a/n: please do not read if uncomfy! majority of this has no direct contact between mc and haechan (yet). it does have a part 2 but still a wip hehe.
Part 2
The set is dimly lit, all soft reds and blacks, the kind of lighting that makes skin glow like it’s already slick. Cameras positioned, crew quiet, air thick with the industrial sweetness of lube, latex, and the faint, metallic tang of sweat and adrenaline—though here, it’s not so much anticipation as it is tedium, everyone waiting for the next instruction, the next cut.
Haechan is perched in his director’s chair like always—legs spread, arms crossed, black hoodie up, expression is half-lidded, mouth slack, utterly unruffled. Bored as fuck.
He likes to watch the scene as a whole, not the parts: the shudder of a shoulder, the matched arch of spines, the geometry of bodies weaving a single shape. There’s no eroticism to it anymore, at least not for him. If he feels anything, it’s the dull, satisfying click of a puzzle piece snapping into place.
Hundreds of scenes, maybe a thousand, have blurred together since he started this job. He’s watched every way a person can cum, and half the ways a person can fake it. He has memorized the pitch and cadence of moans, the difference between a real orgasm and a theatrical one, and the precise window—usually less than three minutes—before a boner becomes a liability on camera
His discipline is legendary; he’s never popped wood on set, not even once, not even when he was nineteen and the girls were all older and he had something to prove. He’s immune—a fucking monk
To him, porn stopped being exciting years ago. It’s just product now. Lighting. Framing. Sellable shots.
So today is supposed to be like any other. The schedule says: opening vignette, oral, first position, second position, cumshot, credits. The contract talent are already running lines and limbering up in the green room. There’s nothing on the call sheet that reads as unusual.
But then you walk onto set.
You’re new—he knows this before you even speak.
You’re the new girl, and it’s obvious. Everything about the way you stand—towel wrapped tight enough to choke arterial flow, eyes darting, breath lost somewhere in your chest—screams “first real gig.” No fake lashes, no caked-on foundation, no stage persona yet to hide inside. Just you, raw and exposed, skin already flushing from the robe drop and the sudden attention of three different lenses, each click and whirr doubling your nerves.
The scene’s supposed to be “natural couple, first time,” but the male lead—some generic, muscle-thick dude with a jaw you could sand plywood on—has all the sexual chemistry of a dishrag.
You think his name might be Chad? Whatever. He doesn’t even pretend to care. He’s flipping through his phone right up to the second “places, everyone,” gets called, barely glancing your way except to ask if you’re “tight with overs or can you take a big zoom.” You have no idea what that means, so you just nod, and he laughs without looking up.
When the camera rolls, Chad’s hands come at you—too fast, all palm, no finesse. It’s like he’s using your clit as a joystick: sharp, dry, mechanical. The friction stings. You keep waiting for him to notice you’re not… primed. He doesn’t.
You try to smile, a tiny “I’m good, keep going” nod, but it’s not in your voice yet. You’re trying—God, you’re trying—Your hips roll, hoping to catch a better angle, your own fingers twitching at your side, desperate to take over. Gasps, soft and uncertain, slip from your lips; you keep pitching your lines higher, like maybe you can sell it if you play the wide-eyed ingenue and act surprised by touch itself, but it’s obvious it’s not hitting right.
The crew is silent, but not out of respect. You can feel the collective disappointment in the air, a staleness that grows with each awkward grin. You catch the boom guy’s reflection in the glass; he looks like he’s holding his breath, his mouth twisted in a grimace like he’s physically pained by how forced it all sounds.
The camera operator is already bored, drinking his coffee with one hand while the other steers the gimbal dutifully back and forth. The only person actually watching is the director, Haechan, who hasn’t blinked for what feels like five minutes.
You’ve heard a dozen rumors about him—strict, never smiles, hates ad-libs, will shut down a scene if the lighting is off by half a stop. But he’s never once yelled, never once embarrassed talent in front of the crew. He just sits there, hoodie up, one knee bouncing, hands clenched on his clipboard. Judging by the little twitch in his jaw and the way his pencil is slowly being crushed into splinters, this is not the performance he wanted.
Chad misses his mark again, hand slipping, and you yelp, an ugly real sound through the room like a burst of microphone feedback.
Haechan’s jaw ticks.
“Cut,” he snaps, voice sharper than usual. The crew freezes.
Every head in the room snaps up—boom guy, focus puller, even the veteran makeup artist, who’s been boredly lint-rolling pubes off the sheets for the last twenty minutes. Chad, the male talent, straightens up like a scolded puppy, dick bobbing stupidly.
Haechan rises from his seat slowly. The room suddenly feels smaller. The whole crew tries to look busy, but everyone’s watching him from the corners of their eyes.
He crosses the set in three long strides, he doesn’t bother with the fake set stairs—just swings one leg up onto the platform and steps directly into the “bedroom,” the mock-up of a midcentury hotel suite they’ll probably tear down by tomorrow.
Haechan steps right up to the mattress, looming at the edge, and for a second you think he’s going to just call it—wrap early and go home. But then he looks down at you.
You stayed at your position: sprawled on the sheets, hair a mess already, thighs parted. Your skin is sticky with the glycerin spray they use to make people look “just-fucked.” Your chest rises and falls fast.
“Move,” he tells Chad, low, no room for argument. Chad scrambles off the bed.
Haechan doesn’t sit where Chad was. He remains standing at the edge, close enough that you can smell his cologne—something expensive and dark, undercut with the faint salt of skin.
He doesn’t touch you. Not directly.
Instead he reaches for Chad’s hand. The one that was just pawing, ineptly, at your clit, dry and imprecise and barely tolerable. Haechan’s fingers close around Chad’s wrist. His grip is gentle but absolute. Chad doesn’t even try to resist.
Then, with infinite patience, he starts to move Chad’s fingers over your clit, guiding it in slow, deliberate circles. He moves it exactly the way you like it; not pressing hard, just... teasing. Perfect pressure. Lazy figure-eights that make your hips twitch involuntarily. Just shy of too gentle, slow enough to make you ache.
“Like this,” Haechan says, and his voice is all gravel and velvet, the kind of voice you can feel in your spine. Haechan’s eyes never leave yours.
You bite your lip. Hard. Trying not to whimper.
You try not to react. ‘I am a professional. I am being paid for this.’ you thought. But your body doesn’t get the memo.
Heat lances through your core, pooling there, making your thighs tense and your toes curl against the sheets. You force your breath to stay even, but it helps nothing. Haechan’s gaze is a hand all by itself, pinning you to the bed, and your body starts to betray you: nipples tightening, hips rocking up, a sound leaking out that was never in the script.
He watches all of it. His pupils are blown wide, nearly swallowing the brown of his irises.
He's still guiding Chad's fingers under his, but it might as well be his hand. The rhythm is his. The control is his. Every tiny hitch in your breath, every flutter of your lashes—he sees it. Drinks it.
Chad’s breathing gets weird and shallow, but Haechan doesn’t even acknowledge him. Chad might as well be a prop now—a toy in the director’s hand, moving exactly the way Haechan wants.
Seconds stretch. Haechan keeps Chad’s rhythm brutally consistent, never speeding up, never varying, until your entire lower body is shaking. You want to close your eyes, to escape the intensity, but you can’t look away from Haechan.
You don’t dare make a sound. You do anyway.
It’s a soft, broken whine. It feels like being split open under stage lights. You can’t remember the camera or the crew. It’s just you and him and the steady, inescapable pressure building inside your skull.
You’re trembling now. Not acting. Not really. The way Haechan’s guiding—precise, patient, almost tender in its cruelty.
Haechan’s throat bobs. Once. Hard.
He leans in just a fraction—enough that his breath ghosts over your knee.
“Better?” he murmurs. It’s quiet, like it’s meant only for you.
You nod. Barely. Eyes glassy.
There’s the tiniest smile at the corner of his mouth before he finally releases Chad’s hand. Chad stumbles a little, like he’s forgotten how to stand on his own, but Haechan has already forgotten him.
“Good girl,” he says, so soft it’s almost sweet. Then louder, to the crew: “Reset. We’re going again. And Chad—” He finally looks at the guy. “Watch. Learn.”
Haechan steps back to his chair. Sits. Crosses one leg over the other.
But under the table, out of frame, he has to adjust himself. Discreet. Jaw clenched.
He’s trying for nonchalance, but his face—so carefully neutral a minute ago—is barely holding together.
Because fuck.
He’s so hard it hurts.
And he knows—deep in his gut—that this scene isn’t going to end with just one take.
Not with you looking at him like that.
The cameras roll again. Reset. Lights adjusted just so—soft, warm, flattering. The room hums with low chatter from the crew, but Haechan’s world has narrowed to one thing: you.
He’s back in his chair, legs spread wide like always, one elbow on the armrest, chin in his hand. To anyone watching, he looks the same—cool, detached, the veteran who’s seen every angle, every fake orgasm, every scripted moan.
Except right now, his pulse is hammering in his throat.
Chad’s back between your legs, trying again. Better this time—sort of. He’s following the rhythm Haechan drilled into him earlier, but it’s still mechanical. Predictable. Your body responds anyway because you’re a professional (or trying to be), arching just enough, lips parting on soft, breathy sounds that hit Haechan like a punch.
He watches your face—the way your brows knit when the pressure builds, the flutter of your lashes when it almost tips over, the way your mouth falls open on a silent gasp before the sound actually escapes. Those little, real reactions. The ones no one else notices because they’re too busy staring at tits or ass or whatever the money shot demands.
But Haechan notices.
He notices everything.
“Camera two, tight on her face,” he calls out, voice steady even though his grip on the armrest is white-knuckled. “Capture the eyes. The lips. Make it intimate. She’s the star—sell that.”
The operator nods, zooms in. Haechan’s gaze flicks to the monitor feed beside him—your expression filling the screen in high def. Cheeks flushed, pupils dark, lips swollen from biting them. Every tiny hitch, every shiver.
Your eyes flicker to him.
Just once at first. Quick. Like you’re checking if he’s still watching.
He is.
Always.
You hold it this time. Longer. Your gaze locks with his across the dimly lit set—through the haze of lights and lenses and bodies moving around. It’s not acting. Not really. There’s heat in it. Question. Challenge. Need.
Haechan doesn’t blink.
His jaw flexes. He shifts in the chair—subtle, but fuck, the friction against his straining cock makes his vision white out for a second. He forces himself still. Professional. In control.
“Slow it down,” he directs, quieter now, almost to himself. “Chad—tease. Don’t rush. Let her build.”
Chad obeys. Your hips roll up instinctively, chasing the touch. A soft whimper slips out—real, broken—and Haechan’s breath catches audibly. He covers it with a cough, but his free hand drops to his thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Anything to stop himself from palming over his jeans right here, right now, in front of the whole crew.
Your eyes find him again. This time they stay. Glassy. Pleading. Like you’re performing for him. Not the camera. Not the future viewers. Him.
He swallows thickly. Leans forward just a fraction.
“Camera one—lower angle on her thighs,” he says, voice rougher. “Show the tremble. The way she’s shaking for it.”
The shot changes. Your legs part a little more, muscles quivering under soft skin. Another sound escapes you—higher, needier—and Haechan’s control frays another inch.
He’s never been this hard on set. Never this invested. Never this fucking gone.
You arch again, head tipping back, but your eyes snap right back to his like a magnet. Your lips part around a silent word that hits him like a physical blow—his name, unmistakable even from here, the shape of those syllables burning into his retinas.
He exhales through his nose. Slow. Controlled.
“Good,” he murmurs, low enough that only he himself can hear it. “Just like that. Keep looking at me.”
He draws in a slow breath, like he’s trying to breathe around something lodged in his ribs.
And he knows—deep in his gut, where logic has already left the building—that this isn’t just a scene anymore.
This isn’t normal.
He’s directed hundreds of girls. Thousands of takes.
But this is different.
You’re not performing at the camera.
You’re looking at him.
And the worst part—the part that makes something tighten low in his stomach—is that he doesn’t want you to stop.
That’s the problem.
---
The break is short—five minutes, tops. Just enough time for the crew to stretch, grab water, reset lights that don’t actually need resetting. Haechan uses it to pull you aside, away from the main set, into the little curtained-off “green room” corner that’s really just a folding chair and a folding table with bottled water and a half-eaten box of donuts.
He leans against the wall, arms crossed, hoodie a bit low over his eyes like he’s trying to hide how intently he’s looking at you. Professional. Always professional.
“Hey,” he starts, voice low so no one else hears. “You’re doing good out there. Really good. But listen—I know this industry chews people up if they push too hard. Especially the first few shoots.”
You nod, heart already doing that stupid flutter thing because he’s actually talking to you like a person, not just talent.
He drags one hand across his jaw, the shadow of stubble catching on his palm. “Look—I know it’s your first real set. This place, the lights, being so exposed. It’s a lot. The crew’s always more intense than you expect. They can be…” He shrugs, searching for the word, “overstimulating. Even when they don’t mean to.” He looks up, and for a split second, you could swear you see his mouth tighten, like he’s angry on your behalf.
You nod, because he’s right—it is a lot. Your body is still humming, not from what Chad did, but from the before and the after, from the fact that you can still feel Haechan’s eyes on you from across the room, even now.
He licks his lips, eyes flicking to your face, then quickly away. “I know the expectation is—” He gestures, vague, like he can’t be bothered to say the words ‘orgasm’ or ‘squirting’ out loud.
“You don’t have to cum for real every take,” he continues, eyes flicking over your face like he’s reading a script he’s memorized. “Fake it. Sell the build-up, the tremble, the little gasps—most viewers can’t tell the difference anyway. And honestly? Forcing it every time strains your pelvis like hell. I’ve seen girls limping off set after a long day. Don’t do that to yourself.”
Your breath catches. He’s… thoughtful? Actually concerned? You’ve heard horror stories about directors who don’t give a fuck, who just yell “harder” until someone cries. But here he is, warning you about your own body like he cares if you walk out of here okay.
He must say this to every new actress, right? Standard protocol. Still, the way he’s looking at you—soft around the edges, almost gentle—makes your stomach flip.
“And if anything hurts,” he adds, quieter now, “even a little. You tell me. We stop. No questions. Got it?”
You swallow. Nod again. “Got it.”
He gives you the tiniest smile—just a twitch at the corner of his mouth—then pushes off the wall. “Good. Take two in a bit. Drink some water.”
He walks away first, leaving you standing there with your pulse in your throat and a sudden, embarrassing rush of warmth between your legs.
Because fuck.
He noticed. He cared. And now all you can think about is his voice saying “tell me” and “stop” like he’d actually listen, like he’d protect you mid-scene if you needed it.
By the time they call action again, you’re already slick. Not from Chad’s earlier fumbling. Nope. It was from Haechan’s five-minute pep talk. From the way his eyes lingered when he said “good.” From imagining what it would feel like if those careful, controlled hands were the ones touching you instead.
Chad slides back between your thighs, condom on, positioning himself. You spread a little wider, trying to look natural for the three cameras positioned around the bed.
He pushes in slow—standard porn entry shot, nothing special.
But your brain short-circuits.
You picture Haechan instead.
The way he’d hold your hips steady. The way he’d watch your face the whole time, cataloging every twitch like he did earlier. The low, wrecked murmur of “just like that” right against your ear. The way he’d probably tease you first—slow rolls, shallow thrusts—until you were begging without words.
Chad moves. Steady. Mechanical. Like a metronome with abs.
You close your eyes for a second. Imagine it’s Haechan’s weight pressing you down. Haechan’s breath on your neck. Haechan’s cock stretching you, filling you, owning every gasp.
Your body reacts before your mind can catch up.
The coil tightens fast—too fast. Heat rushes low, thighs trembling for real this time. Your nails dig into the sheets. A broken whimper slips out, unscripted. Your thighs lock around Chad's waist so hard he grunts in surprise.
Chad keeps going, oblivious.
But across the set, Haechan freezes.
He’s watching the monitor, jaw slack for half a second before he recovers. Your eyes find his through the haze—glassy, desperate—and you don’t look away.
You come.
Hard.
For real.
Waves crashing through you, back arching off the bed, a choked sob of his name almost escaping before you bite it back.
Your walls flutter and clench around Chad (poor Chad), but behind your eyelids it's Haechan you’re seeing. It's Haechan destroying you, it’s Haechan you’re coming for.
The cameras keep rolling.
Haechan’s hand shoots up—silent signal to keep shooting—but his other fist is clenched so tight on the armrest the knuckles are bone-white. His breathing is shallow. Visible. He’s staring like he’s forgotten how to blink.
“Cut,” he finally rasps, voice wrecked. Too late. The take’s already gold.
The crew starts clapping—thinking it’s great acting.
You’re still trembling, aftershocks rolling through you, thighs slick, heart hammering.
Haechan doesn’t clap.
He just watches you.
And when your eyes meet again—post-orgasm haze and all—there’s no pretending anymore.
He knows.
You know he knows.
And the look on his face says this shoot just changed everything.
---
The set lights dim one by one, the crew packing up with the usual post-shoot chatter—someone laughing about how the take was “money,” another clapping you on the shoulder with a genuine “First gig and you killed it, girl. Natural. We’re booking you again for sure.” Chad gives you a fist bump and a wink that feels oddly hollow now. You smile, thank them, heart still racing from the aftershocks, thighs sticky under the robe you’ve hastily tied.
You glance toward Haechan’s chair.
It’s empty.
He’s already gone.
No goodbye, no “good work,” no lingering look like before. Just… vanished. The director who’d been staring holes through you for hours suddenly can’t even meet your eyes on the way out.
The disappointment hits sharper than it should. You tell yourself it’s nothing—he’s busy, he’s a pro, he probably does this every shoot. But the ache between your legs pulses in protest, like your body knows better.
Meanwhile, across the city, Haechan barely makes it through his apartment door.
Keys clatter on the floor. He doesn’t bother with lights. The hallway is dark, just the faint blue glow from the streetlamp outside bleeding through the blinds. He kicks the door shut behind him, back slamming against it for a second as he drags in a ragged breath.
His cock is still painfully hard—has been since that last take, since your real, broken orgasm rolled through you while staring straight at him. The memory is burned behind his eyelids: your lashes fluttering, lips parted on that choked little sound, the way your hips jerked like you couldn’t help it, like it was *him* making you come apart.
“Fuck,” he hisses, already fumbling with his belt.
He doesn’t even get the jeans all the way down.
They catch at mid-thigh, boxers shoved just low enough to free himself. His hand wraps around his length—hot, leaking, so sensitive the first stroke makes his knees buckle. He slides down the door until he’s sitting on the cold floor, legs splayed, head tipped back against the wood.
He doesn’t tease himself. No slow buildup. He’s too far gone for that.
He starts fast. Rough. Fist tight, twisting at the head on every upstroke, thumb smearing the pre-cum that’s been leaking since the second you locked eyes during that final thrust.
His mind replays it in filthy, high-definition detail.
Your face on the monitor—close-up, just like he’d ordered. Brows pinched, mouth slack, eyes glassy and fixed on him like the cameras didn’t exist. The way your tits rose and fell with every shallow pant. The tremble in your thighs when Chad pushed in deeper. The exact second your walls must have clenched—because your whole body arched, spine bowing off the sheets, a soft, wrecked whimper spilling out that wasn’t scripted, wasn’t fake.
He groans low in his throat, hips jerking up into his hand.
“Fuck—look at you,” he mutters to the empty hallway, voice hoarse. “Coming so pretty for me… weren’t you?”
He imagines it’s him between your legs instead.
Not Chad’s clumsy rhythm. His.
He pictures pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. Slow at first—teasing, shallow rolls just to watch your frustration build, to hear you whine his name. Then deeper. Harder. Bottoming out every time until your nails dig into his back, until you’re shaking, begging, “Haechan—please—don’t stop—”
His strokes speed up. Sloppy now. The wet sound of his fist echoing in the quiet apartment.
He replays your eyes—those little glances you kept throwing him between takes, like you were performing just for him. The way they went wide and hazy right before you tipped over the edge. The way your lips formed that silent, desperate shape—his name? A plea? He doesn’t know, but he pretends it was both.
“Wanted it to be me, didn’t you?” he growls, hips snapping up harder. “Wanted my cock stretching you open… fucking you until you couldn’t breathe… until you came all over me like that again—”
His free hand fists in his hoodie, yanking it up so he can see himself—thick, flushed, veins standing out, slick shining on every downstroke. He imagines it’s your wetness instead. Your heat. Your tight, fluttering walls gripping him so good he can barely think.
He pictures flipping you over, face down, ass up—grabbing your hips and slamming back in while you muffle your cries into the sheets. Or maybe on your back, legs over his shoulders so he can watch every inch disappear inside you, watch your face crumple every time he hits that spot that makes you sob his name.
His balls draw up tight. Heat coils low and vicious.
“Fuck—gonna fill you up,” he pants, voice cracking. “Gonna come so deep you’ll feel me for days… gonna make you come again just watching me lose it inside you—”
The first pulse hits like a shockwave.
He chokes on a moan, head slamming back against the door as he spills over his fist—hot, thick ropes streaking across his stomach, dripping down his knuckles. His hips jerk through it, riding the waves, imagining it’s your cunt milking him dry instead.
He keeps stroking through the oversensitivity until it hurts, until every last drop is wrung out, until he’s trembling and gasping against the wood.
When it’s over, he slumps there on the floor—jeans still tangled around his thighs, hoodie rucked up, cum cooling on his skin—and lets out a long, wrecked laugh.
Because he’s fucked.
Completely, irreversibly fucked.
He just came harder than he had in years… to the memory of a girl he’s directed for one single day.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow there’s another shoot.
With you.
He drags a hand down his face, still breathing hard.
“Shit,” he mutters.
He’s already half-hard again just thinking about it.
MDNI !! hey peeps!! just so you know, i will be making another list of shorter fics ( under 1k ) and a haechan smau masterlist!! lmk if youre interested, will also keep on adding to this list btw!!
red velvet hearts. - @ choerrypuffs - 7.7k
lights out , lights out pt2 - @ hhaechansmoless - 17.8k + 15.8k
if i lose my mind, if i lose my mind 2 - @ slightlymore - 14.5k + 11k
caramel haechan masterlist - @ mejaemin
love virus , love virus 2 - @ twilightau - 7.6k + 5.6k
love jones , love jones 2 - @ lisired - 12.4k + 13.1k
would you film my s*x tape? - @ sweetiechenle
the boy is mine - @ domjaehyun - 101k ( 6 parts )
indica dreams - @ hazyhae - 11.7k
what the puck! - @ choerrypuffs - 11.6k
romancing - @ jenoloqy - 23.7k
risking it all , risking it all pt2 - @ kiszjuli -15.3k + 7.4k
settle down , settle down pt2 , settle down pt3 - @ hyuckmov - 22k + 18k + 11k
two rules one problem - @ liliansun - 14.8k
eight letters - @ strwbbit - 11.8k
not a big deal - @ haeiheart - 3.8k
wanna bet? - @ ilovedinodino - 15.9k
birthday mayhem - @ nebularsung - 7.5k
under the influence - @ domjaehyun - 11.6k
tease - @ hyuckiefluff - 5.8k
call d - @ neocitylights - 12k
m.i.l.f (make it last forever) - @ ncteez - 18.9k
learning languages - @ tonicandjins - 18.5k
fast times - @ choerrypuffs - 7.6k
can we love - @ heartseungs-archive - 2.5k
carpe diem - @ kiachiako - 5.1k
lucky strike - @ heartseungs-archive - 2.3k
tan lines and hushed nights - @ ch3rryd0ll - 6k
dance to this - @ heartseungs-archive - 3.8k
sugar, butter, & the royal crown - @ haechwrites - 17.1k
pairing: gryffindor!mark lee x slytherin!fem reader (ft haechan)
genre: angst, fluff, smut (in 2nd part)
wc: 29k+
summary: the first time you met mark lee, you flipped his world upside down— literally. seven years later and after countless attempts to avoid you, you're still driving him insane. except now, it’s for an entirely different reason.
content warnings: mild possessiveness/jealousy, minor confrontation/injuries, non-consensual drugging (love potion), mark is mean at first and terribly bad at feelings, miscommunication, unrequited feelings. explicit sexual content, cursing, loss of virginity, semipublic sexual activity, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex.
a/n: proofreading this after meeting mark lee irl had me feeling crazy... bro is actually majestic and i miss him BAD. anyway... this one is special to me because i’ve been wanting to write a hogwarts au since forever and i absolutely love how it came out. this is also slightly inspired by the movie/book “flipped” so it has a ‘she fell first, but he fell harder’ vibe that i’m kinda obsessed with. i tried to do something different and write the events from both perspectives, i hope it’s clear enough so that you can tell when it’s him and when it’s her. feedback is always appreciated!
ps: i had to split this into two parts bc apparently i reached the max word count, so all the smut cws apply to the 2nd part . thank you so much for reading!
The first time Mark Lee met you, you flipped his world upside down.
And not in a good way. In the most literal and humiliating way possible.
It happened on the Hogwarts Express, during your very first year. Mark had been desperately searching for an empty cabin but since he was dragging a suitcase stuffed to the brim by his overly concerned mother, he was at a severe disadvantage. Someone else had already claimed the spot every time he reached a door.
By the time he made it to the last cabin, he was already panting. But at last, he found one that was partially empty.
You sat cross-legged on the seat, nose buried in The Quibbler. Mark found that a little odd, his father always said The Quibbler was full of nonsense, a rag for conspiracy theorists rather than real journalism. But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was the fact that both of his arms were shaking from the weight of his bag.
He cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I sit here?”
You looked up, and your messy bangs fell into your wide, starry eyes. For a second, Mark swore they got even bigger at the sight of him.
“Not at all!” you chirped, your voice high and excited.
Mark forced a polite smile and stepped inside, shuffling toward the overhead compartment. He glanced up at where your bag was already neatly placed and swallowed hard. How the hell was he supposed to get his own up there? He wasn’t weak by any means, but after dragging it through the entire train, his arms were screaming in protest.
You seemed to notice his struggle because you set The Quibbler down and pulled out your wand. “Need help?”
Mark was about to shake his head when suddenly, his feet left the ground.
“What—HEY! PUT ME DOWN!”
Mark flailed helplessly as his entire body flipped upside down, his robes falling over his head. Panic surged through him as he felt his pants begin to slip.
“Oh my! I’m so sorry! I thought this was the right spell!” you gasped, flicking your wand again, this time more frantically.
Mark tried to grip at something, anything, but all he managed to do was thrash at the air while more of his clothes tried to slip away from his body.
“I—I don’t know the counterspell!” you admitted in a panic.
At the commotion, students from other cabins poked their heads in. A chorus of laughter erupted at the sight of Mark dangling upside down, arms desperately trying to keep his robes and pants in place.
A tall, older student finally pushed his way inside. He took one look at Mark and sighed as if this were nothing new. “Seriously? Don’t you first-years ever learn?”
“I—I was just trying to help him levitate his bag…”
The older student pinched the bridge of his nose. “Finite.”
Mark hit the seat with an unceremonious thud.
“If you lot keep casting spells on the train, I’ll start deducting points from your houses as soon as you’re sorted,” the boy warned before turning on his heel and waving off the lingering audience.
You hesitated, staring at Mark with wide, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry…” you whispered, your voice wavering just a little.
But Mark wasn’t listening. He was too busy seeing red from both rage and humiliation. Without a word, he grabbed his bag and stormed out.
That was the day Mark Lee met you.
And the day he swore he’d never speak to you again.
The first time you met Mark Lee, you flipped.
Not literally but in the way your heart did a little somersault the moment he stepped into your cabin.
You had been engrossed in The Quibbler, completely enchanted by every bizarre detail about the magical world. Since you grew up with two Muggle parents, receiving your Hogwarts letter was like stepping into a dream where the impossible suddenly was real. You couldn’t get enough of it.
Your cabin door suddenly slid open and a boy stood there, panting slightly, his face flushed red from exertion as he struggled to drag an absurdly large trunk behind him.
You felt your face heat up. You’d never been around many boys growing up, having attended an all-girls school, but there was something about him that struck you immediately. Maybe it was the way his glasses were slipping down his pretty nose, or the way he offered a shy, slightly strained smile as he stepped inside. He was adorable.
And he was struggling.
You watched as he attempted to haul his trunk toward the overhead rack, his arms visibly trembling under its weight. Something in you immediately wanted to help.
The problem was… you had no idea what you were doing.
You’d only ever performed magic by accident, usually when you got too emotional. Your mom still loved to tell the story about how the lights in the house flickered every time you cried as a baby. Or the time Madeline Perkins made fun of your pigtails, and the swings mysteriously sent her flying off the playground.
But you’d only just gotten your wand the day before at Ollivanders. You hadn’t practiced a single spell yet, but you had been reading your textbooks. Wingardium Leviosa was the most basic charm in your book.
How hard could it be?
Apparently, hard enough that you somehow missed the part where it said that even though the spell was only for objects, if it was aimed at a person, it would also make their clothes float.
Which was how you now found yourself staring up at the cute boy you’d just met, his body suspended in midair, robes billowing wildly, eyes wide with pure horror.
Talk about a terrible first impression.
From that moment on, Mark Lee avoided you like the plague.
It didn’t help that you were sorted into different houses—him in Gryffindor, you in Slytherin. You quickly learned that those two houses were basically sworn enemies, which made it even easier for him to pretend you didn’t exist.
Despite his rocky start on the train, Mark had no trouble making friends in Gryffindor. He was well-liked, effortlessly charming, and even if he wasn’t the loudest in the room, he always carried a quiet sort of confidence. You, on the other hand, kept to yourself. Spending most of your free time watching him from across the Great Hall, your crush on him growing by the day.
You didn’t know why you liked him so much, he hadn’t done anything grand or impressive to win your admiration. If anything, he actively tried to avoid you.
You tried approaching him a few times during your first year, hoping to properly apologize and smooth things over. But each time, he found a way to dodge you, claiming he was late for class, too busy with homework, or suddenly needed to be anywhere else but next to you.
So by second year, you changed your approach.
If Mark Lee wouldn’t pay attention to you as a friend, you’d make him notice you as a rival.
Mark had been one of the best students in your first year, so you became an absolute academic weapon in your second. You were determined to match him in every class, if not surpass him.
“Excellent work, Miss Y/N,” Professor McGonagall praised, a rare note of surprise in her voice as she examined the intricate tea jar you had just transfigured from a blue jay.
You glanced over your shoulder at Mark. He was sitting a few rows back, his brows furrowed as he stared at your jar with a barely concealed frown. His own transfiguration was… less successful. The lizard he’d tried to turn into a pen still had a suspiciously scaly texture.
But it wasn’t just Transfiguration where you shined.
You also excelled in Potions, something that became very clear when Professor Snape assigned your class, which you shared with the Gryffindors, the difficult task of brewing Draught of Living Death, a highly advanced sleeping potion that could render someone unconscious with just a single drop.
One of the Gryffindors groaned in frustration. “Sir, this is way too advanced—”
“If it’s too difficult for your little Gryffindor hands,” Snape sneered, cutting him off, “perhaps you should take notes on how some of the Slytherins are managing. Particularly Miss Y/N.”
Your ears burned at the attention as several students shuffled closer to your workstation, peeking at your bubbling cauldron. The only ones who didn’t approach were the Gryffindors at Mark’s table.
You noticed that his potion was violently spewing green gas bubbles, and he looked deeply frustrated, brows knitted together as he stirred with precision.
Letting your own potion simmer for a moment, you stood up and made your way over to his table. The chatter among his friends died down as you approached. Zhong Chenle, the boy sitting next to him, smacked his arm lightly to get his attention.
Mark finally looked up, his glasses fogged from the potion fumes, and the front of his hair sticking up in all directions.
You stifled a laugh.
“Need help?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.
Mark blinked at you, and for the first time since the train, you finally had his full attention.
“No, thanks. I got it.”
The words had barely left Mark’s mouth when his potion let out another violent blorp, spewing a sickly green bubble into the air. It popped immediately, releasing a smell so putrid it made your stomach churn.
“Dude, that smells like a troll’s ass,” Chenle cackled, covering his nose.
Jaemin, who was sitting across from Mark, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, mate. She’s the best in the class.” He shot you a grin. “Let her help.”
Mark resisted the urge to groan. He knew they were right, but the last thing he wanted was for you to be the one correcting him. It was bad enough that you had been outshining him in every subject lately, now you were swooping in to save him too?
