synopsis: in a school where excellence is expected, you’ve always stood at the top of your cohort, the pride of your programme and the most promising research designer in the university’s elite formula club. so much so that no one questioned who the best was. until him. after a two year leave of absence, lee jeno finally returns. once the golden student of the class of 2024, jeno's return sends ripples through the faulty and one uncomfortable truth: the seat at the top is no longer yours by default. and when the opportunity of a lifetime appears — a coveted position as a core designer on a rising professional formula racing team that is open to only one student, the rivalry becomes inevitable, which begs the question: who's the better one? you or lee jeno?
a/n: hiii~ been thinking about racer jeno so much ever since tds4 encore that i started writing this series during classes :") oh wait did i say racer jeno??? i guess yes, jeno isn't just merely an engineer but a racer too🫢🫢🫢 thank you all for being so excited for this story!!!! this one's a short chapter but i promise it's just the start to a really long slow burn so let's all savour the moment when everyone's still happy and not committed to each other yeah~
˚꩜｡ chapter song: starboy - the weeknd
˚꩜｡ m.list | next chapter
the routine had always been there to keep you in check. wake up at four in the morning, early morning studies, attend classes, be the best, fix some cars and study again. it was a cycle you had perfected—one that kept the scholarships arriving at your doorstep year after year, as if success itself had learned your address by heart. school was never particularly difficult. or at least, that was what you believed, with the neat rows of ‘A’s lining your semester transcript in triumph.
the new semester after the long summer vacation break felt just like any other day. students flooded the corridors in restless waves, voices overlapping in bright chatter about holidays and fleeting freedoms with sounds of faint tunes from the arts faculty across your block and a beaming chen le waiting for you by the auditorium door for you with a bag pack slung over one shoulder as if he had been waiting there all morning just for you.
“y/n, you are not going to believe this!” he practically bounced at the sight of you, earning a handful of curious stares from passing students. you winced, lifting a hand to cover your face as you hurried toward him. “you’re embarrassing me,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing his sleeve and tugging him along with you.
chen le straightens himself out, grinning right back at you. "i hear say that there's a new kid on the block that's a genius," he says as the two of you settled down to your usual seats by middle of the hall. you lazily pulled out your laptop and placed it calmly in front of you, "and?" you raised a brow, unfazed by chen le's revelation.
"and?! did you not hear the part where i said, said kid is a genius?" he gawked at your nonchalance. "it'll be good to have some competition." you shrugged, "i've been bored out of mind these days," you said as you opened up the lesson notes for the day.
it was true in many ways that you've been meaning to find some thrill in the academics that you loved you so much. no matter how great this student was, you were sure that there's no way they could've topped your achievements.
or at least that's what you thought.
"good morning class, sorry i'm late." professor lee entered hurriedly, face flustered from the late summer heat outside the classrooms. "attendance will be based on today's equation, solve the question and you'll be marked present." he announced, earning low groans around the room.
"he always does this!" chen le muttered under his breath, slumping in his seat. "you can copy mine," you chuckled, shaking your head. “and this,” he said, leaning dramatically against your shoulder, “is why i love you.” you nudged him off, though a faint smile tugged at your lips.
“today we’ll be looking at multi degree of freedom systems specifically coupled oscillations and how we analyse them using matrix methods.” professor kim started, scrambling onto the giant board in front of the lecture hall.
Mx¨+Kx=0Mx¨+Kx=0
you didn't bother to look up at all, already working out the question for your attendance. it wasn't anything new for you, in fact, you've already taught yourself it in high school. not to brag though.
“to solve this,” professor lee continued, writing as he spoke, “we assume a harmonic solution and transform the system into—”
“—an eigenvalue problem.” a voice came from the back, catching everyone by surprise at how it slipped in so naturally that it didn’t even sound like an interruption.
your head shot up, curiosity getting the better of you. there, at the back, someone sat reclined in his chair without a care in the world like he belonged nowhere and everywhere at once. a pair of sunglasses rested low on his nose, catching the light just enough to obscure his expression.
you couldn’t see his face clearly. though something about this man made you sit up in alarm at the level of his confidence something about that quiet, unbothered certainty in the way he carried himself had rubbed you in an annoying way.
“which allows us to decouple the system into independent modal coordinates,” he continued in an even tone, almost absent-minded. “each with its own natural frequency.”
he's correct.
“that is… correct,” professor lee said slowly, turning towards the unfamiliar voice. you watched as recognition settled across your professor’s face, his expression shifting into something almost amused “huh. lee jeno… welcome back to school.”
lee jeno. where have you of that name before?
who is he?
thoughts of jeno swarmed your mind as you made your way towards the workshop. it wasn’t that you were obsessed, you're definitely not. you were merely... intrigued. yes, that was the word for it. intrigued.
meanwhile chen le was already nose deep in some amateur detective work, scrolling through the student registry until a name finally caught his eye. "aha! found him!" he punched the air in a silent victory. "apparently, he was class of 2024 but took a leave of absence two years ago." he paused, scanning the digital files again. "lee jeno was on the dean’s list—top of the cohort in his year." chen le whistled low, glancing at you over his shoulder. "damn, it’s like reading your own resume."
you couldn't help but leaned over to look, your eyes skimming a list of achievements that seemed to stretch on longer than your own. "there’s no way he’s like me," you huffed, turning away in an attempt to hide your own distasteful emotions at jeno's seemingly promising character.
"you’re right," chen le snorted, knowing exactly which buttons to push. "if anything, he's probably better than you." you whipped around, staring at him with a look of mock betrayal that didn't quite hide the sting. "very funny chen," you replied, your voice dripping with a sarcasm that was as sharp as it was defensive, rolling your eyes. "nobody’s better than me. keep dreaming."
but the banter died the moment you stepped into the workshop.
you stopped dead, both feet planted firmly on the cold floor as your heart skipped a beat—not out of excitement, but out of pure, unadulterated outrage. the whiteboard that had once held your pride and joy—the intricate engine design you’d laboured over during the last session—had been wiped clean. in its place was a new model, a chaotic sprawl of designs that were definitely not yours. the lines were frantic, almost messy, lacking the disciplined precision you took pride in.
your gaze raced across the board, tracing the path of the hand still holding the marker. your vision climbed up a steady arm until it landed on a familiar silhouette sitting right in front of your ruined work. even from the back, that leather jacket was unmistakable.
"what the fuck?"
the words tore from your throat in a burst of disbelief, the volume of your voice echoing off the workshop walls. the figure jumped, shoulders snapping tight in a startle as the marker screeched against the board.
the air in the workshop seemed to thin as the figure turned, a casual, sheepish half-smile playing on his lips. " oh hey," he said, the voice instantly clicking into place in your mind—smooth, somewhat cocky, and entirely too calm for someone who had just committed academic sacrilege.
"oooh noo~" chen le sang under his breath. the words were a warning, but his expression was a betrayal; he looked like someone who had just secured front-row seats to a long-awaited title fight. he shifted his weight, crossing his arms with an expectant grin, fully aware that he was about to witness a collision between the two brightest stars in the university's orbit.
chen le knew you better than anyone. he knew that to you, this isn't merely some whiteboard, in fact, it was a sanctuary. this was your designated research space, a hard-won territory granted by the club, and seeing your intricate engine designs scrubbed away was like watching a masterpiece be painted over with a toddler's finger-paints.
he could practically see the sparks flying off you, the sheer mechanical fury radiating from your stance. chen le didn't move to intervene. instead, he leaned back against the doorframe, his eyes darting between your trembling indignation and jeno’s infuriatingly relaxed posture.
"where is my work?" you asked, voice low. you took a step towards him, the distance between you shrinking as your patience evaporated into the heated air of the workshop. "i made it better," he said simply like he was stating the obvious. he didn't even have the grace to look guilty, speaking with the flat, effortless confidence of someone stating that the sky was blue.
"you made it... better?" you repeated them in a hollowed-out tone of pure disbelief. "i spent three months on that. three months calculating tolerances and perfecting the intake for the competition car." you took another step, now firmly in his personal space. "you have no right to be in here. and you certainly have no right to touch a single ink stroke of my work without asking."
the fury was vibrating in your fingertips now, especially as you watched him remained maddeningly nonchalant, leaning back against the board as if he owned the room, the marker dangling carelessly from his hand.
"you worked on this for three months and this was the subpar standard you came up with?" jeno let out a short, airy laugh that grated against your nerves like sandpaper. "that's so cute of you," he cooed, his eyes crinkling with a patronising warmth that made your blood run cold.
"subpar?" you stepped even closer, your chest tightening until it felt like your heart might burst. "that design was optimised for fuel efficiency and peak torque. you didn't 'better' it jeno. you trashed it with these... these erratic, half-finished scribbles." you gestured wildly at the whiteboard, your voice rising sharply.
"well, these half-finished scribbles," jeno countered, his voice dropping an octave as he mirrored your movement, leaning in until you could see the dark, mocking depth of his eyes, "are the improved versions of your poorly designed wings."
he gestured sarcastically towards the whiteboard with the marker, the tip clicking rhythmically against the plastic. "you were so obsessed with peak torque that you completely ignored the drag coefficient at high speeds. your original wing pitch was too aggressive—it would have created a massive pocket of turbulent air right over the rear axle."
he stepped to the side, allowing you a full view of his 'messy' lines, tracing a finger along a jagged calculation near the base of the design. "i re-profiled the camber and shifted the mounting points five centimeters inward. it reduces the weight on the struts and smooths out the airflow. it’s not just efficient now," he added, a smug tilt to his head, "it’s actually fast."
your eyes darted to the board, your technical mind reflexively beginning to crunch the numbers he’d scrawled in the margins. you followed the curve of his 'messy' lines, tracing the airflow logic in your head. the math was unconventional, bordering on reckless, but as you reached the final equation, the realisation hit you like a physical weight.
he was right.
by shifting the pressure distribution, he hadn’t just fixed the drag; he’d found a way to stabilize the entire chassis through the corners. the "subpar" design you’d spent three months perfecting looked suddenly, painfully amateur next to the frantic, brilliant logic of his corrections. the heat of your anger didn't vanish, but it was joined by a cold, sinking stone of recognition.
"you’re the chief of research and design for the formula club?" jeno’s voice was a low, mocking drawl that made your face flush a deeper shade of red. he looked at you with a tilted head, his gaze sweeping over you as if he were reassessing your title. "they must have lowered the barrier for entry while i was away."
before you could snap back, the heavy double doors of the workshop swung open. the usual evening rush of club members began to trickle in, the air filling with the sounds of dropping bags and shifting chairs. but the noise died down the moment people caught sight of the figure standing at your desk.
mark, your lead aerodynamicist and one of your most trusted team members, drifted towards your station, a cup of freshly brewed coffee in one hand. he stopped dead in front of the whiteboard, his eyes widening as he scanned the frantic new geometry. "whoa," mark muttered, leaning in so close his nose almost touched the board. he ignored the tension radiating between you and jeno, his finger tracing the new mounting points. "this... this actually lowkey makes sense. if we run the simulation with this camber, the downforce would be insane."
"mark, not now," you hissed, but the room went suddenly quiet as a familiar, heavy footfall echoed from the entrance.
professor han stepped into the light of the workshop, his spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. he didn't head for his office right away. instead, he walked straight towards your table, "i see some of you have already met our returning talent," the professor announced.
he placed a hand on jeno’s shoulder, a gesture of respect he rarely afforded anyone. "for those who joined us in the last two years, i’d like to introduce lee jeno. before his hiatus, he held the very seat you occupy now—chief of R&D." professor han looked at you.
a collective murmur rippled through the club. your heart sank into your stomach as you glanced towards the back of the workshop. there, gleaming under the spotlight, sat the pride of the university: the FS-22 championship car. it was a masterpiece of engineering, the vehicle that had put the school on the map by dominating the formula student circuit.
"the FS-22 was jeno’s brainchild," professor Han continued, his eyes reflecting a hint of pride. "which brings me to some truly monumental news for all of you." he beamed, clapping his hands together to catch everyone's attention
"as you’re all aware," professor han began, his eyes gleaming behind his spectacles, "MIDI is currently in the works of developing their first ever F1 car and they're looking for one of you to be a part of the core development team."
everyone knew professor han wasn't just an academic; he was a veteran engineer from MIDI, the powerhouse firm that had just sent shockwaves through the industry by securing a spot on the formula one grid.
the room exploded into excitements before jisung shouted over the noise, "it’s going to be between those two, isn't it?" he pointed between you and jeno.
nods of agreement rippled through the crowd. despite jeno’s legendary status, nobody could deny what you had accomplished. in the two years he’d been gone, you had dragged the club into a new era, introducing computational fluid dynamics and carbon-composite techniques that had broken every school record.
"it’s a toss-up," mark added, looking between the two of you with a pained expression.
professor han raised a hand to quiet the room. "the consensus is correct. but i won't choose based on your past achievements." he declared. "we have the formula student competition in six months. the rules are simple: i will split the club into two development tracks. You will each lead a team to build a prototype. whoever's car clocks the fastest lap by testing day will get the position. fair?"
you felt a cold weight settle in your chest, your mind racing to process the gravity of his words. a position on a core formula one design team?it was the dream you’d been chasing since you first picked up a wrench. you had poured your soul into this club, earned the trophies, and brought the research department to new heights. by every right, that seat should have been yours on merit alone. the fact that it was suddenly a gamble—and against a ghost from the past—felt like a physical blow.
"fair enough. i like the sound of a challenge," jeno grinned stuffing his hands into his pockets casually that made your teeth clench. he looked over at you, his eyes gleaming with a challenge. "after all, we both know who the better engineer is here."
you rolled your eyes, though your heart was thundering against your ribs. "don't talk too early," you snapped, crossing your arms to hide the slight tremor of adrenaline in your hands. "for all we know, you might end up losing badly to a woman like me."
"oh no, honey," he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with confidence. "i definitely will not lose."
synopsis:in a school where excellence is expected, you’ve always stood at the top of your cohort, the pride of your programme and the most promising research designer in the university’s elite formula club. so much so that no one questioned who the best was. until him. after a two year leave of absence, lee jeno finally returns. once the golden student of the class of 2024, jeno's return sends ripples through the faulty and one uncomfortable truth: the seat at the top is no longer yours by default. and when the opportunity of a lifetime appears — a coveted position as a core designer on a rising professional formula racing team that is open to only one student, the rivalry becomes inevitable, which begs the question: who's the better one? you or lee jeno?
angstamaaaa, i just saw your answer to that ask about sbu character's majors and degrees. i love the lore behind all of the characters. and also i'm so interested in that tidbit that both y/n and jaemin did a semester at harvard law. it's taking me back to like a legally blonde academia setting 🥺 like elle woods seems more of the loud girlier counterpart between the two but they both have that same brilliance and fiery passion for law and i love that movie!!! how was jeno coping for that semester back in korea when y/n and jaemin were over there??? lol. how was their time there at harvard? could everyone see that they had something magnetic between them? like academically and/or out of the classroom setting?
🌟 sbu special: jaemin and y/n's semester exchange in harvard
doing a semester exchange 10,982 kilometres away from seoul with a thirteen-hour time difference was already hard enough for jeno. what made it even worse was the fact that jaemin was there with you graced by your presence for the entire semester while all he got was a one-hour video call each day.
jealousy left a bitter taste on his tongue. more often than he’d like to admit, jeno found himself scrolling through skyscanner, staring at flight tickets just to see how quickly he could get to you only to shut his laptop in frustration moments later.
“how was your day, baby?” you asked, pulling out containers of tupperware from the fridge, each neatly packed with meals you had prepared in advance. jeno watched you through the screen, a small pout forming on his lips. “well, my day hasn’t started yet,” he said, pausing before adding softly, “but regardless of how it goes, it’s not a good day if you’re not around.”
you chuckled softly in adoration with jeno's sulkiness, "just a hundred and twenty more days," you reminded him, earning a small nod from him. "what about you? you sound like you had en eventful day," he asked.
