˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ sim jake “You don’t have to like her. Just take her out.”
━━ PLEASE JUST TAKE MY SISTER OUT.
(🦮) After seventeen years of surviving his older sister’s constant supervision, Riki Nishimura decides you need a hobby. Preferably one that is tall, charming, and costs him a hundred bucks a week.
paid! jake x fem! reader
˗ˏˋ brother’s friend, paid dating, he falls first, slow burn, romcom, highschool au BUT THEY'RE NOT MINORS they're 19 and 20, mean reader, patient jake, little angst, fluff, smut, porn with plot, crack, profanity, unprotected sex, oral sex, f receiving, MDNI !
inspired by 10 things i hate about you !
Riki was seventeen years old, which by legal law, he understood there were certain things he wasn't supposed to do. He wasn't allowed to drink, gamble, or just make any life-altering decisions with the judgment of someone whose brain was still developing. It was, no doubt, very reasonable and he never tried to argue.
What he didn't understand though, were your laws.
No smoking, drinking, piercing, tattoos.
No driving without adult supervision.
No going out past 10PM.
No girlfriends until eighteen.
No accepting rides from people he didn't know.
No staying out without answering his phone.
The worst part was that none of these rules came from his father — a man who, at first glance, seemed exactly like the kind of parent who'd enforce discipline, high standards, high expectations, strict curfews, and strict grades. Except he wasn’t.
These rules came from you, his older sister. Scratch that — his terrifying older sister that’s also been known as a heinous bitch. You somehow managed to be nineteen years old and forty-seven years old at the same time, right after hearing Beyonce talk about girls running the world, and ultimately decided to make it your entire personality.
You remembered appointments, you knew where every important document in the house was, you made sure groceries appeared in the fridge, and you knew the hardware store. That was a good thing, especially since your Mother is a long story and has been gone from the picture since you turned eleven. It should be a good thing, because while your father forgot that he was meant to be a parent, you managed to step into the role for the then nine-year-old boy.
The bad part was that you also happened to be ruining his life.
"Don’t drink." you state.
Riki looks up from his phone, brows furrowed and eyes wide with confusion. "Why?"
You roll your eyes. "Because you're seventeen."
He stands up, his hands raised in even more confusion. "So are half the people going!"
You didn't even look up from your laptop, just continued on with your academic duties as the poster-child and perfect student you exactly are. Everything that Riki isn’t (he doesn’t give a fuck, he’s actually glad he isn’t as tense as you are). "Be home by ten."
He groans. "It's a party."
You narrow your gaze at him. "Then leave at nine-thirty."
He had barely been there twenty minutes before somebody handed him a drink and accepted it immediately. He didn't even know what was in it, but it was blue and it was something that would give you an MI, which practically made every sense for him to take it.
A hand suddenly smacked the back of his head. "Ow — what the fuck?!"
Riki turned around to find Jay looking unimpressed and clearly annoyed, arms crossed like he was already embodying your spirit for you. “Your sister would freak the fuck out if she saw you.” he says.
Riki scoffs, shaking his head before taking more sips. “Good thing she isn’t here.”
“Wow, someone’s bold.” Jungwon snickers.
Sunoo lets out a laugh from where he's leaning against the counter. “I can already count the amount of times she’ll call me tonight because you won’t be answering your phone.”
The worst part was that none of them were exaggerating. Most people heard the words overprotective older sister and pictured somebody mildly annoying that decided the takeouts. You were something else entirely, you were a mean person with good intentions, who treated Riki like a highly intelligent houseplant that couldn't be trusted unsupervised. Which, admittedly, was only a little unfair.
Jake looks significantly less invested in the conversation than everyone else, which makes sense considering he'd never actually met you before. He knew who you were, obviously. He had seen you around school a handful of times, though only in fragments, passing through hallways with your books tucked against your chest, standing behind podiums during assembly speeches, moving through student events with a clipboard in hand, and occasionally appearing in Riki’s house whenever his friends came over, though never long enough for Jake to understand what everyone meant when they talked about you like you were a natural disaster.
You didn’t hover during those visits, maybe because Riki was already home and therefore safely within the borders of your net, which meant Jake never had any firsthand evidence of the so-called atrocity people kept describing, no grand personal encounter with the hornless devil of a woman they swore you were. To him, you were just Riki’s older sister, put-together, sharper than most people, and clearly the kind of girl who knew how to keep things from falling apart.
He shrugs as if the entire conversation had been blown wildly out of proportion. “Honestly, she can’t be that bad.”
They all try and fail to hide the biggest smiles, until Riki finally let out a laugh so unhinged it sounded like Jake had just said the stupidest thing ever invented. “You’ve never met her, then.”
Jake frowned. “I mean, she just sounds responsible.”
That only made the laughter worse, because how exactly did someone describe you without sounding dramatic? How did anyone explain a girl who could build furniture, schedule doctor’s appointments, cook dinner, maintain perfect grades, and still somehow have enough energy left to lecture her younger brother about road safety, curfew, peer pressure, and why riding in a car with anyone named Jay was apparently a preventable tragedy?
“She’s like…” Riki started, then stopped, because there genuinely wasn’t a normal word for you, only some abstract painting of red and black, wrathful but organized, terrifying but color-coded.
Jay stepped in with both hands raised, like he was trying to translate a myth. “Imagine your mom, but if she had anxiety.”
“And a planner,” Riki added immediately, “and a superiority complex, and an attitude, and the ability to track your location and all your friends’ locations. She has everyone’s number saved, too, just so she can call around and make sure I’m actually where I said I was.”
Riki smiles though, because the way Jake shrugs it off and doesn’t think you’re that bad makes a terrible idea begin forming in his head. If he felt that way about you, maybe some things could be arranged.
The thing was, if anyone could survive you, it would probably be Jake. He was patient enough, he was also the kind of person teachers liked, parents trusted, classmates voted for, and strangers somehow ended up telling their life stories because he was just so easy-going. He was responsible enough to get good grades without making it his entire personality.
It was weird how the two of you had somehow never interacted despite orbiting the same school, same academic events, same kind of reputation, and yet somehow the universe had kept you separated for years. Now potentially united because of a very dumb idea.
Riki takes another sip of his drink while the idea starts taking shape. If Jake was as patient as he seemed, maybe he could handle you, if Jake could handle you, maybe he could distract you, and if somebody distracted you — Riki's life would finally begin.
Riki clears his throat, staring directly at Jake, with the kind of focus that makes Jake slowly lower his cup and narrow his eyes in suspicion.
"Why are you looking at me like tha —"
“Have you ever considered dating my sister?”
Jake simply stares, because a question that insane and honest has never landed on him before. The more Riki thinks about it, the better the idea becomes, which is unfortunate for everyone in the room because his expression slowly shifts from impulsive desperation to genuine, terrifying conviction.
“No.”
“Why not?” Riki asks, genuinely offended, like Jake is the unreasonable one here.
Jake looks at him as if he has lost his mind. “Because she’s your sister.”
Riki waves a hand, dismissing the concern as if family relation is just a minor technicality on a form. “You don’t have to like her. Just take her out.”
Jake shakes his head, “What?”
“Take her out,” Riki repeats, slower this time, like Jake is the one struggling with basic comprehension. “Dinner, coffee, whatever girls like. Somewhere outside the house where she can’t govern my life.”
And for all the ridiculousness of the conversation, something in his face turns a little more serious. “Look, she’s always busy. Always. If she’s not studying, she’s doing house stuff, and if she’s not doing house stuff, she’s worrying about me, and ruining my life. Anyway, I think she needs to go outside and be a normal nineteen-year-old.”
“I’m not dating your sister because you want fewer curfew checks,” Jake says, though his voice has lost some of its earlier horror.
Riki stares at him for a long second, and whatever dignity he has left seems to lose the fight somewhere between desperation and the thought of another month spent being interrogated. So he will compensate. “Okay, fine,” he sighs, “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks weekly,”
Unfortunately, the offer is not completely ridiculous in the financial sense. Your father might have forgotten how to parent somewhere along the way, but he had certainly remembered how to compensate for it by making sure money was never a scarce resource in the household. You're both pretty spoiled.
Jake was not desperate, of course, and he was not exactly suffering in the financial department either, because the Sim family had enough money for philanthropy. He did not need a hundred bucks a week, did not need to be paid to sit across from a girl at dinner, and definitely did not need to accept what was less like a favor and more like an internship. Still, there was something almost offensively easy about the idea of it — a challenge.
The proposition is ridiculous, the girl in question sounds even more ridiculous, and yet the more Riki talks about you, the more Jake finds himself wondering what kind of person could make everyone so terrified.
Jake exhales slowly, then shakes his head like he is disappointed in himself before finishing the rest of his drink. “When do I start?”
By the time the party began thinning out and people started calling rides home, Riki had graduated from slightly irresponsible to actively incapable of functioning like a normal human being. By his fifth blue drink, he started a speech about oppression that was very clearly about you and was dangerously starting to sound like a prick to the hard-earned established feminism that Jungwon had to cover his mouth. Jake was also unfortunately present for all of it, because he has to drive Riki home.
"You're a good man, Jake."
"I'm aware."
"No, like, a really good man."
"Thank you."
"The best."
Jake adjusts his grip on him, while Riki is leaning heavily against his shoulder, forcing most of his weight onto the former as they make their way up the front path of your house. Every few seconds he stumbles, nearly dragging both of them into the bushes.
"You know what my problem is?" Riki asks. "My sister."
Like he managed to summon you with a single call, the front door opens. And for the first time in his life, Jake finally sees you and not as a passing figure. The first thing he noticed was that you looked nothing like the distant, polished version of yourself he had seen around school. Those glimpses had always been quick and incomplete, a neat figure behind a podium during assemblies with your hair done properly and your expression fixed into something polite enough. Standing on your front porch at midnight, however, your hair loose, a few loose strands escaping around your face, and you're in sleeping clothes. The porch light caught the irritation on your face clearly, and you exactly had a face that looked like it had been designed to ruin a person’s confidence.
Your gaze landed on Riki first, and whatever thin thread of patience you had left snapped immediately. “You’re dead.” you said, voice flat enough.
Riki, drunk and useless, pointed at you before looking back at Jake. “See?”
Jake could see, yes, but not exactly what everyone else seemed to see.
“I told you not to drink,” you said, already stepping forward.
“Technically,” Riki started. “You said I couldn’t drink too much, and I think —”
“No.”
Riki shut his mouth, which Jake found impressive considering he had spent the entire car ride arguing. You reached them and immediately took over, not gently, but not aggressively either. One second Jake was supporting most of Riki’s weight, and the next you had somehow taken your brother’s arm, and dragged it over your shoulder.
“You are seventeen years old,” you muttered. “Seventeen. Not grown enough to survive every stupid decision your friends encourage.”
Riki groaned and sagged against you, deciding, with the cruelty only younger brothers possessed, to become completely boneless. You nearly stumbled beneath his weight, and your annoyance sharpened so visibly that Jake almost took half a step back. “Stand properly,” you snapped. “I swear to God, Riki.”
“Uh,” Jake said, because apparently he was articulate, just not under porch lights and direct eye contact.
You paused, like you had forgotten he was there, then turned your head just enough to look at him. “What?”
“I can help.” The words left his mouth before he could fully decide whether he meant them, and for the first time that night, your attention shifted from Riki to him.
It lasted maybe two seconds, three if he was being generous, but it was enough for Jake to finally get a proper look at you and realize, with a strange and deeply inconvenient sense of betrayal, that nobody had mentioned the tyrant had pretty eyes.
You looked at him like he was another problem that had arrived, taking in his face, his clothes, and his car behind him. Your expression did not soften, in fact, it became even more unimpressed. “No,” you said. “I’ve got him,”
You turned away before he could say anything else. The door closed a moment later, leaving Jake alone on the porch with the cool night air, and the silence of having been dismissed by a girl who had barely given him enough time to become charming.
For several seconds, he just stared at the closed door.
That was it? That was his grand introduction to the infamous sister everyone had sworn was some terrible, unbearable monster? He had spent the entire night hearing stories about you, had driven your drunk brother home, had offered to help, and all he got in return was a death sentence aimed at Riki, two seconds of eye contact, and a rejection so cold.
Wow. Okayyy.
You’re sitting alone beneath one of the trees lining the courtyard, legs crossed neatly at the ankle, a planner open on your lap. Your attention is fixed on whatever system of color-coding you have, your neat cursive filling the page in careful lines. Even from across the courtyard, you look overwhelming. The Miu Miu loafers, the Bottega Veneta resting beside you, like you were deliberately trying to repel anyone who didn’t belong in the same tax bracket as your family.
Jake walks over easily, casually, friendly in the way he usually is without trying.
“Hey.”
You look up, not startled nor pleased, just disturbed. He smiles automatically, the kind people return before they even realize they’re doing it, because he has the sort of face that makes friendliness look charming instead of invasive. Your eyes move from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes, slow and blatantly judgmental, before returning to his face.
He waits, yet you close your planner, stand up, pick up your bag, and leave.
For a second, he just stands there while every gear in his brain grinds to a halt. Nobody has ever dismissed him that cleanly and efficiently, like he had been a minor scheduling conflict you decided to remove from your day. Obviously, he follows. You hear his footsteps behind you but you don’t react, your pace remains even, your expression unchanged, and by the time he catches up beside you, you still don’t give him so much as a glance.
“So that’s how this is gonna be?” he asks, amused despite himself. “You pretending you don’t hear me?”
You finally look over briefly. “Hi.”
Jake practically lights up at that; his smile widening, eyes brightening like he has just won something ridiculous, considering all you did was say hi. Still, he takes it as progress, watching your profile as you keep walking with your attention already returned to your planner.
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you remember me?”
That barely gets your attention. “Yes, Jake Sim,” you say, your voice stays perfectly even. “You’re one of Riki’s friends.”
The answer comes instantly, and Jake has no idea why you saying his name feels satisfying. “So you do know me.”
You only look back down at your planner as he flashes another smile, the one that usually makes people start talking, or laughing, or tucking their hair behind their ear because what is anyone supposed to do with all of Jake Sim’s attention? Unfortunately, you aren’t looking at him at all.
He exhales a quiet laugh through his nose. “Have you always been this friendly?”
“No.”
He frowns. “So it’s personal.”
“No.”
Before he can decide whether to be offended or impressed, you push open the door to a classroom. He follows one step too close, only for you to stop at the threshold and turn around, leaving him outside. Your eyes land on him properly, sharp and unreadable, and his thoughts stumble over themselves for half a second.
“What exactly do you need?” you ask. Your tone is calm, but somehow it feels like an insult wearing perfume.
Technically speaking, he needs nothing. This becomes obvious the longer he stands there saying absolutely nothing, and from the way your eyes narrow, you reach the same conclusion at the exact same time. “If you’re looking for assistance regarding academics, facilities, or student concerns,” you say politely, “I suggest you start by talking to a member of the student body.”
He opens his mouth, but you continue before he can speak. “Although,” you add, giving him one last slow once-over, “the nurse’s building might be more appropriate.”
For a second, Jake genuinely cannot tell if you’re joking.
You are not. You offer him the smallest smile imaginable, neither warm nor friendly, but decorative at best. Then you shut the door directly in his face — which, for the record, is the second time you have done that since he met you. He stands there, staring at the wood, while inside the classroom he can already hear you speaking to someone else in a perfectly normal voice, as if he had never existed at all.
Jake spots you three days later in the library, clearly because he was looking, but this time he has a plan, and for some reason, he still believes plans work on you.
Afternoon sunlight slips through the tall windows and stretches across the desks in pale strips, and Jake finds you near the history section, seated at a wide table with your laptop open and your papers arranged so neatly. Your curls are pinned back from your face, loose pieces framing your cheeks, your eyeshadow soft and precise in a way that makes you look even more put together. You are highlighting something when he sees you, chin resting lightly on your hand, completely absorbed and completely unreachable.
Naturally, he walks straight toward you. The chair across from yours screeches when he pulls it back, loud enough that two people at another table look up. Your eyes lift immediately, widening at the earsplitting sound before narrowing at him with such open irritation that he almost feels proud for earning a reaction at all.
“What are you doing?” you ask, voice low.
Jake drops into the seat with the confidence of someone who has already survived two doors being shut in his face and is somehow eager for a third. “Studying.”
Your gaze moves from him, to the empty table behind him, to the empty seats beside you, then back to him. The silence that follows is not confused, just judgmental. “And you chose the only occupied table in this section?"
“It had the best lighting.”
“It has me.”
“Exactly.”
You stare at him for another second, face unreadable except for the small, unimpressed lift of your brows. Then you look back down at your notes, clearly deciding he is not worth the strain of further expression. For about twelve seconds, Jake pretends to open his textbook for a real reason — flips one page, glances at your highlighter, then at your face. “Can you help me with something?” he whispers.
You don’t look up. “No.”
Jake’s mouth parts slightly, then closes. He has been rejected before, technically, but never with so little effort. It bothers him more than it should, especially when you do not even look pleased with yourself. You simply continue highlighting, lips slightly parted in concentration, as if dismissing him is just another item on your to-do list.
“Fine,” he says, leaning back. “I need help with economics.”
Your highlighter stops moving, and for one hopeful second, Jake thinks he finally got you. Then your eyes lift from the page, slow and suspicious. “You got a ninety-four.”
He blinks. “So?”
“You have the second-highest grade in the class.”
“You know my grade?”
“I’m the TA,” you say flatly. “That isn’t special.”
It lands with embarrassing accuracy. His smile falters for half a second before he recovers and leans forward again, lowering his voice like the two of you are sharing a secret. “Maybe I want to be first.”
This time, you do smile, but it is not warm. “No,” you say, “Because I’m first.”
The corner of his mouth rises before he can stop it. “Then I definitely need your notes.”
“You need attention,” you correct, closing your highlighter with a soft click. “There’s a difference.”
You turn a page, your tone still calm after shutting him up. “You ask questions you already know the answers to. You sit where you clearly aren’t wanted. You make jokes because you think being charming is the same thing as being interesting.” Your eyes lift to his again. “It’s not.”
Jake stares at you. Around you, the library stays quiet, and the air feels suddenly too still, like everyone else has been kind enough not to watch him being quietly dismantled. He tries to laugh it off. “Wow.”
“You asked for help.”
“I asked for economics.”
“And I gave you something useful.”
His mouth opens, but nothing decent comes out of it — the worst part of it all. Usually, he has a joke, a grin, a way to make people soften, but with you, every easy thing he reaches for turns useless in his hand.
You begin packing your papers into your bag with that same infuriating grace, not rushed, not flustered, not even angry. You stand, bag over your shoulder, eyes catching the light when you tilt your head slightly. “Also, next time you want to sit with me, try having a reason that isn’t your ego.” Then you walk away.
For a long moment, Jake just sits there, staring at the library doors after they close behind you. The silence settles back into place around him, heavy and humiliating. He exhales slowly and comes to one devastating conclusion: he can’t do this.
“Come on, dude! It’s barely been a week and nothing happened yet. I already gave you the cash!” Riki practically begs on his knees.
Jake frowns from the other edge of the pool table as he chalks the cue, the crumpled bills still existing somewhere in his pocket because, technically speaking, he hadn't earned them. At this point, the arrangement felt less like a job and more like repeated exposure therapy that would actively ruin his psychological welfare rather than heal it.
“No.”
Riki stares. “No? Jake.”
“No.”
Across, Jungwon looks up after his turn in billiards, with the expression of someone witnessing a familiar trainwreck but still expecting it from a mileway anyway. “What happened?”
Jake isn’t entirely sure where to begin. Maybe the front porch, then the devastating situations after it. Collectively, all encounters had taught him one important lesson: you’re impossible, not in the fun way people usually meant when describing someone to be cute — but actually a pain in the ass.
“She’s difficult,” Jake finally says while adjusting the cue against his purlicue. Jungwon just shrugs because such inference wasn’t surprising at all, I mean it’s you.
“She doesn't want anything,” he adds. “There's usually something. People want you to laugh, they want you to like them, or they want attention. Dude, people want conversation — or literally anything.” Jake scoffs. “And she doesn't.” he exclaims, coming out more frustrated than he intended, resulting in a miscue.
Social interactions followed a pattern and Jake knew that well, even if he wasn’t the most outgoing person on this planet, he still spent his entire life understanding that pattern. With you, it felt like throwing pebbles at a castle wall that decides public embarrassment for his punishment. Normally, being Jake Sim worked. He was hot, smiley, handsome, smart, well-spoken, and had great, healthy hair too. You treated all of that the same way you'd treat a weather report; filed away and forgotten before opening up an umbrella.
The more Jake thought about it, the more absurd you seemed. You’re nineteen years old and somehow functioning as a parent, a student, a volunteer, and whatever terrifying responsibilities that you could have stowed in that pink planner. There was probably a reason you looked perpetually exhausted, and why every conversation felt like you were mentally checking a to-do list. Also probably why you looked at Jake the way someone looked at a pop-up advertisement — unnecessary.
“Please,” Riki says, and for the first time all afternoon there was genuine desperation in his voice. “Just keep trying.”
Jake groans. “No.”
“Please.”
Jake rubs a hand down his face, because he already knows he’s going to lose this argument. Not through Riki’s annoying persuasion, but because somewhere between getting his face ignored at the Humanities building and getting dissected in the library, Jake had become painfully curious. Every interaction left him feeling like he'd only managed to scratch the surface of an entire unearthing no one yet has discovered. He hated that a lot, the mysteries and the unfinished conversations because you just can’t seem to bear him.
Most of all, of course, he hated that he was already wondering where he'd find you next.
A few days later, Jake finds himself in a bookstore three blocks away from campus, flipping through a poetry collection he absolutely does not want to buy. His teacher has insisted on physical copies because apparently PDFs are destroying the educational experience, while Jake personally believes the educational experience would improve significantly if the book cost less than a decent meal.
The bookstore is small, old, and crammed from floor to ceiling with shelves. It smells like paper, dust, and someone’s grandmother’s living room. He is still pretending to care about Shakespeare when the front door chimes, and he barely looks up until he hears your voice. You step inside with a headband pushing your hair back, still dressed like you came from school, except this version of you looks nothing like the girl he has been trying and failing to understand. For one thing, you are smiling, which isn’t polite smile you use like a weapon, but something real and easy.
“Hi, Mrs. Park,” you greet.
The elderly woman behind the counter brightens immediately. “There you are.”
Jake stares because, apparently, his brain has decided blinking is no longer necessary. A fat orange cat sprawled across the counter lifts its head when you approach, and you reach over to scratch beneath its chin. The cat melts instantly, stretching into your hand while you coo at it under your breath. He has seen you annoyed, composed, sharp, and dismissive, but this version of you, smiling at an old woman and whispering sweet nonsense to a cat, feels almost impossible to place beside the girl from campus.
It startles him how much he wants to keep watching.
After telling Mrs. Park you are only going to browse, you turn toward the shelves and move right into his aisle. Jake steps back instinctively, half-hidden behind a row of books, but the sensible part of him lasts for about four seconds before he decides, unfortunately, to bother you.
“You come here often?” he asks, leaning against the shelf like this is a normal thing to say and not the opening line of someone who has clearly run out of better ideas.
Your hand pauses on the spine of a novel, expression already rising from irritation. Slowly, you look at him, then around the aisle, then back at his face. “What are you doing here?”
He blinks, as if the answer should be obvious. “To read books.”
You stare at him for a second before your expression flattens. “Wow. I didn’t know you knew how to read.”
His face shifts into immediate offense. “I know how to read.”
You hum, entirely unimpressed, and continue walking down the aisle. “Coloring books don’t count.”
He laughs under his breath, dragging a hand over his face like he is trying very hard not to look too entertained. Or annoyed at how plainly rude you are without masking it. “Wow,” he mutters, following after you. “For the record, real books. Little Women. The Bell Jar. Percy Jackson.”
You stop walking and turn to him properly, huffing once through your nose. “Percy Jackson is new. Is that a thing now? The male campaign for feminism?”
His eyebrows lift. “All I’m hearing is you also read Percy Jackson and that we have something in common.”
Your eyes lift to his, flat and unimpressed, but there is the faintest twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Right, how exciting it is to bond over a children’s fantasy series.”
“Well,” he says, smiling. “It’s a start.”
You turn away, but he catches the tiny pause in your movement, the almost-smile you refuse to let happen. It feels ridiculous, how much that small reaction does to him even though he has won games in front of cheering crowds and accepted medals in crowded auditoriums, yet somehow, getting half a smile out of you in a dusty bookstore feels more victorious. “Since we’re apparently literary equals now, do you want to get coffee?”
You just stare at him, brows drawn together, lips parted slightly, as if you are trying to understand what series of events in his life has led him to think that was an appropriate thing to say to you. “No,” you say.
The answer comes cleanly, and he just blinks. “What? Why not?”
“I have coffee at home.”
For a second, he just stands there, disbelieved and a little done. You turn back to the shelf like the matter is settled, fingers skimming over another row of spines while he processes the fact that you have somehow rejected him without remorse or politeness.
“That’s not the point,” he says.
You scoff. “Then why did you ask?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Instead, he exhales a laugh, softer this time. “Because most normal people actually understand that getting coffee means spending time together.”
You hum, still not looking at him. “Then you should have asked that.” You reach for a book on the higher shelf, and when you glance at him again, there is the faintest flicker of amusement in your eyes.
He laughs under his breath, and this time, he doesn’t even bother hiding how entertained he is. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable.”
“Fine,” he says, straightening a little. “Go out with me?”
You stop moving for barely a second, but Jake sees the tiny pause in your hand against the shelf, the way your face goes still like the question landed somewhere you didn’t expect. For once, he doesn’t grin.
Then you pull a book from the shelf and shove it against his chest. “No,” you say, coming out quieter than before, less mean than before. “Read your book.”
Jake catches it automatically, turning it a little to see that it’s the poetry collection he came here for.
By the time he looks back up, you’re already walking away, but not before he catches the smallest curve at the corner of your mouth. And, unfortunately for him, that feels a lot like a maybe.
The annual charity gala occupied all three floors of the Grand Ballroom, transforming an expensive venue into something that looked less like an event and more like a display of wealth (though, yes, it is). Guests emerged draped in custom couture and tailored suits, while somewhere near the entrance, a string quartet played softly enough not to interrupt conversation. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead in cascading tiers, fresh floral arrangements towered from the center of each table (imported blooms flown in specifically for the event, you coined in the suggestion of peonies). Waiters moved soundlessly between guests carrying silver trays lined with champagne flutes.
You had spent your entire life in diamond rooms where people discussed acquisitions over appetizers and spoke about money like it was weather. You'd sat beside CEOs at dinner because they were family friends, and investors shared laughter with your father over barbecue in your backyard. Without the pretense of acting remotely impressed, you boredly made your way through the halls as you passed by familiar faces. You smile, greet, remember names, and pretend you enjoy hearing about quarterly growth projections — your father did tell you to learn from what the older ones tell you, but now you learn to breathe deeply through your nostrils so as to not yawn.
The Elie Saab Spring 2003 gown skimmed against your legs as you moved through the ballroom, pale fabric catching the chandelier light whenever you turned. It was just something your father had pulled from storage for tonight, another piece of old couture that had spent more time preserved in garment bags than actually being worn. The fabric itched, the fit was annoyingly snug around your hips, and entirely wasted on you considering all you could think about how little room it left for dessert.
You'd just escaped a conversation about market expansion into the rural regions of the country when you reach for a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
"Wow."
You freeze immediately. Because you know that voice. Know it well enough that your eyes roll before you even turn around. Jake Sim stands a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, looking entirely too entertained by something.
Specifically you.
"What?" The question leaves you sharper than intended, but he has always had a talent for earning it.
His gaze sweeps over you once, slowly. It isn’t enough to be inappropriate, just enough to be annoying. "Nothing."
You narrow your eyes. Jake, unfortunately, appears completely unbothered by this, like he’s finally used to it and finds it amusing rather than frightening.
For a moment, the two of you simply stand there, shoulder to shoulder, watching guests drift across the ballroom that it almost looks normal — respectable, even, as if you’re two people attending the same charity gala with poise and tact instead of a high school bizarrerie of a situation this has become.
"You clean up well." His gaze drifts back to you for a brief second before returning to the ballroom.
You turn so quickly towards him he actually laughs. "I always clean up well."
"Right."
"I do."
He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly trying not to smile. You take a sip of champagne as he steals a glass from a passing waiter, mirroring your movement to sip from his. "What are you doing here?" you shoot back under your breath.
He blinks at the question, looking almost offended on behalf of his own presence. "Are you asking why I'm at a charity event," he begins slowly, "or are you accusing me of stalking you?"
You practically glare at him but quickly shift to a warm smile when a familiar older face greets you, wrinkly and your father’s acquaintance. Once she leaves, you clear your throat and shrug casually. "I’m starting to think it's reached concerning levels."
That earns you a look — a long, disbelieving stare. He gestures vaguely to himself, as though presenting evidence before a jury, and that he clearly belongs here about as much as anyone else in attendance. "Come on." he chuckles as his eyebrows rise. "I look like this and your conclusion is that I trespassed just to see you?"
You hate how your eyes give in to immediately flicking toward him because, God, he's annoyingly right.
The black suit fits him unfairly well. His hair, usually left to do whatever it wants, has actually been styled for once, pushed neatly away from his face save for a single strand that has somehow escaped and fallen across his forehead. Standing beneath the chandeliers with a champagne glass in hand, he looks less like the guy who regularly shows up during the most random times and a prince, unfortunately.
You clear your throat and look away before that thought can do any more damage. "You make it hard not to think that way."
You almost forgot just how affluent the Sim’s are — that is, in your defense, was just a detail you overlooked. He isn't some random idiot who keeps appearing in your life through increasingly unlikely circumstances, his family name actually appears in newspapers and annual reports and conversations your father has over dinner.
You drain the rest of your champagne before he can say anything. "Well," you say, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from your gown, "it's been lovely speaking with you, Mr. Sim." The title earns an immediate snort, and you continue before he can interrupt. "Please extend my regards to your family." Satisfied with yourself, you offer him the sort of polished smile that had been drilled into you and turn to leave, as you’ve decided that you will stop entertaining the jest.
A hand settles lightly at your shoulder. “There you are.”
You turn at the sound of your father’s voice and immediately straighten. It happens before you can stop it, your spine aligning, your expression smoothing, every loose, irritated part of you folding back into place like a napkin at a five-star restaurant. “Hi, Dad.”
He then guides you aside with the kind of effortless authority. “You’ve been doing well tonight,” he says.
The compliment should feel nice, and it does for half a second until you remember who it’s coming from and how rare it is, and suddenly it feels less like praise and more like something you have to catch carefully. “Thank you,” you say.
His eyes drift past you, scanning the room. “Where’s Riki?”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the stem of your champagne glass. The room remains warm with bodies and lights and expensive alcohol, but somehow you feel cold all at once. “He probably forgot. He had practice earlier, and his workload’s been heavy.”
Your father looks at you then, and you immediately hate the expression on his face. Because it’s disappointment dressed up as responsibility, one you know too well. “You’re his older sister,” he says. “You know how he is. You should have made sure he came.”
For a second, you only stare at him, at the neat way he fixed his hair and made his collar. Somewhere near the stage, the host tests the microphone and the feedback screeches faintly through the room. “I can’t force him to come,” you say carefully.
Your father’s mouth presses into a thin line. “You’ve never had a problem controlling him before.”
Something hot sparks behind your ribs. You didn’t care for anyone to think that way about you, but the way your father had borrowed the notion feels shitty. “He’s seventeen, he’s going to be careless — that’s expected. But you know better.” he looks at you this time. “So do better.”
For a moment, you can’t speak. Because how can you be nineteen, and somehow old enough to be held responsible for everyone else’s failures. “I should talk to some friends,” you say as you take a step back.
Your father nods, already looking toward another guest who has begun approaching him. “Good.”
You turn before your face can betray anything and walk away, heels clicking against the marble floor. By the time you reach the hallway leading away from the ballroom, irritation has burned through whatever hurt came first — your jaw aches from clenching and your chest feels tight with things you can’t say. You turn the corner too quickly and a hand catches your wrist, a gasp spilling as you’re pulled backward, your shoes skidding slightly against the polished floor before another hand steadies you just enough to keep you from stumbling.
Then you look up to see Jake.
“What the hell?” you hiss.
He raises both hands immediately, though one stays close in case you lose your balance again. “Okay, bad approach.”
You stare at him, breath uneven. “Are you insane?”
“A little,” he admits. “But I just came from the restroom and you came out looking very mad.”
Your expression shifts before you can stop it. “Move,” you say, trying to step past him.
However, he doesn’t move. “You need air,” he says.
“I need people to stop telling me what I need. And I need you to stop appearing everywhere.”
His mouth twitches. “Fair.”
You narrow your eyes again. “Then move.”
He glances behind him toward a side door at the end of the corridor and you follow. Beyond it, you can see the faint spill of garden lights through the glass, and when you look back at him, you can see the words in his eyes. “Two minutes,” he says.
“No.”
“Then one.”
“Jake.”
“You can yell at me outside.”
You should go back into the ballroom, smile at executives, pretend your father didn’t just hand you responsibility for a brother he barely remembered to parent. Instead, when Jake gently reaches for your wrist again, you let him anyway.
The garden outside is cooler, quieter, and beautiful. Tall hedges line the stone pathway, trimmed carefully beneath strings of warm lights while white roses climb the trellises, their petals pale and some aging. The distant sound of the ballroom fades behind the closed door until it becomes nothing but a muffled noise as you walk further.
The cold reaches you almost immediately, slipping through the thin fabric of your gown and settling against your skin, but you refuse to shiver in front of him. For a while, neither of you says anything as you only tighten your arms around yourself, pretending it’s irritation and not the cold making your shoulders rise. He watches you for a second, like he’s debating whether saying anything will get him killed faster than staying quiet. Then, with both hands tucked into his pant pockets, he nods toward the stone path. “Walk with me?”
You stare at him, unimpressed, but eventually follow because the alternative is going back inside and smiling until your face cracks in half. The two of you move beneath the garden lights in silence, your heels clicking softly against stone while his steps stay slower than usual, like he’s matching your pace without making it obvious. You keep your arms crossed tight, eyes fixed on the roses ahead, while Jake walks beside you with his hands still buried in his pockets. For once, he doesn’t fill the silence just to fill it.
Which lasts forty-seven seconds.
“Riki told me he wasn’t going.”
Every strange thing that had happened to you recently could be traced back to your brother tonight. When you open your eyes again, Jake is looking ahead, hands still tucked in his pockets. “Right. You’re friends.” you say as you remember. “So he just tells you things.”
He shrugs. “Occasionally.”
“About me?”
He looks like he already regrets opening his mouth, but only halfway. “Not that much.” He falls into step beside you again, catching up with your pace. “Him not showing up must be why you’re upset?” he says carefully.
You turn your head slowly and he immediately lifts both hands, palms out, although the smile pulling at his mouth ruins the surrender. “I’m just asking.”
“You’re nosy.”
“Well, yes.”
You stare at him for a second longer, trying very hard to remain annoyed. Unfortunately, Jake has this terrible habit of making honesty look harmless. Although, he is very much a threat, maybe not the loud or dramatic kind, but the sort that slips past defenses because it smiles and asks questions and walks slower beside you when your feet are hurting.
You look away first, only for him to take that as permission, because he continues. “Let me guess. Your dad’s pissed because he didn’t show up.”
“No.” Still, your jaw tightens. And he notices. His expression shifts slightly, amusement dimming into something quieter. “You’re shitty at guessing.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He nods like he’s accepting the challenge. “Then maybe it’s the champagne. Bad year?”
You give him a look. “It’s champagne.”
“So yes.”
“No.”
“Is it the gown? You keep tugging at it.”
Your hand immediately stills at your hip, growing a little insecure. “I am not.”
“You are.”
You glare at him, but there’s a traitorous twitch at the corner of your mouth that you immediately force away. He catches it anyway and his eyes brighten. “There it is.”
“There’s nothing.”
“Well, I think there is something. The garden’s very enchanted tonight.” he sighs in relief, looking very pleased with himself.
“You are so annoying,” you mutter, turning your face away before he can catch the smile fighting its way onto your mouth.
“I’ve been told.”
“Frequently, I hope.” You roll your eyes and keep walking, but the anger inside your chest has loosened slightly, enough that breathing doesn’t feel like swallowing flute glass anymore. It irritates you a little that he helped without doing anything grand, only so much as walking beside you, filling the silence with stupid guesses, making it impossible for you to fully sink into whatever your father had left behind.
He looks at you again. “Is it one of the donors?”
“No.”
“Board member?”
“No.”
Then, because Jake really is bad at guessing, he says, “Or maybe it’s about a guy.”
Your head snaps up. “A guy?”
He shrugs, trying for casual and failing spectacularly because there is something too deliberate in the way he doesn’t look directly at you. “Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe a boyfriend.”
You actually laugh, disbelieving. “A boyfriend?”
“A shitty boyfriend,” he clarifies, like that makes it a more reasonable theory to hypothesize tonight. “Maybe he said something stupid. Maybe he’s the reason you look so grumpy in couture.”
You stare at him before you scoff, shaking your head as you look away. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
The silence that follows is immediate and loud. He doesn’t say anything, and because he doesn’t say anything, you look back to see he’s looking ahead now, with the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly.
“Good.”
Your heart trips over itself. You stare at him, horrified by the fact that your face feels warm. “Good?”
His mouth twitches. “Yeah.”
“You’re being weird.”
He turns back to you then, eyebrows raised. “How?”
You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Explaining it would mean admitting that you noticed the difference between his usual and this one; it would mean admitting that you were paying attention to the boy that’s making space for himself in your life, little by little. So instead, you do the mature thing of looking away and walking.
He hums, pleased with himself, and the sound makes your hands tighten around your arms again without the cold having to do with it at all. For a few steps, neither of you speaks as the garden path curves around a fountain, water spilling quietly over stone. Out here, your hair has loosened from its pins and the night air has cooled your cheeks after learning warmth a little too much tonight.
“You know,” he says after a while, softer now, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think Riki skipping tonight is your fault.”
Your throat tightens before you can stop it, continuing to stare ahead. “I didn’t ask.”
For once, he doesn’t tilt his head with that pleased little smile, doesn’t turn your sentence into something lighter just because he can. He only keeps walking beside you in silence, letting the water from the fountain grow louder as you near it. You almost wish he would say something annoying, just so that it would give you something to swat at, something easy to roll your eyes over, something that didn’t require you to stand there with all the ugly feelings still sitting in your chest like stones.
A bench sits just in front of the fountain, tucked between two rose trellises and half-hidden from the ballroom windows. One second you’re walking, the next you’re lowering yourself onto the bench, careful with the fabric of your gown, your hands folding tightly in your lap like you’re trying to hold yourself together through posture alone. He stops a few feet away and after a careful pause, he sits on the opposite end of the bench, far enough that there’s a whole stretch of cold stone between you, choosing to understand that closeness right now might make you run.
He isn’t looking back when you look at him, his hands are clasped loosely in front of him as he stares at his fidgeting fingers instead, giving you the sort of space he knows you need. The kindness of it is small. A boy sitting a respectful distance away from you in a garden at a charity gala, saying nothing while you pretend you don’t feel miserable.
You bite your bottom lip, contemplating whether you’ll entertain words sitting at the back of your throat, heavy and stubborn, and you tell yourself not to say them. You don’t even know him like that because he’s not your friend; he’s Riki’s friend, an irritating hallway apparition, a boy who somehow knows too much and still not enough.
Your eyes stay on the building across the garden, right where you both came from. When you speak, your voice is quieter. “It’s not just because Riki didn’t show up.”
Jake remains still, but you notice the way his attention sharpens a little. “I told him about tonight,” you say. “I reminded him. I even texted him this morning.” Your fingers tighten around each other in your lap. “And he didn’t come. Which is annoying, yes, but it’s also just Riki. He forgets things, gets distracted, acts like nothing bad can happen to him.”
The fountain fills the silence for a moment, the ballroom doors open briefly, spilling faint music and laughter into the garden before closing again. “I don’t do it for fun,” you say, almost under your breath. “The controlling thing.”
You hate that word and how easily people use it, like it explains everything, like you woke up one day and decided being difficult was easier. “I don’t know how to parent,” you admit. “I know he’s my brother, not my child, but somehow it became my job anyway.”
Jake does not interrupt, he only looks at you, steady and quiet, and that makes it worse because it makes you want to keep talking. “My mom’s a long story, and my dad…” You laugh softly, but there is no humor in it. “He pays for things. He’s not cruel. He just doesn’t know the small things. When Riki has practice, or when he has exams, or when he’s sick and pretending he isn’t.”
You look down at your hands. “He doesn’t know who to call when Riki doesn’t answer his phone.” Your throat tightens. “And I do.” The words sit between you, heavier than you meant them to be. “I just did what I thought was right. I’m not a mom. I don’t know what I’m doing. But then my father looks at me tonight and tells me to do better, like I haven’t been trying since I was eleven.”
For a moment, Jake doesn’t say anything. His expression shifts again, losing the last of its teasing until all that’s left is something quieter, something you don’t quite know how to hold without feeling embarrassed.
He looks down at your hands. “Is that why you’re upset tonight?”
You press your lips together before you nod. His gaze lifts to your face again, his voice gentle when he asks, “Is that why you’re upset every day?”
The question catches you so off guard that you laugh, a soft and helpless sound that slips out before you can stop it.
Then you nod again and he smiles a little too. “Okay.”
You huff, wiping beneath your eye quickly before anything can happen there. Somehow sitting beside Jake Sim in the cold garden after admitting the worst parts of yourself feels less humiliating than it should. Maybe because he hasn’t moved closer, even though some terrible, traitorous part of you wonders what would happen if he did. Instead, he stays on his side of the bench, careful and warm from a distance.
You look at him finally. “Do people really think I’m a bitch?”
He freezes instantly, so immediate that you sigh for even asking. His eyes flick to you, then away, then back again, like he is suddenly trying to navigate a conversation with several live wires tucked into it.
You raise your brows, but you’re smiling. “So yes.”
“No.”
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, looking genuinely shy, which is oddly enough to distract you from your own misery. “I mean, I don’t think that.”
You tilt your head, amusement softening your face. “Okay, so what did you think?”
His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. “I thought you were scary.” He looks at you, then immediately adds, “I still think you’re scary.”
Your eyes narrow, almost to a glare. “You’re scared of me?” You try to make it sound like a joke but it doesn’t quite work.
His mouth tilts. “The first time you shut the door in my face? Yeah.”
A breath of laughter escapes you as you remember a very irritable night of a brother coming home drunk. “You should’ve stopped then.”
“I considered it.” He leans back slightly, looking at the fountain instead of you now. “But then you smiled at a cat named Chicken.”
Your head snaps toward him. For a second, he looks like he wants to physically pull the words back into his mouth after saying it too easily and comfortably, like the memory had been sitting there the whole time and slipped out before he could decide. He exhales, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “I saw it,” he admits. “You were with Mrs. Park, and then the cat got up, and you just...” He stops, suddenly aware of how much detail he is giving. “You looked different.”
Your face warms despite yourself, but you keep your expression sharp. “So you were watching me.”
He lifts one hand like he is surrendering in court. “I know how it sounds. I just mean I noticed you before you noticed me.”
You fold your arms, still looking at him like he has committed some minor felony against your privacy. “And you remembered the cat’s name?”
“You called him Chicken.”
“Because his name is Chicken.”
“Which is insane, by the way.”
You almost smile at that, but you press it down immediately. Unfortunately, Jake sees the attempt; fortunately, he has enough survival instinct not to mention it, and to choose his words with more care this time. “I guess I just didn’t expect you to look less angry.” His gaze flicks to yours.
You scoff, but there is barely any bite in it. “So you watched me because I looked less angry?”
“No,” he says, then pauses. “Maybe. A little. I don’t know.” He exhales, looking down at his hands. “Everyone talked about you like you were this impossible person. Then I met you and, yeah, you were mean to me.”
A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, quiet and a little disbelieving. “Yeah, well,” you say, looking away first, “I wasn’t exactly making myself likable.”
His smile softens at that, not teasing this time. “I’m not saying you made it easy.” His eyes stay on you, steady enough to make your chest feel weird. “I’m saying I still wanted to get to know you.”
For once, you don’t have anything sharp to say back. You study him, searching for the joke, the little loophole where he gets to wriggle away from accountability. But he only sits there on the far end of the bench, shoulders slightly hunched, looking embarrassed enough that it almost feels unfair to keep glaring. The two of you listen to the fountain where water spills over stone, soft and repetitive, while the ballroom continues humming in the distance like another life waiting for you to come back and behave.
“You know,” you say slowly, “normal people introduce themselves.”
He glances at you. “I did.”
You give him a look. “You followed me through campus.”
“I said hey.”
“That is not an introduction, that was stalking.”
He laughs, and you roll your eyes, though the smile threatening the corner of your mouth makes the whole thing less convincing than you probably want it to be. He turns his body slightly toward you, still careful not to crowd your space, his expression shifting into something softer beneath the amusement.
“Okay,” he says. “Then let me redo it.”
He straightens a little, smoothing one hand over his suit jacket like he is preparing for something far more formal than a conversation beside you. It should look ridiculous, but then he looks at you with an earnestness that makes your guard hesitate before you can stop it.
“Hi,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m Jake Sim. I’m Riki’s friend. I have a border collie named Layla. I play soccer, I’m good at math, and I’m apparently terrible at approaching girls who scare me.”
You stare at him. Surprised. Confused. Heart fluttering a little.
His smile softens, but he keeps going, quieter now, like the next part matters more than the joke. “I also know I made a bad first impression. And I know you had every reason to think I was annoying.”
“You are annoying,” you say automatically while your hand reaches his to shake.
“I know.” His smile grows a little. “But I’m trying to be less annoying.”
“Unlikely.”
“Probably,” he admits. “But I’d still like to try.”
For a second after that, neither of you says anything. Your hand slips out of his, and both of you look away at almost the same time, like you’re both processing that you’ve just held hands. Jake clears his throat and fixes his posture, sitting up straighter as if that might undo the way his smile is still refusing to leave his face.
“Well,” you say after a moment, folding your hands over your lap, “you’re the first person who’s actually lasted this long with me.” You say it lightly, almost dismissively, but your eyes stay in front of you. “Most people usually give up before this part.”
His smile fades just a little, not into sadness exactly, but into something more attentive. “Because you push them away?”
You huff out a small laugh. “Friends, mostly.” Then your mouth twists, like you’re deciding whether to soften the words or not. “Apparently, people can’t handle a heinous bitch for very long.”
He huffs a small laugh, looking down at his fidgeting hands. You glance at him, confused. “What?”
He shakes his head once, like he’s amused by something private. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
His gaze lifts to yours again. There’s a strange look on his face now, which isn’t teasing exactly, but not shy either.
Then he says, “I’m not trying to be your friend.”
The sentence lands so cleanly that, for one impossible second, your entire brain goes quiet. You stare at him and Jake stares back.
Somewhere behind the doors, people are still drinking champagne and discussing donations and waiting for you to return as the version of yourself they understand, while here, on this bench, Jake Sim has just said something far too simple to be misunderstood.
Your mouth parts slightly. “What?”
His confidence seems to flicker only after he realizes he has actually said it out loud and not something he kept in his head. His ears go faintly red, but he doesn’t look away, keeping his legs crisscrossed on the bench like an idiot prince, looking at you like he knows exactly what he meant and is terrified by it anyway.
“I mean,” he starts, then stops. He exhales, laughing under his breath, embarrassed now. “I mean, I can be. Your friend.”
“That is not what you said.”
“I know.”
“You said you weren’t trying to be my friend.”
“I know what I said.”
Your face feels hot. Horribly, unmistakably hot.
His eyes drop for half a second to your mouth before returning to your face so quickly you almost think you imagined it. You look away first because if you keep looking at him, something very stupid is going to happen to your composure.
You clear your throat. “I should go back.”
His gaze lifts immediately, but he doesn’t argue. “Yeah.”
You expected a joke, a dramatic sigh, maybe some irritating line about how tragic it is that society needs you more than he does. Instead, he only nods and begins unfolding himself from the bench. “You’re not going to convince me to stay?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
Jake stands, brushing one hand over his trousers. “Do you want me to?”
He looks at you, and something in his expression grows rigid again when he realizes what he just asked. So he corrects himself. “I mean,” he says, “I can. But I can also walk you back.”
You look away, pretending to adjust the fabric of your gown. “Fine.”
His mouth curves. “Fine?”
“Yes.”
He laughs under his breath, and you hate that you smile. You stand carefully from the bench, smoothing the skirt of your gown with both hands, only to freeze to find the pale fabric is stained. It’s not ruined, necessarily, but definitely marked where the garden path must have turned soft near the fountain, with a faint smear of mud that darkens the edge of the gown, and when you glance down at your shoes, the thin straps and pointed toes have flecks of dirt on them. You’ve spent all night holding yourself together, only to end up in a garden with Riki’s friend, exposing everything you’ve kept to yourself, and now covered in mud at your father’s charity gala.
“I can’t walk back in like this.” you can only sigh.
He grins, then his eyes drop again to your shoes, while the amusement fades into thoughtfulness. “Do you want me to carry you?”
You look at him so fast your neck nearly protests. “What?”
His face changes instantly and his ears go red again. “Sorry. I mean, not like that. I just meant because of the mud, and your heels, and the dress, and the path is kind of wet. It might get worse. Aren’t your feet tired?”
You stare at him as he exhales, glancing away for a second before looking back at you, steadier this time. “I can carry you back.” The correction is soft, because it’s not a question that leaves you to decide whether accepting makes you ridiculous. It’s an offer.
“In front of everyone?”
“No,” he says quickly, then gestures toward the side path. “Not everyone. There’s another entrance near the hallway, right? The one we came out of. I can take you there.”
You blink and the idea is absurd, too much for everything that has happened tonight. “I’m not letting you carry me.”
“Okay.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling again, and this time you don’t try to hide it anymore.
The two of you start down the side path slowly, your steps careful over the damp stone and softer patches of grass. The garden seems colder now as the breeze slips beneath the thin fabric of your gown, crawling across your bare shoulders until you can’t stop the small shiver that runs through you. You tuck your chin, tighten your arms around yourself, and keep walking like your body hasn’t just betrayed you in front of the most observant boy alive.
One second he is walking beside you in his perfectly fitted black suit, and the next, warm fabric settles around you, heavy and soft, falling over your bare shoulders with a carefulness that makes your breath catch. You stop walking, letting his hands hover for half a second near your shoulders to make sure the jacket doesn’t slide off before he pulls them back.
You look down at the jacket, then back at him with a glare of concern. “You’re going to get cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re in a dress shirt.”
“And you’re shivering.”
“I was not.” You glare at him, but it has no teeth now, no bite, which he seems to know that too, because his smile turns softer.
“Just wear it.”
