

tomorrow?

busy. ill let you know.

That’s it. No explanation, no apology. Just I’ll let you know. You tell yourself you don’t care. You have other things to do, other people to see. Jay Park is not the center of your universe.

But you spend the next week checking your phone constantly, waiting for a text that doesn’t come.

When you finally see him again, it’s at another club opening. Your father dragged you along, and you went because you were bored and maybe, just maybe, Jay would be there. He is.

He’s in VIP with the usual crowd— executives, other artists, hangers-on. And Ginny, sitting close to him, her hand on his thigh.

Your stomach drops. You knew they had history. You knew they probably still fucked sometimes. But seeing it, seeing her touching him like she has a right to, makes something ugly twist in your chest.

You down your drink and order another.

By the time Jay spots you, you’re three drinks in and dancing with some actor whose name you can’t remember. The actor’s hands are on your waist, your ass, and you let him because you want Jay to see. Want him to feel even a fraction of what you’re feeling. It works.

Jay’s eyes darken when he sees you, and you watch as he says something to Ginny before standing up. He makes his way through the crowd, his gaze locked on you, and when he reaches you, he doesn’t say a word. He just grabs your wrist and pulls.

You let him, following him through the club to a back hallway, to a door marked “Private.” He shoves it open— some kind of office— and pulls you inside, locking the door behind you.

“What the fuck was that?” he demands.

“What was what?”

“You, grinding on that asshole like a cheap whore.”

The words hit like a slap. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He steps closer, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath. He’s drunk. Really drunk. “You trying to make me jealous? That your game?”

“I’m not playing any game. I can dance with whoever I want.”

“Not when you’re mine, you can’t.”

“I’m not yours!” The words come out sharper than you intended. “You made that very clear when you ghosted me for a week to fuck Ginny.”

His jaw clenches. “I didn’t fuck Ginny.”

“Bullshit. I saw you two. Her hands all over you—”

“She’s my manager. She’s always all over me. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then where were you?” Your voice cracks despite your best efforts. “I texted you. I called. You ignored me for a fucking week, Jay.”

“I was busy—”

“Busy fucking her.”

“I wasn’t!” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I was in the studio. I was working. I didn’t have time for—”

“For me. You didn’t have time for me.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.” You cross your arms, hating how much this hurts. “Whatever. We’re not together. You don’t owe me explanations.”

“Then why are you acting like I cheated on you?”

“I’m not—”

“You are. You’re pissed that I didn’t text you back, pissed that Ginny was touching me, pissed that I have a life outside of fucking you.” His voice is getting louder, meaner. “What did you think this was? Did you think because we exchanged numbers, because I fuck you in your fancy apartment, that means something?”

Each word is a knife, but you refuse to let him see how deep they cut.

“No,” you say coldly. “I know exactly what this is. We’re fuck buddies who occasionally do coke together. Nothing more.”

“Then act like it.”

“I am acting like it. You’re the one who dragged me in here.”

“Because watching another man touch what’s mine—” He stops himself, his jaw clenching.

“I’m not yours,” you repeat, but your voice is weaker now.

“Aren’t you?” He closes the distance between you in two strides, backing you against the desk. “You think about me when you’re with them, don’t you? Think about my hands, my mouth, my cock. Wonder if they could ever make you feel the way I do.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His hand wraps around your throat, not squeezing, just holding. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but we both know the truth. You’re mine. You’ve been mine since that first night.”

“And what about you?” You look up at him, defiant even with his hand on your throat. “Are you mine?”

For a moment, something flickers in his eyes— vulnerability, maybe, or fear. Then it’s gone, replaced by that familiar cruelty.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” he says. “Not you, not Ginny, not your father. I’m not some pet you can claim.”

The words shouldn’t hurt as much as they do. “Then let go of me.”

“No.”

“Jay—”

“I said no.” His other hand slides up your thigh, pushing your dress up. “Because even though you piss me off, even though you’re a spoiled brat who thinks the world revolves around her, even though I should walk away right now— I can’t.”

His fingers find you wet despite everything, and he laughs— low and bitter. “You hate me right now, don’t you? But your body doesn’t care. Your body knows who it belongs to.”

“I don’t hate you,” you whisper, and it’s the truth. You wish you could hate him. It would be so much easier.

“You should.” He pushes two fingers inside you, rough and fast. “I’m not good for you. I’m not good for anyone.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will.” But even as he says it, he’s kissing you— hard and desperate, like he’s trying to punish you or himself or both. You kiss him back just as hard, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even though he’s right. Even though this is toxic and destructive and wrong.

He spins you around, bending you over the desk, and you hear his belt, his zipper. Then he’s pushing inside you with no warning, no preparation, and you cry out at the stretch.

“This what you wanted?” he growls in your ear, setting a brutal pace. “Wanted me to fuck you like I hate you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, even though it’s not true. But hate is easier than whatever this actually is.

His hand wraps around your throat from behind, pulling your head back. “Say my name.”

“Jay—”

“Louder.”

“Jay!”

“That’s right. So everyone knows who’s fucking you. So that asshole out there knows you’re mine.”

You’re crying now, but you’re not sure if it’s from pain or pleasure or the emotion of it all. Everything is too much— his cock inside you, his hand on your throat, the words he’s saying, the words he’s not saying.

“Touch yourself,” he commands. “Make yourself come on my cock.”

Your hand slides between your legs, finding your clit, and the added stimulation pushes you closer to the edge. But something is different this time. The pleasure is there, but it’s tangled up with hurt, with anger, with feelings you can’t name.

“I can’t—”

“Yes you can.” His voice softens slightly, and somehow that makes it worse. “Come for me, baby. Show me you’re mine.”

The endearment breaks something in you. You come with a sob, your whole body shaking, and you feel him follow— his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep and fills you.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You’re bent over the desk, his body covering yours, both of you breathing hard. Then he pulls out, and the loss feels like more than just physical.

You straighten up on shaky legs, not looking at him. Your makeup is definitely ruined now, your dress wrinkled, and you can feel his cum starting to leak out of you.

“We should—” you start, but your voice cracks.

“Yeah.” He’s tucking himself back into his jeans, not meeting your eyes either. The silence is awful.

Finally, he speaks. “I wasn’t with Ginny. Not like that.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. Whatever we are, I wouldn’t—” He stops, running a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” You want to believe him. But you’re not sure you can.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, even though it does. “Like you said, we’re not together.”

More silence.

“I should get back,” you say, moving toward the door.

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. “Tomorrow. Come over tomorrow.”

“Jay—”

“Please.” The word costs him something, you can tell. Jay Park doesn’t say please.

“Okay,” you whisper. He lets go of your wrist, and you leave without looking back.

The next day, you show up at his apartment like nothing happened. Like he didn’t verbally eviscerate you. Like you didn’t cry while he fucked you. Like this is normal.

He answers the door shirtless, his hair messy like he just woke up. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

You expect him to pull you inside, to kiss you, to skip straight to the sex. Instead, he just looks at you for a long moment. Then, quietly: “I’m sorry.”