“not really,” you hummed, mixing ingredients into a bowl before sliding it into the microwave. “i had back to back lectures, and now i’m preparing for my moot court case against jaemin tomorrow.” jeno’s jaw tightened ever so slightly at the mention of his name, biting the inside of his cheek as he masked the irritation. “what’s the case about?” he asked.
“are you sure you're interested?” you shot him a playful look. “mmhm,” he nodded, resting his chin on his hand. “lay it on me darling.”
“well, long story short,” you began, taking a bite from your rice bowl, “a guy named steve was identified as the murderer of an eight year old boy in 1925. but before he could be convicted, he time-travelled to the present day. so the question is—should he be held accountable under present-day law for a crime committed back then?”
jeno didn’t hesitate. “of course he should be held accountable!” he exclaimed, lightly slamming his fist against his desk as your laughter rang through his speakers, bright and unfiltered. god—he was so in love with you. more than you even knew.
the exchange was just as hard on you as it was on jeno but in most aspects, you were thankful that jaemin was with you even though you found him almost insufferable for the most part. you hate to admit that if it wasn't for jaemin, it wouldn't have been easy adjusting to life in america.
weekly moot courts against jaemin had became the highlight for every civil law student in harvard. some may even call it cinematic. what started as a petty debate with jaemin on 'the godfather' being one of the greatest film of all time had spurred into a public showdown where bets were placed on who the better counsel was. currently you were in the lead with six wins and jaemin at four.
as usual the atmosphere in the club rom was electric.students packed the sides as spectators, an appointed senior sat at the front as judge, and the two of you stood on opposite ends—already calculating each other’s next move. "as agreed upon both counsels, the loser will make breakfast as per the winner's request for a week is that right counsels?" mike started. "yes," you answered, glancing over to jaemin, only to be met by a stupid grin. "i'd like a cheese toast with apples sliced with a quarter inch by the side and a handwritten letter tomorrow," he teased.
you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms “last i checked, losers don’t get to make requests,” you shot back. “and i’m pretty sure that’s not me. i’m still in the lead.”
“this case concerns steve harrington who was identified in 1925 as the perpetrator of the murder of eight-year-old john doe. before he could be convicted, he evaded the legal process by traveling forward in time to the present day.” you stated, thereby commencing the start of the trial. across the room, jaemin doesn’t look at you immediately, flipping a page in his bundle calmly and almost disinterested in what you're saying.
he already knew what you were going to come with and jaemin was determined to have your handmade breakfast for this week. it was all he's been thinking about and frankly he's more driven than ever to win this.
“the applicant submits that the respondent must be held accountable under present-day law. to allow otherwise would be to reward evasion through temporal means and deny justice indefinitely.”
the judge leans forward, fingers steepled. “counsel, are you suggesting that the passage of time or in this case, the circumvention of it should not affect criminal liability?”
“precisely your honour,” you reply. “the act remains the same. the harm remains the same. the only difference is that the accused has displaced himself beyond the reach of the legal system that would have tried him.” you replied smoothly as you took a step forward. “if the court refuses jurisdiction, it creates a loophole—one where individuals may escape accountability simply by stepping outside the timeline in which their crime was committed.”
“the applicant’s argument is compelling,” jaemin begins almost conversational, “but ultimately flawed.” his gaze shifts briefly to you before returning to the judge. “this case is not about whether a crime occurred. it is about whether this court, in the present day, has the authority to try it.”
the judge raises a brow. “and your position?”
“that it does not, your honour.” jaemin takes another step forward. “the alleged offence took place in 1925, under a distinct legal framework, evidentiary standard, and societal context. to prosecute the respondent now would be to subject him to a legal system that did not exist at the time of the alleged act in its current form.”
“this violates a fundamental principle of criminal law: that individuals must be judged according to the laws and procedures applicable at the time of their conduct.”
“murder was illegal in 1925,” the judge interjects.
“yes, your honour,” jaemin replies calmly. “but legality alone is not sufficient. the question is one of jurisdiction and fairness.”
he turns a page, though he doesn’t look at it. “the proper forum for this case is 1925 not the present. if the respondent avoided conviction, that is a failure of process in that time, not a justification for this court to reconstruct it under modern standards.”
you couldn't help it—you stepped forward before your allotted rebuttal, pen tapping against your notes. “your honour, if i may.”
the judge nods.
“my learned friend’s argument effectively grants immunity to anyone capable of escaping their original timeline,” you say. “if the past cannot try him and the present refuses to, then he is beyond the reach of any legal system. that cannot be the position of the law.” you looked at jaemin and he smirked, staring back at you with what anyone would describe it as the look of endearment. everyone in the room could see it but you. the smile jaemin tries to hide whenever you speak, the subtle tracing of your footsteps in his own moves whenever he's presenting his case, the way he chose to deliver his arguments to you mostly rather than the judge.
“the respondent is not being punished under new laws. he is being held accountable for an act that was criminal then and remains criminal now. the continuity of that prohibition justifies present jurisdiction.”
“your honour, the applicant frames this as a question of closing loopholes,” jaemin says. “but the law is not built on convenience.”
“it is built on principle.” he looks at you. “if this court asserts jurisdiction, it sets a precedent where temporal displacement allows the state to choose whichever legal framework is most advantageous for prosecution. that is not justice it is opportunism.”
“the respondent is not above the law,” jaemin adds. “but neither should he be subjected to a system that was never meant to judge him in this form.”
it was exhilarating to say the least for everyone. the sight of two brilliant people going head against each other with the fullest confidence that you had in yourselves.
it was then the the final decision came. the judge leans back, “this court finds in favour of the respondent. while the alleged crime is grave, the issue before this court is one of jurisdiction. to try the respondent under present-day law would compromise the principles of legal certainty and procedural fairness.the proper forum for adjudication lies in the time in which the offence occurred,” the judge continues. “this court declines to extend its jurisdiction in a manner that would retrospectively alter the legal context of the alleged act.” he says. “the respondent is therefore not liable under present-day law.”
you couldn't believe your ears that you've lost this round. jaemin on the other hand was already basking in the cheers, gesturing dramatically for the crowd to get louder before turning to you, grinning wide and unapologetic. “i’ll send you a grocery list,” he winked.
jaemin never told you then, but that one week of handmade breakfast from you? were hands down, without a question, the best meals he's had since the move to america.
GENRE: University Romance, slightly Enemies-to-Lovers (Slow Burn), Dark Romance (Lite), "He Falls First but He’s a Jerk About It"(Let me write what I want)
CONTENTS: Cornering/Pinning, spooning, missi0n@ry, light b0nd@qe, slight public s3x, wall s3x, 00r@L (fem receiving)MINORS DNI
PART 2 OUT NOW!
SUMMARY: After a 1:00 AM fire alarm and a disastrous late-night break-in, finance major Y/N finds herself in debt to Jeno, the campus’s dangerously alluring Doberman. (Sorry he’s not a samoyed here).
What starts as a tense game of power plays and repayment massages to being trapped in a storm with Jeno in Room 402, the line between academic rivalry and raw, predatory hunger finally snaps.
NOTE: this started when me and my friend jokingly made a plot about the hottie in the next room at work. Then I got teased. Now they think I have a crush with this dude. Help.
PS don’t let them see thigs.
——-
The fire alarm in the whole dorms didn't just beep; it shrieked like a banshee on a caffeine bender. It was 1:14 AM, and Y/N was currently standing on the sidewalk in a pair of oversized flannel pajama pants and a "Support Your Local Library" t-shirt, looking like she’d just been through a minor war.
Beside her, Chenle was holding a plate of half-seared wagyu beef, looking absolutely offended. "I was at a critical temperature, Y/N! The searing process is a sacred ritual! If the sensors can't handle a little expensive smoke, they shouldn't be in a luxury dorm”
"Lele, you’re literally holding a five-hundred-dollar steak in your slippers. Priorities," Y/N deadpanned, though she couldn't help the loud, bark-like laugh that escaped her.
"Very funny" Chenle fired back, his high-pitched laugh cutting through the chaos of sleepy students.
That’s when the Royalty descended.
Coming through the lobby doors were the four guys who basically owned the campus lease. Mark was at the back, looking stressed, probably carrying three different laptops in one backpack. But the front trio? They looked like they were walking a runway, even in lounge gear.
Haechan was currently clinging to Jaemin’s back like a koala, cackling as Jaemin tried to shake him off with a look of pure, murderous boredom.
"I’m telling you, Nana, the girl from the psych department literally asked if she could 'study my brain,'" Haechan yelled over the alarm, his eyes scanning the crowd. "I told her she could start with the physical anatomy, and she almost fainted. Girls are so weak for the music department."
Jaemin didn't even crack a smile, though his eyes were dancing with that unpredictable chaos. He was wearing a tight grey hoodie that showed off the sheer mass of his arms—gym sessions with Jeno clearly paid off.
"She probably just wanted to see if there was actually anything inside your skull, Hyuck. It’s a scientific curiosity."
He suddenly stopped, his gaze snagging on Y/N and Chenle. Jaemin’s vibe shifted instantly—from chaotic roommate to the predatory, observant fuckboy the campus whispered about. He took a slow sip of his extra-strong black coffee, his eyes lingering on the way Y/N’s hair was a mess of sleep-tangled waves. He didn't say a word, just gave a slow, deliberate nod that felt like he was memorizing her face for later.
Then there was Jeno.
Jeno wasn't laughing. He was wearing a simple white tank top and black joggers, the silver Tag Heuer on his wrist glinting under the streetlights. He looked like a god sculpted from granite—176.5 cm of lean, Doberman like muscles, with a waist so narrow it seemed unfair. When he saw the group, his captain persona took over.
"Hyung, let’s check if the RA needs help with the headcount," Jeno quietly said to Mark. His voice wasn't loud, but it had that Alpha frequency that made people instinctively move.
Haechan, spotting Y/N, finally hopped off Jaemin. He strolled over with a smirk that was 10% charm and 90% trouble. "Well, if it isn't the Finance prodigy and Mark’s favorite cousin. Y/N, you look... cozy. Is 'homeless chic' the new vibe?"
Y/N didn't blink. She’d dealt with Eric’s manipulation for years; Haechan’s teasing was like a breeze. "It’s called 'I actually sleep at night,' Haechan. You should try it. Might help with the dark circles under your ego."
Haechan gasped, clutching his chest. "Jaemin! Did you hear that? She’s violent. I love it."
Jaemin stepped up beside Haechan, his aura heavy and magnetic. He leaned in just a bit too close to Y/N, smelling like expensive cologne and high-grade espresso. "She’s not violent, Hyuck. She’s just honest. It’s a rare trait around here." He looked Y/N dead in the eye, his voice dropping to a private, silky register. "You’re Y/N, right? Mark mentions you. Usually followed by a 'don't let Haechan near her.'"
"Mark’s a smart man," Y/N retorted, though the way Jaemin’s eyes tracked her lips made her pulse skip a beat.
Suddenly, a ball—a stray baseball from some idiot playing in the dark—came flying toward the group. Without even looking, Jeno’s hand shot out. Thwack. He caught it mid-air, barely a foot from Y/N’s head.
The silence that followed was heavy. Jeno turned the ball over in his hand, his expression serious, alluring, and terrifyingly calm. He looked at the group of frat boys who’d thrown it. He didn't yell. He just stood there, his presence so commanding that the guys across the lawn visibly swallowed and started apologizing profusely.
Jeno turned his gaze to Y/N. For a second, his eyes crinkled into that famous, soft eye-smile that made him look like the most innocent boy on earth. "You okay? Didn't mean to let the chaos get that close."
"I'm fine, J—Jeno. Thanks," Y/N stuttered, surprised by the sudden gentleness.
But then, the smile vanished as a text chimed on his watch. He looked at it, his jaw tightening, the Doberman returning in an instant. The shift was visceral. He looked at Y/N again, but this time his eyes weren't soft. They were dark, intense, and filled with a raw, dominant energy that seemed to strip away her defenses. It was the look of a man who didn't just want to protect you—he wanted to own the space you stood in.
"Jaemin-ah, Haechan-ah. Let’s go," Jeno said, his tone leaving zero room for argument. "The RA cleared the floor. I have a 9 AM Business Ethics exam, and I’m not failing because you two want to flirt with Mark’s family in the street."
"Sir, yes, sir!" Haechan joked, though he actually started moving.
Jaemin lingered for a second, his eyes sliding from Y/N to Jeno, a silent communication passing between the two best friends—the kind of look that suggested they shared more than just a dorm room. He gave Y/N one last, lingering smirk before turning on his heel.
As they walked away, Y/N heard Haechan’s loud whisper: "I'm telling you, she's got that 'I hate you' look that usually turns into an 'oh my god' look by the third date."
"Shut up, Haechan," Jeno’s deep voice rumbled, but he didn't deny it.
Chenle poked Y/N in the arm with his steak fork. "You’re staring. And your face is red. Please tell me you aren't falling for the his act. I can't have my best friend dating someone who spends more on watches than I do on cars."
"I'm not staring," Y/N lied, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I'm just wondering how Jeno’s waist is smaller than mine. It’s scientifically offensive."
"Sure," Aieza said, appearing out of the shadows with Jeoffrey. "And I’m sure that look Jeno gave you was just him 'checking for injuries.' Girl, you’re in trouble. That wasn't a a normal look. That was a 'You're coming home with me' look."
Y/N looked back at the dorm entrance, catching one last glimpse of Jeno’s broad shoulders before he disappeared inside. He was a mystery—a gentle protector one second and a dominant, alluring force the next. And for the first time since Eric, Y/N felt a spark of something that wasn't fear. It was hunger.
—-
The walk to the West Wing at 2:45 AM felt like a walk toward a gallows Y/N had spent months trying to avoid. Mark had been frantic—his Creative Writing final was due at 8:00 AM, and his laptop charger had sparked and died. Jeno had his spare.
"Just use the code, Y/N. Jeno’s a night owl, he’ll be up gaming or finishing his Business brief," Mark had pleaded over the phone. "He won't mind. He’s the most chill guy I know."
Chill was not the word Y/N would use. Jeno was a "pillar," sure, but he was a pillar made of reinforced steel that looked like it could crush you if you leaned too hard.
The hallway was silent, the air smelling of floor wax and late-night desperation. Y/N reached Room 402. Her fingers trembled as she punched in the code. The lock clicked with a sound that seemed loud enough to wake the dead.
She pushed the door open just a crack. The room was bathed in a deep, moody blue light from a series of LED strips. The air was thick—warm, smelling of expensive sandalwood and the sharp, clean scent of a recent workout.
The room was quiet, the dim yellow lights flickering occasionally. She reached the door and found it slightly ajar.
"Mark?" she called out softly. No answer.
She pushed the door open, stepping into the dark entryway. The only light came from the blueish glow of a computer monitor in the corner. She could hear the faint sound of heavy breathing and the rustle of fabric from the bed tucked behind the partition.
She froze. In the shadows, she saw a silhouette—a broad back, the rhythmic movement of someone deeply occupied. Her mind immediately went to Mark.
"Oh my god, Mark! Finally!" she hissed, her voice a mix of relief and teasing. "I didn't think you had it in you to actually bring a girl home. Sorry for the mood-kill, but you need your charger or you’re going to fail that Creative Writing essay."
The movement stopped instantly.
A girl’s voice, high-pitched and panicked, squeaked from the darkness. "Wait... Mark? Who is Mark?"
The girl scrambled out from under the figure, grabbing her shirt from the floor. She looked at Y/N, then at the man standing up, and then back to Y/N. "You’re his girlfriend? He said he was single!"
"No, I—" Y/N started, her face heating up. "Wait, you’re not Mark?"
The girl didn't wait for an answer. She shoved past Y/N, sobbing something about "liers" and "jerks," and bolted out of the dorm.
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
The man in the room reached out and flicked the wall switch. The overhead lights hummed to life, flooding the room with a clinical, white glare.
It wasn't Mark.