But before he could protest again, you stepped closer to his cauldron making his entire body tense.
“What did you add to make it green like this?” you asked, peering into the potion. Your voice was calm, inquisitive like you weren’t there to gloat but to actually help.
Mark clenched his jaw, eyes fixed stubbornly on the cauldron. “I did exactly as the instructions said.”
Jaemin let out a small snort, clearly unconvinced.
“Hm,” you hummed, examining the bubbling liquid. “You must’ve added more than three drops of Valerian root extract.”
Mark frowned. Valerian root extract? He thought back to when he had been adding the ingredients, trying to get ahead of everyone. Had he miscounted? Maybe. Probably.
You reached for a small vial of powdered sopophorous bean and sprinkled just a pinch into the potion. “This should balance it out and bring it back to its original black color,” you explained, gently stirring the mixture.
Mark watched in reluctant amazement as the once-toxic green sludge darkened before his eyes, settling into the inky black shade it was supposed to be.
He barely stopped his brows from rising in surprise. You had fixed it. Just like that.
Mark swallowed down the frustrated lump in his throat. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of knowing you had one-upped him again.
“That was impressive, Y/N,” Jaemin said, clapping his hands.
“Thanks,” you said, smiling shyly. “The instructions in this book are a bit ambiguous, so I suggest adding less than what the recipe says at first, watching how the colors change, and then adjusting accordingly.”
Mark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his stirring rod. He hated to admit it, but that was actually… good advice.
Still, he kept his eyes on his potion, refusing to look at you or thank you for helping.
"You should start sitting with us, Y/N," Chenle said, grinning like a cat as he threw an arm around Mark. "So you can help our boy here, who’s clearly lost."
Mark didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up at the invitation. And that was exactly why he needed to shut this down immediately.
He knew about your little crush on him, everyone did. You weren’t exactly subtle about it. You always looked at him with those heart eyes across the Great Hall, his friends teased him about it constantly. You also cheered the loudest for him at every Quidditch match, even when he was playing against Slytherin. Even when your house lost. He’d seen the way your own housemates sneered at you for it, the way they mocked your infatuation, but you never seemed to care.
The other thing about you was that you were so unapologetically Muggle-born.
Not that Mark cared about blood status. He wasn't that kind of wizard, despite coming from a long line of pure-bloods. But you made it so difficult for yourself. You didn’t even try to blend in among your Slytherin peers. You didn’t mind their teasing, didn’t care that you had practically no friends in your own house.
It was frustrating, the way you took every jab with a smile, like none of it ever got to you. But what frustrated him even more was that whenever he said anything, whenever he so much as muttered something slightly harsh, your whole face fell.
And for some stupid reason, that bothered him more than it should.
“Sorry, this table is already full,” Mark said, once again avoiding your gaze. He imagined the way your smile faltered.
“What are you talking about? There’s plenty of—”
Mark elbowed Chenle sharply in the stomach.
“Like I said, the table’s full.”
“Oh… okay,” you murmured, your head dipping slightly. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”
Mark didn’t watch you walk away, but he could feel the disappointment in your steps.
“Dude, you’re so mean to her,” Jaemin muttered, his eyes still on your retreating figure. “She clearly likes you.”
“Whatever,” Mark huffed, waving him off. “Let’s focus on something else.” He ignored the knowing smirk Jaemin shot him and tried—failed—to ignore the creeping warmth rising up his neck.
In your third year, you found a passion for Herbology.
Mark should’ve been relieved. After all, the more time you spent in the greenhouse, the less time you spent trying to talk to him. And at first, it was great. He barely had to think about you at all.
But then… it became his problem.
Because one day, he started noticing small bowls of water left in his usual spots—on the Gryffindor table, outside the Quidditch locker room, even near the Gryffindor common room entrance. At first, he ignored them. Maybe some first-years were testing a spell. Maybe it was a coincidence.
Then, he saw the petals floating in the water shift and transform into delicate, shimmering fish as soon as he grabbed the bowl.
And Mark hated to admit it… but it intrigued him. The magic was advanced, something most students their age wouldn’t even attempt. He even caught himself watching the tiny enchanted fish, mesmerized by the way their colors glowed under the candlelight.
That was his mistake, because his friends noticed.
“You’re actually accepting her gifts now,” Chenle teased, crossing his arms as Mark peeled off his muddy Quidditch uniform.
“We don’t even know if it’s hers,” Mark argued, tossing his gloves onto the bench.
Jaemin snorted. “Do you really think anyone else in our year knows how to do that kind of magic?”
“Yeah, she’s the only one crazy enough about you to put in that much effort,” Chenle added with a smirk.
Mark rolled his eyes. “There are other girls who like me, you know.”
Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Are there? ’Cause I feel like Y/N’s already scared them all off.”
Chenle laughed. “Honestly, just give her a chance. She’s pretty, and let’s be real, she’d probably do anything for you.”
Mark sighed, rubbing a towel over his damp hair.
They didn’t get it. He’d spent years running from you, dodging your attempts, shutting down any rumors before they could spread. He couldn’t just give in now.
Maybe it didn’t make sense to anyone else.
But it did to him.
So he kept doing what made the most sense to him, and one day, you found yourself walking into the greenhouse when your eyes immediately spotted the familiar bowls scattered across the table. Your heart clenched at the sight, but you refused to believe Mark would just discard your gifts like that.
But as you approached, you noticed something that made your stomach twist painfully. The fish, once so vibrant and lively, now lay still in the water. They barely moved. They didn't swim with the same energy, the same color that had once made them sparkle. They just stayed there, like lifeless figures floating in stagnant water. And, as ridiculous as it sounded, you could almost swear they looked sad.
It hit you like a physical blow. Mark really didn’t want anything to do with you.
The realization didn’t come alone, though. You’d noticed it over the last few months, but you’d been too stubborn to admit it to yourself. Mark had been spending more time with a girl from Ravenclaw. You didn’t even know her name, but the way they talked and laughed together, the way he’d smile at her with that soft look you’d always hoped to get... It was all the confirmation you needed. Mark Lee wasn’t just avoiding you… he was interested in someone else.
You stood there in the greenhouse, staring at the fish, a sinking feeling settling deep in your chest. He didn’t care about you the way you’d always hoped.
In your fourth year, you decided it was time to focus on yourself. To put Mark away and finally let go of your feelings for him.
You’d been practicing something called Occlumency. Professor Snape had given you a book on it and told you it would help you shield away any distractions when you started falling behind in class due to your little infatuation with a certain seeker.
“This is very advanced magic,” Snape had said, handing you the book with a knowing look, “and it takes months, sometimes years, of practice to master it.”
And practice you did. Every day, you worked at it, pushing your emotions into a mental drawer and locking it away. It was hard at first. Your thoughts kept wandering back to Mark, but slowly, you began to make progress. You learned to control your thoughts, to put each memory, each feeling about him into that mental drawer, one by one, and shove it far back in your mind.
The more you practiced, the easier it became. It wasn’t perfect, but over the course of the year, you started to feel a strange sense of indifference towards Mark Lee.
At least until The Yule Ball was announced in the middle of the term. Even with all your hard work on Occlumency, you couldn’t stop the twinge of longing that crept in. You knew Mark would be going with Mia, the Ravenclaw girl whose name you had learned through the whispers of the school. It wasn’t like you had any right to feel disappointed, but the nagging thought of asking him yourself refused to leave your mind.
You had planned to skip the celebration altogether. The last thing you wanted was to sit alone while Mark and Mia danced, all dressed up and happy.
But that changed one afternoon in the library when you were buried in research on Venomous Tentacula for a Herbology project
The library was the one place where you could lose yourself without interruption, so you were caught off guard when you heard footsteps approaching and a voice calling your name.
“Hey, Y/N, right?”
You turned, surprised to see Lee Haechan standing there. He was easily one of the most popular guys in Slytherin, the kind of person who always had a group of friends around him, cracking jokes and showing off on the Quidditch pitch. He wasn’t one to hang around in the library by himself during a free period. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken to him—if you ever had.
“Yeah,” you answered, your voice more guarded than usual.
You were used to your fellow Slytherins teasing you for the smallest things, such as your Muggle clothes or the way you searched for books manually instead of having Madam Pince summon them for you.
“You probably don’t remember, but last year, you helped me during the Potions final,” he said, his tone surprisingly shy. It was a sharp contrast to the cocky confidence he usually carried.
You thought back, remembering how badly he had struggled to keep his assigned potion from bubbling over and spilling across the table. You had only helped him because if his potion had spilled into yours, it would’ve ruined your work. But you didn’t tell him that.
“I remember,” you said, reaching for a book on a higher shelf.
Before you could grab it, he stepped closer, plucking it from the shelf with ease.
“Thanks,” you muttered, slightly suspicious of the unexpected kindness.
Then he said something that completely threw you off balance. “Listen, I heard you don’t have a date for the Yule Ball.”
You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your fingers tightened slightly around the book. Lee Haechan, of all people, was bringing up the Yule Ball? He was one of the most sought-after guys in Slytherin, and yet here he was, talking to you about the biggest event of the year.
“I’m not really planning on going,” you said, brushing off the conversation as you moved toward a nearby table.
And, of course, he followed.
“Really? Why not?” he asked, dropping into the seat across from you.
You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t leave you alone until you answered. “For starters, I don’t dance.” You flipped open your book, eyes scanning the pages in an attempt to distract yourself.
Haechan leaned forward slightly. “Ah, that’s an easy fix. I can teach you.”
You glanced up, raising a brow. “Where is all this coming from, Haechan?”
His smile widened when you said his name “I thought it was obvious,” he said. “I want you to go to the dance with me.”
You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, for the moment he’d burst into laughter and reveal it was all some elaborate joke. But he didn’t laugh. He just watched you, his smile still in place.
“Me?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.
He nodded. “You have pretty eyes, by the way.” His voice was casual as if he were just commenting on the weather. You nearly choked on your own breath, covering it up with an exaggerated cough.
“Did anyone ever tell you that?” he continued, watching your reaction with obvious amusement.
You willed yourself to stay composed, but your heart was racing. What was he playing at?
“Why would you want to go with me?” you asked. “It can’t just be because I helped you once on a test.”
“Why not?” He rested his chin in his hand. “Maybe I’m extremely grateful and want to repay you.”
Your heart beat faster than you wanted it to, and you couldn’t tell if he was just messing with you or if he actually meant it. Haechan had a teasing air about him that made it impossible to tell. Was this a bet with his friends? Or did he just enjoy seeing you flustered?
You hesitated, trying to find the right words, but before you could say anything, he stood abruptly.
“Sleep on it if you want,” he said with a grin. “You can tell me after the Quidditch game on Saturday.”
“Oh, but I wasn’t planning on—”
“I’ll see you there, Y/N,” Haechan said, cutting you off with a wave. Before you could protest, he walked away, leaving you in stunned silence.
The next few days were strange. Haechan was clearly hovering around you. He wasn’t making it obvious, but you were observant enough to notice that he wasn’t skipping some of your shared classes anymore. He had also started spending time in the library even though you’d rarely seen him there before. He didn’t approach you, but you felt his eyes on you every time.
You also realized he was checking out books right after you did. It was oddly amusing, so you decided to mess with him one day.
You had spent enough time in the library to know how to take books from the Restricted Section without alerting Madam Pince. You pretended to read over one, placed it on a different shelf, and waited. A few minutes later, you spotted Haechan heading straight for that section.
Silence filled the air, then a bloodcurdling scream rang through the library. The sound of a book hitting the floor echoed through the rows of shelves. Moments later, Haechan rushed out, his wide eyes locking onto you as you hunched over, struggling to hold in your laughter.
“I’m guessing that was your doing,” he said, dropping into the seat beside you.
You shook your head, still grinning. “That’s just a security mechanism all the books from the Restricted Section have.”
His brows lifted, amusement flickering in his gaze. “How did you even get a book out of there without a professor’s note?”
You shrugged. “I have my ways.”
He tilted his head slightly, watching you with something that made you suddenly self-conscious. “You keep surprising me, Y/N.”
Across the library, Mark sat at a table with Mia, his Potions textbook open in front of him but he wasn't reading anymore and his quill was static in the air. His gaze was locked on you and Haechan, watching the way you leaned in, the way your laughter softened the space between you. Mia followed his stare, then let out a quiet hum.
“What an odd picture, huh?”
Mark blinked, tearing his eyes away. “What?”
Mia tilted her head, her quill twirling between her fingers. “They’re from the same house, sure, but Haechan is one of the most popular guys in school.” She glanced over at you, then back at Mark, a slow smile tugging at her lips. “And she… isn’t she kind of an outcast? Even in her own house?”
Mark tried to keep his tone neutral and disinterested “So?”
Mia let out a soft laugh, dipping her quill in ink. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s probably just bored. Using her for his own amusement.”
Mark glanced back at your table. Haechan was leaning in, grinning as he spoke to you. You looked up at him with something close to exasperation, but there was a smile playing on your lips. It was weird. You didn’t smile like that often.
He ignored the way something twisted in his chest. “You don’t know that,” he muttered, forcing his eyes back to his parchment.
Mia hummed, unconvinced. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
The next morning, you woke up earlier than usual for a Saturday with a quiet sense of dread settling over you. Instead of heading to the greenhouse like you normally would, you made your way to the Quidditch pitch, the crisp morning air biting at your skin. You had layered up so much that your scarf nearly swallowed half your face, but even with the extra warmth, you wished you were still curled up in bed.
When you reached the stands, the realization hit you like a punch to your face—today’s match was against Gryffindor.
You should’ve known, but school events had barely been on your radar between your Occlumency lessons and your herbology studies.
You climbed up to the Slytherin side of the stands, slipping into a seat in the back row. It wasn’t crowded yet, and you hoped to stay unnoticed, keeping your head low. The last thing you wanted was to catch the attention of a certain seeker. Or two. Not that Mark would be looking your way anyway.
The distant whoosh of broomsticks cut through the morning stillness, and then, all at once, the stadium came alive. Players soared onto the pitch in a blur of red and green, the announcer’s voice booming through the enchanted speakers. You were only half-listening when you noticed Haechan scanning the crowd.
You set to ignore him when his eyes landed on you.
He mouthed something, but you couldn’t quite make out the words from the distance. His lips moved again, slower this time, like he was asking a question.
You hesitated, then lifted your hand in a thumbs-up, hoping that would satisfy whatever he wanted. Though you immediately regretted it when you felt the weight of other eyes shifting onto you. People had noticed the exchange. Your face burned, and you quickly looked away.
The game began, and you tried to focus. Your eyes followed Haechan for most of it, but every so often, your Occlumency walls slipped, and your gaze found Mark. He was fast, his broom cutting through the air as he scoured the pitch for the Snitch. Haechan was right on his tail, matching his every turn, the two of them locked in a battle of speed.
You knew Mark was a talented seeker. He was quick and light in the air, but his broom wasn’t as fast as Haechan’s, and that made some difference.
You weren’t really rooting for either of them. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Though the right thing to do as a Slytherin would be to hope for Haechan’s victory.
The crowd suddenly roared, breaking you from your thoughts. Both seekers had disappeared behind one of the towers in a steep dive, and they were gone for a few agonizing seconds. Then, like a flash of green lightning, Haechan shot back into the air, arm raised, the golden Snitch clutched tight in his fist.
The Slytherins around you erupted into cheers, the stands vibrating with excitement. You blinked, then let yourself be swept up in the celebration, joining the chorus of triumphant screams.
Haechan suddenly veered toward the stands, his broom tilting slightly as he hovered just above the crowd. He brought the Snitch to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to its delicate golden surface before tossing it in your direction. Your hands reacted before your mind could catch up, fingers closing around the tiny fluttering ball with ease.
A collective gasp rippled through the Slytherin section, eyes darting between you and Haechan.
"Y/N!" Haechan called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise of the crowd. "Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"
The world felt like it had slowed.
You hated attention. You hated feeling like all eyes were on you. But what you hated the most in that moment was the fact that Mark was there, hovering just behind Haechan, watching everything unfold. His broom was still, his expression neutral, but you could feel his eyes burning into you, waiting for your response.
"So," Haechan prompted, his voice a little breathless from the cold and the game, his nose and cheeks tinged pink. "What's your answer?"
Your fingers tightened around the Snitch. You risked a quick glance at Mark, searching for something—anything—in his face. But all you could see was the annoyance from losing the match.
There was only one right answer.
"Okay," you said.
Haechan grinned, throwing his arms up in victory. The crowd erupted, voices overlapping as cheers and chants of his name filled the air.
Mark wasn’t on his best game today. He was usually laser-focused before a match, but things weren’t going right thia morning. First, someone pulled a prank and turned his Quidditch robes a bright pink. Now, he was stuck wearing Sungchan’s, which were way too big. They hung loosely around his shoulders and got in the way whenever he tried to move.
On top of that, Mark was in a strangely sour mood, though he couldn’t figure out why. Everything felt off. The broom didn’t feel right in his hands, and the wind felt harsher than usual.
Then he saw you in the stands.
At first, he thought you were there for him. You usually came to cheer him on, so it made sense. But when Lee Haechan flew by and his face lit up when he saw you, Mark realized he’d been wrong. You looked flustered, but you still gave him a thumbs up.
So, you weren’t there for him? That was okay. Actually, it was better than okay.
But then Haechan wouldn’t stop. He kept swooping around Mark, poking fun.
“A little slow today, huh?” Haechan called as he flew beside Mark. “You looking a little distracted, Lee.”
Mark narrowed his eyes. “Focus on your game,” he said, his tone clipped.
“Oh, I am.” Haechan’s eyes flickered to you in the stands, where you were rubbing your hands together for warmth.
Mark’s focus broke. The rest of the game felt like a blur.
He was usually the fastest to spot the snitch. No matter who he played against, his eyes always found it first. And Haechan wasn’t known for being the most observant player, so when Mark saw the snitch fluttering just a few feet away, he immediately maneuvered toward it. But his borrowed robes dragged around his legs, slowing him down. By the time he managed to free himself, Haechan had already spotted the snitch and was racing toward it.
Mark pushed forward, forcing his broom to match Haechan’s speed. When he caught up, the Slytherin boy turned to him with a smirk and a challenge in his eyes.
“First one to catch it wins the prize,” Haechan said.
Mark frowned. There was no prize for catching the snitch. The cup at the end of the year depended on accumulated wins, and there were still plenty of matches left. But then it clicked. Haechan wasn’t talking about the cup. He was talking about you.
For some ridiculous reason, he thought Mark was interested in you.
The snitch suddenly dove, and both seekers followed. They jostled for position, each elbowing the other to get ahead. But then Haechan leaned forward, and it was like his broom had shifted into another gear. He shot ahead, leaving Mark behind with no chance to catch up.
When Mark rose back to the pitch, he already knew he had lost.
It shouldn’t have pissed him off as much as it did. Gryffindor had been on a winning streak for the past three matches, and they were still leading. This loss wouldn’t hurt them in the long run. But something about losing to Haechan irritated him.
It definitely wasn’t the fact that Haechan flew straight toward you. It wasn’t the fact that he tossed you the snitch and asked you, in front of the entire school, to go to the dance with him.
Mark didn’t know why his ribs felt tight against his chest or why he found himself waiting for you to look at him. But then you did, and all he could do was scowl.
And then you said okay.
Mark didn’t want to hear the cheers so he turned his broom and flew away.
It was the night of the Yule Ball, and you were nervous. Ever since the match, you had started getting more attention from your fellow Slytherins. Some of it was good, some of it wasn’t. A few girls had taken an interest in you, though, and they were nice enough that you didn’t feel the need to keep your guard up so you didn't refuse when they offered to help you get ready for the ball.
“You have really pretty eyes,” Minjeong said, tilting your chin up. “I think if we curl your lashes and tweeze your brows a bit, they’d stand out even more.”
“Oh. Thanks,” you said, shifting awkwardly on the vanity stool they had just enchanted into existence in the dorm.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Karina started, eyes bright with excitement, “but I made some modifications to your dress.”
You tensed. “What? What kind of modifications?”
“Oh, just a few little ones,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean… you’re about to show up with the most popular Slytherin guy. You can't wear something plain.”
“Right,” Minjeong agreed, blending eyeshadow onto your lids. “You have to show everyone you’re on his level.”
You weren’t sure how you felt about that. But you let them work. They curled and pinned your hair, dusted powders and pigments onto your face, and finished off with a few well-placed glamour enchantments. When they finally let you open your eyes, the reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable.
“This is our best work yet,” Minjeong said, clapping Karina on the back.
“Absolutely,” the taller girl agreed, looking satisfied.
Your hair fell in soft curls over your shoulders, half-pinned in the back with what looked like strands of shimmering tinsel woven in. Your eyes somehow looked bigger, framed by thick lashes that made them seem darker, more intense. Your brows were perfectly shaped, giving your face a softer, more refined look.
“Okay, now put on the dress! We’ll go get ready,” Karina said, pointing toward the neatly laid-out fabric on your bed.
Before you could say anything, they were already out the door.
“Thank you!” you called after them, but they were long gone.
You turned toward the bed, hands smoothing over the fabric of the dress Karina had "modified". To your relief, it was still elegant and not overly flashy. The gown was a soft, silvery blue with a delicate shimmer that caught the light when you moved. The bodice was fitted but modest, with sheer lace sleeves that draped lightly over your shoulders. The skirt flowed down in gentle layers of airy fabric, giving it an almost weightless quality. It was pretty, delicate, and just fancy enough to make it clear you hadn’t thrown it together last minute.
You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. At least it wasn’t anything too dramatic.
When you stepped out of the girls' dorm and into the Slytherin common room, your heart pounded so loudly you were sure someone could hear it. Haechan was waiting for you, and the moment your eyes met, you noticed how the entire room seemed to pause. Conversations quieted, and nearly every gaze turned toward you.
“Wow… you look so… wow,” Haechan stammered, walking up to you. His expression was so genuinely stunned that you felt warmth rise to your cheeks.
“You look gorgeous, and I don’t think that even describes it well.” He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, his lips curling into a grin when he noticed how flustered you looked.
“Hah, thanks,” you chuckled nervously. “You look nice too.” He did. His black suit fit him well, long robes flowing behind him, accented with silver details that made him look effortlessly put together. His hair was slicked back, but a single strand had fallen over his forehead, softening his sharp features.
He placed a hand on your back and led you up the stairs and out of the dungeons, you instinctively held onto his arm to steady yourself.
Thankfully, by the time you reached the Great Hall, the attention had shifted from you. The room was filled with students dressed in elegant robes, sparkling gowns, and tailored suits, each more dazzling than the next. The sheer number of people made it easy to blend in, or so you thought.
Because somewhere across the hall, a particular Gryffindor’s eyes never left you.
“Who is that?” Jaemin asked, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
“Now she finally looks like she could really date someone like Lee Haechan,” Mia chimed in, sipping her drink with a raised eyebrow.
Mark didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on you across the room.
“Cat got your tongue?” Mia teased, and Mark snapped out of his trance, his eyes meeting hers.
“No…uhm… she looks the same to me.” Mark muttered before walking away.
You ended up enjoying yourself far more than you’d expected. Haechan was surprisingly fun to be around, and he wasn’t getting too touchy, which you appreciated. You both jumped and swayed to the music of the Weird Sisters.
“I hate this band!” Haechan shouted over the noise, but his feet didn’t stop moving.
You burst out laughing. “Me too.”
He grinned at you, his face flushed, both of you breathless and sweaty.
Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Hey, what’s up with you and Mark Lee?”
Your laughter died in your throat.
“Huh? Nothing, why?” you stammered, trying to hide your nerves.
“Because he’s looking at me like he wants to hex my head off,” Haechan said, chuckling.
You glanced over your shoulder and saw Mark indeed staring in your direction. His expression was tight, angry even, but there was something else there too. Beside him, Mia was practically clawing at his attention, asking him something. He simply shook his head, dismissing her with a frown before she stormed off.
“Don’t mind him,” you said, turning back to Haechan, but he was already watching you.
“I’m not,” he said softly, his hands finding yours.
Suddenly, you were standing closer to him, and you had to tilt your head to meet his gaze. The music shifted into a slower tune, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized how close he was now.
“Stop me if you’re not okay with this,” he murmured, his breath warm against your face. Before you could even process, his lips brushed yours, and then he closed the gap entirely.
Haechan’s lips were soft against yours, and for a brief moment, the world around you disappeared. The music faded into the background, the chatter of students blurred into nothing, and it was just the two of you.
Then, all at once, everything shattered.
A loud crack echoed through the Great Hall, and before you could process what was happening, something thick and cold splattered down your back. You gasped, stumbling away from Haechan as a chilling sensation spread over your skin. A murmur rippled through the crowd as gasps and stifled laughter filled the air.
You looked down. Dark, sticky liquid seeped into the delicate fabric of your dress, staining the soft silk into something sickly and ruined. A pungent smell filled your nose. You barely had time to react before your dress started shrinking.
Your breath caught as the bodice tightened, the fabric pulling uncomfortably against your ribs, cinching around your waist like an invisible grip. Your sleeves vanished, and the hemline shot up several inches in one horrifying swoop, exposing far too much of your legs.
The laughter grew louder.
You clenched your fists, heart pounding as humiliation crashed over you in waves.
“What the hell?” Haechan’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. He whipped around, wand drawn, eyes scanning the hall for the culprit.
And then your gaze landed on Mark.
He stood several feet away, his wand still faintly sparking at the tip. His expression was frozen, his face a shade paler than before. His mouth was slightly open, like he wasn’t sure how the spell had left his lips in the first place.
But you didn’t see uncertainty. You didn’t see hesitation or guilt. All you saw was an angry boy.
A boy who barely acknowledged you before. A boy who always seemed unimpressed by your very existence. A boy who just humiliated you in front of the entire school.
Your throat tightened.
He really hated you that much.
Haechan was already stepping in front of you, blocking you from the murmuring students. His wand was still raised, his grip so tight his knuckles had gone white.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?” His voice cut through the noise, venom dripping from every word.
Mark didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to undo what he had just done. But he didn’t move.
Your breath was shaky as you forced your voice to come out steady. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Mark’s gaze snapped to you, something flickering in his eyes. But you didn’t care what it was.
“You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you continued, your voice sharper now, your chest rising and falling with barely contained anger. “You didn’t have to humiliate me.”
Mark opened his mouth, but for once, he had nothing to say.
You swallowed against the lump in your throat, then turned away.
Haechan was already pulling off his robe, draping it over your shoulders before wrapping a protective arm around you. “C’mon, let’s go,” he muttered under his breath, shooting one last glare in Mark’s direction before leading you out of the Great Hall.
Mark didn’t mean to stare.
But from the second you stepped into the Great Hall, he couldn’t seem to look away.
You didn’t look different. That’s what he told himself. It was just a dress. Just some makeup. Just a bunch of pointless glamour spells. Nothing about you had actually changed.
And yet.
And yet.
His grip tightened around the goblet in his hand as he watched you dance with Haechan, laughing at something he said, looking so damn happy at his side. Mark didn’t even know Haechan that well, but for some reason, he hated him.
He hated the way Haechan touched your waist. He hated the way you let him pull you closer when the song slowed down. Hated the way you tilted your head to look up at him, that slight pause in your movements making it clear what was about to happen.
Mark’s heart slammed against his ribs, something bubbling up inside him, something sharp and hot and suffocating.
And before he even thought about what he was doing, his fingers twitched around his wand.
It happened too fast.
A crackle of magic shot from his wand like a reflex, like something instinctual, something uncontrollable. It streaked through the air, twisting and curling before hitting you and Haechan where you stood.
The Great Hall fell into silence and then laughter erupted.
Mark could barely register what had happened, only that you looked devastated. Your dress was drenched and shrinking until the delicate fabric was something ridiculous, something cruel, something designed to humiliate.
His blood ran cold. He had done that.
He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t even know what spell he cast, just that it happened because of the way you looked at Haechan. Because of the way Mark didn’t want you to look at Haechan.
Haechan’s voice cut through the buzzing in his ears.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?”
You turned to him then, and when your eyes met his, something inside him dropped.
Because you didn’t only look angry. You looked… hurt.
"You didn't have to do that," you said, and it wasn’t an accusation. It was just... disappointment.
Mark felt something claw up his throat. But he couldn’t say anything.
He watched as you shook your head, your expression hardening as you pulled Haechan’s robe tighter around yourself.
"You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you said, voice sharp now. “You didn’t have to humiliate me."
Mark opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
And then you turned your back on him. And he just stood there still gripping his wand.
Still feeling that suffocating thing inside his chest.
Hating himself for the fact that he had only just realized what it was.
Mark felt like the ground had been yanked from under him. His whole body felt heavy, like he was stuck in some kind of nightmare where he could see everything going wrong but couldn’t stop it.
Jaemin sighed, shoving Mark’s wand into his own pocket. “Seriously, what the hell was that?”
Mark couldn’t answer. He was still staring at the spot where you’d stood, where you’d looked at him like he was the worst person in the world.
Chenle shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is with her, but you actually humiliated her in front of everyone. That’s not just being petty, Mark. That’s being cruel.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Mark said quickly, voice hoarse, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew how weak they sounded. What did that even mean? That he hadn’t meant to hex you? That he hadn’t meant to let his jealousy swallow him whole?
Jaemin scoffed. “Well it sure as hell looked intentional.”
Mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt tangling in his throat. “I—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. It just—” He exhaled sharply. “It just happened.”
Jaemin exchanged a look with Chenle. “Right. It just happened that you hexed her right when she was kissing Haechan.”
Mark’s jaw tightened. He hated the way Jaemin said it. Like it was so obvious.
Chenle crossed his arms. “If you’re gonna act like this every time you see her with another guy, maybe just admit that you like her and spare everyone the dramatics.”
Mark flinched. “I don’t—”
Jaemin held up a hand. “Before you finish that sentence, think really hard about whether or not it’s a lie.”
Mark clamped his mouth shut. Because he didn’t know anymore.
But it didn’t matter, did it? Even if he did like you, what difference would it make?
You were the one who hated him now.
By the time your fifth year came around, you’d successfully mastered Occlumency so well that when you returned to school Mark was nothing more than a passing thought. The memories you had of him felt distant, like a foggy dream.
You never thought you’d feel this way, but it was almost freeing. The emotional weight he’d carried for so long was no longer crushing you. You were finally able to move on.
After what happened at the Yule Ball, you were relieved that Haechan seemed to understand you needed space. He kept things between you friendly, never bringing up the kiss or attempting to do it again. It made things easier, even if there was still an underlying tension whenever he caught your eye for too long. But just because he didn’t push for anything more didn’t mean he stopped very obviously flirting with you.
If anything, he seemed to have doubled down. Compliments slipped into every conversation, his arm would brush against yours whenever he passed by, and he always found some excuse to sit next to you in the common room or during meals. It was like he had claimed you in some unspoken way—not forcefully, or in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that let everyone else know that he was still very much interested.
Karina and Minjeong, meanwhile, had become your biggest support system. For the first time, you felt like you truly had friends. And if they had one common enemy, it was Mark Lee.
“He is so pathetic,” Karina muttered, stabbing at her breakfast aggressively. “Walking around like a sad puppy as if he isn’t evil.”
“How dare the Gryffindors say we’re the house full of terrible people when they have someone like Mark Lee?” Minjeong scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
You hid a small smile behind your cup, already used to their daily Mark-related grievances. It had become routine at this point. Every morning, without fail, they found something new to complain about. And if they couldn’t find anything, they made something up.
“I mean, look at him,” Karina continued, tilting her head toward the Gryffindor table. “He’s just poking at his food and sighing dramatically. Does he expect us to feel bad?”
Minjeong rolled her eyes. “As if he has anything to be heartbroken over. He’s the one who embarrassed you in front of everyone. And now he has the audacity to mope around? Get a grip.”
You said nothing, focusing on your plate instead. You had built up your Occlumency walls so well that even you weren’t sure what you felt about Mark anymore. You weren’t angry. You weren’t sad. You weren’t… anything. And you were proud of that.
You stopped going to Quidditch games after a while. You just couldn’t shake the feeling of self-consciousness that crept in every time you stepped into the stands. But Karina and Minjeong convinced you to go today. It was Slytherin’s match, and though it was against Gryffindor, you agreed. You trusted your walls, confident that nothing could touch you now.
The game started, despite the pouring rain. The weather only seemed to make it more intense. The announcer’s voice echoed over the field, remarking on the lightning that nearly struck the Slytherin keeper. You could barely hear him over the storm.