The words shock you more than anything else he could have said. “For what?”

“For last night. For the things I said. For—” He stops, his jaw clenching. “For being a fucking asshole.”

“You were drunk.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything.

“Come in,” he says finally, stepping aside. You walk into his apartment— still shitty, still cramped, but more familiar now. There’s a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter, a guitar propped against the wall, papers scattered across the coffee table that you recognize as lyrics.

“You want something to drink?” he asks.

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“So?”

“Sure. Whatever you’re having.” He pours you both whiskey, neat, and hands you a glass. You sit on his ratty couch and he sits next to you, close but not touching.

“I wasn’t with Ginny,” he says again. “I was in the studio. We’re recording the album and it’s been… intense. I lose track of time when I’m working. I didn’t mean to ignore your texts.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah. I did.” He takes a drink. “I’m not good at this. At whatever we’re doing. I don’t know how to balance everything.”

“Then maybe we should stop.” The words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication.

“Is that what you want?” he asks quietly.

No. God, no. But you should want that. You should want to walk away from this toxic mess before it destroys you both.

“I don’t know what I want,” you admit.

“Yeah. Me neither.” He reaches over and takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. It’s such a simple gesture, but it feels more intimate than anything else you’ve done together.

“I like you,” he says, not looking at you. “I know I’m shit at showing it, and I know I say terrible things when I’m drunk, but I do. Like you, I mean.”

Your heart clenches. “I like you too.”

“So maybe we just… keep doing this? Figure it out as we go?”

“Figure what out?”

“Whatever this is.” It’s the most honest conversation you’ve ever had. No pretense, no games. Just two fucked-up people admitting they can’t stay away from each other.

“Okay,” you say softly. He finally looks at you, and there’s something raw in his eyes. Vulnerable.

Then he’s kissing you, and it’s different than before. Slower. Softer. Like he’s trying to tell you something he can’t say out loud.

You kiss him back, your free hand coming up to cup his face, and when he pulls you into his lap, it’s gentle. Careful.

You make love that afternoon. Because that’s what it is, even though neither of you would call it that. It’s slow and sweet and terrifying in its intimacy.

And when you come, gasping his name, he’s looking right at you— really seeing you— and you think maybe this could be something. Something real. Something more than just sex and drugs and destruction.

But deep down, you know better. This isn’t a love story. This is a tragedy waiting to happen.

And you’re both too far gone to stop it.

—

Eight months in, and you can’t remember what your life looked like before Jay Park.

The days blur together now— a haze of cocaine and whiskey and sex that feels both like everything and nothing at all.

You’ve stopped going to most of your mother’s charity events, stopped pretending to care about the socialite circuit. Your friends have stopped calling, stopped inviting you places, because you always say no anyway.

There’s only Jay. The high. The crash. The cycle.

Your father still loves him, still talks about him like he’s the future of music. The single dropped two weeks ago and it’s climbing the charts. There’s a tour coming up— twenty cities, sold-out venues, the kind of exposure that turns rising stars into superstars. Your father is so proud. So blind to what’s actually happening.

Sometimes you wonder if he knows. If he sees the way Jay’s hands shake in the morning, the way his eyes are always slightly glassy, the weight he’s lost. If he notices the way you’ve changed too— thinner, quieter, more hollow.

But he doesn’t say anything. Because Jay is making him money. Because you’re an adult. Because it’s easier not to know.

It’s a Thursday night when your father mentions the studio. You’re having dinner at some expensive restaurant in Beverly Hills— you, your parents, and a few executives from the label. You’ve barely touched your food, moving it around your plate while your mother shoots you disapproving looks.

“Jay’s in the studio tonight,” your father says casually, cutting into his steak. “Working on the album. He’s been there every night this week.” Your heart skips.

You haven’t seen Jay in three days. He’s been distant lately, canceling plans, not answering texts until hours later with vague excuses about work.

“He’s very dedicated,” one of the executives says. “That’s what I like about him. Real work ethic.”

“Absolutely,” your father agrees. “He knows what it takes to make it in this business.”

You push your food around your plate, thinking about Jay alone in the studio. Probably high. Definitely drinking. Working himself into the ground because that’s what he does— burns bright and hot until there’s nothing left.

“You should stop by,” your father says, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you. “He’s been asking about you.”

Your mother gives you a look. “Is there something going on between you two?”

“We’re friends,” you say automatically.

“Friends.” Your mother’s tone suggests she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t push. She never does. As long as you’re discreet, as long as there’s no scandal, she doesn’t care what you do.

After dinner, you tell your parents you’re meeting friends. They don’t question it. They never do.

You drive to the studio with your hands shaking on the wheel, and you’re not sure if it’s anticipation or withdrawal. You haven’t done a line since yesterday morning, and your body is starting to feel it— that restless, itchy feeling under your skin, that need for more.

The studio is in a nondescript building in North Hollywood, the kind of place you’d drive past without noticing. You’ve been here before, enough times that the security guard just waves you through.

You find Jay in Studio B, the door slightly ajar. You can hear music bleeding out— something dark and hypnotic, layered with his voice. You push the door open quietly.

He’s sitting at the mixing board, his back to you, headphones on. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of the equipment and a single lamp in the corner. There are empty bottles scattered around— beer, whiskey, you can’t tell in the low light.

And on the table next to him, the telltale signs: a credit card, a razor blade, a small plastic bag of white powder.

He’s high. You can tell by the way he’s moving, slightly too fast, slightly too focused. His hands fly across the board, adjusting levels, replaying sections, completely absorbed.

You watch him for a moment, and something in your chest aches. This is what he loves. Not you. Not the sex. Not even the drugs, really. This. The music. The creation. The one thing that’s his.

You’re just a distraction.

“Jay,” you say softly.

He spins around, pulling off the headphones, and his face goes through several expressions— surprise, pleasure, guilt. His pupils are blown wide, his jaw clenched tight.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is rougher than usual. “What are you doing here?”

“My dad told me you were working. I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah?” A slow smile spreads across his face. “Miss me?”

“Maybe.”

He gestures to the couch against the wall. “Come here. Listen to what I’m working on.” You walk over, your heels clicking on the floor, and sit down. He brings his laptop over, settling next to you close enough that you can smell him— cigarettes and whiskey and that sharp chemical smell that means he’s been doing lines for hours.

“This is the new track,” he says, hitting play. The music fills the room— dark, atmospheric, his voice raw and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest tight. The lyrics are about addiction, about need, about wanting something you know is destroying you.

It’s about you. Or maybe it’s about the drugs. Or maybe there’s no difference anymore.

“What do you think?” he asks when it ends.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah?” He’s looking at you intently, his pupils so dilated his eyes look black. “You think so?”

“Yeah. But it feels like something’s missing.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’ve been listening to it for hours and I can’t—”

You kiss him.

It’s impulsive, born of three days without him and the ache in your chest from the song. He responds immediately, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss. When you pull back, you’re both breathing hard.

