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Mine - Seongje scenario (Requested, angst, slight fluff)

Anon said: Can we get a yandere scenario on seongje?(obv if you're comfortable). As ive read your recent fic on sieun and damn that was good. Now can I req a stff something like the reader & him were childhood friends but got separated. Seongje had his eyes on her since being kids. Seongje finds her one-day but def with a bf and he is not a guy to give up as we all know. He would do make even rile up the reader too?(we know this how our seongje is). Thanks A/N: Helloo, thank you for liking my writing! <3 I hope this lives up to a "yandere" scenario at least a bit. I really really hope this is all you wanted in a scenario! I loved writing this one! Ly, have a good one! Members: Seongje x Reader Genre: Angst, slight fluff Warnings: lot of manipulation, possessivness, drinking, toxic relationship, etc... Word count: 6535

You still remember the day everything changed. One summer, your family packed up and moved to another part of town—far enough that the streets you once ran down with Seongje became unfamiliar, unreachable. Suddenly, the walk to school was different, the faces around you were strangers, and the boy who had been your shadow since childhood was no longer at your side. At your new school, you hated the separation. The classrooms felt colder, the laughter of new classmates never quite matched the warmth of the one friend who knew you best. You told yourself you’d keep in touch, but as the weeks turned into months, the silence grew heavier. Neither of you called. Neither of you visited. Time did what it always does—it kept moving. Seasons passed, and the ache of missing him dulled into something quieter, tucked away beneath the rhythm of everyday life. You learned to smile with new friends, to carry on with studies, to let the memory of Seongje fade into the background. And yet, every now and then, when the streets were quiet or a familiar song played, you’d think of him. The boy who always walked beside you, who teased you until you snapped, who never let you feel alone. You wondered whether he ever thought of you, too—or whether you had simply become another piece of his past. Life went on. You grew, changed, and built new routines. But somewhere deep down, the absence of Seongje remained like a shadow, waiting for the day it might step back into the light. --- --- ---

The neon sign of the convenience store buzzed faintly, its light spilling across the damp pavement. You stood outside with your boyfriend, sharing a drink, your laughter soft against the hum of the city. It was ordinary, almost peaceful—until a familiar voice cut through the air.

Seongje leaned against the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes fixed on you with a smirk that carried both recognition and challenge. “Well, look who it is,” he said, his tone low, almost amused. “Thought I’d never see you again.” Your breath caught. You hadn’t heard that voice in years, but it was unmistakable. “Seongje?” you asked, hesitant, as if saying his name might summon trouble.

He grinned wider, stepping closer, ignoring your boyfriend entirely. “You still remember my name. That’s a start.” His gaze lingered on you, sharp and unrelenting, as though he was cataloging every change. “You’ve changed,” you murmured, still stunned. “I barely recognized you.”

Seongje chuckled under his breath, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. He tapped one out, lit it with a flick of his lighter, and took a slow drag, the smoke curling lazily into the night air. The glow of the cigarette tip lit his face in sharp lines.

“Changed? Maybe. Grew up? Definitely. But I’m still me,” he said, exhaling smoke with a grin. “You’d know that if you hadn’t disappeared.”

Your boyfriend shifted beside you, trying to cut in. “Do you… know each other?” he asked, his tone cautious. Seongje didn’t even glance at him. His eyes stayed locked on you, as if your boyfriend wasn’t standing there at all. “Of course, we know each other. We were best friends back in the day... But Y/N moved and never even called...”

Heat rushed to your face. “That’s not true,” you snapped, though the memory of trailing after him as kids made your chest ache. “We just… we lost touch.”

Seongje smirked, taking another drag before flicking ash to the ground. “Lost touch, huh? Funny how life works. And now here you are, standing right in front of me again.”

“How did you even find me? What are the odds we’d bump into each other like this?” you spoke.

He leaned back against the wall, cigarette dangling between his fingers, posture casual but gaze unrelenting. “Not odds. I moved here. Transferred schools. Let’s just say my old one didn’t appreciate my… behavior.” His smirk deepened, the kind that dared you to ask more. “So now this is my part of town. Guess that means you’re mine to run into.”