Jeno stood there, shirtless, his chest heaving. The light caught the sweat glistening on his abdominal muscles—lines so sharp they looked carved from granite. His hair was a mess, falling over eyes that were no longer soft or friendly. They were dark, narrowed, and vibrating with a terrifying intensity.
He looked down at himself, then at the empty doorway, then finally, his gaze landed on Y/N.
"Do you have any idea," Jeno said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in Y/N’s chest, "what you just did?"
Y/N felt the air leave her lungs. The friendly group project leader was gone. In his place was a man who looked like he could snap the world in half. "Jeno... I—I thought you were Mark. The room was dark, and he’s my cousin, I just—"
"just ruined my night," he interrupted, taking a slow step toward her. The sheer physicality of him was overwhelming. He was 176.5 cm of pure, harnessed power, and as he closed the distance, Y/N felt her back hit the cold wood of the door she’d just entered.
"I’m so sorry," she stammered, her eyes darting everywhere but his bare chest. "I’ll do anything to make it up to you, I swear. I just needed to give Mark his—"
Jeno slammed his hand against the door beside her head. The sound was like a gunshot in the small room. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. The scent of him—expensive cologne, salt, and something raw and masculine—clouded her senses.
"Anything?" he echoed. His voice was a velvet rasp. He wasn't smiling. The eye-smile that made everyone trust him was nowhere to be found. Instead, his jaw was set, the muscles in his neck cording.
His eyes dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, an intense, hunger-filled look that made Y/N’s knees go weak. The dominance he radiated was magnetic, a gravitational pull that demanded submission. He looked at her not as a friend’s cousin, but as a predator looks at something it’s decided to keep.
His other hand came up, not to touch her, but to grip the edge of the doorframe, effectively trapping her in the heat of his personal space. The silence stretched, thick with a tension so sharp it felt like it could draw blood.
Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs. She’d spent so long rebuilding her confidence after Eric, convincing herself she was invisible, but under Jeno’s gaze, she felt exposed. She felt seen.
Jeno’s gaze softened just a fraction, but the intensity didn't fade. He reached out, his fingers grazing the hair near her ear, before his hand moved down to her forehead.
He gave her a sharp, dismissive flick on the brow.
"Get out," he said, the command quiet but absolute.
Y/N blinked, the sudden release of tension making her lightheaded. "What?"
Jeno stepped back, the coldness returning to his expression as he grabbed a discarded hoodie from the chair. He didn't look at her as he pulled it over his head, hiding the muscles that had just been inches from her.
"You said you'd do anything," he said, his voice flat but carrying a hidden promise. "Come back here after your last lecture tomorrow. Don't be late."
He turned his back to her, dismissing her as if she were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, yet the air in the room still felt like it was on fire.
"Go," he added, without turning around.
Y/N didn't wait. She turned and practically ran into the hallway, her heart still racing at a tempo she couldn't control. She had seen the other side of the campus's golden boy—and she had a feeling her life was about to get much more complicated.
—-
The morning sun felt like a personal insult. Y/N sat in the back of her "Advanced Portfolio Management" lecture, her brain currently a corrupted file of Jeno’s shirtless silhouette and the sound of his hand slamming against the door.
Beside her, Chenle was busy scrolling through a luxury car auction on his tablet, looking remarkably refreshed for someone who had been eating steak on a sidewalk at 2:00 AM.
"You’re vibrating," Chenle whispered, not looking up from a vintage Porsche. "It’s distracting. If it’s about the Finance midterm, just remember: when in doubt, blame the inflation rates."
"It’s not the midterm," Y/N hissed, her pen hovering uselessly over her notebook. "It’s Jeno."
Chenle’s head snapped up, a devious grin spreading across his face. "The Doberman? What did he do? Did he bark at you? Or did he do that thing where he stares at people until they apologize for existing?"
"He told me to come to his room after my last lecture. To 'make up' for... an incident."
Chenle’s cackle was so sharp it earned a glare from the professor. "Oh, you are toast. Jeno doesn’t do 'favors.' He does transactions. If you’ve ended up on his debt sheet, you might as well just hand over your soul now. It’ll save time."
Y/N groans.
She’s doomed.
——-
By 4:15 PM, Y/N was standing in front of Room 402 again. She’d changed out of her homeless chic pajamas into a pair of fitted black jeans and a cropped knit sweater—not because she wanted to look good for him, she told herself, but because she needed to feel like she had some armor.
She knocked.
"Enter," a voice rumbled from inside. Deep. Level. No "please" attached.
Y/N stepped in. The room was different in the daylight—cleaner, sharper, but no less intimidating. Jeno was sitting at his desk, his back to her. He was wearing a black compression shirt that made the 176.5 cm of his frame look like a weapon. He didn't turn around immediately; he was typing away at a Business Ethics paper, the click-clack of the keys the only sound in the room.
"Close the door," he said.
Y/N did. The click of the lock felt final. "I'm here. What do you want, Jeno? A coffee run? Someone to write your footnotes?"
Jeno stopped typing. He stood up slowly, the movement fluid and predatory, and finally turned to face her. He wasn't smiling. He looked at her with a clinical sort of intensity, his eyes scanning her from her sleep-deprived dark circles down to her boots.
"I don't need coffee," he said, stepping into her space. He was close enough now that she could see the slight dampness of his hair—he’d just showered. "And I certainly don't need help with my work. What I need, Y/N, is for you to learn that you can't just barge into a man’s room and expect him to be chill about it."
"I told you, I thought you were Mark—"
"I don't care who you thought I was." He reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around her nape. It wasn't painful, but it was possessive. His thumb grazed the sensitive skin behind her ear, sending a jolt of electricity straight to her core. "You cost me a very... high-energy night. And since you offered to do anything..."
He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "You're going to help me with my recovery."
Y/N’s heart was trying to escape her chest. "Recovery? What does that even—"
He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, a dark, playful glint finally breaking through his serious facade. He pointed to the corner of the room where a professional-grade massage table and several rolls of athletic tape sat.
"I have a varsity match tonight. My traps are locked up, and Haechan has the manual dexterity of a goldfish," Jeno said, his voice dropping to that silky register. He started pulling the compression shirt over his head in one smooth motion, exposing that sculpted, granite-like torso again. "You’re a Finance major. You’re good with your hands—precise. You’re going to work the tension out of my shoulders, and then you’re going to tape my back."
He sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to her, the muscles rippling with every breath. "And if you do a bad job, the debt carries over to tomorrow. With interest."
Y/N stood there, frozen. The boy in front of her was literally demanding she touch him as a form of penance. It was arrogant. It was absurd.
"What are you waiting for?" Jeno asked, glancing back over his shoulder, his eyes heavy and demanding. "The clock is ticking, Y/N."
She took a step forward, her fingers trembling as she reached for the muscle rub on his nightstand. As her hands finally made contact with his skin—burning hot and incredibly firm—she heard him let out a low, guttural hum of approval.
"Better," he rasped. "Now, don't stop until I tell you."
She’s definitely screwed.
The air in the room became thick with the scent of menthol and Jeno’s skin. Every time Y/N’s palms slid over the broad expanse of his shoulders, the muscles coiled and jumped under her touch like live wires. She was trying to be clinical—to focus on the knots in his upper traps—but it was impossible when the man was basically a living anatomy chart.
"You're stiff," Y/N muttered, her voice slightly breathless.
"That’s what happens when you spend four hours in the weight room trying to forget a girl interrupted your..." Jeno paused, a low, vibration-like chuckle rattling through his chest. "Actually, never mind. Just keep going. Lower."
Y/N’s fingers dipped toward the small of his back, right where his joggers hung low on his hips. She could see the faint indentations of his Apollo’s belt, and her brain momentarily short-circuited.
"I thought you said your traps were locked up," she challenged, though her hands didn't move away.
Jeno suddenly turned. It was too fast for her to react. In one fluid motion, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her forward, forcing her to stumble between his spread knees. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, but because of the height difference, they were now eye-to-eye.
"You're very bad at following instructions, Y/N," Jeno murmured. He didn't let go of her wrists. Instead, he pulled them behind her back, forcing her chest to arch toward his bare one. The heat radiating off him was dizzying. "You’ve been staring at the scar on my shoulder for three minutes. And your heart is beating so loud I can hear it over the AC."
"It's the caffeine," she lied, her eyes darting to his lips.
Jeno’s gaze darkened, that predatory look returning in full force. He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers. "Is it? Because you look like you’re waiting for me to do something much worse than ask for a massage. You have that look in your eyes... the one from last night. The hunger."
He let one of her wrists go, his hand traveling up to cup her jaw, his thumb dragging slowly across her lower lip, pulling it down just enough to expose the white of her teeth. "Should I give you what you’re looking for? Or should I make you work for it all semester?"
The tension was a physical weight, a wire pulled so tight it was screaming—
Click.
The door swung open with a violent lack of ceremony.
"Jeno-ya, have you seen my—oh."
Jaemin stood in the doorway, a half-eaten green apple in one hand and his other hand lazily tucked into the pocket of his silk pajama pants. He didn't look shocked. He didn't even look embarrassed. He just stood there, his eyes scanning the scene—Jeno shirtless and dominant, Y/N flushed and trapped—with a look of pure, unadulterated amusement.
"Am I interrupting the 'recovery' session?" Jaemin asked, his voice a smooth, chaotic drawl. He took a loud, crunching bite of the apple, leaning against the doorframe. "Because it looks a lot more like a hostage situation. Or a very expensive private performance."
Jeno didn't move. He didn't even flinch. He just kept his hand on Y/N’s jaw, his eyes still locked on hers for a lingering, agonizing second before he slowly turned his head toward his roommate.
"Jaemin. Get out," Jeno said, his voice flat and dangerous.
Jaemin didn't budge. He strolled into the room, tossing the apple core into the trash can with perfect accuracy. He stopped right behind Y/N, the scent of his expensive, dark cologne mingling with Jeno’s sandalwood. He leaned over her shoulder, his face inches from hers as he looked at Jeno.
"Now, now, Neno. Don't be greedy," Jaemin purred, his hand coming up to rest lightly on Y/N’s waist—a direct challenge to Jeno’s hold. "Mark’s favorite cousin is clearly stressed. Maybe she needs a second opinion on those knots."
He looked at Y/N, his eyes dancing with that unpredictable, fuckboy energy. "What do you think, Y/N? Jeno’s a bit... blunt, isn't he? I have much softer hands."
Jeno’s grip on Y/N’s other wrist tightened just a fraction. The air in the room didn't just feel hot anymore; it felt combustible. Two of the most dangerous men on campus were now using her as the rope in a very high-stakes game of tug-of-war.
"She’s busy, Jaemin," Jeno growled, his jaw setting.
"She looks like she's vibrating," Jaemin countered, his smirk widening as he felt Y/N’s pulse under his palm. "Are you scaring her, Jeno-ya? Or are you just making her want things she shouldn't?"
The atmosphere was a powder keg, the air thick with the competing scents of Jeno’s heat and Jaemin’s cool arrogance. Y/N felt like she was being dismantled under their collective gaze—until the heavy silence was shattered by a frantic, rhythmic pounding on the door.
"Jeno! Jaemin! Tell me she’s in there!"
Mark didn't wait for an invite. He burst in, looking like he’d been through a metaphorical blender. His hair was sticking up in three different directions, and he was clutching a stack of papers like a shield. He froze, his eyes darting from Jeno’s bare chest to Jaemin’s hand on Y/N’s waist.
"Oh, thank God," Mark exhaled, completely oblivious to the sexual tension high enough to power the entire West Wing. "Y/N, I’ve been looking everywhere! I forgot to give you the keycard for the library annex—wait, why is your face the color of a fire engine?"
The spell broke.
Jaemin let out a sharp, melodic laugh and pulled his hand away from Y/N’s waist, reaching for his apple again. "Relax, Mark. We were just testing your cousin’s flight-or-fight response. Results are in: she’s a 'freeze' type." He winked at Y/N, the predatory intensity vanishing into a mask of effortless, playful boredom. "It was just a bit of fun, sweetheart. You looked so serious, we couldn't help ourselves."
Jeno finally let go of her wrists. He stood up, stretching his arms over his head in a way that made his lats flare, and let out a relaxed, easy-going chuckle—the eye-smile returning as if the dark, hungry predator of five minutes ago had never existed.
"Yeah, sorry Y/N," Jeno said, his voice light and frustratingly casual. "I didn't think you'd actually take the 'debt' thing seriously. I just wanted to see how long you'd last before you called me an asshole. You’re too easy to rile up."
He looked at Mark, dismissing Y/N entirely. "She’s all yours, man. She’s a decent masseuse, though. Tell her to keep her day job in Finance."
Y/N felt the blood in her veins turn from liquid fire to pure, icy humiliation. They were laughing. It was a game. A way to kill time between lectures—a "prank" on the cousin of their friend. The way Jeno had looked at her lips, the way his voice had dropped... it was all just a practiced routine.
"You guys are actually pathetic," Y/N said, her voice trembling not with fear, but with a sudden, sharp rage.
The laughter stopped. Mark blinked, confused. "Wait, Y/N—"
"No, Mark. Shut up." She turned her gaze to Jeno and Jaemin, her eyes stinging. "You think because you own this campus, everyone is just a prop in your boredom? Go to hell, Jeno. And take your 'sacred ritual' steak and your god-complex roommate with you. You're both fucking losers."
She didn't wait for a rebuttal. She shoved past Mark, nearly knocking him over, and bolted into the hallway.
"Y/N! Wait!" Mark called out, but he stayed put, looking between his roommates in shock.
Inside the room, the silence was no longer playful. Jaemin’s smirk had faltered, his gaze fixed on the door. Jeno, however, looked like he’d been slapped. The casual, "it was just a joke" mask crumbled instantly. He looked at his hands, then at the door, the weight of what he’d just done—the way he’d played with her dignity just to keep his own guard up—hitting him like a freight train.
"That... didn't go how I thought it would," Jaemin muttered, sounding uncharacteristically quiet.
Jeno didn't answer. He grabbed his hoodie from the bed, shoving his arms through it as he sprinted for the door.
"Jeno? Where are you going?" Mark asked.
Jeno didn’t say anything.
He burst into the hallway, his long legs eating up the distance. He saw her near the elevators, her back to him, shoulders shaking slightly. She was hitting the 'down' button with a Ferocity that suggested she wanted to break the panel.
"Y/N! Stop!"
She didn't stop. She turned into the stairwell instead, the heavy fire door slamming shut behind her. Jeno caught it just before it latched, swinging it open with enough force to dent the wall.
"Y/N, listen to me—"
"Leave me alone, Jeno! Go find someone else to 'test'!" she yelled, her voice echoing off the concrete stairs as she descended.
Jeno didn't take the stairs. He vaulted over the railing, dropping down a half-flight to land directly in front of her, blocking her path. He looked desperate, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with a raw, genuine urgency.
———
Jeno vaulted over the railing, his boots hitting the concrete with a heavy thud that echoed through the stairwell. He blocked the exit, his chest heaving, sweat beginning to bead at his hairline. The Golden Boy polish was entirely stripped away, leaving something raw and jagged in its place.
"I’m sorry, okay? Dammit, Y/N, just wait," he ground out, his voice cracking with a mix of frustration and genuine distress. He ran a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but her eyes. "I lashed out. I was... I was frustrated. You have no idea what it’s like to be that close and then have the rug pulled out. It physically hurts, Y/N. Blue-balling a man isn't just a joke—it’s a goddamn nightmare. I was mad and I took it out on your pride because mine was taking a beating."
Y/N stared at him, the initial sting of humiliation cooling into a hard, cynical clarity. She took a slow, stabilizing breath, crossing her arms.
"So, because your anatomy was throwing a tantrum, you decided to treat me like a punchline?" she said, her voice dropping to a level, mature frequency that seemed to catch him off guard. "Listen, Jeno. I’m an adult. I get that you were... occupied. I can move past the embarrassment. But don't you ever do that to a woman again. We aren't just 'incidents' or 'mood-killers.' We have feelings, and we aren't props for you to use when you're feeling cocky and discard when you're frustrated."