“I have an idea,” he says, his voice low.

“What?”

Instead of answering, he stands up and pulls you with him, leading you toward the vocal booth. It’s small, soundproofed, with a microphone in the center and foam padding on the walls.

“What are we doing?” you ask, but you already know. Your pulse is racing.

“Adding what’s missing.” He positions you in front of the microphone, his hands on your waist. “You trust me?”

“Yes.” And it’s probably the most stupidest this you’ve ever said in your life.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts through your dress. You can feel him getting hard against your hip.

“Jay—”

“Shh.” He reaches past you and presses a button on the interface. The recording light comes on, a soft red glow. “Just let me.”

His hands are everywhere— your breasts, your waist, sliding up your thighs. You moan into his mouth and he swallows the sound, his fingers finding the edge of your underwear.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your lips. “Let me hear you.”

This is insane. You’re in a studio, in a professional recording space, and he wants to— his fingers slide inside you and you gasp, your head falling back. The microphone picks up everything— every breath, every moan, every wet sound his fingers make moving inside you.

“You’re so wet,” he breathes, his voice low enough that you’re not sure if the mic will catch it. “Already so ready for me.”

“Please,” you whimper, past the point of embarrassment. He turns you around, bending you slightly forward so you’re braced against the mic stand. You hear his zipper, feel his hands lifting your dress, pulling your underwear to the side.

Then he’s pushing inside you, slow and deep, and you both groan. This is different from your usual frantic fucking. He sets a slow rhythm, each thrust deliberate and controlled. One hand is on your hip, the other reaches around to play with your clit, and every sound you make is crystal clear in the booth.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his lips against your ear. “Give me everything. Let them hear how good I make you feel.”

Your moans are breathy, desperate, obscene. The knowledge that he’s recording this, that he’s going to use this in his song, should horrify you. Instead it makes you wetter.

“Jay,” you gasp. “Oh god, Jay—”

“Say my name,” he demands, his fingers working your clit faster. “Say it louder.”

“Jay!”

His rhythm picks up slightly, still controlled but more urgent. You can hear the wet sounds of him moving inside you, can hear your own desperate whimpers, and it’s so intimate and exposing that you feel tears prick your eyes.

“I’m close,” you warn.

“Come for me. Let me record you coming on my cock.”

The combination of his words and his fingers pushes you over the edge. You come with a cry, your whole body shaking, and you feel him follow moments later— his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You’re both breathing hard, the only sound in the booth other than your racing hearts.

Then Jay reaches past you and stops the recording. He pulls out slowly, and you feel his cum start to drip down your thigh. You’re too shaky to stand on your own, so he holds you up, his arms around your waist.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah. That was—” You don’t have words for what that was.

“Come listen.” He leads you out of the booth, pulls you down onto his lap in the chair at the mixing board, and pulls up the recording.

Your cheeks burn as you hear yourself— the moans, the desperate way you said his name, the wet sounds of sex.

“It’s perfect,” Jay says, already working on integrating it into the track. His hands move across the board, isolating certain sounds, layering them with the music. It should feel wrong. It should feel like he’s using you. Instead, you feel something else entirely. Something warm and terrifying in your chest.

“I love you,” you whisper.

His hands still on the board. The words hang in the air between you, heavy and impossible to take back.

“What?” His voice is careful, controlled.

“I love you,” you repeat, turning to look at him. “I’m in love with you, Jay.”

For a moment, his expression is unguarded— raw and vulnerable and something that might be fear. Then it shutters closed.

“You’re high,” he says.

“I’m not. I haven’t—” You realize he’s right. You haven’t done a line tonight, but the comedown is making you emotional, making you say things you shouldn’t. “That doesn’t change what I feel.”

“You don’t love me.” He’s already pulling away, physically and emotionally. “You’re addicted to me. To this. It’s not the same thing.”

“It is for me.”

“Well, it’s not for me.” The words are sharp, cutting. “We fuck. We get high. We have fun. That’s all this is.”

“Jay—”

“I have to work.” He’s standing now, practically pushing you off his lap. “You should go.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I need to finish this track and you’re—” He gestures vaguely. “You’re distracting me.” The dismissal stings more than any of the cruel things he’s said before.

“Fine,” you say, grabbing your purse. “I’ll go.”

“Good.” You’re halfway to the door when he speaks again. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, not looking at you. “But I don’t do relationships. I don’t do love. If that’s what you’re looking for, you should find it somewhere else.”

You want to scream at him. Want to tell him that it’s too late, that you’re already in too deep, that he doesn’t get to decide how you feel. Instead, you just leave.

—

Jay doesn’t call. Days pass. Then a week. Then two.

Your phone stays silent except for texts from your mother asking where you are, from old friends you’ve been ignoring, from people who don’t matter.

Nothing from Jay.

You try not to care. You tell yourself it’s better this way, that you needed the distance, that maybe this is the universe giving you an out.

But every day that passes feels like dying a little. You stop eating. Your mother notices, makes comments about you looking too thin, but she’s secretly pleased. Thin is good in her world. Thin is fashionable.

You can’t sleep. You lie awake at night staring at your phone, wondering if he’s thinking about you, if he’s fucking someone else, if the song he made with your voice is finished yet.

You start going out more, trying to fill the Jay-shaped hole with other things.

Parties. Clubs. Men who look at you like you’re something to consume. But nothing helps.

Your father announces the tour dates. Twenty cities. Starting in two weeks.

“You should come,” he says over breakfast one morning. “For the first few shows, at least. Show your support.” Your mother gives you a look. She knows. Maybe not everything, but enough.

“I don’t think—” you start.

“I insist,” your father says. “Jay’s been asking about you. And it’ll be good exposure for you. Networking opportunities.”

Because that’s all that matters to him. Exposure. Networking. Using you as a pretty accessory for his business dealings. You want to say no. You should say no.

“Okay,” you hear yourself say. “I’ll come.”

The drinking gets worse. Not yours—though that’s gotten bad too. Jay’s.

You hear about it through your father, who hears about it from Ginny, who’s trying to manage a man who’s actively trying to destroy himself. He’s showing up to rehearsals drunk. Missing promotional appearances. Getting into fights with the band.

“He’s under a lot of pressure,” your father says, making excuses. “The tour, the album, all the expectations. He just needs to blow off some steam.”

You wonder if your father would be so understanding if he knew about the cocaine. About the whiskey for breakfast. About the way Jay’s been spiraling since— since you told him you loved him.

This is your fault. You pushed too hard, asked for too much, and now he’s self-destructing because that’s what he does when things get real.

You want to call him. Want to text him. Want to show up at his apartment and make sure he’s okay. But you don’t. Because he made it clear he doesn’t want you.

So you do what you do best— you self-destruct too.

The tour kicks off in San Francisco, and you fly up with your father and a few label executives on a private jet. Your mother stayed home— she hates rock venues, hates the crowds and the noise and the lack of sophistication. You wish you’d stayed home too.