Your boyfriend frowned, clearly unsettled. “Transferred because of bad behavior?” he muttered, half to himself.

You couldn’t stop staring. The smoke curled lazily around him, catching the glow of the neon sign, and for a moment it felt unreal—like the boy you once knew had been replaced by someone sharper, heavier, impossible to ignore.

“You really moved here?” you asked, still trying to process it. “After all this time… you’re just suddenly back?” Seongje took another drag, exhaled slowly, and smirked. “Back? I never left. You did.” His eyes narrowed slightly, not with anger but with something more dangerous—possession.

The silence stretched, heavy and unbroken. The glow flared against Seongje's face, sharp and dangerous, before he flicked the ash carelessly to the ground—close enough to your boyfriend’s shoes that it made him flinch. Seongje didn’t even glance his way. Instead, his eyes locked back on you, unrelenting. A slow grin spread across his lips, the kind that made your chest tighten.

“Funny,” he said, voice low, smoke curling lazily from his mouth. “You’ve got someone standing next to you now, but you still look at me the same way you did back then. Like you can’t decide if you hate me… or if you missed me.”

Your breath caught, heat rushing to your face. “That’s not true,” you snapped, though the words came out too fast, too defensive.

Seongje tilted his head, studying you with that same sharp gaze, as if he could see right through the denial. He took another drag, exhaled slowly, and added, almost casually, “Remember when you used to get mad at me for stealing your snacks? Guess I still like taking what’s yours.” This time, his eyes flicked briefly toward your boyfriend—just long enough to make the implication sting—before returning to you. The smirk lingered, daring you to react, daring you to admit that his words had hit their mark.

Your boyfriend stiffened at Seongje’s words, his jaw tightening. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, stepping half a pace forward as if to shield you. “I don’t know what kind of history you two have, but she’s with me now.”

Seongje’s smirk didn’t falter. His eyes never left yours. “With you now, sure. But don’t act as if that erases me.” Your boyfriend bristled. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

Seongje finally shifted his gaze—just for a second—toward him. The look wasn’t acknowledgment so much as dismissal, sharp and cutting. “You know what I see?” he said, voice low, almost amused. “I see someone trying real hard to stand between us. But you—” his eyes locked onto yours, unrelenting—“you’re not looking at him. You’re looking at me. Same way you did back then.”

Your breath caught, heat rushing to your face. “Stop it,” you snapped, though your voice wavered. Seongje tilted his head, cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers, posture casual, but his words sharp as a blade. “Why? Afraid he’ll notice? Afraid you’ll admit you missed me?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Your boyfriend’s hand tightened around yours, but Seongje’s presence pressed heavier, his grin daring you to react, daring you to break the tension he was weaving tighter with every word.

For a moment, Seongje didn’t say anything—just looked at you, his gaze sharp and unreadable, as if he’d carved his way back into your life with nothing more than a smirk and a few words. Then, with that same casual confidence, he leaned back and said, “See you tomorrow. At school.”

At home, you couldn’t stop replaying it. The way he appeared out of nowhere, the way he ignored your boyfriend like he wasn’t even there, the way he spoke as if the years apart hadn’t mattered at all. You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, your mind racing. The boy you once knew was gone, replaced by someone sharper, darker, more dangerous. And yet, beneath it all, he was still Seongje—the childhood friend you had lost, the shadow you thought you’d outgrown. ---

The next morning, when you entered the classroom, the air felt different—charged, expectant. The teacher stood at the front, a new student beside her. And there he was. Seongje.

“Class, this is Geum Seongje,” the teacher announced. “He’s transferred here, so make him feel welcome.” He gave a lazy nod, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression unreadable except for the faint smirk tugging at his lips. The teacher gestured toward the back. “There’s a free spot by the window in the last row.”