Mark and Haechan were both darting across the sky, locked in pursuit of the Snitch. They were higher than the other players, cutting through the rain like streaks of lightning themselves. You tried to follow them with your eyes, but the thick raindrops blurred your vision and the gusts of wind whipped your hair into your face, making it harder to see. Then, all at once, the sky split open with a crack of lightning.
Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Mark’s broom fall from the sky, his body following in a terrifying, uncontrolled descent.
“Oh my god!” You gasped, your voice barely carrying over the storm. Time seemed to slow. Your mind raced as you realized that one of the professors had cast the Arresto Momentum charm just in time. The world around you shifted back into real-time, and suddenly, Mark’s body was lying motionless on the pitch.
He was unconscious but thankfully unscathed. The rain was pouring down in sheets now, mixing with the frenzy of footsteps as professors rushed to his side.
Without thinking, you slipped out of the stands, pushing through the chaos of the crowd. Your heart was hammering in your chest, your breath quickening as you neared the pitch. The professors were already at his side, checking him over carefully. You could barely breathe, the panic tightening around your chest.
“Mark,” you whispered, as if calling him out of a deep sleep.
When Mark woke up, the first thing he saw was Madam Pomfrey waving her wand over him, a soft golden light flickering at the tip as she muttered a diagnostic spell under her breath.
“Oh, great heavens! You’re finally awake,” she gasped, clutching her chest in relief. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send for St. Mungo’s. There was no reason for you to still be unconscious!”
Mark blinked a few times, his vision still slightly blurred, before realizing he wasn’t alone. Chenle and Jaemin were sitting nearby, their faces tight with concern.
“Mate, you scared the shit out of us,” Chenle said, his brows furrowed.
“We thought we lost you,” Jaemin added, a little too serious for Mark’s liking.
“What… happened?” Mark asked, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t had a sip of water in days.
“You fell off your broom from at least fifty feet in the air. It was insane,” Chenle said.
“I don’t… why don’t I remember anything?” Mark mumbled, wincing as a dull, throbbing pain settled in his skull.
“Professor McGonagall slowed your fall, but you still hit the ground pretty hard. You must’ve knocked your head,” Jaemin explained.
Madam Pomfrey huffed. “I’ll bring you a dose of Revitalizing Tonic, it should help with the disorientation. You two wrap things up and get to your dorms… it’s far too late for visitors.” She turned on her heel, bustling off toward her supply cabinet.
Jaemin scooted closer, watching Mark carefully. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got beat up by the Whomping Willow,” Mark muttered.
Chenle snorted. “You’re lucky you didn’t actually land on it. That would’ve been really bad.”
“We were all so worried. No one thought you’d wake up today,” Jaemin added.
“The whole team was here earlier,” Chenle continued. “Mia too… and, uh—Y/N was the last one to leave—”
“Wait, what?” Mark pushed himself up too fast, his head spinning in protest. “Y/N?”
“Yeah, we’re just as shocked as you are,” Chenle said. “She ran to the pitch the second you fell. I swear, I thought she was gonna pass out from how hard she was crying.”
“She looked like she was having a panic attack,” Jaemin added. “Professor Snape had to give her a Calming Draught.”
“I think she genuinely thought you were going to die,” Chenle said.
Mark’s stomach twisted painfully. His mind still felt sluggish from the fall, but that one piece of information cut through it like a blade.
You were crying over him? Panicking? That didn’t make any sense.
“This doesn’t…” Mark swallowed. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would she—why would she care?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries.
“Beats me,” Chenle shrugged. “She hasn’t talked to you in over a year. I was sure she hated your guts. But apparently, you’re harder to get over than we thought.”
Mark barely registered the teasing tone. His brain was running a mile a minute.
You were worried about him. You didn’t hate him? Or maybe… maybe it was just shock. Maybe seeing him fall had been scary in the moment, and once you knew he was okay, you'd go back to ignoring him. This didn't mean anything.
…Right?
After Chenle and Jaemin left, Mark knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Madam Pomfrey had left him a Sleeping Draught, which sat untouched on his bedside table.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what Jaemin said. How you ran onto the pitch, crying over him. It didn’t make sense. You hadn’t spared him a second glance since the Yule Ball. If anything, he would’ve preferred if you were still angry, if you had lashed out at him, screamed, hexed him—anything.
But instead, you had simply erased him from your world. The few times you had looked at him had been either by accident or when he deliberately put himself in your way, and your eyes had always been so empty.
The door to the hospital wing suddenly creaked open. Mark assumed it was just the wind, or maybe Madam Pomfrey checking in on him, so he quickly shut his eyes and feigned sleep when he heard soft footsteps approaching.
For a moment, there was nothing. He almost convinced himself he had imagined it until he felt the weight shift at the edge of his bed.
Then, the sound of quiet, muffled sobs.
“Mark…”
His breath caught in his throat.
It was you.
Before he could even process it, your hand was suddenly on his face, fingers grazing his cheek in the softest touch. A shiver threatened to run down his spine, but he forced himself to stay still.
“I’m sorry…” Your voice was fragile. “I wished so many bad things on you last year… I feel like…like this is my fault.” A shaky inhale. “Please be okay.”
Mark wanted to sit up. Wanted to tell you it wasn’t your fault, that none of this was. That he had deserved everything you threw at him but not this guilt.
But if he moved, would you run? Would you slip away before he even had the chance to say anything?
He was too much of a coward to find out. So he stayed still, letting your fingers caress him, letting your words sink into his skin like a warmth he hadn’t felt in so long.
Mark was certain you had stayed the whole night. Even in the haze of half-sleep, he had felt your presence beside him. He only realized you had left when the first rays of sunlight began filtering through the hospital wing’s windows.
Madam Pomfrey cleared him to leave that morning, assuring him he wasn’t in any real danger anymore. She did, however, insist he avoid Quidditch for at least a week. Not that he particularly cared. There were no matches coming up, but even if there were, he doubted he’d be able to focus on anything other than you.
He didn’t know what to do with the new knowledge that you did care about him. That you had cried over him. That you had touched him so gently, so reverently, as if he were something precious. It should have been a relief, but it made him anxious instead. After all this time, after everything that he’d done to you, how was he supposed to approach you?
The thought of you looking at him with those same empty eyes, telling him to get lost, made his stomach twist.
No—he had to be smart about this. He had to find a moment when you were alone.
That would have been easy before, when you had no friends and spent most of your time buried in books or wandering the castle halls by yourself. But now? Now, you were constantly surrounded by Karina, by Minjeong, and worst of all, by Haechan.
Mark had been watching the two of you closely, trying to figure out if there was something going on. He knew Haechan was still pursuing you, that much was obvious, but you weren’t dating as far as he could tell. At least, he hadn’t heard anything about it.
Still, the thought gnawed at him.
After a lot of consideration, he decided the best way to talk to you was during your prefect rounds at night. The problem was figuring out when you were scheduled. If he had tried this a year ago, you probably would’ve handed over the information without question. Now? Not a chance.
So, he had to get creative.
It took some effort to figure out your schedule, but after bribing a few Slytherins with an unlimited supply of Fizzing Whizzbees from Honeydukes for the rest of the year, he learned that your shift usually started around 8 pm.
So by 7:59 pm, he was slipping out of the Fat Lady’s portrait, glancing around to make sure Filch wasn’t lurking in the shadows. His heart was pounding, but he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or anticipation.
He was finally going to talk to you.
He figured you’d start your shift near the Slytherin common room, so he made his way toward the dungeons. Sure enough, there you were, walking slowly, completely absorbed in a book.
Mark couldn’t help but smile to himself.
"So much for staying vigilant during patrols," he finally said.
You flinched, nearly dropping your book. When you turned around, your wide eyes locked onto his, shimmering under the dim candlelight. For a second, all he could think about was how lovely you looked.
"Mark..." you breathed, almost like you couldn’t believe he was real.
"Hi," he said, scratching the back of his neck. He looked away for a moment, gathering the courage to step closer.
"Are you okay?" you asked, and the genuine concern in your tone made his heart stumble over itself.
"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," he chuckled nervously.
"Not a big deal?" Your brows furrowed, and your tone sharpened slightly. "You fell from the sky, Mark."
He wasn’t used to you looking at him after all this time, much less with worry.
"I’m sorry," he said, watching the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "I heard you were pretty shaken up after it."
"Yeah…" you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was..."
Mark's heart jumped. He knew it already, he knew you had stayed by his bedside, knew you had cried over him—but hearing you say it made something in his chest tighten painfully.
Your eyes scanned him again, like you were checking to make sure he wouldn’t collapse at any second.
"I’m okay, I promise," he reassured you.
You nodded, then let out a sigh, glancing around as if suddenly remembering where you were.
"What are you doing outside your common room this late?"
Mark hesitated. Should he make up some excuse, or should he just tell the truth?
"If you were planning to sneak out with Mia, I’ll have you know that I must deduct points from your house and report it to Professor McGonagall," you said, your tone suddenly more detached. Just like that, the warmth in your expression flickered out, and your eyes went cold again.
Mark felt like he had just been shoved back into reality.
"No, no," he stammered quickly. "Mia and I are not… we’re not together."
You pursed your lips, nodding slowly. "Okay. Then why—"
"I wanted to talk to you," he blurted out. "To apologize. For everything. I never got the chance to back then."
"It’s been a year, Mark," you said flatly.
"Yeah, I know," he murmured. "But you still deserve an apology. And I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but… I needed to say it anyway."
His voice faded toward the end, barely audible.
"Okay…" You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're forgiven. I don’t hold it against you anymore... I actually haven’t for a while."
"Really?" Mark blinked. "You don’t even care why I did it?"
"Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."
"I want to explain, though," he insisted.
You simply nodded, waiting.
Mark took a deep breath. "I was an idiot back then… well, I guess I’m still an idiot but I was an angry idiot. And I don’t know what came over me… I took it out on you. But I swear, it wasn’t because I hated you. I never hated you." He exhaled sharply, as if forcing the words out before he lost the nerve. "I know you don’t have to believe me, but… I just—I need you to know that."
He spoke so fast, stumbling over his words. Afraid that if he paused, he wouldn’t get to say everything he wanted. By the time he finally stopped talking, your expression had softened just a little.
"I see…" You seemed to search for the right words before settling on a quiet, "I’m glad you told me." A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips.
But it didn’t ease the tightness in Mark’s chest. It didn’t make him feel any better. Because there was more, so much more he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how. And he was terrified.
"Do you wanna hang out?" he blurted before he could stop himself.
"Now…?" You glanced around, hesitating. "I’m kind of—"
"No! Sorry, I meant… later. Tomorrow, maybe? Or—I don’t know… whenever you can."
You stayed quiet for a moment, considering it. "Uhm… okay. Tomorrow. After class?"
Mark nodded too eagerly. "Yes! That sounds perfect." His voice came out overly excited, but he couldn’t help it.
"Okay. See you tomorrow, then." You gave him a small wave before turning away. "Now go before any of the other prefects see you."
Mark barely registered your warning, his mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow.
You were dreading your night shift as a prefect tonight. You hadn’t slept much after staying by Mark’s side all night. You heard he was discharged this morning, but not seeing him with your own eyes made you feel as if he was still hurt.
You had no idea how to deal with the knot in your stomach, so you brought a book with you hoping it would distract you. But even as you read the words on the pages, they blurred into one long line, your mind constantly flickering back to him.
You’d spent so long putting up walls inside your mind, careful to shield yourself from things that hurt too much. It had worked, mostly. You hadn’t felt anything deeply in a long time. But after the accident, those walls felt thinner, more fragile than ever.
And the minute Mark spoke behind you, you felt them crack.
Your whole body went stil and he was just standing there, smiling shyly at you. It took everything in you not to collapse in relief.
You whispered his name and tried so hard not to let your emotions show. But everything felt too much, the relief, the fear, the overwhelming rush of memories and feelings you had buried for so long. You had to hold it all in. You couldn’t let him know how glad you were to see him.
You were trying to remain composed, to keep your usual guard up, but with him standing there, looking so... so Mark,
"Hi..." he said quietly.
You forced yourself to speak. "Are you okay?" It was the question you had been waiting to ask, but it came out more desperate than you’d intended.
"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," Mark chuckled, the sound awkward and nervous. But even the way he said it made your heart sink with unease.
You couldn’t hide the irritation that sparked inside you, the remnants of the fear still clinging to your chest. "Not a big deal? You fell from the sky, Mark." The words left you harsher than you intended. You were so angry at the idea of losing him, so scared because it had been too close.
"I’m sorry, I heard you were pretty shaken after it." His voice was quieter now, and you could feel the way he was trying to reach you, even though the distance between you both felt insurmountable.
You nodded slowly, the walls inside your mind trying to reassemble themselves, trying to keep you composed. “Yeah... I was...."
The truth slipped out, and as soon as it did, you regretted it. You didn’t want him to know just how terrified you’d been that something might happen to him and you wouldn’t be able to truly tell him how you felt. The walls inside your mind cracked again.
"I’m okay, I promise," Mark said softly, his gaze holding yours, as if trying to assure you.
You wanted to close your eyes and pretend like everything was okay, but the walls kept wavering. You couldn’t trust that feeling, not yet.
You nodded, but the unease inside you didn’t go away. Not when you saw the way his eyes kept searching yours. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t control.
The walls that had kept your emotions in check for so long were trembling now, and it was getting harder to keep them from falling. You needed to focus on something else, anything else.
"What are you doing outside of your common room so late?" You forced the authority back into your voice. But you knew it didn’t fool anyone—not Mark, not even yourself.
He stumbled over his words, clearly nervous. "I wanted to speak to you. Apologize for everything. I never got the chance to back then."
The words hit you like a sudden gust of wind, knocking the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t just an apology. It was him standing in front of you, looking so... raw. You weren’t sure if you were ready for everything he was willing to lay bare. But you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop yourself from listening.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. "It’s been a year, Mark."
"I know. But you deserve an apology, and I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but still... I wanted to say it."
Your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice, but something inside you fought to keep the walls intact. The last time you’d allowed yourself to feel so exposed, it had ended in too much pain.
"Okay..." You put a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re forgiven... I don’t hold you to it anymore. I actually haven’t for a while."
His expression shifted in relief, but it didn’t bring the peace you thought it might. "You don’t care why I did it?"
You shook your head, forcing the walls to stay up. "Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."
"I want to explain, though," Mark said, looking at you with an intensity you hadn’t seen in him before.
And you nodded, thinking that maybe it was okay to let the walls waver for now.
So you heard him out when he nervously asked to hang out, and you ignored the logical part of you that told you you might get hurt again.
The next day, Mark woke up earlier than usual. He told himself he wasn’t making a big deal out of hanging out with you today, but he still spent longer than necessary in the shower. He even put on cologne, something he never did.
He only had two classes with you this year, and after the Yule Ball accident, he made a habit of sitting as far away as possible, just so you wouldn’t catch him sneaking glances every few minutes.
But today, he was going to sit next to you.
At least, that was the plan—until he walked into Divination and saw that Lee Haechan had already taken the seat beside you.
Mark blinked. He didn’t even know Haechan was in this class. Then again, he was pretty sure he had skipped most of the semester. And yet, he suddenly decided to show up today? Right when Mark was finally trying to make things right with you?
Mark scowled as he trudged to the table behind yours. Mia slid into the seat next to him, but he barely noticed her presence until she snapped her fingers in front of his face, breaking his intense staring contest with the back of Haechan’s head.
"Did you do something different to your hair?" Mia asked, eyeing him.
Mark instinctively ran a hand through it. He had used a bit of gel this morning, but now that she pointed it out, he felt self-conscious.
"No," he muttered, dropping his hand and forcing himself to focus on Professor Trelawney, who was currently droning on about the art of tea leaf reading.
"...And remember," she was saying dramatically, her bracelets jingling with every exaggerated movement, "the leaves do not lie! They reveal the truth hidden beneath the surface, the past, the present, and sometimes, if you are truly gifted, the future."
Mark barely listened, too distracted by the way Haechan kept whispering in your ear.
"Now! Pick a partner and interpret their tea leaves. It can be anyone's cup!"
Mark didn’t hesitate. He shot up from his seat, stepping around Mia and snatching your cup before Haechan could even reach for it.
You flinched slightly at the sudden movement, but when you looked up and saw it was him, you relaxed.
"Hello," Mark said, smiling.
You smiled back. "Hi."
From beside you, Haechan’s jaw tightened. "I see you’re alive."
Mark smirked. "You’re lucky I am or there’d be no witness to prove you didn’t push me off my broom."
“Guide yourselves with the book and pay close attention to the patterns so you can decipher what the tea leaves say,” Professor Trelawney cut in, her voice airy and theatrical as always.
“I guess I’ll look at your cup then.” You flicked your wand, summoning Mark’s cup toward you.
Haechan huffed beside you and settled for reading Mia’s cup instead.
Mark watched you tilt his teacup, your eyes scanning the damp leaves at the bottom with unnerving concentration. He’d never taken Divination seriously, Trelawney's constant doomsday prophecies were more of a running joke than anything, but the way you were studying his cup seriously made him realize you were exactly the opposite.
“Alright…” You murmured, brushing your fingers against the rim of the cup as you turned it slightly. “This shape here…it kind of looks like…” Your brows furrowed in thought before you glanced at the textbook. “A hound?”
“A hound?” Mark repeated, leaning in slightly.
“It symbolizes guilt.” You looked up at him then, and for a moment, the room felt too quiet. “Something that’s been eating at you for a while. Maybe something you want to say but haven’t faced properly yet.”
You were staring back into the cup as if searching for something more. Mark wanted to brush it off, make some joke about Professor Trelawney getting to your head, but the way you spoke made him hesitate.
“Well,” he started, clearing his throat, “that’s… ominous.”
“Maybe it just means he regrets not catching the Snitch before nearly cracking his skull open.” Haechan snorted, leaning back in his chair.
Mark’s jaw twitched but before he could open his mouth to say something, Professor Trelawney’s voice rang through the room.
“Now, now! I sense many of you are struggling to find clarity in the leaves, but do not fret! The Inner Eye is a gift not all possess.”
Mark turned your cup carefully in his hands, squinting at the clumps of tea leaves at the bottom like they might suddenly rearrange themselves into something comprehensible. They didn’t.
“Alright…” he said slowly, stalling for time. “So, um—this kind of looks like…” He tilted his head. “Maybe… a deer?”
You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “A deer?”
“Or… a horse,” he amended quickly. “Yeah. Definitely a horse. Which, uh, probably means…” He paused, grasping for anything remotely logical. “You have an adventurous spirit. And, um, bravery. And, like… untamed passion?”
Mia snorted from beside him, barely holding back her laughter, while Haechan outright scoffed.
Before you could tease him, Professor Trelawney materialized beside your table, her many scarves billowing behind her. She peered over Mark’s shoulder, tutting disapprovingly.
“I knew you didn’t have the Sight, my dear boy,” she said, shaking her head mournfully. “But fear not, Divination is an art that can be nurtured… even in those with less potential” She patted his shoulder with a dramatic flourish before floating off to torment another group.
Mark sighed, his ears burning red. But then he glanced at you and you were smiling. At him.
And suddenly, he didn’t care about looking like an idiot.
The bell rang before he could bring up your plans for later, and you left with a small wave. He spent the next few hours trying not to overthink it, but thankfully your last class of the day, Care of Magical Creatures, was together. That meant another chance.
Professor Kettleburn led the class out to the paddock, where a row of iron-reinforced cages sat waiting. Today’s lesson was on Chimeras.
Even Mark knew that was a terrible idea.
“Of course, we won’t be working with full-grown Chimeras,” Kettleburn reassured, “for obvious reasons. However, the Ministry has provided us with young ones under very, very careful supervision.”
He demonstrated the proper way to throw raw meat to the creatures. The chimera’s serpent tail lashed at him when he got too close, and the class collectively took a step back.
“Alright! Now, you lot give it a try!” Kettleburn beamed, seemingly unfazed by the near-death experience.
Mark grabbed a chunk of bloody meat and approached the enclosure, trying to ignore the way the chimera’s goat head was glaring at him. The moment he threw the meat, it hit the ground about a foot too short, and the beast let out a dissatisfied growl.
“This,” he muttered under his breath, watching as the chimera’s lion head snapped at him, “is why Professor Kettleburn has lost almost all his limbs.”
“Need help?”
Mark flinched at the sudden voice, turning to find you standing there, watching him with an amused tilt to your lips.
He huffed out a laugh. “You know, I’ve noticed you ask that a lot. Do I really look that helpless?”
You giggled. “Uhm… a bit.” Then, you took the meat from him and tossed it over the fence in one smooth motion. The chimera caught it mid-air, seeming significantly less hostile toward you than it had been toward him.
Mark blinked. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”
“Yeah,” you admitted. “I’m a terrible flyer.”
Mark scoffed. “That’s the one thing I think I’m good at.”
“Oh, I’ve heard.” You said it casually, but both of you knew you’d been to almost every single one of his Quidditch matches since first year.
He hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck, summoning whatever courage he had left. “So… did you still want to hang out today?”
“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “How about the library?”
Mark barely resisted the urge to groan. He tried to keep his face neutral, but you noticed the way he grimaced.
You smirked. “Or we can do the greenhouse?”
His expression instantly lightened. “Yes! That sounds good.”
And when you turned back toward the chimera, Mark found himself staring a little too long. He’d never really noticed how pretty your eyes were. Or maybe he had, and he’d just forced himself to ignore it. But now—now he couldn't stop seeing them. The way they glowed when you got something right in class, the way they sparkled when you looked at him for the first time on the train all those years ago.
He missed that. The way you used to adore him.
And he hated himself for wasting it—because he’d been too much of a coward. Too immature to handle something so good.
After your last class, you made your way back to the Slytherin dorms, stopping in front of your mirror to fix your uniform and contemplate whether a simple glamour charm might make your cheeks look a bit rosier. Not that you were dressing up for Mark, obviously.
You weren’t sure how to feel about his sudden shift in attitude. He’d never been this… nice before. And maybe you were quick to accept it because you’d spent the past few days terrified of losing him. But was that enough of a reason to let your guard down?
You sighed, closing your eyes and practicing Occlumency for a few minutes before heading out. You knew you’d need your walls strong if you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him.
When you stepped into the common room, Karina and Minjeong were hunched over a Potions essay they definitely should’ve finished by now.
“And where are you going all dolled up?” Karina asked, looking up from her parchment.
“What? I look the same as I always do,” you said, feigning nonchalance.
Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “Are you meeting Haechan?”
It would’ve been easier to say yes. But they’d find out soon enough when Haechan inevitably strolled through the door looking for you.
“No, I’m going to go check on the Venomous Tentacula.” You were actually proud of how quickly you came up with the lie.
“Okay. Boooring.” Karina waved you off, already focused back on her essay.
You smiled quickly, muttered a goodbye, and slipped out of the common room before they could ask anything else.
When you arrived at the greenhouse, Mark was already there. He straightened up the moment he saw you, hands fidgeting slightly at his sides. But then you noticed he was holding something. A flower.
Not just any flower... a Moonbloom Orchid. A rare magical plant that was known to change colors based on the emotions of the person holding it, and right now, its soft lavender hue radiated warmth and quiet affection.
Your eyes widened. “Oh my god, Mark… it’s so pretty. How did you get it?”
Mark shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Oh, it wasn’t that hard to find.”
That was a complete lie.
He had sneaked out to Hogsmeade during his free period yesterday and asked around every store, pub, and dodgy corner for hours, trying to track one down. He had spent almost all his galleons on it.
But looking at your face, your excitement, he decided it was worth every single one.
“Thank you. I love it,” you said, your fingers brushing over the glowing petals as you smiled up at him.
And that smile—Merlin, that smile—hit Mark like a Bludger to the chest.
For the first time, maybe ever, he wanted to kiss you. Really kiss you. Not in some fleeting, passing thought but in a way that made his heart pound and his throat tighten. The desire was so sudden, so strong, it nearly knocked him off balance.
He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay, so… want to show me around?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been having lessons in this greenhouse for years.
You giggled, and he could tell by the amused glint in your eyes that you saw right through him. “Sure,” you said, playing along. “I guess I can show you what I’ve been working on.”
You led him toward a section of the greenhouse that looked darker, the air thick with the scent of damp soil and something faintly spicy. Twisting vines curled around the edges of a wooden planter, their leaves twitching slightly as you approached.
“These are pretty hard to find,” you explained, crouching beside the pot. “I begged Professor Sprout to let me plant the seeds I found. Don’t ask where I found them, though.”
Mark raised a brow, intrigued, but he didn’t press.
“You really love this stuff, huh?” he asked instead.
You glanced up at him, then back at the plant, lightly running your fingers over its writhing leaves. The Venomous Tentacula shuddered, curling toward your touch as if it recognized you.
“I guess I do,” you admitted. “I don’t know… I feel comfortable around plants. I can feel their emotions, almost. Even if they can’t really express it… I guess I relate to that”
Mark watched you carefully, noting the way you hesitated like there was something more you wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring yourself to.
The way you spoke about plants… it was almost the way he felt about you.
Something real and quiet. Something he had never really put into words because he didn’t know how. Because even now, standing next to you, close enough that he could see the way the evening light reflected in your eyes, he felt like he shouldn’t want it.
Mark wasn’t sure how long he stood there just watching you, but it was long enough for you to notice.
You blinked up at him, tilting your head slightly. “What?”
He shook his head, forcing a laugh. “Nothing,” he said.
But it wasn’t nothing. It was the way the soft glow of the sunset made you look almost unreal. The way your lips parted slightly, like you were about to say something, only to change your mind. The way his own thoughts were a mess, tangled somewhere between I shouldn’t and I can’t stop thinking about you.
You turned back toward the plant, your fingers lightly tracing one of the curled leaves. “It’s kind of funny,” you murmured, half to yourself. “Plants grow towards the things they need. Sunlight, water… warmth.”
Mark swallowed. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way you said it made his skin feel hot. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “They don’t second guess it. They don’t hold themselves back.”
He wasn’t sure if you meant anything by it, but it struck something deep in his chest anyway.
Because he had spent years holding himself back.
And now, with you standing this close, your voice soft, your eyes flickering to his he wondered if maybe he should stop doing that.
His hand moved slightly, barely thinking, like an instinct. Like those plants reaching for sunlight. And for the briefest moment, your fingers brushed against his.
It would be so easy to close the space between you.
So easy to reach forward, to tip your chin up slightly, to finally, finally—
The greenhouse door banged open.
Mark jolted back so fast he almost knocked over the planter.
Professor Sprout bustled in, looking completely oblivious to the moment she had just shattered. “Oh! What are you two doing here? Curfew is soon, I need to lock up for the night.”
You cleared your throat, stepping back as well, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry, Professor. We were just finishing up.”
Mark forced himself to breathe, still feeling the ghost of your fingers against his.
Still thinking about how close he had been… and how badly he already wanted to try again.
The rest of your fifth year went by in a blur. Even though you and Mark were on much better terms now, there was little time to think about it between the overwhelming pile of O.W.L prep and the ridiculous amount of homework assigned for every subject.
You managed to pass every exam, most of them with an Outstanding. Mark, on the other hand, had spent so much time this year distracted by you that he fell behind on his classes.
So as punishment, he forced himself to stay away—at least until he could guarantee he wouldn’t completely fail.
He still barely scraped by. Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only subject he earned an Outstanding in, but his Potions grade wasn’t high enough to qualify for the advanced level. Not that he wanted to take the class again, but it meant one less excuse to see you during the day.
When sixth year came around, he found himself sticking around you more, even if your friends didn’t particularly like him. So more often than not, he waited until you were alone.
Like now.
“Hello,” Mark said, spotting you sitting on the grass with a book open in your lap. The Whomping Willow loomed behind you, its massive branches swaying with an eerie creak. He eyed it warily.
“You’re awfully close to that thing.”
You barely glanced up. “It’s not so bad once it gets used to you.”
Mark scoffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t think that is capable of getting used to anything.”
You hummed, flipping a page. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, making you look almost ethereal.
Mark swallowed.
He’d spent so much time not noticing these things, forcing himself to ignore the way your presence always made his stomach twist. But now, it was getting harder to push those thoughts away.
Without thinking, he sat beside you, close enough to feel the faint brush of your robes against his. “You know,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before, “you are allowed to relax now. OWLs are over.”
You huffed a soft laugh, still looking at your book. “I don't think I know how.”
Mark tilted his head, watching you. “Maybe I could teach you.”
You finally turned to face him fully, the corner of your mouth twitching. “And you’re the expert on relaxing?”
Mark grinned, a little lopsided. “Nope. But I’m an expert at not studying. That’s basically the same thing.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now, and something in his chest tightened at the sight.
A light breeze rustled through the trees, sending a few leaves drifting between you. One of them settled in your hair.
Mark hesitated.
Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he reached up. “Hold still,” he murmured.
Your brows furrowed. “What—”
His fingers brushed against your hair, plucking the leaf free. But his hand lingered grazing your temple.
You went still. Mark swallowed, his pulse hammering. He thought about pulling away. But then you looked at him and your eyes flickered down to his lips just for a second.
Suddenly, the space between you wasn’t so wide anymore.
His hand was still in your hair, and your breath was so, so close, and he could see the way your lips parted slightly almost as an invitation.
But then a sharp creak from behind you made you jolt apart. The Whomping Willow shifted, its branches twitching ominously.
Mark exhaled, pressing a hand to his face. What the hell was that? When he glanced at you, you looked just as dazed. Maybe even disappointed.
That sent a strange thrill through him.
But then you cleared your throat, shaking your head as if brushing the moment away. “We should probably move,” you said, standing and dusting yourself off. “Before the tree decides to take a swing at us.”
Mark huffed a laugh, still a little breathless. “Thought you said it was harmless.”
But as you started walking away, Mark stayed there for just a second longer, staring after you.
He really needed to kiss you.
Badly.
Mark Lee was confusing you.
There had been two clear moments now where you’d almost kissed. Both times, he’d been the one to lean in first, and both times, something had interrupted before it could happen. Yet despite his boldness in those brief moments, you still couldn’t fully let yourself believe this attention was real.
Your heart wanted to, but your brain knew better.
Mark had spent years ignoring you, brushing you off like you didn’t exist, and then humiliated you too. Only to suddenly pull you into his orbit now. Yes, he’d apologized—sincerely, you’d give him that—but that didn’t mean you could just forget the way he hurt you before.
Meanwhile, Haechan seemed to be acting… strange lately.
He was always around, even more than usual. He’d even started asking you to help him with assignments, which was bizarre because Haechan had made a sport out of either sleeping through classes or deliberately distracting you in them. Yet now he’d started seeking you out in the library, sitting closer in the common room, and finding any excuse to keep you near.
You didn’t mind. If anything, it felt comfortable being around him. Haechan never made things complicated.
But you did notice the way Mark would glare daggers at him from across the Great Hall. Or the way his jaw clenched whenever he caught Haechan whispering something in your ear that made you laugh.
And then there was the incident.
It happened in Charms class. Professor Flitwick had started teaching everyone Expulso, a more advanced charm that forcefully propelled objects away from you. It was precise magic that required perfect wand movement and a focused mind.
And well... Mark had neither.
You’d been paired with Haechan for the practical exercise and he, of course, turned the whole thing into a joke, purposefully missing his targets just to make you laugh. Then he decided to experiment, turning his wand on the scarf Mark had left on his desk. With a flick of his wrist, Haechan sent it flying toward himself.
“It’s a bit cold in here, isn’t it?” he grinned, draping it around his neck.
“Dude, give it back,” Mark said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.
Haechan shot him a smug look. “Relax. I don’t fancy these colors either.”
Mark gripped his wand so hard his knuckles turned white. He really tried to keep his composure, but watching you laugh with Haechan as he mocked the Gryffindor colors did something dangerous to his self-control. His mind blurred with pure instinct. Before he could stop himself, he flicked his wand and muttered, “Expulso.”
He’d only meant to send the scarf flying back to him.
Instead, Haechan was thrown clear across the room, crashing into a stack of desks and sending books and ink bottles scattering everywhere. Gasps echoed around the classroom. Mark’s stomach dropped.
“Mr. Lee!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, horrified. “Detention! Immediately!”
And that’s how Mark ended up cleaning every single portrait frame in the castle as punishment.
Now he was on his fourth hour of wiping down dusty frames, trying to ignore Sir Cadogan’s taunting comments.