The venue is massive, thousands of people packed in, the energy electric. Jay’s opening act goes on first, and you watch from the VIP section with your father, drinking expensive vodka and pretending to care.

Then Jay takes the stage.

The crowd goes insane. Screaming, pushing, a wave of bodies surging forward. And Jay— well, he looks like shit.

You can see it even from a distance. He’s too thin, his movements slightly uncoordinated, and when he starts singing you can hear the roughness in his voice that comes from too much whiskey and not enough sleep.

But he’s electric. Raw. Dangerous. The crowd loves it.

Your father is beaming. “He’s incredible,” he says, having to shout over the music. “This tour is going to make him a star.”

You just nod, your eyes locked on Jay. He hasn’t looked at the VIP section once, hasn’t acknowledged your presence.

The show is ninety minutes of controlled chaos. Jay prowls the stage like a caged animal, his guitar an extension of his body, his voice rough and hypnotic. The new single gets the biggest reaction, and when it plays— when you hear your own moans layered into the track— your face burns.

No one else knows it’s you. But you know. And somewhere, Jay knows.

After the show, there’s an after-party at the hotel. You consider not going, but your father insists. “Just for an hour,” he says. “Make an appearance. It’s important.”

The party is in a suite on the top floor, already packed with band members, crew, hangers-on, and groupies. The music is loud, the air thick with smoke and perfume and the particular energy that comes after a successful show.

You get a drink from the bar— whiskey, neat, because that’s what Jay drinks and maybe if you drink enough of it you’ll understand him better.

You’re on your second when you see them.

Jay and Ginny. They’re in a corner, standing close, her hand on his chest. She’s saying something and he’s laughing, and there’s a familiarity between them that makes your stomach turn. You should look away. You should leave. But you can’t move.

Jay’s hand slides down to Ginny’s ass, squeezing, and she leans up to whisper something in his ear. Then they’re moving, heading toward one of the bedrooms off the main suite.

Your father is across the room, deep in conversation with some producer. He doesn’t notice when you set down your drink and follow Jay and Ginny.

You shouldn’t do this. You know you shouldn’t. But you need to see it. Need to confirm what you already know.

The bedroom door isn’t fully closed. Through the crack, you can see them. Jay pushes Ginny against the wall, kissing her hard. His hands are already yanking up her skirt, and she’s fumbling with his belt. It’s rough and fast and nothing like the way he touched you in the studio.

“Fuck,” Jay groans as Ginny sinks to her knees. “Just like that.”

You should leave. You should turn around and walk away and pretend you never saw this.

But you’re frozen, watching as Ginny takes him in her mouth, watching as Jay’s head falls back and his hand fists in her hair.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and the endearment— the same one he’s used with you— breaks something inside you.

Tears blur your vision. You turn and run, pushing through the party, ignoring the calls of people asking if you’re okay. You make it to the elevator, to your own room two floors down, before you completely fall apart.

You cry so hard you can’t breathe. Great, heaving sobs that feel like they’re tearing you apart from the inside. He doesn’t love you. He never loved you. You were just convenient. Just another warm body. Just another distraction.

There’s a knock on your door. You ignore it.

“I know you’re in there.” It’s not Jay. It’s some guy— one of the executives you met earlier. “Your father sent me to check on you.”

You wipe your face, trying to pull yourself together. When you open the door, the man takes one look at you and his expression shifts from concern to something else.

Opportunity.

“Rough night?” he asks, stepping into your room without being invited.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He’s older— forty, maybe forty-five— handsome in that distinguished way that comes with money and power. “You look like you could use some company.”

This is a bad idea. You know it’s a bad idea. But you’re hurting and angry and desperate to feel anything other than the pain in your chest.

“Yeah,” you hear yourself say. “I could use some company.”

He kisses you and you kiss him back, trying to lose yourself in it. Trying to forget Jay’s hands on Ginny, Jay’s voice calling her “my girl,” Jay’s complete indifference to your existence.

The man— you don’t even remember his name— pushes you back onto the bed. His hands are confident, experienced, but wrong. Everything is wrong.

When he pushes inside you, you close your eyes and try to pretend it’s Jay. But it doesn’t work. It feels hollow. Empty. Like you’re going through the motions of something that used to mean something.

He comes quickly, and you don’t come at all. He seems not to notice or care.

“That was great,” he says, already pulling his pants back on. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah,” you lie. “Definitely.”

He leaves and you’re alone again, feeling worse than before. Used. Dirty. Desperate.

You take a shower, scrubbing your skin until it’s red, trying to wash away the feeling of hands that weren’t Jay’s. It doesn’t work.

You fly home the next morning without saying goodbye to anyone. Your father calls, asks if you’re okay, if something happened. You tell him you’re sick, that you need to rest. He believes you because it’s easier than the truth.

Back in LA, you lock yourself in your apartment and don’t answer the door for days.

Your mother calls. Your friends text. Even your father stops by once, but you pretend you’re not home. You just want to be alone. To wallow in your misery. To figure out how to breathe without Jay.

It’s been three weeks since you told him you loved him. Three weeks since he pushed you away. Three weeks of silence.

You’re starting to think this is how it ends. Not with a bang but with a whimper. With him on tour, living his life, while you fall apart in your expensive apartment.

Your phone buzzes. You almost don’t check it. But something makes you pick it up.

It’s Jay: where are you

Your heart stops. Then starts again, racing: home

im outside

You run to the window, and there he is— leaning against his car in the street below, looking up at your building. Even from here you can see how bad he looks. Thin. Exhausted. Wrecked.

You should tell him to leave. You should block his number and move on with your life.

But you’re already running down the stairs, your heart in your throat, because despite everything— despite the pain and the drugs and the destruction— you love him. And you know this is going to kill you.

But you don’t care.

You’re shaking when you open the door.

Jay is leaning against the frame, and up close he looks even worse than he did from the window. His eyes are bloodshot, ringed with dark circles. His face is gaunt, cheekbones too sharp, and there’s a tremor in his hands that wasn’t there before. He’s wearing the same clothes from the show— ripped jeans, a black t-shirt that hangs off his frame.

He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He probably hasn’t.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough.

“What are you doing here?”

Instead of answering, he reaches up and cups your face with both hands. His palms are warm against your cheeks, his touch achingly gentle. His thumbs brush away tears you didn’t realize were still falling.

“I brought something,” he says, his eyes searching yours. He pulls a small plastic bag from his pocket. White powder. Enough for a whole night. That’s his peace offering. Not an apology. Not an explanation. Just drugs.

You should slam the door in his face. Should tell him to fuck off and never come back. Instead, you step aside and let him in.

He walks into your apartment like he owns it, like he hasn’t ignored you for three weeks. He goes straight to your coffee table, pulls out his wallet, and starts cutting lines with practiced efficiency.

You watch from the doorway, your arms wrapped around yourself.

“Are we going to talk?” you ask.

“About what?” He doesn’t look up.