Seongje moved with an easy stride, his posture relaxed, as if he belonged here already. When he dropped into the chair, he leaned back and let his gaze wander—until it landed on you. For a moment, his expression softened. He smiled, not sharp or mocking this time, but friendly, almost casual, like the kind of smile you’d give an old friend you hadn’t seen in years. Your breath caught. The two of you made eye contact, and for a fleeting second, it felt strangely familiar—like the years apart hadn’t happened at all. He looked at ease, comfortable in a way that made the moment feel even more surreal. But to you, it was weird. Too weird. Out of the blue, he was here—sitting close, in the same classroom, in the same row. After all those years of silence, of not seeing him, suddenly he was back, invading the quiet space you had carved for yourself. You turned your eyes back to your notebook, trying to focus, but the awareness of him lingered. Every time you shifted, you could feel his presence at the edge of your vision.

When your eyes met his, he didn’t smirk this time. He just held the look, calm and steady, before turning back to the window as if the lesson didn’t matter. That friendly smile from earlier lingered in your mind, unsettling in its simplicity. After all these years, after all the silence, he was suddenly here—close enough to touch, close enough to disrupt the quiet rhythm you had built. Your classmates whispered about the new transfer, curious glances darting his way, but none of them seemed to notice the weight of his presence the way you did. To them, he was just another student. To you, he was a shadow pulled out of the past, sitting only a few feet away. The teacher called on you to answer a question, and you stumbled, words catching in your throat. You could feel Seongje watching, not mocking, not laughing—just watching. The awareness of him pressed against you, louder than the lesson, heavier than the silence.

The bell rang, sharp and final, releasing the class into a rush of chatter and movement. You were gathering your books, trying to steady yourself, when you noticed Seongje stand. He stretched lazily, slung his bag over one shoulder, and instead of heading for the door, he made his way straight toward you. Your heart skipped. He stopped at your desk, leaning casually against it, his presence filling the space between you.

“Still sitting by the door, huh?” he said, glancing at your seat. “Guess some things don’t change.” You raised a brow, clutching your notebook. “And you still think you’re too cool for the middle rows. The window seat suits you, though. Makes it easier to daydream instead of paying attention.”

“Daydreaming’s more fun than listening to lectures. Besides, I’ve got a better view here.” He chuckled, his eyes flicked toward you, deliberately. You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward. “You’re still full of yourself. Some things really don’t change.” “Hey, I’m consistent,” he shot back, smirking. “Unlike you. You used to trail after me everywhere, now you’re acting like you don’t even know me.” You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Maybe I grew up. Maybe I got tired of losing races up that hill.” That made him laugh, a genuine sound that pulled at something deep in your chest. “You never won, but you never stopped trying. That’s what I liked about you.” You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “Liked? Past tense? Guess you’ve changed more than I thought.”

Before he could answer, a burst of voices filled the room. A group of boys stepped into the classroom—faces you didn’t recognize at first, until you realized they must be his friends, the ones who had transferred with him. Their energy was loud, confident, the kind that drew attention immediately.

“Seongje!” one of them called, grinning as he clapped him on the shoulder. “Already making yourself at home, huh?” Another glanced at you, curious, but Seongje didn’t move away. He straightened, his grin returning, sharper now, as if the interruption had reminded him of the role he played.

“Yeah,” he said easily, eyes flicking back to you for one last moment. “Just catching up.” The group urged him toward the door, their voices filling the room, but before he followed, Seongje gave you that same look—steady, deliberate, impossible to ignore. ---

Later on, as the day passed by, the hallway was crowded, students spilling out of classrooms, voices echoing against the walls. You adjusted your bag, ready to slip away, when you felt a familiar presence fall into step beside you.

Seongje.