The two of you continue toward the side entrance, slower than necessary, slower than you have ever been. Your gown brushes against the grass, stained hem gathered slightly in one hand, while his jacket hangs around your shoulders.
You should worry about the mud, the whispers, your father, the fact that Jake Sim’s jacket is currently covering your gown in a way that feels too intimate for something so practical. But you haven’t cared even though the vintage and expensive dress you wear is dirty. Instead, you laugh again when your heel sinks slightly into the damp ground. Your heels click against the marble as you step back into the hallway, the sound suddenly too clean after the wet grass and stone path outside. You can already hear the faint swell of conversation beyond the ballroom doors waiting at the end like a mouth full of gold light and noise; the clinking glasses, the polite laughter, the entire world you are supposed to return to with your posture fixed and your expression arranged.
You reach for his jacket before you can think too much about it. He takes it carefully, his fingers brushing the fabric where your hands had been. You smooth the front of your gown, trying to rebuild yourself enough to step back inside. “If you tell anyone what happened...”
“I won’t,” he says, before you even finish. “I won’t.” he repeats, softer.
For some reason, you believe him immediately. So you nod once, gathering yourself before pushing the doors open. The warmth and noise rushes back in at once, golden light spilling over your face as you step into the room again.
It takes less than a minute for your father to find you, and once he does, his eyes move over you, first your hair, then the faint mud near your dress, then your shoes. His brows draw together. “What happened to you?”
Normally, you would straighten, explain and apologize, but this time, you only shrug. “I had a bit too much champagne,” you say lightly.
By the time you returned to your room that night, the mud had already dried along the hem of your gown, your hair had loosened almost completely from its pins, and even though Jake Sim’s jacket had been returned before either of you stepped back into the ballroom, the warmth of it still seemed to sit stubbornly across your shoulders — surreal until beneath the covers.
That was the irritating part, really. Things were supposed to end when they ended. Jackets were returned, doors were opened, conversations were folded away with the rest of the evening, but the garden did not leave with the night, nor did the memory of him sitting across from you on the bench, careful with the distance, looking at you like he had seen the worst parts and somehow decided they were not enough to scare him away.
Neither of you talked about it after. Not properly.
There were moments where it almost happened, which was perhaps worse than if nothing had happened at all, because the next morning at school, when you saw him across the courtyard with Riki and the others, laughing at something Jay said, his eyes found yours through the movement of students and sunlight, and for one strange second, the entire campus seemed to narrow into the space between you — before Riki shoved his shoulder like a dumbass.
Jake learns fairly quickly that he is feeling (concerned, of course, that’s all) for you. And it’s inconvenient.
At first, that is the only word he lets himself use, because it sounds harmless enough. It is easier to call you inconvenient than admit that somewhere between a porch light, a bookstore cat, and a garden bench, his original reason for approaching you has started to rot quietly in the back of his conscience.
Riki had paid him.
Not in a serious way, or in a way any adult would consider legally binding or morally sophisticated, but still enough that Jake sometimes thinks about the crumpled bills and feels something unpleasant crawl under his skin. At the beginning, it had meant a task, this whole idea of keeping you occupied so Riki could have room to breathe. You were a challenge then, a sharp-tongued older sister with a reputation, a schedule, a glare that could salt the earth, and a list of rules for a brother who needed to survive for his benefit.
It was getting harder to think of you as a job when you showed him what you thought were the ugliest parts of yourself, and he could only think you still looked pretty.
He is also actively trying not to think about it on the pavement when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
“Bro,” Riki says the second Jake answers, voice low and hurried. “I need you to take my sister out tonight.”
He pauses with one hand still on Layla’s leash, standing on the sidewalk outside his house while the dog sniffs a bush. Jake’s starting to think that Riki’s a bit more insane than you are, because he always asks the most unhinged favors. “What?”
“You know,” Riki says quickly, then seems to think about it. “Our deal. I need it badly tonight. I have plans.”
Jake’s expression flattens. “What plans?”
“A date.”
There is silence — one awkward silence.
Layla tugs at the leash and Jake lets himself be pulled two steps forward before asking, very carefully, “Does your sister know?”
“No, obviously not.”
“Riki.”
“It’s not bad,” Riki insists immediately. “I’m just going out with this girl from school, and I’ll be home early, but if my sister’s home and I’m not, she’s gonna start calling people and asking questions again. It’s part of her rules that I’m not allowed to date ‘til I’m eighteen.”
Jake rubs a hand over his face, already feeling the shape of the problem and disliking how familiar it has become. Especially not when he was just trying to control his little growing trouble that made up of you and your pretty eyes and adorable smile. “So your solution is to make me distract her.”
“I pay a hundred bucks a week for that!”
Jake almost laughs, because three weeks ago he might have been amused enough to play along with the joke, but now the whole thing sits differently in his chest. There is the old agreement, of course, the stupid one made at a party over drinks and Riki’s desperation, but there is also the garden, your face under the lights, your voice beside the fountain, your hand taking his jacket before you stepped back into the ballroom, and the way you had looked at him like you did not know whether to trust him but might have wanted to.
“I’m not doing this because you asked,” Jake says.
Riki makes a confused sound. “But I did ask.”
“I know.” Jake says, watching Layla sit neatly at his feet and look up as if even she understands this is going badly. “I’m saying if I take her somewhere, it’s because I want to.”
Then Riki says, with the kind of slow horror that proves he has begun realizing his plan may have developed organs and free will, “Oh.”
By the time evening settles over the city, you are in your room with your hair clipped back and a half-finished movie open in front of you when your phone lights up with Jake’s name, which is already annoying because he has apparently become someone whose name makes your attention trip over itself before you can discipline it with strict rules and bad parenting.
You stare at the screen for two rings. Then you answer. “What?”
There is a brief pause, and you can almost hear his smile through the phone. “Hi to you too.”
His voice slips through the speaker in a way that makes your room feel a little more warm than it did a second ago. You hate that he can do that now, that he can enter a space and rearrange the air without even being physically present, as though your life has become embarrassingly vulnerable to boys with good timing and probably bad intentions, because who calls at 9PM?
You lean back against your headboard. “Why are you calling me?”
“Because I’m going to the night market across town,” he says. “There are food trucks, stalls, probably overpriced shit,”
You cock a brow at relevance. “Okay?”
“Come with me.”
The sentence is too simple. Not do you want to come, or are you free, or any kind of question you can fold neatly into an excuse and return unopened.
Your fingers tighten around your phone. “No.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and you expect him to push immediately, because that is usually what he does. He appears in hallways, sits at your library table, follows you through conversations until you leave, but now he only lets your answer sit there for a second.
Then he says, “Okay.”
You blink. The movie on your laptop continues playing in the background, but your attention has already abandoned it entirely. “Then why are you still calling?” you ask.
On the other end, there is a small pause.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I don’t really want to hang up yet.”
The movie keeps playing in front of you, bright colors moving across your laptop screen, but the sound has become nothing. You stare at the monitor instead, and try to ignore the way your face has warmed.
“That’s a terrible reason,” you say quietly.
“Yeah.” he laughs after. Neither of you speaks for a second until he breathes out softly. “I just thought you might like it.”
You smile down at your phone, suddenly brave because he can’t see your face. “You sound nervous.”
He goes quiet for half a second before answering, softer, “I am nervous. A little.”
You press the phone closer to your ear without meaning to. “Why?”
Then, quieter, “Because I asked you to come with me and you said no.” he lets out a soft chuckle, like he can’t believe himself for what he’s about to say, “But I’m going to be there,” he says. “And I’d rather go with you.”
There it is again, that careless honesty of his, the kind that does not ask for anything too loudly. Despite the oddity of the situation, your brain is less of a shamble than it is mellowed out — which you should probably question and panic about. Later.
You stare at your laptop for a long second. And for reasons you cannot fathom, you wonder what’s so bad about going somewhere tonight. With Jake. “How far is it?”
He does not answer immediately, maybe busy weighing in what that means already. You can practically feel him trying not to sound pleased. “Across town,” he says carefully. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”
You still for a moment, playing with your blankets in between your fingers while you think this through. And like he can sense your hesitance, he helps you. “Give me one hour,” he says. “If you hate it, I’ll take you home.”
You shake your head, still smiling. “You’re very confident for someone I haven’t technically agreed to go out with.”
The silence that follows is immediate as your eyes open wide, just realizing it at the exact same time he does. You sit up straighter, heat rushing to your face because you didn’t mean it like that. “I mean go out to the market.”
“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “I know.”
Fifteen minutes later, you step out of the house in comfortable clothes, locking the door behind you before you can think too hard about the fact that you came out at all. The night air hits your face immediately, cooler than expected, and you hug your arms loosely around yourself as your eyes find him near the curb.
Jake is leaning against his car with his hands in his pants pockets, head slightly lowered, looking unfairly casual in a hoodie layered beneath a jacket, his hair falling over his forehead like he did not spend even one second thinking about how he looked before coming here. Which is ridiculous, because some people look better when they try, but Jake Sim has apparently been designed by nature to look the most when he appears completely unaware of himself.
His gaze travels over you once, slow to take you in. You usually look like you’ve been assembled by clothing that make people feel underdressed by association, but tonight you’re in sweatpants and a fitted tank top beneath a jacket, hair loose, face bare. He looks at you like he is taking in the fact that you came downstairs for him.
“What?” you ask, already defensive.
He shakes his head, but the smile gets there before his denial does. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
He pushes himself off the car, one hand already reaching for the passenger door handle. “You look cute.”
You physically jerk to a stop and your face warms immediately. “You’re weird.”
“I’ve heard.”
“You can’t just say things like that.”
He opens the passenger door and looks at you, smiling in a way that is trying to be innocent and failing by a devastating margin. “Get in.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re bossy tonight.”
“Please get in,” he corrects, still smiling.
You stare at him for another second, mostly because your pride requires a brief fight before surrender, then walk past him and slide into the passenger seat with as much dignity as possible. He closes the door once you are settled, and through the window, you catch the small smile he tries to hide as he circles around the front of the car.
The ride’s quiet with the memory of Jake flirting with you in the gala garden — it makes you feel warm despite how cold the night is. You look out the window, watching streetlights slide over the glass, trying not to notice how different this feels from every other time you have been near him. The night market appears before you in scattered pieces first, a line of cars, a spill of warm lights, people crossing the street in groups, then the whole thing opens up beyond the parking area in a bright, crowded stretch of stalls and food trucks and lanterns strung overhead.
You step out of the car and immediately pause, because it’s loud and crowded, which means it’s not your thing. There is smoke from grills twisting into the cold air, music blasting everywhere, laughter rising and falling in waves — which feels less like a market and more like a small fair.
You look at the crowd, then up at Jake. “This is busy.”
He closes his door and comes around the car, following your gaze. “Yeah.” He laughs, but softly, and when you look at him, he is already looking at you with that careful smile again, the one that does not make fun of you for being cautious. He looks at the crowd, then back at you, and for a second you think he might offer to leave, which would be considerate and therefore deeply inconvenient, but instead he reaches over and gives the sleeve of your jacket a small tug.
“Come on,” he says.
Before you can decide whether to argue, he starts walking, slow enough that you can follow without feeling dragged into the crowd. You hesitate for another second, but then the smell of something fried and warm cuts through the smoke, and your stomach chooses betrayal.
At first, you keep maneuvering to avoid everyone. You move through the crowd with shoulders turning at sharp angles, arms tucked close, stepping aside whenever someone comes too near. He notices after the third time you dodge a stranger by nearly stepping into a potted plant.
He laughs and you sigh without looking at him. “People have no spatial awareness.”
“People are walking.”
“Badly.”
Jake looks like he is trying very hard not to enjoy you, which makes the smile on his face even worse. You are halfway past a food truck with skewers smoking over a grill when you stop so abruptly that Jake nearly walks into you.
He catches himself at the last second. “What?”
You are staring at a small stall tucked between two larger ones, steam curling from bamboo baskets stacked in neat towers while a woman behind the counter folds dumplings quickly with practiced hands.
“I’ve been craving dumplings.”
The sentence leaves you softer than intended, and his expression changes in a way you do not have time to analyze because you are already in front of the stall. He follows without comment. A few minutes later, the two of you are walking again, slower this time, both eating from your trays with the market moving around you in bright, noisy pieces.
For a while, neither of you says anything, though it is not uncomfortable. You take another bite, then he glances at you. “Do you want a drink with that?”
You nod, mouth still full, and he’s already turning toward a nearby cooler display. He comes back with two cheap glass soda pops, the kind with bright labels and caps that need to be opened on the side of the stall counter, and hands one to you without making a thing of it.
You take it, fingers brushing condensation. “Thanks.”
“Was that gratitude?”
You look at him over the rim of the bottle. He lifts both hands in surrender, still holding his own drink.
You walk with him after that, and slowly, your shoulders unintentionally begin to loosen. The crowd is still loud, still too close, still full of strangers with elbows and sauce and terrible directional instincts, but it becomes less unbearable now. He notices when your attention starts catching, but he never comments, which is the only reason you allow yourself to drift toward a booth crowded with little trinkets and charms. There are cats, dogs, bears, strawberries, cherries, tiny books, moons, stars, and one orange cat keychain with a round face and a deeply unimpressed expression.
You pretend your decision is practical, of course, like owning a tiny orange cat charm is somehow a necessary purchase. He watches quietly while you pay, your expression focused and pleased in a way that makes him look away for half a second because apparently he has some survival instincts left.
You attach it to your bag immediately. He looks at it, then at the rest of the display, and his mouth twitches. “That one looks like you.” You follow his gaze to a small cat charm with narrowed eyes, pointed ears, and an expression so deeply displeased it almost feels personally designed to insult you.
Your face flattens. “No, it does not.”
He picks it up. “It does.”
You glare at him and he smiles at the charm. “See? Same expression.” he says as he holds it up beside your face to compare.
“Put it back.”
Instead, he pays for it and you stare at him. “Why did you buy that?”
He looks at it once, and then pockets it without explanation. “Come on.”
“No, why did you buy it?”
“I liked it.” He keeps walking, and you have to follow because the crowd is moving again. For some reason the gesture bothers you more than the teasing does.
The next booth that caught your attention is almost obnoxiously catered to your weaknesses, with neat stacks of sticker sheets, tiny memo pads, washi tape, highlighters in soft colors, planner tabs, bookmarks, stamps, and pens arranged in little acrylic containers. You stop so completely that Jake has to step aside to avoid blocking a passing couple.
For the next several minutes, you become very busy with the most random things, all as Jake stands slightly behind you, holding his soda and yours because at some point you handed it to him without looking, and he accepts this responsibility without saying anything. The two of you keep walking after, and you look more relaxed now than you did at the entrance, less like you are bracing for the world to touch you and more like you have forgotten that you disliked it. You stop at stalls, drift toward anything cute or useful, and Jake continues to follow at your side with no complaint, carrying your soda when you need both hands and slowing whenever you slow.
Then, just as you lean slightly toward a booth selling handmade bookmarks and tiny pressed-flower frames, a pair of kids comes rushing through the gap between stalls, chasing each other with glowing toys in their hands. He moves before thinking, his hand finds the space near your lower back, hovering as he shifts closer to keep the children from bumping into you. His other arm angles subtly between you and the crowd, and he looks over his shoulder just long enough to make sure they pass without catching your side.
You do not notice because you are too busy looking at a bookmark with a little painted cat on it. For some reason, that makes him smile to himself as he lets his hand fall away before you can feel the absence of it.
You turn to him a second later, holding up the bookmark. “This is cute.”
He looks at the bookmark, then at you, still smiling faintly. “Yeah.”
At some point, the crowd gets worse, which you didn’t even notice at first, but then the path in front of you disappears almost entirely, swallowed by families, couples, groups of students, people stopping without warning, people cutting through gaps that do not exist — just people. For a moment, both of you stand at the edge of the crowd, watching everyone press forward in a messy current of shoulders and laughter and swinging shopping bags.
You sigh. “This is ridiculous.”
He looks thoughtful for a second, then makes a decision you do not see coming at all. His arm lifts slightly, hovering behind your shoulders, and you immediately turn your head to look at him.
Jake, to his credit, only looks mildly nervous. “It’s practical.”
Your eyes narrow. “Is it?”
He glances toward the crowd like it might help him build a better defense. “There are a lot of people.”
He presses his lips together, fighting a smile, but his arm stays there, careful and waiting rather than assuming. It should not feel like such a big thing, but it does, mostly because he looks like he is giving you every chance to refuse. “You don’t have to,” he says after a second, already starting to lower his arm.
You hate that the consideration makes it worse. So before you can think too much about it, you roll your eyes and step closer, letting his arm settle around your shoulders like this is somehow the most casual thing in the world (it is not). Jake goes very still for half a second, like he did not actually expect you to allow it, and the brief pause is so obvious that your face warms immediately.
“This is practical,” you say, staring straight ahead.
“Yeah,” he answers, voice lower than before. “Very practical.”
You glance up at him despite yourself, and he is already looking away, but the corner of his mouth is lifted, and his ears have gone faintly pink beneath the market lights.
“Are you blushing?” you ask.
Jake looks at you then, and the smile finally breaks loose. “No.”
“You are.”
“It’s cold.”
You should move away after that because the path opens slightly, enough for you to walk without being separated, and there is no official reason for his arm to stay around your shoulders anymore. But he keeps it there, loose enough that you can step away anytime, steady enough that no one can push between you.
So you stay.
He walks half a step beside you, not dragging you, only guiding when the crowd tightens again. His shoulder angles gently through the busiest parts, his arm drawing you closer whenever someone cuts too near, and each time it happens, your side brushes against him.
You stare ahead and try to remember that this is for crowd navigation, nothing else. Then someone with a swinging tote bag steps backward without looking, and Jake reacts before you do, pulling you in carefully until your shoulder presses against his chest for one quick, breathless second.
“Sorry,” he says near your ear, already loosening his hold. “You okay?”
You nod too quickly. “Fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
You hate how much easier it becomes after that. Not the crowd, because the crowd is still awful, still shifting and pressing and stopping without warning, but moving through it with him is easier. He notices gaps before you do, and he shifts when people come too close. At some point, without asking, he takes the unfinished cake cup from your hand too, tucking the little wooden spoon beneath the lid and holding it in his free hand like carrying your dessert is normal.
You do not protest, and that is the truly alarming part. For once, your brain gets to go quiet. Not completely, of course, because you are still you, but some strict part of you loosens just enough to let him lead. It should bother you more. It does bother you. But it also feels good.
By the time you finally return to the car, the one hour has become more than one hour by a margin neither of you mentions — you both had stopped checking the time altogether.
He only opens the passenger door for you, takes your bags long enough for you to get in comfortably, then hands them back once you are settled like this is all very normal. You start to think that’s the kind of person who knows where your hands are too full and fixes it without asking (which is bad because it detangles the wires in your brain). The drive back is quiet because you’re both tired, and the city slips past the windows in streaks of light while you sit with your head turned slightly toward the glass. He keeps one hand on the wheel and the other resting loosely near the gear shift, his posture relaxed now, his eyes on the road.
When he finally pulls up outside your house, you both sit there. Then Jake unbuckles first, getting out already, and by the time you open your door, he is already there with your things gathered carefully in his arms.
“I can carry my own stuff,”
“I know.”
He hands you the paper bag first, then the little pouch from the trinket stall, then your phone, which you had somehow left in the cup holder without realizing. With your things in your hands, you stand across the passenger door while he leans back against it, spine resting against the car, hands slipping into his pockets after he has nothing left to hand you. He is closer like this, enough that the porch light catches the tired softness around his eyes.
Jake looks at you for a moment, and for once, he does not seem like he is trying to come up with anything clever. Then his voice goes soft. “Did you have fun?”
You look down at the paper bag in your arms, thinking that you could say it was fine, or tolerable, or simply that dumplings were good. Instead, you think about his hand around yours in the crowd, his laugh when you dragged him away from the flowers, the way he never made you feel strange for relying on someone.
“A little,” you say.
His smile appears slowly, like he is trying not to let it happen too fast. “A little?”
“Don’t get greedy.”
“I feel greedy.”
Your face warms immediately, but he seems to hear himself a second later because his smile widens just slightly. “I had fun,” he says and you hold his gaze.
Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag. “You’re very easy to entertain then,” you say.
“Only tonight.”
“Because of the market?”
“Sure.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “What was it then?”
He leans his head back lightly against the window, still watching you through half-lidded eyes, his smile barely there now. “You really wanna know?” he asks.
You smile despite yourself, shaking your head before he can answer. “No.” because you know what he’ll say, and it feels dangerous to hear it out loud.
He laughs softly, head still leaned back against the window, the porch light catching the slope of his cheek and the tired softness in his eyes. For a second, he looks less like someone trying to win an argument and more like someone who would be perfectly fine just standing there with you until the night runs out. “I figured.”
You lift the paper bag in your hand. “The dumplings were good.”
He sighs, disbelieving but still completely okay with it anyway. “I’ll take it,” he says. Then he straightens slowly, pushing himself off the car like he has finally accepted that the night has to end, but even after he says, “I should go,” he does not actually move.
You nod. “Yeah.”
Neither of you moves.
You should say goodnight, walk up the steps, unlock the door, and pretend the whole drive home had not gone quiet in a way that felt different from tiredness. But your feet stay planted near the passenger side, your bags looped awkwardly over your fingers, your phone pressed against the paper bag in your arms. The porch light spills softly over the driveway, catching the side of Jake’s face, and he looks tired in the gentlest way, hair slightly messy from the night air, hoodie sitting loose on his shoulders, eyes still on you like he is waiting for something without wanting to ask for it.
That is the worst part: he does not push, he does not tease, he does not make some stupid comment that would make it easier for you to roll your eyes and leave. He just stands there, patient in a way that makes your chest tighten.
“You should go,” you say, even though you are the one not stepping away.
His mouth curves faintly. “I know.”
“You’re not going.”
“Neither are you.”
You look away first, irritated by the truth of it. This is awful.
It is awful because you are used to handling things yourself, used to needing no one, used to being sharp enough that people stop trying. And then Jake Sim shows up, too warm, too persistent, too easy to like when he stops trying so hard, and suddenly your own brain feels like it has been rearranged.
He watches your face, his smile fading into something softer. “What is it?”
You shake your head. “Nothing.”
“Okay.”
He says it like he believes you have the right to keep it, and somehow that makes it harder to keep anything at all. You glance at him again, and he is still there, hands tucked into his pockets now, shoulders relaxed, giving you every chance to go inside.
You hate that. You hate him. You hate that you don’t hate him at all.
“You’re thinking really loud,” he says quietly.
You let out a small breath, almost a laugh, but not quite. “You’re very annoying.”
“I’ve heard.”
“No.” You look up at him properly this time, and your voice comes out softer than you meant it to. “You’ve been very inconvenient.”
He tilts his head, confusion crossing his face. “Inconvenient?”
You hate that he genuinely does not seem to understand. It makes the whole thing worse, somehow, because of course he would stand there looking at you like that, soft-eyed and patient, after spending the entire night making it harder and harder for you to pretend he was still just Riki’s friend.
“Yes,” you say, almost sharply. “Inconvenient.”
His mouth opens, probably to ask another stupid question, but you cannot handle another second of him being careful with you. So you drop your bags at your feet, step forward before you can change your mind, grab the front of his hoodie, and pull him down.
Then you kiss him.
He goes completely still beneath your hands, so still that your heart drops almost immediately. The courage leaves you as quickly as it came, replaced by a sharp rush of embarrassment that burns all the way up your neck. You pull away before he can even react, fingers slipping from his hoodie as your eyes fall anywhere but his face.
“I —” You swallow, already stepping back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have —”
But you’re already turning before you can finish. You barely make it half a step before his hand catches your wrist, gentle but certain. The next second, he turns you back toward him, and you stumble straight into his chest.
Jake is looking at you now like he has finally caught up with himself. His hands find your waist, careful for only a heartbeat before his grip firms, pulling you closer, and he kisses you back. It is warm and firm and breathless, like he is making up for the second he lost, like he cannot believe you almost walked away again.
Your hands grab at his hoodie again, more out of surprise than anything, and he leans into you just enough that the whole world seems to narrow down to his chest against yours, his fingers at your waist, and the quiet night around you. He towers closer, holding you tighter when your knees buckle underneath you, especially when a gasp slips out of your lips and his tongue enters your mouth.
When he finally pulls back, he does not go far. For a moment, both of you just stand there, close and silent, breathing unevenly under the porch light. Then Jake lets out the smallest, stunned laugh, his forehead pressed against yours.
“You have no idea,” he says quietly with his hands steady at your waist. “How long I’ve wanted you to stop walking away from me.”
For once, there is no sharp answer on your tongue, no insult, no eye roll, no clean little exit you can use to save yourself from the way he is looking at you. There is only Jake and you.
“You froze,” you whisper, because it is the only thing your pride can still manage.
His laugh comes out breathless. “You surprised me.”
“That’s your excuse?”
His hands tighten at your waist, like even now he cannot believe you are still arguing with him. “That’s my apology.”
You lift your chin slightly. “It wasn’t very good.”
His eyes drop to your mouth for half a second before coming back to yours, and this time, the smile he gives you is softer than it is teasing.
“Then let me do better,”
You barely have time to pretend you are annoyed before he kisses you again. This one is slower at first, like he is giving you the chance to pull away, but your hands are already gripping his hoodie and pulling him closer before either of you can pretend otherwise. You feel him smile against your lips as he deepens the kiss.
When you part again, your face is warm, his hair is a little messed up from where your fingers had caught in it, and both of you are breathing like the night has tilted beneath your feet.
You look toward the door, then back at him, suddenly shy now that the night has become quiet again. “Do you want to come in?”
His gaze lifts to yours, and the look on his face changes so quickly it makes your breath catch. The teasing is gone now, the stunned smile from earlier fading into something quieter, heavier, like he understands exactly what you just asked and is trying very hard not to make you regret saying it.
For once, he does not say anything clever. He only looks at you and nods.
You unlock the front door carefully, as if the sound itself might become suspicious, then step inside with him following after you. The house is dim, only the soft light over the staircase left on, and for a second the two of you stand in the entryway like you have smuggled the whole night in with you.
He closes the door quietly behind him as you slip off your shoes. Neither of you says anything, but when you glance back, he is already looking at you. You step toward him first, his expression shifting like he has not fully learned what to do with you when you are the one closing the distance. For once, he does not move first. He only stands there, still and watching, as your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie. You pull him in and his breath catches softly, then you reach up and kiss him again. He responds after half a second of surprise, hands lifting to your waist, like even now he is keeping some part of himself gentle.
The kiss is still sweet, still careful, but there is less hesitation in it this time. Your hand stays fisted in his jacket, and when he leans closer, you feel his smile against your mouth before he kisses you back properly.
He pulls away just enough to breathe, his face still close, eyes warm and slightly dazed in a way that makes your stomach turn uselessly soft. “You’re getting very bold,” he whispers.
You glare at him, which is difficult when you are still holding onto him. “Are you complaining?”
His smile breaks wider. “No. I’m not.” Then he kisses you again before you can argue, which is unfair because arguing has been your only reliable defense against him and he has apparently discovered a much better strategy. His hands stay at your waist, warm and steady, not pushing, only holding you close enough that you forget to keep track of where the hallway ends and where he begins.
Somehow, between one kiss and the next, your back meets the front door. You do not notice right away because all you notice is him, the warmth of his mouth, the careful way he keeps slowing down like he is reminding himself to let you breathe, the way his thumb shifts at your waist when your fingers tighten in his jacket. The whole house is quiet around you, but your heart is being so loud it feels impossible that he cannot hear it.
Then he pulls back just enough for his words to brush against your mouth. “I want to be your boyfriend.”
You go still, and his eyes open, searching your face. You look at him for a second, breath still uneven, then whisper, “Think you can wait a little bit more?”
His expression softens immediately. The shift is quick; the want in his face makes room for patience again, how fast he understands. He nods once, small and serious, his hands loosening at your waist like he would let go the second you asked him to. “I can wait,” he says quietly.
And he looks like he means it. Like he would stand there in your hallway with your lipstick slightly smudged on his mouth, with his heart in his hands, and let you kiss him while still waiting for you to decide what to do with it. Like he would take every almost, every maybe, every not yet, and still look at you like you are not being cruel for needing time.
Your hands slide up from his jacket to his hair, fingers threading carefully through the soft strands at the back of his head, and his eyes flutter like that small touch just ruined whatever patience he had left. You lean in again and he goes still for one startled breath before he melts into it, a quiet laugh slipping against your mouth as he realizes, too late, that you were not saying no. Your hands stay curled in his jacket, keeping him close, and this kiss feels different from the others, still soft, still careful, but warmer now, more certain, like an answer you are not ready to say out loud.
When you pull away (barely), he is smiling so openly that you almost regret letting him have this much evidence. His smile turns stupidly happy. “That sounds like a yes.”
“It sounds like you should kiss me again before I change my mind.”
He laughs, quiet and breathless, and does exactly that. Somewhere between the hallway and the kiss after that, the two of you become very bad at making responsible decisions.
In whispered laughs and careful footsteps up the stairs, with your hand around his wrist and him following behind you like he is trying not to smile too loudly. The house stays dim around you, every creak in the floorboards suddenly dramatic enough. By the time you reach your room, your heart is doing something ridiculous again. You open the door slowly, letting the faint light from the hallway spill over your bed, your desk, the half-finished planner still open from earlier, the ordinary pieces of your life that suddenly feel less ordinary with him stepping into them behind you. He looks around for half a second, not nosy, just quietly taking it in.
You step toward him before he can say anything worse, catching the front of his jacket again, and he lets you pull him down with an ease that makes your stomach turn soft. The kiss starts as a way to shut him up, or at least that is what you tell yourself, but then his hands find the small of your back to steady you, careful and familiar now, and suddenly the room feels smaller.
You back up without thinking, until the backs of your legs meet the edge of the bed, and he stops immediately. He pulls away just enough to look at you. “Okay?”
You hate that he asks. You love that he asks.
Instead of answering, you sit down on the edge of the mattress and tug him gently. He follows, careful even when he looks like every bit of caution in him is being tested. The bed dips beneath both of you, your knees brushing first, then your hands finding his jacket again, pulling him close enough that he has no choice but to lean over you when you lie back against the pillows.
For a second, he just looks at you. It is almost funny, how still he goes, hands planted beside your shoulder like he has forgotten what to do with himself now that you are the one inviting him closer. His eyes move over your face, not rushing anywhere else, and something about that makes your chest feel warmer.
“You’re overthinking,” you whisper.
Jake lets out a quiet laugh, but it sounds strained in the softest way. “Yeah.”
“You usually have more to say.”
His smile appears, small and helpless, before he leans down and kisses you again. It is still gentle and careful, but being this close makes everything feel bigger. The quiet room, the faint light from the hallway, the warmth of him above you and being in between your legs, the way his breath catches when your fingers slip to the back of his neck.
He pulls away, not far, just enough to look at you properly, his eyes searching yours. “Still okay?” he whispers.
You nod, but he does not move immediately, like he wants the answer to be something you choose twice. So you smile, softer than you mean to. “I’m okay.” The relief on his face is quiet, but obvious.
“You’re very careful.”
His mouth lifts faintly. “With you? Yeah.”
You look away for half a second, because that is a terrible sentence to hear while he is this close. He sees it, the way the gears turn inside your head, the way you’re suddenly pushing his jacket off him and your knees are tightening against his waist. He swallows, struggling as he keeps himself over you, trying not to dive into something he’s not sure you want.
Except, you do. And it is very obvious.
You pull him down again, kissing until you know you’ve bruised his plump lips, until his tongue finally slips into your warm mouth as you make a sound against him. You gasp when you feel his hips press in between your thighs and his breath hitches, like he’s in between behaving and giving in. He pulls away abruptly, mouths detaching with a pop, and you visibly grow annoyed.
“God,” he lets out an airy and startled laugh, “What the fuck.”
He hates that he really likes the way his growing bulge is pressing against your ass. The warmth of his body makes you so needy, embarrassingly enough, though you only pull him closer. “Why are you so far away?” you whine.
“We should probably stop,” he says, but it comes out more like a breathless laugh, his forehead dropping for a second.
But you frown. You grind your ass against his hips, feeling the imprint of his cock. “Your dick says otherwise,” God, you are so mean, and he loves it.
A hand lifts from the mattress and slips towards your bare thigh that’s pressed against his waist, squeezing the soft fat there. You practically melt at the sight of veiny hand smoothing over the skin, until the tips of his fingers carefully disappear into the fabric of your shorts. You squirm against him and he shoots his eyes back up at you, eyebrows furrowed down to his lids.
“I don’t have a condom,” he says lowly, voice made of velvet and restraint.
You smile, evil and insatiable. “I don’t care.”
He sighs, disbelieving of how you’ve completely turned to a 180. “I’m trying to be good,” he says. “You’re making it impossible.” Yet he slips his shirt off his body, exposing the toned muscles of his abs, the deep grooves carved. His chest is flat and broad, expanding to the sculpted arms that are solid without looking heavy, just all quiet strength.
“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly, “And I will.” right before he bows down to kiss you again. His tongue brushes into your mouth, meeting yours as your hands find the privilege of slithering down his exposed skin, fingers grazing against the muscles that twitch from your soft touch.
He kisses your cheek next, then your jaw, until his lips reach the soft skin of your neck. He sucks there, until it’s littered with hickeys. “This isn’t good, baby,” he whispers, contradicting himself when he continues to bite the flesh above your pulse. You can only smile and moan, fascinated with the way he’s quickly losing composure.
He helps you out of your sweater next, carefully lifting your upper body up. “Arms up,” you follow, staring into his eyes once he takes it off you. His hand slides to your back, leaning down a little where his lips ghosts above your forehead, then presses a kiss there as he unclasps your bra, the black material slipping off you. You grow a little shy, lips pressing to a line while your own arms curl around yourself. He chuckles softly, then reaches for your wrists with careful fingers and gently uncrosses them. “Where did all that attitude go now, hm?” he murmurs before leaning down to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist, then another just above it, slow enough to make your breath catch.
He circles your arms back around his neck and you pull him closer to you, so he presses a soft kiss to your lips right before he bends down to your chest. “You’re making this too easy,” he whispers. “I thought you liked arguing with me.” You can only bite down on your bottom lip when he takes your perked nipple into his mouth, all wet and warm, before he sucks and bites down gently.
“Shut up.” you somehow still manage, and you can feel him smile against your breast.
His tongue swirls around the bud before he pulls away, then takes the other one into his mouth next. After he fondles your breasts, caressing you gently but firmly, he moves down your belly, his soft tongue trailing down your skin slowly. He presses kisses on the swell of it, smiling when you tense against him. His large, veiny hands tightens on your waist, attempting to memorize the way the dip feels under his palms. They find your hips next, thumb teasing the hem of your thin shorts, slipping into the fabric just to feel how soft you can get underneath.
“Miss Attitude is so fucking soft,” he murmurs. “They have no idea.”
He hooks his fingers over the hem of your shorts and slides it off you along with your panties. You’re already feverish when his face meets your cunt after, his breath fanning your folds, large hands holding your thighs so tightly you know it’d mark.
He can smell how sweet you are, your wetness glistening with so much arousal. He looks over you, sharp eyes through the hoods, like he wants to make sure you’re watching him. “I’ve got you.” Then, because he’s so cruel and careful at the same time, he presses soft kisses on your folds first. Then he kisses your clit next, a deep breath spilling out of you, your hands locking through his hair, attempting to pull him closer.
He licks a stripe this time, from your hole to your clit, your sensitivity reaching an all time high. “Fuck, Jake, come on,” you practically whimper.
With a prideful grin, he pins your thighs back against the bed. Then he buries his face into your cunt, his tongue laps inside your folds like you’re his favorite meal. He kisses the flesh, then sucks on it like he’s mad, sounds so wet and frenzy.
“Oh my God — Jake, fuck —” Your eyes shoot to your ceiling before your eyelids shut. He groans against you, sending vibrations through your pussy, his moans muffled while yours echo in your bedroom. He stuffs his face in, tongue slurping your entrance before his lips latch onto your clit next, sucking it dry. Your fingers tug at his roots, while your thighs threaten to clench around his head.
He pushes his long tongue into your hole next, the tip of his nose nuzzling your clip as he buries himself deeper, making sure to coat his face with your sweetness and his saliva. He thinks he can do this until the sun sets again and again, just latching his lips around your clit and holding your shivering thighs around his head.
He shakes his head slightly, just drinking your juices and moaning into your cunt, not being able to have enough of you. When he pulls away, he’s breathing heavily and you’re pouting, unsure why he’s stopping. Though the sight’s going to kill you still anyway, black hair soaked in sweat, brushing over his eyes while his plump pink lips and chin glisten with your juices.
“I want more, please…” you sigh, attempting to reach for him.
His hand lowers from your thigh to your cunt now, thumb gently grazing over your clit before spreading the folds apart. Practically glimmering with how drenched you are, he teases by pushing his thumb in and pulling back right after. He watches your face, at the way your brows knit together and how you flush into a puddle for him.
He smiles, all of his teeth showing, before he leans back down. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” Then he inserts his middle finger in, impossibly longer than yours, stealing a gasp from your throat when he pushes his digits so deep inside, reaching his pink knuckles.
The squelch of your walls squeezing around him should be sin, as he feels just how soft you are. He sneaks another one in, two fingers buried deep into your pussy that you clench so tightly. “S-shit — s-so fucking good…”
“Fuck,” he huffs a chuckle. “So tight. How would my cock fit you?”
He licks his lips, swallowing the remnants of you from his mouth. Then he dives back down, open mouth attaching on your clit while his thick fingers pull, push, and curl inside you. Your legs spread for him while you whine his name as if in a desperate prayer.
He continues to retract his digits before pushing it all back inside, carefully picking up the pace with the thrusts. He sucks on your clit hard, the sheer overstimulation of both his mouth and hand working on your pussy makes you a whining mess, loud and fucked, that you have to cover your mouth with your palm.
Though it’s no use, your brother definitely knows now just who’s fucking you with just his fingers and tongue. After a few more thrusts, the tips of his fingers touches that spot that makes your cunt clench tighter and your spine curve against your sheets.
“I-I’m gonna cum — Jake, c-cumming —” He drinks up all your liquid but then abruptly pulls back, fingers leaving your entrance and his mouth detaching with a wet pop, leaving you so bare.
You feel empty without him filling you up, that you’ve got to open your eyes and look over your breasts and belly, where he sits up, adjusting his weight on his knees while his face and fingers are sopping with your arousal, somehow still making you embarrassed. He licks it off clean, making sure not to waste any of you that you’ve given to him, and you sheepishly curl a little in your bed.
He leans forward now, propping himself on his hands as he hovers over you. Your hands reach up to soothe over the muscles of his traps, warm and bulky under your palms, before you find his hair again, stroking through the black locks. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you mumble, soft and spent.
Jake only has to bite his bottom lip to keep from grinning, eyes soft with the kind of fondness that makes you want to look away. Your gaze falls on the veins protruding from his arms, trailing up to his elbows that you just have to turn away again because is his dick just as veiny? When you look back up at him, there’s something unbearably gentle in his eyes, like he’s looking at the prettiest thing he’s ever been allowed to keep close. Without any words, he leans down, kissing you again, soft but firm, but he presses you deeper into the bed.
He lifts your leg again, spreading you wider than your dignity lets you, taking your thigh against his hip before he jerks forward, pushing his clothed bulge against your exposed pussy. Your kiss stutters and he pauses a little, pulling away suddenly to let out a shaky breath. “S-shit…”
You whine, weak but pitched. “Take it out, Jake, please,” You buck into his cock, feeling the heavy outline of it slide into your folds.
He doesn’t even argue this time, he just nods, breath uneven, eyes fixed on yours like whatever fight he had left in him disappeared the second you said his name. His hand finds your waist like he’s been waiting for permission all night, squeezing you tightly.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low and completely gone. “Okay.”
He lets go of you for a bit to push his sweatpants off, revealing his boner so prominent and practically hanging in his boxers. You can see his hands shaking a little as he takes his boxers off next, before throwing them into a corner of the room.
His cock practically springs forward to you, desperate and leaking. He’s thick, long, veiny. And pink at the tip.
You don’t even pretend you’re not staring anymore, and you don’t notice the tips of his ears flushing pink this time, a little hint of sheepishness. You’ve never really considered yourself a sex addict, much less even lustful, but the way your pussy throbs at the sight of his pretty cock makes you think maybe you’ve been wrong about yourself in many ways. You want nothing more but to see how he tastes, or how it’d slap against your tongue. He strokes himself, thumb playing with his own slit, spreading his pre around his thick head.
“No condom, baby, I’m so sorry,” His mouth twists into a pout before he can stop it, eyes wide and miserably apologetic. “I’ll pull out, I promise.”
“I don’t give a fuck, Jake,” you urge him closer to you, hands roaming down his abs. “I need you inside me, please — “
If his cock wasn’t twitching in hand, begging to be inside you, he’d probably let out a chuckle at how cute and eager you look right now, practically squirming and begging underneath him. But he’s no better than you, so he adjusts himself forward, leaning once again before aligning the head against your pussy. He nudges your clit, a gasp tumbling from his mouth at the contact.
“It will only hurt for a second,” he warns and you swallow, staring at his dick as you wonder if it will even fit at all. “Breathe, baby, okay?” You nod, biting down your lip.
You lift your hips slightly with the help of his hand against your hip, letting the tip nuzzle against your entrance. He’s breathing heavily, taking one final inhale before he pushes forward and lets the head of his cocks slide past your folds, meeting your gummy walls. You gasp as the stretch, making you tense up and clench around him.
“Fuck, t-that’s so tight — ah —” Jake’s forehead rests against yours, the feeling of your pussy squeezing him in, practically sucking his cock inside until you feel him brushing your cervix. He finally sinks in fully, and all he can think about is trying not to fucking cum right now. Not even 10 seconds in and he’s gone like a horny loser, but seeing you so spread open just for him is undoing him anyway.
He sets a pace, slow to stretch you out, having to bury his head against your neck just to suppress his groans, shallow thrusts getting deeper and deeper. The way his member touches rubs on your walls draws the prettiest whines from you, his name coming out as uneasy breaths as his rhythm picks up. Your hands thread through his hair, pulling him down for another kiss, and so his veiny hand settles beside your head, balancing himself on top of you. You claw at his back when his tongue slips into your mouth, his thrusts growing faster.
“J-Jake,” you whimper, just as he pins your thighs down the bed. Your legs spreading wider pretty much heightens the feeling in your pussy, letting you feel his cock as he begins to pound into you. He shifts slightly, grinding on that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back and whine his name again.
“Y-you’re clenching — shit, you’re clenching too hard, baby —” he moans, sweat dripping down his neck to his chest. His hips snap forward harder and faster, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Your brain is short-circuiting and your skin is on fire, hot coil tightening in your abdomen. He continues rutting into you, bodies warm and sweaty, while your nails dig deep into his back. “I-I’m coming, Jake — fuck, I’m — “
He steals your mouth for another kiss when you finish, your orgasm striking through you, pussy clenching tight around his dick as you feel white ropes spill into you, full and so fucking hot. “S-shit…” he breathes against your mouth, riding out the last few seconds of your pleasure.
Jake rests his forehead against yours, catching his breath while his hand caresses your waist so firmly, soothing the skin up and down like a lover. His panting slow down, breathing matching yours as the height of your drives lower, his twitching cock coming to a stop inside you. He pulls out, drawing a wince from him, his cum oozing from your hole as he does.
“Fuck,” he curses, licking the inside of his cheek. You can only laugh tiredly, wiping the sweat from your forehead.
“I did not fucking mean to,” he clears his throat before looking back up at you, “cum in you.”
You hit his arm without any real force, a tired smile etching on your face as you pull him back down. He kisses you, and you try not to melt at how slow he does it, at how much deeper it is compared to the others. When he pulls away, he presses a softer one on your forehead. He straightens on his knees, sharp yet weary eyes looking over your naked body, enjoying every dip and curve, hand somehow never separating from your thighs and hips. You get sheepish, despite it all, giving a quiet groan when he admires you shamelessly. “Stop staring,”
He can only smile, his hand reaching for yours in which you give. His thumb moving slowly over your knuckles, then he lifts it to his mouth and presses a quiet kiss to your fingers before leaning over to kiss your forehead. He kisses near your temple after, voice low when he speaks again. “I’m gonna go to the store.”
Your brows draw slightly, “Now?”
“Yeah,” he gives you a sly smile, “For Plan B.”
You give him a look, but it barely has any strength behind it. Then you laugh, shaking your head at how ridiculous it sounds. Jake gives you a look back, brows lifting slightly. “What?”
Before you can give a proper answer, you sit up and place your palms against his shoulders, pushing him down the bed. He follows obediently, eyes on yours as you find yourself climbing on top of him, legs bracketing either side of his hips once he’s laid down. His cock twitches against your pussy, slowly growing again.
“I’m trying to be a good boyfriend,” he says under his breath, uneven and clearly strained.
Your lips twitch before you can stop them. “Boyfriend, hm?” you hum as your hands feel his abs underneath your palms, taut at your touch.
Jake throws his head back, Adam's apple bobbing before he mutters a quiet curse. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, almost laughing under his breath. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Your face heats, not being able to stop the smile that creeps to you. Your hands slide to his chest, and your ass rubs against his hardened length, a soft moan coming out of you when it slides against your wet folds.
“Later, okay?” is all you say before you manage to slide his cock back inside you, stealing a startled gasp from his throat.
The next few days have been… a turn.
Not an immediate one, because you are not the kind of person who wakes up one morning and becomes soft just because a boy fucked you to make your thoughts trip over themselves. It starts with stupid things, like letting Jake carry the heavier paper bag when you leave the convenience store instead of wrestling it back from him on principle, or handing him your empty cup before you can think too hard about why your fingers already moved toward him, or looking up from your phone in a parking lot and realizing he has already stepped to the side closest to the road.
The first few times, you still fight it, naturally, and there are moments when you hear your own voice sharpen before you can stop it, asking him whether he thinks you are incapable of holding a bag, opening a door, ordering your own drink, or to even function as a person, but Jake never flinches when your tone gets mean. He never waits for you to become easier. He only looks at you with that patience of his, and says, “I know you can,” like your competence was never in question, and the entire point is not that you cannot do it yourself, but that someone else can do it for you too.
You are used to being needed, to people looking at you when something breaks, when Riki disappears, when your father needs something handled, and you are used to stepping in so quickly. Needing someone has always felt too close to failing, and depending on someone has always felt like handing them a knife and hoping they do not use it on you, but Jake does not treat your reliance like victory, does not look smug when you finally stop arguing, does not make a monument out of every time you let him help. He just helps, and it gives you nothing to push against.
The hot stuff hasn’t ended either. At first, you both did try to be normal for the sake of your upheld pride of refusing to be easy, even to your own boyfriend, and his respect for your decision. It does come to an end right after 4 days it happened, when he comes over again and your father’s never home and Riki’s somewhere you don’t know, having a hot boyfriend in your room would always mean he’d end up pounding into you. Or that you graciously ride him so well that he has to run to the store for Plan B again.
Jake never ever made you feel like you have to do things for him, nor did he ever urge you to have sex with him. There were a few occasions though, when you two might have went against your own moral code when he fucked you in his car in the school parking lot — did you regret it? No. Would it happen again? You hope not.
You might have had a hidden trait that’s been opened after a few nights together. There were a lot of moments when Jake had to take a pause because he genuinely gets scared at how you look at his cock, all excited and famished (sorry for the lack of better term). And his nose, just before he lies down on your bed and lets you sit his face.
You never have prioritized sex, nor did you think there was anything good about having a wet pussy 24/7 other than it was pure lust. You did, however, also find out that you really liked being pushed against Jake’s desk and fucked at the back.
After that, things get a little more cliche, of course. You start expecting his hand at the small of your back when a hallway gets crowded, start assuming he will keep track of where you left your phone, when you start sending him photos of readings with a single question mark and receive back highlighted screenshots, voice notes, and brief explanations. You start asking him to pick you up without building a whole argument on why it’s practical. You start trusting him with the ugly middle parts of your day, not only the polished version you usually hand people.
Then, because you are still princess-y, petty you, you also start getting annoyed when he does not anticipate things fast enough.
One evening he sits beside you at a café and does not immediately take the extra books from your arms because he is answering Sunghoon’s text, and you feel offended — makes no sense, of course. Now you stand there with your books pressing into your chest, glaring at the side of his head until he finally looks up and pauses. “What?”
“Nothing.”
His gaze drops to the books, then returns to your face, and the slow realization that crosses his expression is so unbearable. Jake reaches for them anyway, careful enough to give you time to refuse, smug enough that you want to kick him, and when you let him take the stack from your arms, he murmurs, “My bad, baby. I’ll be faster next time.”
With Riki, the change makes him jump quietly (of course) in glee. You do not stop worrying, because that would require medical intervention, but you stop overthinking every hour. Sometimes you don’t ask where he is until he tells you first. Riki starts texting more because the texts no longer feel like constant interrogation, and you start responding less as you remember that seventeen is not the same as helpless.
Then one day passes without you talking to him at all. You do not realize it until you are brushing your teeth and your phone lights up with a message from Riki that only says, alive btw. You stare at it for a long second, toothpaste foaming at your mouth, and the first thing you feel is panic because how did you go an entire day without checking — someone will kill you, for sure, right? Then the panic fades into the shape of relief. He is fine, he told you, comfortably at that too.
When you tell Jake later, expecting him to make some joke, he only nods and says, “That’s good.” then reaches for your hand like it is the easiest thing in the world. “You did good.”
You don’t have to be soft all at once, nor do you have to surrender your sharpness just to wake up as some easier version of yourself because someone decided to stay. Embarrassingly, it makes your brain turn off when your boyfriend takes the problem from your hands and solves it before you can turn it into another reason to hate yourself. You can still be competent, still be difficult, still be the girl who knows what to do in a crisis, while also being the girl who lets Jake highlight her readings, carry her books, order her coffee, pull her away, and hold her against his chest when she finally remembers it’s okay to be tired.
He does not make you less capable, he just makes you less alone with it. Most importantly, he does not act like the softer version of you is the only one worth liking.
Jake and Riki manage to convince you to go to a house party on a Friday night, which doesn’t take much, weirdly enough.
Riki starts first, of course, he says you never do anything fun, which makes you refuse again. Jake, unfairly, does not argue the same way, who only leans against your kitchen counter with one hand curled around a glass of water, watching you over the rim with that calm expression he gets when he knows you are already halfway annoyed. He tells you “it does not have to be a big thing, we can leave whenever you want. I’ll stay with you the whole time if you want me to”, and if you hate how kind he is. Which makes you say yes.
The house is already full by the time you get there, music pressing through the walls before Jake even parks. Cars line both sides of the street, voices spilling through the open windows, laughter breaking over the bass in uneven bursts — you’re not exactly uncomfortable, only uneasy in a way that this is not something you’re used to, not like how Riki and Jake soothes right in.