“About the fact that you ghosted me for three weeks. About Ginny. About—”

“I don’t want to talk.” He finally looks at you, and the intensity in his gaze steals your breath. “I want you.”

Three words. That’s all it takes.

You cross the room and he pulls you down onto the couch, kissing you hard and desperate. His hands are everywhere— your face, your neck, your waist— like he’s trying to memorize you through touch.

You kiss him back just as desperately, fisting your hands in his shirt. You’ve missed this. Missed him. Even though you hate him, even though he’s destroyed you, you’ve missed him so much it physically hurts.

“I saw you,” you gasp against his mouth. “In San Francisco. You and Ginny.”

His hands still for just a moment. Then he’s pulling back to look at you.

“That was nothing,” he says. “She doesn’t mean anything.”

“You fucked her.”

“So?” His hand slides up your thigh. “I’m here now, aren’t I? With you.”

It’s manipulation. You know it’s manipulation. But you want to believe him so badly that you let yourself.

“I only want you,” he murmurs, his lips finding your neck. “You know that, right?”

“Then why—”

“Shh.” His hand slides between your legs, and he goes very still.

You’re not wearing underwear. You haven’t bothered with them since you got home, too depressed to care about anything. But that’s not why he’s frozen.

His fingers slide through your folds and he pulls back, his expression dark.

“You fucked someone else,” he says flatly.

Your heart stutters. “Jay—”

“You fucked someone else.” His voice is rising. “After you saw me with Ginny, you went and fucked some other guy.”

“You don’t get to be mad about that. You don’t get to—”

“Who was it?” He’s standing now, towering over you. “Tell me who it was.”

“I don’t even know his name.”

Something flashes in his eyes— hurt, maybe, or rage. It’s hard to tell.

“Some random guy,” he says, his voice dripping with contempt. “You let some random guy fuck you.”

“Like you care. You were fucking Ginny!”

“That’s different.”

“How is that different?”

“Because Ginny knows what she’s getting into. She knows what I am. She doesn’t expect more.” He steps closer, and there’s something dangerous in his expression. “But you— you’re supposed to be different. You’re supposed to be mine.”

“I can’t be yours if you won’t be mine!”

“I told you— I don’t do relationships. I don’t do love. I made that clear from the beginning.”

“You did,” you agree, your voice breaking. “But I fell in love with you anyway. And you knew. And you kept coming back. You kept using me—”

“Using you?” He laughs, sharp and bitter. “Baby, you’re the one who gives me money for coke. You’re the one who spreads your legs the second I show up. Don’t act like you’re some victim here.”

The words hit like a slap.

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“Yeah, that’s what you’re good for, isn’t it?” His hand wraps around your throat— not squeezing, just holding. A reminder of his power. “Being pretty and available and desperate for my attention. Take away the money and the tight pussy and what are you? Nothing. You’re nothing without me.”

You should push him away. Should tell him to leave. But his words have hit something true and terrible inside you. Because he’s right. You are nothing without him. You’ve let yourself become nothing.

“I hate you,” you say, but there’s no conviction in it.

“No, you don’t.” His grip on your throat tightens slightly. “You love me. You said so yourself. And that’s your problem, not mine.”

“Jay—”

“Bedroom. Now.” You go.

Because despite everything— despite the cruel words and the manipulation and the knowledge that this is destroying you— you still want him. Need him. Can’t breathe without him.

He’s gentle at first. He lays you down on the bed, his hands tender as he undresses you. He kisses every inch of exposed skin— your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. His touch is almost reverent, like you’re something precious.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your skin. “Missed this.”

You want to ask if he missed you or just missed fucking you, but you’re afraid of the answer.

His mouth finds yours again, the kiss slow and deep. When he pushes inside you, he does it carefully, watching your face. “Okay?” he asks, and it’s the most considerate he’s been in weeks.

“Yes.”

He starts to move, still slow, still careful. It’s almost like making love. Almost like he actually cares.

But then his rhythm changes. Gets harder. Faster. His grip on your hips turns bruising.

“You let him touch you here?” He thrusts particularly hard and you gasp. “Let him fuck this pussy that belongs to me?”

“Jay—”

“Did he make you come? Did you moan his name the way you moan mine?”

“No,” you gasp. “No, it wasn’t— it didn’t feel like this—”

“Good.” His hand wraps around your throat again, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. “Because you’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!”

He fucks you harder, rougher, and the gentleness from before is completely gone. This is punishment. This is him reminding you who you belong to. And you take it. Because you want it. Because some fucked-up part of you needs this.

When you come, it’s intense and devastating, and you’re crying— from pleasure or pain or the emotional wreckage of it all, you’re not sure. Jay follows moments later, burying himself deep and groaning your name.

For a long moment, you just lie there tangled together, both breathing hard. Then he pulls out and rolls onto his back beside you.

“We should do a line,” he says, like he didn’t just fuck you into oblivion.

You do lines at three AM on your bedroom floor.

The coke hits hard and fast, sharper than usual. Jay must have gotten better quality. Or maybe you’re just more desperate for it now.

“This is good shit,” you say, your heart already racing.

“Only the best for you.” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You do another line. Then another. The room gets brighter, sharper, every sensation heightened. Jay’s hand on your thigh feels electric.

“Come here,” he says, pulling you into his lap. You straddle him, and he’s already hard again. The coke does that— makes him insatiable, makes him able to go for hours.

This time when he fucks you, it’s different. Slower. More intense. You’re both high enough that every touch feels magnified, every sensation almost too much.

“I can’t do this without you,” he murmurs against your neck. “I’ve tried. I can’t.”

Your heart clenches. “Jay—”

“I’m serious. These past three weeks have been hell. I’ve been drinking more, using more, and nothing helps. Nothing makes it better except you.”

It’s the closest to a love confession you’ve ever gotten from him. And even though you know it’s probably the drugs talking, probably manipulation, you cling to it anyway.

“I need you,” he continues, his hands gripping your hips as you ride him. “I know I’m shit at showing it. I know I fuck everything up. But I need you.”

“I need you too,” you gasp, and it’s the truth. As destructive as it is, you need him like air.

“Promise you won’t leave me.”

“I promise.”

“Promise you won’t fuck anyone else.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” His hand slides up to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. “Because you’re mine. And I don’t share.”

The irony isn’t lost on you— he doesn’t share but he still fucks Ginny. But you don’t say that. You just kiss him and lose yourself in the feeling of him inside you, the high making everything feel possible.

You come together this time, both crying out, and in that moment you almost believe this could work. That love and need and desperation are enough to build something real on. Almost.

You wake up around noon, your head pounding and your nose burning.

Jay is still asleep beside you, one arm thrown over your waist. In sleep, he looks younger. More vulnerable. The harsh edges of his face softened. You watch him for a moment, your chest aching with a complicated tangle of love and resentment.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. A text from your mother: Lunch today? We need to talk.

You slip out of bed carefully, trying not to wake Jay. In the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror and barely recognize the person staring back.