She sighed, her posture softening just a fraction. "And look... I’m sorry too. For barging in. It was a mistake. Let's just call it even and stop the games."
Jeno looked at her, truly looking at her, and for the first time, the Doberman looked like he’d been kicked. "Even," he repeated softly. "Yeah. Even."
——-
They fell into a rhythm.
It started with a text from Jeno:
Unknown number: “Mark says you’re failing Macroeconomics. My notes are better than his. Don't make it weird.”
Then came the shared 3 AM study sessions where they discovered they both had a borderline-obsessive interest in vintage watch movements and a shared hatred for the campus cafeteria’s "mystery stew." Jeno started showing up at her library cubicle with her exact coffee order—extra shot, no sugar—without her asking.
The group chat was a war zone.
Half Wit(Haechan): Why is Jeno suddenly a domestic housewife? I saw him carrying Y/N’s heavy-ass textbooks today. My back hurts just watching the simp behavior.
Half Wit: and why is my nickname Half wit? Which one of you Waitlist Rejects changed it again?
Suppository of Bad Opinions(Jaemin): He’s just clearing the debt, Hyuck. It’s a very long-term payment plan.
Suppository of Bad Opinions(Jaemin): ..and jesus christ my nickna.. what is wrong with you guys
Jeno: She’s just Mark’s cousin. I’m being polite.
Y/N: And he’s just a guy with a nice watch. Relax.
Y/N: And btw I changed them. Half wit sounds cute on you Hyuckie. Its just so.. you.
Half Wit(Haechan): fuck you.
The denial was top-tier, even as Jeno started subconsciously territorializing her. If they were at a party, his hand was always on the back of her chair. If another guy lingered too long, Jeno’s would suddenly emerge—not loud, just a quiet, heavy presence that made the air feel thin until the intruder left.
But Y/N on the other hand, doesn’t mind the attention at all.
Or does she really don’t mind.
——
The rain wasn't just falling; it was punishing the windows of Room 402. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark room where Y/N and Jeno were mid-boss-fight in Elden Ring.
"I have to go," Y/N said, glancing at the window as a branch scraped against the glass. "If I don't leave now, the bridge to the East Wing will be underwater."
"Don't be stupid," Jeno grumbled, not looking away from the screen. "The wind is hitting sixty miles per hour. You’ll get blown into the decorative pond and I’ll have to explain to Mark why his cousin drowned in six inches of water. Just stay."
"Jeno—"
"It’s a storm, Y/N. Not a choice. Use my bed. I'll take the floor."
He tossed her a grey hoodie—one that smelled so overwhelmingly like him it made her dizzy. When she emerged from the bathroom wearing it, the hem hitting mid-thigh, Jeno’s controller clicked. He died in the game. He didn't even care.
"Floor's too cold," Y/N insisted an hour later, looking at him wrapped in a single blanket on the hardwood. "I'm not an asshole, Jeno. There’s room."
"Are you sure?," he rasped, his back to her.
She didn't reply. She stayed on the floor. Jeno was worried that he kept asking her every 5 minutes. 15 minutes later, she was shivering.
Suddenly, the blankets were ripped away. In one blurred, effortless motion, Jeno scooped her up. She gasped, her hands instinctively clutching his biceps—rock hard and warm. He tossed her onto the mattress and climbed in beside her, pulling the heavy duvet over them both.
"Stay still," he commanded, his voice vibrating against her ear.
He pulled her back against his chest, her spine flush against his heat. And then, the air in the room changed. It became heavy. Electric. Y/N felt it first—the unmistakable, rigid heat of him pressing against the small of her back. Her breath hitched.
Her brain is panicking; she’s not moving at all.
She doesn’t even know why Jeno’s doing this.
She tries to pinch Jeno’s skin to try to pry him away.
But Jeno didn't pull away. Instead, his hand drifted to the hem of the shirt she was wearing, his fingers skimming the skin of her hip. Agonizingly slow.
He traces her skin with tiny circles, and she could feel herself getting wet from the act.
Jeno leaned in, his lips grazing her earlobe before he gave it a sharp, tiny nip that made her toes curl.
"You're so tense," Jeno whispered, his voice a dark, velvet promise. He gave her lobe a quick lick as ihs hand traveled higher, his thumb tracing the curve of her waist. "Is it the storm? Or is it because you can feel what you're doing to me?"
"J-Jeno... we s-shouldn't," she whispered, her heart hammering.
"Shouldn't what?" he provoked, his touch turning bold, his palm sliding up her inner thigh, slow and deliberate, making her gasp as he found her clothed clit. "Shouldn't admit that you’ve been thinking about this since the fire alarm? Shouldn't talk about how wet you are right now just from me touching your leg?"
He gently flipped her over, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, his body a heavy, dominant weight above her. His eyes were dark—no more Golden Boy, no more just friends.
"Baby, please," he rasped, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hot on her lips. "I’ve been so patient. But if you don't tell me to stop in the next three seconds, I'm going to show you exactly how much debt you actually owe me."
Y/N didn't say stop. She pulled him down, and the Doberman finally broke his leash.
The shift in Jeno was visceral. It wasn't just a mood change; it was as if he had finally authorized himself to take what was his. His grip on her wrists was like iron bands, pinning them to the headboard with a strength that made it clear she wasn't going anywhere unless he decided she could.
"You know.. you like to talk so much, Y/N," he growled, his voice dropping into a register so low it felt like a vibration in her very bones. "Let's see if you can keep that energy when I’m actually inside you."
He didn't give her a chance to breathe. He slid down the bed, his movements fluid and predatory. When he parted her legs, he didn't do it gently; he forced them wide, his broad shoulders wedging between her knees.
"Jeno, wait—" she gasped, her head hitting the pillow as he dove in.
He didn't wait.
He ate her out with a focused, rhythmic aggression that was borderline territorial. His eye not leaving her as he devours her pussy, smirking as he enjoyed her squirming state.
When she tried to close her legs, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his tongue, he growled against her skin, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her exposed.
Y/N was sobbing, her hands fumbling for his hair, half-pleading for him to stop because the pleasure was too sharp, too much to handle.
"P-Please... Jeno, stop, I c-can't—"
He pulled back for a split second, his face glistening with her wetness, his eyes dark and void of any mercy. "I didn't tell you to speak. You’re going to take every bit of this."
He rose up, stripping off his boxers to reveal the sheer, terrifying reality of him.
His cock was thick, heavy, and looked impossible.
Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath hitching in a sob of genuine shock.
"Jeno, you’re... you’re too big. It won't fit," she whispered, her voice trembling.
A dark, slow smirk spread across his face—one that had nothing to do with the Golden Boy everyone else knew. He grabbed her waist, his thumbs bruising the skin of her hips, and positioned himself at her entrance.
"I’ll make it fit," he rasped,
his voice a chilling, dominant promise.
"And you’re going to thank me for it."
He drove into her in one deep, uncompromising surge. Y/N’s back arched off the bed, a silent scream caught in her throat as her body stretched to accommodate the intrusion.
He didn't give her time to adjust. He began to fuck her with a brutal, steady cadence, each thrust bottoming out, his weight crushing her into the mattress.
"Look at me," he commanded, his hand coming up to grip her chin, forcing her tear-filled eyes to meet his. "You thought this was a game? You thought you could just walk away after ruining my night? You’re mine now. Every inch of you."
When the bed wasn't enough, he hauled her up. He carried her to the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, the cold plaster a sharp contrast to the furnace of his skin. He slammed her back against the surface, the impact rattling the frames on the wall. He fucked her there, gravity adding to the depth of every strike, his mouth pressed against her ear as he whispered things that would have made Haechan’s jaw drop—mean, possessive, filthy commands that stripped away her last bit of resolve.
"Beg for it," he hissed, his teeth grazing her neck. "Tell me you’re a mess for me. Tell me you want me to never stop."
He was a force of nature, a Doberman that had finally tasted blood and refused to let go. By the time he finally let her collapse back onto the sheets, she was a shaking, spent wreck, and Jeno was hovering over her, looking down at his handiwork with a terrifying, satisfied hunger.
Jeno wasn't finished. Not even close. The raw, primal adrenaline of finally breaking through her defenses had turned into something darker, a relentless hunger that bordered on cruelty.
He hauled her off his own mattress, his grip on her arm unyielding as he dragged her across the small room. He threw her face-down onto Jaemin’s perfectly made bed. The scent of Jaemin’s clean, expensive laundry detergent hit her nose, a stark contrast to the musk and heat of what was happening.
"Jeno, please... not here," she sobbed, her fingers clawing at the silk sheets.
He didn't listen. He drove into her from behind, a sudden, violent intrusion that made her vision go white. He leaned down, his chest crushing her into Jaemin’s pillow, his voice a low, toxic hiss in her ear.
"You’ve gotten tighter since we moved to this bed, haven't you?" Jeno spat, his thrusts heavy and punishing.
"What is it, Y/N? Does the thought of Jaemin watching us turn you on? You like the idea of the pretty boy seeing you like this? You disgust me."
He punctuated the insult with a thrust so deep it felt like it hit her soul.
"You’re a little slut for the attention, aren't you? But he’s not here. Only I am."
He didn't let her answer. He dragged her up again, this time toward the glowing setup of his gaming desk. He sat her on the edge of the desk, pulling her legs over his shoulders. The cold metal of the keyboard was under her palms as he entered her again. This time, he slowed down. It was worse. It was a slow, agonizingly deep stretch that forced her to feel every ridge, every inch of his impossible size.
"Look how wet you are," Jeno praised, though his voice sounded like a threat.
"So tight. So warm. You’re shaking, Y/N. Is it because it feels delicious? Tell me how much you love it."
She let out a broken, high-pitched keen, her head falling back as the pleasure finally began to override the pain. "It... it feels... god, Jeno..."
"Good," he gritted out. "Because we're not done."
He turned her around, shoving her against the large floor-to-ceiling window. The storm was still raging outside, the lightning illuminating her bare chest as he pressed her firmly against the cold glass. Anyone looking up from the quad could see the silhouette of her breasts flattened against the window, the image of her vulnerability laid bare for the world.
"Panting like a little animal," Jeno mocked, his hands gripping her waist so hard he knew he was leaving marks. He fucked her against the glass, the window rattling with every impact. "Look at yourself. Crying and begging while you're on display. This is who you really are."
He spun her around one last time, forcing her to face him. He looked terrifying—sweat-soaked, eyes blown wide with a dominant, possessive fever. He was reaching his limit, his muscles cording with tension.
"Jeno, don't... please don't come inside," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Ple—"
"Shhh," he snapped, his fingers tangling in her hair to pull her head back. "You think you have a choice? You’re mine. I’m going to leave my mark so deep you'll feel me for a week. You're my property tonight, Y/N. Only mine."
He let out a guttural, animalistic growl as he delivered three final, brutal thrusts, bottoming out completely.
He really came inside her, hot cum filling her walls.
He ignored her cries and filled her, his heat blossoming inside her in a way that felt like a permanent seal.
She screams as he cums with him, tilting her head back.
He leaned in, his teeth sinking into the junction of her neck and shoulder.
"Mine," he whispered, a dark, final command. "Don't you ever forget it."
And it all went dark.
——
The sunlight hit the room with a brutal, clinical glare. Y/N was tangled in Jeno’s sheets, her body aching in places she didn't know existed, her skin a map of faint bruises and dried salt. Jeno was still asleep, his arm thrown over her waist like a lead bar, even in sleep refusing to let go.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
"RISE AND SHINE, SINNERS!" Haechan’s voice boomed through the door, followed by the frantic jingling of keys. "I have iced Americanos and a burning desire to know why Jeno’s door has been locked for ten hours! If there’s a dead body in there, I’m calling the RA!"
"Haechan, stop," Mark’s voice came from the hallway, sounding mortified. "They're probably just... sleeping in because of the storm."
"Sleeping? In Jeno’s room? Mark, you're so precious," Jaemin’s voice drawled, sounding dangerously amused. "I can smell the bad decisions from here. Move over, I’m opening it."
The lock clicked.
Y/N’s heart stopped. She looked at Jeno, who was just starting to stir, his eyes fluttering open to see the door swinging wide.
"Oh," Haechan stopped dead in the doorway, his eyes landing on Y/N’s clothes scattered on the floor and her head peeking out from under Jeno's duvet. "Well. That's... that's a lot of skin for 9:00 AM."
Jaemin leaned over Haechan’s shoulder, his gaze sweeping over the room—the desk, his own bed, and finally, the marks on Y/N’s neck. His smirk didn't reach his eyes this time.
"I told you my bed was more comfortable, didn't I, Y/N?" Jaemin purred, though his jaw was visibly tight.
Jeno didn't even look embarrassed. He just pulled Y/N closer to his chest, his eyes cold and challenging as they met his roommates'. "Close the door," he rumbled. "We're busy."
Haechan stood frozen in the doorway, the tray of iced coffees in his hands tilted at a dangerous, forty-five-degree angle. He blinked once. Twice. Then a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face, wide enough to be classified as a public safety hazard.
"Mark," Haechan whispered, not taking his eyes off the bed. "Don't look. Your innocent, Finance-prodigy cousin has been devoured by the Doberman. It’s a crime scene. There are no survivors."
"I told you to knock!" Mark wailed from the hallway, covering his eyes with his hands while simultaneously trying to peek through his fingers. "Y/N?! Is that—is that my hoodie on the floor? Jeno, I will actually kill you! She’s my family!"
Jaemin, however, didn't look scandalized. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes tracing the absolute wreck of his own bedsheets across the room before settling on Y/N’s flushed face. "I hope you’re planning on paying the dry-cleaning bill for my duvet, Jeno," Jaemin said, his voice a smooth, dry cocktail of amusement and salt. "Though, judging by the state of the window, you two were a bit... preoccupied with the architecture."
Y/N felt like her soul had left her body. She scrambled to pull Jeno’s heavy duvet up to her chin, her hair a bird’s nest of chaos. Beside her, Jeno didn't even reach for a shirt. He just sat up, leaning back against the headboard with a terrifyingly calm, post-coital arrogance.
"The door was locked for a reason, Hyuck," Jeno rumbled, his voice still gravelly from sleep. "Get out. And leave the coffees."
"Oh, we’re not going anywhere!" Haechan chirped, practically skipping into the room and plopping down on the only clean chair. "I want details. I want a PowerPoint. Did he bark? Tell me he barked. Jeno has loyal dog energy, but we all know he’s a beast when he’s hungry."
"Stop!" Y/N finally found her voice, though it was slightly hoarse. She looked at the three of them—Mark looking like he was having a stroke, Haechan vibrating with gossip, and Jaemin watching her with that unreadable, dark smirk. "It’s not what it looks like. Okay?"
"It looks like you two tried to recreate the Kama Sutra in a dorm room," Jaemin pointed out, gesturing to the desk.
"It’s just... physical," Y/N blurted out, her face burning. "We’re just fuck buddies. Stress relief. Right, Jeno? It’s a transaction. Very Finance-friendly. Low commitment, high yield. It’s not a 'thing.'"
The room went deathly silent.
Haechan’s jaw dropped. Mark stopped hyperventilating. Jaemin’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. All eyes shifted to Jeno.
Jeno, who had been looking at Y/N with a possessive, almost softened gaze just seconds before, went completely still. His expression didn't shatter; it hardened into a mask of cold, unreadable granite. He slowly reached for a stray t-shirt on the floor and pulled it on, the fabric straining against his back.
"Yeah," Jeno said, his voice suddenly flat, devoid of the warmth it had held five minutes ago. "Just fuck buddies. Like she said."
He stood up, grabbing his phone and wallet. He didn't look at Y/N. He didn't even look at his friends.
"I have a meeting with the coach," Jeno muttered, his jaw set so tight it looked like it might snap. He brushed past Haechan and Jaemin, his shoulder catching the doorframe with a dull thud. "Mark, take her to breakfast. She’s probably hungry."