Then Jake’s hand settles at the small of your back. “You okay?” he asks, voice low enough when he leans down to you.
You look at the room in front of you, then at Riki, who is already greeting someone. “This is loud.”
“Because that’s how parties usually work,” Jake’s mouth curves when you give him a look, before his hand rubs the small of your back up and down. “But we can leave.”
That is annoying, mostly because it is thoughtful, and you have learned there is very little to do with Jake’s thoughtfulness except either accept it or be a bitch about it and watch him keep being thoughtful anyway. You glance away before he can catch whatever your face is doing and mutter, “We’ll stay.”
He gets you a drink from the kitchen, not from one of the abandoned cups on the counter but from an unopened bottle in the cooler, twisting the cap and you take it without arguing.
His friends find you almost immediately. Jungwon lifts his brows when he sees you beside Jake, then smiles. Sunoo says your name with delighted surprise, Jay gives you an exaggeratedly respectful nod that makes you narrow your eyes, and Sunghoon and Heeseung offers you a small, careful smile. They are nicer than you expected them to be, or maybe they have always been nice and you were too busy seeing them as Riki’s friends (with connotation, at that).
Jake does not leave your side at first, and tries to make sure not to make you feel tense. He notices when the kitchen gets too crowded and nudges you toward the living room without making you feel like he is moving you. He notices when someone you barely know tries to pull you into a conversation you clearly do not want and cuts in so smoothly that they don’t even realize.
For a while, you stay like that, your back against his front, his mouth near your ear every now and then as he leans down to murmur things meant only for you. His eyes flick toward Jay guarding the snack table like a personal estate, toward some boy near the speakers dancing with more confidence than rhythm. You laugh quietly at first, then more openly later on, your head tipping back slightly against his shoulder for half a second as you both judge people’s tipsy decisions.
Someone nearby starts setting up beer pong on a long table, cups arranged into triangles, people crowding around with immediate excitement. You take one look at the cups, the ball bouncing once against the floor, the wet ring marks on the table, and the enthusiasm dies on your face so visibly that Jake folds forward against your shoulder with silent laughter.
You stop paying attention to the shape of the night, and your guard lowers enough for the party to become just a party, not a list of potential disasters. With his hand on your hip, even when Riki’s off your field of view, you’re less anxious.
He brushes his fingers lightly against your wrist, making you turn to him slightly. “I’ll be quick,” he says. “I’ll just get another drink.”
For a minute, you stand alone near the edge of the living room, watching him disappear through the crowd. You decide to find his friends, partly because they are people you know now, partly because you are not yet the kind of girl who can stand alone in a house full of strangers.
The hallway is too crowded, so you head for the front door instead, slipping past two people arguing over someone’s car keys and stepping out into the night air. The music dulls behind the walls as you walk down the porch steps and follow the narrow side path around the house. You only remember seeing Jungwon and the others near the backyard earlier, and going through the side seems easier than forcing yourself through the crowd. The side of the house is dim except for the spill of light coming from the backyard, and voices grow clearer the closer you get.
A voice says something you do not catch, followed by a louder laugh, and you stop before fully turning the corner, half-hidden behind the hedge lining the side yard. You do not mean to listen, but you hear Riki first. “Dude, I’m just saying,” he says, laughing carelessly. “I should’ve done this months ago.”
Someone snorts, Jay, probably. “You mean hiring Jake?”
Your steps slow before you fully reach them, deciding to still behind a stupid bush.
Riki laughs again. “I mean, clearly the money worked.”
“He really put those hundreds to use, huh?”
There is laughter, easy, stupid, and thoughtless laughter from boys who have no idea that the joke is standing right there, turning rigid again.
“Taming the lion,” someone says.
Your throat goes dry as the laughter grows again, freezing completely when someone says your name next.
The scary sister, the impossible girl, the controlling bitch with a curfew and a brother who apparently thought your entire life could be negotiated down to a payment and one patient boy you thought saw you differently — yet each memory with him reaches backward for a new shape, forming into one joke shared by teenage schemes.
Someone inside says, “Nah, but seriously, Jake deserves a raise. She actually smiles now.”
Riki says something you cannot fully make out, but it does not matter because your mind has already started blurring.
Then Jake’s voice cuts through, appearing through the patio door. “Hey, have you guys seen her?”
“There he is,” Jay says, too loud, too cheerful. “Man of the hour.”
“What?” Jake asks, distracted.
Then there is the sound of palms meeting, boys greeting him the way boys do, easy and stupid and physical. Someone daps him up, someone else claps his shoulder, someone mentions how great he did for convincing you to go to a party.
“Congrats, bro,” one of them says, laughing. “Hundreds well spent.”
Jake does not speak. Maybe he is processing, maybe his face has changed in some way you cannot see yet. Maybe, he would push the hand off his shoulder and tell them to shut up. But you do not get that far, because you turn a little to see him, and his eyes finally lift past them and land on you.
He sees you standing there, one hand around the bottle he opened for you, your face completely still. For one impossible second, you look at him and he looks back.
And it is awful, how quickly his expression breaks, because it isn’t confusion nor innocence, just the face of someone who knows. His eyes widen, his mouth parts slightly, and panic moves across his face so plainly that it feels like another admission you’re not supposed to hear.
Behind him, Riki turns and the color drains from his face when he sees you. Your name leaves Jake’s mouth once, low and ruined but you’re already stepping away.
You turn and walk.
Someone laughs from the inside, someone trying to go to the back bumps your shoulder and apologizes, but you do not answer. It’s a little shitty how your whole body feels strangely calm now, the way it does in emergencies, when adrenaline doesn’t need you moving your feet to handle something first.
You can hear Jake behind you, cursing under his breath, sharp and panicked, nothing like the careful voice he used when he told you to let him take care of you.
“Wait,” he calls, closer now. “Please, just wait.”
The front yard is crowded, so you shove through them and into the night air with your lungs burning and your hands cold around the bottle you forgot to leave behind. The street outside is quieter, only then do you realize how badly you needed it, how trapped you had been inside that house with all those walls and all that laughter and every memory of Jake rearranging itself into something ugly.
You make it halfway down the front path before his hand catches your wrist, not hard but you pull away like it burns.
He stops in front of you, breathing unevenly, hair messier than before, eyes wide in a way you used to love, but now it only makes something sharp twist in your chest. Behind him, Riki stumbles out onto the porch, face pale, panic written all over him like a child finally realizing the stove is hot after touching it, even after you told him no.
Jake takes half a step forward, then thinks better of it. “I can explain.” His jaw tightens. “It’s not what they made it sound like.”
“Really?” Your voice stays calm. “Because it sounded like my brother paid you to distract me, and your friends think you deserve congratulations for doing it well.”
Jake’s face goes white. Riki moves down one step. “It was my idea.”
You look at him then, not with the sharp little look you usually give him when he says something stupid, but actually look at him. For one strange second, he looks like the nine-year-old boy who used to stand in your doorway, the one who would deny crying even while his eyes were swollen, the one you learned how to comfort while you comforted yourself because mom is gone and dad is never home.
That is what does it, your eyes water before you can stop them. “You paid someone to get me out of the way?”
He shakes his head too quickly. “No. I just wanted you to have something else,” he says, and the words come out in a rush now, messy and panicked. “I thought if you were busy, if you were happy, maybe you’d stop worrying about me all the time. I didn’t know how else to get you to stop. You never listen to me. You never believe me.”
Your eyes return to Jake, and the worst thing is that part of you still wants him to fix it. Some pathetic, exhausted, newly softened part of you wants him to say the exact right thing, wants him to reach for the memory of every night you trusted him and pull it back from the edge.
You hate that part of yourself instantly. You hate that it exists because of him.
“Is that true?” you ask.
His eyes flick down, then back to your face, desperate now. “At first,” he says, voice rough. “At first, yes, but it stopped being that.”
You stare at him.
“But I gave the money back,” he continues, voice rough. “I told him I was done. I told him I didn’t want any part of it anymore.”
Your throat tightens. “After I slept with you?”
He goes still.
That is the answer.
You stare at him, waiting for him to save it anyway, because some stupid part of you still wants him to. You wait for him to say no, to say you got it wrong, to say there was some other version of the story where he did not let you give him that much of yourself before telling you the truth. But Jake only looks at you with his mouth parted slightly, eyes wide and ruined, and every second he does not speak feels like another hand closing around your throat.
You shake your head once. “You let me think,” your voice is low and calm, “that for once, someone just wanted to be there. You let me trust you with the parts of myself I don’t even like,” you say. “And you knew. You knew what they didn’t.”
The gala. You see the memory land in him, the garden lights, the fountain, your stupid dress, the way you sat on the far end of a bench and told him things you barely knew how to tell yourself. Your mother being gone, your father being absent, Riki being more yours than he should have been. You remember how carefully he listened, how he stayed far enough not to scare you off, how safe his silence felt then, how you laughed with him because he saw you and didn’t think you were cruel at all.
He takes a step toward you. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice breaking around it. “I should have told you that night. I know I should have.”
“I thought you chose me,” you say.
“I did.” His eyes go red. “I did choose you.”
Your mouth trembles once, then stills. “For a hundred bucks?”
He looks like the words hit him somewhere physical.
“No,” he says, too quickly, too desperately. “No, not like that.”
You nod once, not because you believe him, but because your body needs to do something other than fall apart in front of them. “I want to go home.”
Jake straightens immediately. “Okay. I’ll take you home.”
You turn away from him and reach for your phone with shaking fingers. “No.”
His breath catches. “Please.”
You unlock your screen and open the app, feeling stupid because you can’t see through the blur as you type it in.
“I can drive you,” he says, voice quieter now.
You keep your eyes on the street until the headlights appear at the end of the road, the car pulling toward the curb. You get inside and do not look back.
You hate men.
Enough that you can prepare a presentation on the subject with credible sources, historical examples, and a conclusion about betrayal as a gendered epidemic. Evidence would be your absent father, your fraudulent ex-boyfriend, your seventeen year old brother, and his demonic friends.
Hating your brother is inconvenient because he lives in your house, eats your food, leaves his stuff everywhere, and now lives without you telling him what to do. For the first time in years, you do not ask what the hell he’s up to anymore. You simply sit at the kitchen island with your laptop open, spoon in hand, eating directly out of a tub of ice cream at seven in the morning.
Historically, you have always cracked first when it comes to him. Historically, you cannot help yourself. Historically, your entire body starts to prepare for anything if it concerns Riki.
But history is dead. Men killed it.
Jake is hard to ignore only because he is not physically in the house, which means he tries to get creative. He texts first, of course, just once in the morning, once at night, and sometimes in the middle of the day — because he knows exactly how to overwhelm you. Then he leaves an iced latte with your name on top of your desk in one of your classes. You stare at it on your desk for a full minute, before you give it to your seatmate.
By the fourth day, you have finished the second tub of ice cream — not your proudest moment, but it is also not your worst, which says more about your week than your character. You have attended classes with perfect notes, no late submission, reorganized your planner, ignored messages from Jake, and pretended not to notice that Riki has started texting you when he arrives places without being asked.
On Friday night, Riki finds you on the couch in your oldest pajamas, hair tied messily back, third tub of ice cream open on the coffee table, watching a documentary about deep-sea creatures with the blank focus.
“Jake’s been driving me from and to school,” he says carefully.
Your spoon pauses in the ice cream, before you resume. Onscreen, a glowing fish drifts through the dark, hideous and peaceful, which feels aspirational. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then sets his bag down properly.
“I’m sorry,” he says but does not step closer. “I know sorry doesn’t fix it. I just wanted to say it.”
You keep staring at the television, where the ugly little fish continues glowing alone in the dark, refusing to pay him any mind.
By Saturday morning, Riki had started acting like a ghost. He moves quietly around the house, closes cabinets softly, and pe picks up his shoes before you can even see them. At one point, you find him wiping the kitchen counter after making toast, which is very disturbing.
At school, Jake looks worse than he ever did. He waits by your classroom once, but you walk past him without slowing down, your expression polished into something calm. He says your name but you keep walking, because you refuse to give pieces of yourself to men, more than you already have.
Riki has also learned that you are not going to pack his lunch, remind him about assignments, ask whether he has practice, or save him from his own time management. This would be liberating for him if freedom did not apparently require the ability to know where his own socks are.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and your eyes slide toward the screen, just long enough to see Jake’s name there before the notification fades and the room goes dim again. A few seconds later, there is a knock on your door. It does not open but Riki’s voice breaks through. “Jake’s here,” he says. “He has food. He said he’ll wait ten minutes, and if you don’t come down, he’ll leave.”
Riki stays there for another second, clearly wanting to say something else, but maybe he has learned enough to know that pushing right now would only make you worse. For a while, you do not move and only tell yourself you are not thinking about it, that you do not care what food Jake brought, whether it is something you like, whether it’s because he’s making sure you ate.
At eight minutes, you sit up.
At nine, your feet touch the floor.
At ten, you stay where you are.
Then outside, his car starts. You sit at the edge of your bed with your hands curled into the blanket, listening until the sound disappears completely down the street.
The week passes, and you remain committed to silence. You do not speak to Jake. You do not speak to Riki unless it is absolutely necessary.
That night, Riki knocks on your door. You do not answer, but unfortunately, he opens the door anyway and stops at the sight of you buried in bed, laptop balanced near your knees, looking at him like you have been for the past weeks: exasperated.
“What?”
He stays by the doorway, one hand still on the knob. “I’m hungry.”
You stare at him for a second, then look back at your screen. “Then order something.”
“I don’t want delivery.”
“Then make something.”
“I want to go out.”
You pause, because that is exactly the kind of sentence he used to say before you started the lectures about curfew, rides, locations, and whether he had enough sense to come home alive. This time, you only shrug against your pillows. “Then go out.”
Riki shifts his weight. “No,” he says, quieter. “With you.”
You keep your eyes on your laptop, even though the movie has become impossible to follow, because looking at him would mean seeing guilt, probably; hope, maybe. Both would be extremely inconvenient because you learned to soften when he used it.
“It’s late,” you say.
“I know.”
“And you have Jake, apparently.”
He flinches a little, and the guilt on his face finally becomes too obvious to ignore. You hate that it still gets to you, how young he looks when he is sorry, like some part of him has folded back into the boy who used to stand outside your room when he was scared and he had no one else but his older sister.
He swallows. “I don’t want Jake.”
You hate men. You hate your brother. You hate that the sentence works.
With a long, irritated sigh, you close your laptop. “Get your shoes.”
The drive is quiet, Riki sits in the passenger seat with his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, looking out the window instead of at you. You keep both hands on the wheel and do not ask if he has eaten lunch, even though the question sits on your tongue the entire way there. The diner is still open when you pull up, its neon sign glowing red against the dark.
When the food comes, the table fills with baskets and paper-lined plates, greasy burgers, fries, and mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce in a plastic cup between you. Riki burns his fingers because he has never once believed in waiting, and you call him an idiot before you can stop yourself. The two of you eat in silence after that — not the awful one from the house, but not comfortable either. It sits between you, filling the space while both of you act invested in fries and melted cheese.
Then Riki clears his throat. “I have a girlfriend.” Your hand freezes halfway to the basket.
For a second, the entire diner seems to mute itself around that one sentence. You look up slowly, genuinely caught off guard, and Riki looks terrified in the way only someone who has been hiding something huge.
“What?”
He shifts in his seat. “I have a girlfriend.”
You lean back against the red vinyl booth, trying to process this new piece of information without immediately becoming the girl who asks for her full name, address, grades, family background, and emergency contact. The questions rise anyway: Who is she? How long? Does she treat you well? Does she know you are stupid? Does she have standards? Does she encourage you to drink blue things at parties? Does she know about dad?
Riki looks down at his plate. “When Jake started taking you out, I was also taking her out.” His fingers pick at the edge of the paper liner. “That’s why I wanted more time and freedom. I know that doesn’t make what I did okay.”
You look at him, face unreadable.
“It was bad,” he says, before you can say it for him. “I know it was bad. But something good came out of it too. You were happier. I know you hate hearing that, but you were. You weren’t always watching me like something bad was about to happen. You went out and laughed and you had someone.”
You look down at the untouched mozzarella stick in front of you. “Right,” you say quietly. “So much for a hundred bucks.”
Riki’s face falls. “No,” he says, then stops himself because even he knows he cannot deny the beginning. “I know I can’t decide which parts hurt for you, but I thought I was helping both of us. That doesn’t make me right, I know that. But please don’t think that I wasn’t considering you along the way — because I did, I really did.”
The answer is too ready, too practiced, and for a moment you think that maybe he’s being foolish again. But now that you’re looking at him, you realize that he’s old enough to make cruel decisions, young enough to look shattered when he finally understands.
“I know you wanted me to stop controlling you,” you say. “I know I was too much.”
He exhales, miserable. “Okay. Sometimes. But not because you were bad. You raised me,” he says, quieter now. “And I hated it because I wanted you to just be my sister, but I also knew you were the only one checking. That’s why it felt so messed up all the time.” He wipes his palms on his hoodie. “I’m sorry I made you feel like something I had to escape.”
The waitress passes by with a coffee pot, and both of you sit there pretending you can steal breathe without feeling hot wax at the back of your throat. You reach for a mozzarella stick because your hands need something to do, and Riki pushes the marinara closer without thinking.
You dip the mozzarella stick and take a bite. “I’m still mad,” you say. “But I’d like to meet your girlfriend.”
For a second, he just stares at you, like he is not sure he heard you correctly. Then his face shifts, slowly, carefully, into the smallest smile. “Okay.”
For the first time all week, your mouth almost curves. The rest of dinner is still quiet, but not as sharp. He tells you her name eventually, softly, and you do not ask for details yet, only nodding. Outside, the air is colder than when you arrived. You make it three steps toward the car before Riki stops behind you.
“I really am sorry,” he says.
When you turn around, his eyes are red, standing there with his shoulders tight and his face crumpling despite how hard he is trying to hold it together. The sight pulls at something old and exhausted inside you, the same place that has always answered him before pride can interrupt.
“Riki,” you say, but it comes out cracking.
He shakes his head, wiping his face too fast. “I’m sorry. I know I ruined it. I know. I’m sorry.”
You cross the space before either of you can think too hard about it and pull him into a hug.
For a second, he is taller than you and somehow still the little boy from your doorway, the one who had no one else, the one you loved badly because nobody taught you how to do it gently. His arms come around you tight, and the first sob he lets out breaks something open in your chest.
“I hate you,” you whisper.
“Fuck you too,” he says, crying harder.
“You’re so stupid.”
“A dumbass, I know.”
You hold him tighter anyway. Eventually, he pulls back first, wiping his face with his sleeve. His nose is running slightly, and he looks so devastated that you almost call him gross just to make the moment easier.
“I don’t get to tell you what to do,” he says.
You look at him, already tired. “Great start.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “Especially not about Jake.”
Your face changes before you can stop it. He sees it and immediately raises both hands a little, like he is approaching an animal with a history of biting. “I’m not defending what happened. I’m not. But,” he continues carefully, “he did give the money back.”
Your eyes narrow at him.
“I know that doesn’t fix it,” he says quickly. “I know it doesn’t make the beginning less awful. I just… I was there, and I saw when it changed.”
The words sit there, too quiet and too heavy for the sidewalk outside a diner. You do not answer, only staring past him toward the parking lot, where your car waits under the lamppost.
He swallows. “At first, he was doing it because I asked him to. Then he started asking me things about you. What books you liked, where you went after school, if you were always that tired.” His voice gets smaller. “And then he stopped asking me altogether.”
Your throat tightens, which is infuriating.
“He didn’t need me anymore,” he says. “Not for you.”
“Riki.”
“I know. I’ll stop.” He wipes his face again, then nods like he is trying to obey before you even say anything mean. “I just wanted you to know that part.”
You stare at him for a long second.
“And what am I supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Get mad — at me, at him, at dad too. Do nothing. Eat more ice cream. I just don’t want you to think every good part was fake. Because I know I messed it up, and he messed it up, but you were happy. And I don’t think that was fake.”
You hate him a little for saying it.
You hate him more because it makes you think.
The worst part has never been that Jake lied and everything after became nothing. The worst part is that it still feels real and they happened, regardless the truths and the lies, the half-truths and wrong intentions. All of it still sits somewhere inside you, refusing to rot properly no matter how badly the beginning wronged it.
You wipe under your eye with your knuckle. “You’re very annoying.”
“I know.”
You sniff, looking away before your face can crumple again. “I’m not forgiving him just because you feel guilty.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“I’m not forgiving you either. Not yet.”
“I know.”
You look at him.
He looks back, eyes still wet, but this time he does not look like he expects you to fix it for him. He only stands there, accepting it, which feels new enough to hurt.
Then he says, quietly, “But can I still ride home with you?”
Your mouth almost curves.
“Unfortunately,” you say, walking toward the car.
That night, you cannot sleep.
It is annoying, because you are exhausted enough to sleep. Your body is tired, your eyes hurt, and your head has been heavy since you drove home from the diner. Still, you lie there staring at the ceiling, turning one thought over and over until it stops feeling like a thought and starts feeling like a pulse breathing beneath your weight — your brother’s words alive there.
You hate that Riki said it and that he might be right. You hate that all week, even through the anger, you still kept thinking about Jake when you made coffee, when you passed the hallway where he used to wait.
You are still in your sleep shorts, an old shirt, and house slippers when you grab your car keys. You do not bother changing, which should have been your first sign that you are not making a dignified decision at all. You only go downstairs without turning on too many lights, and leave before you can talk yourself into being a sensible woman.
The drive to Jake’s house feels longer than it should.
When you pull up near the curb, you keep your hands on the wheel for a second, staring at the front of his house like it might tell you what the hell you are doing here. Yet it only sits there, quiet and expensive and familiar.
The front door opens when you’re about to reverse. Jake steps out with his keys in one hand, dressed in sweats and a hoodie, his hair messy and soft around the mouth in the way you used to love. Still the boy who made you feel, for the first time in years. He locks the door behind him and turns toward his car, already halfway down the path when he sees you.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Then, because apparently you have already abandoned all pride tonight, you get out of your car. The cold hits your legs immediately, so you hug your arms around yourself and stand there on the sidewalk in slippers, trying to look like a person who’ll stand on this and not someone whose feelings drove her here.
“Where are you going?” you ask.
His hand tightens slightly around his keys. “Store.”
You nod once. “Right.”
“I was just going to buy something,” he adds, quieter, like even he knows that does not matter.
You nod again, because now that you are here, you have no idea what comes after arriving — which is excessively dumb. The whole thing suddenly feels ridiculous; you in your sleep clothes and him standing by his car.
“Okay,” you say, then you turn back toward your car.
You barely make it one step before he says your name, not loud nor desperate, just in that Jake way that makes your knees buck and feet stop.
He takes one careful step forward. “What are you doing here?”
You keep your eyes on your car door. “I don’t know.” The answer is embarrassing because it is true, and you’re glad you can’t see his reaction.
“Okay.”
You almost laugh, but it gets stuck somewhere in your throat. You look back at him with enough courage. “Riki talked to me.”
He goes still.
“I’m not here because of that,” you say quickly.
“Okay.”
“I’m still mad.”
“I know.”
“And you still hurt me.”
His jaw tightens, but he nods. “I know.”
You look away, because his face is making this harder. “I don’t even know why I drove here.”
He’s quiet for a long second, still careful as to not step on a mine. Then he says, “I was hoping you would.” He looks almost embarrassed by the honesty, but he does not take it back, not even when you look back at him. “I just kept thinking maybe one day you’d show up, or text, or yell at me, or anything.” His mouth pulls faintly, but it is not really a smile.
“That’s pathetic,” you say, but your voice has no bite.
He lets out a breath. “Yeah. I know.”
You hate how gentle the night feels around the two of you, how gentle he still is, how easier it is to stand here than it was to stay in your room while your throbbing heart gnaws on your ribcage. You hate that even now, after everything, being near him makes some part of you calm.
Your fingers curl against your own arms, holding yourself tighter, because if you don’t, you might do something worse. Like forgive too fast or maybe even slap him or admit the thing sitting in your chest that looks a lot like a picture of you two.
Jake moves slowly, just before he stops in front of you, close enough that you can see the tiredness beneath his eyes, the way his mouth parts slightly like he wants to say something and knows better than to crowd you with it.
“I tried,” you say, barely above a whisper. You blink hard, still looking down. “Not thinking about you.”
He does not answer.
“I tried being angry enough that it would cancel everything else out,” you continue, and the words start coming before you can stop them. “I tried making all of it ugly. I tried telling myself that every good thing only happened because of a bad reason.”
Your voice shakes, and you hate it, but you keep going. “But it didn’t work.” You finally look up at him, and his eyes are already on you, wide and quiet and so full of hope because that’s just who he is. Your own mouth trembles once before you still it.
“I can’t not be in love with you, Jake.”
For one terrifying second, he says nothing, and your face burns so badly that you almost step back. But then his expression breaks, not with panic this time, not like the party after you find out — just something like relief and careful in one.
He says your name so quietly it barely reaches you. He lifts his hand slightly, then stops.
“Can I?” he asks.
You know what he means and you should say no — but instead, you nod once. His hand closes around your elbow softly, barely a grip at first, before he pulls you toward him.
You step forward before you can decide not to, and then you are close enough to feel the warmth of him through the cold night air. His hand slides from your elbow to your arm, then pauses there, carefully first. His eyes search your face, and you hate that he still looks at you like that, like all that matters to him is not to hurt you.
“You can still be mad,” he says quietly. He swallows, his thumb moving once against your sleeve. “I don’t want you to think I’m asking you to stop being hurt just because you still love me.”
You look down, because that is the exact kind of thing that makes your chest go weak in a way you cannot afford. “Then what are you asking?”
He is quiet for a second, and when he answers, his voice is lower, rougher. “For whatever part of you drove here.”
Your eyes lift to his, just to see he’s nervous after saying it, knowing it’s too honest and too close to wanting too much. But he does not take it back, his hand still on your arm, gentle enough that you could pull away, firm enough that you know he does not want you to.
“I hate you,” you whisper.
His mouth barely moves, not quite a smile. “Good.”
“You’re unfair because you hurt me, and then you still know how to hold me like this.” Your voice turns softer, more frustrated than sharp.
His face changes. “I don’t know how to hold you any other way.”
For a second, you just stare at him, feeling your anger and your want and your stupid, impossible love all sitting inside your chest together, refusing to separate into anything clean and correct. You reach for him first, your fingers curling into the front of his hoodie, but he goes still and his breath hitches.
Your fingers tighten. “I hate the way I don’t hate you.”
He lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, but it sounds too shaky to be amused. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “I’ll take that.”
You blink. “What?”
He looks down at your hand, then back at you, and his mouth does this stupid little almost-smile that makes your chest hurt. “I mean, it’s not ideal,” he says carefully. “But it’s better than you hating me normally.”
You glare at him, but it barely has any strength. “You’re not funny.”
“I know.” His eyes stay on you. “I’m nervous.”
He swallows, his hand hovering near your arm like he wants to touch you and is trying very hard to behave. The silence after that is small, not empty. You can hear the faint sound of a car passing somewhere down the street, the soft buzz of the porch light, the uneven way he breathes when you still do not let go of his hoodie.
Then Jake says, quieter, “I kept thinking about what I’d say if you ever looked at me again.”
The smallest, most traitorous shift at the corner of your mouth. His eyes drop to your mouth, lasting half a second before he looks back up, but it is enough to make your face warm. You swallow, “And what did you come up with?”
He stares at you like the answer should be easy, but now that you are standing in front of him, hand still curled in his hoodie, it looks like every version he practiced has abandoned him. His mouth parts once, then he lets out a quiet breath. He tilts his head down, close enough that his nose brushes yours first, and your breath catches anyway.
“I want you,” he says.
He swallows, eyes still on yours, voice lower now. “No deal, no money, no Riki asking me to.” His mouth moves like he wants to smile, but he looks too nervous to fully let it happen.
For a second, you forget how to be angry properly.
Even after everything, he says things too simply, too honestly, like he does not know that a few words can walk straight past every wall you spent weeks rebuilding. You stare at him, close enough to see the way his lashes lower when his eyes flick to your mouth againe
“You’re very annoying,” you whisper, because anything softer would ruin you completely.
His mouth twitches, but his eyes do not leave yours. “Then be annoyed at me,” he says quietly.
His hand finally settles against your arm. “Be mad at me. Yell at me if you want. Look at me like you hate me.” His voice drops a little, and something in it turns almost helpless. His face is close enough now that you can see how badly he is trying not to look at your mouth again. “To my face,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “So at least I know you’re still there.”
You forget your slippers, your car parked badly by the curb, the fact that you drove here with no plan and no dignity. All you can focus on is the boy in front of you, looking at you as he says your anger is better than your absence, and even the worst version of you would be easier to survive than no version at all.
For a second, you only stare at him, and then, because your body has apparently lost all sense of loyalty to your anger, you laugh. Just something that slips out because Jake Sim is standing in front of you looking genuinely wrecked over the possibility of you never glaring at him again, and somehow that is the stupidest, most unfairly sweet thing he could have said.
His eyes flicker, like the sound surprises him. “What?”
“You’re very stupid,” you whisper.
His mouth softens. “Yeah.”
You shake your head, but your fingers are still curled in his hoodie. You hate that your whole body seems to understand him before your brain can decide what to do, because all week you have been telling yourself to stay angry, stay away, stay untouched, and then he says one stupid honest thing and you are standing here in slippers, holding onto him like you were always going to come back.
His hand shifts at your arm, careful still. “I won’t ask for more than you want to give me.”
You tug him down and then your mouth is on his.
The kiss is soft at first because he makes it soft, because even now, even with your fingers pulling at his hoodie and your face tilted up to his, he still kisses you like he is waiting for you to change your mind. Then his hand slips from your arm to your waist, warm and steady, and he kisses you back like he has been trying not to think about doing this for weeks and failing every single day. He does not rush, does not take too much, but the relief in him is obvious in the way his breath leaves against your mouth, in the way his fingers tighten just slightly at your side like he cannot believe you are letting him hold you again.
Then he takes one step forward without thinking, and you take one back because he is close and warm and kissing him is already making your brain fuzzy. Your slipper catches the edge of the curb before either of you notices and you stumble. A small gasp slips into the kiss, immediately followed by a laugh you try and fail to swallow. His arm tightens around your waist at once, pulling you back against him before you can lose your balance properly, and he breaks the kiss only enough to look down between you.
“Careful,” he breathes, like he has any right to sound concerned when he is the entire reason you forgot how sidewalks work.
He kisses you again before you can complain further, and this time it is less careful, tugging at his hoodie until he has to bend closer. The cold air slips around your legs, and your car is still parked badly by the curb.
When you pull away, barely, Jake follows for half a second before stopping himself. His eyes open slowly, and the look on his face is so dazed and soft that your own face heats.
“Do you want to go somewhere?”
You blink. “Right now?”
“Yeah.” His thumb moves once at your waist. “I mean, not as a date if you don’t want it to be a date. Or it can be. Or it can be something else. I don’t know.” He winces slightly. “I’m doing badly again.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to smile. “Very badly.”
For a second, he only looks at you, still smiling a little, then he tilts his head like he has decided to be brave in the worst possible way. “I’m buying. I have cash.” he says. “Got it from some dumb seventeen-year-old who asked me to take his sister out.”
Your jaw drops. He starts laughing before you can even form a sentence, and that makes it worse. “Oh my God.” You immediately turn away from him, deeply offended, and manage half a step before his hand catches your wrist, enough to stop you before you can escape with what little dignity you have left.
“Okay, sorry,” he says, but he is still laughing.
Your back meets his chest, his arm slips around your waist again, and his laugh drops into something softer near your ear.
“I’m sorry,” he says, quieter now. “Bad joke.”
His hand slides down from your wrist to your fingers, and before you can say anything else, he lifts your hand. His lips press softly against your knuckles, and every insult waiting on your tongue disappears like it never had a chance.
You hate him. You hate him a lot.
You sigh, like this is a great sacrifice and not exactly what you want. “Fine.” His smile grows. “But if you mention the money again, I’m breaking up with you. Again.”
He nods seriously. “Okay. No more money jokes. I can’t afford to lose my girlfriend twice.”
⊹ . ˙ ܀ She's not only good on stage, she's also good off stage… Where the female member of Enhypen helps her members with stress in the best way she knows how. ﹙ ♡︎ ﹚˖
𑣲⋆ request ゛𓈒 ݁
Pairings: idol! enha ot7 x fem 8th member! reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, explicit!content, p in v, unprotected sex (not for you idiot), masturbation (m and f), oral (m and f recieiving), face fucking, fingering, finger sucking, cock riding, cowgirl, missionary, doggy position, shower sex, mirror sex, semi public sex, spanking, praise and pets names, crying during sex,non-consensual voyeurism, aftercare, idk what more.
wc: 3,9k
note: English isn't my first language, so if you find any mistakes I apologize, hehe, and I also welcome any corrections or tips from you.
If by some chance you're here and you speak Spanish, let me tell you that I do too, hehe, and that the Spanish version is available here.
⊹ . ˙ ܀ HEESEUNG - 0.5k
It was early morning, and everyone was fast asleep after a long, tiring day. Or so she thought when she left her room to go to the kitchen for a glass of water. A very low noise made her stop mid-stride; she froze, thinking her mind was playing tricks on her. It happened again, and now she couldn't deny what she was hearing. A muffled moan reached her ears, coming from Heeseung's room.
The strained voice of her bandmate, along with a wet sound, made her cheeks flush. She tiptoed to Heeseung's door, standing right in front of it; from there, she could hear him even more clearly.
"I know you're in there. Come in" Heeseung said, his voice thick with effort from the other side. She wanted to back away, but instead, she turned the doorknob and stepped inside. The room was almost entirely dark, save for the small lamp on the desk. She glanced toward the bed, finding the unsurprising sight of him completely naked, his hand moving over his hard, glistening cock.
"Come and help me. You're not going to leave me like this, are you? Training today left me exhausted."
She obeyed, climbing onto the bed and positioning herself in front of Heeseung, right between his legs and sitting on her own ankles. She took his cock in her hand, slowly stroking him.
"Oh God… Damn it…" Heeseung groaned at the touch of her cold hands against his hot skin. "Into your mouth, put it in your mouth."
She complied, lowering her face to take him in, sliding his cock as deep down her throat as she could manage. It was already well lubricated with his own precum.
"Ahh… Hmmg… Yes, like that… you know exactly how to do it… Ohh…" Heeseung suddenly pushed her head much further down, holding her there for a few seconds and making her gag.
She pulled herself free, breathing heavily. "Idiot, don't do that." He chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Sorry. Lie on your back. Head over the edge."
She obeyed, letting her head fall over the edge of the bed. Heeseung positioned himself right in front of her face, his cock brushing against her lips.
"Open" he ordered. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, unconsciously parting her lips and sticking out her tongue. Heeseung held her head firmly by the sides and plunged deep to the back of her throat. She slapped her thighs in protest, but he didn't stop, pacing his thrusts so fast that she began having trouble catching her breath.
"Shit, I'm going to cum… Mghm… You're going to take it all" Thrusting into her one last time, he maintained his tight grip as the orgasm coursed through him, spilling his semen into her throat.
Tears streamed down her face, and only when Heeseung finished did he finally release her.
"You animal, you almost choked me," she complained, coughing slightly. Heeseung grabbed a towel and gently wiped her face. He gave her a tender kiss on the lips and smiled. "Sorry and thank you... you're always so thoughtful with us."
She rolled her eyes, ready to head back to her room, but Heeseung caught her arm. "Sleep with me tonight."
⊹ . ˙ ܀ JAY - 0.4k
They both arrived at the dorm after rehearsals, and Jay wouldn't even let her go to the shower. Instead, he pulled her onto the sofa, kissing her frantically, as if he were completely desperate for her. Right now, she was bouncing rapidly on his cock, filling the room with her moans. "Mhg… Ja-Jay…" she whimpered, holding onto his shoulders as Jay slapped her ass.
"Shhh, you have to be less noisy, darling…" he whispered, although he was clearly delighted by the sound.
He grabbed the hem of her t-shirt to pull it off, and once he did, he unhooked her bra, freeing her aching breasts. He guided his mouth to one of her nipples while sliding one of his hands to her clitoris, caressing it in a circular motion. The sudden friction caused her to let out a small cry.
"Jay… Ahh… God." She continued riding him as he devoured her nipples. She felt her thighs tremble, warning her that her orgasm was close. Jay gripped her by the hips and laid her back against the sofa, positioning himself over her. He guided her legs over his shoulders and began thrusting into her hard and fast. "Yes, yes, baby… don't hold back. Cum on my cock, do it."
The release arrived like an overwhelming wave, making her moan loudly, her body trembling beneath his thrusts. Jay continued his work, seeking his own release. At that moment, neither of them heard the front door open, let alone the announcement of the person who had just walked in.
"Guys, I brought dinner—" Jake froze in the doorway, staring right at them.
She caught his eye and felt her soul leave her body from pure embarrassment. "Ja-Jay… stop."
"What the hell, Park Jongseong?" Jake complained, his voice loud enough to finally make Jay halt.
Jay looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. "Is there a problem, Jakey?"
"Maybe the fact that you're fucking in the living room? And on the couch! I'm never sitting there again."
"You're exaggerating. Go away. Give me five more minutes and I'll be done."
Jake huffed, slamming the bag of food onto the kitchen table before disappearing down the hall.
"Now, should I continue with the part where you moan my name and make me come?" Jay asked playfully. She nodded, her cheeks completely flushed. Jay resumed his movements, thrusting as deep as the position allowed. A few more hard strokes were enough to push him over the edge, spilling inside her as he reached his climax.
"I love you so much, beautiful."
⊹ . ˙ ܀ JAKE - 0.5k
She was taking her much-anticipated shower after her session with Jay. The steam from the hot water filled the bathroom as she listened to music, so engrossed in humming the tune that she didn't notice the shower door opening. It wasn't until large, cold hands cupped her bottom that she turned around with a start.
She sighed with relief when she realized it was Jake, who was smiling tenderly at her despite being completely naked and standing in the shower with her.
"Wh-what are you doing here?" she asked, a little breathless.
"I got a little jealous that Jay had you before me today" Jake confessed. "So, I came for my comfort."
Jake didn't give her a chance to protest. He took her cheeks in his hands and brought his lips to hers, plunging them into a long, desperate kiss. He devoured her mouth, seeking to feel every part of it, thrusting his tongue inside and biting her lips. When he finally pulled away to let her catch her breath, he chuckled softly at the sight of her flushed cheeks.
"Damn, you turn me on so much when you look like this. I need to fuck you right now. On your knees."
She didn't even have time to react before Jake was already guiding her body to the floor, her knees hitting the wet tile and her back resting against the wall. Right in front of her face lay his long, hard cock. She stared at it and swallowed nervously. Jake laughed again, his dick giving a slight twitch as he grasped it at the base, gently tapping her cheek with it. "Open that pretty little mouth for me, beautiful."
She complied, opening her mouth and giving him permission to slide down her throat. Jake was harder to take because of his length.
"Ugh… Fuck, you're so good at this, like always… Aghh" Jake groaned, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, suppressing the urge to completely ravage her mouth. "Mmhg… Ohh shit, yes…" He thrust in as far as he could before finally releasing her, helping her up from the floor only to pin her against the glass partition.
"I'm going in, baby… okay?"
She nodded.
"No, I need you to tell me" Jake guided the tip of his cock to her entrance, holding back as he waited for her answer.
"Do it, Jake. Fuck me"
He did, plunging inside her with a powerful thrust that made her let out a sharp squeal. Jake pounded into her roughly, pushing her hard against the glass.
"Mmhg… Aahh… Mmm… Jake!" she moaned, feeling her walls tighten around him as another orgasm began to build.
Jake brought a hand to her clitoris, pressing down and rubbing in frantic circles in perfect sync with his heavy thrusts. "You're damn beautiful, I can't be away from you for a second. I love you. I love how you squeeze my cock."
He kissed and bit her neck, his hips moving relentlessly, filling the bathroom with the sound of their moans mixed with the splash of water over their slick bodies.
"Ohh… I'm going to…" He couldn't even finish the sentence before his climax shook him completely, sending electric shocks from his feet straight to his cock as he released inside her. He continued thrusting even after the release, slowing his pace and leaving small, gentle kisses along her spine.
Finally, he pulled out and turned her around so they were face to face, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. "Now let me pamper you, okay? You must be exhausted after so much rehearsal and physical activity."
⊹ . ˙ ܀ SUNGHOON - 0.5k
They were at the photoshoot for their album Desire: Unleash. All the guys were incredibly impressed by her appearance, but especially Sunghoon, who had to ask for a moment to go to the restroom because of the raging erection he got just from seeing her in an outfit that hugged her waist and ass perfectly. Sunghoon had an addiction to that ass. While he was masturbating, frustrated at having a hard-on at such an inopportune moment, he heard a soft knock on the door.
"Who is it?" he asked, biting his lower lip to stifle a moan.
"It's me, Hoon. Are you almost done? I need to come in."
Sunghoon didn't miss the opportunity. "Come in. Just... come in."
She entered the bathroom, surprised. "But... what do you think you're doing? You could have been caught."
Sunghoon squeezed his cock with the palm of his hand while using his other to beckon her closer. "Come here. I'm like this because of you. So, you have an obligation to fix it. Suck my cock, now."
"My fault? Well, I'm so sorry you have no self-control," she huffed, kneeling in front of him anyway. "Just this once, we need to get back quickly."
"Whatever, just... help me, and I promise to please you after the session."
She sighed, taking his cock in her hands, slowly stroking him. Sunghoon groaned in response, a heavy frown twisting his features. "Fuck... Mghm... I need your mouth. I asked you to suck it."
She guided her mouth to his dick, licking the tip first, teasing him with pleasurable friction before taking him all in, sucking, licking, and leaving trails of saliva along his length. Sunghoon gently held her perfectly straightened hair back so it wouldn't get messed up while she continued to stroke his cock.
"Oughh... Mghmm... Ohh... Y-yes, that's right."
She felt he was getting too close to the edge, but he suddenly stopped her, holding her cheeks to pull her back.
"What's wrong? We don't have much time, Sunghoon"
Before she could protest further, Sunghoon grabbed her by the waist, unbuttoning her pants and pulling them down along with her panties. He spun her around, pinning her against the sink and forcing her to look at their reflection in the mirror.
"I'm taking that promise back. I'll please you right now" Following his words, Sunghoon plunged his tongue into her wet pussy.
"Ahh!" she moaned, forcing herself to clap a hand over her own mouth because of how loud she had been.
"Baby... you need to be quieter, or we'll get caught" Sunghoon warned, his voice low as he went back to licking her, running his tongue over every inch and pausing at her clitoris to suck it in an exquisite torture that made her thighs tremble. Then, he slipped two fingers inside, giving small thrusts while he continued to stimulate her.
"Hoon… I-I… Mghm…"
Hearing her announcement, Sunghoon stood up, guiding his cock straight inside her. He covered her mouth with both hands to muffle her cries and began to thrust frantically, relentlessly.
"Damn, look at you… taking my cock during a photoshoot, while the others are waiting right outside… Ough… Mmgh…" Sunghoon continued slamming his hips against her ass until he finally came deep inside her.
Once finished, he stepped back, cleaned her up with some toilet paper, and helped her get dressed again. He gave her a sweet kiss on the lips before heading out the door.
"Always the best at relieving stress. Love you.”
⊹ . ˙ ܀ SUNOO - 0.5k
She was lying on her bed, staring at her phone and completely absorbed in her thoughts, when she looked up and noticed Sunoo standing in the doorway. "What's up, Ddonu? Is everything alright?" she asked, noticing he looked a little down.
Instead of answering, Sunoo simply threw himself on top of her, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her chest. "I'm exhausted... that's all" he mumbled, rubbing his face against her warmth.
She smiled, gently stroking his hair. "We all are, Sun... But it'll be worth it. This album is going to be a hit"
He just made a soft sound of agreement, playfully slipping his hand under her shirt to squeeze one of her breasts.
"Sunoo... The others might see us..." she protested weakly.
"I don't care. And you didn't seem to care that time with Jay, either" Sunoo pointed out, a hint of reproach in his voice. He lifted her shirt completely, revealing her bare breasts, and immediately brought one to his mouth while continuing to massage the other. "Mghm… Sun…"
"I'm so tired… pamper me today, okay? We'll both enjoy it." Sunoo moved away from her chest to slide off her sweatpants and panties. He brought two fingers to his mouth, wetting them with saliva, before caressing her and slowly inserting them inside.
"Ohh…" She moaned at the intrusion, her cheeks flushing at the nerve-wracking thought of any other member walking down the hall and catching them.
Sunoo thrust his fingers slowly into her, making a scissor-like motion inside to strike her sweet spot, eliciting low moans from her. Feeling his fingers get completely soaked in her slick fluids, he began to pick up the pace, thrusting in and out rapidly, creating an obscene wet sound. "Ohh… Sun-sunoo…"
He stopped his movements when she suddenly clamped her legs shut in arousal. Smiling, he withdrew his fingers and quickly lowered his own pants.
"Open those pretty legs for me, my love" He gripped her hips, rubbing his length against her pussy before plunging deep inside with a loud gasp.
"Mmgh… Yes… You're squeezing me so tight. It doesn't even feel like you're having sex with all of us all the time." Sunoo moved in and out of her at a highly pleasurable rhythm, occasionally leaning down to kiss her lips or whisper soft compliments into her ear. "Aagh… You're perfect. I'll never get tired of coming to you for love."
He changed the pace, pushing her thighs against her abdomen to lift her hips higher, driving even deeper inside her.
"Oough… Sun- right there, right there…" she moaned as she felt the blunt tip of his cock hit that exact spot. Her legs trembled violently as her orgasm crashed over her. She squeezed him tight while he continued thrusting rapidly until he, too, reached his own climax. Sunoo pulled out and collapsed back onto her chest, letting his groupmate's warm, trembling hands stroke his back.
"Give me ten minutes and we can go for another round" he murmured, planting soft kisses along her collarbone.
"Another one? You guys never get tired" she laughed softly.
"Actually, I am tired" Sunoo countered playfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So, this time you'll be doing all the work, beautiful."
⊹ . ˙ ܀ JUNGWON - 0.5k
The concert had ended, and the euphoric screams of the fans could still be heard backstage. All the members were walking toward their dressing rooms when she felt a sudden tug on her arm, pulling her away from the group.
"Jungwon? Now? Really?" she questioned, too exhausted to even bother resisting.
"Come on, please. We deserve it. We did a great job, and I'm so horny now" Jungwon caressed her waist under her shirt, pulling her flush against him so she could feel his very obvious erection through his pants. "I've been trying to hide this for the last two songs. You look so beautiful today."
"Won… they might see or hear us here…" she tried to reason, but Jungwon drowned her out with a kiss. It was slow at first, but filled with an intense, desperate desire; he really needed her.
Still kissing her, he cornered her against the heavy shipping containers used for the sound equipment. He pulled away just enough to unbutton his pants, exposing his hard cock. "It'll be quick, I promise… and if you want, we can continue in the bedroom later."
"Okay, but hurry."
Jungwon spun her around, pressing her chest and stomach against the cold metal of the container, lifting her denim shorts to expose her ass to him. He massaged her pussy with his fingers, a smirk evident in his voice. "Just look at you, you're already wet."
He teased her for a second before taking his length and slowly sliding all the way inside her. "Mmhg… Wonnie…"
Jungwon buried himself deep, immediately covering her mouth with one hand. "I'd love to hear you scream at the top of your lungs, but unless you want everyone to see us, it'll have to be like this, my love."
Then, Jungwon began thrusting desperately. The speed and roughness with which he was pounding into her felt almost feral. She stifled her own moans by biting her tongue and her lower lip. Pressing down firmly on her hip with one hand, he drove into her again and again.
Tears of ecstasy streamed down her cheeks, her cries completely muffled beneath his palm. She whined against his hand, overwhelmed by the fierce pace, yet unable to get enough of it. Jungwon brought his palm down hard against one of her buttocks, leaving the skin flushed and reddened, but he didn't pause or slow down for a single second. Releasing her hip, he reached up to grip her hair, pulling her head back against his chest as he continued to pound her until she was thoroughly sore.
Luckily, the muffled chaos of the fans screaming and the staff moving equipment outside drowned out their tryst. Otherwise, they would have been discovered by the distinct, rhythmic slap of their bodies alone.
"Damn, I'm going to cum..." Jungwon growled. He delivered a few more frantic thrusts until he came violently inside her, keeping himself buried for at least a minute while they both caught their breath. Finally, he pulled out and released his hold on her.
"How do you still have so much energy after a full concert?" she panted, catching her breath as she pulled her shorts back up.
"I told you it would be quick" he joked, earning a playful punch to the chest. He helped her fix herself up, and together, they casually walked back to the dressing room to join the rest of the group.
⊹ . ˙ ܀ NIKI - 0.6k
They were both sitting on the floor of Riki's room playing video games after an exhausting day of concerts. They had already showered and eaten a light dinner. Riki had suggested they play racing games until they fell asleep, but boredom was quickly getting the better of him.
"Ugh, this is boring" he complained, pausing the game and dropping his controller onto the rug. He huffed, ruffling his still-damp hair with one hand. "What if we do something else?"
She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Like what?"
Riki smiled mischievously and moved closer, their lips almost brushing. "Let's relieve some stress together. You know exactly what I mean."
She rolled her eyes playfully. "You guys really don't get tired... Fine."
"God! you're the best! That's why you're my favorite. Now, off to bed, doll."
She sat on the edge of the bed, and Riki pulled the t-shirt off his shoulders before gently pushing her down onto the sheets. He climbed on top of her and kissed her lips passionately, slowly at first, but with an intense, burning lust. Riki slipped his hand inside her pajama shorts, massaging her clitoris in tight circles and eliciting a sharp gasp from her.
"Mmgh, Riki…" she murmured against his mouth, but he silenced her with another kiss, his tongue deeply exploring her mouth as their saliva mingled with wet, needy sounds.
Then, Riki slid two fingers inside her, causing her thighs to instinctively clamp shut. He pulled away from her face, spreading her legs wide. "Don't be shy, baby…" he teased, stripping off her shorts and underwear before thrusting his fingers back inside her. He moved them in and out repeatedly until she let out a sharp cry, her trembling legs squeezing around his hand.
Gripping her hip, Riki flipped her over so she was face down on the mattress, leaving her bare backside resting against his thighs. Riki parted her folds with his hands and slicked her already wet entrance with a bit of spit, massaging her up and down with his fingers. When she moaned aloud, he delivered a sharp slap to her buttocks, making her jump.
"You're very noisy today, and I'm only touching you with my hands" He slapped her again, then leaned down to kiss the skin that was already turning a lovely shade of red. Riki stood up to strip off his own pants. "Get on all fours, darling" he ordered.