You’ve lost weight. Too much weight. Your face is gaunt, your collarbones too prominent. Your eyes are hollow, dark circles permanent fixtures now. Your skin looks gray, dull. You look like an addict. Because you are one.

The realization hits you like a punch. Somewhere along the way, this stopped being recreational. Stopped being fun. Now you need it. Need the high to feel normal. Need Jay to feel whole. You’re addicted to the drugs and to him, and you’re not sure which is worse.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “You okay?” Jay’s voice, rough with sleep.

“Yeah. Fine.”

He opens the door anyway, leaning against the frame. He’s naked, unselfconscious, and even now—even knowing what he is, what this is—you want him.

“My mom texted,” you say. “Wants to have lunch.”

“So?”

“So she probably knows something’s wrong.”

“Then don’t go.”

“I can’t just avoid her forever.”

“Why not?” He steps into the bathroom, wrapping his arms around you from behind. In the mirror, you can see both of you—two hollow-eyed ghosts clinging to each other. “Stay here with me instead.”

“Jay—”

“I have to leave for the tour again in three days.” His lips find your neck. “I want to spend every minute with you until then.”

Your stomach drops. “Three days?”

“Yeah. Two more weeks of shows, then I’m back.” Two more weeks. Two more weeks of him being gone, of you falling apart, of wondering if he’s fucking Ginny in every city.

“I’ll come with you,” you blurt out.

“What?”

“On tour. I’ll come with you. My dad already suggested it anyway.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his arms tightening around you. “That’s not a good idea,” he says finally.

“Why not?”

“Because—” He stops, seeming to struggle for words. “Because Ginny will be there. And the band. And I won’t be able to focus on you. I’ll be busy and stressed and I’ll just—I’ll fuck it up.”

“So you’d rather I stay here? Alone? Wondering who you’re with?”

“I told you, Ginny doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then why can’t I come?”

“Because—” His jaw clenches. “Because I don’t want you to see me like that. On tour. Using. Drinking. I don’t want you to see how bad it gets.”

“It’s already bad, Jay.”

“It gets worse.” The admission hangs between you, heavy with implications.

“Let me help you,” you say quietly. “Let me be there for you.”

“You can’t help me.” He pulls away, running a hand through his hair. “No one can help me. This is just who I am.”

“That’s not true—”

“It is true!” His voice rises. “I’m fucked up, okay? I’ve been fucked up since I was a kid, and no amount of love or support or whatever the fuck you think you can give me is going to fix that.”

“I’m not trying to fix you—”

“Yes, you are. That’s what you do. You see broken things and you think you can fix them, make them better, save them. But I don’t want to be saved.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to feel good. I want to not think. I want to fuck and get high and make music and not have to deal with feelings or futures or any of that shit.” Each word is a knife, but you force yourself to stand there and take it.

“And what about me?” you ask. “What do I get?”

“You get me. When I’m here. When I can be.” His expression softens slightly. “That has to be enough.”

“And if it’s not?”

For a moment, something like fear flashes in his eyes. Then it’s gone. “Then leave,” he says flatly. “I’m not keeping you here. You can walk away any time.”

But you both know that’s not true. He is keeping you here—with promises and manipulation and the way he touches you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. “I can’t leave,” you whisper.

“I know.” He pulls you back into his arms. “That’s the problem.”

The next three days blur together in a haze of cocaine and sex and moments of almost-tenderness that feel like torture.

You skip lunch with your mother. She calls you repeatedly but you don’t answer. Your father texts asking if you’re okay. You lie and say you’re fine. You’re not fine.

You and Jay exist in this bubble—your apartment, your bedroom, your bathroom. You order food you don’t eat. You do lines at all hours. You fuck until you’re both exhausted and then do it again.

He’s insatiable. Always wanting more. Always needing you. And you give him everything. Because this is all you have. These three days before he leaves and you’re alone again.

On the second night, you’re both coming down from a high when he says it.

“I think about you when I’m with her.”

You’re lying in bed, tangled together, sweaty and exhausted. “What?”

“Ginny.” His voice is quiet. “When I’m with her, I think about you.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It should make you feel better, but it doesn’t. “Why do you fuck her if you’re thinking about me?”

“Because she’s there and you’re not. Because it’s easier than feeling what I feel when I’m with you.” He traces patterns on your bare shoulder. “Because I’m a coward.” It’s the most honest he’s ever been.

“Tell me you won’t fuck her anymore,” you say. “Promise me you won’t.” Silence. “Jay—”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll break it. Because when I’m on the road and I’m drunk and high and lonely, I’ll take what’s available. And I don’t want to lie to you.” At least he’s honest. That’s something, you suppose.

“I hate this,” you whisper.

“I know. I hate it too.”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m fucked up. Because this is all I know. Because—” He stops, his jaw clenching. “Because if I let myself actually be with you—really be with you—I’ll destroy you. I’ll pull you down with me until there’s nothing left. And you deserve better than that.”

“Let me decide what I deserve.”

“You can’t see it. You’re already halfway gone.” He cups your face, forcing you to look at him. “You’ve lost weight. You’re using more. You’re pulling away from everyone who cares about you. I’m destroying you and you’re letting me.”

“So leave. If you care about me at all, leave.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m selfish. Because even though I know I’m bad for you, I can’t give you up.”

You kiss him then, desperate and needy, and he kisses you back just as hard. You fuck again, slower this time. Almost gentle. And when you come, you’re both crying.

The third day, Jay leaves for the airport at dawn. You’re still asleep when he gets out of bed, but you wake to the sound of him moving around the room. “Don’t go,” you murmur.

“I have to.”

“Stay. Just one more day.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, and cups your face. “I’ll be back in two weeks.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He kisses you goodbye—soft and sweet and heartbreaking. Then he’s gone.

You lie in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling hollowed out. Your phone buzzes. A text from Jay: I left you something in the bathroom

You drag yourself out of bed and find it. An eight ball of cocaine. Enough to last you a week if you’re careful. Longer if you’re not.

There’s a note too, scrawled on a piece of paper: Don’t do it all at once. And don’t fuck anyone else. -J

You should flush it down the toilet. Should call someone—a friend, your mother, a fucking therapist. Instead, you do a line right there at the bathroom counter. Then another. Then another. Because Jay was right. You’re already halfway gone. And you have two weeks to fall the rest of the way.

The two weeks pass in a blur of white powder and empty promises you make to yourself. You’ll be careful, you tell yourself each morning. You’ll only do a little. Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to get through another day without Jay. But careful becomes careless becomes desperate becomes the only thing keeping you functional.

The eight ball Jay left you should have lasted two weeks. It lasts nine days.

You measure your life in lines now. Morning line to wake up. Afternoon line to feel normal. Evening line to go out. Late night line to sleep, except you never actually sleep anymore. You just lie in bed staring at the ceiling, your heart racing, your mind spinning with thoughts of Jay.

Is he thinking about you? Is he with Ginny? Is he using as much as you are? Your phone stays silent though. No texts. No calls. Nothing.

Your father texts you updates you don’t ask for: Jay killed it in Chicago. The crowds are insane. He’s going to be huge.