He walked with that same easy stride, hands shoved in his pockets, his grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So,” he said, glancing at you, “still as bad at answering questions as you used to be. Thought you’d have improved by now.” You shot him a look, nudging his arm with your elbow. “And you’re still as distracting as ever. Maybe if you stopped staring, I’d actually focus.” He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Oh, so it’s my fault? You always did blame me for everything.” “Because it was always your fault,” you teased back, shaking your head. “You were the one who got us in trouble half the time.” “Half?” He raised a brow, feigning offense. “Try all the time. Don’t sell me short.” The banter felt strangely natural, like slipping into an old rhythm you hadn’t realized you missed. For a moment, it was easy to forget the years apart, easy to forget the tension of last night. He wasn’t a stranger—he was Seongje, the boy who had once been your closest friend.

The street was crowded with students heading home, your boyfriend walking beside you, his hand warm around yours. It should have been an ordinary afternoon, but the moment you spotted Seongje and his group ahead, the air changed. They were loud, confident, the kind of boys who drew attention without trying. As you passed, one of them nudged Seongje, whispering something that made them all laugh. Then the teasing began—directed at your boyfriend. Mocking his stride, his grip on your hand. The laughter stung, sharp and careless. You glanced at Seongje, hoping he’d stop them. But he didn’t. He just stood there, cigarette dangling between his fingers, watching with that same easy grin. He didn’t join in loudly, but he didn’t stop it either. His silence was complicity, and in that moment, you realized: he was one of them. One of the bad guys. The fighters, the teasers, the ones who thrived on trouble. It unsettled you. This wasn’t the boy you remembered racing up hills or stealing your snacks. This was someone harder, sharper, someone who had chosen a path you couldn’t understand. Your boyfriend pulled you along, muttering under his breath, his jaw tight.

Later that night, restless and unable to sleep, you slipped out for a quick walk to the convenience store. The streets were quiet, the air cool, the neon lights buzzing faintly. You grabbed a few snacks, trying to shake the unease of the day. But when you stepped outside, you froze. Seongje was there. Sitting at one of the plastic tables by the storefront, a cigarette was glowing faintly in the dark. His posture was relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the chair, smoke curling lazily around him. He looked up as the door swung shut behind you, his eyes catching yours immediately. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, heavy with everything unsaid. Then, slowly, he smiled—calm, deliberate, as if he’d been waiting for you.

“Still sneaking out for midnight snacks?” he said, voice low, teasing but not unkind. You shifted the bag in your hand. “Guess some things don’t change.” He chuckled, flicking ash into the tray. “Yeah. Some things don’t.” He took another drag, then stood abruptly. “Wait here.”

Before you could ask, he disappeared inside the store. A few minutes later, he came back with two cans of beer, cold and sweating in his hands. He slid one across the table to you, cracked his own open, and leaned back in his chair.

“Cheers,” he said simply, raising the can before taking a long sip. You hesitated, then opened yours. The first sip was sharp, bitter, but the chill of it grounded you. For a while, neither of you spoke. He smoked another cigarette, the glow flaring in the dark, and the silence stretched comfortably between you.

Eventually, the beer loosened your tongue. “It’s strange,” you admitted, staring at the can in your hands. “This isn’t where we grew up. It’s a different place. And yet… here you are. Sitting across from me again.” Seongje exhaled smoke, his eyes steady on you. “Doesn’t matter where we are. You’re still you. I’m still me.” You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’ve changed, though. You’re with them now. Teasing, fighting… I don’t get why you’d choose that.” He shrugged, taking another drag. “Sometimes you don’t choose. Sometimes the place chooses you. You learn to survive, or you get swallowed.”

The words lingered, heavy, but the beer dulled their edge. You leaned back, letting the night air wash over you. Memories started to hit—running up hills, stolen snacks, laughter that once felt endless. For a moment, you were really happy he was here again, sitting across from you like no time had passed. But then the uncertainty crept in. He wasn’t the same boy you remembered. He was sharper now, harder, carrying shadows you couldn’t name. And as the alcohol warmed your chest, you realized you didn’t know if his return was a gift… or a disruption. You looked at him, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers, and he smiled at you—calm, steady, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