With slightly clumsy movements, she positioned herself, leaving her ass completely at his mercy. Riki lined himself up with her pussy and thrust in hard. A loud moan tore from her throat as her legs trembled, almost giving way beneath his weight. He roughly drove into her from behind, holding her firmly by the hips, slapping her buttocks so repeatedly that the distinct marks of his hand and fingers began to bloom on her skin.
"Aah… Riki, ahh… God!" she gasped, her voice broken by the raw intensity with which he was fucking her.
Her arms finally gave out, and she collapsed onto the mattress, burying her face in the sheets. The new angle gave him an even better reach, allowing him to penetrate deeper than before.
"Mmgh… Damn it, you always squeeze me so tight. I love it… Oohh… Shit." Riki continued his relentless pace for a few more minutes, even as her tight walls milked his length with the force of the orgasm that overtook her.
Her muffled moans filled the sheets. "Mmhg… Aah-aah… Yes… Fuck" Riki groaned, plunging in one final time, filling her completely as he reached his climax. Without withdrawing, he bent over her back, brushing the stray hairs from her face to press a tender kiss to her flushed cheek. "Thank you…"
dividers by @cursed-carmine --- requests open
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──── in which ︵ you always thought jake was the shy, inexperienced type; quiet, nerdy, awkwardly innocent compared to you and your chaotic dating life. so when teasing turns into tension during a late-night study session, you expect a hesitant first time at best. instead, jake completely flips the script, leaving you overwhelmed, speechless, and realizing way too late that maybe he was never as innocent as you made him out to be.
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you met jake during your freshman year of college, back when gen eds still had lecture halls packed with hungover students and you were too busy flirting with the guy behind you to pay attention to the syllabus.
jake sat in the front row, always on time, always typing faster than the professor could speak. you didn't talk to him at first. he was quiet, soft-spoken, a little awkward—but sharp as hell, and once you were grouped for a project in psych, you realized he wasn't shy so much as selective.
you, on the other hand, were loud, social, and unapologetically open about everything—your opinions, your hookups, your weekend party plans. you weren't ashamed of how many people you'd been with. if anything, you liked watching jake blush when you casually mentioned fucking someone in the backseat of their car or getting eaten out in the frat house laundry room. he'd adjust his glasses, press his lips together, and look anywhere but at you.
now, sophomore year, you and jake were close. close enough to hang out late in his dorm with your legs in his lap. close enough to let your jokes get borderline inappropriate. close enough that you thought you knew him. in your mind, jake was textbook virgin material—never talked about sex, never mentioned a body count, always deflected when you asked.
he didn't have a girlfriend, didn't flirt, didn't date. so naturally, you assumed he hadn't gotten around to it yet. maybe he was waiting for someone special.
maybe he was nervous. maybe he just didn't have the confidence.
either way, the idea of jake having any real experience never even crossed your mind.
you were very, very wrong.
jake wasn't a man-whore. he wasn't the type to sleep around for sport, and he didn't brag. but he wasn't inexperienced either.
seven bodies, each one intentional. a handful of casual flings, one almost-relationship, and more than enough practice to know what he was doing. he just didn't feel the need to talk about it—not to anyone. especially not you. not when he could tell how much you liked playing the dominant one in the friendship. you liked teasing him, liked pretending he didn't know anything. and jake? he liked letting you think that.
which brings you to now—sprawled out in his one-person dorm room, papers scattered across his bed, half studying and half talking shit like usual. the desk light is on, casting a soft yellow glow across the room, and the sound of some random playlist hums quietly in the background. you're dressed comfortably—stretchy shorts that ride up every time you shift and a big tee that covers just enough to make it unfair. jake, as always, looks effortless in his nerdy little uniform; black sweatpants that sag a little too low on his hips and a tight, long-sleeve compression shirt that clings to every lean muscle in his upper body.
he's leaning against the wall, long legs stretched out, eyes flicking back and forth between a printout and his notes. you're not paying attention. you haven't been for at least twenty minutes.
"sooo… i slept with that guy from my art history class,"'you say suddenly, voice light and smug as you stretch out across the mattress.
jake doesn't look up. just hums softly in response, the sound low in his throat. you roll onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can watch him while you talk.
"he was cute. decent mouth, boring fingers. kinda soft. i had to fake it twice." his pen keeps moving. steady. unaffected. you narrow your eyes.
"you never tell me about your sex life. like, ever. i could probably name your gpa, your favorite protein bar, and the order of your morning routine, but i have no idea what you're like in bed."
"maybe that's not somethin' you need to know," he says without missing a beat. you scoff, smiling. "so you do have one." jake just shrugs, not even looking at you. and that makes you grin wider.
"what?" you tease. "scared to tell me you're a virgin?" that gets him. not visibly—not in any dramatic way—but his pen pauses for just a second too long. his shoulders stay relaxed, but his eyes finally lift to meet yours. "you think so?" he asks, calm. flat. you nod, teasing lilt in your voice. "one hundred percent positive you're a virgin."
he stares at you. you stare right back. and the tension, usually playful, suddenly shifts.
still light, but dense enough to press against your chest. his lips twitch—not quite a smile, not quite a frown—and then he says it: "wan' see what a virgin can do?" your breath catches. for a second, you think you misheard him. but the look on his face tells you otherwise. he's serious. composed. like this has been sitting in his back pocket for weeks, waiting for you to finally test him hard enough. you lean back, settling against the headboard, raising a brow. "you're serious?"
jake doesn't respond. doesn't need to. he sets his notebook aside, pushes the last of his notes away, and shifts toward you without breaking eye contact. his hands find your hips first—strong, certain—and he pulls you gently, slowly, until you're flat on your back beneath him. his knees settle between your thighs, spreading them slightly as he leans down. your shirt rides up, shorts tugged tight around the tops of your thighs, but jake doesn't even glance down. his eyes stay locked on yours as he dips in, kisses you softly.
you kiss him back, waiting for the awkward tongue or messy pressure, but it doesn't come. it's gentle, yeah, but not unsure. his lips part yours like he knows exactly how he wants to take his time, and his hand comes up to cradle your jaw as he deepens it. it's a kiss that says he's not in a hurry. not at all.
you break the kiss first, smirking as you look up at him. "typical virgin," you mutter. he doesn't react. doesn't even blink. he just lowers his head to your neck, lips brushing softly along your skin.
"you don't have to be gentle with me, you know," you add, almost challenging. he hums, breath warming the dip beneath your ear. "i know."
you scoff under your breath, cocky and unimpressed. "clearly not…" and that's when he sinks his teeth into your neck, hard enough to make you gasp—hands tightening around your hips like he's just made up his mind. his bite lingers just long enough to leave heat throbbing under your skin, and when he pulls back, his voice is lower than it's ever been.
"y'know," he says, tilting his head, "i've really had enough of the attitude. i think s'time i shut you up, yeah?" your smirk returns instantly. you roll your eyes as if he hasn't just made your heart skip. "you can try, virgin boy."
he doesn't rise to it—not with words, anyway. he just hums. quiet and calm, like he's already halfway to somewhere you can't follow.
then he moves, pushing off the bed and standing at the edge with that same slow, deliberate control that's suddenly making you nervous. his hands reach out for your hips again and this time, he doesn't pull you gently—he drags you down the mattress until your thighs are hanging just slightly off the edge, knees bent, body sprawled under him like he's setting up a game he's been dying to play.
his voice comes again, firmer now: "ass up." and you listen. you shift to your stomach without a second thought, lifting your hips and arching your back into position, cheek pressed into the sheets.
you feel the air hit your thighs as your oversized t-shirt rides up, and your breath catches when jake slides your shorts down to your thighs and pauses.
"no panties?" he says, voice dropping further. "been plannin' this, haven't you?" you don't answer. your face is already warm and your body is buzzing, and part of you wants to keep playing it cool—keep pretending this isn’t throwing you off balance.
bad idea.
his palm lands on your ass, fast and loud. the smack makes you jolt and hiss, more from surprise than pain, and he doesn't waste a second before rubbing over the sting with a gentle sweep of his hand. "i asked you a question, didn't i?" he says, calm but sharp.
you swallow and nod. "yeah," you breathe. "been wanting it." he lets out a soft, breathy laugh, one that sounds more like satisfaction than amusement. "mm. such a slut." his knees hit the floor behind you, and the next thing you feel is his hands—wide, steady, practiced—gripping both of your ass cheeks, spreading them apart without hesitation.
the room goes quiet except for your breathing and the shift of fabric and skin, and then jake hums again, deep and almost pleased.
"hm. look at that," he murmurs, staring down at your soaked cunt.
"fuckin' drippin' f'me." and then he's leaning in. no warning, no teasing.
his tongue meets you with full intention, licking through your folds and groaning into your skin like he's waited months for this. his hands keep you spread open while he eats—sloppy and slow at first, then precise, mouth focused on your clit until you're grinding back against him in desperation. his tongue drags up and down before circling, sucking, licking again until your arms shake from holding yourself up.
you moan loud enough that it fills the room, and jake doesn't stop. doesn't pause. he just buries his face deeper and lets you cry out, fingers digging into your ass to keep you still. you feel the tip of one finger, then two, slip inside—easing in with a slow stretch that has your mouth falling open, eyes fluttering closed.
he pumps them gently while his tongue stays locked on your clit, and it's all too much, too fast, too good. your stomach tightens and your thighs begin to tremble, that pressure building deep and low—until he pulls away. everything—his mouth, his fingers, his warmth—gone.
you whine before you can stop yourself, pushing back toward him with your hips, but he's already standing up again, towering over you with a fresh edge to his voice.
"aw," he says, feigning sympathy, "you wanted to cum?" you whimper in response, breath shaky. your legs are sticky with slick and your skin's hot all over. he smacks your ass again, harder than before. "use your words like a big girl."
"y-yeah," you stammer, eyes squeezed shut. "please, jake. please…" you hear the shuffle of fabric—his sweatpants sliding down, the low groan that leaves his throat when his dick springs free. your hips twitch involuntarily, needing something to touch, to feel, and then his hand is on your back again, pressing you down into the bed. "stay just like that," he mutters. "don't fuckin' move."
his dick is hot and heavy as he runs it through your slick, dragging the head over your folds, letting it catch against your entrance again and again. he lets out a quiet groan at the wet sound it makes, then finally—finally—he presses in. not soft. not gentle. he sinks into you in one rough thrust, and your mouth drops open with a strangled moan.
he's big, thick, filling you all at once without a single pause to let you adjust. your hips jerk forward from the force of it, knees nearly slipping on the sheets, and jake groans behind you—low and filthy, like he's been holding back all night.
he doesn't move. just holds there, deep inside, his palm still planted on the small of your back. "still a virgin?" he asks, voice thick. you try to speak—try to throw another jab, keep the upper hand—but all that comes out is a broken moan. you manage half the sentence: "yeah, you're s-still a virg—" and he pulls out halfway, then slams back in. you cry out, thighs shaking, arms barely keeping you upright.
"since you wan' be a lil fuckin' brat," jake mutters, hips still, dick buried to the base, "you'll do the work yourself."
you whine, low and desperate, hips squirming in his grip like you're trying to retreat—but there's nowhere to go. he's still buried inside you, thick and unyielding, his palm pressed to the small of your back keeping you locked in place. you feel every inch of him, the stretch still fresh and sharp, your walls fluttering around his dick as your body tries to adjust. it's overwhelming. too full, too deep, too sudden. you shift slightly, trying to roll your hips to find some kind of rhythm, some relief—but jake doesn't move. doesn't help. he just stands there behind you, breathing heavy, watching.
"what're you waitin' for?" he says after a moment, voice flat and laced with quiet challenge. "go on. do the work. this is what you wanted, right?" you turn your head against the mattress, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as you suck in a shaky breath. you want to mouth off—want to say something smug, something cocky, keep the upper hand—but your body betrays you. your thighs tremble when you start to move, back arching deeper as you pull forward slightly, then push back onto him in a slow, testing grind.
the stretch is brutal, even with how wet you are. his dick drags against every sensitive spot inside you as you try to fuck yourself on him, try to show him you can handle it. you do it again, a little faster, trying to establish a rhythm. it's messy and uneven, but it's something. your hands claw at the sheets as you rock back again, your ass slapping softly against his pelvis.
"mm, yeah," jake hums above you, his hand sliding from your lower back to your hip, fingers digging into the flesh there as he watches you fuck yourself on his dick. "that's what i thought." you don't answer.
your breath comes out in gasps, each roll of your hips making it harder to think. you're doing exactly what he told you to, but it's not enough. not really. your pace starts to falter after a few minutes, your thighs burning and your arms weakening beneath you, and jake notices. he can feel it—the way your movements slow, the way you sink lower into the mattress with each tired thrust. and instead of helping you, instead of rewarding the effort, he tsks under his breath like he's disappointed.
"already gettin' tired?" he mutters. "but you were talkin' all that shit earlier, weren't you?" you start to whimper, hips stuttering as you try to keep going, but he cuts you off with another sharp smack to your ass—this one harder than the rest. your body jolts forward with the impact, a moan ripping from your throat as your walls clench around him involuntarily.
"pathetic," jake says, his tone flat but dripping in mockery.
"thought you could handle a 'virgin,' right? what happened to all that attitude, huh?" you try to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a garbled sound—a half-broken sob against the sheets. your body feels hot all over, skin tingling, your cunt aching and tight around him. you need him to move. need him to do something.
he leans forward without warning, his chest brushing your back as his hand slides up your spine and tangles in your hair. he grips it tight, forcing your head back just enough so your cheek lifts from the mattress, and his other hand reaches around, fingers prying at your lips until two of them slip into your mouth. "open," he says, voice low and steady. "tongue out."
you obey instantly, tongue pressing against his fingers as he slides them deeper, thumb flattening on your tongue while the others rest inside your mouth. it's filthy. controlling. it leaves you drooling onto the sheets as your mouth stretches around him, throat vibrating with every sound you try to make. you moan around his fingers when he finally starts to move behind you—slow, grinding thrusts that feel impossibly deep with the way he angles his hips down.
each push forward punches a breath out of your lungs, and every retreat makes you cry for more.
"mm," jake groans behind you, his voice closer now, his hips pressing harder. "fuckin' tight. y'feel that, baby? feel how good you grip me?" you moan again, louder this time, and he just pushes his fingers down harder on your tongue to shut you up. your eyes roll back, body twitching as he begins to thrust harder, rougher, fucking you like he's trying to prove a point. his hand on your hip keeps you steady, dragging you back to meet every slam of his dick, the sound of skin against skin echoing off the walls of his tiny dorm. your thighs shake uncontrollably now, and you're practically drooling around his fingers as your body starts to break apart beneath him.
"yeah?" he pants, voice ragged with effort. "feels so good, doesn't it, baby? this what you needed? needed me deep inside you? thrusting into you all rough like that?" all you can do is sob—no real words, just broken, desperate sounds as your body trembles under the force of it all. your pussy flutters around him, tight and wet and throbbing, and jake groans deep in his chest when he feels it.
"i know, baby," he murmurs. "i know."
he pulls his fingers from your mouth and lets them trail down your chin, your spit glistening on your skin. his hand finds your throat next—not squeezing, just resting there, heavy and warm—as he keeps fucking into you at a punishing pace. you're so far gone you can't tell where your body ends and his begins, your vision blurred and your mind clouded with heat and sound and scent. his dick is so deep it feels like he's splitting you in half, like you'll never be able to think straight again without remembering what this felt like.
you thought you could handle him.
you thought he was soft.
you thought he was a virgin.
you were so, so wrong.
you don't know when your moans turn into full blown cries—somewhere between his dick slamming deep inside you and the sharp press of his hand around your throat, your body crosses a line. your legs aren't just shaking now—they're folding under you. your arms gave up minutes ago, chest collapsed into the mattress, spine arched in a perfect curve while he keeps holding you in place like he owns you. your mouth is open, your eyes squeezed shut, and everything feels tight and slick and heavy, like your body's been split into pieces and jake is the only one holding them together.
he's breathing hard now, jaw clenched above you as he fucks into you like he's possessed—deep, brutal thrusts that make your whole body jerk with each impact. his grip on your hip is so tight it might bruise. his palm slides from your throat to your jaw, forcing your face to the side so he can see the mess you've become. your spit's on your chin, your mascara smudged, and there's a thin sheen of sweat sticking your shirt to your back. he doesn't say anything for a moment. just watches. breathes. thrusts.
and then, low and clear in your ear: "you still think m'a fuckin' virgin?" you try to shake your head, but it's weak, barely a twitch.
your voice comes out as a slurred moan—something like no, but not quite human. "mm. that's what i thought," he murmurs, voice dark with satisfaction. "you run your mouth like a brat, but look at you now—barely takin' me, gettin' ready to tap out."
you feel his hand slide down, fingers slipping between your legs until they find your clit again—sensitive, swollen, already throbbing from being teased. the second he touches you there, you cry out, body jolting in overstimulation. "you close?" he asks, like it's casual. like he doesn't already know the answer from the way your cunt clenches around him every time he grinds against your sweet spot.
you nod frantically, almost sobbing. "yes, yes, please—" but it's too easy. he pulls his fingers away. slows his thrusts to an agonizing roll of his hips, dragging his dick out slowly before snapping back in hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. "yeah, no," he mutters. "not yet."
“jake,” you sob, back arching, toes curling into the sheets. "please—"
"should've thought about that before you ran your fuckin' mouth," he snaps, and suddenly the rhythm picks back up again. he fucks into you harder this time, like punishing you for every word you've said since the moment you walked into his room. "call me 'virgin boy' again. go on. say it."
you're incoherent. your lips move, but the only thing you can manage is a gasp, a plea, your hands grabbing at the blankets like they might save you. he laughs. fucking laughs. low and mean. "yeah. not so mouthy now, are you?" his fingers return to your clit, fast and rough, rubbing tight circles that make your hips buck against his. you're begging without words now, just high, desperate noises, whimpering into the mattress as your orgasm coils tighter and tighter until you're seconds away from snapping—and again, he stops.
you whine, full-body shaking, face crumpling against the sheets. you're soaked. trembling. ruined. “jake,” you cry, voice raw.
"please. i-i can't—" he grabs your hair again, pulls your head up so your ear is near his mouth. "yes you can," he says, cruel but quiet.
"you wanted this to happen, you begged for this to happen, so now you have no other choice but to take it."
then he pushes your face back down. hand back on your hip. cock slamming into you again like he's trying to make you forget your own name. every thrust punches another moan out of you, rough and desperate, your body grinding into the mattress, thighs soaked and shaking as he gives you no space to recover. no escape. just him. inside you. everywhere.
"gonna cum," you choke out, voice high and broken. "go ahead," he says, voice thick with arousal. "cum all over my fuckin' dick, mama." and you do. hard. your whole body seizes under him, every nerve on fire, pussy clenching so tight around him that he groans—loud and deep—like the sound gets dragged out of him from somewhere in his chest.
your orgasm crashes over you in waves, dizzying and uncontrollable, your cries muffled by the sheets, thighs twitching violently as you come harder than you ever have in your life.
"fuck—there you go," jake grits through his teeth. "just like that. look so fuckin' good when you fall apart." he doesn't stop. he keeps fucking you through it, deep and relentless, using your spasming cunt to chase his own high. he's not even trying to hold back now—his grip turns bruising, his breathing ragged, dick slamming into you at a brutal pace until you're crying all over again.
"shit—gonna—" jake cuts himself off with a groan, then slams into you one last time and holds there, buried deep, his dick twitching as he spills inside you. the heat of it floods your already-sensitive body, and all you can do is moan, breathless and wrecked. jake stays still for a few seconds, head tipped back, chest rising and falling as he comes down from it.
then he slowly pulls out, careful with your oversensitive body, your hips jerking as his dick leaves you. his cum leaks down your thighs almost immediately, and you can barely move. your body is limp, shaking, forehead pressed into the sheets as you gasp for air. he bends over you, fingers brushing your lower back, light now.
reverent. "you okay?" he whispers, voice softer again. real.
you nod weakly, and he presses a kiss to your spine. then another to your shoulder. and finally one to the base of your neck, right where he bit you earlier—like sealing it. like claiming it. you don’t say anything for a while. you don't need to.
jake's brain chemistry gets altered after he sees you covered in rose petals while taking a bubble bath with him.
w.c: 5.9k
themes: WARNING: smut, p in v, grinding, cursing, gf!reader, bubble baths, jake gets aroused seeing you wet and is obsessed with your chest, breast sucking, reader being a tease, kinda dom!jake putting you in your place, this is my first smut idk how to tag this sobs
author's note: i wrote this fic a while ago but this is the revised and improved (?) version & i decided to just repost it. this is a gift for my girl @simjakedly cuz i love her sm (everyone plz plz plz check out her works they're SO good). hope u like itttt nanda thanks for being my #1 on tumblr these past few months have meant a lot <3 (more notes at the end) (masterlist) absolutely NO plagiarizing my work.
sim jaeyun has a problem.
at least he thinks he does. he's definitely gonna have to search this up online somewhere to check if this was normal or not.
his eyes travel up and down your neck that's in full view with your hair tied up, across your shoulders, and the cleavage and swell of your chest as far as his eyes could travel on, before being obscured by the soapy suds from the bubble bath you had forced him to take with you.
but it wasn't seeing you wet from the bath and covered in suds across from him that got to him.
well, that too. but what got him really twitching underneath the water... was seeing the rose petals that he had gotten you for date scattered across the water and resting allll over your skin, some big some small, marking you like moles that he just wanted to kiss over and over again.
you raised an eyebrow at him. your boyfriend had been quiet for a while, just staring intently at you with that look for a while, the look he gets when he doesn't know what to do with himself when you look so delicious and warm for him (which honestly, was all the time for jake).
you gave him a small smirk. "you ok over there?" you called out teasingly.
that seemed to snap the man momentarily out of his thoughts. the boy blinked, eyes travelling up from the rose petals and suds around your neck, coming up to meet your eyes.
jake huffed out a sigh, leaning back against the edge of his side of the tub and sinking a little bit beneath the water, legs opening to go on either side of your waist where you sat opposite to him.
he gave you an annoyed look.
"why the hell are you sitting all the way there? why aren't you on my lap?" he grumbled.
you let out a small hum as you lifted your arms up from the water. stray, wet red petals sticking to your skin as you stretched them above your head, arching your back and puffing out your chest a little as you let out a small moan.
"but i'm so comfortable on this side~" you said in a teasing tone, acting innocent despite the cheeky smile you made no effort of hiding on your face
jake's eyes immediately went up to your arms before immediately falling back to your chest. your nipples were so, so close to being revealed, but the darn bubbles still kept you barely hidden from his hungry eyes.
your smirk widened. your boyfriend was just so obvious sometimes.
you brought your hands down slowly to caress your neck and shoulders before floating over your chest.
"besides, i think you like the view from rightttt over there, hmm~?" you chuckle, dragging the petals down your skin and over the swell of your chest, bringing them over your nipples and giving your right breast a little squeeze, lifting them over the bubbles so that he could get a better look.
jake's eyes darkened and his breathing and heart rate stuttered, eyes narrowing and darkening as he let out a little growl.
"the fuck are you doing?" he snarls, feeling his member twitching beneath the water, the telltale signs of him getting hard.
"hmm?" you feign, sitting up straighter and tilting your head at him. "i'm just relaxing jakey. are you not right now? is the water too hot for you?"
jake's eye twitched. "don't act like you don't know what you're doing." he said accusingly. "your sitting there all wet, covered in the roses i bought you for our date today, and you think my mind isn't screaming at me right now?"
you slowly traced his calf under the water next to you, running your fingers up and down his leg.
"and just what is your mind screaming at you exactly?" you tease, licking your lips, his gaze falling on the shine of your lips.
the ends of jake's mouth tugged down into a scowl, the top half of his body moving up to grab you.
"why don't you get over here so i can show yo-"
he's suddenly cut off as you bring your right leg up, placing it on his chest and stopping him from leaning towards you, your smile widening as you felt him freeze. you leaned back on the tub's other edge and gently applied pressure on his chest with your feet, making him lean back.
"hasty aren't we?" you tsk, watching the restraint in his eyes waver. he let you push him back, his eyebrows furrowing even more. you ran your foot down his chest, feeling it heaving, warm breaths falling over your foot as you dragged it down and down, stopping right over his member that you knew would be hard.
jake gave you a look that screamed 'watch it', before you're gently pressing down on him. you gave a sly smirk at the groan that escaped him and watched the water slosh around from the movement of his hips bucking up, watching him lean forward and hang his head, breathing in and out faster now.
he staggered in another shaky inhale as he looked at you through his hair that fell over his eyes.
"you think you're funny?" he hissed, yet made no move to move you, his hand coming down to massage your foot resting on his dick. "'think it's my turn to laugh now baby."
you tilted your head, feeling yourself become wetter between your own legs despite the water surrounding you. you sat up and grabbed a petal floating between you two. without breaking eye contact, you lifted it and gave it a slow, soft kiss. jake's eyes followed the movement, grip tightening on your foot.
your other hand lifted and brushed away the petals over your chest, now giving your boyfriend a full view of your wet breasts, bringing down the petal you kissed to caress over one of your nipples, feeling it harden and perk up at the softness of the flower.
you heaved out a sigh, bringing it back up and then flicking it at his face. you tried not to laugh at the stunned look on jake's face.
"that funny enough for you?"
you let out a yelp as your suddenly dragged forward by your foot, falling chest to chest against jake, the soapy water sloshing back and forward and spilling a little over the edge of the bathtub.
jake slams his lips over you before you could tease him any further, one arm going behind your head to grip your hair and the other winding low around your waist, moving you to forcefully grind down on his hard member.
you gasp against his lips and jake growls, diving back into you with his tongue, licking your lips and tongue furiously and just as furiously bucking his hips up into you, feeling your thick wetness seeping out and coating him. you whimper at the feeling, arms winding around his neck as you kissed him back harder, letting him take the lead.
he pulled your hair to tug your face away from him, tilting it upwards so that he could look down at you with a flushed, angry look.
"not laughing anymore huh? cat got your tongue?" he snarled. his eyes fell from your blushing cheeks down to your neck and chest where a few petals remained stuck on your skin. he's tilting your head back even more and opened his mouth to bite you right where the roses where, tongue coming out in between bites and kisses to lick at them as he began placing hickies on your warm skin.
he grinded you down harsher, growling at every little shaky mewl and whine that fell from your lips.
"god you look so fucking good." he groaned. "so wet and pretty, covered in roses. just for me, yeah baby? gonna let me cover you in marks the same colors as the roses, won't you?"
you let out another high pitched moan as you felt jake's sucking increase, feeling him playing with the petals over every patch of skin he sucked hickies over.
his dark eyes are hazy with lust, tracking every shift of your body through half-lidded gaze. watching as rose petals cling to your damp skin before he claims each spot with his teeth.
his voice is wrecked as he speaks.
"fuck. riding me like this while i mark you up? so pretty covered in wet roses baby... ughh..."
his hands grip your hips tighter when you grind down particularly hard, a groan tearing from his throat as water sloshes over the edge. the bathwater does nothing to hide how badly he wants you, not with his cock twitching under that perfect heat between your thighs.
he leans forward to catch a petal stuck to your collarbone between his teeth before sucking another bruise right over it.
"gonna make sure... every petal leaves a mark." he nips at your pulse point. "my fucking artwork."
jake pulls back just enough for you both to watch one single red petal drift between where your bodies are nearly joined, only for him snap his hips up sudden and rough, sending it swirling away in the ripples before sealing his mouth over yours in filthy claim.
the bathroom is thick with steam, the scent of roses and vanilla scented bubbles clinging to the damp air. jake leans back against the sloped tub, water sloshing gently as your thighs bracket his hips, fingers tracing idle patterns over your slick skin where rose petals stick like temporary tattoos. his eyes are black with want, tracking how each slow grind of your hips makes more petals float around in soapy ripples.
his voice is almost a ruined rasp. "look at you… fucking showing off now." his palm splays possessively over your stomach when you arch into another roll of your hips. "pretty girl putting on a whole damn performance-"
the words cut off in a hissed curse as you grind down again on him, bubbles frothing between where your bodies are joined. one of his fingers trace a petal near your perked nipple before he's slowly leaning down and licking it before encasing the bud with his lips, using his tongue to drag it towards your nipple so that he could clamp his lips around it and sucking hard, causing you to let out another drawled whimper as you grind down in jerks.
jake's heart skips a beat as he feels your body respond, of your whimper vibrating against his lips still sealed around your nipple. the bathwater sloshes wildly as you jerk against him, sending petals swirling in chaotic circles around your tangled forms. his mouth is still working at your skin, voice muffled and rough as he chokes out, "fuck, that's it- squirm on me. justtt like that…"
his free hand slips between you, but not before snagging a stray floating petal, thumb finding your clit with ruthless precision and using the petal to press over your pearl while his teeth scrape over the pebbled peak he'd just been sucking. the dual sensation has you gasping and eyelids fluttering, hips stuttering in ragged little circles as pleasure coils tight in your gut.
you took in a deep breath and scoffed, leaning forward to be chest to chest and wrestling your arms around his neck, causing him to pause his rubbing on your clit as he gives you a suspicious look.
"careful now," you whispered leaning into his ear, right hand lifted to slowly twirl his hair with your fingers. "we wouldn't want you to be alone in this tub now do we?"
jake's jaw tightened and he clicked his tongue in annoyance. "try leaving this tub and see where that gets you. i fucking dare you." he said in a low tone, clear warning laced in his tone.
you let out a little giggle, giving another slow rock over his member that had him clenching his fists. leaning over to hold your face above your boyfriend's, lips skimming his in a near kiss.
"oho~ is that a challenge?~" you purred, tugging on his hair with the hand that was twirling the strand.
nostrils flaring, the boy's dark eyes flashed with a dangerous mix of arousal and irritation at your teasing. that little tug on his hair sent a shockwave straight to jake's cock, making him twitch beneath you in the water. his jaw clenched tighter, instincts bristling at being taunted.
"you think this is funny, testing me?" he rumbled through gritted teeth.
letting out a him and pretending to think with a tilt off your head, you looked down at him with a sly smile. "well, just a teeny tiny bit." you leaned back down to litter his face with kisses, shivering a little as the movements caused you to grind over his fingers that were still frozen over my nub.
one second you were peppering his face with kisses, the next you were being yanked forward. jake's lips crashed against yours in a searing, possessive kiss that stole your breath, teeth nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to sting before his tongue invaded. the water sloshed violently as he hauled you fully onto his lap, one hand gripping the back of your neck like a vice while the other slid down to squeeze your ass roughly.
he broke the kiss to growl heavily on your lips
"teasing me? bad fucking idea."
then without warning, he flipped you around so fast bubbles flew everywhere. now it was your back pressed against jake's chest as the steamy air hit exposed skin for half a second before his mouth latched onto that sensitive spot where shoulder meets neck and sucked bruise after bruise into existence over where rose petals stuck there earlier.
he kissed up your neck and bit your ear lobe, opening his eyes to spot another stray petal floating in the water and grabbed it in a flash with his left hand with ease, bringing it back down to your clit where his thumb began rubbing the rose petal in slow, maddening circles, just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble but never enough to truly push you over. his other hand splays possessively across your hipbone, fingers digging in just shy of painful when you gasped and tried to grind down for more friction, one hand of yours gripping his thigh and the other ineffective holding the wrist off the hand that was running the petal on you.
he tutting mockingly into your ear. "aww, what's wrong? thought you could tease me all night and now this is all it takes?" his free hand drags up your ribcage to flick an exposed perked nipple.
the petal finally shreds from the relentless friction against your clit, leaving a smear of pink pigment on flushed skin. jake doesn't miss a beat, replacing it immediately with two fingers pressed together tight, resuming that same torturous pace while his cock throbs neglected beneath the water.
a broken moan escapes you, confidence suddenly diminishing as you jerk on his lap, grinding yourself down more on his now fully erect heard on.
jake felt your sudden shift, the way your teasing bravado crumbled into desperate, shuddering need against him. a dark, satisfied smirk curled his lips as he watched the back of your neck flush pink with every drag of his fingers over that oversensitive bundle of nerves.
"look at you… whining for me now." jake said, voice dripping with condescension and lust. "where'd all that sass go?" he bit down on the slope of your shoulder. not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you jerk.
his two-fingered torture continued mercilessly; circles so light they were almost a taunt until finally he pressed down, firm and unrelenting while simultaneously grinding his hips up in one rough thrust beneath the water, letting you feel exactly how painfully hard he was. the friction alone had him gritting teeth.
the petal remnants floated around the two of you like pink confetti as steam rose off your bodies. jake's breathing ragged behind you while you squirmed pathetically between tortured pleasure he controlled entirely.
you turned around in his lap and leaned forward, draping your heaving wet chest against his and breathing hard, stuffing your face into his neck and beginning to pepper slow kisses into his neck, not pausing in your squirming but grinding down harder onto his fingers and wrapping wet hands around his neck.
you dragged your plump lips up his neck and kissed his ears that you knew were sensitive, nipping at his right ear lobe.
"sass is still there handsome." you breathed into his ear, threading and twirling your fingers through his hair and giving it a sharp tug, warmth blooming through your body from him hissing sharply and feeling his fingers twitch beneath your legs, loosing their rhythm. "bet you wanna fuck it righttt outta me, dontcha~"
jake's breath hitched violently the second your teeth grazed his earlobe, that one spot that always wrecked him. his fingers stuttered against you, rhythm breaking completely as a sharp hiss escaped through clenched teeth. the tug on his hair sent electric jolts down his spine, making every muscle in his body lock up for half a heartbeat.
"fuck-" his hips jerked upward involuntarily, chasing friction where he badly he needed it.
the smugness radiating off you was maddening. he loved it, loved how bold and bratty you got when teasing him. but right now? it was fucking lethal. his eyes burned into the side of your face as steam curled between you two; water sloshing wildly with each restless shift of either of their bodies.
you giggled, actually giggled at him.
jake's pupils dilate.
you brought a hand down to grasp the one teasing your clit, lifting it into the exposed air between you two, kissing his fingers one by one, nuzzling into the digits.
"my man really was such a gentleman today." you whispered lovingly, a genuine smile replacing my smug one this time. "took such good care of me, didn't you jakey?~"
jake's chest tightened at the sudden shift in your tone. the teasing edge melting into something softer, sweeter. the way you kissed each of his fingers so tenderly made something warm and possessive unfurl in his gut.
his thumb brushed your lower lip, watching with quiet intensity as water droplets slid down your cheeks from damp hair. the rose petals were wilting around you both. pink blooms sinking sadly into cloudy bathwater.
he cleared his throat, gulping.
"yeah… i-i did."
you hummed, taking his thumb tracing your lips into your mouth, licking it before giving it a harsh suck.
a trail of saliva connected between his thumb and your lips as you took it out of your mouth, looking at him from beneath lashes.
"hmm... thinking of giving him a reward. buttt i still wanna tease him a little. maybe i should leave him alone in this bathtub so he couldd take care of himself. does seeing me in wet petals do the trick for you jakey? is that all it takes?~"
jake's breath stuttered, his entire body going rigid as he watched the obscene string of saliva stretch between your lips and his thumb. his dark eyes tracked the glistening connection. hypnotized by it until you broke it with your words and that sinful little smirk.
for a second, jake just stared.
then something in him snapped.
the hand that you had been kissing and sucking went to grip your neck, a surprised gasp escaping your lips as you felt his fingers tighten, thumb pressing into your pulse point.
he pulled you forward, looming over your face as you stared up at him wide eyed.
a raw, dark look fell over his features, and you gulped this time in nervousness.
jake flexed his fingers around your throat, and he felt it bob up and down from unsurety. his grip tightened just slightly. not enough to hurt, but enough that you felt the promise of control in his hold. his gaze dropped to your throat, watching the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his fingertips like a predator mesmerized by prey.
no words. just heat. just possession.
the water lapped quietly around you both as jake slowly but deliberately leaned down until his lips hovered a hair's breadth from yours, breath mingling with yours in thick tension.
the air between you crackled. every second stretched thinner and thinner with anticipation.
he looked over you, eyes half lidded now. there was a few seconds of silence before his lips moved.
a simple, hushed, "okay" was all you heard, and before you could process or question anything, his other free hand gripped your waist before he's suddenly slamming you down on his dick.
the sudden, brutal thrust knocked the air from your lungs. jake's cock sinking into you in one punishing motion.
water sloshed violently over the tub's edge as his grip on your waist turned bruising, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks while he held you flush against him.
jake didn't speak.
he just moved.
hips jerking up sharply beneath you with zero finesse, pure control taking over. the wet slap of skin on skin echoed off tile walls as steam curled around both of your bodies. jaw clenched tight, eyes screwed shut like he was fighting not to lose it completely right then and there.
every ragged breath escaped through gritted teeth. the pleasure almost too much after teasing each other for so damn long.
his control was hanging by a thread. each upward snap of your boyfriend's hips drove you deeper into winding pleasure, waves crashing against the tub's porcelain sides with every rough thrust. his free hand, the one not still circling your throat, gripped your waist, veins popping along his forearm from restraint.
he wasn't gentle. this wasn't sweet or slow. it was claiming. every ragged breath that punched out of him sounded like a growl. every time he bottomed out inside you, it sent ripples through both your bodies and splashed more rose petals onto wet tile floors.
the bath had long since lost its relaxing atmosphere. now it just felt feverish and electric between panting breaths.
jake's breath came in short, controlled grunted gasps, each one hot against your damp skin as he continued to pound into you with relentless intensity as he chased the friction.
his thumb stroked your throat, not squeezing anymore, just a possessive touch while his other hand slid down to grip your ass hard, helping each brutal thrust upward. every time he bucked his hips up like this? it sent a shockwave through both of you. the wet slap echoing louder than before.
you gasped at the intense pounding, both hands clattering to grip the one squeezing your neck. "j-jake!" you moaned, whining as he squeezed slightly. "nghhh... w-wait!"
but he still didn't say anything.
jake ignored your pleas. not out of cruelty, but because his mind was drowning him. the way you gasped his name like that? the desperate whine in your voice? the wet roses he oh so charmingly brought for you clinging onto your skin reminding him of the hickies he loved leaving on your skin? all that only fueled the fire.
his grip on your throat tightened a fraction while his other hand clamped down harder on your ass, forcing you to take every single punishing thrust with no reprieve. water sloshed onto the floor in messy waves. half of the bubbles long since dissipated from all movement.
he was lost. lost in the heat of skin and water and sweat. lost chasing that high only your body could give him.
no words came from the boy… just guttural sounds tearing from his chest with each snap of hips upward.
the rhythm of hulk of his body beneath you became erratic. thrusts turning sloppier, more desperate as the coil in jake's stomach tightened to a breaking point. the grip on your throat loosened entirely now, hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head instead, fingers tangling in wet hair.
he brings his face even closer, and you think you're about to kiss but then he stops just a shy breath away from connecting your lips. he just tilts his head towards you until your forehead connects, noses touching but still not fucking kissing you.
"you gonna tease me again?" he asks in a low and deep, serious tone, making you feel the vibrations as you lose your mind, clutching desperately at his chest.
you tried to keep eye contact, but the feeling of your orgasm creeping up and the way he was fucking into your body knocked all air out of you. "w-what- hnnngghhh ughhhhh!!" you get cut off by a harsh and deep pound that bounced you hard on his lap, grinding onto him more as your pussy clench harder around him.
jake's lips curled into something feral, a smirk that wasn't quite a smile, more of a predator baring teeth. the second you clenched around him like that, his entire body shivered.
he felt it. felt the way your walls fluttered, the telltale tension coiling in your belly that you were close. and jake? he was going to make damn sure you fell first.
without breaking eye contact or foreheads, he shifted just slightly, adjusting the angle so his next thrust hit even deeper, right where it would wreck you most, making you cry out. at the same time, his free hand slid between your bodies and pressed two fingers hard against your clit again. not teasing this time, but ruthless. rubbing tight circles with perfect pressure while still pounding into you from below.
the water trembled violently with each movement and jake let out a deep sigh that ended with a growl.
"i said..." a harder thrust "you gonna tease me again? my baby gonna give me what i want next time? or am i gonna have to punish her?"
his voice was pure gravel. low, dangerous, and vibrating with the weight of his dominance. each word punctuated by another brutal thrust that made your vision blur at the edges.
the threat in his tone wasn't empty. he could see it. the way your body trembled on the edge, how every nerve ending sparked from overstimulation. but he wanted words. wanted you to admit you'd tease him again… or beg for forgiveness.
either way? you were gonna get it.
his fingers on your clit pressed harder, enough that it burned in a good-bad way. and when he spoke again? it came out as a dark purr right against your lips.
"answer me y/n."
you shivered at the power that rolled over him, deciding that caving in right now seemed better then denying either of yours' release any longer.
you choked, lips trembling to get the words out. "gonna.... mmhmm... g-gonna be good. n-no more... huhhh... fu-uchkkk teasing- j-jake. please... im s-so close!"
the second those desperate, pleading words left your lips, jake's entire expression shifted. something primal and satisfied flashing in his dark eyes. that was all the confirmation he needed.
he rewarded you immediately.
the hand on your clit switched from punishing to perfect. fingers moving in slick, quick circles that matched the brutal pace of his hips. every thrust now aimed directly at that sweet spot inside you. every snap of his pelvis calculated to push you closer and closer to the edge.
a rough groan tore from jake's chest as he felt how tightly you clenched around him. your body betraying just how close it really was. steam still curled off both sweaty bodies, the water long gone lukewarm but neither cared.
jake felt the exact moment you shattered, your body tensing like a bowstring before snap, a broken cry tore from your lips as your orgasm ripped through you, waves crashing over every nerve. jake didn't slow down. not even for a second. he rode it out with you, hips still pistoning upward to milk every last shudder and twitch from your overstimulated body. but he wasn't far behind. the way you clenched around him in those aftershocks and the desperate little whimpers spilling from swollen lips sent him hurtling closer toward his own release with zero mercy.
his thrusts grew jagged, less controlled and then suddenly, he was flipping the both of you over, the front of your chest crashing into the edge of the tub with your hands gripping the edge and head dangling over, breasts pressed to the cool porcelain as jake grasped your hips from behind, lifting them up and looming over you, continuing his pounding to chase his release.
jake's breathing was ragged, his muscles coiled tight as a spring with the effort of holding back, just long enough to savor the way your body yielded beneath him. water dripped from his bangs onto your shoulder blades as he leaned over you, one hand braced on the tub's edge while the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints.
the sound of skin hitting wet skin echoed off tiles, alongside jake's guttural groans right by your ear every time hips collided.
his release hit him like a lightning bolt, white-hot and electric. a strangled groan ripped from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt, hips stuttering wildly just as his orgasm tore through him, finishing and dumping everything he had inside you.
for a few heartbeats, he just shuddered above you, every muscle locked tight as pleasure wracked his body.
he didn't pull out. not yet. instead, jake slumped forward, forehead pressing between your shoulder blades and panted against your damp skin like a man who'd just run miles without stopping.
the silence that followed was thick… only broken by heavy breathing and occasional drips echoing in steamy bathroom air.
he stayed like that for a long moment. forehead resting against your back, both yours breathing slowly evening out as the aftershocks of pleasure subsided. the water had gone completely still now, just quiet.
eventually, jake pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder blade. then another to the curve of your spine. just affection in the form of light touches while catching his breath. the steam had long since dissipated leaving just warm humid air between both bodies, but your boyfriend made zero move pull away yet.
you felt him begin to slowly press kisses on your neck and shoulder blades, before he's finally pulling out.
the australian exhaled a slow, content sigh as he finally eased out of you, careful to avoid any sudden movements that might startle or overwhelm. his lips trailed one last kiss up the slope of your neck before straightening slightly.
the water was getting cold.
he reached over to turn on the faucet again, adjusting the temperature back to warm so fresh water could fill in where it had been displaced from all movement earlier. bubbles started reforming on surface, and rose-scented steam curling upward once more.
jake trailed his hands down your body till the landed on your hips, and gently turned you around, his hands warm and careful as they guided your body to face him. his dark eyes, still slightly hazy with lingering pleasure, scanned your face, taking in every detail. the flush on your cheeks till the damp strands of hair stuck to forehead.
you both looked at each other for a few seconds in silence, before he lowers his eyes down to your slow heaving chest, watching it rise up and down, eyes locking onto the bubbles and what's left of the rose petals clinging to your skin like a lifeline.
without a word, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. and then he's burying himself slowly into you again.
the kiss started gentle, almost sweet. but jake couldn't resist deepening it. his lips moved against yours with quiet hunger, the taste of water and shared breath mixing between you. one hand cradled the back of your head while the other slid down to press against your lower back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between.
you broke the kiss with a groan, feeling your walls weakly flutter and grip him, still wonderfully sensitive. "easy boy." you scolded him like you would a dog, flicking his forehead.
jake scrunched his nose at the forehead flick but ignored your scolding.
instead of easing up like a sane person would, he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, lips brushing over damp skin as he inhaled deeply. the rose scent clung to both of you now; sweet and floral mixed with sweat.
then he's lifted your right leg slightly, hooking it over hip so he could kiss down your jawline then lower.
lips traced a slow, worshipful path down your collarbone, each kiss lingering just a second longer than the last. his teeth grazed lightly over your shoulder
a full-body tremor ran through you at the sensation that had jake smirking against your skin. smug bastard. he knew exactly what he was doing. knew how sensitive you were post-orgasm.
his hands slid around to grip either side of waist as continued mapping kisses lower down then dipping toward chest with no hurry whatsoever.
he took his time. kissing every inch of exposed skin like he was memorizing it. when he reached the curve of your chest, his lips hovered just above one peaked nipple, breath warm against damp skin.
then finally he closed the distance. a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your nipple first, then a teasing lick. not quite sucking yet. just tasting an savoring how sensitive you were after everything that had happened.
his hands squeezed gently at your hips all while doing this, keeping you anchored close as steam curled lazily around both bodies once more.
you sighed in bliss, eyes closing and tilting your head to lean comfortably on the tub and running my hands through his hair, letting him do what he wanted.
jake melted into your touch. the way your fingers threaded through his damp hair sending little shivers down his spine. it felt nice, like something out of a daydream.
his lips finally sealed over one nipple, sucking gently at first, testing the sensitivity before gradually increasing pressure with each pull.
the warm water lapped around you both once more.
one of jake's hands slid up to cradle your neglected right breast, thumb brushing in slow circles while his mouth worked on the left one. the other hand remained on your hip, thumb absently stroking skin there in quiet rhythm. he switched to your other nipple after a few moments, treating it with the same devoted attention. kisses, licks, and soft sucks. every now and then he'd nip lightly with his teeth just to hear the little gasp it pulled from you.
at some point, jake leaned back slightly. only enough so he could press a proper kiss right on your lips again, softer this time. a slow brush of mouths that tasted like shared breath and love.
"next time..." he starts, leaning his whole body weight on top of you, grinning slowly as you scrunched your face at the feeling of himself nudging himself deeper inside, "just sit on my lap when i tell you to."
"sigh... yes sir...."
maybe next time you can beg jake to see him covered in wet petals too.
author's note: BAHAHAHA i'm actually so embarrassed right now GOODBYE- it's not that good it's my first time writing smut but i've really been wanting to write this one soooo yeah. idk how other writers write smut so well. hopefully this was good enough T_T
pretty puppy boy is so down bad for you. the feeling is mutual.
pairing: puppybf!jake x afab!reader
fluff, jake falls in love at first sight, mentions of kisses, smut, oral (fem receiving ), sub!jake and sub!reader yum, mutual masturbation hell yea, they're both brats, messy sex, pussy obsessed puppy jake, not proofread as always
puppy!jake who literally felt time slow when he was first introduced to you. sunghoon side eyed him when he noticed how jake visibly straightened, ears perked, eyes blown wide open. it took about three to four dude's from his friend to make him enter reality again.
puppy!jake who simply just stared at you when you told him about yourself. he drank up every word, replaying the facts in his head, careful to not miss a single details.
puppy!jake who had to force himself to look you into the eye and stop his eyes from darting down to your lips. but how couldn't he? the gloss on your lips reflects so prettily in the sunlight, how can you expect him not to stare at you :c
puppy!jake constantly wanted to be around you when your friend group was hanging out. he didn't necessarily even need to talk to you, he just wanted to sit close. with time he stared hovering, never leaving your orbit, shooting sharp glances at once who looked in you in ways that friends don't.
puppy!jake who had sunghoon give him peptalks to talk to you more :c sweet boy just got so shy and stuttery when he was around you, which was silly since you were the exact same and HE DIDNT EVEN NOTICE !!
puppybf!jake who thought you might be more dominant in the bedroom, judging by your composed nature but he was oh so wrong. to be fair, there have been signs that you didn't have a single dominant bone in your body. the way you nuzzled, basically completely melted into him when you were cuddling, hugging him so tightly as if he were to disappear into thin air any second. the way you practically turned into mush whenever an single ounce of praise left his lips. mans was just too whipped to see it.
puppybf!jake giggles inbetween kisses :((( well it's more like he full on giggles into your mouth because mans refuses to remove his lips from yours but if he DOES then the giggles get even more intense and he gets so giddy and u can barely catch your breath before he's on you again.
puppybf!jake has never been touched by anyone before and gets soooo desperate and whiny when you slowly move your hands up and down his body. the slightest movement towards his dick has him twitching, throaty whines escaping him without pause. and the worst part? the way you look at him, eyes wide with fascination, in disbelief that it's you who gets him like this. like him, you haven't been touched by anyone either and one before you realised what happened his hands were in your panties and yours around his dick :c both of you just staring at each other, jaws slack and breathing heavily.
puppybf!jake always has his hand on you. always. hand holding, intertwined pinkies, hand around your waist, playing with a strand of hair it doesn't matter if he's around you he must touch you or he withers away.
puppybf!jake who loves laying on top of you. his cheek is pressed against yours, eyelashes tickling you when he blinks. out of nowhere, quick kisses attack your cheeks while you watch something on your phone (he sees it as a challenge to get your attention, sweet sweet boy). every now and then he repositions himself, making sure his arms dont't leave you tho dont get it twisted. once he found a new comfy position he flops down again with a sigh, nuzzling into your neck :c
puppybf!jake who humps the mattress while eating you out . he just loves the sounds you make, it makes him absolutely feral. whether that is the sweet moans and gasps leaving your lips or your messy pussy causing obscene sounds to echo from the walls. whenever he goes down on you he always ends up legit making out with your pussy, nose nudging against your clit and he looooves smelling you. doesnt mind when you move around, he just moves after you, lips never leaving your pussy. he's utterly obsessed with you and your pussy, hes on you like a magnet.
puppybf!jake who once nutted before you even touched him properly. in his defence, you were literally licking your way down his v line, it was evil of you. poor pup got so whine and embarrassed afterwards and wanted to tease you back but he couldn't go through with it and just ended up eating you out for two hours straight. that boy has an insane oral fixation lucky you.
puppybf!jake goes brat to brat with you. you both just rile each other up in perfect harmony, knowing exactly what pushes the other over the edge. of course you and up fucking on the ground because neither of you were able to resits the other for a second loner lol
puppybf!jake who almost came instantly when you started babbling incoherently the second he was inside you. " feel so good jakey you make me feel so so good, fuck, please don't stop." he was a goner, brain turned to mush. all he could focus on was the way your face twisted in pleasure, brows furrowed and mouth agape. "so pretty for me, can't believe you're letting me have you im so lucky." the praise bubbled out of him without him even noticing, but what he does notice is the way you clench around him. "jesus," he manages to hiss out, having to lean backwards a little to snap out of his haze. you whine, clawing at his bicep "come back here." all it takes is a roll of your hips and he falls back down on you, teeth digging into the soft flesh of your chest, giving it a slight suck.
puppybf!jake ties his hair up because he wants you to pull on it so badly but he's too shy to tell you and when you do on a whim he gets extra vocal yum.
puppybf!jake does the puppy head tilt at random times, no thoughts behind those eyes, scratch that the only thought on his mind is u, that boy loves u so much and he get's the saddies sometimes when he realises how much he loves you and then he goes extra extreme puppy mode and the head tilt and puppy eyes come out sobs.
puppybf!jake who loves messy sex more than anything. your first time had been sweet and slow, all shy giggles and soft gasps. but now? now we're at the slippery slope olympics. if your cum isn't running down your legs he hasn't eaten you out properly (he also wants his face to be drenched in it, don't get it twisted). there's just no better feeling than pushing his thick cock into the warm deliciousness that is your pussy :c he cannot help but stare down at your mixed fluids, thick strings of cum connecting you. it drives him NUTS.
puppybf!jake loves to pretend he's all tough when the two of you are out. he puffs out his chest a little when he sees others look at you, arm protectively circling even closer around your waist. but the second you look at him with your sweet eyes he gets all giggle because who are we fooling he's such a softie for you.
puppybf!jake who tries so hard to listen to your yapping intently, but after not even a minute he'll randomly blur out a "totally" or "mhm, yea" and then just kisses you mid sentence. he's whipped what can i say.
puppybf!jake is also lowkey a nerd who can't see well so he reaches over to the nightstand one day while he's balls deep inside you because "it wouldn't be fair if i can't see you look so pretty for me." his glasses get all fogged up and he clumsily tries to wipe them clean which ends up getting them dirty so he just carelessly throws them aside. as much as he loves seeing you, hearing and feeling you is enough for now.
puppybf!jake loves skin to skin contact even in a no sexual way. just simply having you flush against him, no layers, it's his absolute favourite thing. he traces little patterns on your skin, admiring your moles, veins, scars and curves. he wants to memorise it all :c
puppybf!jake who promises he entered another realm when you touched his ears while riding him for the first time. your body on top of him was enough stimulating as is, poor boy couldn't stop groping all plush parts of your body but touching his ears?? my boy froze up for a solid 5 seconds. "wait, shit did i do something wrong?? are you okay??" your panicked voice was the only noise heard as jake seemed to have stopped breathing, eyes closed shut. next thing you know he crunched forwards with a groan and warm liquid spilled out your pussy and all over his thighs<33
lins notes: everybody thank miss @puppybelles for making me lock the fuck in for this (im making out with her as we speak)
taglist: @saeivra (comment or send me an ask if u wanna be added to my taglist <33)
» summary: jake was stuck. sex had gotten boring, always the same routine, nothing exciting enough to stick in his head. he wasn’t exactly searching for something new, but when a stupid bdsm test came up in conversation with you, he found himself way too curious. suddenly, he’s researching kinks at 3am, making reddit posts like an idiot, and realizing that maybe he doesn’t just want answers, he wants to try them with you. and maybe all he wants right now is ask: i don’t wanna be just friends, don’t wanna be away from you, can i be a pet?