Your mother calls repeatedly. You let it go to voicemail. When you finally listen to the messages, her voice is tight with concern: Darling, we need to talk. Please call me back. Your father and I are worried.

You delete them all.

You go out to clubs some nights, trying to fill the Jay-shaped hole with other things. Other people. Men buy you drinks, pull you onto the dance floor, press their bodies against yours. You let them kiss you—sloppy, drunk kisses that taste wrong. You let their hands wander, let them think they have a chance.

But you never take them home. Never let it go further than kissing. Because despite everything, you’re still his. He told you not to fuck anyone else, and even though he’s probably fucking Ginny every night, you keep that promise. It’s the only thing you have left.

Day twelve, you run out of cocaine. The crash is brutal. You sleep for sixteen hours straight, wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck, and immediately start calling the number Jay got his supply from. The dealer doesn’t answer. You call six more times before you accept that he’s ghosting you.

You try to get through the day sober. You manage four hours before you’re tearing your apartment apart looking for anything—old baggies, residue, something. You find nothing.

Your reflection in the bathroom mirror is a stranger. You’ve lost at least fifteen pounds. Your cheekbones are razor-sharp, your eyes sunken and hollow. Your skin has that gray, papery quality you’ve seen on actual addicts.

You are an actual addict. The realization should scare you more than it does.

Your phone rings. Your father. “Hello?”

“Sweetheart! I’ve been trying to reach you.” His voice is bright, oblivious. “Jay’s last show is tomorrow night. I’m flying out to see it. You should come with me.”

“I can’t—”

“It’s in LA. At the Palladium. It’s going to be incredible. The label is throwing a huge after-party.” He pauses. “Jay asked if you’d be there.”

Your heart stops. “He did?”

“Well, Ginny mentioned it. Said Jay’s been distracted, not himself. Thought seeing a familiar face might help.”

Ginny mentioned it. Not Jay. Of course. “I’ll think about it,” you say.

“Don’t think too long. I can have a car pick you up at seven.”

After you hang up, you stare at your phone. Jay’s last show. Tomorrow night. Which means he’ll be home the day after. You just have to make it one more day.

You don’t go to the show. You tell yourself it’s because you look too awful, because you don’t want him to see you like this. But the truth is you’re terrified. Terrified of seeing him with Ginny. Terrified of the way he might look through you like you don’t exist. Terrified that two weeks apart has made him realize he doesn’t need you at all. So you stay home and try to sleep and fail.

Around midnight, your phone buzzes. It’s your father: Show was incredible. Jay’s a star. See you at the after-party? You don’t respond. Another text, an hour later: Are you okay? You’re worrying your mother and me.

You turn off your phone.

He shows up at noon the next day. You’re not ready. You’ve barely slept, haven’t showered, are wearing clothes you’ve had on for two days. But when you hear the knock on your door, you know it’s him.

You look through the peephole just to be sure. Jay is leaning against the wall across from your door, his eyes closed. Even from this distance you can tell he’s fucked up. His clothes are wrinkled, his hair a mess. There’s something defeated in his posture that you’ve never seen before.

You open the door. His eyes snap open and land on you, and something in his expression breaks.

“Hi,” he says, his voice wrecked.

“Hi.” You stare at each other for a long moment. He looks terrible. Worse than terrible. His face is gaunt, his eyes bloodshot, and there’s a tremor in his hands that makes your stomach drop.

“Can I come in?” You step aside. He walks past you into the apartment, and you can smell whiskey on him. It’s barely noon and he’s already drunk.

“How was the tour?” you ask, your voice small.

“It was fine.” He’s not looking at you, his gaze distant. “Good crowds. Good shows.”

“My dad said you were amazing.”

“Your dad says a lot of things.” The bitterness in his tone is new.

“Jay—”

“I missed you,” he says suddenly, finally looking at you. “I missed you so fucking much.”

Your chest tightens. “You didn’t call. You didn’t text. Nothing for two weeks.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“Because every time I picked up the phone, I’d think about what I’d say. And every time, I realized there was nothing I could say that would make this okay. That would make us okay.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We’re not okay. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“But I still can’t stay away from you.”

He crosses the room in three strides and kisses you, hard and desperate. You kiss him back just as desperately, tasting whiskey and cigarettes and something darker underneath.

His hands are already pulling at your clothes, and you let him. Because this is what you do. This is all you have.

You fuck right there against the wall, fast and rough and joyless. It’s mechanical, going through the motions. Like you’re both just trying to feel something, anything.

When he finishes, he pulls out immediately and tucks himself back into his jeans. “I have to go,” he says.

The words hit like a slap. “What?”

“I have meetings. Label stuff. I just wanted to see you first.”

“That’s it? You fuck me and leave?”

“What did you expect?” His tone is harsh. “Did you think I was going to stay and cuddle? Tell you I love you? That’s not who I am.”

“I know who you are.” Your voice is shaking. “I’ve always known.”

“Then why do you keep expecting more?”

“Because I’m an idiot. Because I love you. Because I keep hoping that maybe—” You stop, blinking back tears. “Never mind. Just go.”

He doesn’t move. “I should go,” he says, but he sounds uncertain now.

“Then go.”

“I will.” But still he doesn’t move. He just stands there looking at you with something that might be regret or might just be exhaustion.

“I have to make a stop first,” he says finally. “Then I’ll come back. We can talk. Really talk.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

He kisses you one more time—soft, almost gentle—and then he’s gone. You slide down the wall and sit on the floor, feeling emptier than you’ve ever felt in your life.

Hours pass. Then more hours. It gets dark. You text him: where are you? No response.You call. It goes straight to voicemail.

Around eleven PM, you can’t take it anymore. You need to see him. Need to know he’s okay. You drive to his apartment, your hands shaking on the wheel. His car is in the parking lot. The lights are on in his window.

Relief floods through you. He’s home. He’s fine. He probably just passed out or forgot to charge his phone or— you’re halfway up the stairs when you see her.

Ginny is leaving his apartment, pulling the door shut behind her. Her hair is messed up, her shirt buttoned wrong. She freezes when she sees you. For a moment, neither of you speaks.

“He’s not well,” Ginny says finally, her voice careful. “You should go home.”

“Get out of my way.”

“I’m serious. He’s—he’s not himself right now. Give him space.”

“I said get out of my way.”

Something in your tone makes her step aside. You push past her and open the door.

The apartment is dark except for the light from the bathroom. Music is playing softly from somewhere—one of Jay’s tracks, the one with your moans layered in.

“Jay?” you call out. No response.

You walk through the apartment, your heart starting to race. Something feels wrong. The air feels wrong.

The bathroom door is ajar. You push it open. Jay is on the floor, his back against the bathtub, his eyes half-closed. There’s a needle on the floor beside him, a tourniquet still tied around his arm.

Your brain stutters, trying to process what you’re seeing. “Jay?”

His eyes flutter open, unfocused. When he sees you, he smiles—slow and sad and so fucking broken. “Hey, baby,” he slurs. “You came.”