“Are you truly the best Seeker this school has to offer? Ha! Pathetic, if you ask me! No spine! No dignity!” the painted knight cackled, waving his sword wildly.
Mark gritted his teeth, his grip on the cloth tightening. “I swear, if you don’t shut up—”
“Oh? Going to hex me too, are you?” Sir Cadogan jeered. “Do it, coward! Strike me down if you dare!”
Mark seriously considered shaking the frame just to feel some satisfaction when he heard footsteps behind him.
“You haven’t learned your lesson about hexing people yet?”
Mark froze.
He turned around and there you were, still in your uniform, badge pinned neatly to your robes as a reminder that you were out on prefect patrol. His heart did a stupid little flip at the sight of you.
“Apparently not,” Mark said, trying to force a laugh.
“I think we need to do something about your self-control, Mr. Lee.”
The way you said his name, playful but with a trace of authority, sent a rush of excitement through his veins.
“I admit,” Mark started, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ve been a bit hot-headed lately.”
You raised a brow. “Lately?”
Mark groaned. “Okay, fine. Always. But—” he hesitated, his mouth clamping shut before he said something stupid like I just get like that when I see you with him.
You were still watching him, expectant. “But?”
“…Nothing.” He turned back toward the frame, vigorously wiping it down as if it would erase his own embarrassment.
You stepped closer.
“Mark.”
He swallowed thickly, his hand pausing. “…Yeah?”
“Why did you do it?”
He tried to play dumb. “What do you mean?”
You huffed. “You’ve never lost control of your magic like that with him. Not even during Quidditch. You didn’t just hex Haechan… you blasted him.”
Mark’s jaw tightened. “Maybe he deserved it.”
“For what?”
Mark clenched his teeth. For touching you. For putting his arm around you like you belonged to him. For making you laugh like that. For being close to you in a way he wasn’t allowed to be.
“…For being an asshole,” Mark muttered pathetically.
You scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
Touché.
“Mark,” your voice softened. “Look at me.”
He did. And God, he shouldn’t have.
You were so close. Your scent, your warmth, it was dizzying. Mark could feel his pulse roaring in his ears, his breath shortening. His hand hung limply by his side, still clutching the rag tightly.
There was ink on your cheek.
Without thinking, he reached up, his thumb grazing softly against your skin. “You, uh…” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “You’ve got ink. Right here.”
You gasped.
And Mark realized he was completely, utterly doomed. His thumb caressed your cheek, and then his hand drifted lower, trailing down your jaw before he realized what he was doing.
His entire body was screaming kiss her.
You didn’t move away and for one unbearable moment, Mark swore you were leaning in too—
“Oi!” Sir Cadogan suddenly barked from his frame. “You there! I see you trying to woo a lady with improper decorum! Unhand her at once!”
You flinched back like you’d been scalded. Mark cursed under his breath, his entire body recoiling from yours.
“I—uh... should finish patrol,” you stammered, practically fleeing.
“Yeah. Right. Patrol.” His voice cracked.
And as you disappeared down the corridor, Mark let his head fall against the wall with a groan.
That was three times.
Three times he’d almost kissed you. Three times something—or someone—had interrupted. And three times he’d walked away regretting it.
He didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back.
Halloween arrived in a blur of decorations and excitement. The castle was buzzing with energy, students gorging themselves on sweets from Honeydukes and filling the Great Hall with loud chatter and laughter.
Mark wasn’t particularly fond of sweets, but he still tagged along with Jaemin and Chenle to Hogsmeade that morning. It was a decent distraction.
When he finally returned to the dormitory that evening, exhausted and chilled from the walk, he found a small pile of sweets on his bed. Mark frowned. Weird. He didn’t remember leaving any there. But then his eyes landed on a heart-shaped box of chocolates.
His heart stopped.
A slow, stupid smile spread across his face as he reached for the box, his mind flashing back to years ago—to the day you’d given him a similar box of chocolates in second year. Back then, he’d been a coward. He’d tossed them out in front of you when his friends told him to, too embarrassed to admit that the sight of you blushing as you handed them to him had made his heart race. He could still remember the hurt on your face when he did it.
Mark wasn’t about to make that mistake again.
He opened the box without hesitation, popping one of the chocolates into his mouth. It melted on his tongue, rich and sweet, but almost immediately he felt… odd. Like his blood was moving too fast in his veins.
He blinked.
His pulse thundered in his ears, and an uncomfortable tightness built low in his stomach. His throat was dry. His skin felt hot. His head felt like it was being stuffed with cotton.
“What the hell…” Mark muttered, stumbling back slightly as a wave of dizziness hit him.
The room swayed around him, his thoughts clouding over like a dense fog. But the one thing that stayed sharp and clear in his mind was you. Your face. Your voice. The lingering warmth of your skin from when he’d touched your cheek before. His body burned with the desperate, uncontrollable urge to find you.
Mark didn’t remember walking out of the dorm. His body moved on autopilot, driven by a force he didn’t understand, only that he needed to see you.
You hated Halloween patrols.
They were miserable every year, especially when you knew the castle was still alive with music and celebration, and you were stuck walking through empty corridors. It didn’t help that Halloween was also prime time for students sneaking out of their common rooms to pull pranks or engage in other debauchery.
So when you rounded a corner and spotted two people heavily making out against the wall, you didn’t think much of it. You just sighed and braced yourself to break them apart.
“Alright, enough,” you said, walking toward them. “Back to your dorms or I’m docking points—”
You froze.
The boy pinning the girl against the wall, his hands gripping her waist like he couldn’t get enough of her... was Mark.
Your heart plummeted so fast it made you feel physically ill.
“Mark?” your voice cracked.
Slowly, like something out of a nightmare, Mark’s head turned toward you. His pupils were blown wide, his hair mussed from the fervent kiss. There was a wild, unhinged look in his eyes that you didn’t recognize like he wasn’t entirely there.
But the girl…
You felt like the air had been knocked out of you when you recognized her.
Minjeong.
Your best friend.
Your mind couldn’t catch up. No. This didn’t make sense. Mark had almost kissed you. Three times. You’d spent weeks pouring your heart out to Minjeong, admitting—-however humiliating—that you thought Mark was starting to like you back. And she… she knew.
She knew exactly how you felt about him.
Your gaze darted between them, desperately searching for some sort of explanation, some indication that this wasn’t what it looked like. But Mark was still staring at you in a daze, and Minjeong was… smiling.
You felt something splinter deep inside you.
“You—” your voice died in your throat.
Minjeong had the audacity to giggle. She pulled away from Mark’s mouth, though his hands were still clinging to her hips. “Oh…hey, Y/N,” she said breathlessly, a sheen of gloss smeared across her lips.
You looked at Mark, desperate for him to say something. But his gaze was fixed solely on Minjeong, his chest heaving, his lips still parted like he wanted more.
“Mark,” you choked out again.
His head snapped toward you. For a split second, his face twisted into something confused, like he didn’t understand why you were there. His eyes darted across your face, and you swore there was a flicker of recognition, a brief moment of panic in his expression.
Then Minjeong giggled again and Mark’s gaze instantly darkened as it fell back on her.
“Aw, don’t be mad, Y/N,” she pouted. “Please don’t tell Professor Snape, yeah?”
You felt like you were watching yourself from outside your body. “You two… can’t be here right now. You need… you need to go back to your common rooms.”
Your voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
“Come on,” Minjeong teased, suddenly hooking her arm around yours. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Y/N. We’re just having some fun.”
You flinched. Don’t touch me.
Your Occlumency walls shot up instinctively, straining under the weight of your heartbreak but holding just enough to keep your expression neutral. You swallowed down the burning in your throat and repeated, “You need to go.”
Mark still wasn’t speaking. His pupils were so dilated it was unnatural, his chest still rising and falling rapidly like he couldn’t catch his breath. His swollen lips parted like he was about to say something.
But Minjeong turned, smiled sweetly at him, and said, “Mark, come on. Let’s not get Y/N in trouble.”
And Mark moved like a moth to a flame. Without hesitation, he grabbed her waist and yanked her into another bruising kiss. You recoiled like you’d been burned, forcing your eyes away before the image could be seared into your memory forever.
The sound of Minjeong’s delighted giggles made you want to scream.
Finally, she pulled back, wiping her mouth with a smug grin. “See you tomorrow, Y/N,” she sang, then turned to Mark and cooed, “Come on, lover boy. Let’s go.”
Mark didn’t even look at you. He let her drag him off down the corridor without so much as a glance in your direction.
The second they disappeared, your Occlumency walls shattered. You sucked in a shaky breath, clutching your chest like you could physically hold the pain in. A choked sob escaped your throat, but you quickly swallowed it back, forcing yourself not to cry here.
You’d be damned if you let them see you break.
What you didn't know is that Mark wouldn’t remember any of it.
Not the taste of Minjeong’s lips. Not the way his body burned with the inexplicable need to touch her. Not the sick, nauseating feeling in his gut when he caught your tearful gaze and felt like he was betraying something sacred.
All he would know was that when he woke up the next morning, his throat would be dry, his mind foggy…
…and the lingering taste of chocolate still heavy on his tongue.
A whole week passed since Halloween and Mark could not, for the life of him, figure out what he’d done to make you go back to acting like he didn’t exist.
You wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t spare him a glance, and on the rare occasion that your eyes did meet his, it was like he physically repulsed you. It was driving him insane.
Mark was starting to think he must’ve had one too many butterbeers during Halloween night and done something incredibly stupid. But he couldn’t know for sure because, again, you wouldn’t speak to him.
He also noticed you and Minjeong weren’t talking anymore. That part confused him almost as much as your behavior toward him. You were either with Karina or Haechan now, but most of the time, you were alone. And Mark hated it — hated seeing you without the warm spark you always carried when you were surrounded by friends.
But most of all, he hated that you were ignoring him. He needed you to talk to him. He needed you to tell him what he did wrong so he could fix it immediately.
Which is why he was now standing outside the Slytherin common room, anxiously hoping someone would be kind enough to let him in. Unsurprisingly, none of the Slytherins were willing to let a Gryffindor in, especially one who looked as nervous and fidgety as Mark did.
He was starting to lose hope when, finally, the perfect opportunity came in the form of Karina.
“Hey! Karina—” Mark called, jogging a few steps toward her. She slowed down as she spotted him, her face immediately tightening into an annoyed scowl.
“What do you want?” she said, her tone clipped and cold.
Mark blinked, taken aback. He knew Karina didn’t exactly love him, but she had never sounded this openly hostile toward him before.
“Uh… I was hoping I could talk to Y/N. I was wondering if you could either let me in or—”
“How dare you?” she snapped, suddenly pointing an accusing finger at him.
Mark froze. “I— sorry, what?”
“You’ve got some fucking nerve coming here with those stupid puppy dog eyes like you didn’t completely break her heart again. Haven’t you humiliated her enough? Or do you just get off on using her and throwing her away when you’re bored?” Karina’s voice trembled with anger.
“Wha... what are you talking about?” Mark asked, his voice rising in exasperation.
“Don’t play dumb, Lee. You know exactly what you did,” she spat.
“No, I don’t! I swear, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of right now! I already apologized for the Yule Ball… and the gifts… but what is this about me using her?” Mark’s heart was starting to race, his palms sweating as dread crawled up his spine.
Karina scoffed incredulously. “Seriously? You’re gonna keep playing the innocent act? After everything?”
“Karina, I’m serious. I don’t know what you mean! What did I do to her?”
“Oh my god.” She let out a bitter laugh, taking a step back like she couldn’t stand to be near him. “You really don’t remember?”
Mark’s throat tightened. “…Remember what?”
Karina stared at him for a long moment, her face twisted with disgust. “Halloween, you idiot.”
Mark blinked. “Halloween?”
“Yes, Halloween. When you were shoving your tongue down Minjeong’s throat like a desperate little dog.”
Mark’s stomach dropped. “What?”
Karina laughed humorlessly. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. Y/N saw you, Mark. She caught you all over Minjeong that night. After you almost kissed her three times. After she told us how she thought you finally liked her back. After she spent literal years pining after you!”
“No…” Mark felt like he couldn’t breathe. “No, no, no. That… that’s not right. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t like Minjeong, I like—” his voice caught in his throat. “I like Y/N.”
Karina let out another bitter laugh. “Yeah? Well, you sure have a fucked up way of showing it.”
“No, I— I don’t remember that! I don’t remember kissing Minjeong! I swear to god, Karina, I would never do that to Y/N...” his voice cracked, panic making his words rush out in a desperate tumble. “I don’t remember! I don’t—”
“Save it, Mark.” Karina’s face hardened. “I’m not the one you should be begging for forgiveness to. But it doesn’t even matter, you've already ruined everything. She’s not gonna take you back, not after that. So do her a favor and stay the hell away from her.”
And with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the common room.
Mark trudged back to the Gryffindor common room looking deader than the ghosts that roamed the castle. His head was spinning, Karina’s words replaying in his mind like a haunting echo.
He couldn’t believe it. He kissed Minjeong. How the hell could he not remember something like that? Was he really that drunk that night? But it didn’t make any sense. He’d never gotten so drunk on butterbeer that he completely blacked out before.
It was eating him alive. The image of you looking at him with absolute disgust now made so much painful sense. And if you saw it happen, no wonder you hated him.
By the time he stepped into the boys’ dormitory, Mark looked like someone who’d just been handed a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.
Jaemin, who was drying his hair with a towel, was the first to spot him. “And what the hell happened to you?” he laughed, eyeing Mark’s pale, horrified expression. “You look like you just sat through one of Snape’s scoldings.”
Mark groaned and dropped face-first onto his bed. “Kill me.”
Jaemin raised a brow. “That bad, huh?”
“I screwed up this time, dude. Like… really screwed up.”
“What, did you jinx another student by accident?”
“No.” Mark’s voice was muffled against his pillow. “…I kissed Minjeong.”
“What?!” Jaemin and Chenle —who had just pulled open the curtains of his four-poster bed— exclaimed at the same time.
Mark turned his head just enough to look at them. “I don’t even remember it happening, but apparently, I kissed her during Halloween… and Y/N saw the whole thing. And now she hates me.”
“Dude,” Chenle gawked, disbelief clouding his face. “How the hell do you kiss someone and not remember it?”
“Yeah, that’s insane–” Jaemin started, but then his voice abruptly cut off, his eyes widening like something just clicked in his brain. “…Wait. Halloween?”
Mark lifted his head, brow furrowing. “Yeah?”
Jaemin suddenly shot to his feet and walked over to Mark. “Did you eat any chocolates?”
Mark blinked. “What…?”
“Did you get any chocolates that night?”
“Uh… yeah? Why?”
Jaemin’s face paled. “Oh my god. Dude. Those were doused with Amortentia.”
Mark felt his entire body go cold. “…What?”
“Holy shit,” Jaemin ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely horrified. “You seriously didn’t know?”
Mark sat up so fast his head spun. “What do you mean I didn’t know?! What the hell are you talking about?”
“The chocolates, Mark! Every year during Halloween, girls sneak Amortentia into the chocolates hoping that the guy they like eats them and falls in love with them for a few hours. It’s a whole thing. Why do you think I told you to throw away the ones Y/N gave you years ago?”
Mark’s brain short-circuited. “Wait… what?”
“Dude!” Jaemin looked at him like he was dense. “I told you not to trust those chocolates around Halloween! Renjun’s dad works in Diagon Alley, and he says love potions are always sold out around this time of year because of Hogwarts students.”
“Especially you, dude,” Chenle added “You’re Gryffindor’s Seeker. You’re literally the main target. How did you not know this by now?”
Mark’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might pass out. “I...I didn’t. I thought—I thought the chocolates were from Y/N…” his throat tightened. “But she’d never do that to me…”
Jaemin and Chenle exchanged a look before Jaemin cautiously asked, “…Did they have a card on them?”
Mark blinked, trying to remember. “…No?”
“Exactly!” Jaemin threw his hands up. “Y/N always put a card on her gifts to you, dumbass. She’s never not done that.”
“Oh my god,” Mark’s voice cracked, his hands clutching his hair. “I’m such an idiot! I thought they were from her so I just... I ate them. I didn’t even think—” his stomach twisted in horror. “I kissed Minjeong because of a love potion?”
“Looks like it,” Chenle said grimly.
Mark felt like he was going to throw up. “Oh my god. Y/N must think I’m the worst person alive. She probably thinks I led her on and then went and kissed her best friend—”
“Yeah, well, considering you practically ate her face off in front of her, I’d say that’s a fair assumption,” Chenle shrugged.
“I didn’t mean to! I don’t remember any of it happening!” Mark’s voice cracked as panic completely consumed him. “Oh my god, Y/N hates me. She thinks I—fuck! I have to go talk to her—”
“Woah, woah, no. Don’t do that,” Jaemin said quickly, grabbing his arm.
“What?! Why not?”
“Because if you go to her right now all panicked, she’s just gonna think you’re making excuses! You need proof that you were under a love potion or she’ll never believe you.”
Mark stared at him, wide-eyed. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“Minjeong.”
Mark blinked. “…What?”
Jaemin gave him a look. “Minjeong. She’s obviously the one who gave you the chocolates. If you can get her to admit it, Y/N will have to believe you.”
Mark swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “But what if she doesn’t admit it?”
Chenle scoffed. “Then we hex the truth out of her. Don’t worry, we got you.”
Mark could barely process anything. All he could think about was how you must’ve felt watching him kiss Minjeong. How heartbroken you must’ve been. How you probably cried yourself to sleep that night thinking he never cared about you.
You probably still thought that.
Mark’s hands clenched into fists. No. He wasn’t letting you believe that for another second.
An hour later he was pacing outside the Great Hall like a caged animal. Jaemin and Chenle stood nearby, whispering to each other. They were supposed to be helping him stay calm, but so far, their only strategy had been muttering plans that Mark couldn’t even focus on.
“I still think we should just give her Veritaserum and call it a day,” Chenle muttered.
“We’re not drugging anyone,” Jaemin shot back. “We’ll talk to her first.”
“You think she’s just gonna just admit she poisoned him with Amortentia?”
“She doesn’t have to,” Jaemin said with a smug grin. “We just need to pressure her enough that the truth slips out”
Before Mark could ask further, Minjeong appeared at the top of the staircase, chatting with a group of Slytherins.
“There she is,” Jaemin muttered, already moving forward. Mark and Chenle followed.
“Minjeong!” Jaemin called out.
She paused, turning around. When she saw them approaching, her smile faltered.
“Oh,” she said, plastering on a forced grin. “Hey... what’s up?”
“We need to talk,” Mark said, his voice tight.
Minjeong blinked. “Talk?” Her gaze flicked between the three of them. “About what?”
“About Halloween,” Jaemin said pointedly.
Mark watched Minjeong’s face carefully— the way her eyes widened just enough to betray her surprise before she forced her expression back to something neutral.
“Halloween?” she repeated with a weak laugh. “Why would we need to talk about that?”
Mark stepped forward. “Don’t act stupid,” he said quietly.
Minjeong’s smile faltered. “I... don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, really?” Chenle crossed his arms. “Then how come Mark doesn’t remember kissing you or anything about that night at all?”
Minjeong scoffed. “What are you insinuating?”
“You laced the chocolates with Amortentia,” Mark cut in, his voice like ice.
Minjeong’s eyes widened. “What?!” she sputtered, her voice rising a little too high. “That’s insane! Why would I do that?”
“You were waiting outside the Gryffindor common room that night,” Jaemin said coldly. “You knew exactly that Mark would think they were from Y/N and you were waiting to see if it worked.”
“That’s not true!” Minjeong snapped. “I didn’t—”
“Everybody else was at the celebration except you,” Chenle said. “You knew he would go to the common room after Hogsmeade, and you sneaked in the chocolates right before we arrived.”
“T-that’s ridiculous!” Minjeong stammered. “I was just leaving the Great Hall when I saw Mark walking around and he kissed me out of nowhere!”
“Bullshit,” Jaemin shot back. “You knew he was drugged and wouldn’t differentiate from the person he really wanted and anyone else.”
“Merlin, you guys are being crazy. Why would I even do that?”
“Because you like him,” Jaemin answered before Mark could. His voice was dripping with amusement, but his eyes were cold. “And you knew you didn’t stand a chance with Y/N around, so you figured a love potion would tip the odds in your favor, right?”
Minjeong scoffed. “As if I would ever--”
“Then swear on your magic,” Chenle challenged, his smile razor-sharp. “Swear on your magic that you didn’t put Amortentia in those chocolates.”
Silence.
Minjeong’s mouth opened then closed. Her eyes darted to Mark, panic slowly blooming in her face. “I—I don’t have to do anything—”
“Swear on your magic, Minjeong.” Mark demanded.
She didn’t.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Jaemin muttered.
Minjeong’s face flooded with color. “You guys are insane! I didn’t do anything! Mark probably wanted to kiss me—”
“Oh, spare me” Chenle snapped, his laugh sharp and incredulous. “You think if he actually wanted to do it, he’d just block out the entire night like it never happened?”
Minjeong’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “H-he was probably just—just embarrassed or something.”
“Embarrassed?” Mark’s voice finally cracked, and whatever grip he had on his composure snapped like a twig. “Embarrassed about what, Minjeong? You’re the one desperate enough to force yourself onto me when I was incapacitated ” His voice was raw, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger. “I don’t even like you!”
The words hit Minjeong like a slap to the face. Her entire body visibly recoiled, her mouth parting slightly.
But Mark wasn’t done.
“I like Y/N. I’ve always liked Y/N. And you…” his voice cracked as the words ripped out of him, “you made me kiss you in front of her. Do you have any idea how fucking awful that must’ve been for her?”
Minjeong’s throat bobbed, her face pale. “I—I didn’t mean for her to see.”
“Yes, you did!” Mark shot back, his voice raw and trembling. “Don’t even try to pull that bullshit right now. You knew she was patrolling. You absolutely knew what you were doing. You wanted me to want you, even if it wasn’t real. Even if you had to—” his voice broke slightly, rage burning his throat, “—had to drug me to get it.”
Minjeong flinched, her eyes darting between them. “I didn’t think it would—”
“Exactly!” Mark let out a humorless, bitter laugh. “You didn’t think. You didn’t think about me, you didn’t think about Y/N… You didn’t think about anyone but yourself! All you cared about was getting me no matter what it cost, and you didn’t care how it would make her feel. You—” his voice cracked and he swallowed hard, “—you humiliated her. And she probably thinks I’m the world’s biggest asshole who just played her.”
“I-I swear, I didn’t think it would get this far”
Chenle scoffed. “You literally slipped him a love potion. What the hell did you think was gonna happen?”
Minjeong shot him a glare, but her voice cracked when she tried to defend herself. “I just— I thought maybe if he… if given the chance…. he’d realize he liked me, okay?”
“Are you serious?!” Mark practically exploded. His voice booming with the sheer force of his emotions. “You didn’t think about how messed up it is to force someone into something like that?”
Minjeong was shaking now. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad…”
“But it did,” Mark’s voice broke, his throat tight. “And now I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.”
Silence slammed down on them like a sledgehammer. Minjeong’s face crumpled, but Mark didn’t care. His entire body was shaking with rage, with guilt, with absolute devastation.
And that’s when Mark heard a sharp, shaky intake of breath behind him.
Slowly, he turned around and his heart dropped.
You stood a few feet away, eyes wide. But it wasn’t heartbreak painted across your face. It was pure, unbridled rage.
“You—” your voice shook with fury as you looked at Minjeong. “You drugged him?”
Minjeong froze like a deer caught in headlights. “I—”
“You gave him Amortentia,” you seethed. “You drugged him and then… and then you let him kiss you and you didn’t even stop him?”
“It wasn’t… I didn’t—” Minjeong stammered, panicking now.
“What the fuck is your problem!” you cut her off. “Do you have any idea how messed up that is? You violated him!”
Mark’s breath caught in his throat at the way your voice cracked with fury.
“What?” Minjeong scoffed, suddenly back on the defensive. “It’s not like he didn’t enjoy it in the end—”
“Oh my god,” you recoiled like you were about to be sick. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you think it’s okay to force someone to kiss you under a love potion and then act like it was consensual?”
“I didn’t force him to eat them—”
“You set them up for him like a trap” you shrieked. “You drugged him! You took away his ability to choose! How can you even live with yourself?”
Minjeong looked around like she was hoping someone would swoop in and save her, but no one did. Even the Slytherins she’d been chatting with earlier were watching in stunned silence.
“You… who consoled me all the times I went to bed crying over him!” you spat, your voice raw with emotion.
“I… I’m sorry…”
“Oh, shut up,” you snapped. “You knew exactly what you were doing, an apology won’t do it now”
Minjeong opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
“Let me make one thing very clear,” you said through gritted teeth. “You don’t look at him. You don’t speak to him. You don’t breathe in his direction. If I catch you so much as standing near him, I’ll make sure every professor in this castle knows exactly what you did.”
Minjeong didn’t need to be told twice, she practically bolted in the opposite direction, not sparing any of you a glance.
Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
“Y/N…” Mark said weakly, his voice cracking. “I’m so—”
“Don’t,” you choked out, turning back to him. “Please don’t apologize. Just—” your voice broke again, and then suddenly, you were throwing yourself into his arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry she did that to you.”
Mark held you even tighter. “It’s not your fault. God, Y/N, I missed you so much.”
“Me too,” you whispered. And you meant it.
This was the first time you hugged and Mark realized you fit perfectly in his arms, like you were meant to be there all along. You smelled incredible too. It was that soft, earthy smell of fresh rain on soil and blooming jasmine, the kind of scent that lingered in greenhouses after a long day of tending to plants. It hit him all at once. Of course. That was exactly what the Amortentia had smelled like to him.
His stomach tightened at the realization. The first time he bit into those chocolates, the first person that had flashed through his mind was you.
God, he was such an idiot.
When you finally pulled away, Mark’s entire body screamed at him to pull you back in. To kiss you. To fix everything. His gaze fell to your lips, and he almost gave in but then he remembered Jaemin and Chenle were still very much standing there, watching the two of you with annoyingly amused smiles.
Mark cleared his throat, stepping back slightly. “Uh… thanks, guys. You know, for… everything.”
“Of course, man,” Jaemin grinned. “We couldn’t just let that snake get away with it.”
“I still can’t believe she’d go that far,” you murmured, concern furrowing your brow. “I didn’t even know she liked you like that… or that she was capable of something so—” you swallowed hard, struggling to find the word. “…horrible.” You glanced up at Mark, your eyes still heavy with disbelief.
Mark’s heart ached at the guilt in your voice.
“You couldn’t have known,” he reassured softly. “She fooled everyone with that sweet girl act.”
“Not everyone,” Jaemin muttered under his breath, arms crossed.
“Oh, shut up, just the other day you were talking about how she’s the hottest slyther—” Chenle started, only to get a sharp elbow in the ribs.
“Anyways!” Jaemin cut in quickly, forcing a grin. “We’ll, uh… leave you guys to it. And please, for the love of Merlin, talk. I’m sick of all this miscommunication.”
“Seriously,” Chenle added, smirking. “If I have to live another day of you two silently pining for each other I will offer myself to the werewolves.”
Mark felt his face heat as you laughed softly, and a moment later, Jaemin and Chenle disappeared down the corridor.
You both stood there, your gazes flicking everywhere except each other. The weight of everything that had just happened still hung heavily in the air.
Mark swallowed hard. “So… uh…”
“Come on,” you suddenly said, grabbing his hand before he could finish his sentence.
“Where are we—”
“Just trust me,” you murmured.
Mark let you pull him along, his fingers curling instinctively around yours. You led him up staircase after staircase until you reached the Astronomy Tower and when you finally stepped out onto the platform, Mark couldn't believe his eyes
“Whoa…”
The view was breathtaking. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo across the sky. From this high up, the Hogwarts grounds looked almost dreamlike. The Black Lake glistened like glass, and the Forbidden Forest stretched endlessly beyond it.
“I’ve never been up here during sunset,” Mark admitted, his voice slightly awed. “It’s… beautiful.”
You smiled softly, leaning against the railing. “I thought you’d like it.”
Mark turned to you. “Why?”
You hesitated, then shrugged. “…I’ve noticed you do that a lot.”
Mark blinked. “Do what?”
“Stare at the sky.” You smiled faintly, not looking at him. “Whenever you’re playing Quidditch. When it’s a slow game and you’re not chasing the Snitch, you just… look up. Like you’re mesmerized by it.”
Mark’s breath caught.
He didn’t know what hit him harder. The fact that you noticed something so small about him or the fact that you cared enough to remember.
“I didn’t think anyone ever noticed that…” he said quietly.
You glanced at him then, your gaze soft and sincere. “I don’t think anyone else caught it… but I did.”
And that was it.
The final push Mark needed.
“Y/N,” his voice cracked, raw and desperate. “I swear to Merlin…I never wanted to kiss her. The only person I’ve ever thought about kissing is you. It’s always been you.”
Your breath caught, and Mark took a shaky step closer. “I… I didn’t know it at first. I mean, I did, but I didn’t understand it. Not until I ate those chocolates. Because the first thing I smelled was—” he swallowed thickly, his gaze locking on yours. “It was you. Rain, jasmine, and… and that earthy smell you get when you come back from Herbology. That’s what Amortentia smelled like to me..”
Tears stung your eyes, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Mark…”
“And when I heard what Minjeong did, I thought I was gonna lose my mind. The idea of you thinking I didn’t care about you… that I’d choose her over you… I hated it. I hated myself for hurting you, even if it wasn’t my fault.” His voice broke slightly. “I never wanted anyone else but you.”
The tears finally slipped down your cheeks. “You mean that?”
“With everything in me,” Mark choked.
Mark could feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin, his hand twitching at his side. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to kiss you.
“Can I—”
“Please,” you cut him off, already stepping toward him.
That was all it took.
Mark crashed his mouth onto yours, his hands instinctively finding your waist as you gripped the front of his sweater. The kiss was desperate, not rushed, but heavy with years of longing. He kissed you like he was afraid you’d slip away if he stopped, and you kissed him like you were trying to make up for all the time you’d lost.
And Merlin, you tasted like heaven.
By the time you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other.
“…I’ve been wanting to do that for years, you know,” Mark admitted, laughing shakily.
You let out a soft laugh. ”Years?”
“Yeah,” he smiled sheepishly. “I think I fell for you the first time you hexed me on the train. I was just too immature to see it.”
Mark swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Can I… can I kiss you again?”
“Mark, you can kiss me whenever you want.” you said, caressing his cheek.
He loved the sound of that.
This time when he kissed you, it was slower. Like he was memorizing the taste of you, the feel of you, the fact that you were finally his.
A friendship can’t be ruined by having sex… can it?
⊹₊⋆ pairing: best friend!haechan x fem!reader x love interest!jaehyun (slight)
⊹₊⋆ warnings: angst, fluff, smut, best friends to lovers trope, protected sex, unprotected sex (use protection pls), fingering, making out, nudes, slowburn, suggestive redaction, mild cursing, reader is a virgin lol, haechan isn't, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance.
⊹₊⋆wc: 18,3K
READ THE PREVIEW [HERE]
Two weeks later
haechan sighed again, his chest heavy as he collapsed onto the couch. With both hands, he covered his face, fingers digging into his skin, trying to block out the past two weeks.
hyuck didn’t understand why there was this twisted mess of emotions swirling in his stomach, why his thoughts were so scattered, a jumble of "what ifs" and "should I's".
it had been two weeks since you made that insane proposition to him. haechan hadn’t talked much since then, just the occasional texts letting each other know when they’d left or entered the building they both lived in. the topic hadn’t come up, and you hadn’t pressured him either. but, god, it haunted him.
it was unthinkable. his values just wouldn’t allow it. sleeping with his best friend? never crossed his mind. but you—you weren’t just anyone. you’d been inseparable since high school. your sense of humor matched perfectly, and everyone knew the two of you were a damn force together. their friends noticed the bond, the way they both seemed to fit like puzzle pieces, always there for each other, even when they fought. like siblings, but with none of the blood ties.
that word, "siblings"—it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was strange that others saw them two like that. but they were okay with it. there were boundaries in their relationship, and crossing them was unforgivable.
of course, you were angelic. your bubbly personality and constant jokes made you irresistible. physically, you were gorgeous, though you were a bit shorter than him—way too short, maybe. you had black hair and an odd but cute bangs just above your eyebrows, something he liked to tease you about.
and yeah, you’d catch anyone’s eye. he wasn’t gonna lie—he’d had a crush on you when he first met you in high school. but over time, that romantic attraction faded as your friendship grew stronger.
maybe it was also the way you were so open with your thoughts—no filter, no shame—that when you asked him about sleeping together, it sounded completely natural to you. to him, though? It was a punch to the gut, a cold shower, a slap to the face. he was spinning, disoriented, trapped in what felt like a twisted fantasy—or maybe a nightmare.
for him, sex wasn’t a taboo subject. he’d lost his virginity at 17 to one of his many girlfriends, and talking about it was casual. hell, haechan didn’t even hold back when discussing the details of his past experiences with you. he’d even described how he’d "done it" in vivid detail—like it was nothing.
but you? you were different. you had dated three guys since high school, but none of those relationships lasted more than two months. so, you didn’t exactly know what it was like to be in a serious, long-term relationship. snd sex? It didn’t seem like a necessity in your life—at least not until now.