He disappeared into the hallway without a backward glance.
Haechan whistled, a low, long sound. "Oof. 'Fuck buddies.' Y/N, you just hit the Captain with a metaphorical steel chair. I’ve seen him take a 90mph fastball to the ribs with more grace than that."
"What?" Y/N stammered, feeling a sudden, cold pit in her stomach. "That’s what it is! We literally agreed... well, we didn't agree, but it's obvious! He was so mean to me last night! He called me a slut!"
Jaemin walked over to the bed, picking up his discarded apple core from the night before. He looked at Y/N with a pitying, knowing smile. "Sweetheart, Jeno is a Doberman. He’s mean because he’s territorial. He doesn't fuck people he doesn't want to own. You just told a man who spent four hours marking you as his property that he’s just a 'transaction.'"
Jaemin leaned in, whispering so only she could hear. "Good luck with that. Jeno doesn't do 'casual.' He just does 'obsessed.'"
——-
The next two weeks were a study in absolute frost.
Jeno didn’t just give Y/N the cold shoulder; he acted as if she had been digitally erased from his reality. In the hallways, his gaze would pass right over her, as if she were a piece of dorm furniture. If they were in the same room, he stayed on his phone or laughed with the guys, his Golden Boy eye-smile on full display for everyone except her.
The dominant, possessive predator from the storm night had vanished, replaced by a polite, distant stranger.
Y/N was spiraling. She found herself staring at the bruises on her thighs as they faded into pale yellow, her skin feeling strangely empty without the weight of his hands. She told herself she was relieved. This is what "fuck buddies" means, right? No strings. No drama. But every time she caught a whiff of his sandalwood cologne in the air, her pulse would jump, waiting for a grip that never came.
The breaking point happened in the student lounge.
Y/N was sitting with Haechan and Mark, trying to focus on a spreadsheet, when Haechan leaned in, tapping a rhythm on the table with his pen.
"Man, Jeno is really back on his bullshit," Haechan remarked, popping a grape into his mouth. "I saw him leaving the Delta Gamma house this morning. And last night? He was at that lounge downtown with that girl from the dance team—Mina? They looked... well, let's just say Jeno isn't suffering from any 'physical frustration' lately."
Y/N’s fingers froze on the keyboard. A cold, sharp hollow opened up in her chest, making it hard to swallow.
"Oh," she said. It was small. Pathetic. Her face fell, her eyes dropping to the glowing cells of her Excel sheet as the numbers blurred.
"Wait, Y/N, are you okay?" Mark asked, his protective cousin-radar pinging. "I thought you said it was just a transaction? You shouldn't care if he’s... diversifying his portfolio."
"I don't," she lied, her voice thick. "I just... I didn't realize he moved that fast. I mean, it’s fine. He’s Jeno. Why would he actually like someone like me? I’m just Mark’s cousin. I’m the 'safe' option."
She felt a hot tear prick the corner of her eye and she quickly wiped it away, pretending she was tired. She felt stupid. She felt used. But more than anything, she felt a terrifying, shameful craving. She didn't want the polite Jeno who ignored her. She wanted the mean, scary Jeno who had pinned her against the glass and told her she belonged to him.
That night, Y/N went to the shared kitchen to get water, hoping the dorm was empty. It wasn't. Jeno was there, leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. He was wearing a fresh shirt, his hair styled, smelling like expensive gin and success. He looked like he was heading out for another "diversification" of his portfolio.
He didn't look up when she entered. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the hum of the refrigerator.
"Heading out?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Yeah," Jeno said, his tone perfectly neutral. It was the Captain voice—professional, distant, and utterly devoid of the heat that had burned her skin two weeks ago. "There’s a party at the frat. Don't wait up for the group to get back."
"Haechan said you were with Mina last night," she blurted out, her jealousy finally winning over her pride.
Jeno finally looked at her. His eyes were like ice. He didn't deny it. He didn't explain. He just shrugged. "She doesn't give me lectures on 'feelings' after we're done. She knows exactly what it is. It’s easier that way, don't you think?"
He stepped closer, invading her space just enough to make her breath hitch, but he didn't touch her. He looked down at her neck, where the last of his marks had finally disappeared.
"You got what you wanted, Y/N," he whispered, his voice a low, mocking drawl. "No 'thing.' No commitment. Just two people who happened to be in a room together during a storm. If you’re sad about it, that sounds like a 'you' problem."
He went to walk past her, but Y/N reached out, her hand trembling as she grabbed his forearm. The heat of his skin sent a jolt of pure electricity through her. "Jeno, stop being like this."
He stopped. He looked down at her hand on his arm, then back up at her face. A dark, dangerous flicker returned to his eyes—the first sign of the beast she had been missing. He leaned down, his lips inches from hers, his voice dropping into that terrifying, dominant rumble.
"Like what? I'm being a good 'buddy,' aren't I? Or are you realizing that being ignored by me is worse than being ruined by me?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He pulled his arm away, leaving her standing alone in the cold kitchen, her heart racing and her body screaming for the man she had just tried to push away.
——
The frat house was a chaotic blur of strobe lights and cheap tequila. Y/N pushed through the crowd, her head spinning—partly from the two shots she’d downed to find her courage, and partly from the sight of Jeno across the room, leaning against a pillar while a girl in a tight dress whispered in his ear.
She marched up to him, her eyes flashing. "You’re an asshole, Jeno!"
Jeno didn't even flinch. He looked at her over the rim of his red cup, his expression bored. "I’m at a party, Y/N. Go find Mark."
"Don't tell me what to do! You act like I don't exist and then you come here to... to do this?" She gestured wildly at the room. "Just leave me alone. Forever. Don't even look at me."
"Gladly," Jeno rasped, his jaw tightening as he turned his back on her.
Y/N stormed off toward the bar. She drank until the edges of the room blurred. She was so drunk that she when she came back to the drinks table, she didn’t have her left shoe on( until a first year returned it).
She danced and was laughing, downing drinks after drink..
until she ran into a familiar face—Eric.
Her ex-boyfriend, a guy who knew exactly which buttons to push.
He pulled her into his space, his hands sliding down to her waist.
Because she was too drunk, she didn’t exactly cared or maybe she simply doesn’t recognize him.
"You look like you're having a rough night, Y/N," he murmured, his breath smelling like beer.
Jeno saw it. From the corner of the room, his Golden Boy mask fractured.
He watched Eric’s hand dip dangerously low, watched him lean into Y/N’s neck. Jeno’s glass crackled in his grip. When he sees Eric trying to kiss her,
Jeno moved before he could think, shoving through the crowd.
He didn't punch Eric—though his knuckles white-knuckled into fists—he just stepped between them, his presence an immovable wall of muscle and silent rage. "She’s leaving," Jeno said, his voice a low, vibrating threat.
"Who the hell are you?" Eric started, but one look at Jeno’s dark, predatory eyes made him stumble back.
Jeno grabbed Y/N’s arm, dragging her out of the house. "Let me go!" she screamed, stumbling as they hit the cool night air. "You don't get to care! You’re just a 'buddy,' remember? Go back to your dance team girl!"
"”Y/N stop” Jeno growled, pulling her into a secluded, empty bedroom in the back of the house to get away from the noise. She started sobbing, tears falling down her cheeks.
"Make me!" she yelled, hitting his chest. "I hate you! I hate how you look at me and I hate—"
Jeno snapped. He grabbed her waist and hauled her toward a walk-in closet, kicking the door shut. The darkness was absolute, smelling of cedar and Jeno’s furious heat. He spun her around, slamming her front-first against the hanging coats.
"You want to play the 'fuck buddy' card?" Jeno hissed in her ear, his hand tangling in her hair to pull her head back, exposing her throat. "Fine. Let's act like it. No romance. Just me taking what I want because I’m bored."
He didn't undress her. He just hiked her skirt up and shoved her panties aside. He entered her in one brutal, dry surge that made her gasp, her fingers clutching a leather jacket for balance. It was a punishment. A quick, dirty, dominant reclamation.
"Is this what you wanted?" he rasped, his thrusts short and violent, hitting her so hard the hangers rattled. "You want to let some loser touch you just to get a rise out of me? You’re pathetic."
"J-Jeno..." she sobbed, her body betrayed by the familiar, overwhelming stretch of him.
"Don't say my name," he commanded, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as he quickened the pace. He was a machine, driven by pure, jealous adrenaline. He reached around, his thumb finding her clit and grinding against it with a mean, clinical precision until she was screaming into the wool coats.
He came with a guttural roar, pinning her body against the wall with his weight until he finished, his breath coming in jagged heaves.
The silence that followed was heavy. The anger drained out of him, replaced by a sudden, sharp guilt as he felt her shaking beneath him. He pulled away, adjusted her clothes with trembling hands, and didn't say a word.
He didn't take her back to the dorms. He drove her straight to his apartment, the car ride silent except for the sound of the heater. He carried her inside, her head lolling against his shoulder in a drunken, post-climax haze.
In his bathroom, the lights were dimmed. Jeno sat her on the edge of the tub, his movements now hauntingly gentle. He stripped her clothes off, his eyes lingering on the red marks he’d left on her hips. He didn't look mean anymore; he looked devastated.
He washed her with a warm cloth, his touch feather-light as he cleaned her skin. He didn't say anything as he dried her off and pulled his own softest t-shirt over her head. He lifted her into his bed, the sheets still smelling like the night of the storm.
As he climbed in behind her, he didn't stay distant. He pulled her back into his chest, his arms wrapping around her in a protective, suffocating hold. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his eyes wide and longing in the dark.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, so quiet he wasn't sure if she heard him. "I'm a goddamn mess, Y/N."
She fell asleep to the steady, heavy thrum of his heart, finally safe in the cage he’d built for her.
——
The morning sun filtered through the blinds in sharp, golden slats, cutting across the tangled mess of Jeno’s duvet. Y/N woke up slowly, her head throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache from the tequila, but her body felt strangely weighted down and warm.
The weight was Jeno.
He was still asleep, his face tucked into the crook of her neck, his arm draped heavily over her waist as if anchoring her to the mattress.
The "Doberman" was gone; in the soft morning light, he just looked like a boy who was exhausted from a war he’d been fighting with himself.
As the memories of the closet—the cold glass of the window from weeks ago, the mean whispers, and the way he’d tenderly bathed her just hours ago—slammed back into her brain, Y/N let out a shaky breath. She tried to shift, but Jeno’s grip immediately tightened, his fingers digging into her hip.
"Don't move," he mumbled, his voice a thick, gravelly morning rasp.
"Jeno, we need to talk," she whispered, her voice cracking. "We can’t keep doing this. The 'fuck buddy' thing... it’s making us both crazy. You’re acting like a psycho, and I’m... I’m miserable."
Jeno finally opened his eyes. They weren't cold anymore. They were bloodshot and raw. He sat up slowly, leaning his back against the headboard, pulling the sheet up to his waist but keeping one hand firmly on her ankle, needing the contact.
"I can't do it anymore, Y/N," he said, his voice dropping into that honest, heavy tone he only used when they were alone. "I tried. I went out. I tried to fuck other people. I tried to act like you were just Mark’s cousin again."
He let out a dry, bitter laugh. "But every time I touched someone else, I was just pissed off that they weren't you. I was pissed off that they didn't look at me the way you do when I’m... when I’m being mean to you."
Y/N sat up, the oversized t-shirt sliding off one shoulder. "You were mean because you were jealous. You almost broke that closet door, Jeno."
"Because I hate that I want you this much," he confessed, finally looking her in the eye.
The mask was officially dead. "I’m not a 'fuck buddy' guy, Y/N. I’m a 'this is mine' guy. I don't want a transaction. I want to know where you are, who you’re with, and I want to be the only person who gets to see you like this."
He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a reverent, quiet intensity.
"No more lies. No more 'physical frustration' excuses. I want you. Properly. Even if it makes me a loser, even if Mark kills me."
He tilted his head, a ghost of his dominant smirk returning.
"But if we do this, if you’re actually mine... there’s no going back to being 'just friends.' You belong to me. Understand?"
Y/N looked at him—the boy who cared for her silently and the man who wrecked her against walls—and finally let out the breath she’d been holding for weeks. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his.
"I think I’ve belonged to you since the storm, you idiot."
Jeno didn't say anything. He just surged forward, pulling her into a kiss that wasn't mean or punishing—it was desperate, deep, and final. The lie was over.
——-
The peace lasted exactly twelve minutes.
Jeno was still sprawled across the bed, his chin resting on Y/N’s shoulder as he lazily traced patterns on her arm, when the sound of the front door’s smart lock chimed with a cheery beep-boop.
"I’m telling you, he’s not dead, he’s just moping!" Haechan’s voice projected through the hallway with the force of a theatrical performance. "The Doberman is in his kennel, licking his wounds because Y/N called him a 'transaction' and hurt his wittle feelings!"
Jeno froze. Y/N scrambled to pull the duvet up to her chin.
"Guys, we shouldn't just walk in," Mark’s voice trailed behind, sounding like a man who had aged ten years in a single night. "Jeno? You in here? We brought hangover soup and—"
The bedroom door swung open.
Haechan, Mark, and Jaemin stood in the doorway like a three-man jury. They didn't see the cold stranger or the frat-party player. They saw Jeno, shirtless and glowing, practically wrapped around Y/N in a way that screamed mine louder than any verbal confession.
The silence was deafening for exactly three seconds.
"OH!" Haechan screamed, throwing the bag of takeout into the air. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW THE 'DIVERSIFYING PORTFOLIO' WAS A SCAM!" He started doing a victory lap around the small bedroom, clapping his hands. "Look at them! They look like a Pinterest board for 'Toxic but Aesthetic Couples'! The transaction has been finalized!"
Mark covered his eyes with both hands, groaning toward the ceiling.
"Jeno, she is wearing your shirt. Again. In your bed. Again. My soul is leaving my body. I am ascending to heaven. Tell my mother I loved her."
Jaemin, however, strolled into the room with terrifyingly calm grace. He leaned over the foot of the bed, his eyes scanning the two of them with a slow, smug grin. He noticed the faint, fresh marks on Y/N’s collarbone that Jeno hadn't quite managed to hide.
"So," Jaemin purred, looking at Jeno.
"I take it the 'fuck buddy' contract has been terminated? Or are we just in the middle of a very intense... business meeting?"
Jeno didn't even look annoyed. He just pulled Y/N back against his chest, his arm locking around her waist in a blatant display of possession. "Get out, Jaemin. And Haechan, if you do that dance one more time, I'm throwing you off the balcony."
"He’s back!" Haechan yelled, pointing a finger at Jeno. "The territorial growl! The Doberman is fed and happy!"
Haechan then turned to Y/N, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"So, Y/N, as the official representative of the 'I-Told-You-So' committee... how was the 'transaction' last night? Did he give you a discount for being Mark’s cousin?"
"Haechan!" Mark yelled, finally uncovering his eyes to shove Haechan toward the door.
"Stop! Don't make it weirder than it already is!"
"It can't get weirder, Mark!" Haechan cackled, resisting the shove. "Jeno has a hickey on his neck the size of a postage stamp! Y/N, I didn't know you were a carnivore! I guess the quiet ones really do bite back."
Y/N hid her face in Jeno’s chest, her muffled voice coming out in a groan. "I hate all of you. Every single one of you."
"Don't worry, sweetheart," Jaemin said, winking at her as he followed the others out. "We’ll leave the soup on the counter. Try to stay hydrated. Jeno looks like he’s planning on keeping you here until at least Tuesday."
As the door slammed shut and their chaotic laughter faded down the hallway, Jeno let out a long, heavy sigh against Y/N’s hair. He tightened his grip, pulling her under the covers until they were completely hidden from the world.
"They're right about one thing," Jeno whispered, his voice returning to that dark, dominant rumble that made her heart skip.