---

The next day, the unease lingered. Your boyfriend walked beside you, his hand brushing yours, but his expression was tight, his jaw set. He hadn’t said much since yesterday, but you could feel the weight of his thoughts pressing between you. Finally, he spoke. “I don’t like him around you.” His voice was low, careful, but firm. “Seongje… he’s trouble. You saw it yourself. The way his friends act, the way he acts. I don’t want you caught up in that.” You glanced at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “You’re being dramatic. He’s just… Seongje. He was my friend once.” “That was years ago,” he countered quickly. “He’s not the same person anymore. He’s one of them now. I don’t know what he’s capable of, and I don’t know how to protect you if he decides to drag you into something.” You stopped walking, turning to face him. His eyes were earnest, worried, and for a moment you felt the depth of his concern. But then you laughed softly, shaking your head. “Protect me?” you teased, nudging his arm. “You don’t have to protect me from anyone. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” He frowned, clearly unconvinced. “You don’t see it the way I do. He’s dangerous. I can feel it.” You sighed, your smile lingering even as you tried to reassure him. “Maybe he’s changed, maybe he hasn’t. But I’m not afraid of him. Don’t worry so much. You’ll wear yourself out.” Your boyfriend didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, conflicted, as if torn between trusting your words and trusting his instincts. Finally, he squeezed your hand, his grip tight. “I’ll try. But I don’t want him anywhere near you.” ---

It built slowly, each touch, each tease, each moment where he pressed just close enough to confuse you. His jealousy of your boyfriend was obvious—every glance, every smirk, every word designed to remind you of what you once had. And you felt it. The pull, the fire, the way your mind tangled between past and present. You didn’t know what you wanted anymore. Safety, or danger. Comfort, or chaos. That’s when you understood: this wasn’t just complicated. It was toxic. The way he blurred the lines, the way he made you question yourself, the way he made you feel alive and unsettled all at once.

It was after school, the courtyard buzzing with students heading home. You stood with your boyfriend, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, when Seongje appeared again—leaning against the wall, cigarette dangling from his fingers, his eyes locked on you. Your boyfriend stepped forward, blocking his path. “Enough. Stop bothering her.” Seongje tilted his head, exhaling smoke slowly, deliberately. “Bothering? I’m just talking. She doesn’t seem to mind.” His eyes flicked to you, sharp and knowing. And the truth was—you hadn’t stopped him. You hadn’t pushed him away. Your boyfriend’s jaw tightened. “She doesn’t need you.” That’s when Seongje laughed, a sound that cut through the air. He leaned closer, brushing past your boyfriend, his shoulder grazing yours. The touch was light, accidental in appearance, but deliberate in intent. “You sure about that?” he murmured, his words meant only for you. “Because every time I get close, you don’t move. You don’t tell me to stop.” Your breath caught. He was right—you hadn’t.

“Stay away from her,” he said firmly. Seongje’s eyes widened, then he laughed—loud, direct, right into your boyfriend’s face. The sound was mocking, cutting, as if he found the whole situation amusing. “Stay away?” he repeated, smirking. “You think you can keep me away?” Your boyfriend bristled, his jaw tight. “I don’t care who you are. She doesn’t need you.” That’s when Seongje stepped closer, invading the space between you. His grin lingered, but his eyes were sharp, daring. “Funny. She doesn’t look like she wants me gone.” Your boyfriend shoved him back, the push sudden and hard. For a split second, everything froze. Then Seongje snapped. His grin vanished, his face hardening, eyes narrowing with a dangerous fire. He straightened, cigarette dropping to the ground, his posture shifting from casual to serious in an instant. The air around him felt heavier, charged. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice low, deadly calm. Your boyfriend squared his shoulders, ready, but you could see the fight about to break out—the tension coiling, the crowd beginning to notice. “Stop!” you shouted, stepping between them, your voice cutting through the moment. Seongje’s eyes flicked to you, and for a heartbeat, his anger faltered. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, then looked back at your boyfriend with a cold smile. “You’re lucky she’s here,” he said, his tone sharp, deliberate. “Because if she wasn’t, you’d be on the ground right now. Beaten so bad you wouldn’t get up.” The words hung heavy in the air, the threat clear, the tension suffocating. ---