✰ pairing: jake x fem!reader // ✰ genre: smut (mdni!!), friends to lovers, college au, slowburn-ish #nowplaying » cat & dog - tomorrow x together | mutt - leon thomas | wet dreamz - j. cole | doo wop (that thing) - lauryn hill | mrs. officer - lil wayne | so fresh, so clean - outkast | word count: 28k
!! warnings: smut (mdni), smut, unprotected sex (do not do it!!), petplay, brat!reader x brat tamer!jake, power dynamics, bdsm dynamics, alcohol and weed consumption, anal play, oral sex (m and f receiving), size kink, fingering, squirting, degradation and praising kink, dirty talk, rough sex, bitch the whole thing they are freaky lmao
JAKE SIM HAD THIS REPUTATION AROUND CAMPUS, AND HE KNEW IT. he wasn’t the type to deny it either, he kind of leaned into it. he had the face, he had the charm, the easy smile that worked on almost anyone, and he was well aware that people liked talking about him. he wasn’t shy about the fact that he hooked up with a lot of girls, not in a bragging way, more like he genuinely didn’t see the point of pretending otherwise. if he wanted something, he went for it, and most of the time he got it.
the funny part was that it never really felt like enough. people would assume he was satisfied, like he had it all figured out, but the truth was, after a while, it all started blending together. same kind of nights, same routines, same conversations that ended in the same place. he liked it in the moment, of course, he wasn’t going to lie about that, but he always went home with this weird feeling, like something was missing, and it wasn’t the whole “looking for love” thing either. it was more that he wanted something different, something he couldn’t even name yet.
he wasn’t the type to sit around and analyze himself too much, but he noticed the pattern. no matter how many people he fucked, he’d end up lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking, is that really it?
he didn’t talk about it with anyone, because what was he supposed to say? “yeah i’m sleeping with half the campus but i’m still kind of bored”? that would sound ridiculous. and you knew him enough to know the image he carried, everyone did, but what people didn’t really see was that restless part of him, the part that kept looking for something he couldn’t find. and he hated admitting it, but lately he started realizing that maybe the problem wasn’t the girls or the sex itself, maybe the problem was that he wanted to try things he didn’t even know how to explain without sounding insane.
“you ever feel like… sex is just the same shit over and over?” jake asked, not even looking directly at sunghoon while the fifa match rolled on his tv.
sunghoon paused the game immediately, which already said a lot, because sunghoon never paused fifa for anything. he turned to look at jake dead in the eye. “what the fuck are you talking about?”
“i’m serious,” jake said, sighing. “like, yeah, it’s good, but sometimes i’m just… i don’t know, bored.”
sunghoon started laughing so hard he almost dropped the controller. “you? bored? mr. i-had-sex-in-the-theater-bathroom last week? nah. shut the fuck up.”
“that’s exactly what i mean!” jake argued, leaning forward. “it’s always the same shit. hook up, make out, fuck, pass out. repeat. i’m telling you, i feel like there’s supposed to be more, but i don’t know what the hell that is.”
“okay,” sunghoon said, nodding like he was being thoughtful, but his grin gave him away. “so what you’re saying is… your dick’s tired.”
“that’s not what i said.”
“sounds like what you said.”
before jake could fire back, the door creaked open and heeseung walked in with a bag of chips and a joint between his fingers, looking like he hadn’t slept in two days. he glanced at the tv, took a drag, then looked at them. “you guys talking about gooning?”
“kinda,” sunghoon answered instantly, pointing at jake. “apparently mr. campus heartthrob is bored of pussy.”
heeseung raised an eyebrow, ripped open the chips, and sat down on the armrest. “wow. should we throw you a funeral?”
jake groaned and buried his face in his hands. “you guys are fucking useless.”
“nah, bro, i’m serious,” sunghoon said, nudging him with his foot. “maybe you just need some freaky shit. like, tie someone up, put on a costume, bark a little. switch it up.”
“the fuck are you even saying?” jake shot back, but the way his ears went red didn’t go unnoticed.
heeseung caught it instantly, grinning like a devil. “wait. wait. oh my god. jake wants to bark.”
“shut the fuck up,” jake muttered, ending the conversation.
but the thing is, jake thought sometimes about barking. i mean, not literally standing in someone’s room on all fours going woof, but the thought of something that wasn’t just the usual sex crossed his mind more than once. like, there had to be people out there doing shit that wasn’t just missionary or whatever. he wasn’t about to admit it out loud to sunghoon or heeseung because he knew they’d never let it go, but after that night, the whole “maybe you need to bark” thing kept replaying in his head. and he didn’t immediately shut it down. he laughed in front of them, told them they were idiots, but later that week, lying in bed at two a.m., he actually caught himself googling “unconventional sex stuff.”
that’s how he ended up on reddit. it wasn’t even intentional, he just clicked link after link until suddenly he was in some forum full of people talking about kinks like they were trading recipes. half the stuff freaked him out, the other half made him curious in a way he didn’t know how to process. he didn’t think he was a freak, but then again, maybe he was, because none of this was coming up in regular conversations, and he clearly couldn’t bring it up to his friends without being clowned for the rest of his life.
so one night, after reading through threads for way too long, he gave in and made a throwaway account.
r/TooAfraidToAsk
u/australianlebron127 | 12m
i feel like i’m bored of sex but don’t know what i’m looking for, is that normal?
i’m a 23 year old male and i’ve been pretty active since like freshman year of college. i’ve hooked up with a lot of people, and i guess on the outside it sounds cool, but honestly it all feels the same and i keep thinking i’m missing something. my friends make jokes about “freaky stuff” and once someone even said i probably just need to bark or whatever, which was stupid, but now i can’t stop thinking maybe i actually do need something like that.
i don’t even know what i’m into, i just know regular sex feels kind of… repetitive. i’m not in a relationship and i’m not looking for love advice or anything like that, i’m just wondering if it’s normal to feel like this or if i should be trying to figure out what i like more. and if i should… how do you even start? like i can’t just ask someone “hey wanna let me experiment with you” right? idk.
after he posted it, jake shut his laptop like he just confessed a crime. he honestly thought no one would even read it, but the next morning when he checked again, there were already a bunch of replies. some of them were just people trolling him, like one guy wrote “bro just buy a dildo and stop crying,” which didn’t help at all, but there were also some longer comments from people who actually sounded like they knew what they were talking about.
one person wrote something like, “you don’t have to know your kink right away, just pay attention to what sticks in your head. if something makes you curious, that’s worth exploring.” another person said, “try to communicate with partners, you’d be surprised how many people are also bored of ‘regular’ sex and want to experiment too.” and then there was one comment that just said, “maybe you’re into power dynamics. look into dom/sub stuff, that’s usually a good starting point.”
jake read through all of them with his face buried in his pillow, feeling like if anyone walked in and saw what he was doing, he’d have to transfer schools immediately. but at the same time, it made him feel a little less crazy. apparently, other people were going through the same thing, or at least close enough. he wasn’t the only one who felt like sex got repetitive after a while. still, he didn’t know what to do with that information. he wasn’t about to sit sunghoon down and say, “hey bro, what do you think my kink is?” and he sure as hell wasn’t going to test this out with some random hookup from a party. if he was going to try anything new, he wanted it to be with someone who actually knew him, someone he trusted not to laugh in his face.
and that’s when he remembered you.
he met you through jungwon and sunoo. you were always around, more like part of the background of the friend group. jake thought you were cool, funny without trying too hard, and yeah, obviously really hot, but he never made a move because you weren’t like the other girls he usually talked to at parties. you didn’t even go to half the parties. when he did see you, you were usually laughing with your friends, completely unbothered by whatever was going on around. you never hooked up, never even flirted, but there was this one time that stuck with him.
he was walking past in the middle of a random conversation between you and sunoo, and he caught enough of it to never forget. you were holding your phone, laughing so hard, and you went, “who the fuck gets a hundred percent vanilla on the bdsm test? you have to try to be that boring.”
sunoo immediately grabbed the phone from you, yelling, “shut up! you literally got ninety-six percent petplay, you freak! what are you even talking about?”
jake didn’t even know what to do with that information at the time, but he remembered the way you just laughed and shrugged, like it was nothing. he laughed too, mostly because sunoo looked like he was about to pass out from embarrassment, but the conversation burned into his brain. now, weeks later, lying in bed after scrolling through way too many reddit threads about kinks, that memory hit him again, like his brain suddenly pulled out a file he didn’t realize he kept. and you sounded so comfortable with it, like talking about sex wasn’t this big taboo topic.
jake thought about it more than once after that, and now, with all this restless energy in his head, it started to feel like a sign. maybe you weren’t close, maybe you weren’t the person he texted at two in the morning, but you were the only person he could think of who might not laugh in his face if he admitted he was… curious. so he picked up his phone, scrolled through his contacts until he found your name, and stared at it for a solid minute like the letters might rearrange themselves into “don’t do this.” then, because he was jake, he typed something dumb and hit send before he could overthink it.
jake: yo do u know if the cafeteria is still selling those massive cookies or did they stop
you didn’t answer right away, which made him instantly regret his entire life, but then the screen lit up.
you: why are you texting me about cookies at 11pm
you: and yes they still sell them lol
he grinned, already feeling lighter.
jake: good to know
jake: important info
there was a pause, and then you sent back:
you: you’re so weird sometimes
he laughed out loud at that. it was stupid, but it gave him enough courage to type what he really wanted.
jake: hey random question tho
jake: u remember that bdsm test thing u joked about w sunoo once
jake: do u still have the link perchance
he stared at the message after sending it, suddenly way too aware of how insane it looked. but it was too late, it was out there. his brain was screaming at him that this was either the best idea he ever had or the dumbest one, and he wouldn’t know which until you answered, but your reply came quicker than he expected.
you: LMAO jake why are u asking me this
you: are u abt to send me ur result rn bc i wanna see
you: don’t lie i KNOW ur not 100% vanilla
you dropped the link right after, and jake felt his stomach twist because now he had no excuse. he clicked it. the layout looked ancient, like a quiz someone coded in 2005, but it was apparently the same test everyone online swore by.
he started reading the questions, and it was instantly ridiculous. stuff like “would you enjoy being tied up?” or “would you enjoy tying someone else up?” and the scale went from “absolutely not” to “hell yes.” jake sat there, thinking way harder than he expected. some of them were easy to answer—no, he didn’t want to be whipped until he couldn’t walk—but others made him hesitate, like maybe he’d try it, maybe it didn’t sound that bad.
when the petplay questions showed up, he froze for a second. he could practically hear sunghoon in his head going “bro, bark,” and it made him want to close the tab, but at the same time… he didn’t click “absolutely not.” he thought about it, sighed, and picked “maybe.”
twenty minutes later, the results loaded on his screen in neat little percentages, like it was about to diagnose him with something.
jake stared at the screen. part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to throw his phone out the window, and another part of him just thought: yeah, that actually makes sense. he sat there, debating whether sending it to you would make him look confident or like the biggest clown alive. but you had asked to see it, and he kind of did want to know what you’d say. so he did send you the screenshots, three images of his percentages sitting in your chat, and you answered almost instantly.
you: LMAOOO
you: okay i expected switch 100% bc u give off that vibe
you: but 94% pet?? never in my life would i have guessed that
jake felt his ears burn. he didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean, but the way you typed it made him smile anyway.
jake: bro don’t act like u weren’t the one clowning sunoo abt this shit
you: yeah but i didn’t expect u to be secretly into meowing
jake: i didn’t say i’m into that
you: mhmmm the math says otherwise jakey
he groaned and threw his phone onto his pillow, but then picked it right back up. he wanted to defend himself, but at the same time, it felt good that you weren’t making it weird. you were teasing him, yeah, but it was soft, like the way you’d tease a friend. even though jake didn’t know if friend was the right word.
jake: alright then, where’s urs
you: oh i’m not sending mine
jake: tf why not
you: bc it’s funnier to let u wonder
jake: wtf does that mean
you: it means one day maybe i’ll show u in person idk
jake stared at that message for a solid minute. in person? what do you mean “in person”? he had no idea if you were flirting, being sarcastic, or just messing with him for fun. either way, the thought lodged itself in his brain immediately and refused to leave. he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with that, but his brain decided to run off with it anyway. like maybe, hypothetically, if one day you actually did drop to your knees in front of him and said “meow,” he wouldn’t hate it. actually, he might really, really not hate it.
so that week jake couldn’t stop thinking about it. so naturally, at three in the morning when any normal person would be asleep, he was hunched over his laptop, typing “what is petplay kink” into google like some dad learning how to use tiktok.
the first page of results didn’t help much. there were a bunch of articles that tried to sound educational but were really just people overexplaining, and then there were forums with way too many details he wasn’t ready for. he clicked through anyway, and five minutes later he was learning that apparently some people actually bought collars for this stuff, and leashes, and there was a whole thing about drinking water from bowls. he sat back in his chair, “no way,” he muttered to himself. “there’s no way i’m buying a dog bowl.” but then another part of him was like… okay, maybe not the bowl, but the collar thing? that didn’t sound as insane.
he kept scrolling. one post talked about how petplay wasn’t always about barking or crawling around, sometimes it was just about roles, like playfulness, obedience, teasing. that part made more sense to him. then he fell into another rabbit hole, this time about “brat taming.” apparently it meant dealing with someone who liked to push back, tease, talk back until you had to put them in their place. jake read three different threads about it and had to close the tab because, yeah, he was definitely into that.
he shut his laptop after an hour of scrolling, face buried in his hands, because what the hell was he even doing? one week ago he was just another guy with too much free time, and now he was sitting there seriously wondering if buying a collar off amazon would be insane or just a solid investment. and the kicker was, every time he thought about it, your face showed up in his head.
so when he saw you for the first time after that, he felt something weird going on around his pants. and jake wasn’t a fucking teen anymore, he wasn’t gonna get hard just by looking at a girl, but somehow he was… semi hard. it had been a long time since that happened out of nowhere and he thought it was kind of strange, like his body was reminding him of things he hadn’t thought about in months.
you looked up from your laptop, saw him, and smiled. that smile — bright, easy — made him immediately forget that anything felt weird. you waved, and jake had to remind himself to actually walk toward you instead of standing there like a moron.
“hey!” you called, motioning him over. “come sit.” you were sitting at a table with jungwon and sunoo, laptop open in front of you. jungwon was typing something, sunoo was scrolling on his phone, “so… did you get the giant cookie from the cafeteria or what?” you asked, a playful grin on your face.
jake internally thanked you, harder than he wanted to admit, for not bringing up the test. one, because he would have died of embarrassment with jungwon and sunoo there, and two, because honestly, thinking about it again might have made him get hard all over again in the middle of the library cafe. “uh… no, not yet,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and not make it sound like his entire body was having a meeting about you.
“oh, okay,” you said, opening your laptop wider. “we can grab some after i finish this thing.”
he slid into the chair next to you, careful not to get too close, careful not to breathe like he was dying, and just tried to act like a normal human. which, for jake, was hard work when you were smiling at him like that.
after a while, you both got up and headed to the cafeteria. he was quieter, more reserved, but trying to respond, trying to interact without sounding like he was hyperventilating. by the time you got to the display with all the cookies, it was just the two of you. jake tried to act casual while his brain reminded him that he was, somehow, still semi hard and that his body was apparently having its own agenda today. he felt like a complete freak but the thought made him laugh at himself.
“so… chocolate cookie?” you asked, eyes sparkling, and then paused dramatically. “or are you gonna switch to vanilla?” you emphasized the word switch, looking at him like you knew exactly what you were doing.
jake couldn’t help it. he laughed out loud. “oh, okay, i see what you’re doing,” he said, shaking his head. it was ridiculous, and he felt ridiculous, but in a way that made him feel… funny.
“what? i’m just trying to make cookie decisions fun,” you said, smirking, clearly loving that you got a reaction out of him.
“yeah yeah, sure,” he replied, and then couldn’t resist pushing a little. “sooo… you said you were gonna show me your result personally, remember?”
you tilted your head, mock-serious. “wow, curious, aren’t you?”
he felt his face heat up, part embarrassment, part horniness, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how casual you were about all this. am i really getting turned on by a conversation about cookies and some quiz? he thought, mentally cursing himself, and then laughed a little because, yeah, apparently he was. “i mean… i’m not curious,” he said, though he was. “i just… maybe want to see it. for science.”
“mhmm, for science,” you repeated, grinning, clearly reading right through him. you sat down at a table after paying for the cookies, you opened your laptop casually, and started scrolling through your results. “alright, so… brace yourself,” you said, smiling at him, “here.” jake leaned a little closer, trying not to stare too obviously at your face and also trying not to think about other… possibilities.
jake blinked a few times, and his brain immediately went to the oh shit this is hot mode. he felt his stomach tighten and had to consciously remind himself to breathe. he tried not to picture too much, trying not to lose it right there in front of you. after a beat, he swallowed and forced his voice casual. “yeah… i mean… i kinda imagined your result being something like this.”
you raised an eyebrow, grinning like you knew exactly what he was thinking. “ahh, so you were thinking about my results, huh?”
jake felt his face heat up instantly, but he couldn’t help laughing a little. “shut up…” he said after you teased, clearly enjoying the fact that he was squirming just a bit.
“never thought you’d be into petplay,” you said casually, glancing at him.
“me neither,” he admitted, a little embarrassed. “i’ve never actually done it.”
“oh really?” you teased. “but it’s on your test.”
“yeah… i’m just… assuming i’d like it,” he said, shrugging. “never explored my kinks before. that’s why i did the test.”
you smiled at him, eyes soft. “honestly, i get it. it’s fine. makes sense.”
for some reason, hearing you say that made him feel comfortable, thinking how nice it was to have someone he could actually talk to about it. you kept talking about the results, scrolling through different percentages, laughing at some of the weirder ones, shaking your heads at others, like “who the hell is this person” kind of stuff. jake felt like he could actually breathe a little easier, like maybe exploring this shit didn’t have to be some big awkward thing.
and then he caught himself thinking about it — again, for the hundredth time — that maybe having you actually… participate in some of it wouldn’t be that bad. like, actually being there while you did the petplay stuff or teased him, whatever. and the thought hit him in a weird way that made him grin like a complete idiot, because yeah, it was exciting, and yeah, he could feel that familiar tightness in his pants again.
so after that, jake found himself doing more research about things you might like. he didn’t even know why he was looking this stuff up. he told himself it was curiosity, like he was just trying to understand a phenomenon or something, but deep down he knew it was more than that.
he was intrigued by the kinks, by the way you’d come across as so… private. he’d never seen you with anyone, never heard stories about your experiences, and somehow that made him hornier and more curious at the same time. the weirdest part was that he felt like he knew a lot about you because of that damn bdsm test, but also realized he didn’t know shit—whereas you probably knew tons of stories about him and his past hookups.
eventually he went back to reddit. of course he did. he found a server for kinks and typed out a post, hesitating over every word, trying not to make himself sound like a total weirdo.
r/kink_advice
u/australianlebron127 | 3m
how do i talk to a friend about mutual kinks?
hi, i’m a 23m and i have this friend (24f), she’s cool, funny, super private, and i think maybe we like the same kinks. we’ve talked a little about bdsm stuff and she shared her results on this bdsm test once, which were very similar to mine. i’m curious and want to maybe explore things with her, but i have no idea how to even bring it up without making it weird. any advice?
the replies came fast. some were generic, like “just be honest and communicate,” or “don’t push anything she’s not into.” but then one comment made him stop scrolling for a second.
comment: if she’s into petplay or praising kink, just call her a good girl out of nowhere and see how she reacts, or tell her to behave.
jake stared at that comment for longer than he should have. he couldn’t believe that the solution was potentially so simple, and also so terrifying. he wasn’t sure if it was genius or completely insane.
so he thought about putting the plan into practice that weekend, at the frat party. he already knew you’d be there because you’d mentioned jungwon and chaewon had been bugging you to go, and for jake, that sounded like the perfect opportunity. when he got to the house, sunghoon shoved a drink into his hand before he could even say hi, and riki was already trying to drag him outside to smoke a joint. jake brushed both of them off with a laugh, sipping the drink just to keep sunghoon from nagging, and then he saw you.
you were across the room, leaning against the counter with chaewon, laughing about something. you weren’t dressed overly flashy, nothing insane, just jeans and a cropped tank top that showed a sliver of skin when you moved, and your hair pulled back like you didn’t even try that hard. but for some reason, to jake, it looked better than half the girls in glitter dresses floating around the place.
he felt his stomach tighten in that same way it had the other day, and he had to stop himself from grinning too obviously. you had this golden retriever kind of energy, the kind of person who always smiled when someone waved, always asked how people were doing, and jake had that too, except his version usually came with flirting and ending up in someone’s bed.
he could feel the stares of other girls in the room, some who he’d already hooked up with, some who he knew wanted to. he caught one or two smiling at him, making the kind of eye contact that usually meant come over here later, and he knew he could. he could pick almost anyone in the room if he wanted. but for once, he wasn’t interested. the whole point tonight was you.
jake took another sip of his drink and pushed through the crowd, his eyes flicking back to you every other second. he was hyping himself up in his head, thinking about that stupid reddit comment and whether he was actually crazy enough to try it out. every step closer to you, the thought kept repeating in his head: good girl. just say it once. see what happens.
so he walked up to you, slid into that little circle, and went, “hey,” giving you and chaewon a nod. you both greeted him back, chaewon with her usual dry smile and you with that bright one that always made him feel like you were actually happy to see him, even if it was just a quick hello at a loud party.
the conversation was easy, just small talk but not awkward. eventually chaewon excused herself to get a drink, and right then minjeong walked past. she gave jake a quick once over and stopped long enough to rest her hand on his shoulder, leaning in with a smile that was way too obvious. “jake, later come find me, okay?” she said in that flirty tone that didn’t leave much room for interpretation. he just gave a small nod, polite enough but already knowing he wasn’t going to.
when she walked off, you tilted your head and started laughing under your breath. “wow,” you said, dragging the word out, “how many girls here have you hooked up with?”
jake immediately shook his head, pressing his lips together like he was trying not to laugh. “not that many,” he said, though even he knew it sounded weak.
you raised your brows, clearly amused. “and none of them made you wanna… what was it again? meow?” you asked, grinning at him like you were way too proud of yourself for remembering.
he froze for a second, caught completely off guard, before he tried to play it cool. “you’re not letting that go, huh?” he leaned in a little, lowering his voice like it might soften the blow of how flustered he actually was. “but, i mean, maybe it’s because none of them knew how to behave like you, i think.”
he said it half teasing, half testing, and his smile was trying to cover the way his heart was picking up. you squinted at him, amused but confused, and went, “what do you mean behave like me?”
jake didn’t even hesitate. “uh, it was in your test. brat, sub, pet, you know what i’m talking about.”
you let out this little laugh, shaking your head. “ok, that’s in my test, but you don’t know if i’m actually like that in real life. you literally said you’ve never done petplay, and you’re just assuming you’d like it.”
he shrugged, leaning back slightly, but his eyes stayed on you. “yeah, but have you done it?” his tone was way too direct for the middle of a crowded party.
you laughed again, but this time it was softer, like you were a little embarrassed. “uh… yeah.”
jake grinned, instantly smug. “then there you go. point proven. you do behave.” you didn’t say anything right away, and that threw him off, because you were almost never quiet around him. you just looked at him for a second, like you were deciding something in your head. so he tilted his head and asked, “what?”
“nothing,” you said quickly, then paused. “just thinking if you’ve ever even talked about this with anyone else before.”
he scratched the back of his neck, a little awkward now. “not really. i mean, sunghoon once told me i should bark at someone to see if i’d like it, but i didn’t take him seriously.”
you cracked up at that, covering your mouth for a second. “maybe minjeong would like that. i don’t know. you could always try it on her.”
and that was the moment it hit him, clear as day. he didn’t want to try anything with minjeong. he didn’t want to test it out with some random girl who was already halfway throwing herself at him. he wanted you.
before he could say anything though, you excused yourself, saying you were gonna grab some water or check on chaewon or something, and then you slipped into the crowd. jake stood there for a second, realizing that if he actually wanted this to go anywhere with you, he was gonna have to be more direct about it. no more hiding behind jokes or waiting for you to bring it up.
after a while, jake found you by the drinks table, leaning against it with a plastic cup in your hand. you were turned, and when you noticed him coming over, you gave him this small smile, the kind you always did that looked automatic. “can you fill mine up too?” he asked, holding out his cup.
“sure,” you said, reaching for the tap and tilting his cup under it.
the words came out of him before he even thought about them. “good girl.”
you froze for a second. like, literally stopped mid-pour. then you turned your head slowly to look at him. “what’d you say?”
he didn’t flinch. “i called you a good girl.”
he had no idea where the confidence was coming from. maybe from the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, maybe from the way you’d been laughing at his teasing earlier, maybe from too much beer, maybe from all of that. but he didn’t look away. you held his gaze for a moment, then nodded once, finished filling his cup, and handed it back to him.
he grinned. “what? did you get flustered at that?”
“shut up, jake,” you said, but you were smiling, trying to hide it, and then you turned and walked off before he could say anything else.
he’d said it once, and you didn’t blow him off, didn’t get weird, didn’t shut it down. if anything, you’d reacted. ok, he thought, taking a sip, i need to be even more direct.
later that night, jake found himself outside, because jake was jake and he couldn’t say no to a blunt rotation with his friends. he was leaning back against the side of the house with heeseung and beomgyu, all of them passing around a joint. heeseung was halfway into some rant about how he thinks all stanley cups are potentially weapons when you came bouncing out the door.
“wow,” you said immediately, spotting them. “look at you guys, stoner squad.” you laughed, light and teasing, but not mean.
jake felt that stupid twitch in his pants he’d been fighting all night right away and he hated himself for it. you weren’t even doing anything. you were just smiling like always, tail wagging friendly, and somehow that was enough to get him semi hard again.
he held the joint out to you. “want some?”
you tilted your head, eyes narrowing like you were weighing it. “hm. it’s been a while. i don’t know how i’ll react.” but you took it anyway. your fingers brushed his as you grabbed it, then you brought it to your lips, inhaling slow. jake couldn’t stop watching the way your chest rose and the way you let the smoke slip out through your lips. then you looked up at him, big doe eyes, blinking like a puppy, and it wasn’t just the weed. that was a look, and he knew that look. he saw it tons of times before from other girls he knew that wanted him to fuck them.
“you did good,” he said quietly, the words almost slipping out of his mouth on their own. his voice was low, soft but steady. praising.
you blinked, eyes widening a little, and then, of course, you smiled. not your usual grin, but this smaller one, just for him. you passed the joint back to him, and didn’t say anything. jake smirked, turned, and shoved the joint back at heeseung and beomgyu. then he leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only they could hear. “you two get the fuck outta here.”
heeseung frowned like he was about to argue, but beomgyu caught on quick, grabbed his arm, and dragged him off with the joint still in his hand. jake barely noticed, his eyes were already back on you. he could feel that edge of nervous energy sitting in his chest.
“you know,” he started, voice little lower than usual, “i’ve been thinking a lot about that test we took.”
you tilted your head, sipping the last of your drink. “oh yeah?”
he let out a quick laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “yeah. like, i’ve always wanted to try some of that stuff with someone, but i never really had anyone to test it out with.”
you snorted, but it wasn’t mean, it was playful. “come on, jake. you’re telling me you’ve had no one to test kinks with? that’s new. that’s not the jake i know.”
he laughed too, shaking his head, stepping just a little closer. “come on, you know that’s not what i mean.”
“how’s it not what you mean?” you asked, raising your brows like you were calling him out. “jake, there are at least ten girls in this house right now that i’ve personally heard say they’d do literally anything you asked. you’ve gotta be more confident.”
“the problem,” he said, this time leaning in slightly, his eyes flicking down to your mouth before back up, “is that i don’t want just anyone.”
you paused, holding his gaze, and your lips tugged into this little smirk. “then be confident and ask the person you actually want.”
you said it so obviously, like you were spelling it out for him, and jake knew you’d already figured it out. you weren’t running from it either, which only made his pulse faster. he forced himself to stay calm, not too flirty, just enough to keep it casual, smug in the only way he knew how to handle this. “look,” he said, “i know this might sound a little out of nowhere, but when i say i’ve been thinking about it, i mean i’ve actually been thinking about it.” you didn’t interrupt, you just watched him, waiting. “and i don’t want it to come off like i’m some fuck boy with weird kinks trying to test them on anyone who’s remotely into the same stuff. that’s not it. but…” he hesitated for just a second, then pushed through, “if you wanted to… if you were down… you could maybe show me the things you’re into sometime. so i can see if i’m into them too.”
he said it steady, without laughing, without looking away, even though inside his stomach was doing flips. you smirked at him, leaning in just enough to make him think that you were about to say something he wanted to hear. “yeah,” you said, dragging it out, “i could try that sometime.”
jake froze for a second, because hearing you actually say that out loud hit him harder than he expected. it had been a long time since he’d felt this type of nervous to hook up with a girl, he wasn’t just anxious but he was also excited, and his brain was already five steps ahead picturing what it would be like. and now you were looking at him with those wide puppy eyes, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t been this gone over someone in a while.
so he leaned in, not even thinking too much about it, just following the way your words had practically given him permission, but right before he got there, you stepped back, smirk still on your face. “sometime”, you corrected, “i didn’t say tonight.”
and then you turned, casually walking off, and jake just stood there, blinking at the back of your head as you went back to the house. he didn’t even know what to do with himself. he could only think one thing: when exactly had he gotten himself this fucked?
after that night, jake couldn’t think about anything else at all. every morning he woke up, the first thought in his brain was basically: when is sometime? it was killing him. his dick was practically on a constant timer, ready to embarrass him at any random moment. he’d see you on campus, just doing normal-ass things, like tying your shoe, talking to someone, sipping your coffee, and then you’d look up, smile at him like you didn’t casually say you might let him try out some kinky shit with you, and instantly his pants got tight. it was torture.
he tried to play it cool, but the truth was his brain was fried. he couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways it could go. you acting like a brat and him finally having an excuse to put you in your place? yeah, he wanted that. you in a collar? he was picturing it. you on all fours, maybe purring at him? his dick didn’t see a problem with it.
the only issue was, he knew there were steps to get there, like he couldn’t just skip straight to “here’s your leash.” but still, he wanted it, and every day it was getting more unbearable. and jake kept replaying it in his head, wondering if you’d been kinkshaming him that night. but no, you didn’t look disgusted. you looked like you enjoyed making him squirm.
so after days of overthinking, he finally just thought, fuck it, i’m texting her.
he stared at his phone for a second, then finally muttered to himself, “fuck it.” jeans went down, dick out, and he just leaned back against the headboard, taking a deep breath. this was the first time he was sexting someone like this, like really trying to push boundaries, and he never imagined he’d get this fucking horny reading messages.
the thought of you was too much. he didn’t even really see your words at first. his eyes were half lidded, mind spinning, imagining you there, acting like you were challenging him to keep control while he was already losing it. your texts were just triggers at that point—he didn’t need them to imagine every little sound, every whine, every little movement you’d make when he told you to behave. his hand moved on its own, faster and harder, and then he felt finally letting go, spilling all over himself, and it hit him how long it had been since he’d actually come like that just from his own hand and a fantasy. it wasn’t some casual fap to random porn. it was you. the idea of you teasing him, bratting him, letting him call you a good girl, and him slowly building you up in his mind.
finally he wiped his hand, leaned back, and looked at his phone again. the last message from you was there:
you: youre jerking off arent you?
you: hope u have fun thinking about me
you: good night jakey 😊
he just froze for a second, grinning like a complete idiot, and then read it again. and again. and again. every time he did, he couldn’t help himself— his hand went back to his dick, and he was off, imagining your voice, your little smirks, the way you’d act bratty and subby and soft all at once. he spent the rest of the night like that, phone beside him, mind completely tangled up in fantasies about you, and every time he looked at those messages he had to jerk off again, like a fucking teenager.
and it kinda turned into a routine before he even realized it. every night, somewhere between brushing his teeth and pretending he was gonna go to bed early, jake ended up texting you. it started light, memes, random shit from his day, but without fail it slid into something else. not always full on sexting, sometimes it was just you pushing him with one-liners that had him hard in minutes. like that one time you just sent:
you: good pets beg nicely, don’t they?
and he actually sat there, cock throbbing in his sweats, typing and deleting five different responses before finally sending something he never thought he’d put in writing.
and yeah, he was screwed. because he did like it, he liked you bratty, needy, whiny. he liked calling you his pet. but the thing that really fucked him up was realizing he’d always end up giving in to you anyway. no matter how much he talked big, if you told him to try something, he’d try it. if you wanted him to push a boundary, he’d push it. he was supposed to be the dom, but half the time he felt like a dog wagging his tail waiting for scraps from you. and yeah, the results saying “switch” were not a surprise at this point.
he even got nerdy about it. he continued reading reddit threads, doing kink tests, scrolling through subs at 3am like he was studying for a final exam (he should be studying for a few, actually). the only problem? he still hadn’t seen you in person. and that was driving him insane.
he could type all the filth in the world, imagine you in a collar, call you his pet until his dick hurt, but at the end of the day you were still just words on a screen. and jake wanted more, he wanted your voice in his ear, your body under his hands, not just a fucking notification making him hard. and the longer it went, the worse it got. he’d go to bed thinking about you, wake up still hard, spend the day waiting for your messages just so he could crash again in that same loop. at some point he realized he was way past curious.
and jake wasn’t even subtle about it. he’d been walking past your dorm for like the third time that week, pretending to be interested in the vending machine in the lobby. he’d already bought a snickers earlier but here he was again, suspiciously pressing buttons like he couldn’t decide between m&ms or kitkat, when the truth was he didn’t give a shit about chocolate. he just wanted to “accidentally” run into you.
and then it happened. you came through the door, head down, digging through your bag for your keys. he froze with a kitkat half dangling from the machine slot, suddenly feeling like he’d been caught doing something illegal. you finally looked up and your face lit up with that same smile you always gave him, like he wasn’t the guy who called you pet and jerked off every night to your bratty texts. he felt that familiar kick in his chest, the one that made him insane because it wasn’t just sexual. sure, you drove him crazy with how much he wanted to fuck you, but there was more. he liked you, like actually liked you, and that was worse somehow. mutt-level disaster, horny as hell but also weirdly in awe every time you looked at him like that.
“what are you doing here?” you asked, eyebrow raised, smile playing like you already knew the answer.
“uh, just grabbing something from the vending machine,” he said, holding up the kitkat like it was evidence. smooth.
you gave a small smirk, clearly not buying it, but you didn’t call him out. instead, you shifted your bag on your shoulder and said, “come on, i need to grab something from my dorm. sunoo is waiting for me at the library”
he followed, trying to act casual even though his brain was on fire. his heart was racing, not just because maybe something could happen, but because he had no idea how to handle actually being around you in real life. so when you opened the door to your dorm, he stepped inside and it was like stepping straight into your head. everything screamed you.
“you want coffee?” you asked, already moving toward your tiny coffee setup.
“i’m good,” he said, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“well, i’m making some anyway. i can’t function without coffee after lunch.”
he leaned against the wall, watching you move around, trying not to think too hard about how bad he wanted something to happen. like, yeah, he could just sit here and drink coffee with you and that’d be fine, but at the same time, every cell in his body was screaming that he wanted more. he was running through a dozen different scenarios in his head, every single one ending with him in your bed.
you sat down on the couch with your coffee, legs crossed, and jake stayed planted against the wall, staring at you. you looked up at him, those doe eyes soft and ridiculous, and asked, “what’s up? you not gonna sit?”
he swallowed, felt his chest flip, and thought, oh my god i’m about to do something dumb, but then he just did it. he dropped to his knees right in front of you, which made you blink, because nobody ever kneeled in front of you unless they were messing around. now you were exactly eye level with him, and that felt like a weird, intense pause. you raised one brow. “what are you doing?”
he gave that stupid smirk he always used when he wanted to sound like he knew what he was doing. “roleplaying,” he said, like it was the most normal explanation in the world.
you laughed, set your mug down on the side table, and then came back to him, serious for a second. “jake… are you sure you want this?”
he blinked, because of course he was sure. “are you kidding? i think i made it pretty obvious.”
you watched him for a beat, like you were checking him out, “i want you to be comfortable testing something you’ve never done before,” you said.
“i’m comfortable,” he answered, eyes locked on yours. “you comfortable?”
you let out a small, low laugh and relaxed against the back of the couch and spread your legs a little so he had room, shifted so your knees were wider, like you trusted him to handle whatever came next. “very,” you said, voice steady, challenge hiding under the calm.
he smiled, the kind that was more confident than he’d felt in weeks, and slid his hand up to rest on your knee, fingers pressing the inside of your thigh as he edged closer. he kept his touch soft at first, like he was checking the water temperature, then moved a little higher, deliberate but not rough, watching you for every little reaction. “you got me down bad for you,” he murmured, a bit proud, but pissed off at how much he wanted you.
you rolled your eyes, amused and dangerous. “then why are you taking so long to take what’s yours?” you teased, voice quiet and sharp.
so the moment he caught your eyes flicking down to his mouth, he decided he wasn’t gonna make this easy for you. in one quick motion he slid his hands behind your thighs, gripped hard, and just picked you up like you weighed nothing. before you could even gasp he’d flipped the whole situation — he was on the couch now, you on his lap, straddling him. you let out this sharp little yelp, more surprise than anything, and the second you realized the position, you went quiet. his hands were holding your thighs tight, his bulge pressed right under you.
“i’ve been dreaming about you sitting on my lap like this,” he said.
“yeah?” you breathed out, lowering your face closer to his, testing him. you shifted your hips just enough to grind against him through the layers of clothes, and that made his fingers dig in, holding you down so you couldn’t keep moving.
“behave, won’t you?” he muttered, his voice flat but loaded.
that made you smirk. “what, jakey? i thought you wanted this,” you whined, tilting your voice into that bratty little tease you knew would get him worked up. and then you were grinding on him again, slower this time, just to push.
his grip on your thighs went rough, firm enough you’d probably see the marks later, and you leaned forward like you weren’t fazed at all. he was smiling now, biting his lip, annoyed and turned on beyond reason. “give me a kiss before i put you in your place,” he said, like it was some casual request, but you both knew it wasn’t.
you were still smirking when you leaned in, noses almost brushing, clearly waiting to see how far you could stretch him before he snapped. jake thought, yeah, this girl is gonna ruin me, but he wasn’t about to let you see that written on his face. he just held you tighter and kept that cocky little grin, watching you lean in with the most torturous pace ever.
and when you did, you kissed him slow, dragging it out like you wanted to prove a point, and he kissed you back like he’d been training for this exact moment, tongue slipping into your mouth like it belonged there. he’d imagined this a hundred times, maybe more, but in reality it was so much better. when you started grinding down on him again, all drawn out and teasing, he caught your lower lip between his teeth, tugged, then went right back in. he didn’t stop until he had to pull away just to breathe, drunk on you, trailing down your jaw with his mouth, nipping and kissing until he got to your neck.
the second he heard that tiny whimper spill out of you, he fucking lost it. his hand came up, not soft, cupping your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him. you smirked at him, and it made him growl out, “you’re so fucking hot.” before you could toss some bratty reply back, he cut you off. “kneel for me.”
you hesitated just a beat, smirking, like you were about to be clever. but then you surprised him, you actually obeyed, slipping off his lap and sinking to the floor in front of him. his chest felt tight watching you like that, hair a little messy, looking up at him from the floor. he leaned forward, spread his legs a little wider, and let out this low laugh. “good girl,” he said, steady. then he added, “hands on your knees. look up at me.” you did it, but with that smirk like you were humoring him, not surrendering. he arched a brow. “what’s with that look?”
“what look?” you asked, voice all fake innocence, eyes wide.
“the one that’s begging me to make you behave,” he shot back. his hand went to your hair, not pulling hard, just testing. you didn’t flinch, you leaned into it. “say please,” he said next.
you tilted your head, lips parting. “please what?”
“don’t play with me,” he warned, squeezing the back of your neck lightly.
you laughed, bratty and breathless. “you don’t even know what you want me to say please for, jakey.”
he groaned, like you were already driving him insane. “jesus christ, you’re a handful.”
you beamed, proud of yourself. “am i not your favorite little handful though?”
he gave a dry laugh, leaning forward, eyes locked on you. “yeah, you are. and you’re gonna regret milking that.” his thumb brushed your lower lip, pressing down just enough to make your mouth part. “open up,” he said. you stuck out your tongue in response, rolling your eyes like you were daring him to do something. “god, you’re such a brat,” he muttered, shaking his head but clearly loving every second. “don’t worry. i’ll train you right.”
jake already knew he was too deep in this to stop now, so when his thumb pressed harder into your lip and you opened wider, he spit right into your mouth without thinking twice. you blinked at him, a little shocked. “swallow it all,” he’d said, and you did, no hesitation. he could see it hit you too, the way your shoulders shifted, that look in your eyes flipping. that was the first time any guy had done that to you, and jake clocked the moment you gave in a little, the brat suddenly turning pliant.
he smirked, dragged his thumb out of your mouth and replaced it with his index finger, pushing against your tongue. “suck.” you did, lips wrapping around it, tongue working slow like you wanted to torture him. he groaned, letting you do it, and then switched it up, making you take his thumb. “good girl. now tell me what you want, pet.”
your eyes flicked up, all teasing again, and you mumbled around his thumb, “it’s hurting, jakey.”
his brain stalled for a second. wow, she’s actually kinky as hell, he thought. he softened, brushing his free hand across your cheek. “what’s hurting, baby?”
you pulled his thumb out just enough to pout at him, voice dripping brat, “i need you so much it hurts.”
that one hit him straight in the gut. he was in awe, just staring at you. “aw, princess,” he said, almost laughing in disbelief. “do you need me to take care of you?” you nodded fast, lips pushing out in a little whine. “but,” he leaned down, pressing his forehead close to yours, “you gotta deserve to be rewarded, you know that, right? will you behave for me?”
your nod was eager this time, quick. “i will, i promise.”
“yeah?” he said, standing up slow, eyes locked on you the whole time while his fingers went to his belt. he tugged it loose, the leather sliding through the loops while he bit his lip. your eyes tracked every movement, wide and hungry, those stupid puppy eyes making him feel feral. but the second you started to lift your hands from your thighs like you wanted to reach for him, he snapped. “uh-uh.” he pointed right at you. “what’d i tell you? hands on your thighs, pet.”
you huffed, clearly annoyed, but put them back exactly where he wanted. “good girl,” he said again, dragging his zipper down nice and slow, making sure you stayed right there, waiting. he tugged his jeans and briefs down in one go, his cock springing free, thick and heavy, and the second your eyes widened he almost lost it. you actually drooled a little, lips parted, and he laughed low, cocky as ever. “yeah, like what you see, huh? big, but you can take it, right baby?”
his hand landed on your head, gentle but firm, fingers threading through your hair. you pouted up at him, whining softly, “i don’t know, jakey.”
he grinned like you’d just said the funniest shit in the world, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “don’t know? c’mon, you’re my good girl. you can take it. i know you can. don’t make me remind you.” and you nodded so fast, eager, like his words flipped some switch inside you. “see? there she is. good girl. now… go slow, pretty. just lick it. like a kitty.” you leaned in, tongue shy at first, just dragging along the tip, and he hissed, hand tightening in your hair. “fuck, yeah… just like that. lap it up for me.”
you licked your way down his shaft, soft little flicks of your tongue, and he was going crazy, eyes screwed shut for a second, trying to hold back. “jesus fuck, look at you. you’re actually licking me like a fucking kitten. do you even know how cute you look right now?”
you hummed against him, pulling back with a wet mouth and whispering, “maybe i just wanna play with you.”
he laughed again, smug but wrecked already, giving your cheek a few pats like he was rewarding you. “play all you want, sweetheart. just remember who owns you now. okay?” your eyes went wide at that, pupils blown, and you nodded, lips pressing back against the base of his cock, licking slow all the way up. he groaned, the sound broken. “fuck, that’s it. my pretty pet, my good little kitty. keep showing me how bad you need it. you’re making your owner so proud.”
jake never pictured himself like this, or saying those things, not with anyone. he’d had his fun before, sure, but the fact that he was seconds away from spilling down your throat from those innocent little eyes alone? yeah, that was new. he was way more down bad than he ever admitted.
so when your tongue started moving faster, when you got bolder, sloppier, sucking him off with that bratty determination like you wanted to prove something, he groaned, hand snapping down to your hair. a sharp tug, a wet pop leaving your lips as his cock slipped free. you looked up at him, eyes wide, bottom lip sticking out in a pout.
“aw, you want more, baby?” he teased, voice ragged, trying to keep control when he was already losing it. you nodded instantly, needy, and his smile widened. “you’re getting it, don’t worry. but for now…” he leaned back on the couch, cock heavy against his stomach, and patted his thigh. “come on, hop on.”
you did exactly that, crawling up into his lap like the little cat he kept calling you, hands pressing into the cushion as you moved, hips hovering just enough that your clothed core brushed his bare cock. the second you started to grind down, though, he didn’t let you have it, he flipped you fast, pressing you down so your cheek met the couch cushion, ass up high for him. “that’s better,” he muttered, sitting under you. the sight alone nearly ruined him, your ass arched perfectly, skirt riding up.
his fingers slid along your thighs before catching on the fabric, tugging at your skirt. “let’s take this off, mhm?” he peeled it down slow, tossing it aside, leaving you in just your panties. he let his palm rest over one cheek, rubbing soft, soothing circles, like he was calming his pet after riling her up too much. “look at you,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost in awe. “all laid out for me. such a good girl.” his hand smoothed over your ass again before giving it a light squeeze. “stay just like this, pet. don’t move unless i tell you to.”
you whined into the cushion, wiggling your hips like you were trying to bait him, and he laughed low, shaking his head. “bratty already? we talked about this, remember? ass up, face down. behave for me, or you’ll wait longer.” his tone was playful, not cruel, but it still made you still, biting down your whines. he leaned in, letting his cock brush lightly against your thigh, teasing. “good. that’s better. see? my sweet pet can listen. and when you listen, you get rewarded.”
his hand drifted down, slow, lazy, like he had all night to play with you. two fingers pressed against the thin fabric of your panties, dragging along the damp spot he already knew he’d find. the second he felt it, he chuckled, low and pleased, rubbing small circles just to hear you react. “aw, you’re soaked right through, baby. that’s so hot.” his tone was teasing.
you whined, pressing your face harder into the couch, your voice muffled but still clear. “only for you.”
that made his cock twitch, he leaned forward, chest almost brushing your back, lips close to your ear. “oh yeah? only for me?” he pressed his fingers harder against the fabric, not slipping inside, just making you squirm. “then tell me, pet. tell me what you want me to do.”
you let out a frustrated sound, trying to grind back against his hand, but he had you pinned with his thigh under your stomach, keeping you in place. “i want your fingers,” you whispered, needy.