“I mean, when you’re dating someone romantically and nothing happens, i’d call that a win,” you said, casually munching on a slice of lemon tart.
haechan furrowed his brows, taking a sip of his coffee. “explain that.”
“it’s simple,” you shrugged. “because if they haven’t seen you naked, you can run into them on the street and not have to worry about that bastard seeing your ass.”
heck couldn’t help but laugh at your reasoning. “right, totally.”
you both chuckled, agreeing on that one. but he also knew, deep down, it wasn’t that simple for him. not anymore. he couldn’t ignore what was bubbling beneath the surface.
haechan felt a buzz in his pocket. his phone. the first class of the day was about to start, and he had to rush if he didn’t want to be late. he lived close to campus, just a five-minute walk, but the class was on the other side of the building.
but this situation? it was messing with his head so much that he couldn’t fall asleep until 3 AM these past two weeks. he grabbed his backpack and keys, about to head out when his phone buzzed again.
it was you. a message: “i’m heading to class, just leaving my apartment.”
haechan froze. he hadn’t expected you to text him now. his hand gripped the doorknob, but he didn’t open it. the thought of seeing you right now made his heart race. he wasn’t ready. not yet. he couldn’t just pretend like everything was fine.
"shit... y/n, what were you thinking?"
he sighed deeply. what was this? haechan could hear his own voice in his head, his thoughts like an endless storm. he couldn’t stop thinking about you—about what you had said, and about everything that had changed in such a short time. his stomach twisted. what would happen if he saw you now? could he face you? could he even be the same around you after what you had suggested?
he shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. He didn’t have the answers, but he knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be easy.
haechan let out a deep sigh, adjusting his scarf around his neck before stepping out of his apartment. he tried to calm himself, convincing himself that he could handle whatever came next. as if nothing had happened. as if he could just brush it off and pretend it hadn’t been weighing on him for the past two weeks.
but every time he thought about it, it made his chest tighten. that proposal of yours. the way you had looked at him, so casually, as if it were no big deal. he couldn’t get it out of his mind. he had always been the life of the party, the one to make jokes and laugh things off. but this—this was different. it gnawed at him like an insistent itch he couldn’t scratch, a question with no answer.
he made his way to campus, each step seeming faster than the last, but his thoughts were tangled in a mess of confusion and frustration. you hadn’t seemed bothered. if anything, you had acted like it was just another conversation. you hadn’t even tried to talk to him about it again, hadn’t pressured him. but that only made it worse. the silence between you both was deafening. you had sent that message, but it wasn’t the same. it was as if you had moved on without even thinking about it, while he was still stuck in the same place, drowning in his thoughts.
it was absurd. he was known for being the carefree one, the one who didn’t let anything get to him. but now? now he was a mess. the more he tried to convince himself that it was no big deal, the harder it was to believe it. you had said it so easily, like it was a joke, and yet it had shattered something inside him. the truth was, he didn’t know how to look at you anymore. he didn’t know how to face you after that. how could he? after everything?
haechan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. his footsteps carried him toward the building, and the closer he got, the more his anxiety grew. he couldn’t avoid it forever. he’d have to see you eventually. the communication department wasn’t that big, and it seemed like the entire campus would lead him straight to you.
as he reached the entrance of the building, his alert system kicked in. you were probably inside already. and damn it, the thought of running into you—now, after everything—felt like a punch in the gut. you hadn’t even mentioned it again, hadn’t tried to force a conversation. yet he could feel it. the tension. the distance. how had it gotten to this? why did he feel so… disconnected?
he stopped for a second, hand resting against the doorframe, trying to breathe. but it was like everything had changed. nothing was simple anymore. he had been your best friend for so long, but now? now it felt like he was walking on eggshells, unsure of what would break first.
“hey.”
a light punch to his back snapped him out of his daze, and the blood immediately drained from his face. that voice—he couldn’t mistake it, not even if a million voices tried to mimic it. His breath hitched, and he turned around so fast it almost hurt.
there you were. small, as always. a knitted beanie sitting snug over your head, that— ridiculous—fringe barely brushing the tops of your brows, framing your delicate face in a way that made his throat dry. a long grey coat hung from your shoulders, swallowing you slightly, and your black boots clicked softly against the floor. everything about you looked… normal. the way you looked at him, the way you smiled, even the casual punch to his back.
physical contact.
that word echoed in his head like a siren. he quickly shook the thought away, locking his focus on the paper Starbucks bag dangling from your left hand. maybe you’d stopped by the café on the way. maybe you ordered delivery. maybe someone gave it to you. maybe—god, he needed to stop. the hamster in his brain was doing flips, and he wanted to knock some sense into himself.
you held the bag out toward him.
haechan just stared at it for a second, until you raised your eyebrows, shook it again, and snapped, “are you gonna take it or what?! geez, i brought it for you and you’re just standing there looking at it like an idiot.”
your expression twisted in mock annoyance, brows curved upward—but oddly, he felt the tightness in his chest ease a little.
reluctantly, haechan reached out and took the bag, brushing his fingers against yours for a second too long. he tried not to react, but his mind was a chaotic storm. He couldn’t help but look at you—really look.
had you always looked like this? that coat hugged your waist just enough. the shape of your figure was something he never let himself notice before. and your chest… jesus. it wasn’t like you’d suddenly changed, but it felt like someone had wiped the fog off his glasses. He was seeing you differently. entirely.
and that terrified him.
he lowered his eyes quickly, too aware of how warm his ears were getting.
“thanks,” he mumbled, voice a little hoarse.
“no problem,” you replied, glancing around casually. “i figured you might skip breakfast again, so…”
you trailed off with a small shrug, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets. haechan tried to smile, but his stomach was tangled in impossible knots.
haechan took another deep breath as he tried to collect himself, shifting the weight of the Starbucks bag from one hand to the other. he looked at you, trying to ignore the pull in his chest—the sudden awareness of every little detail about you. there was a tension he couldn’t shake off, something that sat heavy in his stomach.
you seemed to notice his distracted state and leaned against the wall, your usual easygoing posture, the same as always, except now, he couldn’t stop noticing how you looked in that oversized coat and those boots. he was spiraling again, caught in the thought of you.
“so…” you broke the silence, “i’ve been kind of swamped lately. working on this branding project for a client. it’s been a pain, though. my computer decided to die on me right when I needed it most.”
haechan raised an eyebrow, his mind snapping back to reality. “really? you didn’t tell me about it. why didn’t you ask for help? I mean, i know a thing or two about fixing computers. I could’ve helped you.”
you shrugged, a small, nonchalant smile playing at the corners of your lips. “nah, i called taeyong instead. he’s better with that stuff.”
there was a sharp tug in haechan’s chest. he hadn’t expected that. the knot in his stomach tightened, a wave of discomfort washing over him. taeyong? really?
he tried to laugh it off, but there was something bitter in his tone as he asked, “taeyong? why him? i thought you knew I was good with that kind of stuff.”
“yeah, well,” you quipped with a raised eyebrow, “taeyong just happened to be the first one I thought of. besides, he’s pretty quick with tech stuff.”
haechan’s smile was tight, and his stomach churned. he told himself it was nothing. he was being stupid. but why didn’t you ask him? he had always been there when your tech failed. it felt… weird. almost like you didn’t need him anymore. but, of course, he didn’t voice any of that. instead, he played it off, trying to act casual.
“sure, sure,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. he was so not handling this well. the thought of you asking someone else for help left him unsettled, and he hated how much it bothered him. It was irrational, but he couldn't shake it.
you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he pulled back just a little. your smile softened as you leaned forward slightly, breaking the silence again.
“hey,” you said gently, “i’m sorry if it upset you. it wasn’t meant to make you feel left out, really.”
haechan quickly looked up, trying to look unfazed. “nah, it’s fine. I mean, it's not like i’m the only one you can ask for help, right?” he joked, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t quite match the tone of his words.
you raised your eyebrows, a knowing look in your eyes. “you’re acting like a total prude right now,” you said, a smirk forming. “didn’t you used to tell me all the crazy stuff you did with jang chanmi back in high school? and now the topic of helping a friend with a computer is freaking you out?”
haechan blinked, taken aback. the mention of chanmi, especially in the context of your teasing, was enough to snap him out of his spiraling thoughts. he groaned, running a hand through his hair, trying to laugh it off. “well, that was different, okay? that was high school stuff.”
you chuckled, leaning back against the wall, clearly amused by his discomfort. “oh, come on. don’t tell me you’re too shy to talk about tech problems now. you used to explain every position you tried with her—like it was a lesson in geometry or something.”
haechan let out an exasperated sigh, not sure whether to be embarrassed or grateful for the way you were managing to cut through the tension. he couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck, and he cursed under his breath. of all the people, you had to be the one to make him feel like a damn fool.
“well, that was different, okay? It’s... it’s not like i’m comfortable talking about that stuff with you anymore, alright?” he almost winced at his words. the last thing he wanted was to make it sound like he couldn’t be himself with you.
you tilted your head slightly, your tone playful but with a hint of mischief. “don’t worry, though. I just asked taeyong to help with the computer. i didn’t make the same proposal to him that i made to you.”
haechan’s eyes went wide. he froze, his face instantly flushing. did you really just say that? the sudden wave of heat rushing to his face felt like he was on fire. his brain scrambled for words, but all he could manage was a surprised, “wait, what?”
you laughed softly, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him.
“you’re scared i’m gonna bring it up, aren’t you?”
“what? i—no, i’m fine,” he said too quickly, almost defensively. “just tired. you know, early class. cold outside. normal stuff.”
you didn’t say anything right away. just looked at him with that calm gaze of yours, the one that could read people like open books.
that hit him harder than expected. he flinched. swallowed. you tilted your head slightly.
“it’s okay,” you said, voice even. “if it made you uncomfortable… we don’t have to talk about it. ever. i’m not gonna ambush you or corner you or expect anything.”
haechan blinked. your tone was so mature, so measured—like you’d thought about this. like you knew what it had done to him.
“it was dumb of me,” you continued with a small smile. “or maybe not dumb, just… bold. and i get it, you didn’t sign up for that. so, if you want to forget it ever happened, consider it forgotten. clean slate.”
he didn’t know what to say. a hundred emotions jostled in his chest, fighting for space. gratitude. relief. guilt. and something else entirely—something heavier and harder to name.
because despite everything, despite the panic and confusion and awkward silences, you were still here. talking to him. offering him coffee. smiling at him like you always did.
but something had changed. he saw it in the way he noticed your lips when they moved. in the way his eyes lingered a beat too long on the curve of your body. in the way his mind kept circling back to that question you’d asked two weeks ago.
and the worst part?
haechan didn’t know if he wanted to go back to before.
before everything had shifted. before he started noticing all these things about you—things he had never allowed himself to see. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of the unknown or something else entirely, but the thought of things returning to how they were felt… difficult.
“anyway,” you said, standing up from the railing and brushing your hands off as if to clear the air between you. "i’ll see you later. don’t overthink it, alright?"
the casual way you said it made his chest tighten. he could feel that something was still unspoken, that there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t press. you were good at hiding what you truly felt, always had been.
haechan tried to push the conversation out of his mind as he entered his class on media studies. he sat down, pulling his notes in front of him and attempting to focus, but his thoughts were all over the place. his brain kept circling back to your words—had you meant everything you said? Was it really that simple for you?
the ice-cold americano you’d brought him sat on the edge of his desk. Its perfect arrangement, just the way he always liked it, made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain. he watched as droplets of water gathered on the glass, slowly tracing their way down to pool at the bottom.
he was distracted. but even more than that, he was feeling something he couldn’t quite name. his gaze wandered over the cold surface, the way the water clung to the glass—his mind drifting to you. to your smile. to the way your voice had lingered in his thoughts.
he imagined, for a moment, what it would be like if those droplets were slipping along your skin instead. He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind had other plans. every thought that surfaced seemed to lead back to you—the curve of your lips, the way you had looked at him just before leaving.
his pulse quickened, a wave of heat rising to his face. he snapped back to reality, but the blush was already creeping up his neck. "what the hell am i doing?" he muttered under his breath, quickly looking down at his notes again, trying to focus. his mind refused to cooperate. why was he thinking about this now? why was his body reacting like this?
he could feel the tension rising, like a knot tightening in his stomach. he had never been this aware of you before—not like this. and the worst part was, he didn’t know how to stop it.
you buried your face in your hands, heart racing, panic rising in your chest. what had you done?
the proposal you made to haechan wasn’t random—not by a long shot. It came from somewhere raw, impulsive, and aching. you’d convinced yourself he would say yes. no hesitation. no second thoughts. that’s what your friends told you, right?
"guys are easy. especially when it comes to sex. they’re always down," yeri had said with a laugh, trying to encourage you. “come on, it’s haechan. he jokes about that stuff all the time.”
and maybe that was the worst part. because you believed her. you judged your best friend through a lens of assumption, reducing him to some stereotype, thinking he’d just say yes because he was a guy. because he was him.
but he didn’t.
and now you knew—you had judged him so, so wrong. haechan wasn’t like the guys in those stories your friends always told. he wasn’t thoughtless. he wasn’t careless. he was kind. and considerate. and the look on his face after your question… you could still see it. confused. hurt. maybe even disappointed. not because you asked, but because he didn’t know how to respond without breaking something between you.
the guilt clawed its way up your throat.
you hadn’t asked him just for the sake of it, either. it wasn’t some random experiment. it was desperation. because ever since last fall, ever since he came into the picture, something in you had changed.
jung jaehyun.
a senior in the visual arts department. tall, graceful, and unfairly good-looking—like he’d walked straight out of a perfume ad in a fashion magazine. chiseled jawline, smooth voice, perfect smile. the kind of man who turned heads in every hallway he walked through. girls whispered about him constantly—rumors, fantasies, stories that may or may not have been true. he was confident, magnetic, dangerous in that way only people who know they’re desired can be.
and of course, you weren’t immune.
you saw him at a few parties, caught glimpses of him sketching in the studio, his sleeves rolled up and headphones in, and felt a pull you didn’t fully understand. it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a crush. it was curiosity. lust. a hunger you didn’t recognize as your own until it became too loud to ignore.
your friends told you to go for it. "just hook up with him," they said. "get it over with." but you couldn’t. you didn’t have the experience, the confidence, the… proof that you could be the kind of girl someone like jaehyun might want.
so you turned to the only person you trusted. the only one who made you feel safe, unjudged, seen.
haechan.
and now you’d hurt him.
you hadn’t just crossed a line—you’d shattered the trust he’d always given you so freely. all because you were afraid. because you wanted to prove something. because you thought he’d just say yes.
but he didn’t.
now you sat in the middle of your typography and composition class, surrounded by the soft clatter of keyboards and the low hum of your professor’s lecture, your laptop open in front of you and your adobe illustrator file untouched. letters floated on your screen in random positions, but your brain couldn’t form a single coherent thought. you weren’t even sure what the assignment was supposed to be.
your body was there—but your mind was somewhere else entirely. caught in the swirl of embarrassment, regret, and confusion. a storm of emotion you didn’t know how to calm. all you could think was: what have I done?
it had been a week since that conversation. on the surface, everything seemed fine—like a reset button had been pressed. you and haechan still exchanged jokes, shared snacks, and sat next to each other in class. but underneath the laughter and casual glances, there was a strange hollowness, like the two of you had become actors reciting old lines in a play that didn’t fit anymore. robotically pretending the elephant in the room didn’t exist, even though its shadow loomed over every interaction. after all, everything had already been said, hadn’t it?
still, something was off.
haechan hadn’t hooked up with anyone since then. it wasn’t for lack of trying—he’d gone out, flirted, danced—but each time, his mind wandered back to you. and it wasn’t just idle thoughts. no, it was worse.
every night that week, he'd woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart racing, and a painful hardness straining against his boxers. dreams of you—wearing almost nothing, bent in suggestive positions, whispering filthy things in his ear, inviting him to taste you, to touch you—played on a loop in his subconscious. but right when he was about to finally reach you, melt into you, he’d wake up frustrated and breathless. left with no choice but to slip his hand under the waistband and relieve the aching pressure. for serotonin. for oxytocin. for sanity.
now, it was saturday night and he was stuck at work.
the burger place was dead quiet. maybe it was the cold snap that had settled over the city, keeping everyone snuggled up in their homes instead of venturing out for greasy fast food. Haechan didn’t mind, really. he was sick of putting on his fake retail voice—“welcome! Fries with that?”—and dealing with people who didn’t say thank you. right now, he was working the closing shift, wearing the stiff black uniform cap and flipping patties that hissed on the flat top grill. the whole place smelled of grilled beef, fryer oil, and cheap pickles. his coworkers were goofing off while mopping the floor and stacking chairs, and haechan, while half-listening to their jokes, was just counting the minutes till he could clock out and go back to bed.
that was when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
unknown number.
haechan hesitated. he barely ever answered unknown numbers, but something in his gut told him to pick up.
“hello?”
“HAECHAN!”
a girl’s voice. loud, panicked. He blinked.
“…who is this?”
“it’s seojung—y/n’s friend. you probably don’t remember me. we met, like, once.”
oh. right. you had sent him the numbers of your friends months ago, just in case. he’d never saved them.
“yeah, uh—what’s up?”
“it’s y/n,” she said quickly.
the emergency button in his brain went off.
“what happened? is she okay?! did something happen to her?”
“well—kind of?”
apparently, you’d gone out for a girls’ night. a little bar in the city downtown. everything was fine, until you’d gotten verydrunk. so drunk, in fact, you couldn’t even hold your head up, slurring nonsense, sobbing into seojung’s shoulder.
haechan grabbed his jacket before she even finished explaining.
“she kept saying… uh, really weird stuff,” seojung added nervously. “like—please don’t be mad, okay?—but she was screaming in the middle of the street that she was gonna die a virgin because her own best friend refused to help her.”
haechan stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in disbelief. “she said what?”
“i know! i was like, girl, stop embarrassing yourself! but she kept going. she even tried to climb on a statue to do a dramatic monologue or something, it was chaos.”
the line went quiet for a second.
“anyway,” seojung continued, “we can’t take her to the dorms—they don’t let us bring people in after curfew, and she’s way too far gone to be alone. you’re the only person she might listen to. can you come get her?”
“i’m on my way,” haechan said without hesitation, already sprinting out the back door. he didn’t even clock out. his coworkers just watched in stunned silence as he bolted into the freezing night air, hoodie half-zipped, hair disheveled, heart pounding.
he didn’t know exactly what he’d find when he got there.
but part of him was already bracing for it.
despite the cold weather, you had decided to wear a short velvet dress, sheer black tights, and an oversized puffer jacket that looked hilariously disproportionate on you—but also kind of cute. haechan blinked twice when he realized the jacket was his. the one he’d been looking for since last week. seeing you in it made his chest do something strange, tight and warm, like a coil winding in his ribs.
you looked disoriented, your makeup slightly smudged, your eyes glassy but still sparkly. your long legs peeked out from under the hem of the dress, knees wobbling as you leaned heavily on seojung for support. Behind her were yeri and jimin—both trying to look casual but clearly avoiding haechan’s gaze.
“sorry for calling so suddenly,” seojung said with an awkward smile, shifting nervously on her feet. “we didn’t know who else to call…”
“she just kept saying your name,” yeri added, crossing her arms.
“she’s been… emotional,” jimin muttered, eyes darting to the side. “also—sorry for… earlier stuff.”
the three girls looked anywhere but at haechan. there was something stiff in the air, a subtle frost behind their polite words. they knew what had happened. they knew he’d rejected you.
“thanks for looking after her,” haechan said simply, ignoring the tension as he gently took your arm. you mumbled something about “fuck friendship” and “i’ll die a virgin anyway,” making all three girls wince in embarrassment.
after quick goodbyes, they left hurriedly. haechan helped you into a cab, the inside warm and dimly lit, smelling faintly of peppermint and old leather.
“address?” the driver asked.
haechan rattled it off. the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.
“cute couple,” he said.
“oh—we’re not—” haechan began, but the man cut him off.
“young love. must be nice,” he chuckled. “leaving work in the middle of your shift to take care of your drunk girlfriend. that’s real devotion, son.”
haechan opened his mouth to correct him again, but then—
“HE REJECTED ME!” you suddenly shouted, head lolling dramatically to the side. “I asked him to have sex with me and he SAID NO.”
yhe cab fell into a stunned silence.
“…ah,” the driver finally said. “one-sided love, then.”
haechan wanted to crawl out of the moving car and disappear into the road. yhe driver shook his head sympathetically.
“you’re making a mistake, boy,” he said gravely. “a pretty lady like this? she won’t wait forever. you two already look like a couple. all that’s missing is the kiss.”
haechan glanced down at you, now slumped against his side, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. your makeup was a mess, your breath reeked of gin and lime, and you were clutching the hem of his jacket like it was your last lifeline.
and somehow, even like this, you looked heartbreakingly beautiful.
haechan stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver, the man's words echoing in his head like a song stuck on repeat. “you’re letting a good girl slip away…” he shouldn’t care what some stranger thought, but there was something about the way the guy said it — confident, certain — that made the sentence stick like honey to the roof of his mouth.
he turned around just in time to see you stepping out of the cab in your short dress, sheer tights hugging your legs, and a massive oversized jacket drowning your frame. his oversized jacket.
his breath caught a little. you looked both sexy and soft — long, graceful legs out in the cold, but your face flushed from alcohol and framed by the collar of his jacket. somehow, even in that state, you looked... perfect.
“you know where we are, right?” he asked gently, offering you his hand.
you nodded lazily, squinting at the familiar entrance of your apartment complex. but instead of walking toward it, you turned to him, a sly, sleepy smile playing on your lips.
“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you said, voice low and vaguely suggestive.
haechan blinked. “you need to sleep. you’re drunk.”
“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you repeated, this time slower, like you were daring him to challenge you. “i lost my keys.”
“you what?” his voice cracked as he stared at you in disbelief. “where the hell are you gonna sleep then?”
you tilted your head, your eyes glinting under the streetlight. “with you.”
silence.
haechan’s mouth opened slightly, the color rushing to his face like fire. he stammered, trying to find the words — to remind you of your promise, of how you said you'd drop this whole thing and start over.
but before he could say a word, you leaned forward with a groan and threw up directly into a nearby bush.
“oh, shit—” he muttered, rushing to hold you. he gathered your hair, gently rubbed your back, whispering reassurances under his breath. “okay, okay, it’s fine… just let it out…”
eventually, you straightened up, eyes glassy, cheeks damp from the cold wind. he sighed and wrapped an arm around you, leading you toward his place — your weight half-slumped against him.
inside, the warmth of his small apartment wrapped around you both. he carefully sat you on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and setting a tea kettle on the stove.
you watched him in silence for a moment before breaking it. “i know what i said,” you murmured. “About letting it go. About forgetting. but i can’t. i literally can’t.”
he froze, slowly turning toward you.
“i feel like a hormonal teenager,” you laughed bitterly, wiping your mouth. “I keep thinking about you. about what i asked you. about what it would be like.”
“y/n…” he warned gently, setting the water beside you.
“i have this thing,” you blurted. “with my sunbae. jung jaehyun. he’s… god, he’s stupidly hot. tall, broad shoulders, perfect hair, every girl wants him. he only sleeps with older women — the kind who know what they’re doing. and I just… i don’t want to disappoint him.”
haechan’s expression darkened, not with anger, but something deeper. “so you wanted to use me as practice?” he asked, voice low.
“i’m not trying to use you,” you said, firm but vulnerable. “you’re my best friend. i trust you more than anyone. and you’re… you’re good at it.”
haechan blinked. “what?”
“you’re good in bed.”
he narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “and how the hell do you know that?”
you gave a half-smirk. “you talk about it all the time, remember? bragging about your conquests like a walking NSFW podcast. you made it sound like you practically invented foreplay.”
haechan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “god, I was joking half the time—”
“but that’s exactly why i asked you in the first place,” you cut in, locking eyes with him. “because there’s no one else i’d trust for something like this. and let’s be honest—” you tilted your head with a teasing smile. “it’s not like you’ve gotten laid recently either.”
his jaw tensed. “i’m not desperate for sex, y/n.”
“oh, really?” you raised an eyebrow. “so those midnight jerk-off sessions because of your dreams about me are just… what? a new coping mechanism?”
his face burned red. “how do you—?!”
“i may have heard a little something.” you sipped your water dramatically. “you’re not as quiet as you think.”
“i hate you,” he muttered under his breath, turning away to hide the growing smirk on his lips.
“no, you don’t.”
you stood up slowly, unsteady but serious, your eyes fixed on his. “if we did this… it would be safe. familiar. no weirdness. just… two people helping each other out.”
“that’s not what this is about for you though, is it?” he said, voice low.
you looked away for a moment before answering. “no. It’s not just that. i want to feel… wanted. i want to be good at this. and yeah… I want to impress jaehyun. but i also… want it to be with someone who won’t hurt me.”
and for a moment, everything was quiet. the only sound was the water boiling and both your hearts pounding.
he exhaled sharply, frustrated — but not just at you. At himself. At this whole ridiculous night.
then, haechan stepped closer.
he leaned over, hands gripping the back of the couch, caging you in — his face mere inches from yours. you froze. Your breath hitched. your fingers clenched around the glass.
then, without thinking, you kissed him.
it was messy. desperate. tasting of beer and heat and something reckless.
he kissed you back — just for a second — his hand cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. but then he pulled away suddenly, breath heavy, pupils blown wide.
“you’re drunk,” he said, voice hoarse. “i'm not kissing you like this.”
you blinked up at him, breathless.
“but if i weren’t?” you whispered.
he didn’t say anything.
but the fire in his eyes gave you all the answer you needed.
and that silence? it was louder than anything either of you had said all night.
that night, haechan slept on the couch, buried under a mess of blankets. you, on the other hand, took his bed — warm with freshly changed sheets and a white oversized t-shirt that smelled like him. he’d also lent you a hoodie for the cold, soft and worn from use.
when he asked if you'd prefer to sleep with the door shut for privacy, you shook your head and left it cracked open. Just slightly. maybe it was a silent invitation. maybe a part of you hoped he'd come in.
but he didn’t.
haechan's self-control was ironclad. he wouldn't touch you — not like that, not when you were drunk, no matter how much you asked. and you had asked. desperately.
by morning, your head throbbed with a brutal hangover. the light leaking through the blinds was cruel and unforgiving. still half-asleep, you blinked at the side table — a glass of water and a neatly placed pill waited for you. of course he remembered.
you padded out into the living room, barefoot, limbs aching. the smell of warm broth hit you first. then the quiet hum of a streamer's voice coming from his computer.
haechan sat hunched at the small dining table, glasses perched on his nose, hair slightly tousled from sleep. he was watching some gaming livestream, lazily slurping noodles from a bowl of ramen. a small pot sat between you, steam still curling up, and beside it — another bowl.
you noticed the sausage in the pot had been sliced perfectly small, just the way you liked. he always remembered little things like that.
your stomach twisted, not with hunger, but something softer. deeper.
without saying anything, haechan patted the seat beside him. you moved toward him slowly, like you were walking through a dream. he didn’t look at you — just kept his eyes on the screen as he grabbed the second bowl, carefully ladling ramen into it while glancing back and forth between the pot and your bowl to avoid making a mess.
you let out a quiet, involuntary giggle.
he glanced up at you then — his lips curved ever so slightly. and that's when you noticed it: his thick-rimmed glasses. the ones he only wore when he was deep into gaming or editing something late at night. they made him look effortlessly cool. casual. comfortable.
and stupidly handsome.
“thanks,” you murmured, your voice still hoarse from sleep and dehydration. “for… last night. picking me up.”
he didn’t respond at first — just nodded once, still watching the screen. no mention of the kiss. no mention of your drunken confession. nothing. just silence.
the elephant between you had never been bigger.
you glanced sideways again and noticed the dark circles under his eyes — deep and tired. he’d barely slept.
“you okay?” you asked gently.
“i’m fine,” he said, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle. “you had it worse.”
you looked down at the bowl in front of you, steam rising like it was trying to fill the silence. you slurped a noodle quietly, chewing.
that’s when you noticed something else.
the shape of his jaw as he ate — sharp, cut like stone under soft skin. you’d seen him eat ramen a hundred times, but this was the first time you really looked. the way his throat moved when he swallowed. the subtle flex of his neck. his collarbone peeking from under his hoodie. even the slope of his nose and the way his glasses rested perfectly above his cheekbones.
he wasn’t just your best friend. he was… really attractive.
painfully so.
and that realization made your stomach clench — not from the hangover, but from something dangerously close to want.
you sat there, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of the ramen bowl, the heat grounding you as your mind spun.
“hey…” your voice came out soft, hesitant. “about last night—”
the sound of his chopsticks hitting the table made you jump. it wasn’t loud, but it was enough. enough to cut through the quiet and slice the conversation before it could begin.
haechan didn’t look at you. his jaw tensed as he stared at the table, hands clenched loosely on either side of his bowl.
you froze. unsure.
he inhaled through his nose, controlled, calculated. then, finally, he spoke. “if you’re done eating… maybe you should call a locksmith. for your apartment.”
your stomach dropped.
just like that, the warmth left the room. or maybe it was still there, but it couldn’t reach you anymore.
“o-oh.” you blinked. “yeah… right. my keys.”
he stood up slowly, not rushed, just… distant. like something inside him had gone cold.
you watched him close the laptop screen with one hand, then gather his bowl and yours, moving with quiet efficiency. not meeting your gaze once.
you couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. the shift was too sharp, too sudden. it left you sitting there like a statue, hands still wrapped around the now lukewarm bowl.
“i’ll wash these,” he muttered, almost to himself.
you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your throat was tight, words caught somewhere between confusion and guilt. you hadn’t meant to ruin the morning. hadn’t meant to push.
but there it was again — the elephant. bigger than ever.
and this time, haechan had chosen to turn his back on it.
you stood up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. he was already at the sink, rinsing the dishes like it was any other sunday. like nothing happened. like you hadn’t kissed him. like you hadn’t confessed the things that had been burning you from the inside out.
but your eyes were stuck on his back. the slope of his shoulders. the way his hoodie clung slightly at the waist. and still — that feeling. that gnawing ache deep in your chest.
he was right there. and still, he felt so far away.
“haechan…” your voice barely carried.
he didn’t turn around.
you bit your lip. hard. maybe you had crossed a line. maybe he was just being kind last night, and you mistook it for something else. maybe—
“i need to shower,” he said abruptly, setting the last plate down. “you can use my phone to call someone.”
and then he was gone, the bathroom door closing with a click that echoed too loudly in the silence he left behind.
you were alone again.
but this time, it hurt more than it should’ve.
your phone was still dead.
you hadn’t charged it since last night, and at this point, it didn’t matter. you weren’t exactly in the mood to speak to anyone else anyway.
you curled up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, arms wrapping tightly around them like they could somehow protect you from the weight pressing on your chest. you stared blankly ahead, trying to piece together what went wrong.
you hadn’t meant to make things weird. you hadn’t meant to cross a line. and yet… you did. and now, all of it felt like a mistake unraveling at your feet.
you chewed on your lip, eyes unfocused.
was it when you asked to stay with him? or when you told him the truth — that you couldn’t stop thinking about him, that you wanted to learn with him because you trusted him? maybe it was the kiss. that moment, hazy and laced with beer, when you leaned in and felt his lips move against yours. he kissed you back. you were sure of it.
but now… maybe it wasn’t enough. or maybe it was too much.
the sound of the bathroom door opening pulled you from your spiral. you looked up, heart stuttering in your chest.
haechan stepped out, steam drifting behind him in lazy clouds. his black t-shirt clung to his skin slightly, still damp from the shower. his sweatpants sat low on his hips, and around his neck hung a white towel, which he used intermittently to ruffle through his damp, dark hair.
he looked surprised to see you still there.
his expression flattened quickly, going unreadable. “you still haven’t called the locksmith?”
you didn’t answer.
he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, towel dragging with it. “y/n…”
but you were already crying.
your face was turned away, but he saw the tremble in your shoulders, the way your hands gripped tighter around your legs. the soft sound of you trying not to make a sound.