It had been a few days since the courtyard fight, and the tension still lingered in the air. Your boyfriend was quieter, more protective, but tonight you weren’t with him—you were out with your girls. The music was loud, the drinks kept coming, and soon the laughter was easy, your head light with the buzz of alcohol. The bar was crowded, neon lights flashing across faces, and that’s when you saw them. Seongje and his crew sprawled across a booth like they owned the place. His laugh carried over the music, sharp and familiar, and though your group kept to themselves, you felt his presence like a weight in the room. The night went on without major interactions. He didn’t approach, didn’t tease, didn’t push. But every so often, you caught his eyes on you—steady, deliberate, like he was waiting.

The streets were quieter now, the neon glow of the bar fading behind you. Your friends had already peeled away, leaving you alone with the cool night air and the faint buzz of alcohol in your veins. That’s when you saw him. Seongje stood a little apart from the entrance, leaning against a table, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. His crew was gone, the noise of their laughter replaced by silence. He looked almost solitary, the smoke curling lazily around him, his posture loose but his eyes sharp. You hesitated, then walked toward him. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched as you closed the distance. Without asking, you reached out and plucked the cigarette from his hand. His brows lifted in surprise, then he let out a short laugh—low, genuine, the kind that carried more warmth than mockery. He leaned back against the table, arms folding across his chest, watching you with a grin tugging at his lips. You brought the cigarette to your mouth, took a drag, and immediately coughed, the smoke burning your throat. You laughed at yourself, shaking your head. “How do you even stand this?” Seongje chuckled, the sound rich in the quiet night. “Practice,” he said simply, though his tone carried amusement at your attempt. He reached out, steadying the cigarette between his fingers again, brushing against yours as he took it back. The touch was brief, but it lingered. You sat down at the table beside him, the two of you slipping into silence. He smoked another, the glow flaring in the dark, while you sipped from the beer he slid across to you without a word. The alcohol warmed your chest, the night air cooled your skin, and the quiet between you felt strangely familiar. Every so often, you caught him looking at you—steady, deliberate, as if he was memorizing the way you laughed, the way you leaned back in your chair, the way you existed in this moment. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of his gaze told you enough. You laughed again, softer this time, the buzz of alcohol loosening your guard. “Feels weird,” you admitted. “Like we’re back to something we lost.” He didn’t answer. He just smiled faintly, exhaled smoke into the night, and let the silence stretch. And in that silence, you felt it—the pull of nostalgia, the warmth of his presence, the confusion of wanting something you weren’t sure you should. For a moment, you were happy he was here again. For a moment, you let yourself forget the toxicity, the fights, the danger. But beneath it all, uncertainty lingered. You didn’t know if this was comfort or chaos. You didn’t know if you wanted to hold onto him—or run.

Seongje flicked the last of his cigarette away, his eyes steady on you. “Want another drink?” he asked, his tone casual but his gaze deliberate. “Inside. With me.” You hesitated, the weight of your boyfriend’s face flashing in your mind, but the alcohol already blurred your edges. “Fine,” you said, surprising yourself. Inside, the music was loud, bass thudding through the floor. The two of you slipped to the bar, ordering drinks. He leaned close as he spoke to the bartender, his shoulder brushing yours, his presence impossible to ignore. The night flowed effortlessly. Conversation came easy, laughter spilled out, and every time you tried to pull back, he found a way to draw you in again—an old memory, a teasing remark, a look that lingered too long. “You’re different now,” he said, leaning close enough that his words brushed your ear. “But not with me. With me, you’re still the same.” You swallowed hard, the drink burning down your throat. “You shouldn’t say things like that.” He smirked, his hand resting lightly against your waist—too close, too deliberate. “Why not? You feel it too.” The toxic pull was undeniable. You had someone waiting for you, someone steady, someone safe. But here, in the haze of music and alcohol, Seongje’s words wrapped around you, twisting your thoughts.

You laughed, half‑nervous, half‑drawn in, then grabbed his hand. “Come on,” you said, pulling him away from the bar.