“my fingers, huh?” he dragged them along your slit, slow enough to make it torture. “you want me to make you feel good with these?” he brought one up to your lips, letting you see the damp shine of your own arousal. you nodded quickly, pout forming again, and he laughed, patting your ass lightly like he was warning you. “needy little thing. so spoiled. but since you asked so nicely…”
his fingers dipped under the waistband of your panties at last, the fabric dragging down just enough for him to slip inside and find your folds. you moaned loudly and whiny, and he swore under his breath at how wet you were, coating his fingers instantly. “fuck,” he muttered, curling one finger inside you while his other hand smoothed over your hip, keeping you steady. “there we go. my good girl, taking me so easy. stay still for me, pet. let me play with you just like this.”
his fingers started moving faster, curling and dragging in a way that made your whole body jolt against his thigh. you yelped, louder this time, the sound bouncing in the quiet room. jake immediately leaned down, his breath brushing your ear. “quiet, pet. don’t want anyone hearing, do we?” you bit your lip, tried to hold it back, but the next time his fingers pushed deeper, a sharp whimper slipped out anyway. his voice dropped. “i said quiet.”
you tried again, muffling yourself against the couch cushion, but your body betrayed you, another sound ripping through your throat when his pace picked up. and then, suddenly, he pulled his hand away completely. the emptiness made you groan, frustrated, your hips wiggling back in protest. “ill have to punish you now, you know that right?” he said it calm, almost like he was explaining something obvious, but the way his hand smoothed over your ass right after made you shiver.
you tilted your head just enough to glance back at him, pouty and bratty. “maybe i wanted you to stop.”
he raised his brows, amused, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “oh yeah? is that what you’re telling yourself?”
you wiggled again, pushing your hips back against him like you were testing his patience. “maybe i like it better when you’re mad.”
he laughed under his breath, shaking his head, but there was heat in his eyes. “careful, pet. you’re about to get exactly what you’re asking for.”
and then his hand came down. not too hard, but enough to make your body jolt, the sound echoing sharp in the room. you gasped, and then laughed breathlessly, almost taunting. “that all you got, jakey?”
his jaw flexed, and his hand landed again, harder this time, the smack making your skin sting. “you really wanna test me right now?” he let out a low groan, dragging both hands over your ass before landing another quick series of spanks, steady and controlled. each one made your body jerk, and each time you made some sound that only pushed him further. “fuck,” he muttered, “you like this too much.”
his hand smoothed over the warmth he’d left behind, fingers soothing, but then he landed one more sharp smack that made you yelp louder than before. he immediately grabbed your hair, tugging your head back just enough so you couldn’t bury your face anymore. “i wanna hear you beg properly,” he said, his tone firm now, “say you’ll be good for me, and maybe i’ll give you back my fingers. if not…” he squeezed your ass hard, “we’re staying right here until you learn.”
the moment you opened your mouth, ready to fire back with something bratty or maybe even give in and beg, the bell rang. both of you froze, staring at each other wide-eyed.
jake blinked, still holding your hair, then muttered, “i think you were too loud?” but the way he said it wasn’t teasing, wasn’t even part of the game, it was just matter of fact, like he really thought your whines had carried down the hall.
you stared back at him, cheeks flushed, and scoffed. “no, i don’t think so.” and then the bell rang again, even longer this time, and you panicked, scrambling, yelling “i’m coming!” towards the door.
jake almost choked, because his brain short-circuited for a second and he thought, god, i wish she’d say that in a whole other context.
everything after that moved way too fast. one second you were half naked, bent over, bratting about his punishment, the next you were yanking your skirt back up and pulling your shirt down, your hair all messy and your lips swollen from kissing. you grabbed his pants and his wrist and dragged him towards your bedroom. he was stumbling after you, his dick still hard, bouncing against his stomach because he wasn’t even wearing pants anymore, which just made the whole thing ten times more ridiculous.
“stay there, quickly, i’ll be right back,” you hissed at him, shoving him into your room and throwing his pants at him while he caught them in the air.
jake stood there, half dazed, half turned on, thinking this was the most chaotic blue balls situation of his life. his cock was throbbing, his shirt was wrinkled, and he was hiding in a girl’s bedroom like a teenager.
he sat there on the edge of your bed, pantsless, staring at the door and he could hear everything clear as day. suddenly he could hear sunoo’s voice carried through the dorm, cheerful and way too loud for jake’s current situation. “y/n! i was calling you, you didn’t answer. i was waiting for you at the library. i got worried!”
you sounded way too casual for someone who’d just been spread out over the couch whining under jake’s fingers. “oh, sorry, i dozed off. i was so tired.”
there was a pause, then sunoo’s suspicious tone: “why are you red? and your hair looks… what happened?”
you snapped back instantly, “i was sleeping, i told you.”
jake, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands. jesus fucking christ. this was ridiculous. that was his cue, he quickly pulled his boxers back up, then wriggled into his jeans. because as much as his dick hated it, it was way too humiliating to sit there listening in with his bare ass on your sheets.
while he was buttoning up, his eyes wandered. your room was… very you. he noticed sanrio plushies stacked in the corner, a little snoopy mug on the desk with pens sticking out of it, and an actual pink and white gamer setup with a keyboard that lit up like cotton candy. he blinked at that one, he didn’t even know you gamed, but apparently you did, and you did it in the most annoyingly cute way possible. it was distracting, like the whole place was a scrapbook of your personality, and he was sitting there in the middle of it half hard, listening to your best friend interrogate you in the next room.
then he heard you again, your voice a little rushed. “let me just go to my room and fix myself up, i’ll be quick.”
sunoo didn’t sound convinced. “i’ll come with you—”
“no, wait in the living room. were you born glued to me or something?”
“what the—are you crazy?” sunoo shot back, baffled.
“sunoo, let me change alone,” you said, sharper now, but still playful enough to throw him off.
jake had to bite back a laugh, shaking his head. you were juggling this so smoothly, meanwhile he looked like an idiot sitting on your bed, surrounded by stuffed animals, pretending this was normal.
and then the door cracked open and you slipped back in, closing it quickly behind you, leaving sunoo muttering to himself outside. jake was sitting there, finally dressed, looking suspicious. you let out this little laugh, low, like you couldn’t believe how cute he looked sitting there stiff on your bed surrounded by your plushies. he stood up, kind of sheepish, and you just smiled at him like nothing was out of the ordinary, whispering, “im so sorry, i have to go,” with a pout that made you look more like a kid ditching class than someone who just had her ass smacked red ten minutes ago.
he thought you were adorable like that, so he shook his head and said, “it’s okay, i liked distracting you.”
then you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. not hot, not horny, not dripping with tension, just a casual kiss. and that’s what fucked him up a bit, because he never did casual kisses like that with anyone.
“i’ll change, leave, and you can stay here, okay? i’ll leave the door open so you can head out whenever. you can even get comfy if you want to, i don’t mind,” you said like you were inviting him to borrow a hoodie or something. easygoing, no stress. he stood there thinking, wow, you really weren’t trying to make him feel embarrassed, even though you could’ve. you could’ve outed him to sunoo in two seconds flat, but you didn’t.
so you turned around, grabbed clothes, changed right there like it was nothing, and then you were gone, chatting back at sunoo.
and jake just sat there on your bed, hands on his knees, staring at the kuromi plush in the corner like it had answers. his dick was still half hard in his jeans, but his brain was louder than his body this time. he thought, holy shit, i just had the kinkiest, freakiest time of my life and somehow my dick never even got inside her once.
after that day, things between you and jake definitely got steamier. he was still jake, pretending he just “happened” to run into you on campus, but really he was timing shit out. he knew your class schedule better than his own. sometimes he’d wait outside one of your lectures and play it off like, “oh hey, didn’t know you had class here,” and then two minutes later he had you pressed against a wall making out. subtle wasn’t his thing anymore.
he started hanging around your friends more too. jungwon, who he already kind of knew, turned into his partner-in-crime somehow. jake was showing up to sit at your table like he belonged there. sunoo kept giving him these looks, like he was three seconds away from calling him out, and jake swore the guy had to know something even though you promised you hadn’t told him a word. it was just the way sunoo looked at him– suspicious as hell.
and the thing was, jake couldn’t really keep his hands off you. you’d be standing in line at the vending machine and he’d pull you aside to kiss you like he hadn’t seen you in a year. in between classes he’d tug you down some hallway and you’d laugh, telling him to chill, but you’d still kiss him back. the parking lot was another story. he kissed you once against your car, his hand already halfway down the back of your jeans, when someone walked by and you had to shove him off, both of you laughing.
the thing is, none of it ever went further than hot kisses and some wandering hands. it wasn’t full-on sex, not yet. and that was what was killing jake slowly. he was losing his mind because you’d give him just enough: enough roleplay, enough teasing, enough touching to keep him hooked, but never the whole thing. every time you whispered something bratty in his ear or let him grab your waist in the middle of campus, he wanted you more. and the more he got, the less satisfied he felt, because it only made him hungrier.
so he came up with this plan. he wanted to make it special, and he couldn’t quite figure out why he cared so much. the timing lined up with jungwon’s birthday, just a small gathering at his place with close friends. jake was invited, obviously, him and jungwon were basically glued at the hip now. so he offered to pick you up.
when you got into his car that night, jake didn’t even wait a beat. you barely closed the door before he leaned over, caught your chin, and kissed you. it wasn’t rushed though, he kissed you slow, deep, like he’d been starving all week. you kissed him back, let him taste you for a second, before pulling away with a laugh. “jake, we’re gonna be late,” you said.
he smirked and said “worth it.” then, just to make your stomach flip, he grabbed your other hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles before starting the engine. jake kept sneaking looks at you, thumb brushing your hand where it rested in his. when you arrived at jungwon’s, jake slipped his hand to your lower back as you both walked inside, guiding you.
the whole night, jake barely left your side. if you went to the kitchen, he was there leaning against the counter, sipping from his cup, making stupid commentary. if you sat down, he took the spot next to you, knee brushing yours. it wasn’t possessive, not even official, but he hovered like a guy on a date, even though neither of you had ever said that word out loud. and the thing was, you let him.
sometimes your friends would tease – sunoo gave you this knowing look across the room at one point – but you brushed it off. the real issue wasn’t what people thought. it was that every time jake leaned in close to whisper something dumb in your ear, every time his fingers brushed against yours under the table, you wanted him so bad it made you dizzy. and judging by the way he kept staring at your mouth all night, he was having the same problem.
when the party ended, he offered you a ride back to your place, and at the elevator going down in jungwon’s building, he already couldn’t hold it. the doors closed, the silence hit, and he cornered you right there, pressing you against the wall before you could even blink. his mouth was on yours, hot and messy, your little whine breaking between the kisses making his head spin. you tugged at his shirt, and he groaned into your mouth like he’d been waiting for this all damn night.
he pulled back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing yours, and whispered, “come to my place, please.” he didn’t even think before saying it. it just spilled out.
you didn’t even hesitate. you just nodded, whispered “okay,” and kissed him again like you couldn’t wait either.
the car ride was a whole other mess. his hand was glued to your thigh, fingers sliding higher and you weren’t doing anything to stop him. he kept smirking at you, leaning close enough to murmur shit like, “you’re so needy, aren’t you?” or “you’ve been teasing me for weeks, baby. you think i’m letting you off easy tonight?” and every time, you’d bite your lip and nod, your bratty side slipping but not disappearing entirely.
by the time he pulled into the driveway, you were both buzzing. he didn’t even bother with slow steps once you got inside. the moment the door shut, he pressed you against it hard, kissing you. one hand held your waist, the other grabbed your wrist and guided it straight to his bulge through his jeans. “see?” he panted against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours. “this is what you do to me.”
and you felt it hard and heavy under your palm, and the way you looked up at him, wide eyed and needy, just about made him lose his mind right there.
he didn’t even give you a second to think. he was now scooping you up, you gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he carried you down the hall like he’d done it a hundred times before. except he hadn’t, and he was going crazy about the fact that it was you in his arms. he kissed you the whole way, sloppy, greedy kisses that landed half on your lips and half on your jaw because he refused to stop even while moving.
by the time he made it to his room, he basically tossed you onto the bed. he climbed on after you, settling between your legs like he was claiming his spot. “open up for me,” he said, and you did, spreading your thighs wide, and the way he looked at you like that nearly made you combust. he grabbed your leg, lifted it, and started kissing up from your ankle, slow and deliberate, leaving wet trails on your skin until he was nipping at your inner thigh.
“i’ve been dying to have you like this,” he murmured against your skin, and then looked up at you, eyes dark, “you’re mine, aren’t you?” you were too far gone to answer, your head falling back, a whimper spilling out instead. that wasn’t enough for him. “answer me, pet,” he demanded, giving your thigh a squeeze.
you nodded desperately, voice breaking as you whispered, “i can’t take it anymore, jakey. i need you.”
he smirked, brushing his lips right where you were the most sensitive but not giving you what you wanted yet. “i got you something,” he said, and just like that, he pulled back.
you blinked up at him, confused and needy, while he turned to his nightstand. he pulled the drawer open and, without much hesitation, pulled out a pair of shiny handcuffs. “oooh,” you laughed, your cheeks heating, but there was excitement in your voice.
the thing was, jake had been planning this longer than he cared to admit. last week, he had walked into the little sex shop near campus and walked out with a small bag of things he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually use. he told himself it was “just in case,” even though deep down he was already picturing you.
the shop itself had been an experience. he walked in like he belonged there, but the second he saw all the shelves stacked with vibrators, butt plugs, leather collars, and some shit he didn’t even know the name of, he nearly turned around. he swore the old lady behind the counter was judging him, even though it was literally her job. jake had grabbed the handcuffs, lingered a little too long in front of the section with leashes and collars, and even picked up a blindfold before chickening out and putting it back.
he paid fast as hell, shoved the bag in his backpack, and prayed no one he knew would walk past the store. and now here he was, finally pulling the cuffs out.
he looked back at you on his bed, all spread out and waiting, and thought, holy shit, i actually bought this for her. i’m really about to do this. “do you want that?” he asked, voice low, holding the cuffs up so they caught the light.
your stomach flipped. you couldn’t stop the bratty little grin curling at your lips, couldn’t stop the way your thighs shifted like you already knew what was coming. “yes,” you whispered, your voice just breathless enough to make his smirk turn sharp.
“fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head like you were too much, “you’re so dirty, aren’t you?”
before you could even think of something smart to throw back at him, he was already climbing over you, grabbing your wrists and snapping the cuffs around them, locking them together above your head. the metal was cool, firm, and you shivered when you felt it click. he spread your thighs wider with a slow push, his hand on your knee like he owned every inch of you.
“stay still, or i’ll punish you,” he said, and it was low, commanding, no room for play in it. you whined, hips already twitching up toward him without your permission. “behave,” he warned, shooting you a look that made you clamp your lips shut, “already told you.”
he reached down, tugged your skirt off, tossing it aside so you were bare under his gaze. he kissed along your inner thigh, slow and messy, lips dragging up your skin, making you squirm even though you tried so hard to stay still like he told you to. when his mouth got close enough to your panties, he pressed his face against the heat of you, inhaling, and you heard him groan low in his throat. “my bunny smells so fucking good,” he muttered, almost like he was drunk on it already.
“your bunny?” you whispered, testing the word, voice shaky.
he smirked against you, looking up through his lashes. “yeah, mine. my pet. my bunny.” something in you melted, and you couldn’t stop yourself from nodding, tugging uselessly at the cuffs. “what does my pet want?” he teased, his voice dropping lower, his lips brushing the fabric of your panties as he spoke. “want me to eat you out, hm?”
you nodded desperately, the words tumbling out of you, “please—jake, please.”
he tilted his head, pretending to think about it, then tapped your thigh. “aw, you deserve it, don’t you? you’ve been so obedient.”
you whimpered, nodding, whispering, “yes, yes, i deserve it, please—”
and then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanked them down in one quick move, tossing them to the floor. “fuck, look at you,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss just above your heat, deliberately avoiding your clit while you squirmed beneath him. “drooling for me already. my perfect little bunny.” you tugged at the cuffs, frustrated, whining his name. he chuckled against your thigh, the sound vibrating through your skin. “patience, baby. i’ll give you what you want when i’m ready.”
and then, finally, he licked a slow stripe up your folds, and your whole body jolted. you moaned, loud and messy, your back arching as his tongue pressed deeper, as he lapped you up like he’d been starving for it. he groaned into you, “that’s it,” he mumbled against you, licking you again and again, “make those pretty noises for me. let everyone know who you belong to.”
his tongue was everywhere, sliding, circling, pressing against your clit just right before pulling away, dragging down to lick into you, greedy and messy. his hands were firm on your thighs, holding them open wide, keeping you spread for him like you had no choice but to take it. you were whimpering, tugging at the cuffs, your chest rising and falling fast. “please, jake—”
he groaned into your pussy, the sound vibrating against you, making your hips jerk. he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, lips and chin wet. “say it properly, pet. you wanna cum? beg for it.”
your face burned, but the desperation in your voice gave you away. “please let me cum, i need it, i need you, please, please, i’ll be good—”
he laughed low, then pressed his tongue flat against your clit, making your head fall back. “you’re gonna cum when i say, okay, bunny?”
you nodded frantically, whining, “okay, okay, i’ll wait, i’ll wait—”
but your body betrayed you. the way he sucked on your clit, the way he lapped you up like he wanted to drink you dry, it was too much. your thighs shook, your whole body tensed, and then you broke apart, cumming hard into his mouth before he even gave the word. you cried out his name, the cuffs rattling above your head as you tried to ground yourself, and he didn’t stop. he kept licking, messier now, tongue fucking you while you were still trembling, overstimulated, every nerve raw. you tried to squirm away, but his grip was too strong, holding your thighs wide open, his mouth still working you like you were his.
when he finally pulled back, his lips shiny, his breathing heavy, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawled up over you. his hand caught your chin, firm and unyielding, forcing your face up to look at him. “did you just cum without my permission?” he asked, his voice dark, his eyes locked on yours.
you bit your lip, trying not to smile, bratty even with your chest heaving. “yeah, what you gonna do?”
his grip on your chin tightened just a little, his smirk sharp, dangerous. “you’re about to fucking find out, bitch.”
the word made your eyes widen, a flash of surprise mixed with the way your stomach twisted with heat. he saw it, of course he did, and it only made his grin curl wider. without saying anything else, he freed you from the cuffs, and then he reached over to his drawer again, sliding it open, and soon after you felt him turn you over, pressing you chest down into the mattress. his hand slid along the back of your neck as he fastened something firm around your throat. a collar.
“if you wanna act like my bitch,” he muttered close to your ear, tugging on it once to test the fit, “maybe i’ll just put a leash on you.” your body shivered at the sound of it, and you let out a whine muffled against the sheets. he gave you a second to breathe before pushing off the bed, standing tall. “get off the bed,” he ordered, his voice steady but sharp. “kneel on the floor. hands on your thighs. like i taught you.”
you moved quickly, scrambling off the mattress, and the second your knees hit the floor, you dropped into position, head slightly bowed, palms flat against your thighs. you felt the weight of the collar with every breath, heavy, real. jake sat back on the edge of the bed, legs spread just enough, elbows resting loosely on his knees. he looked down at you for a long moment, letting the silence sit, letting you squirm under his gaze. then his hand came out, patting the top of your head like he was rewarding a pet.
“you look so fucking pretty in a collar,” he said, his tone low, rough. “acting so obedient now. not so bratty anymore, huh?” your lips parted, but you stayed quiet, because you knew better now. he leaned back a little, watching you stay perfectly still on your knees in front of him. the collar sat snug on your neck, and he let his fingers trace over it like he was reminding you who put it there.
“good girl,” he said slowly, almost teasing. “but let’s see if you actually learned something.” his hand came down, tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his eyes. “you want me to let you touch me?”
“yes, please,” you whispered immediately, your voice shaky but eager.
he smirked, clearly satisfied with that, but still not giving in. instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your face. “tell me what you are.”
your eyes flickered, nervous but turned on. “i’m your pet.”
his grin stretched wide. “and what does my pet want right now?”
your body squirmed as you shifted on your knees, thighs pressing together, heat pooling low. “i want to please you.”
“hm,” he hummed, tilting his head. “you want my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”
“mhm, yes, so bad.” you said whiny.
he raised a brow, clearly enjoying dragging it out. “why should i let you?”
you whined, the sound spilling out without you meaning to, and he chuckled low. “please, jake… i’ll be good, i promise.”
he leaned forward again, his lips brushing against your ear. “beg properly, pet.”
your hands clenched against your thighs, nails digging into your skin as you whispered quickly, desperate, “please let me suck your cock, i need it, i’ll be good, i’ll do it how you like, just please.”
he smirked like he’d been waiting for that exact moment, thumb dragging over your bottom lip again before pulling his hand away completely. “open my pants.” your hands shot forward instantly, fumbling just a little with the button and zipper, pulling them down slowly, careful, like you knew he was watching your every move. he shifted his hips up to help, letting you slide the fabric down enough, and when his cock sprang free, thick and already hard, he grabbed the back of your head, forcing you to look at it.
“there it is,” he muttered, his tone sharp. “the thing you’ve been begging for.” you licked your lips, eyes wide, but you stayed frozen until he gave the word. he smirked again, tugging your hair gently. “go on, pet. show me how good you can be.”
you started slow, almost too slow, your lips brushing against the tip first, tongue flicking against the slit while your hand wrapped around the base. jake groaned right away, his head tipping back as his fingers tightened in your hair. “fuck… you’re really gonna tease me now?” his voice was low, almost strained, but you didn’t speed up. you flattened your tongue along the underside and dragged it down, taking your time, making him twitch against your lips.
you slowly pushed him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, but still holding back, pulling off every few seconds just to lick around his head again. drool was already starting to wet your chin, and the sight made him groan even louder. “shit… look at you. on your knees, drooling for me.” he tugged harder on your hair, guiding you back down, and you let him.
he held you there, watching you take him slow, your throat stretching around him as you gagged softly, eyes watering a little. that sound made him grit his teeth. “fuck, you like this, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice harsh now. “mhm? you like choking on my cock like a good little bitch?”
you moaned around him, the vibrations sending a shiver through his body. he pulled you off suddenly, saliva dripping from your lips, and forced you to look at him. “answer me,” he demanded, his grip unrelenting.
you gasped, your voice weak but clear. “yes, yes! i like it.”
he smirked, his thumb smearing your spit over your lips. “damn… you like the whole thing, don’t you? degradation too?”
before you could answer, he pushed you back down, this time not letting you go at your own pace. he thrusted up into your mouth, using your head like a handle, fucking your throat without mercy. your gagging filled the room, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gasped for breath between strokes. “that’s it, baby,” he groaned, his hips snapping up harder, faster. “take it. take it all like the dumb little slut you are.”
you clawed at his thighs, not to push him away but to hold on, and he laughed breathlessly. “jesus christ, you’re sick for this. my obedient pet one second, my dirty slut the next. fuck, i’m never letting you go.” he shoved himself deeper, until your nose pressed against his skin, and held you there, watching your throat work around him. you gagged, choked, saliva spilling everywhere, but you didn’t fight it, you let him use you, collar tight against your neck, and it drove him fucking insane.
he drove himself until he lost it, groaning your name as he came, and the warm, filthy flood hit the back of your throat. you gagged around him, eyes wide, stomach tightening as his hips convulsed, and when he finally slowed and stilled you swallowed reflexively, shaking, tasting him on your tongue.
he watched you the whole time, chest heaving, and then he pulled out. you were breathing hard, cheeks flushed. he scooped you up with this sudden tenderness that almost felt comical after the roughness, picked you up like you were light as a feather and carried you back to the bed.
you lay there as he settled down beside you, and his hands were all soft now. he kissed your face like he was making up for everything, trailing from your mouth down to your collarbone, lingering, then along your arm to your hand where he actually sucked on your fingers for a beat, ridiculous and sweet and wildly out of sync with what he’d been doing minutes before.
“my baby did so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice full of something that wasn’t only lust. “you treated me so well.”
you were breathless and whining, voice small and needy. he smiled into your neck, tasting you again, and you felt both stupid and right to be lost in the softness after the dirty stuff. his praise kept coming, until, in a quick motion that made your heart jump, he shifted behind you so your back pressed into his chest. he folded you into him, one arm wrapping under your ribs, the other finding your legs and holding them open wide.
“i’m gonna reward you now, okay?” he said into your hair, voice steady. “i feel bad for being mean to my bunny.” there was a teasing edge but also actual warmth. you could feel him hard against the small of your back, steady.
he cupped your thighs, fingers warm, and brushed a palm over your slick where he’d made you come earlier, slow, deliberate. you squirmed, he kissed the back of your ear, then whispered, “do you want my fingers again? or do you want me inside you?”
you looked back over your shoulder, eyes bright, tiny smirk slipping through the haze. “i want you,” you breathed.
he hummed, pleased, and his hand slid between your legs, fingers parting you easily. he started with one finger, slow, pressing in and curling gently, testing, then adding a second as you moaned into his shirt. his thumb found your clit, rubbing in easy circles while his fingers worked inside you, a steady, confident rhythm that built you back up from the edges. “that’s it,” he praised, low and rough. “such a good girl. take it for me.”
you were trembling, the combination of his fingers and the proximity of his cock against your back making everything too much. you whined, hips rocking, chasing more, and he laughed softly, biting at your shoulder. “you make the dumbest little noises when i touch you. it’s almost embarrassing how much you need me.”
his thumb pressed harder, fingers curling deep, and your whole body shook, forehead falling against his shoulders. he kissed the back of your neck, lips dragging over the collar around your throat, his breath hot against your skin. then his voice dropped darker, meaner, right in your ear. “do you want my cock inside you, hm?” you whined and nodded, and his fingers slowed, teasing, holding you on edge. “ask me nicely, pet.”
you squirmed, chest heaving, and finally whispered, “please, jake, i want it. i want your cock, please–”
he groaned low, his grip tightening on your waist. “that’s my girl. begging so sweet.” he lifted you up just a little, enough to line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. he didn’t push in right away. instead, he held you there, rubbing himself through your folds, letting you feel how hard he was. “feel that? all yours if you behave.” you whined and tried to sink down, but his hands stopped you. he breathed against your ear again. “slow. i’m gonna make you take it slow.”
inch by inch, he guided you down onto him, your body stretching around him, every second dragging out. he held your hips steady, forcing you to feel every bit of him sliding in. your moans filled the room, shaky and raw, and he kissed the side of your neck, whispering, “good girl. you’re doing so good for me.”
he bottomed out finally, keeping you still, cock buried deep inside you while his arm locked you in place. his lips pressed to your collar, then your ear. “stay right here. don’t move. let me feel you.”
you could feel the way his chest rose sharp against your back, the way he was fighting to breathe steady. his forehead dropped to your shoulder, and for a moment he didn’t move at all, just holding you there, stuffed full, his heavy cock twitching inside you. “fuck,” he groaned, low and broken, like he’d been waiting forever for this. his hand dragged down your thigh, squeezing tight. “you don’t know how long i wanted this. how bad.” his hips shifted just a little, not even pulling out, just grinding deeper into you, chasing more of your heat.
when he finally started to move, it was slow, dragging himself out a few inches and sliding back in just as carefully. the stretch made both of you gasp. he kissed your shoulder, your neck, muttering, “fuck, you feel perfect. so tight.” his thighs shifted under you, his body adjusting. he pressed his feet into the mattress, grounding himself, and the new leverage let him sink back in harder. the bed creaked with the movement, his grip on your waist tightening.
his thrusts picked up, still controlled but deeper, faster, each one hitting with more force. the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, his breath rough in your ear. his rhythm built steady, more sure with every thrust, the need he’d been holding back finally breaking through as he fucked into you from below, hips snapping up against you.
“that’s it,” he growled against your ear, voice ragged. “take it. take my cock, pet. bounce on it.” his free hand slid down your front, fingers finding your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make you jolt. you whined, back arching into his chest, and he laughed low, mean but so turned on. “look at you– you love when i rub your clit while i fuck you stupid, don’t you?”
your answer came out broken, just a mess of yes and please, and he rewarded you by pressing harder, rubbing tight circles while still driving his cock into you rough and deep. “good girl,” he panted, his lips brushing the side of your neck, wet from his kisses. “you’re mine. my sweet bunny, taking me so well.”
he slowed just enough to shift you, his hands sliding down your sides as he pulled out of you. you were still shaking when he turned you around, moving you onto his lap so you were straddling him, knees on either side of his hips. his cock brushed against you, wet and hot, as he guided you down onto him again, inch by inch, until you were seated fully, face to face.
his eyes locked with yours, dark and heavy. “that’s better,” he murmured, breathless. “i want to see you while you ride me.” he grabbed your hips, steadying you, then started rolling them forward, showing you the rhythm he wanted. “move, puppy,” he said quietly, voice rough. “show me how you ride.”
you began to move, slow at first, your hands pressed to his chest. his palms slid up your sides, then cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. he squeezed, played, tugged gently, making you moan. “look at my pretty pet,” he said, fingers teasing your nipples while his hips pushed up into you. “bouncing on my cock so good. does it feel good, pup?”
you whined in answer, head tipping back, and he reached up and caught the collar at your throat, fingers curling in the strap to pull you back down until your faces were inches apart. “closer,” he ordered. “right here. eyes on me, baby.”
his grip on the collar held you steady as you rode him, your breasts moving in his hands. he pinched your nipples again, rolling them between his fingers while he thrust up into you, forcing another whimper from your throat. your nails dug into his shoulders as you tried to move on him, the stretch making your breath come out in shaky little sounds. your forehead dropped to his, eyes squeezed shut.
“jake–-” you whispered, voice breaking. “it’s too much. you’re too big…”
his smirk flickered, a small groan in his chest as he pulled a little on your collar to make you look at him. “aww,” he said, low. “but you can take it, can’t you? slow down, baby. don’t run from it. let it in.”
you nodded, trembling, and started to roll your hips slower, dragging yourself up and down his length inch by inch. the shift made it even deeper, and you gasped, biting your lip. jake leaned back, eyes fixed on you, and put both hands behind his head, elbows out, like he was watching a show. his cock twitched inside you as you tried to keep the rhythm, struggling a little at how full you felt.
he let out a quiet, cruel laugh. “can’t even take all of it without whining. you love it, though. you love how big i am.” you whimpered, hips moving slower, trying to adjust, and he tilted his head, smirk growing wider. “that’s right. ride it nice and slow. so tight around me. so small. look at you struggling on my cock like that, fuck, so hot—”
you slowed down on purpose, hips rolling even slower than before, your hands pressing against his chest like you were testing him. your eyes caught his as you bit your lip, that bratty look on your face making him groan. he tugged at the collar just enough to make you jolt. “don’t play with me, pup.” his voice was low, sharp. “you think i won’t punish you?”
you tilted your head and moved even slower, your nails dragging down his stomach. “maybe i want you to.” your voice was soft, teasing, a little whine under it.
his jaw flexed. “oh, you want to act up?” he sat up, one hand gripping your hip tight. “you’re just begging for it, aren’t you.” he pulled the collar again, making you lean closer to his face. “say it. say you want me to punish you.”
you let out a small sound and whispered, “i want it.”
he smirked. “good.” with a quick motion he flipped you off his lap and onto the bed, stomach down. his palm pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down while he shifted behind you. “hands and knees. now.” you scrambled to obey, getting on all fours, the collar still around your neck, your hair falling into your face. his hand slid down your back and squeezed your ass. “stay like that. don’t move until i tell you.”
you were already whining softly, arching a little. “look at you,” he said, voice darker now. “do you want me to punish you for real?” you nodded, still on your hands and knees. “say it.”
“i want you to punish me.”
his palm landed on your ass in a sharp smack, not too hard but enough to make you gasp. “that’s what i thought.” his other hand slid between your thighs, fingers teasing just close enough to where you wanted him but not touching. “my little bunny likes acting up so she can get punished, huh?”
“yes—” you whispered, squirming under him.
“then stay still.” he pressed himself against you, his cock sliding along your folds but not pushing in yet, just rubbing enough to make you moan. “this is what happens when you’re bratty, pup. you get teased until you’re dripping. you want it now? want me to fuck you like this?”
“please,” you whined, pushing back a little.
he grabbed your hips hard. “ask properly.”
“please fuck me, please punish me,” you said, voice breaking.
he chuckled, low and rough. “good girl. now you’re talking.” he gave another slow thrust against you, still not entering, his fingers circling your clit. “tell me what you are.”
“i’m your pet,” you gasped.
“louder.”
“i’m your pet!”
he groaned at the sound, leaning down to speak right into your ear. “fuck yeah you are” his hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against you but still waiting, making you squirm even more. his smirk was audible in his voice. “now i’m gonna show you what happens when you’re bratty, pet.”
he slid forward suddenly, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to make you gasp. before you could whine another word he pushed your face down into the mattress, palm on the back of your head, making you arch with your ass up and your cheek pressed to the sheets. “this is where you belong when you’re acting like a brat,” he growled. “face down, ass up.” his other hand came down on your ass again, sharper this time, making you let out a choked moan.
you tried to lift your head but his palm kept you there. “stay down. don’t look at me. pets don’t look at their owner unless they’re told to.”
“fuckk—” you whimpered, voice muffled by the sheets.
he slammed the rest of the way in with one rough thrust, making you cry out against the mattress. “that’s it. take it. you’re just a little bunny for me to fuck, aren’t you?”
“yes—”
he started moving, rough thrusts, his hips slamming into you while his fingers dug into your skin. “fuck, listen to you,” he snarled between breaths. “whining like a toy. you like when i use you like this? you like being my bitch?” he gave another sharp slap to your ass, then slid his hand up to grab your hair, yanking your head back just enough to hear you gasp. “say it.”
“i like being your bitch—”
he groaned and slammed into you harder, his cock hitting deep, his hand still tangled in your hair, and his thrusts picked up pace, rough and unrelenting, his free hand sliding between your legs to circle your clit while he fucked you from behind. “you’re gonna cum when i tell you. until then you’re just a hole for me to use, you understand?” you whimpered something incoherent and he smirked, fingers still working your clit. “what? can’t even talk now? my little pet’s gone all dumb on my cock?”
“yes—” you managed to gasp, hips trembling.
he chuckled darkly and slid his other over until his thumb pressed against your asshole. he didn’t push, just rubbed in slow circles while still thrusting into you. the sound you made was almost a squeak. your hips jerked and he felt it immediately. he pushed a little harder with his thumb, still circling, testing. “ohhh,” he said low, voice heavy with amusement, “you like that too, huh?”
you buried your face in the sheets and nodded. “fucking dirty little puppy,” he growled, pressing his thumb a little deeper, then pulling back to circle again. “getting wet while i play with your ass. you’re so fucking filthy. is that what you want? you want me to fuck your ass too?”
“yes, fuck, jake—” you said again, voice high and shaking.
he leaned down, lips brushing your ear, thumb pressing just a bit harder. “fuck, you’re unreal. begging for more when you’re already full.” you whimpered again, hips pushing back against him without thinking. “tell me how bad you want it,” he ordered, his cock sliding slow inside you while his thumb teased your ass. “tell me you’re my dirty bunny and you want me to take you wherever i want.”
you gasped, “i want you to take me—please—”
“not enough,” he said, thrusting a little harder, his thumb pressing a little deeper. “say exactly what you want.”
“please use me, please fuck me—”
he smirked against your ear. “use you where?”
“fuck my pussy—please—”
“and?” he pressed.
“play with my ass—please—”
his laugh was low and sharp. “you’re fucking unreal.” his thrusts got faster, the sound of your skin slapping together filling the room. his thumb slipped just inside your ass now, shallow, teasing, while his cock filled you completely.
“oh fuck—” you cried out, your voice cracking.
he pulled your head up by your hair, forcing you to arch your back. “look at you,” he muttered, “fucking begging to be filled from both sides. you’re my dirty little bunny, aren’t you?”
“yes,” you whined, “i’m your bunny, please—”
“what do you want now?”
“i want to cum,” you begged, voice shaking. “please, i need to—”
he slowed down, almost stopped, his thumb still moving at your ass. “you’re gonna cum when i say, pet. got it?”
“please,” you cried, hips trembling, “please let me—”
he leaned down to your ear, still holding your hair tight. “ask me right. say you want your owner to let you cum.”
you gasped, “please let me cum, please, please—”
his cock slammed into you again, hard enough to make you cry out. “again.”
“please let me cum,” you sobbed, “please let me cum—”
he finally lost it, his thumb pressing deeper, his cock pounding into you rough. “fuck, you’re so fucking perfect—cum. now. do it.”
you broke with a loud moan, your whole body shaking as you came around him, clenching so hard he had to grip your hips to hold you steady. he didn’t slow down, his thrusts got even rougher while you were still coming. his voice dropped low, almost a growl. “you like this, bunny? you want me to fill you too? want me to pump you full?”
you whimpered a weak “yes—” still trembling.
“say it right,” he said, still thrusting. “say you want me to breed you.”
“i want you to breed me,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “please fill me—”
he bit your shoulder lightly, his thumb still at your ass, his cock slamming into you harder and faster. “fuck—” he groaned, “keep saying it.”
“please breed me, please fill me up, i’m your puppy, please—”
he lost whatever control he had left. his hips snapped hard, one final thrust burying him deep inside you, his breath coming out as a rough moan. “fuck—” he hissed, his cock pulsing as he spilled into you, still grinding against you to push it deeper. he stayed there, pressed against your back, his hand still on your hair, his thumb still teasing your ass while he twitched inside you, panting against your ear. “good fucking girl,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
you were still shaking, whimpering quietly, your body soft under him. he kissed your shoulder once, still holding you there, still buried inside you. “you’re mine now,” he said, low. “so fuckingperfect.”
he stayed there for a while, and kissed the back of your neck, gently, slightly sliding off after a moment. he took off your collar while he still kissed your neck, and both of you went quiet, just breathing. it wasn’t heavy or awkward, it just felt like everything around had slowed down, just quiet in a way that felt right. jake moved first, reaching down to grab the sheet that had ended up at the foot of the bed at some point. he pulled it over you and ran his hand down your arm once, probably making sure you were okay without actually asking out loud yet.
you didn't say anything, just turned your head a little with your eyes half closed. he sat up and reached for his water bottle on the nightstand, the one he always kept there, and handed it to you without a word. you took a few sips and smiled at him, the kind of small tired smile that doesn't need explanation.
he was still catching his breath a little, looking at you like he was trying to process the last hour. it was one of those moments where he seemed caught between wanting to laugh at himself or just stare at the ceiling and think about his life choices. he let out a breath and said, "you good?" you nodded, and for a second neither of you moved or said anything. then he laughed, quiet and almost to himself. "i can't believe i get to do this with you."
you looked at him, a bit confused at first, then smiled. "what, the freaky stuff?"
"no," he said, shaking his head but still smiling. "i mean yeah, that too obviously. but i'm talking about all of it. i never thought i'd actually find someone who'd let me figure shit out without making it this whole weird thing, you know?"
you laughed and turned on your side to face him properly. "jake, we already did enough weird shit to last you the entire semester. i think you've figured plenty out."
"yeah i know," he said, laughing too. "but i'm being serious right now. you make it easy. i didn't know that was even possible with this stuff."
you grinned, half teasing him because that's just how you two worked. "you're getting all emotional on me now."
he grabbed a pillow and threw it at you playfully, and you caught it against your chest while laughing. "shut up," he said. "i'm trying to have a moment here."
"you're doing great," you said, your voice still light but a little softer.
he smiled for real then, the kind of smile that takes over his whole face even when he's trying to play it cool. he leaned over and kissed your forehead, staying there for a second with his hand resting on your side. "just tell me if anything ever gets too much, alright? like anything at all. i don't want to fuck this up."
you nodded, and there was a pause before you said, "you won't. i'd tell you if something was wrong."
that seemed to settle something in him. he laid back down, one arm behind his head and the other still draped over you. the room was quiet except for the sound of the sheets whenever either of you shifted around. you laughed out of nowhere, and he turned his head to look at you with his eyebrows drawn together like he was trying to figure out what was funny. "what?"
"nothing," you said, still smiling. "you just look like you're overthinking again."
he ran a hand through his hair and sighed, then looked back at you. "yeah, i was just thinking about something. i don't ever want to be too rough with you or whatever."
you blinked, a little surprised he was bringing that up now, then smiled. "jake, it's fine. i like it. you know i like it."
“yeah, i know,” he said quickly, his thumb brushing your arm while he talked. “but i don’t want you to think that’s all this is. that i just want that.”
you turned your head toward him, eyes narrowing slightly. “it’s not?”
he frowned, confused that you even had to ask. “no, of course not.”
you stared at him for a second, quiet, and it was the kind of silence where you both realized you might not have been on the same page about this whole thing. he kept tracing these light patterns on your shoulder with his fingers and said, "i mean yeah, i wanted to try stuff and experiment or whatever. but i don't want you thinking i'm just using you for it. that's not what's happening here." you looked down for a second, feeling a little embarrassed but also not really knowing what to say to that. he reached up and tilted your chin with his hand so you'd look at him again. "you know i could hook up with literally anyone else if it was just about trying shit out, right?"
you rolled your eyes and laughed. "okay yeah, i get it. you're very popular and desired."
he smiled but shook his head. "that's not what i'm trying to say."
you laughed again, softer this time and less defensive. "i know."
he watched your face for a moment and said quietly, "do you want to talk about it?"
"only if you want to talk about it," you said, your voice smaller but honest.
and then neither of you said anything for a full minute. it was funny in that awkward sort of normal way, like both of you knew this was one of those conversations that could get too serious too fast, and you were just tiptoeing around it. he started messing with the edge of the sheet and you started tracing random shapes on his arm with your finger, both of you obviously thinking about the exact same thing but pretending to be casual about it.
here's the thing though: jake had started catching feelings for you at some point, it just happened. it wasn't just about the sex anymore, and honestly it maybe never was from the start. he liked that you didn't treat him like he was this thing people whispered about at parties or like he was someone's weird project. you just looked at him like he was a regular person trying to figure himself out, not like he was some reputation that walked around campus. you made him feel like it was okay to be curious and mess up and not have everything figured out right away.
he looked at you again and said, "you okay?" and you nodded, smiling just a little, like you both understood that things were different now but neither of you wanted to ruin the moment by saying too much too soon. he leaned in and kissed your forehead again, even softer this time, and you laughed under your breath.
so you ended up staying there the whole next day. it wasn't really planned or discussed, you both just didn't mention leaving and it made sense to stay. he tossed you one of his shirts when you went to take a shower, this soft worn out one he always slept in, and he grinned like an idiot when you came out wearing it like it was the most normal thing in the world.
you ordered food later because neither of you felt like cooking anything, and he made this whole big production out of picking a place even though he always ended up choosing the same korean spot every time. he let you take the last dumpling and then spent ten minutes complaining about it just to keep the joke going. by the time it got dark outside, there was still some movie playing in the background that neither of you were really watching, and you'd ended up half asleep on his chest while he scrolled through his phone with one hand and rubbed these slow circles on your arm with the other.
it was all very normal and kind of domestic, which was weird because this was jake, the guy who never really stuck around with anyone for more than a night or two. but there he was, asking if you wanted water every twenty minutes and telling you to stop thanking him so much for every little thing.
heeseung and sunghoon had gone out that night, which honestly made everything easier. jake mentioned they'd probably get back late, and they did. you heard the front door open at some point but by then you were already half asleep in his bed with his arm around you, both of you pretending not to hear them trying and failing to whisper in the hallway.
the next morning though, that's when it got funny. you woke up first and stole one of jake's hoodies because the place was freezing, then went to make coffee in the kitchen. sunghoon walked in first with his hair going everywhere and his eyes barely open, and he just stood there for a second staring at you like his brain was buffering.
"morning," you said, trying to act completely normal while pouring coffee into a mug.
he blinked a few times, pointed at the hoodie you were wearing, and said, "is that jake's?"
before you could even answer, jake walked in behind him, yawning and scratching the back of his neck. "yeah, what about it?"
sunghoon just started laughing, but it was that disbelieving kind of laugh. "nothing man, just wow. didn't think i'd ever see this day actually happen."
later that day you headed back to your place, jake drove you back. he kissed you before you got out of his car, one of those slow ones that made you both smile after, and then when you got inside your dorm, he stood there in the parking lot like an idiot, watching you get in.
the thing was, after that morning, jake couldn't get you out of his head. and not just in the way he'd been thinking about you before, when it was mostly about wanting to try things or wondering what you'd be like. now it was different, now it was everything.
he'd be sitting in class, supposedly paying attention to some lecture about marketing strategies or whatever, and instead he'd be thinking about the way you'd smiled at him that morning when you handed him his coffee. or he'd be at the gym with sunghoon, mid set, and suddenly he'd remember the way you laughed when he made some dumb joke, and he'd lose count of his reps. he'd remember your moans, then he had to immediately shut that thought away because he didn't want to get hard in front of his gym bro.
"dude, you good?" sunghoon asked him one afternoon, watching jake stare at his phone for the third time in ten minutes.
"yeah, why?"
"you've been weird all week," sunghoon said, setting down his weights. "you keep smiling at your phone like a psycho."
jake shoved his phone in his pocket. "i'm not smiling."
"you literally were just smiling."
"shut up."
but sunghoon wasn't wrong. jake was down bad, and he knew it. the problem was he didn't know what to do about it. you two hadn't really talked about what you were doing, if this was just experimenting or if it was more than that. and jake, who usually never cared about labels or definitions, suddenly found himself wanting to know.
he thought about texting you constantly. not even anything important, just random shit like "what are you doing" or "did you eat today" but he didn't want to seem clingy. except he kind of was being clingy, because every time his phone buzzed he hoped it was you, and when it wasn't, he felt weirdly disappointed.
it got worse at night. he'd lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and his brain would just replay everything. the way you looked in his hoodie, the way you fit perfectly under his arm, the way you'd kissed him goodbye. and yeah, of course he thought about the freaky sex too, but it wasn't just that anymore. he wanted to wake up next to you again, wanted to make you coffee, wanted to hear you laugh at his stupid jokes.
"i think i'm fucked," he said out loud to his empty room one night, and then laughed at himself because yeah, he definitely was.
by thursday, he'd seen you twice on campus. once you were walking with chaewon and you'd waved at him, that bright smile that made his chest feel tight, and he'd waved back trying to act normal. the second time you were sitting in the library and he'd sat down next to you without asking, and you'd just looked up, smiled, and went back to your laptop like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"you're distracting me," you'd said after a while, not looking up.
"i'm not doing anything."
"you're breathing loud."
he'd laughed, quiet so he wouldn't get shushed by the librarian. "sorry, i'll stop breathing."
you'd looked at him then, that little smirk on your face. "don't be dramatic." and he'd stayed there for an hour, pretending to study but really just sitting next to you, and when you finally packed up your stuff, he'd walked you to your next class even though his was in the opposite direction.
friday night, the guys wanted to go to some party, but jake wasn't really feeling it. he was lying on his bed, scrolling through unhinged instagram reels, when heeseung knocked on his door. "you coming or what?"
"nah, i'm tired."
heeseung raised an eyebrow. "you? tired of a party? since when?"
"since now."
"does this have anything to do with y/n?"
jake looked up at him. "what about her?"
heeseung grinned. "nothing. just seems like you've been in your head a lot lately." he paused, then added, "she's cool, by the way. i like her."
"yeah," jake said, looking back at his phone. "me too."
"then maybe stop being weird about it and just tell her that."
after heeseung left, jake stared at his phone for a solid five minutes before finally opening your messages.
[jake]: you doing anything tonight
you answered almost immediately.
[you]: was gonna watch a movie probably why
[jake]: can i come over
[you]: sure :))
so the thing is, jake wasn’t planning anything when he texted you. like, actually nothing. he just wanted to see you, sit around, maybe talk, maybe not. that was it. except, obviously, his brain didn’t get the memo. because the second you said “sure :)” he was already pacing around his room like an idiot, thinking about what shirt to wear, and then laughing at himself because why the hell did it matter what shirt he wore if this wasn’t a date.
he kept telling himself it wasn’t like that – that he wasn’t going over to hook up or whatever. so there he was, caught somewhere between i just wanna hang out and oh god what if i end up wrapping a collar on her neck again, and honestly, it was ridiculous.
the problem was, jake had never really done this before. not the whole “liking someone” thing, at least not in a way that made him feel this normal, it was messing him up. his chest hurt sometimes, but in a good way, and it annoyed him how much he liked it. he wasn’t used to missing people. usually, when things ended, they ended. easy. but with you, it was different. he was basically down bad and self aware enough to hate it.
he couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. gone to see someone just to be around them. it had been years, maybe never. he wanted to be near you, which felt ridiculous for someone who used to brag about never catching feelings.
somewhere between grabbing his keys and pulling on his hoodie, he had this thought that made him stop and laugh. maybe this was his actual kink. not any of the stuff he'd spent hours googling at three in the morning or reading about on reddit. his real kink was apparently just wanting to spend time with you. no expectations, no plan, just you existing in the same room as him. which was possibly the lamest thing he'd ever admitted to himself, but also kind of true.
and for jake, that was kind of terrifying. because yeah, he’d done a lot of freaky things, but this? catching feelings? this was new level freaky. he had no idea what the next step was. he didn’t know how to play it cool, didn’t know what it meant if he just wanted to hang out, didn’t even know if you felt the same. all he knew was that when you said sure :) he felt something warm in his chest that no amount of hookups ever gave him.
so he got in his car, sat there for a second with his hands on the steering wheel, and said, “this is so stupid,” before driving anyway. because no matter how dumb he felt, he knew he’d rather feel dumb next to you than cool anywhere else.
when jake showed up at your dorm, he didn’t really know what he was expecting. maybe he thought you’d tease him for getting there so fast, or that you’d joke about him being obsessed, which, honestly, wouldn’t have been wrong. but when you opened the door, hair a little messy, wearing some oversized hoodie and cute kuromi socks, he just smiled. it was automatic, the kind of smile that happened before he could even think about it.
you went back to the couch and sat down, pulling your legs under you, while he hovered for a second like he didn’t know where to sit. then he just dropped next to you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “so,” you said, turning toward him. “did you come here for a reason?”
he looked at you for a second before answering. “i just wanted to see you.”
you raised your eyebrows, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “that’s it?”
“yeah,” he said, and that was the truth. he shrugged a little, but his hand found your thigh without even thinking, resting there gently like it belonged. “that’s it.”
you didn’t say anything right away, but your smile softened. you leaned back into the couch, and he followed your movement like gravity. it wasn’t even about anything physical; he just couldn’t help it. his arm went around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer. it was clingy, yeah, but he wasn’t trying to hide it.
you picked up the remote, flipped through netflix for a while, and he watched you instead of the screen. it was stupid, but he couldn’t help paying attention to the small things, like the way you curled your toes under the blanket, how you made tiny comments about every movie title you didn’t like, how you’d glance at him now and then with that small knowing look like you could tell he wasn’t really watching. “you’re not paying attention,” you said, side eyeing him.
“i am,” he said, though he definitely wasn’t.
“what’s the movie about, then?”
he paused. “uh… friendship?”
you laughed, shaking your head. “it’s twilight, dumbass.”
he grinned, leaning in until his chin was resting against your head. “yeah, but maybe there’s still friendship in there somewhere.”
you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t push him away. he stayed there, arm heavy around you, tracing lazy lines with his fingers on your arm. it wasn’t like him to be this still, this soft, but he didn’t really care. after a while, you said quietly, “you’re weirdly touchy today.”