“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your own words. “i ruined everything.”
he went quiet.
“i should’ve never suggested that,” you continued, barely audible. “i didn’t mean to treat you like you’re some— some kind of object. i was just thinking about myself. about what i wanted. and that was selfish. i wasn’t thinking about you.”
he still didn’t move.
“i just—” you swallowed thickly, lifting your head to look at him through blurry eyes. “i wasn’t trying to use you. i swear. i… i just trust you. you’re my best friend. and maybe i took that too far. i just… i feel like i’ve messed everything up.”
you laughed bitterly. “you didn’t even have to say anything. your face this morning said it all.”
for a second, haechan just looked at you. his gaze scanned your face — your tear-stained cheeks, your trembling mouth. the regret swimming in your eyes.
then he sighed and walked closer. dropped the towel onto the coffee table. crouched down in front of you.
“you’re not the only one who’s confused,” he said, voice softer now. “and yeah, maybe last night was messy. maybe we said shit we weren’t supposed to. but… you didn’t ruin anything.”
your breath hitched.
he leaned in, resting a hand gently on your knee.
“you’re not selfish for wanting something. and you’re not using me. i know you.” his voice dropped a bit, more intimate now. “maybe that’s why it’s so hard to pretend it didn’t affect me.”
you blinked. “…what?”
he looked up at you from where he knelt. “you said… kissing could help calm you down. remember?”
your eyes widened.
he tilted his head, a small, careful smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.
“so… if it helps…” he leaned closer, letting his hand trail up your thigh. “i could kiss you again.”
you stopped breathing.
your lips parted, unsure of what to say. but your body moved before your brain could catch up. you leaned in.
he met you halfway.
this kiss was different. slower. more controlled. still tasting faintly of mint and something warm, like cinnamon from the tea he’d made earlier. his hand cradled your cheek this time, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye.
it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t hungry.
but it burned.
and then he pulled back, just barely.
“but only when you’re sober,” he whispered against your lips, breath warm. “only when you really mean it.”
you nodded slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.
“okay,” you breathed. “okay.”
and for now — that was enough.
a few weeks passed.
you had finally gotten a replacement set of keys and returned to your apartment. that weekend was a blur of mundane things—scrubbing your bathroom floor until your arms ached, catching up on overdue sketches, finishing the last pages of an assignment you’d been dodging for weeks. you needed the quiet. the stillness. a chance to feel like yourself again.
but even in your own bed, the cold side of the sheets reminded you of that one night you hadn’t slept alone.
the kiss with haechan had, strangely, softened everything between you. the awkwardness melted away like snow on sunlit pavement. now, you were gentler with each other. your laughter came easier. your glances lingered longer. but the elephant—the weight of what that kiss meant—never left. it simply learned to sit quietly in the corner.
on tuesday afternoon, you were leaving the print room when you nearly ran into jaehyun.
"whoa, careful, pretty girl," he said, catching your elbow with a hand that felt way too steady, too confident.
“sorry,” you chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. jaehyun always looked like he belonged in some magazine spread—jaw carved from stone, lashes too long for someone that smug, silver rings glinting against his fingers like he knew where the light would hit.
“what brings you over here?” he asked, eyeing your sketch tube slung across your shoulder.
“professor cho. needed some stuff for his class. he’s on his power trip again.”
“classic,” he smirked. “listen… we’re having something this friday. low-key. not one of those packed, flyer-in-the-bathroom kind of things. just a curated crowd. people who get it.”
your brow arched. “curated?”
he laughed. “yeah. you know. people with taste.”
you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.
“you should come,” he added, stepping a little closer. “might help with that tension you’ve been carrying around.”
“what tension?” you teased.
he leaned in, eyes flicking down your face. “the kind that makes you think too much. sometimes you gotta stop overanalyzing and just feel it.”
“feel what?”
his smile was maddening. “depends who you end up with.”
you laughed it off, but your cheeks were already warm. maybe he was flirting. maybe he wasn’t. either way, the idea sat in your chest like a dare.
you thought about it all the way back to your place. and later that night, lying on your bed staring at the ceiling, you let yourself wonder what it’d be like to… try. to stop guessing what sex felt like and actually find out. you didn’t want to rush it. but you didn’t want to keep floating in uncertainty either.
and somewhere else on campus, haechan couldn’t stop thinking about you either.
he was standing in the backroom of the burger place, mirror fogged with steam, face damp and flushed from another rush. and there you were. again. in his head. like you’d carved a space he couldn’t seal shut.
he felt pathetic.
like some teenage boy discovering self-pleasure for the first time. except it wasn’t discovery—it was addiction. every night, without fail, his body woke him up with a pulse he couldn’t ignore. his hand would slide beneath the waistband of his sweats, his breath shallow, mind full of you. always you.
and god, those lips.
maybe he should’ve never kissed you.
but the second your mouth touched his, something inside him had snapped. like it had been waiting for that moment all along. you’d kissed him with a kind of messy urgency—too fast, too eager, bumping teeth before finding a rhythm. but then came the softness. the unspoken need. the trust. you had tasted like beer and breath mints and something far too intimate for a one-time thing.
now, he couldn’t un-feel it.
behind the counter, he’d zone out mid-shift, hands wet from dishes, and suddenly he’d remember the way you had moaned into his mouth. the way you had gripped his hoodie like you were holding on for dear life. the way your body had melted into his.
he couldn’t stop picturing you in that black dress, jacket slipping off your shoulder, legs crossed like a sin. or the way your lips had parted when you looked at him like you needed more. like you wanted him.
and at night—his room dark, quiet, too warm—he would close his eyes and imagine your thighs on either side of his hips. your voice whispering his name. your nails on his skin.
he used to admire you from a safe place. used to think of you as a friend, maybe even a muse. now? now he couldn’t look at you without imagining what it would be like to bury his face between your legs. to ruin you a little. just enough.
he hated how much he needed it.
he hated how much he missed the feel of your mouth on his.
he hated that he wanted more.
you were stepping out of your digital illustration class, bag slung over your shoulder, neck stiff from hunching over your campaign poster project. when you exited the building, you spotted him right away—haechan, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands tucked into his backpack straps like he’d been waiting a while.
you always found him there these days.
“hey,” you said, breathless from the stairs. “thanks for waiting. again.”
he gave a casual shrug. “you make it sound like i have a life.”
“do you?”
“…not really.”
you both smiled.
as you walked side by side, the sun cast long shadows behind you, painting the concrete in soft amber. you weren’t touching. but it felt like you were. something invisible had always linked you two. lately, though—it tugged harder.
“so,” you said, voice light, “i think i’m gonna go to that party. tomorrow”
he blinked. “jaehyun’s?”
you nodded. “he made it sound... exclusive.”
“and you’re going?”
you smirked at his tone. “might be an opportunity.”
he stiffened beside you. “opportunity for what?”
you gave him a look. “you know what.”
he stopped. “you’re really gonna sleep with him?”
your cheeks flared, heart skipping. “no. it’s not like that. i just… maybe it’s time to try. get some answers.”
you watched his face carefully. saw the way his jaw locked. the way his brows twitched.
“but,” you added softly, “if it happens… it happens.”
and then, bold as ever, you turned to him. “unless you still wanna help me.”
his breath caught.
“we already kissed,” you said, eyes steady on his. “feels like we’ve done half the homework. next part’s sex, right? that’s what comes after. and you—you’re the one who used to brag about how good you were at it.”
he looked like you’d cornered him. because you had.
“remember those nights you’d ramble about girls? ‘her tits are insane’, ‘i’d fold her in a second’—that was you, haechan. your words.”
he swallowed, hard. “i didn’t think you were listening.”
“i always listen to you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “especially when you talk about what you like.”
and then, with a wicked grin: “and let’s be honest. guys lose their minds over tits and ass. that’s not complicated.”
his silence told you everything.
you took one step closer, slow and steady.
“so?” you asked again, quieter now. “are you still willing to help me?”
and he didn’t answer.
not with words.
but you saw it in his eyes—the panic, the desire, the war between instinct and restraint.
you had no idea how long he could keep resisting.
but you were getting closer to finding out.
the night felt quieter than usual when they arrived at your apartment. your didn’t speak. the walk there had been filled with those kinds of silences that don’t necessarily feel awkward, but make you too aware of your own thoughts. you walked a few steps ahead of haechan, and he found himself watching you — the way your fingers twisted nervously, the slight tension in your shoulders, the soft sway of your hair brushing your back. he could tell she was unsure. and if he was being honest, so was he.
he’d never seen you like this before. not really. not in this light.
there’d always been this boundary between both of you, this invisible thread that kept everything just on the edge of becoming something else. but lately… it had changed. the way she looked at him lingered a little longer. the way he touched you — in small, passing moments — felt less like habit and more like gravity. and right now, standing in the dim glow of your apartment, he realized just how close you were to crossing that invisible line.
he stands close, but not touching, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of careful intensity that makes your skin warm.
you unlock the door without saying a word, your fingers fumbling slightly. you can feel his eyes on you, not judging, just watching. when you step inside, he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
inside, it’s quiet. you cross the room and sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing.
he doesn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his expression unreadable. you feel his eyes on your back as you drop your keys onto the counter, your breath shaky, heart pacing with something you don’t quite understand but desperately want to. when you finally turn around to face him, he’s already watching you — not with that usual teasing smile, but with something heavier, deeper. something that feels like want.
you turned to face him, eyes uncertain, but there was something else behind them. something softer. something raw.
“i want to do it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
“still thinking about your plan?” he asks softly, voice calm, like he’s trying not to spook you.
you nod slowly. “i just… i want to be good for jaehyun.”
his jaw tightens just a little, barely noticeable. but his voice doesn’t change. “you’re trying to learn how to please someone else,” he says, stepping closer, “when you haven’t even taken the time to learn yourself.”
you blink, suddenly unsure. “i thought… that’s what you were going to help me with.”
he exhales gently, closing the space between you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. “i will. but only if you let me take the lead. if you trust me completely. no pretending. no rushing. just… you. raw. honest.”
your breath catches in your throat. something about the way he says it, the quiet authority in his tone, the way he looks at you like he already knows your body better than you do — it makes you ache in places you’ve barely dared to explore on your own.
“okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i’ll do whatever you say.”
his eyes soften. there’s something unspoken there — a tension that’s been building between you for longer than you realized. and now it’s finally unraveling.
“then take off your clothes,” he says, his voice low, steady. “lie back.”
your fingers feel clumsy, nerves fluttering in your chest as you undress. he doesn’t look away. his gaze follows every inch of skin you reveal like he’s memorizing you. but it never feels invasive. it feels… reverent. when you’re finally bare, you lie down, body exposed, unsure, vulnerable. he doesn’t move right away. he just watches, like he’s waiting for you to fully settle into the moment.
“you’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “but i’m not going to touch you until i see that you believe it, too.”
you want to believe it. you want to feel beautiful in your own skin, not just because someone else says it, but because something inside you says you deserve to be. but right now, all you feel is nervous. exposed. seen.
he kneels at the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “you’re safe,” he murmurs. “you’re in control. i’m just guiding you.”
his hand touches your thigh, light as air, and your breath stutters. the warmth of his palm spreads through you like liquid, grounding and electric all at once. he doesn’t rush. his fingers explore slowly, tracing the curve of your hip, the softness of your stomach, the inside of your thigh. each touch is a question, and your breath is the answer.
when his fingers finally find you, you gasp — not because it’s too much, but because it’s perfect. just enough. just right. he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. he simply explores, watching every reaction, every shift of your hips, every shaky breath you take like it’s the only thing that matters.
his fingers finally reach where you need them, but he doesn’t go straight for it — no, he teases, tracing along the outer edge of your heat, making you gasp at the sudden jolt of electricity. your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction, but his free hand presses gently against your stomach, grounding you.
“easy,” he murmurs. “we’re not rushing. i want to feel every part of you fall apart.”
your head tips back against the pillow, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers finally slip between your folds — gentle at first, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. he exhales softly, as if the heat of you surprises even him.
“relax,” he whispers. “feel. don’t think about what’s next. just stay with me. here.”
his fingers stroke you with a patience you didn’t know could exist, learning your body like it’s a language only he can understand. you’re wet, embarrassingly so, and he seems to revel in it, the way your body responds to his touch. he circles your clit with slow, practiced motions, his thumb brushing over you with maddening precision. you’re moaning now, soft and quiet, not even realizing the sounds are yours.
“fuck,” he whispers. “you’re soaked.”
your cheeks flush, but any embarrassment is quickly replaced by want as he finds your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make your legs tremble.
you whimper his name, voice barely there, and his response is a low groan against your skin. “that’s it, baby. let me hear you.”
his mouth is everywhere now — at your neck, your chest, sucking marks into your skin like he wants to claim you, mark you, make you his. and god, part of you wants it too — wants to be wanted like this, worshipped like this.
his fingers move lower, one pressing gently at your entrance, testing. “you okay?” he asks, voice soft but thick with desire.
“yes,” you gasp, clutching at his wrist. “please.”
your hips begin to move on their own, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. the pressure is building, coiling deep inside your core, unfamiliar and terrifying and addictive. he slips a finger inside you, slow and gentle, curling just right, and you cry out, your body clenching around him without meaning to.
“h-hyuck...” you cried.
“you like that?” he asks, voice rough now, closer to a groan than a whisper. you nod frantically, unable to form words, your hands gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing.
he slides in slow, giving you time to adjust, watching your face the whole time. his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in time with the slow push of his finger. your breath stutters, and he leans in to kiss you, stealing the sound from your lips.
you moan into his mouth, overwhelmed, undone, as he adds a second finger, the stretch just enough to make your back arch. he curls them just right, finding that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.
“there it is,” he groans, his lips brushing yours. “fuck, you feel so good.”
you can’t answer. you can barely think. all you can do is feel — the heat building inside you, the pull of release so close you can taste it.
“don’t hold back,” he whispers against your neck. “i want to feel you fall apart for me.”
and when he starts moving faster — fingers pumping deep and sure, thumb pressing harder against your clit — it’s too much. the pressure breaks, crashing over you like a tidal wave. your body tenses, then shatters, crying out his name as you come harder than you ever have before.
he holds you through it, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his fingers slow but don’t leave you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him, boneless and gasping.
“let go,” he murmurs again, lips brushing against your ear. “don’t hold back. i’ve got you.”
his thumb presses harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster, more deliberate, and the pressure explodes inside you, all at once — a wave crashing over your body with violent tenderness. you cry out, shaking, the world narrowing to nothing but heat and light and the sound of his voice grounding you as your orgasm rips through you.
he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. his breath is ragged, his eyes full of something you don’t quite understand — but you feel it in your chest. raw. intense. real.
“you don’t know what you just did to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.
your body arches, muscles tightening, breath gone, and everything — everything — goes quiet except for the echo of your release.
and when you open your eyes to meet his, you realize something terrifying and beautiful — you don’t think you’ll ever look at him the same again.
your back pressed against the sheets, your skin bare under the dim, golden light of your room, your breath already shaky as haechan settles beside you, fully clothed, fully in control. you should feel nervous, and maybe you do, but it’s buried under something stronger — something warmer. the way he’s looking at you now is enough to make you forget how to breathe.
haechan sits on the edge of your bed, staring at his hand—now clean—like he can’t believe what just happened. his breath is heavier than he wants to admit. his thoughts are scrambled, the feeling of touching you, of showing you something he never thought he’d share, overwhelms him. something inside him burns, something he doesn’t know if it’s frustration or desire, but he feels it with an intensity he can’t control.
when you step out of the shower, your skin still warm from the hot water, he stays there, still. you go through your skincare routine, but every movement seems to echo in him more than it should. the way your fingers brush against your face, the way you move... everything feels different now. he watches in silence, the space between you now thick with something unspoken.
“i didn’t think it would feel like that,” you say softly, breaking the silence. your voice has a tremor you can’t hide. “thank you... for helping me.”
the gesture feels sincere, but there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel exposed. he doesn’t quite understand it. he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s just helping you, that he’s just being there for you. but his body betrays him, his jaw tightens, and his fingers twitch at his side.
“you don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice quiet, almost too quiet. “you just needed to know yourself. that’s all.”
you pause, pressing moisturizer into your skin, still feeling that soft hum in your body, a low buzz you can’t seem to shake off. it’s from what happened, but you try to tell yourself it’s just the adrenaline, just nerves. nothing more.
“i think i can handle things now,” you reply, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. “maybe tomorrow at the party... i’ll kiss jaehyun, just see how it goes. no pressure. i don’t want to rush.”
the moment the words leave your mouth, you feel it—the way the air shifts between you two. you don’t mean to look at haechan when you say jaehyun’s name, but you do. and his eyes flicker for just a second, something hard behind them that he quickly hides. he doesn’t react out loud, but his shoulders stiffen, his mouth pressing into a tight line.
“yeah,” he says, his voice controlled, but you can hear the tightness underneath. “sounds like a good idea. you deserve to figure out what you want.”
you smile, trying to lighten the mood, but something in you catches as you look at him. you feel like you’ve said the wrong thing, but you’re not sure why. haechan doesn’t look at you anymore. he stares at the floor, his jaw working like he’s holding something back.
he doesn’t let himself show it. he can’t. you’re his best friend, and he promised to help you, to guide you, not to get caught up in his own feelings. but with every word you speak, with every step you take toward jaehyun, something deep inside him twists.
he’s tasted something he shouldn’t want. and now, the thought of you with someone else—even someone you love—is unbearable.
still, he says nothing. he can’t. because he promised to help you discover yourself, not to confuse you more.
even if every part of him wants to be the only one who gets to touch you like that again.
friday came faster than expected, slipping through the cracks of your week like it had been waiting for you. unlike the other days, this one was bitterly cold—the kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and curled around your spine. haechan had texted you earlier, his usual playful tone dulled by exhaustion. "today i actually have to close, so i’ll be stuck at work late," he wrote, followed by a yawning emoji and a tired little heart. you stared at the message longer than you should’ve, feeling something heavy settle in your chest.
the cold winter air bites at your legs as you step out of the cab, your breath fogging in front of you in soft clouds. the house isn’t just any house—it’s one of the old fraternity houses on the edge of campus, the kind that looks more like a mansion than a place college boys live in. warm light glows from the tall windows, and the low hum of music leaks out from behind the heavy wooden door before it swings open.
jaehyun is already waiting, leaning casually against the doorframe. he looks unfairly good—his hair slightly tousled, a dark turtleneck hugging his figure under a sleek wool coat. he gives you that smile, the one that always makes your stomach twist in ways you’ve never really understood.
“you made it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.
you settled on a black leather jacket, cropped just above the waist, its silver zippers catching the light every time you moved. underneath, you wore a satin navy blouse, soft and loose, with a deep neckline that hinted without revealing too much. your high-waisted dark jeans hugged your figure just right, paired with heeled ankle boots that clicked confidently against the pavement. a silk scarf, deep burgundy, wrapped around your neck—not just for warmth, but as a finishing touch. your hair was pulled back loosely, tendrils framing your face, and your makeup was soft but sharp—dark liner, flushed cheeks, and a deep berry gloss that caught the chill in the air.
you notice jaehyun’s gaze drop, lingering for a beat too long before he leads you inside.
the party isn’t crowded—maybe twenty people, maybe less. it’s quiet in that expensive kind of way: muted music, low lighting, golden liquor sloshing in crystal glasses. there’s laughter and whispers, but nothing too wild. you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow it feels more intimate than you’d prepared for.
after your second drink, the room gets a little warmer. the vodka-orange is stronger than you thought, but it burns in a good way. you’re not drunk, not like that night, but the edges of your thoughts are softer, looser.
the music is barely audible now, just a low pulse behind your ribs as jaehyun leans in. it happens the way you always imagined it would—with the warmth of alcohol in your veins, the subtle tension in the air, his breath fanning softly against your cheek as his lips finally meet yours.
at first, it’s cinematic.
his hand is at your waist, careful but firm. his lips, smooth and slow, move against yours like he’s done this a thousand times. his cologne is rich—something expensive and clean, like bergamot and wood.
“you look incredible tonight,” he murmurs, voice low. It’s not the first time he’s flirted with you, but tonight it feels more focused.
you laugh lightly, sipping again. “you say that to every girl you invite to one of these,” you tease.
he smirks. “i don’t. just the ones i hope will stay after everyone else leaves.”
that catches you off guard. there’s a pause, the kind that’s heavy with implication. you don’t answer right away. instead, you tilt your head, watching him through the haze of dim lights and liquor.
more intentional. you close your eyes, willing your heart to speed up, your stomach to twist, your knees to weaken.
but none of it happens.
instead, there’s a slow, creeping emptiness that settles over your skin. you taste the sharp tang of beer on his tongue—bitter and stale—and it dulls the moment like a film of dust on something once shiny. it’s not that he’s doing anything wrong. in fact, he’s doing everything right. and maybe that’s the problem. it’s all too perfect. too rehearsed. too... lifeless.
you keep your lips against his a second longer, maybe two, hoping that if you just try, the magic will follow.
but it doesn’t.
what started as something dreamlike begins to dissolve, unraveling into something flat. weightless. forgettable. like kissing a statue—beautiful, yes, but cold. you feel your body slowly disconnect, like your mind is pulling away, shrinking back into itself. you’re kissing jaehyun. jaehyun. tall, broad-shouldered, silver-tongued. the guy every girl fantasizes about.
and yet... nothing.
when you pull away, you do it gently, trying not to show the disappointment pressing against your chest like a bruise. he looks at you with those deep, unreadable eyes, but you can’t meet them for long. something in you already knows: this isn’t what you wanted. maybe it never was.
and then, like clockwork, your thoughts betray you.
because in the silence that follows, in that stretch of breathless stillness, a name rises uninvited in your mind.
haechan.
you blink, shaken by the immediacy of it. why him, of all people? but it doesn’t stop. your mind floods with him, with everything he is and isn’t. jaehyun is all sharp lines and polished edges. he’s winter: sleek and cold, dressed in cashmere and shadows. and haechan...
haechan is sun-warmed skin and mischievous smiles. he’s a burst of color in a black-and-white room. his skin is golden, kissed by sun even in december. you remember the first time he wore glasses in class—how suddenly he looked different. not in a new way, but like you were finally seeing something that had been there all along. it had startled you. he looked good. really good. and you’d stared a little longer than you meant to.
you think about how he always cradles that old gaming console on his lap during breaks, fingers dancing over buttons like it's second nature. how he talks about characters and plots with the same intensity people reserve for politics or love. how he orders black coffee like it's a religion, never anything sweet. how he complains about the cold like it's a personal offense—bundling up in layers and still shivering, nose pink, eyes watery, grumbling but cute.
and you remember something else.
the way his eyes light up when he talks about music. not just any music—he’s always been drawn to layered melodies, harmonies that build slowly, that sneak up on you. you’d caught him once, eyes closed, headphones in, mouthing the words to a song you didn’t recognize. something soft and slow. when you asked what it was, he smiled, kind of shy, and said, “it’s this track i found—it builds so gently, but when it hits, it hits. it makes you feel everything, you know?”
you didn’t then. but now, maybe you do.
because that’s what haechan is like. he builds slowly. gently. he makes you feel everything without trying. without asking. just by being.
you think back to his kiss—that moment in the quiet of his room, when the world felt too small and too loud all at once. his lips weren’t smooth or calculated. they were warm. real. tasting faintly of coffee and breath mints, of nervousness and care. his hands weren’t firm—they trembled just a little. like he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to be. and that kiss? it burned. it lingered. it left something behind in your chest, something heavy and aching.
jaehyun’s kiss, in comparison, feels like water evaporating before it ever touches your skin.
“i need some air,” you say, barely loud enough to hear over the music.
you step away from the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly—not from cold, but from clarity. it’s unsettling, how fast something can shift. how a fantasy can collapse in on itself the moment reality arrives.
you walk toward the front door, ignoring jaehyun’s curious glance. and as the winter air hits your cheeks again, sharp and sobering, you realize the only thing you want right now is warmth.
and the only person who’s ever made you feel it... is haechan.
you step outside, the cold air biting at your cheeks like reality trying to sober you up. it’s quiet out here, except for the faint music pulsing through the windows behind you and the distant sound of traffic. your lips still taste faintly of beer and disappointment, and you try not to let it show on your face—even if there’s no one around to see.
you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly. not just from the cold, but from the feeling growing in your chest. a hollow ache that started the moment jaehyun pulled away and left you with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of something that should’ve felt magical. it was supposed to mean something. you’d wanted it to. for weeks—months even—you thought that maybe this was what you needed. something new. something exciting.
but standing there in the dark, with the wind tugging gently at your coat, all you can think about is how wrong it felt.
how empty.
you sigh and glance down at your phone. 11:45 p.m. haechan probably just got home not long ago—he said he’d be working late tonight, and you remember the slight frown he gave you when you mentioned the party. not because he disapproved. but because he wouldn’t be there.
you hesitate, thumb hovering over his contact. calling him now would make you look ridiculous, wouldn’t it? but god… you need someone. someone who knows you, who doesn’t expect you to be dazzling or mysterious or anything other than exactly who you are.
before you can overthink it again, your thumb presses “call.”
the line barely rings twice before his voice comes through, groggy but alert, like he hadn’t really been asleep yet.
"y/n?" his voice is a little breathless, alarmed. "are you okay?"
you don’t answer right away. the sound of his voice cracks something open inside you. your throat tightens, and your eyes sting, a rush of heat behind your lashes. the words won’t come, caught somewhere between your tongue and your heart.
"hey, talk to me. what happened?"
his concern hits you like a wave. not because of what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it. gently. urgently. like nothing else in the world matters except you right now. like your silence is enough to make his chest hurt.
you swallow thickly, finally managing to breathe, “i… i didn’t know who else to call.”
he exhales slowly, like he’s relieved to hear your voice, even if it’s shaky. “i’m glad you called me.”
and it’s so stupid—so fucking stupid—but that’s when the tears come. silently at first, then all at once. and still, haechan says nothing. just waits, gives you space to fall apart without asking for an explanation.
he always does that. always shows up, always makes you feel like you’re not too much, even when you’re too much for yourself.
and suddenly you realize something—not like a lightning bolt, but like a quiet click, something that was always there, waiting to be noticed. it was never about jaehyun. not really. it was the idea of him. and now, with that illusion shattered, you’re left with the one person who’s been real all along.
the one who always answers the phone. the one who remembers how you take your coffee. the one who listens when you talk about your art for hours and never pretends to be bored.
“can you…” your voice is small, choked, “can you come get me?”
“already on my way,” he says without hesitation.
and just like that, you feel less alone. maybe not okay, not yet—but safe.
safe in the way only he ever made you feel.
you step back into the warmth of the house, wiping your cheeks and pretending the cold air is the only reason your eyes are red. inside, the party hasn’t changed at all—music still pulsing, people still dancing, someone already passed out on a couch. it feels like you left the chaos and walked right back into it, except now it doesn't swallow you whole. now, you’re just… drifting.
you spot jaehyun near the kitchen, leaning against the counter, lazily scrolling through his phone. he doesn’t look up at first, but when he does, his eyes land on you immediately. he straightens, sliding the phone into his back pocket before making his way toward you.
your stomach knots—not because you're afraid, but because you’re not sure what you're supposed to say to the guy you just kissed and then immediately ran away from.
before he even opens his mouth, you raise a hand slightly, your words tumbling out faster than you can stop them.
“i—i’m sorry. i just… i think i was really into the idea of you. like, really into it. but tonight i realized maybe… i don’t know…”
you trail off, eyes dropping to the floor, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on your boots.
jaehyun quirks a brow, and for a second, it’s awkwardly silent—but then he lets out a soft laugh. it’s not cruel, not mocking. just… amused.
“you know,” he says, arms crossing over his chest, “when we first started talking, i thought you and that guy donghyuck?—were together. like, definitely together.”
you blink, lifting your head. “what?”
“yeah,” he shrugs. “you’d always come to class with him. always laughing, always close. and the way he looked at you? i figured i didn’t stand a chance. but then i saw you alone for a few days, and thought maybe you broke up or something, so…” he gestures vaguely. “i shot my shot.”
you feel your cheeks heat up instantly. “we’re not… he’s not my boyfriend. we never dated.”
jaehyun smirks like he doesn’t believe you, but also like he knows better than to argue. “sure. maybe not technically. but come on.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “you really think there’s nothing going on there?”
you start to protest, but then stop. because he’s not wrong, and you’re too tired to lie—to him or to yourself.
“it’s complicated,” you mutter.
he smiles again, this time softer, more genuine. “well, if it helps… i’m not offended. not at all. i mean, you’re sweet, and you kiss okay—”
“okay?” you gasp, half-laughing, half-horrified.
“hey,” he chuckles, holding up his hands, “it was a mutual ‘meh,’ right?”
you both burst out laughing, the tension finally breaking like a balloon popped with a pin. for the first time that night, you feel lighter.
“i really thought i liked you,” you admit.
“you probably did,” he shrugs. “or… the idea of me.”
“yeah.”
jaehyun gives you a wink. “for what it’s worth, i think you and haechan are cute as hell. even if you don’t know it yet.”
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. a real, unforced smile.
“thanks,” you say quietly.
“anytime,” he replies, already turning toward the kitchen again. “just… don’t let that one go, alright?”
and as you watch him disappear into the crowd, your phone buzzes in your pocket.
on my way. almost there.
you press your lips together, the ghost of a smile still there.
maybe you didn’t come to this party to kiss jaehyun after all. maybe you came to realize who you should’ve been calling all along.
the cold bites harder now. you’re standing outside again, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, your phone clutched tight in your hand. every passing second feels like it’s stretching eternity, but then—you spot him. haechan walks up the sidewalk.
haechan was wearing sweatpants, mismatched socks stuffed into crocs, and a hoodie that’s too big even for him. his hair is a mess, fluffed and wild like he just rolled out of bed—and he probably did. you freeze, heart caught in your throat, as he blinks at you sleepily, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm.
you stare at him—at the boy who still showed up, in the dead of night, after a long shift, just because you needed him. and something inside you swells so big, so full, it spills over before you can contain it.
you don’t think—you run.
you crash into him with a force that makes him stumble half a step back, arms instantly wrapping around you, warm and steady. he doesn’t say anything. he just holds you, one hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, his breath warm against your temple.
you press your face into his neck, breathing him in—coffee, fabric softener, something so haechan. your chest heaves, and your eyes sting again.
when he pulls you into his embrace, it feels like the weight of the world finally lifts from your chest. his touch is soft, his fingers brushing against your skin in the most familiar way, like he’s always been there, always meant to be there.
he sighs softly, tugging you closer like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “seriously… what’s wrong with you lately?” he murmurs, voice groggy, laced with concern. “why are you acting like such a crybaby, huh?”
you lift your head, blinking up at him through the tears that won’t stop pooling. your eyes meet his—those deep, sleepy eyes that always seem to see too much—and your lips part as if to answer, but no words come.
so instead, you kiss him.
you pull him down by the collar of his hoodie and press your mouth to his with all the confusion, all the ache, all the longing you’ve buried for far too long. his lips are warm, soft, and as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he kisses you back.
and then, when you press your lips to his, it’s like every other kiss you’ve had fades away into nothingness. the world around you dissolves, and all that remains is the sensation of him. it’s pure, it’s grounding—everything that jaehyun’s kiss wasn’t.
he doesn’t ask questions. he doesn’t stop you. he just holds you tighter, like he’s afraid this moment might shatter.
his hand cradles your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing under your eye, and the kiss deepens—not rushed, not clumsy, just real. like he’s trying to tell you all the things neither of you ever dared to say.
your fingers curl into his hoodie as you pour everything into the kiss—your gratitude, your fear, your guilt, your truth.
it feels like you're being purified, as if every trace of doubt, of confusion, of disappointment, is being washed away by the intensity of haechan’s presence. there’s no bitterness, no strange aftertaste—only him, only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you lose yourself in him. with each second, you realize just how much you’ve longed for this, how much you’ve needed him, even when you didn’t know it. this, this is what real intimacy feels like, and it’s everything you never knew you were missing.
the walk to haechan’s apartment felt different. the night air was biting, and the cold seemed to press against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat that was bubbling in your chest. you didn’t want to be here, not tonight, not after everything that had just happened. but here you were, once again, losing yourself in the warmth of his presence.