The hallway was dim, the music muffled behind the closed doors, shadows stretching across the walls. You pulled Seongje by the hand, your grip firm, your pulse racing. He followed without hesitation, his steps steady, his eyes locked on you. You stopped, turning to face him. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, charged, every breath between you thick with tension. Then he stepped closer. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing lightly at first, then pulling you toward him. The warmth of his touch seeped through your clothes, grounding and unsettling all at once. Your breath caught as his forehead brushed yours, the closeness dizzying. You could smell the faint smoke clinging to him, the sharpness of alcohol on his breath, the familiarity of something you thought you’d lost. When his lips met yours, it was effortless—like gravity, like inevitability. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, but it deepened quickly, urgency rising between you. His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you closer, erasing the space until you felt consumed by him. Your mind spun. The fire of his touch, the way he held you, the way he kissed you—it all felt intoxicating, dangerous, impossible to resist. And yet, beneath the rush, confusion gnawed at you. You had someone waiting for you, someone steady, someone safe. But here, in the dark hallway, you wanted this. You wanted him. The kiss lingered, stretching into something that felt both familiar and foreign. For a moment, you were lost in it—lost in him. For a moment, you let yourself forget everything else.

The kiss broke only when breath ran short. You pulled back slightly, your forehead still resting against his, your chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. The hallway was quiet except for the muffled thud of bass from the club, but inside you everything was loud—your pulse, your thoughts, the clash of desire and guilt. Seongje’s hands lingered at your waist, not pulling you closer now, but not letting go either. His eyes searched yours, sharp yet softened by something unspoken. He didn’t laugh this time, didn’t tease. He just looked at you, as if the silence between you said more than words could. You swallowed hard, the taste of smoke and alcohol still on your lips. For a moment, you felt a rush of warmth—like you’d slipped back into something familiar, something you once missed. For a moment, you were happy he was here again. But then the weight of reality pressed in. You had someone waiting for you. Someone steady, someone safe. And here you were, tangled in the arms of the boy who had become chaos itself. You stepped back, breaking the contact, though his hand brushed yours as if reluctant to let go. “We shouldn’t…” you whispered, the words shaky, unfinished. Seongje tilted his head, his grin returning faintly, but his eyes stayed serious. He didn’t argue, didn’t push. He just exhaled, the sound heavy, and leaned back against the wall. The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid. You turned away, your steps unsteady, the hallway spinning with the haze of alcohol and the fire of what had just happened. And as you walked back toward the glow of the club lights, you realized how tangled everything had become. The kiss lingered on your lips, his touch burned into your skin, and your mind was a storm of contradictions—wanting, regretting, needing, fearing. It was toxic. You knew it. But you also knew you weren’t ready to let it go. ---

The morning after the kiss, you told yourself it was nothing. Just a mistake. Just the alcohol. You slipped into routine—classes, friends, laughter—acting like everything was normal. You never told that to your boyfriend and hoped it doesn’t get out there.

Seongje, meanwhile, was his usual self. Loud in the hallways, joking with his crew, swaggering through the school like he owned it. He teased you here and there, nothing out of the ordinary. You laughed it off, rolled your eyes, pretended it didn’t matter. But every time your eyes met his across the room, the memory of the hallway kiss flashed back. His gaze lingered just a second too long, sharp and knowing, and you felt the guilt twist deeper.

Sometimes he’d lean close in passing, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Still pretending?” he’d murmur, before walking away with that grin. You tried to ignore it. You tried to convince yourself it was fine. But the more you acted like nothing happened, the more it felt like he was waiting—for you to slip, for you to admit it, for you to come back.

That is exactly what happened a few weeks later. ---

It was late, the fluorescent lights of the corner store buzzing faintly as you wandered the aisles. You grabbed a drink, a bag of chips, and a few snacks—comfort for the night ahead. At the register, you noticed him. Seongje was sitting outside at one of the plastic tables, scrolling through his phone, cigarette tucked behind his ear. You hesitated, then added one more item to your basket—a bag of chips you knew he liked. Outside, he was sitting at one of the plastic tables, scrolling through his phone. You walked over, set your drink down, and sat across from him. Without warning, you tossed the bag of chips lightly across the table. It hit him on the head. “Did you just—” He blinked, startled, then looked up at you with wide eyes.