“you don’t like it?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you.
you thought about it, lips pressed together like you were pretending to consider it. “i didn’t say that.”
“so you do like it,” he said, smirking.
“maybe,” you said, eyes still on the screen. he chuckled and leaned in closer, his nose brushing the top of your head, smelling you. you didn’t move away, just sighed in that way that said you were pretending to be annoyed. his hand stayed resting on your leg, thumb brushing back and forth like a small habit. you glanced at him again and said, “you know you don’t have to act all sweet just to hang out, right?”
he smiled, soft but sure. “i’m not acting.”
you gave him that look, the one that was amused but skeptical, but you didn’t push it. instead, you leaned into him more, your head finding its way to his chest. he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. everything felt slower here, quieter. he liked it more than he’d admit out loud.
later, when you started talking about random things, the class you hated, how the dining hall food was getting worse, how sunoo accidentally set off the dorm alarm again, jake listened like every word mattered. he didn’t even try to hide the smile that kept showing up on his face. and if anyone asked him what that night was, he wouldn’t have known how to describe it. it wasn’t a date, it wasn’t anything official. it was just him and you, a blanket, twilight rants (jake laughed his ass off), and a weird sense that something about all this felt new.
after a while the movie was still on but neither of you were really watching anymore. you were warm under the blanket, leaning against him, and he felt your breathing slow down a little. his own eyes were heavy but he didn’t want to move, not when you felt that close. eventually though you stretched, yawned, and mumbled that your neck was starting to hurt from sitting like that. he nodded and followed you when you got up, both of you kind of quiet but in that easy, comfortable way.
your bed was small, definitely not made for two people, but you didn’t even have to ask him to join you. he slipped in right behind you, pulling you close without hesitation. it was a little awkward with all the shifting around, but once you were both settled under your blanket, it just felt natural.
he tucked his chin against your shoulder, one arm wrapped tight around your waist. you stayed like that for a while, just listening to each other breathe, the silence stretching out in a way that didn’t feel heavy. then he said, voice low like he wasn’t sure if he should break the quiet, “i wanted to see you tonight. that’s all.”
you turned your head slightly, trying to look at him. “i know,” you said softly. “i can tell.”
he let out a small laugh, kind of embarrassed. “good. because i didn’t… like, i wasn’t coming here expecting anything. i just wanted to hang out. i like being around you.”
you felt your chest warm at that, even if you tried not to show it too much. “you’re being really sweet right now.”
“yeah, don’t get used to it,” he teased, then got quiet again. his fingers started tracing light patterns on your stomach, like he couldn’t sit still. “can i be honest about something?”
“always,” you said.
he hesitated, then said, “you know how we’ve been messing around… i really like it, what we're exploring, i don't know.” he laughed at the way he said it, but kept going. “more than i thought i would.”
you blinked, but you didn’t pull away. “okay,” you said, keeping your tone even. “you can just say that. it’s not weird.”
“i know,” he said quickly. “i just don’t want it to sound like that’s the only reason i’m here, because it’s not. i figured it’s better to say this out loud instead of keeping it in my head.”
you nodded slowly. “that makes sense. so what about it do you like?”
he smiled a little, though you couldn’t see it. “the control. the way you look at me when i push you like that. it’s… i don’t know. i didn’t think i’d be into it this much, but i am. and i think i want to explore more of it, but only if you’re into it too.”
you thought about it for a second, then said, “i am. i like it too. and i like that you’re saying this, actually. it makes it easier for me to tell you what i like.”
he squeezed your waist gently. “yeah? tell me, then.”
you turned a little so you could face him better, your noses almost brushing in the dark. “i like when you call me names, but not just mean ones. like, the pet stuff feels… i don’t know, kind of comforting? even when you’re rough. it makes me feel close to you.”
his eyes softened. “that’s good. i want you to feel that way. i don’t want it to ever cross a line where it feels bad.”
“it doesn’t,” you said quickly. “and if it ever did, i’d tell you. but i like that you’re not afraid to be rough and that you pay attention when i push back. it feels balanced, you know?”
he nodded, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “that’s what i want. i don’t want it to just be me getting what i want. i want it to be both of us, figuring it out together.”
“that’s what this is,” you said. “we’re figuring it out.”
he smiled at that, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your temple. “you make it sound easy.”
“it is easy,” you said, settling back against him.
he wrapped you up tighter, holding you close enough that you could feel his heartbeat against your back. “okay, then here’s me being honest again,” he said after a pause. “i’ve never really done this before. not just the kink part, but… like, the after part. i’ve hooked up, i’ve tried stuff, but actually wanting to stay after, wanting to come over just to watch movies? that’s new. and -- it scares me a little.”
you reached back and laced your fingers with his. “i think that’s fine. it doesn’t have to be figured out all at once.”
he exhaled like that was what he needed to hear. “thanks. i… i really like this, i mean.”
you smiled into the dark. “i like this too, jakey.”
for a while neither of you said anything else. his hand stayed tangled with yours, his body warm against yours. you shifted a little, not because you were uncomfortable but because you wanted to see him. when you turned in his arms, he loosened his hold just enough to let you face him, your noses close in the dark. he blinked at you like he hadn’t expected you to move, and for a moment the only thing either of you did was look at each other.
you reached up and brushed your fingers along his jaw, soft and slow. he leaned into your touch without thinking, like it was natural. then you kissed him, and it wasn’t rushed or hungry, not the way you’d kissed before when things were heated and messy. this one was tentative at first, a press of lips that lingered, both of you testing the space.
he kissed you back just as carefully, almost shy in the way he moved his mouth against yours. his hand came up to the side of your face, his thumb rubbing small circles near your temple. it stayed like that for a while, slow and steady, until you tilted your head and opened to him a little more. the change was small but he noticed right away, kissing you deeper, still unhurried but with more intent.
he pulled back just a fraction, enough to whisper, “you feel so good,” before kissing you again.
the warmth built gradually. every time you moved your lips against his, every little sound you made, it drew him in further. he shifted closer until his chest pressed to yours, until there was no real space left between you. you hooked your hand into the collar of his hoodie, pulling him down when he tried to lift his head. when he finally rolled forward, easing his weight over you, it was careful. he braced one arm beside your head so he wouldn’t crush you, letting you feel the solid press of him without it being too much. your legs brushed his, your hands sliding up into his hair, and the kiss turned heavier but not rushed.
he pulled back again, just slightly, breathing against your lips. “you’re perfect,” he said quietly, and it didn’t sound like a line. it sounded like he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.
you kissed him again, harder this time, and he let out a low sound, moving with you, his body lowering a little more until his hips were pressed to yours. still, his pace stayed gentle. every movement was patient, every kiss followed by another, his mouth moving from your lips to your cheek, down to your jaw, then back up like he couldn’t get enough but didn’t want to rush.
“you’re so good to me,” he murmured against your skin, kissing the corner of your mouth again. “i don’t even know if you realize how much.”
your chest tightened at that, and you held him closer, wrapping your arms around him fully now. he pressed his forehead to yours, smiling a little. “i think i could get used to this,” you said, giggling.
“yeah?” he asked, voice low.
“yeah…” you said again, softer this time.
next thing you knew, it was the next morning. sunlight sneaking through your blinds, the both of you tangled up under your blanket, very obviously naked. the night before hadn’t been about roleplay or collars or anything wild. just you and him, a lot of kissing, a lot of laughing in between, and, well, some very unconventional sex. unconventional in the sense that it felt so unplanned and sweet, but also somehow clumsy in a way that made jake whisper “fuck, this might be the best sex i’ve ever had” against your shoulder while you both tried not to laugh.
you both had class that day, but when your alarms went off, you just looked at each other, groaned at the thought of moving, and made a joint decision to skip. you didn’t even say it out loud, jake just reached over, turned off your phone, and pulled you closer.
the day turned into this weird mix of domestic and ridiculous. you made instant noodles together in your dorm kitchen, him insisting he was the “chef” even though he literally almost forgot to put water in the pot. you ended up watching some more twilight movies on your laptop while lying in bed, and he kept pausing it every ten minutes to ask, “wait, so who’s this guy again?” even though you’d explained three times already.
somewhere in the middle of all this, jake got curious and started testing out “soft” versions of kinks he hadn’t gotten around to yet. nothing serious, more like experiments. at one point he asked if he could blindfold you, then immediately ruined it by laughing because he tied it too tight and you complained you couldn’t breathe. another time, he asked if you’d let him feed you chocolate with his hands while calling you “princess,” and you went along with it until you both started laughing so hard the chocolate melted everywhere. he even half joked about barking for you, even though he was actually being very serious.
the point was: it was fun. it wasn’t serious or heavy. just you two being idiots together, seeing what worked, what didn’t, and realizing that sometimes the kinkiest thing was just how easy it felt to try with each other.
when night rolled around, he finally had to leave, which turned into a whole production. you walked him to the door, and he kept stalling like he forgot something: first his phone, then his hoodie, then his keys, even though they were all in his hand. every time you leaned in to give him a goodbye kiss, he found an excuse to kiss you again, until it was basically ten minutes of nonstop kisses.
“okay, i really have to go now,” he said at least four times, and yet he was still standing there, thumb brushing your jaw.
“you’ve said that already,” you pointed out, laughing.
“yeah, but i mean it this time,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again. when he finally pulled back, his voice dropped a little softer. “i had a really good time, you know. like… today. all of it.”
you smiled, brushing his messy hair out of his face. “me too.”
jake kissed your forehead, then your lips one last time, and finally walked out the door. and of course, thirty seconds later, you got a text from him: miss you already.
so obviously you told sunoo about it. what was going on between you and jake. and of course he freaked out, because that’s sunoo. he gasped so loud you had to shush him before someone else heard, then he grabbed your pillow and started smacking you with it, yelling things like i knew it! i knew he liked you! until you had to bribe him with snacks to calm down.
and the thing was, you didn’t even know what you wanted to call it. you’d always kind of liked jake, but in that he’s hot but he’s also kind of an idiot and will probably break my heart kind of way. he’d always been the friend who didn’t take things seriously, the one you swore you’d never catch feelings for because, well, you didn’t want to get hurt. so you built this wall around yourself, kept reminding yourself this was casual, just fun. and you decided you weren’t going to put any labels on it unless jake said he wanted to.
meanwhile, across town, jake had just gotten back to his place. he kicked off his sneakers, flopped down on his bed, stared at the ceiling for a solid five minutes, then pulled out his phone. and, naturally, he opened reddit.
he's typing out a draft for r/Relationship_Advice. the title says friends with benefits situationship except i don't wanna be just friends and i wanna be her pet instead. he’s mid sentence writing about how you wear stupid kuromi socks that distract him way too much, when he decides to scroll the subreddit first.
and then he sees a post. a post that sounds… exactly like you.
r/RelationshipAdvice
u/KeroppiNumber1Lover | 2h
am i overthinking this or is my fwb secretly my boyfriend?
okay so i (24f) have been friends with this guy (23m) for a long time. we were just friends until maybe a month or two ago when he came to me asking for advice about kinks. he remembered i once did that bdsm test thing for fun and thought i’d know more than him, and he wanted to “try some stuff out” and i said fine, why not?? we trust each other, no big deal. so we started hooking up and trying some of those things together.
except now it doesn’t feel like we’re just testing things anymore, it’s different. he still jokes around a lot but when we hang out, it’s not always about sex. sometimes he comes over and we just sit there watching dumb movies. last time we spent hours making fun of twilight together and it was TOO fun. he also keeps doing these little things like he brought me coffee one morning just because???? and then played it off like it wasn’t anything and when i told him i was stressed he hugged me for so long i thought my back would crackkkk sirrrrr that is not fwb behavior omg
the problem is he is kind of known for hooking up with a lot of people in college?? not in a bad way just he never seemed serious with anyone. he’s always been the type i wouldn’t trust to water my plants because he’d probably forget after one day so i’m scared i’ll be stupid if i start to catch feelings for him. but i think i already am?? i do like him, i just don’t know if he feels the same or if this is just me overthinking it. should i say something, or keep my guard up until he says something first?
jake is lying there in bed with his phone basically falling onto his face. he blinks at the screen, rereads it once, then again. “nah… no way. it can’t be… can it??”
then he hits the part about the bdsm test. his brain short circuits. because he did ask that. he literally asked that. he scrolls faster, sees the twilight part, the coffee, the hug. every line feels like a receipt against him. it’s not even subtle. he groans into his pillow. “oh my god. this is literally about me.” then he makes the mistake of reading the comments.
comment 1: “girl if he used to be a fuckboy, protect your heart.”
jake, out loud, also typed: “I WASN’T EVEN THAT BAD. jesus. can y’all move on??”
comment 2: “sounds like you’re already dating, just without the title. either lock it down or walk away.”
jake: “ok see?? finally someone with a brain. pin this comment.”
comment 3: “guys like that just want comfort without commitment. don’t fall for it.”
jake, furious: “i literally brought her coffee at 8am and watched twilight for her. TWILIGHT. what more commitment do you want??”
comment 4: “if he’s treating you like a gf, he probably thinks of you as one already.”
→ jake: “YES. thank you random internet genius. i love you.”
comment 5: “say something before it drags on. if he’s serious, he’ll say yes. if not, at least you’ll know.”
he sighs. “okay. yeah. fine. i get it. i’ll say something. god.”
he ends up throwing his phone down on the bed and just staring at the ceiling, feeling like the universe is laughing at him. like, of all places, reddit?? that’s where he finds out you’re basically calling him your “maybe-boyfriend”?
but deep down, even while he’s cringing at strangers dissecting his love life, he can’t help smiling. because at least now he knows he’s not the only one catching feelings.
so after doomscrolling reddit for like an hour and basically convincing himself he was the main character in your post, jake sat there and thought, ok i can’t just do nothing. he wanted to make a move, but not the usual dumb moves he always made. he started running through everything he knew you liked. movies. you had a letterboxd longer than a textbook, always roasting his “basic” taste but still making him watch stuff with you. sanrio. you had those socks on, like, every time he came over. your little chococat keychain was hanging off your bag right now. the oversized hoodies you lived in. your pc setup that he still couldn’t get over because he never struck you as a gamer, but then he walked into your dorm that one time and saw a glowing pastel keyboard with little frog stickers on it.
he kept trying to figure out: how do i surprise her? he thought about showing up in a full hello kitty hoodie (terrible idea), maybe making you watch every twilight movie in one sitting (he’d die), or even buying you some dumb sanrio plush and pretending he didn’t spend hours looking for it. none of it felt right.
a few days later he was sitting on the floor while heeseung was baked out of his mind, button mashing fifa with sunghoon. jake was half talking to himself when he muttered, “i just… i don’t know how to ask her without making it weird.”
heeseung, not looking up from the screen, said, “why don’t you just ask her out like a normal person.” jake stared at him. “yeah, like, words. say them. ‘do you wanna go out.’ boom.”
sunghoon snorted. “crazy concept.”
jake groaned, but in the end he thought, maybe they’re right. maybe you’d actually take it well.
so the next day, he pulled the dumbest move possible. he memorized your class schedule. you were sitting in one of your electives, sunoo on one side of you, when jake just strolled in and sat down on the other side. no notebook, no laptop, not even pretending. he just leaned back in the chair like he belonged there.
you blinked at him, whispering, “what are you doing here? you don’t even take this class.”
sunoo leaned forward across you, eyes narrowed. “yeah, what are you doing here?”
jake ignored him completely and looked at you, his voice low. “are you free tonight?”
you laughed quietly, shaking your head. “yeah… why? wanna come over?” you asked, teasing him before he could answer.
but jake shook his head, smiling a little. “actually, i’ve been thinking about taking you out.”
sunoo raised his brows, looking back and forth between you two like he was watching a live drama unfold. you just bit back another laugh, a little caught off guard but also clearly not against it. “okay,” you said softly. “where?”
he hadn’t actually planned that far, but he quickly blurted, “there’s this restaurant off campus. i heard it’s good.” it wasn’t fancy, but it was nice enough that it felt like a real step up from eating cup noodles in your dorm.
you tilted your head, still smiling. “so… a date?”
jake nodded, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. “yeah. a date.”
you tilted your head a little, smiling. “yeah, that sounds nice.”
and in his brain, jake basically blacked out. oh my god she said yes we’re going on a date holy shit this is happening. he wanted to fist pump the air like an idiot but instead he just sat there nodding like it was no big deal. he mumbled something about texting you later, then immediately packed up and left the classroom before sunoo could say a word.
the second he stepped out, he pulled out his phone and typed “she said yes” into his notes app like he needed proof it actually happened. then he drove home and told himself to stay calm. he was not calm. he tore through his closet, tried on three different shirts, showered twice, searched “best first date outfits men” on pinterest. eventually he gave up and picked the cleanest shirt he had, some jeans, and sneakers that didn’t look like they’d been through war.
when he went to pick you up, you opened the door and jake’s brain short circuited again. you weren’t overdressed, you just looked nice. too nice for him, he thought. your hair, your perfume, the way you smiled at him, it all hit him at once. he immediately leaned in for a quick peck, lingering a little too long, his hand sliding down to your waist like he couldn’t help himself. “you look really good,” he blurted.
you smirked. “you too.”
the restaurant was this little italian place just off campus. dim lighting, small tables with candles, the kind of spot people actually go to for dates. he held the door for you, pulled your chair out, doing all the things he never thought he’d actually do. the conversation was easy. you both ordered pasta, and while waiting for the food you ended up talking about random stuff, laughing over the couple next to you who were obviously on a bad date, debating which twilight movie was the worst one.
“new moon,” you said confidently.
“nah, eclipse,” jake argued, shaking his head. “that one fight scene was garbage.”
“you laughed the entire time.”
“exactly. it was trash.”
the food came and you both dug in, joking about how unromantic it was to slurp spaghetti. at one point you teased him about how “un-jake” it was for him to plan something like this, and he shrugged with a small grin, admitting, “yeah well… i wanted to do it right.”
after dinner, he drove you back, and when he parked outside your dorm, the air in the car felt a little heavier, charged but not exactly awkward. he glanced at you, smiling. “you know, i had so much fun today.”
“me too,” you said, meeting his eyes.
jake leaned in and kissed you, slow and sweet, his hand finding your cheek. when he pulled back, he looked at you for a second, then smirked. “even though you’re calling me your maybe-boyfriend on reddit.”
you froze. “what— oh my god. you read that??”
he laughed, nodding. “yeah. it popped up. i knew it was you.”
you covered your face with your hands, groaning. “i’m gonna actually die.”
he gently pulled your hands down, kissing your palm, still grinning. “no, don’t worry, i liked it. i even went through the comments. i might’ve called a girl an idiot for saying you should protect yourself from fuckboys.”
“you argued with strangers about it?”
“yep. full on fighting in the replies. i was on your side, by the way.”
you shook your head, laughing. “you were on your side!”
he kissed your cheek, still laughing, softer this time. “maybe. but i like being your maybe-boyfriend.”
you kind of froze when he said it, like it took your brain a second to actually process. your face went a little hot and you looked down, suddenly shy. he noticed right away and leaned in a little closer, still holding your hand. “hey, don’t freak out. i like you. i’m not trying to rush anything, i swear.” you blinked, trying to figure out what to say, and he kept going before you could answer. “like, i know this was supposed to be a friends with benefits thing, right? but every time i’m with you i feel like… i don’t know. like i’m the one chasing you. and i keep calling you my pet in bed, but it kinda feels like i’m your dog instead.”
that made you laugh, like actually laugh out loud, and he smiled because you finally looked at him again. “you’re ridiculous,” you said, still laughing.
“yeah, but i’m serious. i don’t wanna be just friends.” he squeezed your hand and added, a little softer, “i want more than that.”
you let out a small sigh, still smiling but definitely nervous too. “i like being with you. i like you, jake. i just… didn’t know if you felt the same.”
“well, i do.”
your face lit up immediately. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
you smiled tenderly and that was all he needed. he leaned across the console, kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand cupping your cheek while you kissed him back. it was sweet and warm and a little desperate, the kind of kiss that made it pretty clear neither of you were just “friends” anymore.
so the whole week after that, jake was basically living in boyfriend mode without even saying he was, but oh boy, he was. like, he was picking you up from class just because he “happened to be around,” but then he’d have your favorite snack waiting in the car. you two started having this dumb little routine of going grocery shopping together, and he’d put random stuff in the cart just to see you roll your eyes and then sneak it back when you weren’t looking.
at night, he’d call you even if you’d already spent the whole day together. sometimes he’d just be lying in his bed, rambling about whatever, and then suddenly go quiet like he realized how much he liked hearing you breathe on the other end. he’d come over to yours a lot too, and half the time sunoo would be there making fun of him for being “clingy as hell.” jake didn’t even deny it anymore, he was too busy following you around your own place like a golden retriever.
but there was one night where he was acting especially wild. like, from the second he saw you, he couldn’t stop touching you. his hand on your back, his arm around your waist, kissing your shoulder while you were just trying to make popcorn. he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were actually there with him, which, to be fair, was how he felt most of the time.
you noticed, of course. you kept laughing at how clingy he was being, but he just smirked like he didn’t even care if he was obvious. he leaned in close while you were sitting on the couch, his voice lower than usual. “you know,” he said, fingers brushing over your knee, “i kinda wanna try something different with you.” you tilted your head at him, curious, and he grinned, eyes way too mischievous. “don’t freak out, i’ll explain. but i promise you’re gonna like it.”
later that night, you were in his bedroom, and the whole house was quiet. jake was in one of his moods, where he couldn’t keep his mouth off you. he kissed along your neck, your shoulders, down your chest like he was trying to memorize every bit of you. his hands were slow but firm, holding you in place like you were something he wanted to worship. every time you made the slightest sound, he murmured praise into your skin, all soft but teasing. you looked at him, a little out of breath, and asked, “what is it you wanted to try?” your voice was curious, and that made him grin even wider, like he’d been waiting for you to ask.
he sat back on his knees, eyes glued to you, and said, “i got you something. a little toy.” the way he said it was too casual, like he wasn’t basically throwing gasoline on the fire. “thought it’d suit my puppy.”
the second he called you that, you slipped into it without even thinking. you tilted your head at him, playful, already slipping into that pet energy he loved so much. your hands curled against the sheets like paws, and you looked at him with wide, eager eyes. jake chuckled low, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “see? there she is. my good girl.” he leaned down and kissed you again, slower this time, almost smug at how naturally you fell into the role. “you’re gonna let me try it on you, right?”
the way you nodded instantly made him laugh against your mouth. “of course you will. my puppy always listens.” he kept praising you in between kisses, dragging his hands down your sides, his voice soft but dripping with control.
he reached over to his nightstand, opening the drawer like he was trying to be casual about it, but you could see the way his hands hesitated for a second. jake pulled something out, set it on the bed next to you, and for a moment he almost looked shy. it was a buttplug with a soft little tail attached, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure if he’d just ruined the mood.
“i, uh… got this for you,” he admitted, glancing at your face quickly, testing your reaction. “it might be a little… freaky. i wasn’t sure if you’d even wanna try it.”
but you didn’t flinch. instead, you smiled at him in that way that always made him feel like his chest was on fire. “i want to try whatever you want to, jakey.”the second you said that, something in his head clicked, the nerves melted into pure want. his whole body reacted before his brain caught up.
he let out a low laugh, shaking his head, but you could see how much hotter he suddenly looked at you. “you’re… insane, you know that? i bring this out and instead of running you’re saying yes. fuck. my perfect puppy.”
he kissed you hard then, deeper than before, one hand cradling your jaw like you were something fragile even while his words were all possession. he left the tail sitting on the pillow beside you, within sight, like a promise for later. “you’re already so good for me,” he kept murmuring against your skin as he started peeling your clothes off piece by piece. every time a new inch of you was bare, he touched it, kissed it, praised it. “beautiful… all mine… such a good girl for me.”
his hands roamed like he couldn’t decide where to stay, gripping your hips, sliding up your ribs, tracing along your thighs. his voice stayed low but steady, every praise making you sink further into the role he loved. “you’re my puppy,” he whispered against your stomach as he kissed lower. “you listen, you let me take care of you, and you make me want you more than anything.”
he stayed there for a second, breathing against your skin. jake looked up at you, and there was that look again, the one he’d had when he showed up in your class, when he asked you out, when he kissed you in the car after dinner.
“you know,” he said, voice softer now but still a little teasing, “when i first started this… all i wanted was to mess around. try things. have fun. i didn’t think it’d turn into… this.” he gestured between the two of you, a small huff of laughter escaping. “you’ve got me completely gone.”
you reached out, brushing his hair back, laughing, “i like being yours. i wanna be yours”. and he exhaled like he’d been holding it in for weeks.
he kissed you then, slow, warm, but still a little desperate. when he stopped, he smiled so wide it almost broke his face, and whispered, “good. because i don’t wanna be just friends. i wanna be yours too.”
the toy stayed on the pillow, forgotten for now. just the two of you, finally admitting what everyone probably already knew.
!! ronnie's notes: i can’t believe i finally finished this fic 😭 i actually started writing it back in june and for some reason it took me forever to get it done lmaoo mostly bc i really wanted to take my time with it and make it feel right. i’ve been planning to post it for kinktober since literally junee, so the fact that i’m managing to post it before october ends feels kinda unreal 😭 this is actually my third kinktober fic this year, i also posted one for jake (which was technically for a sabrina carpenter album collab but it counts 😭) and one for soobin that i wrote like a million years ago. but this one was the fic i’d been planning for kinktober since the beginning, so she’s special to me!!! anyway, i really hope you guys like it. thank you for reading and for sticking around <3
summary: two top university debaters have been competing for first place since freshman year. you work hard for every point to keep your scholarship, while jake seems to win effortlessly. when you’re forced to lead an important research project together, your rivalry gets more complicated — and working side by side might be harder than losing to each other.
wc: 60k (damn— i'm sorry)
genre: heavy angst, fluff, a bit of smut, very suggestive dialogue | college!au, very slowburn, rivals to lovers, drunk confessions
tags: m/f, academic rivals to lovers, slow burn that actually burns, rich boy trauma (surprise!), forced proximity, competitive sexual tension, “i hate you” but make it yearning, mutual obsession disguised as rivalry, she works twice as hard - he makes it look easy, high-stakes academia, scholarship stress, power struggle romance, “you don’t trust me” core, denial x denial, emotionally constipated idiots in love, golden boy complex, rich boy with abandonment issues, identity split (jake vs jaeyun), fratboy persona as coping mechanism, performance vs authenticity, ego built on insecurity, secretly sensitive jake, lowkey needy jake, praise-starved jake, soft dom energy but emotionally fragile, overachiever reader, perfectionism as a coping mechanism, drunk honesty, jake cries while drunk, jealousy but subtle, everyone sees it but them, chaotic friend group, niki cockblocking, intellectual intimacy, slow emotional unraveling, reluctant trust, vulnerability arc, emotional hurt/comfort, earned happy ending, emotional payoff, “we’re better together”, control issues translate to the bedroom, kiss while raining, dorm hook up, very consensual, dry humping, fingering (f rec), praise, suggested brattaming, almost-sex
this fic will also include mentions of the le sserafim and other enhypen members
a/n: hi <3 yes i disappeared for two months. life was stressful, my brain was fried, and i didn’t get to any requests — i’m sorry about that. i needed a second to breathe. but!!! i wrote this instead. you all know i don’t play about college jake. something about golden boys under too much pressure and a fratboy mask just does something to me 🫠 and honestly, i think this might be my favorite thing i’ve written. it really feels complete to me right now. also i really wanted to explore expectations, scholarship stress, golden boy syndrome, and what it feels like to perform a version of yourself that everyone loves. so yes. yes, i gave him abandonment issues. yes, i made him cry while drunk. yes, the academic power dynamics mirror in the bedroom. and no i will not apologize 🫡 also this is a really slow burn. like. really slow burn. tension-first, feelings-first, ego-vs-vulnerability slow burn. this was originally intended to have full smut, but the slow burn said no. there still is a smut scene — it’s just a little different from my usual “we’re going to hell” level of smut, but it fit the pacing better this way. it’s still heated. it’s just very them. SOOO if you like insecure men who pretend they’re fine or praise-starved golden boys with soft dom energy — welcome💔
you’re halfway through your rebuttal when jake interrupts. of course he does. sim jaeyun - jake, to everyone who isn’t close enough to him - has an instinct for timing that makes him unbearable. he never cuts you off early enough to look rude. he waits until the exact second your argument sounds airtight, then slips in with a “correction” like he’s doing you a favor. he’s been doing it since freshman year, since the first debate qualifier where he showed up late, apologized in that faint australian accent of his, and then proceeded to dismantle three seniors like it was casual exercise. “your economic model assumes stability“ he says now, voice smooth, measured. “which would be impressive if we were discussing a world that actually functions that way.” there’s a soft ripple of laughter from the audience. you don’t look at him. “the model assumes reasonable policy intervention. if you’d listened instead of preparing your one-liners, you’d know that.” - “oh, i listened“ he replies lightly. “i just disagree.” jake doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t need to. he stands with that easy posture, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie slightly loosened like this is beneath him but still worth winning. jake is confident. jake is effortless. jake is the version professors love. “you’re oversimplifying“ you continue, flipping a page without rushing. “short-term volatility doesn’t invalidate long-term structural reform.” - “and blind faith in structure doesn’t prevent collapse“ he counters immediately. “history’s pretty clear on that.” you finally glance at him. he’s already looking at you. there’s something infuriating about the way he debates - not aggressive, not even arrogant exactly, just assured. like he trusts his brain enough not to panic. you don’t have that luxury. you prepare. you outline. you rehearse transitions until they’re automatic. jake improvises. the moderator signals for final statements. you straighten your notes, pulse steady, and deliver your closing with controlled precision. every statistic placed intentionally, every sentence built to corner his argument. when you finish, you hear a few murmurs of approval. good. jake doesn’t check his notes before he begins. he just steps forward, hands loosely clasped, and talks. “my opponent builds beautiful frameworks“ he says calmly, nodding toward you. “they’re detailed, organized, almost airtight. the problem is they assume people act rationally. they assume institutions behave ethically. and if the last decade has taught us anything, it’s that they don’t.” he doesn’t rush. he doesn’t stumble. he adjusts mid-sentence like he’s rearranging thoughts in real time. “and when systems fail“ he finishes, glancing at you again, “flexibility matters more than control.” there’s a beat of silence before applause. you hate that it’s good. the judges deliberate longer than usual. when they return, the head judge smiles politely. “by a margin of three points… jake.” three points. that’s nothing. that’s everything. he leans slightly toward you as the applause starts. “you almost had me.” you gather your papers without looking up. “almost is still losing.” he laughs under his breath. “you’re terrifying when you’re competitive.” “i’m always competitive.”-“yeah“ he says. “i know.”
backstage is crowded, loud, chaotic. someone bumps your shoulder. you barely notice because jake is suddenly right in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye contact. “you relied too much on theory“ you say quietly. “you relied too much on control.” - “you improvise when you’re cornered.” - “you overprepare because you’re scared.” your jaw tightens. “scared of what?” he studies you for half a second too long. “being wrong.” - “and you’re not?” - “i am“ he says easily. “i just don’t mind it.” that’s a lie. you don’t call him on it. someone from the team claps him on the back. “jaeyun, you’re insane.” he winces slightly. “it’s jake.” they blink. “right. sorry.” he waves it off like he doesn’t care, but you notice the tension in his jaw before he smooths it away. “you’d think after two years they’d learn it“ you mutter and he looks back at you. “did you just defend me?” - “i hate incompetence.” that makes him grin. “sure.” you check your phone out of habit and freeze. there’s an email from the department chair flagged urgent. jake’s phone buzzes at the same time. he glances down, then back up at you, expression shifting from amused to intrigued. “you got that too?”- “apparently.” he steps closer so you can both read from one screen without fully admitting that’s what you’re doing. your shoulders almost touch. you’re aware of it. you ignore it. “top two ranked debaters selected to co-lead the undergraduate policy research initiative“ he reads aloud. “public presentation at the end of the semester. faculty oversight minimal.” you exhale slowly. “you’re kidding.” he looks delighted. “we’re partners.” - “i don’t want to be your partner.”-“and yet“ he says lightly, “fate persists.” you step back first. “this isn’t debate. this is research.” -“i’m aware.”-“you don’t outline.”-“i can outline.”-“you don’t.” - he folds his arms. “you don’t adapt.”- “i adapt.”- “reluctantly.” you stare at each other for a long second. the hallway noise fades into background static. he’s close enough that you can see the faint scar near his eyebrow from some story he once told about rugby at his private school in brisbane. you remember more about him than you’d like. “you’re not taking this seriously“ you say. “i am“ he replies, and for once the teasing edge drops slightly. you answer, “it’s a big opportunity.”- “for you, maybe.” he says. his eyes sharpen. “for you too.” you hesitate. he notices. “you think i don’t know?” he says quietly. “you don’t compete for fun.” you don’t like how observant he is. “i compete to win“ you reply.“same.” -“no“ you say. “you compete because you enjoy it.”-“and you compete because?” you don’t answer. he watches you for a moment longer, then straightens. “we have the briefing tomorrow at ten.” -“you read the whole email?” -“obviously.” you hate that he did. “don’t be late“ you say. he smirks. “i’m never late.” you shake your head. “you’re impossible.” - “and yet“ he says again, softer this time, “we work well together.” you don’t respond because that’s the worst part. when you were forced onto the same side last semester, your arguments flowed. you anticipated each other. you hate how natural it felt. he steps around you to leave, then pauses. “you know“ he adds casually, “if we’re co-leading this, you’ll have to stop looking at me like i’m the enemy.” you meet his gaze evenly. “you are.” he smiles slowly. “that’s the problem.” he walks away before you can decide what that means. you stand there a second longer than necessary, staring at the email again. public presentation. faculty evaluation. visibility. it’s the kind of thing that goes on transcripts. the kind that matters. of course it’s him. sim jaeyun - jake - the boy who makes everything look easy. the boy who improvises brilliance. the boy who interrupts you exactly when it hurts most. and now you’re supposed to build something with him. you don’t know which is worse - losing to him, or having to work beside him. your phone buzzes again.
unknown number.
jake: don’t overthink it. we’ll survive.
you stare at the message. you type back before you can stop yourself.
you: speak for yourself.
three dots appear immediately.
jake: oh, i plan to.
you’ve known jake since freshman year, which means you’ve known him since before he figured out how to win without looking like he was trying. the first week of college, you were already in the library at midnight outlining your coursework when he walked in wearing a hoodie from some brisbane private school, dropped his backpack on the table across from you, and asked if anyone was using the seat next to you. you’d looked up, irritated, because you don’t study socially. he’d smiled like he knew that. “relax“ he’d said back then, noticing your expression. “i’m not here to copy.” you hadn’t replied. you just went back to highlighting. the first ranking list came out six weeks into your first semester. it wasn’t supposed to matter that much, but for you it did. your scholarship isn’t automatic - it’s conditional. top three in the cohort, minimum. fall below that and the funding gets “re-evaluated.” that’s the polite wording they use. re-evaluated means meetings. meetings mean explanations. explanations mean risk. and by midterms, he was ranked first in your cohort. you were second. the worst part wasn’t that he beat you. it was that you never saw him studying. you saw him at campus parties, leaning against kitchen counters with a drink in his hand. you saw pictures of him at football games, at some rooftop event, at someone’s birthday dinner. you saw him laughing. and then you’d see the grades posted. first. jake. - second. you. now, two years later, you’re sitting across from him in a glass-walled study room, the email about the research initiative open between you. he’s scrolling through the proposal guidelines while you already have a notepad out. “we should decide on a topic tonight“ you say, tapping your pen once against the paper. “if we’re presenting at the end of the semester, we need a clear framework.” jake leans back in his chair, arms folded. “it’s been twelve minutes.” - “and?” -“and you’re already planning the presentation.” he adds. “that’s how planning works.” you say. he studies you for a second, then says, “you know we don’t have to treat this like war.” -“it is war“ you reply evenly. “public evaluation. faculty panel. rankings.” he tilts his head slightly. “you really care about rankings.” -“you don’t?” you question. -“i care about doing it well.” -“that’s vague.” he smiles faintly. “you care about beating me.” you don’t deny it. “you make it necessary.”he laughs quietly and leans forward now, elbows on the table. “necessary?” -“you’ve been ahead of me since freshman year.” -“by decimal points.”-“it still counts.” he watches you closely, like he’s deciding whether to push further. “you think i don’t notice you chasing me?” -“i’m not chasing you.” -“sure.” you close your notebook with more force than needed “you don’t even try.” that lands. his expression shifts just slightly. “you think i don’t try?” -“i see you at parties“ you say. “i see you out. i see you doing literally everything except studying.” -“and you assume that’s all i do.”-“isn’t it?” there’s a pause. not dramatic. just longer than comfortable. “i’m efficient“ he says finally. “that’s not an answer.”-“it’s the only one you’re getting.” you hold his gaze. there’s something in his tone that doesn’t match the casual posture. it’s faint, but it’s there. defensive.
you change direction. “we need a policy topic that allows for divided interpretation. something with room for debate.”-“energy reform“ he suggests immediately. -“that’s too predictable.”-“predictable wins.”-“not if it’s boring.”he raises an eyebrow. “you’re worried about boring now?”-“i’m worried about standing out.” he looks amused. “you always stand out.”you ignore that. “housing policy?” -“overdone.”-“immigration?” he hesitates, then nods slightly. “that could work.” you start outlining possible angles. he watches you write for a moment before saying, “you don’t have to prove yourself every five seconds.”-“i’m not,“ you stop writing. “and you don’t get to say that jake”-“why not?” -“because you don’t know what it’s like.” his jaw tightens just slightly. “you think i’ve never had to prove anything?”-“you don’t act like it.”-“and you think acting relaxed means i am?” you open your mouth, then close it again. that’s not how this conversation was supposed to go. jake leans back again, running a hand through his hair. “you don’t see everything.” -“then show me“ you say before you can stop yourself. he studies you, something unreadable flickering across his face. “careful“ he says lightly, but there’s no real humor behind it this time. “you might not like what you see.” your phone buzzes. you glance down. a reminder about tuition deadlines. you lock the screen quickly, but not before he notices. “scholarship stuff?” he asks. -“that’s none of your business, jayeun”-“fair.” you gather your papers “we’ll meet tomorrow at ten. don’t be late.” he smirks slightly. “i’m never late.” - “you were late the first day of freshman orientation“ you remind him. he shakes his head. “i wasn’t late. i walked in after they started talking. that’s different.” -“you missed roll call.” -“i made an entrance“ he says, and this time there’s a flash of that easy grin again. as you head toward the door, he calls after you, “and don’t call me jaeyun in front of people.” you pause. “you don’t like it?” -“it’s not for here“ he says simply. you nod once- whatever that‘s supposed to mean? “fine. jake.” he relaxes slightly at that, like you passed some small test you didn’t know you were taking. as you leave the study room, you tell yourself the irritation in your chest is purely academic. purely competitive. purely about rankings and decimal points and research proposals. it totally has nothing to do with the fact that when he said you always stand out, he meant it.
the next day you’re sitting in chaewon’s apartment with a half-melted iced latte in your hand and five pairs of eyes staring at you like you’ve just announced you’re transferring schools. “you’re co-leading it?” yunjin repeats, leaning forward across the coffee table. “with jake?” - “yes“ you say flatly. “unfortunately.” sakura lets out a low whistle. “that’s either iconic or catastrophic.” -“it’s catastrophic“ you reply immediately. kazuha tilts her head. “it could be iconic.” -“it won’t be.”
eunchae, who’s curled up on the floor next to the couch, glances up from her phone. “isn’t this kind of what you wanted? a big research opportunity?” -“yes“ you say. “not with him.” chaewon crosses her arms. “okay, but explain it again. slowly. why do you hate him?” - “i don’t hate him“ you correct. “you absolutely hate him“ yunjin says. you press your lips together. “he’s just… exhausting.” -“how?” sakura asks. “he’s polite. he holds doors. he apologizes when he bumps into people.” -“that’s performance“ you argue. -“for what audience?” kazuha asks calmly. “for everyone“ you reply. eunchae snorts softly. “that’s dramatic.” -“you didn’t see him yesterday“ you say, sitting up straighter. “he interrupted my rebuttal again. of course he did. perfect timing. perfect tone. he wins by three points and acts like it’s casual.” -“that’s because it is casual for him“ yunjin says. chaewon studies you carefully. “you’re not mad that he wins.” -“yes, i am.”-“no“ she says. “you’re mad that he makes it look easy.” you glare at her. she smiles slightly. sakura stretches her legs out on the couch. “okay but let’s be honest. you two have been number one and two since freshman year. this was inevitable.” -“it didn’t have to be with him“ you insist. “it literally did,“ eunchae says. “the email said top two.” you drop back against the couch cushions. “he doesn’t take anything seriously.” -“have you considered,“ kazuha says mildly, “that maybe you don’t see everything?” you narrow your eyes at her. “you sound like him.” yunjin laughs, “oh my god, you do. that’s exactly what he says.”- “that’s because it’s true“ kazuha replies. you shake your head. “you all see him at parties. that’s it. he’s always out. always somewhere. meanwhile i’m in the library rewriting notes for the fourth time.” sakura raises an eyebrow. “you rewrite your notes four times?” -“that’s not the point.” you argue. chaewon leans forward. “you’re acting like he personally attacked your gpa.” -“he kind of does“ you mutter. eunchae finally sits up properly. “sunghoon says jake barely sleeps during midterms.” you pause “what?” she shrugs. “he mentioned it once. said jake disappears for like three days and no one hears from him.” -“that’s not true“ you say automatically. “it is,“ eunchae insists. “sunghoon was complaining because they had plans and jake canceled.” you hesitate. that doesn’t match the image you’ve built. yunjin notices the shift immediately. “see? you don’t know everything.”
before you can respond, there’s a knock on the door and chaewon calls out, “it’s open!” sunoo walks in first, smiling brightly, followed by jungwon and niki. jungwon drops down next to eunchae without hesitation, greeting her quietly, while niki flops into an empty chair. sunoo looks around at the tension in the room. “why does it feel like someone died?” -“niki’s best friend“ yunjin says sweetly. niki gasps dramatically. “jake?” - “yes“ you say dryly. “spiritually.” sunoo laughs. “what did he do now?” -“he exists“ you reply. sunoo walks over and sits on the armrest of the couch near you. “okay, no, seriously. what happened?” -“he and i got paired for the research initiative“ you say. sunoo’s eyes light up. “oh. that’s perfect.”-“it’s not perfect.” -“it is,“ he insists. “you two are literally the same person.” -“we are not.” -“you’re both competitive. you both overthink. you both pretend you don’t care when you absolutely do.”-“i do not pretend” . jungwon looks between you and sunoo. “why do you guys act like enemies? it’s confusing.”-“because we are“ you say. sunoo tilts his head. “but why?“ you open your mouth, then hesitate. the answer sounds less convincing when you try to say it out loud. “he makes everything look easy.” -“and that’s a crime?” niki asks. “yes. it is.” everyone laughs except you. sunoo leans closer. “be honest. do you actually hate him?”-“i don’t hate him.” -“do you dislike him?”-“yes.”-“why?”-“because he interrupts me.” sunoo blinks. “that’s it?”-“and he wins.”-“by decimal points“ jungwon adds quietly. you glare at him. he raises his hands defensively. sunoo studies you for a long moment before saying, completely serious, “you guys should just fuck.” the room goes silent. “what?” you say. “i’m serious“ sunoo continues. “the tension is insane. it’s exhausting. just fuck once and get it over with.” yunjin bursts out laughing. “i was waiting for someone to say it.” -“i was not“ you snap. chaewon looks amused. “he’s not wrong.” -“he is very wrong.” you insist. sunoo shrugs. “you glare at each other like divorced parents.”-“that’s dramatic.”- “you stand too close“ sakura adds helpfully.-“i do not.”- “you do“ eunchae says. “at debates especially.” -“that’s proximity strategy.” you say. sunoo grins. “sure.” you feel your face heating slightly, which only makes it worse. “there is no tension.” -“there is so much tension“ niki says. “enough that niki and heeseung bet on who will snap first“ jungwon adds casually. you stare at them. “you’re betting on us?” - “not seriously“ niki says quickly. “it’s just… for fun.” you look at sunoo. “you’re encouraging this?” - “i just think“ sunoo says thoughtfully, “that you’re both stubborn and bored. and when stubborn people are bored, they create drama.” - “we are not bored“ you say. -“okay“ he replies lightly. “then why does it bother you that he parties?”-you freeze for half a second. “it doesn’t bother me.” -“it does“ chaewon says gently. sunoo nods. “you think he’s not working as hard as you.” -“he isn’t“ you insist. “you don’t know that“ jungwon says. -“i do.”- “do you?” sunoo asks softly.
the room feels quieter now. yunjin breaks the silence. “okay, but regardless, you two leading the research project together is objectively entertaining.” -“i don’t want entertaining“ you say. “i want stable.”-“you’re in college“ niki says. “nothing is stable.” sunoo leans back, crossing his arms. “when’s your first official meeting?” -“tomorrow morning.” he grins slowly. “can’t wait.”-“you’re not invited.”-“i don’t need to be“ he replies. “i’ll hear about it anyway.” eunchae glances at jungwon. “please don’t make this a group event.”- “no promises“ jungwon says lightly. you stand up abruptly. “you’re all impossible.”-“and yet“ sunoo says, smiling at you, “you keep hanging out with us.” you hesitate at that. because despite everything, despite the rivalry and the rankings and the decimal points, this - sitting in a messy apartment arguing about nothing - feels easier than the quiet intensity of that glass study room. “just don’t let it ruin you“ chaewon says gently as you grab your bag. “it won’t“ you reply. sunoo tilts his head again. “you sure?” he studies you one last time before saying, “for what it’s worth, he doesn’t hate you.” you pause “i didn’t ask.”-“i know“ sunoo says. you leave before anyone can say anything else, your mind louder than it was when you arrived.
you’re walking across campus with yunjin when your phone buzzes with a message from jake.
jake: study room b. don’t be late.
you glance at the screen and scoff. “he really thinks he’s in charge.”yunjin looks over at you as you both step around a group of freshmen blocking the sidewalk. “who?” - “jake“ you reply, slipping your phone back into your bag. “he booked the room and now he’s acting like i work for him.” yunjin hums thoughtfully. “maybe he just doesn’t trust you to show up.” you give her a look. “i’m always on time.”-“that’s true“ she admits with a grin. “you’re aggressively punctual.” you cross your arms as you walk. “he texted ‘don’t be late.’ like i’ve ever been late to anything.” yunjin laughs softly. “he likes getting under your skin.”-“he’s not under my skin.” -“sure.” you stop outside the academic building and glance at the time. you’re five minutes early “go“ yunjin says, nudging you lightly. “i have class in ten. try not to murder him.”-“no promises“ you reply. she grins and heads down the hallway toward her lecture room while you take the stairs up to the study rooms. as you approach study room b, you can already hear laughter inside. you frown. you push the door open and freeze for half a second. jake is sitting on the table instead of in a chair, sleeves pushed up, laptop open in front of him. niki is sprawled in one of the chairs, leaning back dangerously far, feet propped against the table leg. niki is mid-sentence when he notices you. “oh, look“ he says, straightening slightly. “she’s here.” jake glances toward the door and smiles faintly. “you’re early.” -“i’m on time“ you correct as you step inside. “you’re early.” niki looks between the two of you with open amusement. “wow. already fighting. we’re thirty seconds in.” - “we’re not fighting“ you say. jake tilts his head and says “you sound defensive.” -“i’m not defensive.” -“you somehow always are“ niki says cheerfully. you set your bag down on the table and look at niki. “why are you here?” - “i’m supervising“ niki replies, completely serious. “supervising what?” you ask. “whatever this is.” he gestures loosely between you and jake. jake lets out a quiet laugh and closes his laptop halfway. “ignore him.” -“i am not ignoring him“ you say, pulling out your notebook.
“this is supposed to be a work session.” -“it is“ jake replies calmly. “we were just… warming up.”- “by laughing?” - “yes“ niki says. “it’s something people do.” you shoot him a look. “do you not have somewhere to be?” niki pretends to check an imaginary watch. “actually, i cleared my schedule for this.” jake shakes his head slightly. “you don’t have a class?” -“i do“ niki admits. “in twenty minutes.” -“then why are you here?” you ask again. niki leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “because i heart you two got paired, and i wanted to see the tension in real time.” - “there is no tension“ you say immediately. jake raises an eyebrow at you. “you just said that very quickly.” -“that’s because it’s true.” . niki grins. “you two look like you’re about to argue over who gets the better chair.” jake slides off the table and gestures toward the chair across from him. “take it. i don’t want it.” you narrow your eyes slightly. “i wasn’t asking.” -“see?” niki says, pointing between you. “that.”. jake glances at niki with mild amusement. “you’re exaggerating.” -“no, i’m not“ niki insists. “he’s been pretending he doesn’t care all morning.” you turn your attention to jake. “you don’t care?” jake leans back against the table, crossing his arms loosely. “about what?” -“about this project.” he looks at you steadily. “i care.”-“it doesn’t look like it“ you reply. niki makes a dramatic gasp. “oh, she went there.” jake’s jaw tightens slightly, though his tone stays even. “we’ve been here ten minutes.” -“and you were joking around“ you say. -“with my friend“ he replies. “before you got here.” you hold his gaze for a second too long. “we agreed to take this seriously.” -“i am taking it seriously“ jake says. “relax.” you hate that word. “i am relaxed“ you say, sitting down across from him and opening your notebook. niki watches the exchange like it’s live entertainment. “you know“ he says thoughtfully, “if you guys just admitted you get turned on by arguing with each other, this would be easier.” jake rolls his eyes slightly. “you’re projecting.” - “i told you i’m supervising“ niki corrects. you ignore him and flip to your outlined topic ideas. “we’re doing immigration policy“ you say, glancing at jake. “unless you’ve changed your mind overnight.” -“i haven’t“ jake replies. “economic integration versus resource strain.”-“good“ you say. “i drafted a preliminary framework.” jake pushes off the table and takes the seat across from you. he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “let’s see it.” you slide your notebook toward him. he scans it quickly, eyes moving fast. niki shifts in his chair and watches jake’s expression carefully. jake nods once. “this is solid.”-“that’s it?” you ask. “what do you want, applause?” he replies lightly. -“i want critique.” -he studies the page again. “you’re focusing heavily on structural reform. we should balance it with adaptive local policies.” -“that weakens the central thesis“ you argue. “no“ jake says calmly. “it strengthens it by showing flexibility.” niki glances between you. “wow. this is intense.” you both ignore him. jake taps one of your bullet points. “if we frame it as binary, the panel will push back.” -“they always push back“ you reply. “exactly.” he says. you hesitate. he’s not wrong. niki leans back again. “you two talk like you’re negotiating a peace treaty.”-“we’re building an argument“ you say.