“lost your keys again?” haechan asked, his voice playful but with a hint of concern in his eyes as he stepped aside to let you into his apartment. you gave him a sheepish smile, pretending to fumble with your bag and looking down, avoiding his gaze.
“yeah, I’m such a mess,” you murmured, but your words felt hollow, like they were slipping through your fingers as quickly as the night’s events.
he didn’t say anything more, but the slight furrow of his brow told you he was paying attention. it was a game, a little lie that you used to keep yourself near him just a little longer, but tonight, it felt like more. it felt like you were hiding something from him.
inside his apartment, the quiet enveloped you like a blanket, and for a moment, it felt like everything was still. you sat on the couch next to him, the tension between you thickening by the second. it was always easy to talk to him, but tonight, the words felt like they were stuck in your throat. and you knew why—because the taste of jaehyun’s kiss was still fresh on your lips, and it made you sick to your stomach.
“what happened?” haechan’s voice cut through the silence, and you could see it in his eyes: that flicker of concern. he knew something was wrong, and you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for the truth.
you let out a breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “jaehyun... I kissed him.”
he stiffened beside you, his body tensing. you didn’t have to look at him to know the change in his expression. it was there in the way his muscles locked up, in the way he barely moved, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the words.
"what? you kissed him?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "good for you, I guess..."
the final sentence hit you like a punch to the gut, but you couldn’t stop now. it was too late to take it back, and the confession felt like it was clawing its way out.
"it wasn’t what I expected," you whispered, avoiding his gaze as your stomach twisted. "it was... bad. it didn’t feel right. at all."
haechan’s hand clenched into a fist, his face hardening, but there was something more in his eyes now—something you hadn’t expected. jealousy. confusion. it was almost as if he wanted to say something but was holding it back. you felt the heat rise in your chest, your own guilt gnawing at you.
"wait—what?" haechan leaned forward, his voice suddenly sharp, though his face was tight with barely-contained emotion. "it was... bad? after all that?"
you nodded slowly, your throat tight as you continued, “yeah. it wasn’t what I thought it would be. there was no passion, no spark. the taste of beer... it was all I could focus on, and I hated it. I... I just couldn’t feel anything.”
the silence that followed felt thick, suffocating. you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. he wasn’t angry—at least, not completely—but he was something else. hurt, maybe? or disappointment? you couldn’t tell.
"so, that’s it then?" his voice was quieter now, the sharpness fading into something softer, more contemplative. “your feelings for him are... gone?”
"yeah," you admitted, finally meeting his gaze, feeling the truth weigh on your shoulders. "they’re gone. I don’t want him anymore. I don’t even want to kiss him again."
the words hung in the air, and you waited for him to respond, your heart racing, unsure of what he would say. when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what you expected.
“you know,” he started, his voice light, almost teasing, “i never liked the idea of you with him. not even for a second.”
you blinked, surprised at his admission. “you didn’t?”
“no,” he said, the edge of his smile almost teasing, though there was something else behind it. “I always thought you deserved someone who wasn’t... like him.”
you frowned, still processing what he was saying, but before you could respond, he continued.
“but now i get it. i see why you would be disappointed. he’s not... him,” haechan said, his voice lowering, the underlying sadness creeping in. "i guess i’m just glad you’re realizing it now. even if it took you kissing him to see it."
a chill ran down your spine as you looked at him, unsure of what he meant. your heart tightened with a strange mix of relief and something else—something more complicated that you couldn’t name yet.
“you’re not... mad?” you asked quietly.
“mad?” he repeated, laughing softly, though there was no real humor in it. “no. why would I be mad? I’m just... relieved. you deserve better.”
“so... what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
haechan didn’t answer immediately. his eyes lingered on you—soaked in the way your makeup had smudged slightly, how your lips were still a little swollen from that kiss with jaehyun, how your dress had ridden up your thighs from the car ride. he swallowed hard, jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to say something reckless.
then he said it anyway.
“now i take care of you.”
your breath hitched.
he stepped closer. slowly. deliberately. the kind of approach that made your knees weak. the kind of approach that said he knew exactly what you needed before you did. his hand reached for your waist, pulling you gently toward him, until your bodies were flush against each other.
“unless you don’t want that,” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. “you tell me to stop, and i will. no questions, no pressure.”
you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. Instead, you tilted your head and captured his lips in a kiss—needy, messy, full of everything you hadn’t said for weeks.
he groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your hips, grounding you. but he didn’t rush. he kissed you like he had time. like he was savoring the moment he’d waited for far too long.
“haechan…” you breathed when you finally pulled back.
he looked at you, eyes burning.
“yeah, baby?”
your cheeks flushed. “i… want to go further. i trust you.”
he blinked, just once, and something softened in his expression.
“are you sure?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher, but laced with concern. “i need to hear you say it.”
you nodded, fingers brushing his jaw. “i’m sure.”
he kissed you again, slower this time, like a promise. then he scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, carrying you to his bed, the same way he always carried you emotionally—careful, steady, never letting you fall.
he laid you down like you were precious, and then crawled over you, caging you in with his body, forehead pressed to yours.
“tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered.
you nodded. he reached over to the nightstand, rummaging for a condom, giving you a look that made your stomach flip.
“Prepared?” you teased softly.
he smirked. “baby, i’ve been in love with you since you spilled coffee on my camera. i’ve always been prepared.”
your laugh faded into a gasp as his hands slipped beneath your dress, touching you with reverence, praise pouring from his mouth like it was second nature.
“so fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your neck. “every part of you. mine to take care of. mine to love.”
his fingers teased you through your panties until you were arching, needy and aching, the room filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal.
“you’re already this wet for me? fuck—baby, you're killing me.”
you squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensation, but craving more. then you heard the foil tear, and your heart pounded louder.
the moment he entered you was slow, intense, a stretch that bordered on pain and pleasure, but he was right there—kissing your forehead, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how proud he was of you.
“you’re doing so good,” he groaned. “so fucking tight. you were made for me, weren’t you?”
you nodded desperately, clinging to him.
he moved slow, deep, rolling his hips so you felt every inch of him. his name fell from your lips like a prayer.
one condom turned into two. then three. you couldn’t stop. neither could he.
sweat clung to your skin, tangled sheets beneath you. he had you on top of him at one point, his hands on your hips as you moved, his eyes never leaving your face.
“that’s it, baby. take what you need. fuck—ride me just like that.”
another position had him behind you, one hand gripping your waist, the other slipping between your legs to make you scream his name as your body fell apart.
by the time the fourth wrapper crumpled beside the bed, you were both panting, dazed and desperate.
you rolled onto your back, breathless. “we’re out.”
you reached for your phone, already sitting up. “I can run down to the 7-eleven—”
he stopped you instantly, pressing a hand to your stomach.
“no, baby,” he said, voice firm. “i’ll go. you stay here. let me take care of it.”
the way he said it—so naturally, so possessively—sent a wave of heat straight through you. you bit your lip, something wicked curling inside you.
“or…” you said, voice dripping with mischief. “we could just… try without one.”
he froze. eyes dark. jaw tight.
“don’t tempt me,” he growled.
you crawled into his lap, pressing your lips to his neck.
“what if i want to?” you whispered. “what if i want all of you?”
he exhaled sharply, head falling back. “fuck… you’re dangerous.”
still, he hesitated—until you ground down on him and whispered, “i trust you, haechan.”
that was all it took.
he didn’t say a word for a moment. just stared at you like you’d set him on fire.
then he kissed you—hard. not rushed, but full of hunger, like you’d just pulled the leash off something he’d been holding back for far too long.
you could feel him against you, throbbing and hot, even without anything between you now. your body tingled in anticipation, in fear, in want. you were bare in every way—and he saw you, accepted you, craved you.
he guided you down onto the bed again, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands cupping your face gently.
“if i do this…” he said, voice low and trembling with restraint, “you need to tell me if anything feels wrong. anything at all, baby.”
“it won’t,” you whispered. “i want you. just like this.”
he lined himself up, one hand steadying your hip, the other brushing hair from your face. when he pushed in—slow, careful, deep—your whole body tensed, wrapped around him like he was the first breath after drowning.
it hurt. just a little. enough to make your lips part with a gasp. but he stopped instantly, not moving, just whispering against your cheek.
“breathe for me, sweetheart. you’re doing so fucking good.”
you nodded, clinging to his shoulders, letting yourself relax little by little until your body opened for him.
he began to move—not fast, but deep and fluid, his voice rasping against your ear with every thrust.
“you feel unreal,” he groaned. “so tight. so fucking warm. shit—you're making me lose my mind.”
your nails dug into his back. you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you knew was him—his scent, his voice, his body fitting against yours like you were made for this moment.
“does it feel good, baby?” he asked, barely holding it together.
“yes,” you moaned. “it feels so good, haechan.”
he reached between you, his fingers finding that perfect spot again, circling gently as his hips rolled deeper.
“i want you to cum for me,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to the mirror across the room.
and that’s when you saw it too—the reflection.
the sight of yourself, spread out beneath him, his body covering yours, the way his hips rolled into you, slow but relentless, the way your mouth fell open in pleasure.
you locked eyes with him through the mirror.
“look at you,” he said. “so fucking pretty. you should see what i see. you should see what you do to me.”
you whimpered, already close. the feeling of him inside you, the way he praised you, the reflection showing you everything you felt but couldn’t describe—it pushed you right to the edge.
“you’re mine,” he growled, thrusting deeper. “say it.”
“i’m yours,” you gasped, back arching.
“again.”
“i’m yours, haechan—fuck—i’m—”
the orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. your whole body trembled as you clung to him, moaning his name like a confession.
he followed with a deep, broken moan, hips grinding into you as he came, his entire body tensing above yours, the sound of your names and curses filling the air as he spilled inside you, raw and unfiltered.
afterward, he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead with trembling lips.
“i’ve never felt anything like that,” he whispered.
you couldn’t answer. your body was still shaking, your mind a mess of stars and heat.
he held you close, running his fingers up and down your spine.
and for a long time, neither of you spoke.
because nothing needed to be said.
haechan stood by the door, shirtless, hair messy, pulling on his sweatpants with a crooked grin on his face.
“be right back,” he said, grabbing his keys. “we are out of condoms.”
your heart jumped at how casually he said it. like he already knew you weren’t done. like he couldn’t wait to get his hands back on you.
“don’t be long,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, a little needy.
“i’ll run,” he smirked, and you believed him.
the moment the door closed behind him, your body buzzed with anticipation. you felt sore, satisfied… and yet completely empty without him there.
a little while later, you were curled up on his couch wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie, legs tucked under you, sipping water with your thighs still trembling from everything he just made you feel.
your mind ran wild imagining all the things he’d do when he got back.
and oh—he did.
he came back ten minutes later, breathless and grinning, holding a bag with the corner of a box peeking out.
“miss me?” he teased.
“shut up,” you mumbled, biting your lip as he approached you on the couch.
but he didn’t give you time to banter. his mouth was on yours again, hungry and hot, hands already sliding under the hoodie like he’d been starving the whole way back.
“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled into your ear, lips dragging down your neck. “every fucking step i ran, i was thinking about how wet you were. how tight. how you said my name when you came.”
you whimpered, legs parting automatically as he knelt between them on the couch.
but this time—he was different. rougher. more commanding. his eyes darker.
“get up,” he whispered, pulling you to your feet.
“where are we—?”
“shower,” he said. “now.”
you didn’t argue.
the water hit your skin like a shock, but his body was hotter. he pressed you up against the cool tile wall, mouth devouring yours as his hands slid down to your ass, lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around him.
“you’re mine tonight,” he growled against your lips. “no stopping now. you started this—now i’m gonna finish it. again and again.”
your back hit the wall as he slid into you, wet and desperate. the sounds of skin against skin, water splashing, your moans echoing in the steam—filthy and perfect.
you lost count of how many times he made you come.
after the shower, he didn’t even let you dry off.
he carried you—carried—naked and dripping, to the living room, laying you over the back of the couch. your knees barely held as he bent you forward, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding between your legs.
“still so wet?” he teased, running his fingers through your folds. “what did i do to you, baby?”
“you ruined me,” you gasped, pushing back against his hand.
“good,” he hissed. “you’re gonna take me again. right here.”
and you did.
he fucked you from behind on the couch, your moans muffled in the cushion, your fingers clawing at the leather. he didn’t let up—he used you, praised you, told you how fucking hot you looked taking him like that.
then the kitchen.
you barely made it there.
he bent you over the counter, spreading your legs with a low groan.
“you trust me?” he asked, voice low and rough.
“yes,” you breathed.
“good,” he said, sliding in again, slow and deep. “because i'm not holding back anymore.”
he fucked you while gripping your hips, your body slamming gently into the counter with each thrust, your breath fogging the cold surface.
“so fucking perfect,” he groaned. “you were made for me.”
then came the dining table.
you ended up on it—legs open, arms thrown over your head, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. he kissed every inch of your body, left love bites on your thighs, praised every moan and whimper you gave him.
you didn’t even remember how many condoms you went through until—
“fuck,” he muttered, breathless, sweaty. “last one’s gone.”
the apartment was thick with heat and the smell of sex. your bodies glistened with sweat, tangled over the polished wood of the dining table. haechan’s chest was pressed to your back, his arms wrapped tightly around you as both of you struggled to catch your breath.
it wasn’t until the digital clock on the microwave blinked 4:02 AM that either of you realized how much time had passed.
“shit,” you whispered with a soft laugh, still breathless.
“yeah…” haechan’s voice was husky, worn out, but content. he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “we’ve been at this for hours. you okay?”
you nodded, eyes half-lidded, still processing everything. your body felt sore, used in the best possible way, and your heart was floating somewhere between exhaustion and complete peace.
he helped you off the table, careful and gentle now, holding you by the waist as you stumbled a little, your legs wobbly. you both laughed quietly at that, and he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.
“come on,” he murmured. “let’s clean up and go to bed before the sun comes up.”
the warmth of his bed was a balm against your tender skin. after a quick rinse in the bathroom and slipping into one of his worn shirts, you curled up against him under the covers. his fingers traced light circles on your back as you lay there, your leg thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around you like you were something fragile and precious.
“you okay?” he asked again, softer this time. there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice—like he was afraid this had been too much.
you nodded into his chest.
“i’m more than okay,” you whispered. “i feel… safe. and really, really good.”
he exhaled a little laugh of relief and kissed the top of your head. the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was peaceful. comforting. like your bodies had said everything your mouths didn’t need to.
soon enough, your breaths synced. his hand stayed on your waist as you both drifted off to sleep.
the next morning came slowly.
soft rays of sunlight filtered in through the curtains, painting lazy golden streaks across the sheets. you blinked awake first, still pressed against his warm body. his hand was splayed over your stomach, holding you close, and his legs were tangled with yours beneath the covers.
you didn’t want to move.
there was a quiet hum in your chest, that afterglow still lingering like a dream. you turned slightly to look at him—his hair was messy, lips parted, eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks. peaceful. beautiful.
you shifted a little, and he stirred, eyes barely opening.
“mmm,” he murmured. “you’re still here.”
“where else would i be?” you whispered.
he smiled, still half-asleep, and pulled you closer.
“good,” he said, voice low and raspy. “i want you right here. just like this.”
you melted into him, your heart full, your body still tingling in places, and thought maybe—just maybe—waking up like this with haechan could become your favorite part of any day.
haechan made breakfast in nothing but his boxers, hair still messy from sleep, humming some old song as you sat on the counter, wearing only his oversized t-shirt and the glow he’d left on your skin.
there was laughter. soft jokes. syrup on your lips that he licked off with a grin.
and when you finally curled back into the couch, your head on his shoulder, legs tangled under a shared blanket, it didn’t feel strange.
it didn’t feel like you’d crossed a line.
it felt like you’d stepped into something deeper.
he looked at you then, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, and whispered:
“you know… i think we’re still us.”
you smiled, heart fluttering.
because he was right.
maybe in the end, sex doesn’t ruin the friendship— it transforms it.
it only takes one offhand compliment for lee haechan to decide that you're meant to be his—and he's more than happy to prove it every chance he gets. loud, relentless, and ridiculously devoted, he weaves himself into your days with the kind of shamelessness that should drive you insane. but maybe, against your better judgment, you're starting to realise you don't actually want him to stop.
pairing lee haechan x fem!reader genre fluff, college au warnings not proofread, mentions of smoking & asthma, profanities, hyuck has OVERLY down-bad behaviour word count 1.6k notes inspired by jinung & doyeon from head over heels :] i looove them & i love haechan. the only smoker id bat my lashes for
the first time you ever speak to lee haechan, you don't expect it to matter. he's your classmate—loud in a way you've always avoided, cocky in a way that seems to demand attention. people laugh when he talks, but more often at him instead of with him. you're not sure he notices.
that day, he's slouched in his seat as usual, chin tilted up towards the ceiling, sunlight glancing off his honey-warm skin. when you look closer, your eyes catch on to the scattered constellation of beauty marks across his cheek that trails down the line of his neck. you don't even think twice before saying, quietly, "they're pretty."
he blinks at you, slow, unsure. "what?"
"your moles," you explain softly, gesturing vaguely towards his cheek, his jaw, his throat. "they look like little stars."
it's a throwaway compliment for you, but something flickers in his expression—surprise, disbelief, a quiet, almost reverent sort of wonder. he opens his mouth, then closes it again, as if the right words won't come. later, you'll realise no one had ever told him they were beautiful before, and for you to say it so casually—to see him in a way no one ever had—makes something in his chest go loose and aching.
he laughs, but it comes out breathless, too giddy to hide.
the first time you realise lee haechan is going to be a problem, he's sitting far too close to you in class. his desk, technically, leaves enough space between yours to avoid suspicion, but his body doesn't seem to care for boundaries. his elbow brushes yours every few seconds, his knees stretching wide and unapologetically, as though he needs the constant reminder that you're real and right by his side.
"could you—" you hesitate, coughing softly into your fist before continuing, "could you sit a little further from me?"
haechan doesn't budge. if anything, his grin only widens. tilting his head so his messy brown hair falls into his eyes. "why? are you afraid of me?" his voice drops theatrically, the teasing lilt a little too practiced.
when you don't answer right away, he leans closer still, lowering his voice as if he's confiding in you. "or… is it because i'm too close and you're getting shy?"
you shake your head firmly, though your chest gives the faintest, most unwelcome hitch. "no, it's not that," you reply, clearing your throat. "its just—you reek of smoke, and i can't stand the smell of cigarettes." another cough breaks through your words, sharp enough to make you wince. "i have mild asthma, you see."
for once, haechan doesn't have a comeback ready. his smile falters as his eyes widen, tracing over your features like he's replaying your words in his head on loop. "so… you're feeling sick… because of me?"
"hm—i guess you could say that."
the silence that follows is odd for him, but only lasts about three seconds before haechan abruptly shoves his chair back with a screech that makes the entire class look over. without a word, he stalks towards the back of the room where the trash can sits, yanks a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and crushes them in this fist. the sound is almost violent, his knuckles white as he tosses the broken pieces into the bin.
then, in true lee haechan fashion, he turns dramatically to the class, poining a finger at the room with unearned authority. "i won't smoke again until the day i die!" he declared, voice ringing through the classroom. "so none of you are allowed to smoke either! if i catch anyone with a cigarette in hand, i'll—i'll kill you."
a pause.
from the corner, jeno mutters flatly, "you're the only one who smokes in this class, idiot…"
the whole room bursts into laughter, and haechan glares, but his eyes flicker back to you almost instantly—softening, almost sheepish. for someone who usually thrives on attention, his only concern now seems to be whether you're still coughing.
that becomes his new obsession.
within a week, you realise haechan has appointed himself your official-unofficial bodyguard against all secondhand smoke on campus. he barges into the boys' restroom mid-break, wagging a finger at freshmen and upperclassmen alike caught lighting up. "put it out! yn walks this way sometimes. what if she happens to breathe in your poisonous air?!"
his antics are ridiculous enough to cause a stir, yet he's unfazed by the mocking laughter that follows him out. he only beams proudly when he catches sight of you nearby, as though waiting for you to pat his head for being good.
you'd be lying if you said you weren't bewildered—maybe even a little touched—by the dedication.
but haechan's devotion isn't always subtle. he has a way of weaving himself into your routine without asking, as though the two of you had already silently agreed to it. he walks you back to your apartment after classes, even when it means going in the opposite direction of his own dorm. he keeps up a constant stream of chatter the whole way—compliments, complaints, insinuations that if you gave him a chance he'd treat you better than anyone else you've ever been with.
once, you told him he was overstepping. he only blinked, thought for no more than half a second, then said, "yeah… maybe. but you're still walking next to me, so maybe you don't mind that much. right?”
you roll your eyes, but your pen stumbles against the page when you feel the warmth of his gaze linger on you far longer than necessary. his compliments may be shameless, but the way he looks at you—as if you've hung the moon—leaves your chest feeling uncomfortably warm.
the real trouble, however, comes when he decides proximity is non-negotiable.
you're in the library, whispering the requirements of your joint assignment to him, outlining what had to be done and when. you were halfway through your explanation when you realised he hadn't taken a single note. his notebook was blank. instead, his chin rested on his palm, eyes fixed on the shift of your lips with an intensity that prickles your skin.
"...are you listening?" you asked finally, shifting uncomfortably.
"yes," he breathes, then pauses. "no." his gaze flicks down to your mouth again. "i mean—maybe i'd listen better if you, um… repeated everything while kissing me…"
your eyes widen. "haechan."
"yn," he parrots back, lips curling into a grin.
and then, out of nowhere, he leans in, lips puckered slightly, clearly aiming for your cheek.
you jerk back. "what are you doing?"
he looks almost sheepish, then bold all over again. "trying to kiss you?"
"wha—you can't just—"
"why not? you're right here… no one's looking…" his eyes dip to your lips, then back to your face, and for the first time, you realise how much he actually wants this. not as a joke, not as a game—he wants you, in his messy, hopeless way.
"no—because we're not…" you trail off, searching for words. "you can't just go around kissing random girls, haechan!"
he tilts his head, genuinely puzzled. "but i'm not trying to kiss a random girl… i want to kiss you."
"but we're not even dating… you—"
"oh." he blinks, thoughtful as if processing a concept that hadn't occured to him even after all these weeks, then brightens. "okay. then i'll be your boyfriend."
your jaw drops. "that's not how this works—"
"but why not? look… i'll prove it." his hand hovers in the air like he's debating whether to take yours, then boldly presses it against yours. his skin is warm, clammy even, but the weight of his palm is steady. he lifts your hands to his cheek, leaning against them with dramatic flourish, fluttering his eyes shut before cracking one open again. "see? we're holding hands now. that's what boyfriends and girlfriends do… right?"
you gape at him, torn between laughter and exasperation. "...you're unbelievable."
"unbelievably in love with you, yeah…" he says smoothly, though his ears are pink, betraying his nerves. "so? can i kiss you now?"
you don't even have time to argue before he's leaning across the table, heart-shaped lips puckering towards your own. mortified, you grab his arm and haul him out of the library, ignoring the amused snickers trailing after you. he stumbles along, completely unbothered, like a puppy thrilled to finally have your attention.
the moment the doors swing shut, haechan spins back to you, excitement sparking in his eyes. "you wanna go to somewhere more private?! ah—i don't think my roommate's home right now. why not we—"
"haechan."
he freezes, blinking rapidly at your tone. "...hm?"
you're glaring, exasperated and flustered all at once. "why do you think i dragged you out of the library?"
"because…" he tilts his head, lips parting in anticipation. "you're more comfortable kissing me out here?"
your jaw drops. "what? no."
his face falls instantly, but only for a second before the smile creeps back in, sly and boyish. "okay, okay. not now. but soon, right? you'll want to kiss me soon." his voice dips low, hopeful, and you realise, with dawning horror, that this boy has absolutely no concept of shame.
it's ridiculous. he's ridiculous. and yet, there's something about his persistence—the way he throws himself headfirst into liking you, no hesitation, no restraint—that lodges itself in your chest. you're not sure when it stopped feeling like annoyance and started feeling like something heavier, something you're secretly learning to crave.
because for all his dramatics and flirtations, you've noticed how haechan listens. he remembers your ailments. he notices when you're too tired to carry your books and takes them without asking. he hovers just close enough to be overwhelming, but never crosses a line that leaves you feeling truly uncomfortable. and for someone so infamously careless, his care for you is startling in its clarity.
and for the first time—somewhere between the cigarettes he swore off for your sake and the way he lights up every time you so much as look at him, you admit—if only silently, if only to yourself—that you find him pretty beyond his beauty marks.
🔮 preview. When you first met Hyuck in the elevator, you’d thought he was nothing more than some fuckboy line chef. But now, you see a deeper side of him. He’s thoughtful and caring, a little chaotic in the best way, but willing to calm down and match your pace. And to top it all off, he’s hot as fuck.
tw/cw. protected sex (for probably the first time ever), gentle/slow build-up sex, oral/pussy eating, slight praise, slight dirty talk, reader hasn’t been fucked in a while, low-key wholesome sex with a reformed fuckboy because you’re now cat co-parents, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.8k
🍭 aus. Restaurant au, neighbors to lovers, accidental fur baby co-parents, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. Fresco, meaning a painting done rapidly in watercolor on wet plaster on a wall or ceiling, so that the colors penetrate the plaster and become fixed as it dries. - Alternative; Alfresco, meaning a meal eaten outside “in the fresh air” - fresco is Italian for “fresh,” and the culinary usage is relatively common in English. this fic is in conjunction with Real Talk and Comfort Cuisine.
Prologue:
You’re a little shocked to hear a knock at your door around one in the afternoon on a Tuesday. As something of a recluse professional artist, you don’t get many visitors. One look out the peephole reveals that your surprise guest is a neighbor, one Lee Donghyuck from two units down.
“Hyuck?” you ask as you open the door. “Is something wrong?”
“I found a cat!” Hyuck whisper screams as he holds open his jacket, revealing a tiny, orange puffball, who immediately meows at you. “Can I come in?”
You’re so taken aback by this whole interaction that you don’t have it within you to argue, you simply step aside and let the frazzled line cook into your apartment.
“Okay, I don’t have much time,” Donghyuck explains. “My chef is going to kill me for taking the longest vape break ever-”
“Slow down,” you laugh.
“Look, I went for a vape break, I found this kitten by the dumpster, I jumped in my car and came here.”
“It’s a no-pet apartment building,” you point out.
“Can you just take care of him for the day? While I figure this out?” Hyuck pleads.
“Don’t you have other friends in the building?”
“No one who’s home all day like you are- come on, it’s a kitten, it needs someone around or it’s going to be screaming super loud and then the landlord will hear it and evict me-”
“What about a shelter?”
“I don’t have time to look up no-kill shelters, and besides, you know how the cat distribution system works!”
“Fine,” you sigh, gazing at the purring ball of fur. “What time are you off work.”
“Around nine,” Hyuck responds, holding the kitten out for you. “You’re doing me a huge favor.”
“Just this once, while you figure the whole situation out.”
One:
You’re doing your best to continue working, but the kitten has been a bit of a menace the entire day. You suppose this orange fur ball is a bit like Hyuck that way, not that you know your neighbor very well, but you have a sense for him. Hyuck has to be a little chaotic to turn up on your doorstep with a kitten he found by the dumpster, but the flip side of this whole thing is that Hyuck is showing a lot of tenderness to have cared about this cat at all.
You work as much as you can, but when the kitten starts crying, you decide to call it a day.
There’s a can of tuna in your pantry, the type that’s in water from when you were on a health kick a month ago, and you spoon it onto a little plate for the orange kitten.
He’s eager to eat it all up, making an obnoxious yet endearing gnawing sound as he decimates all the tuna.
When he’s finished, you lift the little cat up into your arms, taking him to your couch to rest while you put on a show.
The little trooper is exhausted, and a food coma comes quickly.
He lays on your lap, napping and purring and relaxing, and you can’t help but enjoy the little fur ball’s presence. He calms you, and before you even know it, it’s nine, and a knock at your door signals Hyuck’s return.
You lift up the orange kitten, carrying him to your door. Hyuck enters your apartment with a sigh.
“How was my child?” he asks, immediately reaching out to take the cat from your hands.
“He wasn’t too bad, I fed him a can of tuna. He’ll probably be good till the morning, but you’ve got to figure out what you’re doing with him.”
“Yeah, I’m still thinking about that,” Hyuck groans. “Thanks for the help today.”
“Don’t mention it, seriously.”
“I’ve gotta get home, I’m exhausted from work, and I’m guessing you’ve got things to do.”
You don’t have anything in particular on your schedule, but it’s not like you and Hyuck are very close, so you let him leave. It feels a little odd to look at your empty apartment once he’s gone- sure, you’d only had the kitten for nine or so hours, but… he’d livened up the space a little, in a way you can’t quite explain.
You go back to your couch, letting out a sigh as you turn your show back on.
Not fifteen minutes later there’s a knock at your door, and for the third time today, Lee Donghyuck enters your apartment.
“He wouldn’t stop crying for you!” Hyuck explains, handing the squirming kitten over to you. “Maybe he thinks you’re his mom now!”
“Hyuck,” you sigh. “You’ve got to sort this out.”
“I was thinking… can you… can you take him to the vet tomorrow?”
“The vet?”
“You know, make sure he’s not tagged or anything?”
“Make sure he’s not tagged?” you ask. “You’re hoping he’s a stray?”
“If he’s a stray then I get to keep him,” Hyuck states.
“Again, this is a no-pet building.”
“Everyone says that, but I know for a fact that Mrs. Sue on the fifth floor has some mega old and dying Persian, and I’m pretty sure the nonbinary couple next to me have some calico that’s missing a tail-”
“What?”
“It got out one day, I saw it scratching at their door. Have you really not seen any cats in the building?”
“I don’t go out much,” you admit.
“The point is, people have cats, they just hide them.”
You release a sigh. “I think there should be an emphasis on the word cats, not kittens, who are substantially louder and need more attention.”
“Well…” Hyuck gazes down at his feet. “You work from home.”
“So what, this is our cat now?”
“It could be,” the line chef muses. “I mean, look at him, he’s obsessed with you!”
The orange kitten is purring like an engine in your arms, making softies against your chest, and you have to admit, it’s clear he’s taken with you, perhaps as taken as you are with him.
“Fine,” you relent. “I’ll take him to the vet tomorrow. We’ll see if he’s tagged, and we’ll work it out from there.”
“You’re literally a lifesaver.”
Two:
The lunch rush is over, and Hyuck has time to think about you while he’s prepping for dinner. His coworker, Mark, is beside him, and Hyuck can feel his gaze.
“You good?” the tattooed softie of a chef asks.
Hyuck sighs. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
About you. How you’re the girl next door, the artist, the visionary, the lifesaver-
“I found a cat by the dumpster yesterday,” Hyuck admits.
“What?”
“My neighbor is taking care of it right now, and I guess we’ll find out if it’s chipped or not.”
“Isn’t your building like, a no-pets sort of thing?” Mark asks.
“That’s more a guideline than a rule,” Hyuck explains. “Besides, it’s a tiny cat that weighs two pounds, not some dog.”
Mark only shakes his head, continuing to cut carrots.
“I’m thinking I want to give the cat a name that’s related to food and art.”
“Why art?”
“Because my neighbor is an artist.”
“That’s cool, have I heard of his work?”
“My neighbor is a she, Mark, god, you’re so sexist.”
Mark stops what he’s doing, turning to face Donghyuck. “Now I get it. I bet you think she’s cute.”
“She’s super cute.”
Releasing a sigh, Mark rests his hands on the cutting board in front of him. “Names that are related to art and food. I guess you could do colors that are foods. Like, clementine or olive or something.”
“That feels too food driven, I want like, an artsy name.”
“Let me think about it,” Mark sighs.
The two continue to work, and at the end of their shift, Mark pulls Hyuck to the side. “There’s only really one super artsy name I can think of, and it’s Fresco.”
Hyuck has no idea what Fresco means, but something about it speaks to him. Without a second thought, Hyuck blurts out, “It’s perfect!” and he promises himself to look it up before he drives home.