You drop to your knees beside him, your hands shaking. “What did you do? Jay, what did you take?”

“Everything.” His hand comes up to touch your face, the movement uncoordinated. “All of it. Felt good.”

“How much? Jay, how much did you take?”

“Does it matter?” His eyes are already closing again. “Wanted to feel good. Wanted to stop thinking.”

Terror claws at your throat. You fumble for your phone, hands shaking so hard you can barely hold it. “I’m calling 911—”

“No.” His hand catches your wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “No hospitals. No ambulances. Just… just stay with me.”

“Jay, you need help—”

“I need you.” His eyes open again, and there’s a clarity in them that wasn’t there before. “I love you. Did I ever tell you that?”

The words you’ve been desperate to hear for months, and they’re coming now. Like this. “Don’t,” you choke out. “Don’t do this. Don’t say it now—”

“I love you,” he repeats, his thumb brushing your cheek. “I’ve loved you since that first night. Since you let me fuck you in that bathroom. Since you looked at me like I was worth something.”

“Then let me help you.” Tears are streaming down your face. “Let me call for help—”

“Too late.” His breathing is getting shallower. “It’s already too late.”

“It’s not. It’s not too late. We can fix this—”

“You can’t fix me.” His hand falls from your face, landing in his lap. “No one can fix me. I’m too broken.”

“You’re not broken—”

“I am. I’ve always been.” His eyes are glazing over now, his words starting to slur together. “My dad… he was right. I’m worthless. Nothing. Just like him.”

“That’s not true.” You’re sobbing now, clutching his hand. “You’re talented and brilliant and—”

“I’m an addict.” The word is barely a whisper. “Just like him. I became everything I hated.” His breathing is getting slower. More labored.

“Jay, please—”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “For everything. For using you. For not being able to love you the way you deserved. For—” He coughs, and it sounds wet, wrong. “For not being strong enough to choose you over this.”

“You’re choosing now,” you beg. “You’re choosing now. Just let me call—” But his eyes are closed now, his chest barely moving.

You grab your phone with shaking hands and dial 911, but even as you’re talking to the operator, giving them the address, begging them to hurry, you know. You know it’s already too late.

You cradle his head in your lap, your tears falling onto his face, and you watch the boy you love slip away. “I love you,” you whisper. “I love you, I love you, please don’t leave me—”

His chest rises one more time. Then stops. The music is still playing. Your voice, moaning his name, layered over dark beats and his rough vocals. A monument to what you were. What you did to each other.

The paramedics arrive seven minutes later. They try. They really try. But Jay Park is already gone.

The funeral is three days later. It’s huge. Industry people, fans, press. Everyone wants a piece of the tragedy. The rising star who burned out too soon. The cautionary tale.

Your father gives a speech about Jay’s talent, his potential, his bright future cut short. He doesn’t mention the drugs. Doesn’t mention the drinking. Doesn’t mention how he enabled it all in pursuit of profit.

Your mother sits beside you in black, her face carefully composed. She squeezes your hand once, and that’s the extent of her comfort.

You sit through it all in a numb haze. You haven’t slept since that night. Haven’t eaten. You’re running on empty and coffee and the small amount of cocaine you managed to score yesterday. You needed it. Needed something to get through this.

Ginny speaks too. She talks about Jay’s dedication, his artistry, his complexity. She cries. Real tears. You wonder if she loved him too. If he told her he loved her before he died. You’ll never know.

When it’s over, people approach you with condolences. They know you were close to him. Your father made sure everyone knew his daughter was friends with his star artist. Friends. Like that’s all you were.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” they say, over and over. You nod and smile and thank them mechanically. None of them know. None of them understand.

You didn’t just lose Jay. You lost the only person who understood the worst parts of you. The only person who saw you completely and wanted you anyway. You lost everything.

A week after the funeral, your father calls you into his office. You know what’s coming. You’ve been avoiding this conversation, but it’s inevitable.

He’s sitting behind his desk when you arrive, and your mother is there too, perched on the couch. They both look at you with matching expressions of concern that don’t quite reach their eyes.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” your father says. You sit. “We need to talk about what happened,” he continues. “With Jay.” You say nothing.

“The police found drugs in his apartment. A significant amount. And they’re investigating where he got them, who supplied him.” Your father’s jaw tightens. “They asked if you knew anything about his drug use.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That you were friends. That you might have known he partied, but that you weren’t involved in anything illegal.” Of course. Protecting the family reputation. Always. “But we need to know the truth,” your mother says, her voice careful. “Were you involved with Jay? Romantically?”

You could lie. You should lie. But you’re so tired of lying. “Yes,” you say. “We were together. For almost a year.”

Your mother’s face tightens. Your father’s expression goes carefully blank. “Were you using drugs with him?” your father asks.

“Yes.”

“Are you still using?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. They can see it in your face, in your weight loss, in the hollowness of your eyes. Your mother makes a small sound—disappointment or disgust, you’re not sure which.

“This is unacceptable,” your father says, his voice cold. “Do you have any idea how this looks? My daughter, involved with an artist who overdosed? Using drugs? If this gets out—”

“If this gets out, you’ll look bad,” you finish. “That’s what you’re worried about. Not me. Not the fact that I just lost someone I loved. Just your reputation.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Isn’t it?” You stand up, your hands shaking. “You pushed him. You knew he was using, you had to know, but you pushed him anyway because he was making you money. You worked him until he broke.”

“That’s not true—”

“It is true! You saw what you wanted to see. You ignored all the warning signs because Jay Park was going to be a star, and that’s all that mattered.”

“You don’t get to blame me for this,” your father says, his voice rising. “You’re the one who chose to get involved with him. You’re the one who started using drugs. Those were your choices.”

“You’re right. They were my choices. And I have to live with them.” You head for the door. “But so do you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“We’re not finished—”

“Yes, we are.” You leave before they can stop you.

You find yourself at the cemetery on a Tuesday afternoon. Jay’s grave is in the back, under a tree. The headstone is simple: his name, his dates, and a line from one of his songs: “Burned bright, burned fast, burned out.” It’s depressingly fitting.

You sit down on the grass beside his grave, your back against the headstone. From your purse, you pull out a small bag of cocaine. The last of your supply. You cut a line right there on top of his grave, using a credit card and the smooth marble surface.

“I love you,” you whisper to the stone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough.” You snort the line. The burn is familiar, almost comforting.

The high kicks in slowly. That familiar rush, that feeling of everything being okay even when nothing is okay.

You lean back against the headstone and close your eyes. You should get clean. You should get help. You should choose to live instead of slowly killing yourself the same way Jay did. But you won’t.

Because without him, you don’t know how to be anything else. Without him, you’re just empty. Just going through the motions. You’re too far gone. Just like he was.

The sun is warm on your face. The drug is warm in your veins. And for a moment— just a moment— you can almost pretend he’s here with you. That you’re both okay. That love was enough.

But it wasn’t. It never was.