SUMMARY: Lee Jeno is a man of silence and steel. Haunted by a past that taught him love is nothing more than a dangerous game of betrayal, he’s built a fortress around his heart that no one—not even his closest friends—can breach. He is the observer, the mysterious anchor of his chaotic social circle, content to live in the shadows of his own making.
Then there is Y/N. A survivor of her own darkness, she has transformed her trauma into a radiant, defiant light. She is the fire to his earth: outgoing, fiercely loyal, and dangerously intuitive. They have spent a year existing in the same orbit, separated by an awkward history and the unspoken rules of their friend group.
What starts as a night of protective gestures and quiet comfort spirals into a moment of undeniable heat. In the silence of a shared room, Jeno realizes that Y/N isn't just a girl he needs to protect—she is the light he’s been starving for. But when the mysterious heartthrob finally breaks his oath, the collision is more than just physical; it’s a soul-shaking revelation that neither of them saw coming.
SONG : Back to friends - Sombr
NOTES: This.. this is inspired by my own love story.. We recently broke up and.. I made this story to try to cope. Well.. I hope you’ll like the initial chapter! I’ll post the rest soon if I’m not so busy.
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦ ˚ . ★⋆. ࿐࿔
. ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚ ˚ .˚ ✦ . . ˚ . ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦
The dynamic of their shared circle was a well-oiled machine of chaos and charisma, but Lee Jeno was the quiet hum beneath the noise. He was the anchor, the immovable object amidst the whirlwind of his friends. To the outside world, he was the unattainable jock, the handsome dude who hangs out with crazy lads. A man who has sharp intellect and an even sharper jawline, draped in an air of mystery that wasn't cultivated, but rather a byproduct of self-preservation.
He didn’t brood, exactly. He just… existed at a slight distance. He would sit in the plush booth at their usual hangout, a half-smile gracing his lips as Haechan spun another ridiculous tale or Jaemin charmed a waitress just for practice. Jeno would laugh, a low rumble in his chest, but his eyes rarely gave anything away. He was grounded, incredibly patient, and stubborn in his solitude. He appreciated stability and comfort, things he had been cruelly denied in the past by a love that turned venomous—cheating that shattered his trust, manipulation that twisted his reality, and physical outbursts that left him swearing an internal oath to never let anyone close enough to wreck him again. He built a fortress around his heart, brick by silent brick.
And then there was Y/N.
If Jeno was the steadfast earth, Y/N was a supernova blazing in the center of the room. She was loud, unapologetically funny, and fiercely protective of her people. She moved through life with an intensity that was both terrifying and magnetic. She had an uncanny intuition; she could smell bullshit from a mile away and wasn't afraid to call it out, a trait born from her own ashes. Having survived heartbreak that felt like a habitual betrayal and a childhood trauma that stole her sense of safety, she had fought tooth and nail against anxiety to rebuild herself.
Now, she was radiant. She was the kind of person who would drop everything to help a friend move at 3 AM, who laughed with her whole body, and whose kindness was a deliberate act of defiance against the darkness she’d known. She had a reputation for being wild in the past—a coping mechanism of fleeting connections—but beneath the bubbly exterior lay a deep, intensely passionate soul that craved a loyalty as fierce as her own.
They existed in the same orbit, acutely aware of each other but never colliding. There was a history there, a thick layer of awkwardness born a year ago when Y/N, oblivious to her limits, had gotten stuporously drunk. She’d started stripping on a table, a whirlwind of chaotic energy, and it was Jeno—silent, reliable Jeno—who had bodily hauled her down, covered her up, and made sure she didn’t become the campus tragedy. They had barely spoken since.
The intervention happened on a Tuesday.
"It’s time, Jeno-yah," Mark said, his earnest church boy demeanor cracking with desperation. "You’re existing, not living."
"You need to get laid," Haechan corrected bluntly, dodging the pillow Jeno threw at him. Haechan, the mercurial flirt who couldn't sit still, was always direct. "Seriously. Your aura is dusty. You need to ruin someone, just for the sake of science."
The air in the room was thick with the smell of expensive cologne and the lingering scent of the pepperoni pizza Haechan had been inhaling. Jeno sat at the center of the leather sofa, looking like a statue of a Greek god who had accidentally wandered into a frat house.
Haechan leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a chaotic, predatory light. "Think about it, Jeno! The beach. The waves. The visual of you in slow-motion coming out of the water like a Bond girl, but with more deltoids. You find a nice, willing participant, you share a few margaritas, and then—" Haechan began a series of suggestive, rhythmic eyebrow wiggles and a truly unnecessary hand gesture involving a donut he’d found on the table. "You know. Hydraulics."
Mark’s face went through three different stages of physical pain in five seconds. He lunged across the armrest.
"Dude... Jeno’s supposed to... Jesus!" Mark hissed, his voice cracking under the weight of his internal moral crisis. "Don’t drag your horny antics into this!"
With the precision of a man who had reached his absolute limit, Mark’s hand flew out and delivered a crisp SLAP to the back of Haechan’s head.
"Ow! My creative process!" Haechan yelped, rubbing his skull.
"You’re a menace," Mark groaned, rubbing his temples. "We are trying to help him find a soul connection, a genuine spark, a reason to open his heart again—and you’re out here talking about mechanics."
Jaemin, who had been buffing his nails against his designer silk shirt, finally looked up. He didn't even blink at the violence; he just stepped over Haechan’s sprawling legs with the grace of a panther in Gucci loafers.
"While I admire Haechan’s commitment to the 'National Geographic' approach to romance," Jaemin said, his voice smooth and dripping with practiced charm, "maybe we should lower the frequency. Jeno doesn’t need a physical therapist, Mark. He needs a distraction that doesn't feel like a chore."
Jaemin pivoted, leaning his hip against the table right in Jeno’s line of sight, effectively cutting off the bickering duo.
"Look," Jaemin continued, "the beach isn't about 'ruining' anyone. It’s about the fact that Y/N is going to be there. And we all know that whenever she’s in a three-mile radius, Jeno forgets how to breathe through his nose."
Jeno’s jaw tightened—the only sign that the arrow had hit the bullseye.
"She’s loud, she’s a disaster in a sun hat, and she’s the only person who makes our Resident Monk over here actually look like he’s part of the living world," Jaemin finished with a wink. "So, let’s focus. No more talk of 'hydraulics.' Let’s just focus on getting Jeno into a situation where he has to talk to her for more than five seconds without pretending he’s suddenly interested in the architecture of the ceiling."
"We just want you to be happy, Hyung," Jisung, the tall, shy giant of the group, murmured from behind his hands.
Jaemin, leaning against the doorframe looking effortlessly expensive, nodded. "We’re going to the beach for your birthday. A nice resort. Sun, sand, and an opportunity to break that vow of celibacy you seem to have taken."
And they invited the girls. When Y/N got the text in the group chat, her internal alarm bells chimed. It felt… curated. But she loved the boys, and a beach trip with Ningning, Winter, and Joy sounded like heaven. She agreed, ignoring the slight pinch of anxiety in her gut.
The resort was breathtaking, a sprawling expanse of white luxury against the cerulean sea. The air smelled of salt and expensive sunscreen. By the time the sun began to dip on Jeno's birthday, the party was in full swing by the massive private pool.
Jeno watched Y/N from behind his sunglasses. He hated that he was watching her.
She looked devastating. She wore a swimsuit that was both simple and entirely too distracting, highlighting curves that she carried with an easy, newfound confidence. Unlike the usual chaos, tonight Y/N was drinking sparkling water with lime. She was laughing with Joy by the pool edge, kicking her feet in the water, radiant and sober.
Jeno, uncharacteristically, was not. The pressure of his friends’ expectations and the sheer sensory overload of having Y/N look like that near him had driven him to the tequila faster than usual. The alcohol chipped away at his fortress.
The resort was everything Jaemin had promised and more. White cabanas dotted the perimeter of the infinity pool, fairy lights strung between palm trees, and the faint thrum of a carefully curated playlist filled the evening air. Jeno, perpetually looking like he belonged on a billboard, nursed a sparkling water, his gaze discreetly tracking Y/N. He hated that his eyes kept finding her, but he couldn't help it.
She was devastating. Her swimsuit, a simple emerald green one-piece, managed to highlight every curve with an effortless elegance. Gone were the wild, slightly desperate energy of her past; tonight, Y/N was radiant and sober, laughing with Joy by the pool's edge, occasionally splashing her feet in the cool water. She radiated a quiet confidence that made Jeno’s fortress-heart clench just a little.
"See?" Jaemin murmured, sidling up to Jeno with a fresh mojito in hand. "I told you she cleans up nice. Who knew sparkling water could look so… alluring?"
Jeno just grunted, taking a long sip of his own drink.
The sun was dipping lower, painting the sky in bruises of violet and gold, but the atmosphere by the pool was anything but peaceful. Haechan was currently treading water like a frantic otter, circling the spot where Y/N sat with her feet submerged.
"You know, Y/N," Haechan started, wiping water from his eyes with a grin that spelled trouble. "I’m genuinely concerned. A year ago, you were the life of the party—dancing on tables, giving us a free show, living on the edge. Now? You’re sitting here sipping cloud-juice and looking... stable. It’s disturbing. Is this a mid-life crisis at twenty-three? Do we need to buy you a knitting kit?"
Y/N didn't even look up from her glass, swirling the lime wedge with a straw. "It’s called 'evolving,' Haechan. You should try it sometime. I know the concept of a pre-frontal cortex is a bit advanced for you, but it’s actually quite trendy these days."
"Ouch," Haechan barked a laugh, splashing a bit of water toward her. "The claws are still there! But seriously, look at Jeno. He’s over there looking like a lonely gargoyle because his favorite entertainment—that's you, by the way—has gone corporate. Give the birthday boy a thrill. Jump in. Do a backflip. Accidentally lose a strap. Something!"
Y/N finally looked at him, her expression deadpan and sharper than Jeno’s jawline. "Haechan, the only reason you want me to cause a scene is so the security guards will focus on me while you sneak into the resort kitchen to steal more dessert. I’m not your tactical diversion."
"I am a connoisseur of fine pastries! It's a noble calling!"
"It’s a buffet, you moron. You don't need a distraction, you just need a plate and some dignity," Y/N retorted.
"Dignity is for people who aren't having fun," Haechan countered, reaching up to tug at her ankle. "Come on, jump in! Your aura is becoming dangerously beige."
"Haechan, I swear to God," Y/N warned, leaning back.
Mark, who had been chatting nearby, rushed over, sensing the impending escalation. "Okay, okay, let's keep it friendly, guys! It’s Jeno’s birthday, remember? Positive vibes only! No physical altercations!"
Jaemin, who had been leaning against a nearby pillar looking like he was posing for a luxury watch ad, leaned down toward Y/N’s ear. "You know," he whispered loudly enough for Haechan to hear, "he actually hates it when people hit him with the foam noodles. The vibration really messes with his internal monologue. Which, granted, is just a dial tone, but still."
Jaemin subtly kicked a bright blue pool noodle toward Y/N’s hand with his toe, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Don't encourage her, Nana!" Mark pleaded.
"I’m not encouraging, I’m facilitating justice," Jaemin replied smoothly, stepping back to give Y/N a clear path. "Focus, Jeno. Focus on the raw athleticism about to be displayed."
Y/N didn't hesitate. She snatched the noodle and brought it down with a resounding WHACK right on top of Haechan’s wet head.
"Go be 'beige' somewhere else!" she laughed as Haechan sputtered, sinking below the surface for a moment.
Mark threw his hands up in exasperation. "Y/N! I just said no physical altercations!"
Y/N tossed the noodle back into the pool, dusting her hands off with a triumphant smirk. "He asked for it. And for the record, Mark, it was a foam altercation. Completely different."
Jaemin, meanwhile, clapped his hands together, looking utterly delighted. "Excellent form, Y/N! A clean hit. He really did have it coming." He then shot Jeno a look, as if to say, See? She’s perfect for him.
Jeno, despite himself, let out a low chuckle, a sound that made Y/N glance over, a small, genuine smile curving her lips as she caught his eye.
The music shifted to something slower, heavier with bass. Jeno found himself standing before he realized he was moving. He approached Y/N, his usual stoic presence amplified by a hazy, dangerous intent. He actually isn’t sure why he’s walking towards her. Is it the alcohol? Was it his dick? He’s not sure. He’s all awkward when he walked up to her.
"Dance," he said. It wasn't a question. His voice was deeper than usual, roughened by liquor.
Y/N looked up, surprised. The air between them crackled with the memory of their last disastrous encounter. "Jeno, are you okay? You seem…"
"Dance with me." He held out a hand. It was large, steady, and demanding.
Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his. He pulled her up with surprising strength, drawing her into the shallow end of the pool where others were swaying. He didn't hold her politely. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his firm chest.
He smelled of expensive cologne, tequila, and scorching heat. He didn’t speak while they danced; he just looked at her with eyes so dark and intense they felt like a physical touch. He moved with a heavy, languid grace, his thigh slotting between hers as they swayed in the water. It was suffocatingly intimate. Every nerve ending in Y/N’s body caught fire. He was pushing boundaries he didn't even seem to know existed, his silence more seductive than any pick-up line.
Suddenly, he stopped, his forehead dropping to rest on her shoulder for a fleeting second. "Sorry," he mumbled against her skin, the word vibrating through her. "I'm drunk. I shouldn't… sorry."
He pulled back, the mysterious fog clearing just enough to show genuine regret. "You want a drink? A real one?"
"I'm pacing myself tonight," she managed, her voice breathless.
"Good," Jeno murmured, his eyes tracking a droplet of water down her neck. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you if you do."
That promise, delivered with such sudden, ground-shaking sincerity, broke her resolve. "Maybe just one."
:)
∧＿∧
(｡･ω･｡)つ━☆・*。
⊂/ / ・゜
しーＪ °。+*°。
.・゜
゜｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ
╱|、
(˚ˎ 。7
|、˜〵
じしˍ,)ノ
⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Three hours later, the villa was a disaster zone of passed-out bodies. Haechan was asleep under a lounge chair; Jaemin was moodily staring at the ocean; Mark was trying to preach to a potted plant.
Only Jeno and Y/N remained relatively functional. The shift was palpable. The loud music was off, replaced by the rhythmic crashing of waves. They moved in tandem, a silent team herding their chaotic friends into the massive communal bedroom they had all agreed to share for the sake of "bonding."
Jeno was efficient, lifting Haechan as if he weighed nothing. Y/N covered Winter and Joy, brushing hair off their faces with maternal tenderness. There was a quiet intimacy in the shared domesticity, a stark contrast to the earlier heat in the pool.
Once the room was silent save for the symphony of snores, Y/N clutched her stomach, wincing. The single drink, combined with the rich dinner, had triggered her hyperacidity.
"You okay?" Jeno’s voice was instantly at her side, low and sobered by concern.
"Stomach," she whispered, pale. "Acid."
Jeno didn't hesitate. He guided her to the far side of the massive, king-sized bed cluster that remained empty. "Sit. I'll get you antacids. I saw some in Mark’s bag."
He returned quickly, handing her the tablets and a glass of water, watching intently as she swallowed them. He didn't leave. He sat on the edge of the bed, his solid presence radiating a comfort Y/N hadn't realized she was starving for.
"Lay down," he instructed gently. "It helps if you're propped up a bit." He arranged the pillows behind her.
When she laid back, still grimacing, he remained seated. The room was vast, the air conditioning humming too loudly. She felt small and vulnerable, the old anxieties prickling at the edges of her pain.
"Jeno," she whispered, hating to ask but needing the anchor. "Can you… just stay for a second? Until it settles?"
He didn't just stay. He shifted, kicking off his shoes and lying down on top of the covers beside her. He turned on his side, facing her, propping his head on his hand. It was the most purely gentlemanly thing he could have done, yet having Lee Jeno in bed with her sent her heart rate skyrocketing.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice rough velvet in the dark.
"Yeah. Thank you."
Minutes ticked by. The pain began to recede, replaced by an acute awareness of the man beside her. He was so solid, so unwavering. He reached out, his large, warm hand resting tentatively on her stomach over the duvet.