Three:
Hyuck is practically buzzing as he arrives at your apartment, but he forces himself to rein in the excitement. “How was the vet visit?” he asks.
“You got your wish, he wasn’t chipped. The vet guessed he’s a stray, born on the streets, that sort of thing,” you explain, cuddling the kitten close to your chest as you speak. “I figured you might not have time to grab provisions for him, so I got some cans of food, a litter box, some toys-”
“Really?!” Hyuck immediately reaches into his pants to pull out his wallet, removing some cash, which he thrusts out toward you. “Thank you so much for the help!”
With a shake of your head, you accept the money. “I don’t know if you’ve thought this whole thing through.”
“He’s our cat now, the distribution system is never wrong.”
You laugh, but the chuckle turns into a sigh. “Our cat, huh?”
“I was thinking, if you don’t mind, he can stay with you during the days when I’m at work, then I’ll have him when I’m here, you know, like a child of divorce or something.”
The way you blink at him tells Hyuck you don’t find his words to be that amusing, but he can see you’re up for the task. It’s clear to him that you have fallen in love with the kitten, and Hyuck would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited about the prospect of a dual ownership- after all, it would mean the two of you would see each other more often.
“I guess we can make this work, but if the building manager finds out, I’m blaming all of this on you,” you warn.
“I’ll take full responsibility.”
“So… I guess now you just have to name him.”
“I was thinking about that!” Hyuck blurts out, unable to hide his excitement anymore. “What about Fresco?”
“Fresco?”
“I came up with it myself,” Hyuck lies, wanting to impress you. “Fresco is an art term right? Something about painting plaster?”
“Rapidly and somewhat erratically, yes,” you laugh.
“And Alfresco is Italian for eating food outside, like, fresh air, or something,” Hyuck explains, doing his best to remember the brief research he’d done on the word before knocking on your door.
“So it’s an artsy food name,” you muse with a smile.
“An artsy food name,” Hyuck agrees.
“I kind of love it.”
Four:
You suppose you should be used to Hyuck knocking on your door by now, but for some reason, it always comes as a surprise.
He steps into your apartment with a grin, holding Fresco in one hand, and a six-pack of beer in the other. “It’s my day off,” he announces. “Do you wanna hang out?”
You look him up and down, shaking your head and laughing. “I’m working.”
“Painting something?”
“I guess you can come see.”
“We won’t bother you too much, I promise,” Hyuck tells you as he follows you through your apartment to your little art office space. When his eyes land on your canvas, he lets out a whistle. “So you’re an artist artist?”
“I get paid for it, so yes,” you giggle.
“You’ve got the whole setup,” Hyuck muses, immediately heading for the small couch in the corner. When he’d first dropped Fresco off, the kitten had fallen asleep on this couch, and it seems his owner is just as able to make any place into his own home.
Hyuck collapses onto the sofa, immediately cracking open a beer. “Can I watch you paint?”
You’re not one for having others watch you do your craft, but Hyuck - as it turns out - is extremely hard for you to say no to.
“Just don’t make any comments about what I could be doing better,” you warn him.
“I don’t know anything about art, so you don’t have to worry about that,” he assures you.
“Some people don’t know anything and they still make comments,” you muse.
“Then they’re stupid.” Hyuck takes a swig of his beer, stroking Fresco as the kitten gets settled on his lap.
You pick up where you left off with the art piece, and Hyuck is quiet. He drinks his beer, pets Fresco, and scrolls on his phone, but after a while, your curiosity gets the better of you.
“Have you owned cats before?” you ask.
“Not really.”
“Well, you’re good with them. I never would have pictured you as a cat guy, it’s giving maternal.”
Hyuck lets out a laugh. “If you didn’t peg me as a cat guy, what did you peg me as?”
“Honestly? A fuckboy?”
“Everyone says that.” Hyuck shakes his head.
“So you’re saying it’s not true?”
“I mean… maybe in the past, I’ve been a bit of a fuck boy. But, everyone around me is in these long-term relationships, and I guess these days I want commitment, even if that commitment is with a cat and not a girl.”
You consider his words, and as you do so, Fresco gets up. He approaches a few of your finished canvases, smelling them carefully. You and Hyuck both watch him as he begins to pur, clearly enjoying the colors.
“He likes your art,” Hyuck grins.
“He has good taste.”
The two of you continue to chat while you work, and after a while, both Hyuck and Fresco pass out on the couch.
You note the way they’re bathed in the sun, and with a sigh, you put your current project to the side in favor of a blank canvas.
It’s rare to have a person, or an animal for that matter, sit still long enough for you to paint them, and something tells you both Fresco and Hyuck are tuckered out for the long haul.
You enjoy painting them, taking in every detail, and the creativity comes as easy as ever with the two of them as your muse.
Five:
You and Hyuck have something of an understanding now. It’s been two weeks. Hyuck works, you take care of Fresco, and when he’s off, the line chef comes straight to your house to see your shared fur baby.
The kitten has truly become your muse, and you’re enjoying the art of drawing this rambunctious cat.
It’s around nine o’clock, you’ve got a glass of wine, and you’re just putting the finishing touches on your recent Fresco piece, which is when Hyuck knocks at your door.
You’d unlocked your apartment an hour ago, and one call ‘Come in!’ has Hyuck entering. He lets out a whistle as he sees the canvas. “Holy shit, that’s good!”
“I know, right?” You can’t help the grin on your face. You’ve been testing out different methods, watercolors, acrylics, more abstracts- this one is more of a splatter piece, where you’d painted Fresco in funky colors, and then splattered it, you’d even dusted the canvas with glitter, spraying it with hairspray to get it to stick as an adhesive.
“I feel like you’ve captured his chaotic essence,” Hyuck laughs.
“He’s not so chaotic right now,” you muse, looking at the kitten who’s tuckered out on the couch.
“Do you want me to take him home? Or… do you want to watch a movie or something?”
You look Hyuck up and down. “That sort of sounds like a date.”
“I mean… these past few weeks we’ve kind of been having little dates, right? I mean- I want to ask you on a real one, but we can’t leave Fresco alone…”
“No, dates here sound nice,” you nod. “I’ve got wine, if you go and wash up, grab some beer, it can be a date when you get back.”
“Really?” His eyes practically bulge out of his head.
“Yeah, why not.”
“I’ll be right back,” Hyuck promises, nearly tripping over himself to run to the door.
He’s an odd one, but you kind of love it.
Six:
Hyuck’s not one for dates, but there’s something very comfortable about a stay-at-home sort of situation. The two of you are used to each other’s company, and the ease that Hyuck feels isn’t something he’s experienced with any other girl in a very long time.
In some ways, this reformed fuck boy is a touch obsessed with you.
Part of him wonders if it’s the joy of the chase- after all, he’s never interacted with a girl this long and not weasled his way into her pants. However, another part of Donghyuck knows his sexual attraction to you isn’t the main drive behind this connection.
There’s just something about you that he clicks with on a deep level.
He loves your whole art thing and he loves how kind and peaceful you are too.
“You know, you’re different from most of the girls I’ve gone out with,” Hyuck muses.
“Yeah, how so?”
“Well, usually I date within the industry, you know, servers, expo girls, that sort of thing. They’re all very… I don’t know, at work they’re extroverted. They always know what to say, but sometimes in the past, I’ve wondered if it’s all an act, and it’s made it hard for me to trust them, hard for me to see them as any more than flings.”
“That sounds like a you problem, Hyuck,” you giggle. “If you have trust issues, you have to own that, you can’t blame it on the women you’ve dated who didn’t contribute to the original wound that developed into a mistrust of girls.”
Hyuck sits with your words for a moment.
“Also… I used to be a server, so are you saying you don’t trust me?”
His eyes snap toward you in shock. “Really?”
“Just for a bit,” you shrug. “You’d be surprised how many people take a stint at serving, especially when they’re going through uni.”
“I guess that’s where your charm comes from,” Hyuck says, swallowing thickly. “Bet you made big tips.”
You laugh, and the way your face lights up makes Hyuck’s chest feel tight.
The sound wakes up Fresco, who has been sleeping for most of your date. The kitten yawns obnoxiously, stretching out and making biscuits against your leg.
“I’ve done alright for myself,” you muse, petting the kitten lovingly. “Which, speaking of, I think it’s about time to call it for the night. I’ve got to wake up early and finish a commission that I’ve been pushing off.”
“Right, yeah.” Hyuck shakes his head to snap himself out of the daze he’s in. “I’ll take Fresco and give you some room for your beauty sleep.”
He reaches for the kitten, who cuddles up against his chest, purring loudly as Hyuck makes his way to the door, where Hyuck stops. He turns to you, licking his lips.
“That was fun.”
“It’s usually fun with you,” you agree.
“Can I… do you mind, I mean-”
“You can kiss me, Hyuck,” you laugh, reading his mind and making him even more flustered- which is odd, because Hyuck never gets flustered.
He swallows the lump in his throat, leaning forward. You close the distance, cupping his face so he can press his lips to yours.
Hyuck melts into the kiss, but he’s also aware of the kitten purring diligently between your chests. You’re both careful not to squish the small creature, and as much as Hyuck wants to kiss you stupid, he holds back. He gets the sense you’re also restricting yourself, and it’s all Hyuck can think about as he heads home.
He could taste the passion on you, and it’s a temptation unlike any other, a need left unsatiated due to circumstance.
Seven:
“You seem eager to get out of here,” Mark notes as Hyuck hurries with his closing duties.
“Gotta get home to see my cat and my neighbor.”
“Your neighbor, you mean the cute girl next door who you somehow talked into taking care of the stray kitten you found.”
Hyuck rolls his eyes. “It’s a dual partnership sort of thing, we both love Fresco.”
“Dual partnership,” Mark mutters. “Dude, are you like… dating this chick?”
Now Hyuck turns to look at Mark, and it takes him a second, but then he simply blurts it out, “You know what, yeah! I am dating this chick! We have a whole ass child together.”
“Your kitten is not a child,” Mark groans.
“He cock blocks like one.”
Mark immediately grimaces. “Jesus, I did not need to hear that.”
Eight:
It feels like now that you’ve kissed Hyuck, some invisible door has been opened in regard to your relationship. If he’d been tiptoeing around you before, now, he’s uninhibited. He shows up at your place with a bouquet of flowers, and without a second thought, you invite him into your apartment to watch a show while Fresco naps.
While this is only officially date number two, it feels like you’ve had a lot of dates- the two of you have been spending many evenings together when Hyuck picks up Fresco after work, it’s just now, these ‘hangouts’ have a more specific purpose or designation.
You’re interested in Donghyuck, and your opinion of him has changed drastically in two weeks.
When you first met him in the elevator, you’d thought he was nothing more than some fuckboy line chef. But now, you see a deeper side of him.
He’s thoughtful and caring, a little chaotic in the best way, but willing to calm down and match your pace.
And to top it all off, he’s hot as fuck.
God, you pour so much of yourself into your art that you haven’t really left room for a relationship in a long time. There’s a convenience to Hyuck, given that he’s your neighbor, but this whole blossoming relationship isn’t just founded on proximity.
The cornerstone of all of this is Fresco, if you’re being honest with yourself.
Fresco, the little cat that Hyuck brought into your life because he knew you would open your heart for it. He knew that together, the two of you would be able to take care of this sweet kitten and give him a good life. Existing as something like strangers, Hyuck had been able to see your caring soul, even if you’d been blinded to his kindred heart.
You’ve already ripped the bandaid off with a kiss, and when Hyuck notices you staring at his mouth, he shifts closer.
“Hi,” he grins.
“Hi, yourself,” you giggle.
You watch him swallow a lump in his throat, his gaze flickering down to your lips and then up again. “I’m hoping that kiss wasn’t a one-time thing.”
“It wasn’t,” you assure him. “I’m just not used to dating, and making a move has never been my fortè.”
“Then I can make all the moves,” Hyuck chuckles. “We can go as slow or as fast as you want.”
“I think you know what I want right now.”
Hyuck’s grin widens. “For a girl who doesn’t make moves, that was a pretty sexy move you just made.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
Hyuck can only laugh as he leans forward, cupping your cheek and bringing his lips to your own.
You grab at his shoulders, trying to shift closer- but Fresco is asleep between the two of you, so there’s only so much room to move.
The kiss turns heated, with Hyuck’s tongue swiping your bottom lip, and you can’t help the moan that escapes you.
He feels so good, and the way his hand cups your cheek- there’s something dominant about it. Hyuck’s clearly confident, and from the way he kisses, he has every right to be.
You’re drunk from just a bit of kissing, and you can only imagine what full-on sex with this man would be like-
A loud meow makes you jump, and Hyuck lets go of you with a sigh. Both of you look down at Fresco, who’s now awake, and as rambunctious as ever as he begins to make softies on Hyuck’s thigh.
“Cock block,” Hyuck groans, but he begins to pet the small kitten all the same.
You laugh a little, releasing a sigh as you try to calm your racing heart. Maybe you’d needed an interruption because you were about ten seconds from ripping Hyuck’s clothes off, and maybe, just maybe, you should give things with him just a little more time.
You’re horny after a long period without a relationship, and you want to be sure Hyuck’s right for you before you jump into something with your neighbor, after all, not every romp with the boy next door ends happily, and you very much like this living tension free in this building.
Nine:
It’s been a week of making out and getting interrupted by Fresco.
Tonight, you’re in the little studio room. You’re on the couch sipping wine while Hyuck uses a feather-string toy to tire out the naughty kitten.
It’s been an hour of playing, and you’re shocked such a tiny animal has so much energy, but you can see it dwindling.
“Come on, Fresco, don’t you want a nap?” Hyuck groans, lying on the ground while he flicks the feathered toy here and there for the tiny kitten.
You can’t help but laugh at his antics. At this point, Hyuck looks more tired than Fresco does, but that’s what happens when he works a nine-hour shift. He’d told you when he arrived that the restaurant was busy today, something about a walk-in twenty top just as happy hour started, and the longest order of appetizers he’s ever seen.
You’re thankful when Fresco finally yawns, and Hyuck practically jumps for joy, picking up his kitten and carrying him to the little bed you’d bought. Hyuck sets Fresco down on the green pillowy fabric, and the kitten immediately stretches, letting out a sigh.
You begin to pet Fresco as Hyuck lets out a sigh, collapsing on the couch and reaching for his beer.
“Who knew having a kitten would be like having a baby.”
“To be honest, babies might be easier,” you joke, making Hyuck laugh.
“Do you want kids?” he asks, shifting the tone rather suddenly.
“Uh… I don’t know, do you?”
Hyuck shrugs. “I guess it depends on the girl I end up with. I would be happy with kids, but I’d be just as happy with two cats and a dog, you know?”
“Two cats and a dog?” You cock a brow. “When did you come up with that specific of a dynamic?”
“Well, I figure, cats like company. Fresco would be easier to take care of if he had a playmate, you know? And I like dogs, but if we have more than one dog, then it might overpower Fresco and the other cat. So I feel like, Fresco, another cat, and maybe a cat-sized dog would be perfect.”
“I never pictured you as a small dog kind of guy.”
“Well, weiner dogs are cute as fuck, I don’t know what to tell you.”
You laugh as you imagine this perfect little life dynamic that Hyuck has clearly spent time thinking about.
“You’d have to find a different apartment to live in,” you muse.
“That’s doable,” Hyuck shrugs. “You’ve got this whole one-bedroom, den, and office space set up, but I’m in a bachelor suite right now. If you and I end up dating for a while, we’d have to find a bigger place.”
“You’ve been thinking a lot about the future, huh?”
“I’m a father now,” Hyuck jokes, petting Fresco, “I need to be thinking ahead.”
You stare at this pretty man, this man who had walked into your life only a month ago like a sudden storm. You’d initially seen him as a type of chaos, but he’s calmed down considerably. He’s a reliable, nurturing person, and now, the type of man who thinks about the future instead of just taking things as they come.
You like that he has plans, plans that seem to include you. This isn’t just a short-term thing to him, and that knowledge has your throat feeling tight.
Looking down at Fresco, you realize he’s asleep. “Come on,” you whisper, “let's move to the kitchen.”
Hyuck doesn’t question you as you both stand, and you exit your small office studio area, carefully closing the door behind you.
In the kitchen, you set your wine glass down before turning to Hyuck.
“How long do you think Fresco will be sleeping for?” you ask.
Hyuck shrugs. “Could be an hour, could be ten minutes.”
You consider his words for a moment. “I get the feeling you can work with ten minutes.”
He stares at you blankly, and you see the second the lightbulb goes off in his brain. “I mean-” He clears his throat. “If you’re up for that, I could definitely- you know, I could take care of you in ten minutes-”
“Then let's not waste any more time,” you tell him, closing the distance to throw your arms around Hyuck’s shoulders. His lips press against yours immediately, his hands grabbing your hips to pull you incredibly close- this is the first time Fresco hasn’t been between the two of you, and it feels like heaven to have full-body contact like this.
God, his tongue is perfect as it strokes against your own, his fingers digging into your hips when you release a moan from the sensation.
“Your bedroom,” Hyuck whispers gruffly, and you can tell it’s taking all his control to not throw you over your kitchen counter right now.
“Come on,” you tell him grabbing his hand and leading him to your room. For good measure, you close the door, hoping two sound barriers will allow Fresco to sleep through all of this- you’re not sure what you’d do if he began to cry while Hyuck was balls deep inside of you, and you don’t want to find out, not now.
Hyuck’s lips are on yours again almost immediately, and you grab the front of his shirt, pulling him with you as you back up toward your bed. Your calves touch the mattress and you lower yourself down, keeping your mouths connected as you do so.
“Take your shirt off,” you command next, a little shocked that you feel confident enough to tell Hyuck what to do in a situation like this.
“Whatever you say, gorgeous,” Hyuck laughs, breaking the kiss so he can tear his shirt off.
Then he’s on top of you, and your legs are wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer as your lips clash passionately.
“Can I start undressing you?” he asks, mouth moving to your throat, where he licks at your skin and makes you gasp.
“Yeah, whatever you want,” you tell him, swallowing thickly and trying to center yourself.
His fingers find your shirt, and he slowly pulls it up. You help the process by lifting your arms, and the fabric is discarded. You’re in a cute lacey bra and silky shorts now, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been dressing extra cute this past week in the hopes that this would happen.
No, you’re fully prepared. You’d taken one of those horrific ‘full-body showers’ in the morning, and you’re thanking God that it wasn’t in vain.
“This is cute,” Hyuck tells you, mouth moving down to your chest as his hand cups your breast through the bra, squeezing gently.
“Thank you,” you gasp, loving the way it feels to be touched by him like this.
You’re a little surprised when his mouth moves down past your breasts to your abdomen, and he slinks down onto the floor as he begins to drag your shorts off.
It’s clear what his intention is, and it has your heart racing- you haven’t been eaten out in ages, and most men make the whole thing feel like a chore. Having Hyuck, who is clearly eager to get his mouth on your pussy without being told to… it’s super sexy, and you can feel yourself getting wet already.
“Ten minutes, right?” he jokes, looking up at you as he hooks his fingers in your panties. “I think I can work with that.”
You can’t even find the words within yourself to respond as he strips you bare from the waist down. His hands grab your thighs and he begins kissing up your legs, looking up at you to be sure you’re okay with this.
You nod at him, swallowing thickly in preparation.
“So wet already,” Hyuck muses. “Guess you’ve been wanting this for a while too.”
“Uh huh.” God, you feel so dumb, but he just makes you crazy- he takes your words away, and as he takes his first lick of your pussy, all you know is pleasure.
Your head falls back as a groan escapes you, your body immediately relaxing as he starts to eat you out.
He’s slow with it, taking his time to explore you. You get the sense that he’s listening to your responses, gauging what feels best.
His lips suction around your clit and you whimper, threading your fingers through his hair.
Hyuck switches between licking and sucking, testing different pressures until he finds the right one, and then you’re gasping, eyes clenched shut as pleasure begins to build even faster in the pit of your stomach.
“That feels so good,” you whimper, wanting to give him praise despite your current tongue-tied disposition.
Hyuck groans against your core, and the sound has your legs shaking. Your grip tightens in his hair, and from the way he reacts, you can tell he kind of likes the pain.
Fuck, he’s so sexy- you’ve never been this turned on before, and it helps you get to the edge faster than you can even fathom.
“Shit, fuck, Hyuck-” you groan, eyes clenching shut again as your stomach muscles tense incredibly tight.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t pull away from your pussy for even a moment, but a new vigor erupts through him, and that’s all you need as confirmation that he wants you to cum.
A few more licks, a few more sucks, and a gasp escapes you, your muscles clenching right before the release that rockets through your entire body.
Your core is throbbing, pulsing with pleasure that overwhelms you in the best possible way.
Sounds of pleasure are escaping you with no regard to being too loud- your mind is blank except for the orgasm Hyuck has just provided, and he eats you out through the entire thing until your thighs are shaking and you can’t take it anymore.
He pulls away, and you can practically hear him licking his lips.
“I’ll grab a condom,” he tells you.
Although you’re on birth control to manage your period, this is a man you’ve never slept with before, a man who hasn’t discussed exclusivity, and more importantly, a man who’s admitted to being a fuckboy in the past.
You stay quiet as Hyuck pulls his wallet out of his pants, retrieving a condom.
Then, Hyuck pushes the fabric of his jeans down, exposing himself fully to you.
You can’t help the way you begin to salivate.
His cock is thick, and it’s a decent length too. Your best friend has referred to this type of cock as ‘boyfriend dick’ before, meaning the type that’s big enough to satisfy, but not so big that it leaves you feeling wrecked.
You undo your bra, joining Hyuck in full nudity before you reposition on your bed, moving up so you can rest on the pillows.
He rolls the condom onto his cock, not whining one word of protest about wearing it- in fact, you hadn’t even asked him to, he’d just taken matters into his own hand to practice safe sex for your first time.
You kind of love this.
He’s definitely turned your opinion on him right around- this is not the man you thought he was, and the man he is… well, he’s so much better than you could have imagined.
“Okay,” Hyuck whispers as he finishes with the condom, looking up at you. “You good for this?”
“Yes, please.” You open your arms for him, beckoning him onto the bed.
He joins you, and your legs wrap around his hips, your lips meeting his own.
He kisses you deeply, and you can taste yourself on his tongue, but it’s not unpleasant. He groans against your mouth and you thread your fingers through his hair tugging gently.
Hyuck is grinding down against your core, and it feels amazing to have slight stimulus on your clit after an orgasm, but your inner walls are screaming for attention, and soon, you’re reaching between your bodies to grab his cock.
“Ten minutes, remember?” you laugh.
“Fuck, I got distracted.” He presses his forehead against yours, looking down at where you’re guiding his tip to your entrance.
“It’s okay,” you assure him. “Just focus now, I got to cum, so I want you to cum too.”
Hyuck moans at your words, and you slip the tip of his cock inside of you, making you groan too.
He smashes his lips to yours again, kissing you eagerly as he sinks into your core. He goes slowly, allowing your body to adjust, and once he’s fully inside of you, he pauses so you can both moan from the sensation.
“You feel so good,” he tells you, his breath hot along your throat as he moves to press kisses there.
“You too,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “You can move.”
“Okay, gorgeous.” He swallows thickly. “I’ve got you.”
Then he begins to fuck you. As was his pace when he entered you, Hyuck is careful not to start at a hundred percent. He builds tempo comfortably, and your moaning urges him on until he’s fucking you so hard that the bed is shaking.
You grasp his shoulders roughly, whimpering as he kisses your throat, paying attention to your sweet spot. Each lick of your neck has your body tingling, your pussy getting wetter and wetter as he rails into you.
Your nipples feel incredibly sensitive too, pushed up against his chest. Each rock of his body is a sensation against all your most important erogenous zones, and it has you going crazy.
As it was with him eating you out, your mind is blank as Hyuck fucks you, and you kind of love it.
“Fuck, you feel so fucking perfect,” Hyuck groans.
He grabs your hand, lacing your fingers as he presses it to the bed as an anchor, and then his lips meet yours again.
It feels so intimate to be fucking like this, and it makes things even more pleasurable.
You can feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach again, can feel your core beginning to tighten around him-
“Are you gonna cum again for me?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m close,” you whimper.
“When you cum, I cum,” Hyuck tells you, pressing his lips to yours so you can’t disagree.
He fucks you even harder, and each drag of his hips has your clit being stimulated too, which is tightening the coil in your abdomen even more-
You begin to gasp against his lips, getting closer and closer until you explode for a second time, your pussy clamping down on Hyuck like a vice.
“Fuck!” He pulls away from your lips, moving to bury his face against your throat. You can tell your orgasm has triggered his own from the way he’s panting, his thrusts faltering ever so slightly- you’re pretty sure he’s doing his best to fuck you through your high, despite the fact that this might be overstimulating for him.
Maybe he likes a bit of overstimulation, as he likes the pain that comes from pulling on his hair. Regardless, he fucks you through it until you’re both gasping messes.
Then, as you lay there for a moment, you hear a meow.
You and Hyuck both break out into laughter, and you kiss his cheek. “You can go clean up in the bathroom, I’ll deal with Fresco.”
“Can I stay here tonight?” Hyuck asks. “You know, cuddle?”
“You and Fresco can both stay,” you assure him.
“The first of many sleepovers,” Hyuck tells you, standing up with a groan. “I like you a lot.”
You can sense there’s a deeper emotion behind his words, but it’s still too early to be deep diving into any feelings more serious than ‘liking’ each other, so with a nod and smile, you agree. “I like you too.”
And for now, that’s all you need to say.
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🔮 preview. You feel closer to this man than you’ve ever felt to anyone in your life, and warmth spreads from your chest at the notion of having a forever love like this.
cw/ tw.Unprotected sex, oral, blow job, hand job, pussy eating, sixty-nine, foreplay, grinding, nipple worship, overstimulation, Hyuck is a little on the rough side, multiple reader orgasms, size kink, fucking quietly/with a hand over your mouth, slight breath control/sensory deprivation, etc… I petnames. (hers) gorgeous.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 130
🌙 starring. Donghyuck x afab!Reader
bonus
It’s been six months of hiding Fresco, and three near misses with your building manager, so when Hyuck shows you a pet-friendly apartment he’s found online, you jump at the chance to view it.
“This is so much bigger than your space,” Hyuck muses as you do the walk-through. “And look, this room has better light for your paintings!”
You can see him imagining himself here, and it warms your heart.
“Are you ready for this next step?” you ask, pulling Hyuck to the side to have a heart-to-heart.
“I’ve been ready to move in with you for months,” he tells you, hands falling onto your hips.
“This is a big change,” you remind him.
“But it’s good, for us, for Fresco- and the lease doesn’t say anything about the amount of animals either.”
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pairing: lee haechan x f!reader
genre: smut
content warnings: explicit, fingering, overstimulation, crying during sex, crying kink, basically tears makes him hard
word count: ~1k
notes: i’m back hehe i’m sorry. i should write an apology letter longer than a few words or wtv but here’s this haechan fic instead
haechan’s favorite version of you is the one that’s coming undone. not the polished, pretty one who knows exactly how to tease him back. not the sharp tongued version with that little smirk he pretends to hate. no, he wants you frayed. breath stuttering. cheeks damp. voice cracked open and raw.
he gets off hardest when your eyes go glassy and your lashes clump together with tears.
tonight he’s got you on your back, wrists pinned above your head in one of his hands. the other is between your thighs, fingers buried inside you, dragging against that spot that makes your whole body jolt like you’ve been shocked. he’s barely moving now. just pressing, letting the heel of his palm grind into your clit while his fingers stay crooked and deep.
you’re shaking. “haechan—please—”
your voice splinters on his name and he groans low in his throat, hips twitching forward against nothing. he’s so hard it hurts, cock leaking against his stomach, flushed dark and twitching every time a new tear slips down your temple.
“look at you,” he murmurs, wrecked. “crying already and i haven’t even fucked you yet.”
you try to turn your face away but he catches your jaw, thumb smearing the wet streak across your cheekbone.
“nuh-uh,” he says softly. “eyes on me, baby.”
you obey because you’re too far gone to fight. your lips tremble. another tear rolls. he leans down and licks it from your skin, tongue flat and hot. the salt makes him shudder.
“fuck,” he breathes against your cheek. “you taste so good like this.”
his fingers flex inside you, just enough to make a sob tear out of your chest. your back arches, thighs trying to close, but he wedges his knee between them, forcing you open wider.
“keep them spread,” he says, almost gentle. “let me see how wet my crying girl is.”
you’re soaked. embarrassingly so. every time he pulls his fingers out even an inch, there’s a slick, filthy sound that makes his cock jump. he pushes back in deeper, curls harder, watches your mouth drop open on a broken moan.
more tears. he’s mesmerized.
“god,” you’re so pretty when you cry for me,” he rasps, grinding his palm against your clit in tight circles now, relentless. “makes me wanna ruin you worse.”
your hips buck uselessly. you’re babbling now, half pleas, half his name, all slurred and wet. he lets go of your wrists just so he can wrap that hand around your throat. your pulse slams against his palm like it’s trying to escape.
“haechan—i can’t—i’m gonna—”
“yeah you are,” he cuts you off, voice dark. “you’re gonna come crying. just how i like it.”
he speeds up, fingers fucking into you fast and deep, wet, obscene sounds filling the room. your thighs tremble violently. your hands claw at his shoulders, nails biting skin.
he speeds up, fingers fucking into you fast and deep now, wet squelching sounds filling the room. your thighs tremble violently, your hands scrabble at his shoulders, nails biting skin. and the tears tears stream freely now, can’t hold them back.
he stares so hard like he’s hypnotized.
“fuck—look at that,” he groans, hips rocking like he’s already inside you. “you’re dripping down my wrist, baby. crying so pretty for me.”
your sob breaks into a high, shattered cry when he grinds his palm down hard. your whole body locks up, back bowing, toes curling, thighs shaking. and then you’re coming, clenching so tight around his fingers he hisses through his teeth.
the tears keep falling while you shake it out. silent now, just streaming, mixing with the sweat rolling down your face.
he doesn’t stop there, he rubs you through it, keeps fucking you through the oversensitive ache until you’re whimpering, trying to twist away.
“no no no,” he coos, pinning your hip down with his free hand. “you don’t get to run. not when you look this fucking good.”
he pulls his fingers out slowly, watching the way your pussy flutters around nothing, slick clinging to his knuckles. he brings them to his mouth, sucks them clean while holding eye contact, tongue swirling, savoring every drop of your crying orgasm.
then he’s settling between your thighs, cock thick and so hard it’s purple at the tip, beaded with precum. he drags it through your folds, coats himself in you, nudges your swollen clit until you jolt and sob again.
“shh,” he whispers, almost tender. “just a little more, yeah? let me fuck you while you’re still crying.”
he pushes in, inch by torturous inch, watching your face the whole time. the way your brows pinch, lips part, fresh tears welling up as he stretches you open.
when he bottoms out he stays there, hips flush, letting you feel all of his length while you adjust. your walls flutter around him helplessly.
haechan leans down, mouth brushing your ear. “cry for me again,” he murmurs. “i wanna feel you soak my cock while you do it.”
then he starts moving, deep rolls of his hips, grinding against that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. every thrust knocks another sob loose. tears slide into your hairline. your hands fist the sheets so hard your knuckles bleach.
he’s panting now, forehead pressed to yours, watching every tear fall like it’s his personal porn.
“fuck—fuck—you’re so tight when you cry,” he chokes out. “like your pussy’s begging me to fill it up.”
you’re past words, just broken little cries and whimpers, body jerking every time he bottoms out. he speeds up, chasing it now, hips snapping harder, wet slap of skin on skin mixing with your sobs.
“gonna come inside,” he growls. “gonna come while you’re crying for me—fuck—look at me—”
your eyes flutter open, wet and dazed and pleading.
that’s what does it.
he slams in one last time, buries himself deep, and comes with a guttural moan, cock pulsing as he fills you, flooding you while he watches fresh tears spill down your cheeks.
he keeps rocking through it, shallow thrusts, milking every last drop while you tremble and hiccup beneath him.
when he finally stills, he doesn’t pull out. he just sinks his weight onto you, mouth finding the wet tracks on your face again, licking them clean, soft and greedy.
“so perfect,” he mumbles against your skin, voice hoarse. “my favorite thing in the world is making you cry like that. you’re still sniffling, chest heaving while haechan kisses the corner of your eye.