You just laughed.

For a moment, he was silent, then he chuckled too—low, genuine, not mocking this time. He tore open the bag, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.” ---

The music was pounding, lights flashing across the crowded floor. You moved with your friends, laughing, trying to lose yourself in the rhythm and the haze of alcohol. But then you saw him—Seongje—cutting through the crowd with that familiar swagger, his eyes finding yours instantly. It wasn’t words that passed between you. It was eye contact—sharp, deliberate, lingering. Every time you looked away, you felt his gaze still on you, pulling you back. He squeezed through the crowd, brushing past people, until he was close enough that his hand grazed your waist. Just a touch, fleeting, but enough to make your breath catch. Too close. You shouldn’t have let him. You knew it. But you didn’t move. For a heartbeat, he leaned in, his face near yours, the music drowning out everything else. His presence was overwhelming—dangerous, intoxicating. You told yourself you didn’t like it, that you didn’t want it, but the truth was harder: you did. And that was the toxic part. You weren’t innocent in this. You were letting him get close, letting the fire burn, even as guilt twisted inside you.

When the night spilled outside into the cool air, you thought it was over. But Seongje was waiting—leaning against the wall, cigarette glowing faintly, his grin sharp in the dim light. You walked slowly over to him and leaned on the wall next to him. A few minutes passed as the two of you stood in silence as everyone passed by, some going home, some going to another club.

“You’re quiet,” he said, voice low, amused. “What’s wrong? Afraid someone will see us?” You tried to brush him off, but he leaned closer, his hand brushing against yours. “Funny. You weren’t afraid the other night.” Your chest tightened, the memory rushing back, and he laughed softly, the sound rich and mocking. “See? You remember. I can tell.”

His hand found your waist again, pulling you closer, his presence overwhelming. “You can pretend all you want,” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear. “Pretend you don’t want this. Pretend you’re his. But I know better.” You swallowed hard, guilt twisting, but his words wrapped around you, heavy and intoxicating. “You’ll keep coming back,” he said finally, his tone confident, almost cruel. “Because you can’t help it. And when you do, I’ll be right here.”

You stood there, frozen, torn in two. Part of you wanted to shove him away, to break free, to run back to the safety of what you already had. But another part—the part that remembered the laugh at the store, the brush of his hand in the club, the fire of his kiss—wanted to stay. Wanted to give in again. Seongje’s eyes locked on yours, daring, unflinching. He didn’t move, didn’t press further. He just waited, as if he knew the choice wasn’t his to make—it was yours. The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid. The cigarette burned low between his fingers, the smoke curling upward, fading into the night. Before Seongjae could say anything, before he could smirk or tease, you closed the distance and pressed your lips to his. It was sudden, reckless, your decision alone. Without hesitation, he flicked the cigarette away, the ember sparking briefly before dying on the pavement. His hands came up instantly, framing your face, fingers firm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing your jaw. It wasn’t tentative, wasn’t careful. It was hard, urgent, passionate—the kind of kiss that demanded everything, that left no room for denial. His thumbs stroked your skin as his hands held you in place, keeping you from pulling away even if you wanted to. Your chest tightened, your pulse racing. The fire of his kiss burned through you, intoxicating, dangerous. You knew you shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be letting him do this, but the truth was undeniable: you wanted it. You wanted him. The kiss deepened, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. You felt consumed, undone, lost in the chaos of him. And beneath it all, guilt twisted—but it was drowned out by the rush, the thrill, the toxic pull that made you forget everything else.

Seongje didn’t need to say it out loud. He didn’t need to remind you. His silence was enough, his smirk enough, his touch enough. He knew you wanted him. He knew you’d chosen him.

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