"Helping?"
"Mmhmm."
The door creaked open. Ningning stumbled in, stopped dead, her eyes widening as she saw Jeno's hand on Y/N's stomach in the dim light. She didn't even process it; she just turned on her heel and bolted back out, likely traumatized.
Y/N let out a soft giggle, which turned into a groan as her stomach protested.
"Careful," Jeno murmured, a smile sounding in his voice.
Eventually, exhausted, Y/N started to drift off. The air conditioning was freezing now. Instinctively, seeking heat in her half-asleep state, she scooted backward, pressing her back against Jeno's front. She grabbed his arm, the one resting on her stomach, and pulled it tighter around her waist, snuggling into him like he was a giant teddy bear.
She meant nothing by it. In her mind, Jeno liked innocent girls, not girls with reputations like hers. This was just survival cuddling against the cold.
But for Jeno, it was agony.
He was wide awake now. The tequila haze had burned off, leaving him with stark, terrifying clarity.
He had spent years building walls, convincing himself he wanted quiet, uncomplicated things. Yet here was Y/N—bright, loud, complicated, messy Y/N—pressed against him. Her hair smelled like strawberries and chlorine. Her body was soft in all the places his was hard, fitting against him with devastating perfection.
He was incredibly hot. The blood rushed in his ears. He was painfully hard, the sensation maddening against the fabric of his swim trunks. But it wasn't just lust. It was the way she trusted him enough to pull him close. It was the memory of her laughing by the pool, the fierce way she loved her friends, the vulnerability in her eyes when she asked him to stay.
He realized, with a jolt that nearly stopped his heart, that he didn’t want to be mysterious anymore. He didn’t want to sit on the sidelines. He wanted to be the one she clung to when it was cold. He wanted to be the only one who got to see this soft, sleepy side of her. He wanted to bask in her light forever.
She shivered again in her sleep, burrowing deeper into his warmth.
Jeno couldn't take it. The dam broke. The oath he swore to himself shattered against the reality of her warmth.
He shifted, rolling slightly so he was leaning over her shoulder. He used his free hand to gently, ever so gently, cup the side of her face, tilting her head back just enough.
Y/N stirred, blinking open sleepy eyes in the darkness. "Jeno? Wha—"
He didn't give her time to think. He leaned down and captured her lips with his.
It wasn't a tentative, testing kiss. It was deep, desperate, and overwhelming. It was years of restraint crumbling in a second. His mouth moved against hers with a possessive hunger that shocked her awake. It was hot and demanding, tasting of lingering tequila and raw need.
Y/N gasped against his mouth, her hands flying up to grip his biceps, which were rigid with tension. She should have pushed him away. This was Jeno. This was a mistake.
But it felt like coming home.
It felt inevitable. Like two pieces of a fractured universe finally snapping back together. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her, an unspoken confession poured directly into her soul. The kiss deepened, becoming slower, wetter, an intimate tangle of breath and heat that made the rest of the world fade away. It was the kind of kiss that promised everything he had been too afraid to say—that he was hers, that he was terrified, and that he wasn't letting go this time.
genre: angst, fantasy/dystopian, world is inspired by arcane
warning: heartbreak, betrayal, mentions of death (not mcs), undercover job
synopsis: when aurevion's most prized weapon formula is stolen, jeno, a trooper from the upper ranks, is sent undercover to find the culprits. his investigation leads him to your family, the rulers of gravenloch. but trust doesn’t come easily, and suspicion hangs heavy over every encounter. as jeno proves his loyalty, walls crumble and hearts draw closer, until the line between love and deception blurs. when betrayal strikes, the fate of your family—and all of gravenloch—hangs in the balance, in a city divided by light and shadow.
author's note: hey lovelies~ i know the first chapter didn't do as well as i hoped but i loved writing this story too much to not drop the second chapter (might as well since it was already almost done in the drafts🙂↔️) i don't know if this will reach more people but i hope whoever it reaches, you'll enjoy reading this story and wanna stick around!!!!! i hope all of you have an amazing week and let's see each other in the next chapter hopefully🩵 reblogs/likes and if you have the time, asks are always welcomed!!! <3
˚꩜｡ m.list | previous chapter | next chapter
the first night in gravenloch was brutal. jeno swore he saw at least three rodents darting across the room, their slick bodies disappearing into cracks in the bark after feasting on the stale bread you had given him for dinner. the sound alone kept him awake—scratching, skittering, the soft gnaw of hunger that never slept down here.
sleep came in fragments, if at all. as one of aurevion’s most decorated officers, jeno had been through some of the toughest trainings, seen death, violence, and ruin in every form imaginable. but none of it had prepared him for this—the slow, grinding discomfort of the undercity, where survival was constant and dignity optional.
when he finally pushed himself up from the hammock, his muscles ached in places he hadn’t known could ache. his bare feet met the damp stone floor, the cold seeping straight into his bones and jolting him fully awake. “can’t wait for this to be over,” he muttered under his breath.
he splashed water onto his face using the makeshift sink he’d rigged together—a cup balanced beneath a leaking pipe, water dripping in uneven spurts. it was pathetic he thought.
with a grimace, he stepped out of his cramped room, immediately catching sight of your body leaning lazily against the wall, one boot propped behind you, attention fixed on the small mechanical device turning slowly in your hands. a tiny frog robot—its limbs half-exposed, wires glinting faintly as you adjusted something with precision. “good,” you muttered without looking up. “you’re alive.”
jeno paused, then let out a soft huff in amusement “you sound happy that i am,” you didn’t respond. instead, you pushed yourself off the wall and started walking, tilting your head just enough to gesture for him to follow and jeno did—out of habit more than obedience. following orders was second nature to him, even now. he kept a careful distance, eyes tracking your movements as you led him through the twisting corridors of the quarters. you passed closed doors—each one marked subtly different, each one belonging to one of the brothers.
“what are you doing?” he asked, partly out of curiosity, partly because silence felt like a missed opportunity to earn your trust. “fixing something,” you replied flatly, not sparing him a glance.
that was all. you simply led him out of the ironwood’s sheltering roots and into the open arteries of gravenloch, where the city truly showed its teeth.
the streets were narrow and crooked, packed tight with bodies that seemed to fold into themselves as they walked. people moved hunched beneath layered capes and patched coats, faces half-hidden, eyes clouded with curiousity as their gazes slid toward jeno again and again, hungry for answers he didn’t have the right to give.
“want some fun, handsome?” a voice cut through the crowd like a hook. a woman leaned against a wall nearby, makeup painted thick and uneven across her face, lips too red, eyes too dark in shades of blue. her clothes were little more than threadbare fabric clinging to her frame, frayed enough that one wrong tug might tear them apart. she waved lazily at jeno with a sharp grin.
jeno stiffened, gaze snapping away as if burned. instead, he focused on the street ahead, rows of fruit stands sagging under bruised produce, flies swarming thick enough to blacken the air. the smell of rot and sweetness churned his stomach.
before he could say anything, you reached back and tugged sharply on his sleeve.“this way.” your grip was firm, possessive, pulling him out of the crowd before he could protest. he stumbled half a step, then followed, too aware of the way people watched the interaction. how some eyes narrowed while others lost interest the moment you claimed him.
you stopped in front of a shop that looked like it had collapsed inward on itself. scraps of metal and broken parts were stacked haphazardly from floor to ceiling, spilling right up to the doorway. wires, gears, plating, anything salvageable was here, sorted only by instinct.
“morning yuta!” you chimed brightly as you stepped inside, finally putting aside of the robot frog that you've been tinkering with since the start. the shift in your tone made jeno’s head snap towards you. he couldn't believe his eyes that you were smiling. not the stoic, guarded thing you wore around him, but as though you held a soul and had emotions.
“morning y/n!” yuta beamed, pushing his round-rimmed glasses up his nose as he emerged from behind a counter nearly swallowed by metal scraps and half-gutted machines. his movements were careless, confident, like the chaos bent itself around him out of habit. his gaze flicked past you, landing on jeno—and immediately lit up with amusement. “and you must be the guy from the uppercity!”
jeno’s brows knitted together in confusion before the words even settled. “you’re pretty,” yuta added with a grin as he lets out a laugh at his own comment, utterly unbothered.
“he’s alright,” you said dryly, finally sparing jeno a glance for the first time that morning. jeno flushed faintly, lips pressing into a thin line as he turned his head away, ears warming despite himself.
you were already scanning the shelves, eyes darting around and cataloguing parts at a glance. “i need copper filaments, a stabiliser coil, and anything with a working micro-servo.”
yuta hummed, disappearing deeper into the mess as if he's being swallowed whole. “working might be generous,” he called back, “but i’ll see what i’ve got.”
as he rummaged on, jeno stood awkwardly to the side, taking it all in. the ease between you and yuta. the way people nodded at you when you passed the shop’s open front. the fact that gravenloch, for all its decay, had rhythm—connections, relationships, an unspoken order. it was as if society here wasn't all barbaric and actually is its own life.
“how’s gramps doing?” yuta asked, voice muffled as he rummaged, tossing pieces over his shoulder without looking. “duck,” you whispered into jeno's ear. jeno barely had time to react before you shoved him down. a metal screw went corkscrewing through the air where his face had been a second earlier, clattering loudly against the far wall. more parts followed—bolts, springs, scraps raining like shrapnel. jeno sucked in a sharp breath, heart thudding.
“doing better than ever,” you replied easily, unfazed. “business is really picking up these days.”
“hah,” yuta chimed. “i gotta pay him a visit one of these days.”
then, more quietly, “hope he’s not catching too much heat for that break-in up top.”
jeno’s head snapped up. he kept his face neutral, but his attention sharpened instantly. he turned to look at you again, hoping that you'll say something that might actually reveal anything related to the break in only to be met with your calm silence.
you knew he was listening.
“i’m surprised they haven’t sent troopers down yet,” yuta continued. “to hunt the raiders, i mean.” you shrugged, lifting both brows slightly. “we’ll see about that later.”
there was a pause—brief, but loaded. “aha!” yuta suddenly exclaimed, straightening with a grin. he held up a micro-servo between grease-stained fingers like a trophy. “knew i had one.”
“i knew you’d come through.” you brightened instantly as he dropped it into your palm. “how much do i owe you?”
yuta waved you off. “you don’t pay here, y/n. you know that.”
“yuta—” you tried to fight back.
“it’s for the service,” he said simply. “what gramps did for us.” you frowned, lips pressing together—but instead of arguing, you quietly dropped a small bag of silver onto the floor near the counter.
before he could protest, you grabbed jeno’s wrist and bolted for the door. “thanks, yuta!” you called over your shoulder. “see you again!”
jeno couldn’t quite grasp your personality, and the not knowing unsettled him more than outright hostility ever could.
one moment you were smiling—quick, fleeting, almost real. and the next you were shutting him out again, eyes hard, shoulders squared, your back turned like he wasn’t worth the effort. he knew earning your trust wouldn’t be easy, but this was unfamiliar territory. he wasn’t used to being dismissed, to having his presence treated like an inconvenience rather than a curiosity. the snarky remarks, the clipped replies, the way you never slowed your steps for him—it all scraped against his nerves.
and yet, he watched you anyway.
what bothered him most was the service yuta had mentioned. whatever the jung family did, it wasn’t just violence. people listened when you spoke. they moved aside. they nodded, mumbled greetings, trusted you with their safety. gravenloch didn’t feel like a city ruled by chaos—it felt like a city held together by something unspoken.
he needed to know what that something was.
“every day,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence, “it’s our job to patrol the main streets.” your eyes never stopped moving. doorways. rooftops. faces in the crowd. your hand hovered close to your dual blades without even thinking about it. “why?” jeno asked, frowning.
you exhaled sharply, irritation flickering across your face. “troopers come in as and when they like.” the word troopers twisted your expression into something bitter and disgust as you pushed through the crowd. jeno felt a familiar tension coil in his chest. the same instinctive disdain he had been taught to feel toward the undercity, towards the people blamed for the great war. thieves. rioters. animals, according to aurevion.
“they trash our place,” you continued. “take whatever they want. threaten our people.” you glanced at him then, wary and almost accusatory—like you could see straight through him.
“it’s our job to kill them.”
the words hit him like a blow.
jeno stopped walking.
his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. anger surged up fast and hot, drowning out the careful restraint he’d been clinging to. kill them, said so easily. like those lives were disposable. like his fellow troopers didn’t have families, lovers, homes waiting for them. like their deaths wouldn’t ripple outward and destroy people who had nothing to do with this injustice. “i don’t see why there’s a need to kill them,” he said, voice tight.
“what did you just say?” you turned on him instantly as your body shifted, stance widening slightly, hand flexing at your side. not attacking, but ready to plunge into him if he wasn't careful with his words.
“you’re killing people without any reason to,” jeno shot back, his mouth moving faster than his mind. he knew he should have stopped. even as he spoke, a part of him knew—shut up, you’re making a mistake but the fury drowned it out.
“without any reason?” your let out a humourless laugh.
you stepped closer, eyes blazing. “and they have a reason to ruin our godforsaken lives every single day?” your hand cut through the air, gesturing at the city around you—the cracked stone, the sagging buildings, the people lying on the side of the streets in their own mess.
the idea was absurd to you. the way jeno was defending the very people who tore through innocent homes under the excuse of “random searches.” the same people who wouldn’t hesitate to shove children aside if they were in the way. the same people who embodied oppression in its purest form.
“perhaps you haven’t realised it yet,” you continued, stepping back as if to keep yourself from doing something reckless, “but you’re in the undercity now so pick a side.” you pushed past jeno, shoulder knocking into his harshly when a sudden crash rang out from somewhere down the street.
steel clattered. glass shattered.
your body reacted before your mind did. you were already moving, breaking into a run, boots pounding hard against stone as you followed the sound. instinct burned hot in your chest as urgency clawed its way through your veins. behind you, jeno swore under his breath and chased after you, longer strides barely keeping pace.
the crowd ahead split unevenly.
voices rose—panicked, angry, afraid.
then you saw it.
a trooper stood in the middle of the street, his uniform unmistakable polished blue boots, rigid posture, weapon hanging loose at his side like it was nothing more than an accessory. one boot was pressed down hard against an elderly woman’s chest, pinning her to the ground. she wheezed helplessly, thin hands clawing weakly at his leg. her basket lay shattered nearby, scraps and food scattered across the dirt like they didn’t matter.
“you didn’t greet us,” the trooper barked, shoving down harder with his boots, causing the woman to cry out in pain. “you think you can just look away?”
jeno’s breath caught in disbelief at the sight in front of him. “stop—” he started, stepping forward on instinct.
this was exactly what you were talking about.
“move.” you stepped forward. your voice was calm—too calm—but it sliced through the street like steel drawn slow and deliberate. the trooper turned his head towards you, irritation flashing across his face, as if you were nothing more than a nuisance interrupting his day. “this doesn’t concern you.”
“neither does the business of the undercity concern you,” you shot back, venom sharp on your tongue, “but you lot keep showing up anyway.” jeno watched your hands drift down to your blades, fingers curling around the hilts like they’d been waiting for this moment. there was no hesitation in you—only certainty.
the trooper scoffed, shifting his weight. “you’ve got a lot of nerve—”
he didn’t finish.
the rifle came up, barrel swinging toward you, but you were already moving. you ducked beneath it, body folding low and fast, and your boot lashed out. the impact struck his neck with a sickening thud, snapping his head sideways and tearing the breath from his lungs.
before he could recover, steel flashed. you plunged the blade straight into his abdomen. “yeah,” you snarled, twisting it hard, “i do.” you tore the blade free.
for a second, everything froze—the old lady, the air, even jeno’s breath. then you lifted the knife again.
and that was when jeno moved.
he slammed into you from the side, throwing his full weight against yours. you stumbled, hitting the ground hard, the impact rattling through your bones as the blade flew from your grip and clattered uselessly across the stone.
“don’t!” jeno shouts, the word cracking out of him raw. it’s the first time his voice sounds like panic since he arrived.
you roll, springing up instantly, eyes blazing at him like he’s the thing you should’ve killed first. “what the fuck are you doing?” you snarl.
you surged forward again, fury driving you, intent clear. but jeno stepped directly into your path, arms spreading wide as he blocked you with his own body, crashing into him.
your forearm struck his chest and his hands caught your wrists. you twisted, fought, kicked, every movement sharp in anger. jeno staggered but held his ground, teeth clenched, breath tearing from his lungs as he struggled to keep you back. “move,” you hissed.
“you can’t—” he starts, but you shoved him, hard enough to make him stagger. jeno grabs your wrist again, gripping tightly in desperation. “they’ll come back,” he says, voice rough. “they’ll come back if you kill him. this is why they haven't stopped.”
it’s the truth he can say without saying the other truth. because the other truth is lodged in his throat like a nail.
i can’t let you kill him because i am him.
the trooper behind jeno coughs, wet and ugly, hands pressed to his wound, fear finally cracking through his face. he scrambles backward, boots slipping, gaze darting between you and jeno like he can’t decide which one is worse.
jeno feels something twist in his gut. he wants to turn around and grab the trooper by the collar and drag him back and force him to look at the woman he crushed. to apologise for going further than needed.
but he doesn’t. because he can’t.
you fight him again with an angry, violent shove trying to get past. jeno catches you, shoulder to shoulder now, his body taking the impact like he’s been trained for it. your blades flash near his skin and he flinches on instinct, not from fear of death but from the closeness of being cut open in front of everyone. “piss off,” you spit, breath hot, eyes wild.
“listen to me,” he says, voice breaking at the edges. “if you kill him here, in the open—” you slammed your palm into his chest. “i don’t care.”
and that’s the difference between you.
you learned survival as a child with blood in your eyes.
he learned it as a soldier with medals adorned on his chest.
behind him, the trooper limps. jeno feels your attention shift and he knows you’ve seen it too. over his shoulder, the trooper is dragging himself upright, blood soaking his uniform, face twisted in fear, dignity gone. he turns and flees into the crowd, swallowed by capes and shadow, boots slapping stone as he disappears.
jeno finally lets you go when the trooper is far enough, you stumbled forward from the sudden release, spinning back on him, blades flying up to his neck in an instant. "how dare you!" you snarled.
jeno doesn't flinch from your blades, years in the military had trained him to stand still under threat. anger simmered through you as you decide wether to end off his life for being defiant and in the way of your responsibility.
there was something about jeno’s calmness beneath your blade that stole your breath for half a second. the way he didn’t flinch. didn’t tense. didn’t plead. he stood there like he was only waiting. waiting for you to decide, for the steel to bite, for whatever came next to simply happen. as if fear had no place in him at all. it unsettled you more than resistance would have.
he had a strong heart, that much was certain. you could see it in the steadiness of his gaze, in the way his breathing stayed even despite the blade at his throat. not bravery exactly but something forged. and yet, you couldn’t comprehend why he had stopped you.
why he had put his body between you and the trooper. why he had chosen restraint when the city had taught you survival meant finality.
your grip tightened, then loosened. gramps must’ve had his reasons for letting him stay, you thought. reasons you couldn't understand yet. “don’t ever,” you say, voice low enough to make the words feel like they’re crawling under his skin, “stand between me and them again.”
you stormed back into the jung quarters with heat still clinging to your skin, anger crackling through you like static. the tunnels swallowed the noise of the streets behind you, stone walls closing in, familiar and suffocating all at once. jeno followed a step behind, silent, his presence pressing at your back like an unanswered question.
you huffed and dropped onto the makeshift sofa jaehyun had built years ago—uneven planks, patched cushions, sturdy despite its flaws. it creaked under your weight as you leaned forward, elbows on your knees, fingers digging into your palms as if you could still feel the ghost of steel there.
chenle noticed first. he was perched near the table, fiddling with the new cookbooks he found when he caught the look on your face. the tight jaw, the fire barely contained behind your eyes. his gaze flicked to jeno standing awkwardly near the doorway, then back to you “what’s wrong?” he asked carefully.
donghyuck paused mid-motion, a stack of letters half-gathered in his hands as he turned around. the room felt smaller suddenly, attention snapping into place. “he let a trooper get away!” you snapped, lifting a hand to point straight at jeno accusatory, “got in my way and stopped me from finishing the kill!”
there was a shift in the air and everything stopped. taeyong, who had been leaning against the far wall, slowly straightened, posture going rigid. one eyebrow lifted, an unreadable expression etched across his face as he looked between you and jeno. “are you serious?” donghyuck asked, jaw slack as his eyes locked onto jeno.
jeno stood his ground, shoulders squaring even as the weight of the room pressed down on him. “they’re people too,” he said, voice steady with no regrets. his eyes searched instinctively for taeyong’s, like he was grasping for something familiar—understanding, maybe. mercy.
“he’s too soft to be one of us.”donghyuck scoffed immediately, the sound sharp. “i second that,” chen le chimed in, lifting his bottle and taking a slow sip. “that’s enough.” taeyong’s voice echoed through the room. he looked at the younger ones, expression unreadable but final. donghyuck clicked his tongue, chenle lowered his bottle, both of them pressing their lips together in reluctant obedience.
jeno had barely set his duffel down when a knock sounded against the wooden frame of his door, creaking open before he could even answer.
taeyong stood on the other side of the door, a small wooden box tucked under one arm. without asking permission, he stepped inside, ducked slightly, and settled onto the hammock like he had done it a hundred times before. his eyes roamed the room, accessing the space that jeno have settled himself into. “seems like you got the worst room,” taeyong said lightly.
jeno said nothing, standing near the door with hands clasped behind his back, posture instinctively straight like he was awaiting inspection. “does that hurt?” taeyong asked, nodding toward jeno’s arm.
“what?” jeno blinked. he followed taeyong’s gaze and frowned slightly, finally noticing the dark line of blood seeping through the fabric near his elbow. it must've been from you earlier while fighting against him. “oh,” he murmured. realisation dawning late.
taeyong lets out a sigh as he quietly got up, crossed the small space in two steps, and pushed jeno down onto the hammock with one firm hand on his shoulder. “sit.” jeno obeyed without thinking.
taeyong took his arm, turning it gently but firmly, eyes narrowing as he examined the wound. it wasn’t deep, but it was a rather clean cut you had given him.
“you don't have to help me,” jeno said quietly, the words coming out before he could stop them.
taeyong hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. he opened the wooden box, revealing neatly arranged supplies—clean cloth, a chipped glass bottle, thread, needle, a small tin of salve. old. reused and cared for. he uncorked the bottle, the sharp smell of alcohol filling the room.
“hold still,” taeyong said as he poured the alcohol over the cut without warning. jeno sucked in a sharp breath, jaw tightening, but he didn’t pull away. taeyong worked in silence at first, cleaning the wound with practiced movements. then, without looking up, he asked calmly, “why did you stop her?”
jeno’s breath hitched, just slightly. “why did you help the trooper?” taeyong clarified.
jeno stared at the wall. thoughts running through his mind as fragments of what happened earlier replayed in front of his eyes. “because he’s human,” jeno said at last.
“you’re from aurevion,” taeyong said evenly. “you’ve only been here one day.” his grip tightened just a fraction as he continued tending to the cut. “what do you think we are?” he asked, staring back at jeno.
“human,” he said. “all of you.” jeno answered without any hesitance. it was the truth. jeno isn't one to believe in using violence against innocent civilians though he may seem ruthless on the battlefield against enemies. but it was jeno's heart that's his weakest trait according to chief xu.
taeyong searched jeno's face, looking for sort of cracks in jeno's answer but he found none. after a moment, he returned his attention to jeno’s arm, applying ointment and wrapping the cloth carefully.
“when you head out with y/n tomorrow,” taeyong said, voice quieter now, “look again. and i mean really look,” he nods at jeno.
“look at what the troopers do to us,” taeyong continued. “the undercity lives at the mercy of aurevion. every day is borrowed time.” he secured the bandage. “life here is hard. but we make it work.”
“it’s our job to defend our people,” taeyong said. “because if we don’t…” he exhaled slowly. “half the people you saw out there would already be dead. beaten. taken away from their homes.”
jeno frowned, the crease between his brows deepening. “then why the need to kill them?” taeyong’s hands stilled.
the room seemed to quiet with him, the faint drip of water somewhere in the tunnels suddenly too loud. he didn’t answer right away. instead, he exhaled slowly, like the breath had been sitting in his chest for years, waiting to be released. when he looked up, there was something in his eyes jeno hadn’t seen before—sadness, raw and unguarded, threaded with a pain that hadn’t dulled with time.
“the room you’re in right now,” taeyong said quietly, “used to belong to one of our brothers.” his gaze drifted around the low ceiling, the cramped space, the worn stone walls. the words seemed to settled into the room itself. “renjun,” he added after a pause, the name soft in his tone.
taeyong looked back down at jeno’s arm, fingers tightening briefly around the bandage before he continued. “there was a deal once,” he said, voice low. “between gramps and the councils of aurevion. troopers were meant to stay out. no more raids. no more violence against our people.” his jaw flexed. “we were promised peace.”
he finished tying off the bandage, the knot pulled just a little too tight. “they broke that promise,” taeyong went on, the words steady but carrying something old and sharp beneath them. “and renjun was killed for standing in a trooper's way. he was just trying to get home.”
the silence that followed felt heavier than any argument. it pressed in on jeno’s chest, thick and unyielding, leaving no room for the defenses he’d carried with him for years. it was the first time he had ever heard the undercity’s side spoken aloud not as rumour, not as propaganda, but as loss given a name.
for as long as he could remember, jeno had only known one story. he had watched comrades fall, bodies carried back through the gates of aurevion, uniforms stained dark and unrecognisable. each time, the blame had been the same. the undercity. a faceless enemy. a convenient answer. his distaste had hardened with every death, layered thicker with every name etched into memory.
but sitting here now, in a room that had once belonged to someone who never made it home, that certainty began to fracture. because the undercity had names too.
and they mourned their dead just the same.
“forgive y/n for how she reacted,” taeyong said as he stood up, closing the wooden box with a soft click. he didn’t look at jeno when he spoke, his gaze lingering instead on the ground that had heard too many names spoken in grief.
“renjun’s death hit her harder than anyone else in this family,” he continued quietly. “it'll do you some good too if you try to actually understand our lives as gravenloch and not from aurevion,” he lifted the box under his arm, pausing by the door for a moment longer before leaving the room heavy with things that had finally been said aloud.
jeno moved down the corridor slowly, every step heavier than the last. the jung quarters were always quiet during this hour. lantern light bled softly along the stone walls, stretching shadows that seemed longer than they should’ve been. he stopped in front of your door and stood there, staring at the warped wood like it might give him permission—or absolution.
he lifted his hand in hesitance.
you probably don't want to see him after that shit show.
before he could decide, the door swung opened, startling jeno, his heart jumping as you nearly collided with each other. for a split second, neither of you spoke, only staring at each other in surprise. your hair was down, loose around your shoulders, softer than he’d ever seen it. you were dressed in a tattered hoodie that swallowed your frame, hands shoved deep into the pockets like armour. you looked tired but guarded. human in a way that caught him off balance.
“what do you want?” you sneered, instinct snapping back into place as you stepped into the doorway, blocking him without meaning to.
“i’m sorry.” jeno swallowed, the words slipped out before he could overthink them.
your shoulders dropped just slightly, tension leaking from you in a way you clearly hadn’t meant to show. your eyes narrowed not with anger, but confusion. “sorry?” you echoed, like the word didn’t belong between you.
jeno nodded, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “i shouldn’t have gotten in your way,” he said quietly. “and i promise… i won’t do that again.”
you studied him, searching his face like you were trying to catch a lie mid-breath. this wasn’t the apology you expected. no defensiveness. no excuses. just discomfort and something earnest that made you uneasy.
“you don’t even know what you’re apologising for,” you muttered.
“maybe not fully,” jeno admitted. “but i know i crossed a line.”
silence stretched between you, thick with things neither of you were ready to say. jeno was painfully aware of it—of how fragile this moment was, how easily it could shatter. he needed your trust. not all of it. just enough. enough to stay close. enough to see. enough to finish what he came here to do.
you exhaled sharply, glancing past him down the corridor. “i’m heading to the pub,” you said. “donghyuck and gramps needs help. it’s a packed night.”
jeno’s heart stuttered. “i—i can help,” he offered quickly. “if you want.”
you scoffed, already stepping past him. “don’t slow me down.”
but then you halted your steps and turned back just enough to jerk your chin in his direction. “follow me.”
“really?”jeno blinked.
“don’t make me regret it,” you said flatly, already walking.
he fell into step beside you, careful to keep pace, the weight in his chest shifting into something cautious and hopeful. as you moved through the tunnels toward the surface streets, the noise grew louder—laughter, music, clinking glass, voices layered thick over one another.
the pub came into view like a beacon of chaos.
sonnes was its name.
light spilled out from its doors, warm and golden against the grime of the undercity. people crowded the entrance, shoulder to shoulder, some already drunk enough on the ground while others swaying on their feet. music thudded through the walls, bass vibrating through the stone beneath your boots.
donghyuck spotted you immediately. “finally!” he shouted over the noise. “we’re drowning in people tonight!”
his eyes flicked to jeno, brows lifting. “oh. him.”
“don’t start.” you shot donghyuck a look. he held his hands up in mock surrender, then immediately ruined it. “can’t complain you brought the weakest link here to help, but whatevs,” he sighed dramatically.
you ignored him, already slipping behind the counter beside gramps. the pub was alive tonight—too alive with voices layered over one another, laughter spilling and breaking against the low ceiling. the air was thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, oil, and something warm that only ever existed in places where people gathered to forget.
you grabbed a mug, then another, pulling tall drafts in practiced rhythm. foam crested, overflowed, slid down your fingers. gramps moved beside you with a smile, entertaining customers like they were his long lost friends.
jeno lingered awkwardly near the counter, unsure where to place himself, eyes darting as he tried to take everything in at once, catching donghyuck's sight. “what are you doing standing there, pretty boy?” he snapped, facepalming hard enough to echo over the noise. “help!”
jeno jolted, flushed faintly, and stepped forward too fast, nearly knocking into a patron who barked something unintelligible at him. “sorry—sorry,” he muttered, scrambling to steady the stack of mugs before they toppled.
you shot him a quick glance, pressing your lips into a thin line to not break into a smile.
“take orders,” you said over the noise, sliding a mug down the counter with precision. “clear empty glasses. don’t break anything.”
jeno nodded immediately. “got it.”
he moved clumsily at first, shoulders stiff, hands unsure. he nearly dropped a glass when someone slapped the counter too hard, earning a sharp laugh from a table nearby. donghyuck snorted, shaking his head.
“unbelievable,” he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement beneath it.
but jeno didn’t stop. he adjusted. slowed down. watched how you moved—how you leaned just enough to hear orders, how you slid drinks without spilling, how you met people’s eyes without flinching. within minutes, his hands steadied. he started clearing tables, stacking glasses carefully, ducking out of the way when someone lurched too close.
a drunk patron clapped him on the shoulder. “new kid?”
jeno hesitated, then nodded. “yeah.”
“welcome to hell,” the man laughed, raising his mug.
genre: angst, fantasy/dystopian, world is inspired by arcane
warning: heartbreak, betrayal, mentions of death (not mcs), undercover job
status: ongoing!
synopsis: when aurevion's most prized weapon formula is stolen, jeno, a trooper from the upper ranks, is sent undercover to find the culprits. his investigation leads him to your family, the rulers of gravenloch. but trust doesn’t come easily, and suspicion hangs heavy over every encounter. as jeno proves his loyalty, walls crumble and hearts draw closer, until the line between love and deception blurs. when betrayal strikes, the fate of your family—and all of gravenloch—hangs in the balance, in a city divided by light and shadow.