“it sounds like marriage counseling“ niki says. jake huffs out a small laugh despite himself. “can you leave?”-“in a minute“ niki replies cheerfully. you pull your notebook back slightly and look at jake. “if we incorporate adaptive policies, we need stronger case studies.” -“i can handle that“ jake says. you raise an eyebrow. “can you?” he meets your gaze evenly. “yes.” niki watches that exchange carefully, then smirks. “you don’t trust him.” - “i trust data“ you reply. jake tilts his head. “you just don’t trust me.”-“that’s different.”-“how?”-“because you improvise.”-“and you don’t“ he says. “that’s why this works.”-you frown slightly. “works?”-“we balance each other“ he says simply. the air shifts just slightly at that. niki notices immediately. “oh my god“ he mutters under his breath. you ignore him again. “we need to divide tasks.” jake nods. “i’ll handle case studies and adaptive frameworks. you refine the structural argument and gather economic data.”-“that’s reasonable“ you admit.niki claps softly. “look at that. cooperation.”jake throws him a look. “you’re insufferable.”-“i learned from the best“ niki replies, grinning.you close your notebook. “if you’re done supervising, you can go.” niki checks his phone and stands up dramatically. “fine. my class is starting. but before i leave-” he points between you and jake. “try not to kill each other.”-“we won’t“ jake says dryly. niki pauses at the door and looks back at you. “you know he doesn’t actually think this is easy, right?”jake immediately says, “niki.”-“i’m just saying“ niki continues, ignoring him. “she assumes things.” you cross your arms. “i don’t assume.” -“you do“ niki says lightly. “both of you do.” jake stands up slightly. “go to class.” niki laughs and opens the door. “have fun, kids.” he leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. silence settles into the room.
you exhale slowly. “he’s dramatic.” jake sits back down and opens his laptop again. “he’s bored.” -“you find that funny?” -“i do“ he admits. you narrow your eyes. “of course you do.”he glances at you. “you don’t?”-“no.”-“that’s unfortunate.” you shake your head and look down at your notes again, trying to refocus. the room feels different now that niki is gone. quieter. smaller. jake clears his throat softly. “you really think i don’t work.” it’s not phrased like a joke this time.you don’t look up immediately. “i think you don’t look like you’re working.”-“that’s basically the same thing.”-you finally meet his eyes. “then what is it?”he holds your gaze for a moment before answering. “it’s just not as visible.”-“that’s vague“ you say. “i know“ he replies. you study him carefully. he doesn’t look defensive now. just tired. “why do you care what i think?” you ask quietly. he leans back slightly, considering that. “because you’re the only one who competes with me like it matters.” -“it does matter.” -“i know“ he says. the way he says it makes something tighten in your chest. you break eye contact first and flip to a new page in your notebook. “let’s just work.” he nods once. “okay.” for the next several minutes, you fall into a rhythm. you outline. he types. you debate phrasing. he adjusts it. the arguments sharpen.
the tension doesn’t disappear, but it changes shape-less sharp, more focused. for a while, the only sounds in the study room are the quiet tapping of jake’s keyboard and the soft scratch of your pen moving across paper. the earlier teasing from niki feels distant now. the air has shifted into something focused, almost tense in a different way. jake suddenly stops typing. you look up immediately. “why did you stop?” you ask, your pen hovering above the page. jake doesn’t answer right away. he narrows his eyes slightly at his screen and scrolls upward. “hold on“ he mutters, leaning closer to his laptop. you straighten in your chair. “what?” jake tilts the screen slightly toward you. “did you download this dataset directly from the initiative portal?” he asks, tapping the trackpad. “yes“ you reply, leaning forward to see better. “it’s the one linked in the official brief.” jake scrolls again, slower this time. “look at the resource strain percentages from 2018 to 2020“ he says, his voice losing its casual edge. you move your chair closer and scan the column. “they increase gradually“ you say. “that’s consistent.” -“too consistent“ jake replies, glancing at you briefly before looking back at the screen. “real-world immigration strain doesn’t trend that cleanly. especially not across multiple regions.” you frown. “it could be averaged.” -“it is averaged“ jake says, pointing at the methodology note. “that’s the issue.” you pull your own laptop toward you and open the public government archive you bookmarked yesterday. “give me a second“ you say as you start searching for the original data. jake watches silently while you compare the figures side by side. your stomach drops. “these don’t even match“ you say quietly, your eyes flicking between the two screens. jake nods once. “i noticed.”
you scroll faster, your jaw tightening. “the university dataset rounds up in some regions“ you say slowly. “and rounds down in others.” jake leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “it balances out to reinforce a specific trend.” you shake your head. “no. it can’t be intentional.” jake studies your expression. “you see it too.” you don’t respond. instead, you double-check the years again, hoping you misread something. the numbers remain the same. jake exhales slowly. “if we use their version, our argument is skewed“ he says, his tone controlled but firm. “it’s the official dataset“ you reply, closing your laptop halfway. “it’s the provided dataset“ jake corrects. you stand up from your chair and take a few steps toward the glass wall, trying to think.
“you’re suggesting the university manipulated research data for a student initiative?“ you say carefully. -“i’m saying the dataset was curated“ jake replies as he stands as well, resting his hands on the table. “and not transparently.” you turn back to face him. “that’s a serious claim.” -“it’s an observable discrepancy“ he counters. you cross your arms. “if we accuse them of manipulating data, we jeopardize the entire project.” jake steps slightly closer to the table. “if we ignore it, we jeopardize our credibility.”-“that’s dramatic“ you say. -“it’s accurate“ jake replies, his voice sharpening slightly. you shake your head. “you don’t know why it was adjusted.”-“and neither do you“ he responds evenly. “but you’re assuming bad intent“ you argue. “and you’re assuming good intent“ he fires back. you take a breath, trying to steady yourself. “we don’t need to escalate this. we can adjust our framework so we rely less heavily on those specific figures.” jake studies you for a moment before asking, “so you want to work around it?”-“i want to be strategic“ you say. jake lets out a short breath through his nose. “strategic“ he repeats, though there’s frustration underneath the word. “yes“ you insist. “there’s no reason to challenge faculty-provided material unless absolutely necessary.” jake steps fully away from the table now, running a hand through his hair as he processes that. “you care more about how this looks than whether it’s accurate“ he says quietly. “that’s not fair“ you reply immediately, your voice tightening. jake looks directly at you. “it is fair. you’re calculating risk before you’re evaluating integrity.” -“i’m evaluating consequences“ you correct. “you’re protecting your ranking“ he says. you feel your pulse spike. “this affects ranking“ you reply. “public evaluation affects scholarship.” jake’s expression shifts slightly. “so this is about being first again.” -“it’s about staying funded“ you snap. “you know that.” jake hesitates for half a second before saying, “you think i don’t have stakes here?”
“you’ll be fine either way“ you reply, your voice sharper than you intend. “you always are.” jake’s jaw tightens. “you really think that.” - “you make it look easy“ you say. “you always have.” he takes a step closer, though not aggressively. “looking easy doesn’t mean it is“ he says, his tone lower now. “then why not prove that?” you challenge. jake stares at you for a moment before answering. “because i don’t owe you a performance of my struggle.” the words hit harder than you expect. you fold your arms tighter. “if we call out the discrepancy, it draws attention. attention means scrutiny.” -“and scrutiny isn’t bad if we’re right“ jake replies.“it is if we’re dismissed“ you argue. “we’re undergraduates.”- “so what?” he asks. “if we find inconsistencies, we address them.” -“not by accusing them outright“ you insist.jake shakes his head. “you’re compromising.”-“i’m adapting“ you reply. “you’re compromising“ he repeats, firmer now. “and you’re idealizing“ you shoot back. jake looks away for a second before meeting your gaze again. “if this were reversed“ he says carefully, “and i brought you flawed data and told you to ignore it, you’d destroy me.”-“that’s different“ you reply immediately. “how?” he presses. “because you’re my partner“ you say, then realize how that sounds. jake notices. his expression flickers. “and the university isn’t?” he asks quietly. “that’s not what i meant“ you say quickly. jake studies you, something unreadable in his eyes. “you trust them more than you trust me“ he says. “that’s not true“ you respond, though your voice lacks certainty. jake exhales sharply. “you think i can afford to challenge this because i went to private school?“ he says. “you think i’ve had it easy.” -“you have connections“ you reply. “you have options.” -“and you think that equals safety?” he asks, his voice tightening. “you do have a safety net jake.“ you insist. jake goes very still at that. “you don’t know anything about my safety net“ he says, his tone controlled but strained. “then explain it“ you reply. for a moment, it looks like he might. instead, he steps back and shakes his head. “this isn’t about that“ he says. “it is“ you argue. “because you can afford to risk conflict.”-“and you think i want to?” he asks. “yes, apparently” you say. jake laughs once, but there’s no humor in it. “you don’t know me“ he says. “yeah, maybe i don’t“ you reply. silence stretches between you. jake finally says, “i’m not building our project on altered data.” - “and i’m not tanking our evaluation over something we can strategically navigate“ you reply.
“it’s not a minor thing“ he says. “it can be managed“ you respond. jake looks at you steadily. “you’re afraid.” you lift your chin. “jake, i’m realistic.” he studies you for a moment longer before saying, “running from it won’t fix it.” - “i’m not running“ you reply as you grab your bag from the chair. jake watches you. “you are“ he says quietly. you move toward the door. “we’ll revisit this tomorrow.” -“you can’t avoid this forever“ jake says as you reach for the handle. you pause briefly but don’t turn around. “watch me“ you reply before opening the door and stepping into the hallway.
it’s been three days since the study room. three days of short, strictly necessary texts from jake about scheduling. three days of you avoiding any conversation that isn’t logistical. three days of replaying that argument in your head and getting more annoyed every time. now you’re sitting cross-legged on chaewon’s bedroom floor while sakura flips through something on her phone and yunjin lies on the bed staring at the ceiling. kazuha is sitting against the wall with a notebook in her lap, and eunchae is leaning back against jungwon’s hoodie like she lives here. “you’re quieter than usual“ yunjin says, turning her head slightly to look at you. “i’m fine“ you reply, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. chaewon glances at you from her desk chair. “that means you’re not fine.” -“i’m just busy“ you say. “with the project?” sakura asks without looking up from her phone. “yes.” yunjin shifts onto her side. “you and jake still not talking properly?”-“we are talking“ you correct. “we’re communicating.”-“that sounds worse“ sakura says.“it’s efficient“ you reply.chaewon narrows her eyes slightly. “what happened?” you hesitate for half a second, then shrug. “we disagreed about data interpretation.”-“that sounds academic“ kazuha says calmly. “it was“ you insist. yunjin sits up slightly. “that’s not what you look like when it’s academic.” you glare at her. “what does that even mean?” -“it means you look like you’re personally offended“ she replies. “i’m not,“ you exhale slowly. “the dataset they gave us was adjusted.”-“adjusted how?” sakura asks. “inconsistent with public records“ you explain. “he wants to call it out.”-“and you don’t?” kazuha asks. “it’s not that simple,“ you say quickly. “if we accuse them of manipulating data, that reflects on us.” eunchae tilts her head. “but if it’s wrong, isn’t that worse?” - “it’s not wrong,“ you argue. “it’s curated.”-“that sounds like wrong with extra steps“ yunjin says. you shoot her a look. “it’s nuanced.” chaewon leans back in her chair. “and you two argued.” - “yes“ you admit. “how bad?” sakura asks. “not too bad“ you say. “scale of one to dramatic“ yunjin presses. you hesitate. “maybe… a six.” eunchae raises her eyebrows. “that’s high for you.”-“it wasn’t dramatic,“ you say defensively. “it was controlled.”-“that’s your version of dramatic“ sakura mutters.
there’s a knock on the door and jungwon pokes his head in. “are we interrupting?” “we?” eunchae repeats. sunoo walks in behind jungwon, smiling like he already knows something. “group therapy?” he asks, glancing around. “no“ you say immediately. sunoo sits on the edge of the bed anyway. “you look like you need it.”-“i don’t“ you reply. jungwon steps fully inside and sits next to eunchae. “jake’s been weird“ he says casually. your head lifts. “weird how?” sunoo glances at jungwon with interest. “oh?” jungwon shrugs. “quieter.” - “that’s not weird“ you say. “for him it is“ jungwon replies. yunjin looks at you slowly. “your fighting made him quieter, damn.” - “we debated“ you correct. sunoo studies you carefully. “about the data?” you blink. “how do you know that?” sunoo gives you a look. “because i know him.”- “that doesn’t mean you know this“ you say. “he mentioned it“ jungwon adds. you straighten. “what did he say?”- “that you think he’s reckless“ jungwon answers honestly. you look away. “and that you think he has it easy“ sunoo says gently. your jaw tightens. “i never said that.” sunoo doesn’t argue. he just looks at you like he doesn’t need to. eunchae shifts slightly. “okay, new topic before this gets intense.” -“yes“ sakura agrees quickly. eunchae glances at jungwon. “you should tell them.” jungwon looks mildly amused. “you can.” eunchae turns to you. “there’s a party tomorrow night.” you blink. “what does that have to do with anything?”- “it’s at heeseung’s place“ jungwon explains. “small thing.” - “small?” sunoo repeats with a grin. “that’s a lie.”- “it’s manageable“ jungwon corrects. eunchae smiles slightly. “he invited me.” - “and?” you ask.- “and i thought we could all go“ she says. you immediately shake your head. “no.” yunjin groans. “you didn’t even think about it.” - “i don’t want to go“ you say. “because he’ll be there?” sakura asks carefully. “that’s not why“ you reply. “then why?” chaewon presses. “i have work, plus i never party” you say. “it’s friday“ yunjin replies. “i still have work.”-“you’ve been locked in your room for three days“ sakura says. “you need air.”- “i go outside“ you say. “walking between classes doesn’t count“ yunjin replies. sunoo leans back on his hands. “you two need to stop acting like divorced co-founders.”- “we’re not acting like anything“ you say sharply. jungwon looks at you calmly. “he hasn’t said anything bad about you.”- “i didn’t say he did.” - “you assumed he would“ sunoo says lightly. you cross your arms. “i don’t assume.”- “you do“ chaewon says gently. you look at eunchae. “you’re going?”- “yes“ she says simply. “and you want all of us to go?”- “yes.” kazuha closes her notebook. “it might actually help.”
“help what?” you ask. “break the tension“ she replies. “there is no tension“ you say. sunoo laughs quietly. “you’re very committed to that narrative.” yunjin sits up fully now. “you’ve been spiraling over this argument for days.” -“i have not.”- “you have“ sakura says. “it was an academic disagreement.”- “then why do you look personally offended?” chaewon asks. you open your mouth, then close it again. sunoo glances at jungwon before speaking. “he’s not trying to undermine you.”- “i didn’t say he was“ you reply. “you kinda did“ jungwon says. you exhale sharply. “he thinks i’m compromising.” - “and you think he’s reckless“ sunoo replies. you look at him. “he is.” sunoo shrugs. “sometimes.”- “exactly.”- “but he’s not careless“ jungwon says. you hesitate. eunchae leans forward slightly. “just come tomorrow“ she says gently. “you don’t have to talk to him.”- “that’s unrealistic“ you reply. “then don’t argue“ sakura says. “he argues with me“ you counter. “and you argue back“ yunjin says. you fall quiet. chaewon stands up and walks toward you, handing you a bottle of water. “you don’t have to prove anything at a party“ she says calmly. “i’m not proving anything.”- “you always try to“ she replies softly. that stings more than you expect. sunoo glances at jungwon again before saying, “he’s going to be there regardless.”- “i know“ you say. “and if you don’t go“ sunoo continues, “you’re still going to think about it, and it’s really not that deep” you glare at him. “you’re very invested in this.”- “i enjoy chaos“ he replies. eunchae nudges jungwon lightly. “tell her.” jungwon sighs slightly. “jake almost didn’t want to go.” you look up sharply. “why?” jungwon shrugs. “said he wasn’t in the mood.” your chest tightens for a second before you push it down. “why would i care, that’s not my problem.”-“no one said it was“ sunoo replies. “it kind of is“ yunjin mutters. you look at her. “how?”- “well, you’re both avoiding each other because of some stupid data” she says. “i’m not avoiding him.”- “you haven’t met outside scheduled sessions“ sakura points out. “that’s intentional.”-“exactly“ yunjin says.
there’s a long pause. eunchae finally says softly, “just come. if it’s awful, we leave early.” you look around the room. five faces watching you. not judging. just waiting. “i don’t want to talk to him, i’ll just work on my part of the project alone.” you say. sunoo laughs. “he’s fun when he drinks.” - “that’s not reassuring“ you reply. “it should be“ jungwon says. you run a hand through your hair. “fine.” everyone perks up slightly. “i’ll go“ you clarify. “but i’m not staying late.” chaewon smiles faintly. “deal.”- “and if he starts something“ you add, “i’m leaving.” - “he definetly won’t“ sunoo says confidently. “you don’t know that.” - “i do“ he replies. you look away, staring at the floor for a second. tomorrow evening. a party. the thought unsettles you more than you’d like. “don’t overthink it“ yunjin says, like she read your mind. “i’m not“ you lie. sunoo stands up, stretching slightly. “this is going to be fun.”- “you’re enjoying this too much“ you tell him. “i’m just saying it will be fun. i promise” he replies with a grin.
heeseung’s house is louder than you expected. you hear the music before you even reach the gate, bass thudding through the warm evening air. yunjin walks ahead of you like she belongs here, sakura beside her already laughing at something chaewon said. kazuha is walking calmly at your side, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, while eunchae is texting jungwon. “i can still leave“ you mutter under your breath. yunjin glances over her shoulder immediately. “no.” - “i didn’t say anything“ you reply. “you were thinking loudly“ sakura says, pushing open the gate. the yard is already full. not packed, but crowded enough that you can’t slip in unnoticed. there are groups gathered around the patio, has set up speakers near the sliding doors, and the living room inside is lit with that dim, warm light that makes everything feel softer than it is. you step inside with the others and immediately scan the room out of habit. jake is across the living room near the kitchen island. you notice him because he’s laughing louder than usually. not the controlled, polite debate-team smile. not the half-smirk he uses when he’s about to interrupt you. it’s fuller, easier. he’s leaning back against the counter with a red plastic cup in his hand, sleeves pushed up, head tilted slightly as jay says something animated in front of him. niki is half sitting on the counter, and sunoo is talking with his hands like he’s telling a dramatic story. jake looks relaxed. you look away first. “okay“ chaewon says quietly beside you, following your gaze. “we’re not staring.”-“i wasn’t“ you reply. “i was observing the room.”-“academically?” sakura asks sweetly. eunchae’s phone buzzes and she smiles. “jungwon’s in the kitchen.”- “obviously“ yunjin mutters. “where else would he be?” you take a breath and step further into the house. the music shifts into something louder, and someone near the couch cheers for no clear reason. sunoo is the first to notice your group. he lights up immediately and waves both hands. “they made it!” jake turns his head at that. your eyes meet for half a second. he raises his cup slightly in acknowledgment. you nod once. that’s it. no confrontation. just recognition. thankfully.
sunoo pushes off the counter and weaves through the crowd toward you. “you actually came“ he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “i said i would“ you reply. “i didn’t believe you“ he admits cheerfully. “you’re very supportive“ you tell him. niki appears behind him a second later. “i give her an hour“ he says, glancing at you. “before she leaves.”-“i’m staying“ you reply. “we’ll see“ niki says. jungwon steps forward next, immediately slipping an arm around eunchae’s waist. “you found it okay?” he asks her. “yes“ eunchae says with a small smile. heeseung appears from somewhere near the hallway. “drinks are in the kitchen“ he announces. “if you don’t like what’s there, that’s a you problem.”-“that’s comforting“ sakura says. you follow the group toward the kitchen. jake is still leaning against the counter when you approach. up close, you notice his eyes are slightly softer than usual and there’s a faint flush across his cheeks. he’s not drunk. but he’s not entirely sober either. he looks at you and says, “you made it“ his tone light but steady. “i said i would“ you reply. he tilts his head slightly. “i know.” there’s something about the way he says it that feels layered, but you don’t dwell on it. jay claps jake on the shoulder. “we were betting on whether you’d show“ he says to you. “do you have a gambling problem?” you ask flatly. “just friendly speculation“ jay corrects. “she was coming“ jake says casually, taking another sip from his cup. you glance at him. “you sound confident.” jake shrugs. “you don’t back out of things.” you don’t respond to that as chaewon moves past you to grab a drink from the counter. “what’s safe?” she asks heeseung. “nothing“ heeseung replies immediately. yunjin laughs. “that’s reassuring.” sunoo hands you a cup without asking what you want. “start light“ he advises. “i’m not planning to get drunk“ you tell him. “famous last words“ niki says. you take a cautious sip. it’s stronger than you expected. jake notices your expression and smirks slightly. “too much?” - “it’s fine“ you say. he studies you for a second longer than necessary before looking away.
the kitchen grows louder as more people filter in. someone turns the music up again. jungwon and eunchae drift slightly toward the living room couch together. jay and heeseung start arguing about something sports-related. you find yourself standing in a loose circle with chaewon, sakura, yunjin, kazuha, sunoo, niki, and jake hovering just slightly off to the side. sunoo looks around at the combined group and claps his hands once. “okay. we’re merging.“- “we’re not countries“ you reply. “speak for yourself“ niki says. “i’m a sovereign state.”-“you’re barely functional“ sakura tells him. jake laughs quietly at that. you pretend not to notice how easy it sounds. sunoo gestures between everyone. “this is good. cross-cultural exchange.”-“we go to the same university“ kazuha points out calmly. “still counts“ sunoo insists. heeseung leans against the fridge and surveys the group. “are we doing something or just standing here like we‘re in a debate?”-“we can do both“ you say. jake looks at you immediately. “you would.” you meet his gaze. “you wouldn’t?” he tilts his head. “depends.” -“on?” you ask. “how competitive you’re feeling tonight“ he replies. niki groans dramatically. “don’t start.”-“i’m not starting“ you say at the same time jake says, “relax.” sunoo looks between you both. “you two talk like you’re in a panel discussion.”-“it’s a habit“ jake says lightly. “break it“ yunjin tells him. jake raises an eyebrow at her. “you first.” she laughs. “not my rivalry.” -“it’s not a rivalry“ you say automatically.niki points at you. “you said that very fast.” jake takes another sip of his drink, watching the exchange with mild amusement. he doesn’t jump in this time. chaewon nudges you gently. “loosen up“ she murmurs. “i am loose“ you reply. sunoo looks at jake and then back at you. “he’s already ahead of you.” - “i’m not competing“ you say. jake finally steps closer into the circle. “you’re always competing“ he says casually. “with you?” you ask. “with everyone“ he replies. “that’s projection“ you say. niki looks between you. “see, this is why we needed you here. the energy is unmatched.” heeseung nods. “it was too calm before.” you roll your eyes. “you’re welcome.”
sunoo suddenly looks inspired. “okay, we’re playing something.”- “we just got here“ kazuha says. “exactly“ sunoo replies. “prime time.” - “not yet“ jungwon calls from the couch. “give it ten minutes.” jake glances at you again. “you planning to stay?” he asks, tone neutral. “for now“ you reply. he nods once. “good, you really need to loosen up a bit.” you study him for a moment. “you smell like cheap beer.” he doesn’t deny it. “a little.” - “already?” you ask. “it’s been longer than you think“ he says. “you got here early?” you ask. he shrugs. “helped set up.” you pause at that. you hadn’t expected that answer. before you can respond, jay calls jake’s name from across the room. jake glances over, then back at you. he nods once, then moves away toward jay. you watch him go for half a second before chaewon snaps her fingers in front of your face. “eyes up“ she says. “i wasn’t-” you start. “you were“ sakura says. you take another sip of your drink and decide not to answer. the group slowly spreads out into smaller conversations, but there’s an underlying pull that keeps everyone within the same area. jungwon drifts back toward the kitchen with eunchae still at his side. niki climbs onto one of the bar stools. sunoo is narrating something dramatic again. jake returns a few minutes later, cup refilled. he stands slightly closer this time. “you’re quieter than usual“ he says, looking at you rather than the group. “i’m listening“ you reply. “to what?” he asks. “everything“ you say. he studies you for a moment, then nods slightly like that answer makes sense. across the room, someone cheers loudly. the music shifts again. sunoo suddenly raises his voice. “okay, that’s enough standing. we’re doing something.“- “what?” heeseung asks. “we‘re socializing like adults. let‘s playing something.” sunoo says. heeseung groans from the armchair. “define something.” - “never have i ever“ sunoo declares.“that sounds threatening“ sakura says. jake drops down onto the rug across from you, legs stretched out, leaning back on his hands. “i’m in“ he says easily, already sounding a little looser than earlier. niki drags a coffee table slightly out of the way to make space. jungwon sits down beside eunchae, automatically pulling her closer. jay flops down next to jake, and chaewon settles cross-legged beside you.
“rules“ sunoo says, raising his cup. “you say something you’ve never done. anyone who has done it drinks.”-“simple“ kazuha says. “and no lying“ niki adds. jake tilts his head slightly. “who’s enforcing that?”-“i am“ niki says. “you can’t even enforce your own bedtime“ jay tells him. sunoo points dramatically. “i’ll start.” he clears his throat like he’s about to present a thesis. “never have i ever pretended to understand a reading in class.” there’s immediate movement. heeseung drinks. jay drinks. niki drinks. jake raises his cup without hesitation and takes a sip. you look around, unimpressed. yunjin squints at you. “you’re not drinking?“- “i’ve never pretended“ you say calmly. jake lets out a soft laugh. “of course you haven’t.” - “have you?” you ask. jake lowers his cup and looks at you. “absolutely.” you raise an eyebrow. “that explains a lot.” he smirks slightly. “you say that like you’ve never winged a seminar.”-“i always prepare“ you reply. “obsessively“ niki adds. sunoo points at you. “see, this is what i mean. she’s terrifying.” -“it’s called competence“ you correct. jake tips his cup slightly toward you. “relax, professor.” you narrow your eyes. “i’m not tense.” sunoo claps again. “next!” jay leans forward. “never have i ever skipped a lecture to go out.” multiple people drink immediately. jake drinks again without hesitation. you don’t move. niki notices and looks at you suspiciously. “you’ve never skipped?” - “no“ you reply. “not even once?” sakura asks. “i don’t skip lectures“ you say. jake shakes his head slowly, smiling faintly. “that’s insane.” he gestures vaguely with his cup. “you need to live a little.”- “and you all need to attend class“ you shoot back. he laughs, louder this time. “i attend.”- “you arrive late“ you say. “that’s different“ he insists. “that’s worse“ you reply. sunoo is watching the two of you like this is premium entertainment. “is this considered academic foreplay?“ he mutters. “shut up“ you say automatically. jake nearly chokes on his drink laughing. jungwon clears his throat, amused. “my turn.” he looks around thoughtfully. “never have i ever argued with a professor during class.” there’s a pause. then jake drinks. niki drinks enthusiastically. “you’ve argued?” you ask them. jake wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “multiple times.”- “of course you have“ you say. he leans slightly toward you. “you haven’t?”-“i pick my battles“ you reply. “you avoid some of them“ he counters. “that’s called strategy.”-“that’s called fear of confrontation“ he says, grinning. you lean back slightly. “you’re tipsy.”-“and?” he asks. “it’s making you louder“ you reply. “it’s making him honest“ niki says. sunoo whistles softly. “oh, that’s a line.” jake waves him off. “relax.” chaewon nudges you. “you’re still not drinking.” you shrug slightly. “i’m pacing.” niki leans forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees. “okay“ he says casually, glancing around the circle. “we’re done pretending this is educational.” sunoo smirks. “it never was.” niki lifts his cup. “never have i ever hooked up in a university bathroom.” there’s a brief pause. then jungwon takes a sip without looking up. jay drinks. heeseung drinks. yunjin drinks. jake lifts his cup and drinks too, barely reacting. eunchae rolls her eyes lightly at jungwon. “freshman year?” jungwon shrugs. “allegedly.” kazuha shakes her head but doesn’t look surprised.
jay nudges niki. “you definitely asked that because you have a story.“- “i always have a story“ niki replies. sunoo points lazily. “most likely to hook up somewhere public.” this time, a few people point at niki immediately. niki grins. “probably.” jake doesn’t vote. he’s staring vaguely at the ceiling like he’s half listening. chaewon takes a small sip and shakes her head. “you’re all predictable.” - “your turn“ heeseung says, gesturing at her. chaewon considers it for a moment. “never have i flirted with a ta for a better grade.” there’s quiet laughter. jay drinks. niki drinks. heeseung drinks slowly. jake doesn’t. jake glances at jay. “that’s embarrassing.” jay shrugs. “it worked once.”-“you’re admitting that?” sakura asks calmly. jay nods. “proudly.” the game keeps moving without much structure now. people speak when they feel like it. heeseung raises his cup. “never have i ever pulled an all-nighter and cried about it.” that one hits differently. jungwon drinks.yunjin drinks. you take a small sip this time. jake hesitates, then drinks too. niki notices you drinking again and squints. “you’re way too sober.”-“i need to drive later“ you reply. he shrugs and moves on. jay leans forward next. “most likely to ghost someone after one date.” sakura points at niki immediately. niki raises his cup. “i have standards.”-“you have attachement issues“ sunoo corrects. jake laughs under his breath at that and reaches blindly for a refill from a bottle near the table, misjudging slightly before steadying himself. he’s definitely drunk now. jungwon raises an eyebrow at jake. “you good?” jake nods once. “perfect.” niki smirks. “that means no.” kazuha looks thoughtful. “never have i ever thought about dropping my major.” a few people drink. you don’t. jake does. he doesn’t look at anyone when he does it. the detail lingers quietly in your mind, but you don’t acknowledge it. sunoo glances at him briefly, then deliberately looks away like he’s not going to push. eunchae speaks next. “most likely to burn out before graduation.”a few people point at jay. jay protests weakly.no one points at you this time. jake watches the votes but doesn’t say anything. niki suddenly shifts the energy again.
“okay. it’s getting boring again. who’s the hottest person in this room?” there’s a collective groan, but no one looks shocked. heeseung immediately gestures vaguely around. “broad category.” - “pick one“ niki insists. sakura laughs. “that’s dangerous.”-“exactly“ niki replies. jay shrugs. “jungwon.” jungwon blinks. “what?” - “you have good hair“ jay says. jungwon nods thoughtfully. “valid.” heeseung points at kazuha. kazuha stares at him flatly. “why?”-“because you look calm“ he replies. “that’s your standard?” she asks. jake laughs again, softer this time, and lifts his cup lazily. “this is chaotic.” niki points directly at him. “answer.” jake looks around the circle slowly, clearly thinking much longer than necessary. jake finally gestures vaguely toward the group. “statistically impossible to choose.” - “that’s a cop-out“ niki says. jake shrugs. “i’m diplomatic.”- “you’re so fucking drunk“ jungwon corrects. jake smiles lazily. “also true.” the game continues without structure now - people throwing out “never have i ever” and “most likely to” whenever they feel like it.“never have i ever kissed someone from a rival department“ jay says. niki drinks. heeseung drinks. jake drinks again, slower this time. sunoo watches him carefully. niki tosses another one out. “never have i ever thought about someone here more than once.” that one is looser. casual. everyone drinks, except for you. jake sets his empty cup down and exhales slowly. he leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes for a second longer than normal. jungwon nudges him lightly. “you’re done.” jake opens one eye. “i’m fine.”-“you’re obviously not“ jungwon says calmly. jake sits up slightly, steadying himself with one hand on the floor. “i said i’m fine.” and the second he stands, there’s a slight delay in his balance. jake corrects himself quickly, brushing it off with a small laugh. “see?” niki squints at him. “you’re cut off.” jake waves him off lazily. “you’re not in charge.” sunoo stands up too, stepping closer subtly in case he needs to catch him. the game dissolves into chaotic commentary after that. people start talking over each other. someone suggests music. jay is trying to explain something loudly to heeseung. jake leans back again, head tilting slightly as he looks at the ceiling. he’s very clearly drunk now.
someone changes the music to something louder, bass heavier. jay starts arguing with heeseung about who has the worst first-year haircut. niki is halfway through telling a story that keeps changing depending on who interrupts him. jake is in the middle of it. he’s sitting on the arm of the couch now, leaning too far back, one foot hooked loosely under the coffee table like that’s enough to stabilize him. he’s laughing harder than necessary at something sunoo says, head tipping back fully this time. “you’re enjoying this too much“ sunoo tells him, amused. jake waves him off loosely. “you’re dramatic.”- “that’s my brand“ sunoo replies. jake slides off the couch arm and lands on his feet, slightly off balance. jungwon immediately steadies him by grabbing his sleeve. “i’m fine“ jake says, pulling his arm back with a lazy grin. “stop babysitting.”- “you’re not fine“ jungwon replies calmly. jake ignores him and points at jay instead. “tell them about the time you tried to impress that philosophy major.” jay groans. “why are you like this?”- “because it’s fun“ jake says. he attempts to reenact something- some exaggerated bow combined with a poorly delivered line. his foot catches slightly on the edge of the rug, and he stumbles forward into niki. niki bursts out laughing. “oh my god. you’re done.” jake straightens immediately, offended. “i am not done.” - “you tried to bow and almost face-planted“ niki says. “it was intentional“ jake insists. “it was tragic“ jay corrects. jake points at jay with unnecessary seriousness. “you’re jealous.” - “no one is jealous of that“ jungwon says dryly. jake pushes himself upright and adjusts his shirt like dignity can be recovered that easily. “i need another drink“ he announces. “no“ jungwon says immediately. “yes“ jake replies, already moving toward the kitchen. you step forward at the same time jungwon does. jungwon reaches him first and grabs his wrist lightly. “you’re cut off.” jake looks down at jungwon’s hand like it personally offended him. “you don’t control me.” - “you can barely walk“ jungwon says evenly. jake rolls his eyes and tries to pull free. he succeeds, but only because jungwon lets go. jake makes it three steps toward the counter before you move into his path. “you don’t need another one, it’s getting hard to watch” you say calmly. he blinks at you slowly, focusing like it’s taking effort. “you’re… still here.”- “yes“ you reply. “good“ he says vaguely. he tries to sidestep you. you shift slightly to block him without making it obvious. “you’re not drinking more“ you tell him. he tilts his head. “why do you care?”- “i don’t,“ you say automatically. “i just don’t want you embarrassing yourself further.” he squints at you like he’s trying to decode whether that was an insult. jungwon steps up beside you. “she’s right.” jake exhales dramatically. “you two are teaming up. that’s suspicious.”-“you’re swaying“ jungwon says. jake pauses. then, as if proving the point, he sways. he catches himself on the counter, laughing at his own lack of coordination. “gravity is aggressive.”- “okay, you’re done“ jungwon repeats.
jake looks at you again. his expression shifts slightly-less performative, more unfocused. “you didn’t drink much“ he says. you shrug. “i’m driving.” he nods slowly like that makes sense to him. then he reaches for a bottle on the counter. you move first and gently push it out of reach. “no.” he stares at your hand like it betrayed him. “why are you mean?” he asks, not angrily-just confused. “i’m not mean“ you reply. “you are“ he insists softly. jungwon steps closer now, lowering his voice. “okay. that’s enough.” jake blinks again, then leans back against the counter heavily. for a moment, he looks like he’s just resting. then his head tips forward. “jake“ jungwon says immediately. jake doesn’t respond. you step closer. “jake.” he makes a vague sound but doesn’t lift his head. jungwon grabs his shoulders and straightens him carefully. “hey. stay with me.” jake opens his eyes halfway, unfocused. “i’m here.” - “barely“ jungwon replies. jake exhales and lets his weight drop slightly forward again. you glance around. the party is still going. no one is paying close attention. jungwon looks at you. “when are you leaving?” you hesitate. “soon. it’s getting too much.” he nods once. “can you drive?” - “yes“ you say automatically. jungwon exhales. “good.” you immediately shake your head. “no.” he looks at you. “what?”- “i’m not driving him.”-“you just said you’re leaving.”- “that doesn’t mean i’m responsible for him“ you reply. jungwon lowers his voice. “he can’t stay here like this.”-“niki can deal with it“ you say. “niki’s already half gone“ jungwon replies. “and heeseung will just film him.” you glance at jake, who is now leaning almost fully into jungwon for support. “i don’t even know if he can walk to the car“ you say. “i’ll help“ jungwon says immediately. you hesitate. “he’s not going to wake up properly if we leave him here“ jungwon continues. “and i don’t trust anyone else to get him back safely.” you cross your arms. “just ask anyone, why me?” jungwon looks at you directly. “because you’re sober.” that’s true. you look at jake again. he mumbles something incoherent and shifts his weight again.“i’ll carry him to your car“ jungwon says quietly. you hesitate longer than you should. “i’ll call sunghoon“ jungwon adds quickly. “he’s at the dorm. he’ll come downstairs and carry him up.” you blink. “sunghoon’s there?“- “yes“ jungwon says. “he didn’t come tonight.” you still hesitate. jungwon’s tone softens. “please.” you look at him. “why are you asking me like this?“- “because i don’t want him waking up on heeseung’s lawn“ jungwon says honestly. you sigh heavily. “you’ll just drop him off, that’s it” jungwon continues. “he won‘t even talk to you. i’ll text sunghoon now. he’ll be waiting outside.” jake shifts again, almost slipping. and it’s true, jake probably won’t be able to talk. he’s so drunk he can barely get a word out. the ride will likely be quiet anyway, so you decide to give up. “he’s heavier than he looks“ jungwon mutters. you stare at jake for a second longer. then you exhale slowly. “fine.” relief flashes across jungwon’s face. “thank you.”-“he’s so annoying“ you say quickly. “i know“ jungwon replies. jake makes a soft, incoherent protest as you both adjust his arms over your shoulders. “don’t let him throw up in your car, but i don’t think he will.” jungwon adds under his breath. you glare at him. “that’s not helpful.” jungwon manages a small smile despite everything. “i’ll text sunghoon now.” jake’s weight settles more fully against you.
jungwon and you practically carry him to the car. jake is heavier than he looks. not in a dramatic way - just dead weight in the way only drunk people can be. jungwon has one of his arms thrown over his shoulder, and you’re holding the other side, trying not to let his shoes drag across the pavement. “he’s not this heavy normally“ jungwon mutters under his breath. “he’s not normally unconscious“ you reply. “i’m conscious“ jake mumbles suddenly, lifting his head just enough to protest. “you’re both… dramatic.” jungwon snorts quietly. “sure.” by the time you reach your car, jake’s head is lolling slightly again. jungwon opens the back door and helps guide him inside. it’s not graceful. jake’s foot catches on the doorframe, and jungwon has to physically guide his head down so he doesn’t knock it against the roof. “sit“ jungwon says firmly as he pushes jake back against the seat. jake blinks up at him, unfocused but indignant, and mutters, “i am sitting“ in a tone that suggests he believes he’s proving something. you stand by the open door for a second, arms crossed, watching as jungwon adjusts jake’s legs fully into the car and pulls the seatbelt across him. “you’re not allowed to unbuckle this“ jungwon warns. jake squints at him and replies, “you’re not allowed to threaten me in my own vehicle“ which makes jungwon sigh and glance at you. “it’s her car“ jungwon corrects, and jake goes quiet for a beat before mumbling, “oh. that explains a lot.” jungwon straightens and looks at you over the roof of the car. “sunghoon’s at the dorm“ he says. “i texted him. he’ll meet you outside.” you nod once. “if he throws up-” you begin, but jungwon cuts you off with a firm, “he won’t“ though jake chooses that exact moment to murmur, “i might“ with unsettling honesty. you close the door gently before he can elaborate and walk around to the driver’s seat. the engine hums to life, and for a moment, there’s only the sound of the air conditioning and jake shifting in the back.
as you pull out of the curb, jake lifts his head just enough to squint at the back of your seat. “you’re driving“ he says slowly, like he’s discovering something profound. “yes“ you reply evenly, keeping your eyes on the road. “that’s suspicious“ he continues, leaning his head back against the window. “how is that suspicious?” you ask, unable to stop the small edge of amusement in your voice. “because you don’t volunteer“ he says, his words slightly tangled but determined. “i didn’t volunteer“ you correct him. “you collapsed.” he makes a weak protest. “i did not collapse“ he insists. “you were horizontal“ you reply. “that’s… interpretive“ he mutters, and then goes quiet again. you drive in silence for a few seconds before he speaks again, his voice softer but still muddled. “you didn’t drink“ he says, almost accusingly. you glance at him through the rearview mirror and see him blinking slowly like he’s trying to focus on you. “i paced,“ you answer. he shakes his head slightly, the movement uncoordinated. “and you drank enough for both of us.” he hums thoughtfully, then says, “that’s efficient“ with misplaced approval. the streetlights pass in steady rhythm, illuminating his face in brief flashes, and you can see the shift happening slowly-less chaotic, more reflective. after a minute, his voice comes again, quieter and more deliberate. “you don’t trust me“ he says, and the tone makes your hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel. “that‘s not it“ you reply automatically. he shakes his head against the glass. “you think i’m reckless“ he says, and though the words aren’t slurred anymore, they’re heavy. “i think you take risks“ you answer carefully. “that’s not the same.” he exhales, long and unsteady. “you think i don’t care“ he continues. “i never said that“ you tell him, but he responds immediately, “you did“ and there’s no humor in his voice now. the car feels smaller as he shifts upright, pushing himself forward slightly despite the way his balance wavers. “you think i have it easy“ he says, and this time his words land cleanly. you hesitate before replying, “that’s not what i meant.” he lets out a short laugh that sounds more tired than amused. “it always is“ he says. he rubs a hand over his face and stares at his knees. “you think because i went to private school and because i don’t panic before presentations that i don’t try“ he continues, and the vulnerability creeping into his voice makes your chest tighten. “i know you try“ you say quietly. “no“ he says, shaking his head. “you know i win. that’s different.” the road is almost empty now, and his voice steadies further as if the motion of the car is grounding him. “if i’m not good at this,“ he says slowly, “then what am i?” you glance back at him, startled by the honesty in the question. “you are good at this“ you tell him firmly. he swallows and looks out the window. “that’s the problem“ he replies. “everyone expects that.” he exhales shakily and continues, “my parents expect it. my teachers expect it. everyone here expects it. if i drop, if i mess up, it’s not just a bad semester. it’s confirmation.” you don’t interrupt him this time. he presses his fingers against his eyes like he’s trying to hold something back. “you think i can afford to call out the university because i have options“ he says, his voice thinner now. “i don’t. if i look difficult, if i lose ranking, it follows me. i don’t get to just disappear.” you feel the guilt settle heavy in your stomach as he goes on. “i admire you“ he says suddenly, and the simplicity of it catches you off guard. “you don’t improvise. you don’t gamble. you build everything carefully, like if you just work hard enough, nothing can surprise you.”
he lets out a breath that wavers halfway through. “you scare me“ he admits, and you glance back at him again, stunned. “why?” you ask softly. he answers without hesitation. “because you deserve to be first“ he says, and his voice cracks on the last word. “and if i beat you, it feels like i stole something.” the confession sits heavy in the car. he drags a hand down his face and laughs weakly at himself. “this is stupid“ he says. “i’m drunk.” -“you’re honest“ you correct him gently. he shakes his head again, and this time when he speaks, his voice wavers. “i’m tired“ he says quietly. “i’m tired of being the one who’s supposed to just be good at it.” there’s a small pause, and then his breathing changes. he swipes at his face quickly, embarrassed, but you can see in the mirror that his eyes are wet. “you don’t get to fall apart when you’re the talented one,“ he says, barely above a whisper. “you just get better.” your throat tightens as you pull into the dorm parking lot.
sunghoon is already waiting near the entrance, hands in his pockets, watching your headlights approach. jake exhales shakily from the backseat. “i didn’t want you to think i didn’t care“ he says softly, his voice steadier now but fragile. “i don’t think that“ you reply, and this time you mean it completely. he looks at the back of your seat like he’s memorizing something and whispers, “i was happy when we got paired.” the words linger in the space between you. “i wanted to work with you“ he adds, and there’s no competition in his voice anymore, just sincerity. you put the car in park and sit there for a moment, the engine still running. everything feels different now-quieter, heavier, real. “you don’t have it easy“ you say finally, turning slightly in your seat so he can see you. he blinks at you slowly, exhausted, and nods once like that’s enough. when sunghoon opens the back door and carefully lifts him out, jake doesn’t resist. as sunghoon takes his weight, jake glances at you one last time and murmurs, “you work harder than anyone“ before his head drops against sunghoon’s shoulder. you watch them disappear into the dorm building, the door closing softly behind them, and for the first time since freshman year, the rivalry doesn’t feel like a war.
the next morning jake wakes up aware of two things at once: his head feels like it’s been hollowed out and replaced with concrete, and something about last night went wrong. he stares at the ceiling of the dorm room for a long moment before rolling onto his side and immediately regretting the movement. across the room, niki is already awake, sitting in the desk chair with one leg hooked over the armrest, watching him with poorly concealed amusement. “you look tragic“ niki remarks casually, spinning the chair once before planting his feet on the ground. jake squints at him and mutters, “lower your voice“ pressing the heel of his hand to his temple. from the bathroom doorway, sunghoon steps out holding a glass of water and says calmly, “drink this before you attempt to stand“ placing it into jake’s hand without ceremony. jake takes it and downs half in one go before asking, with visible suspicion, “what happened?” niki leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and asks with a grin, “you seriously don’t remember?” jake frowns and shakes his head slightly before stopping himself because it hurts. “i remember the game“ he says slowly. “i remember jay yelling. that’s it.” sunghoon crosses his arms and replies in his usual measured tone, “you didn’t come back alone.” jake’s stomach tightens. “what does that mean?” he asks carefully. niki answers first, unable to resist, saying, “it means jungwon called because you were barely functional.” jake blinks and asks, “who drove me?” sunghoon answers evenly, “your debate partner.” jake stares at him for a second before repeating, “y/n?” as if confirming something he’s not ready to process. sunghoon nods once. jake runs a hand through his hair and mutters, “that’s not ideal.” he goes quiet for a moment, then looks up sharply and asks, “did i do something?” the question comes out more urgent than he intended. “did i hook up with someone?” niki laughs immediately and says, “that’s your first assumption?” jake shoots him a look and says firmly, “answer.” sunghoon responds first, shaking his head. “you didn’t,“ he clarifies. jake exhales through his nose, some tension leaving him.
but sunghoon continues after a brief pause, “but you did cry.” the word hangs in the air. niki’s grin drops for a second before he straightens and asks, “wait. actually?” sunghoon nods once and repeats calmly, “yes. in the car.” jake stares at him. “no“ he says flatly. “i didn’t.” sunghoon doesn’t argue. he simply says, “jungwon said you were emotional. quiet, but emotional.” niki processes that for a second before letting out a surprised laugh. “you cried in her car?” he repeats, now fully invested. jake presses his palms to his face and mutters, “stop talking.” niki stands up and walks closer, still grinning. “this is huge“ he says. “you only cry during finals.” jake lowers his hands slowly. “what did i say?” he asks sunghoon, ignoring niki. sunghoon shrugs slightly and answers, “i don’t know. i saw you crying in her car. that’s it.” niki folds his arms and studies jake. “so you don’t remember anything?” he asks, this time less teasing and more curious. jake shakes his head once, carefully. “no“ he admits. “i remember getting into a car. that’s it.” niki whistles softly and says, “that’s worse“ before adding, “because now she knows whatever you said and you don’t.” jake glares at him but doesn’t deny it. he reaches for his phone with more hesitation than he’d like to show. he opens your chat and stares at your name for a long moment before typing,
jake: did i embarrass myself last night?
niki leans slightly over his shoulder and comments, “that’s subtle“ and jake nudges him away without looking up, muttering, “back off.” he sends the message and waits, staring at the screen like it might offer him context. when your reply arrives
you: you were drunk.
jake exhales softly, but the neutrality unsettles him. he types back,
jake: that’s not what i asked
and waits again.
across campus, you’re sitting at your desk, notes spread out in front of you, when your phone lights up. you know immediately what it’s about. you read his message and feel the memory of the car ride settle heavy in your chest - the way his voice cracked, the way he said he was tired of being expected to be better.
you: you didn’t embarrass yourself
keeping the tone light and detached. on his side, jake reads the message twice before typing again,
jake: did i say anything weird?
he sends it quickly, like he doesn’t want to overthink it. you stare at the screen for several seconds before answering. you don’t want to humiliate him. you don’t want to expose him.
you: you talked about rankings and stress.
that’s true, just not complete. back in the dorm room, jake reads your response and feels some of the tension in his shoulders ease. stress. that’s manageable. he types again
jake: i didn’t insult you, did i?
you: no.
he nods faintly to himself. niki watches his expression carefully and asks, “well?” jake locks his phone and replies evenly, “she said i didn’t embarrass myself.” niki raises an eyebrow and says, “that’s suspiciously generous“ but jake ignores him. he picks up his phone one more time and types,
jake: can we finish the project the day after tomorrow? i feel like i got hit by a truck.
you: sure
jake: and thanks. for driving me.
you: sure, just don’t mention it.
jake stares at that final reply for a moment before setting his phone down on the desk. the room falls quiet except for niki moving around behind him. jake leans back against the wall and closes his eyes briefly. he doesn’t remember crying. he doesn’t remember what he said. he doesn’t know how much of himself he exposed. and the fact that you now hold that information - while he doesn’t - sits heavier than the hangover pressing behind his eyes.
across campus, you turn your phone face down and stare at your open notebook without really seeing the words. you know exactly what he said. and you know he has no idea that you do. you pack your bags and meet sunoo at the campus café because he insists he “can’t process academic corruption without caffeine“ and even though that sounds dramatic, you don’t argue. the place is warm and loud enough to feel private, sunlight filtering through the tall windows while conversations blur into background noise. sunoo is already seated when you arrive, two drinks placed neatly in front of him. as you sit down, he slides one toward you and says, “i ordered your usual. you looked like you were going to overthink something today.” you wrap your hands around the cup and raise an eyebrow at him before replying, “i always overthink something.” sunoo smiles slightly and leans back in his chair. “exactly“ he says. he studies your face for a moment before shifting the conversation. “so“ he begins casually, “you drove him.” you keep your expression neutral as you answer, “yes.” sunoo nods once and asks, lowering his voice slightly, “how bad was it?” you take a small sip of your drink before responding, “very drunk.” sunoo exhales through his nose and says, “he doesn’t usually let himself get like that.” you glance at him briefly and reply, “i noticed.” there’s a small pause before sunoo tilts his head and asks, “did he text you?” you nod. “he did.” sunoo watches you carefully and follows with, “and?” you keep your tone even as you answer, “he doesn’t remember much.” sunoo nods slowly and says, “that’s probably for the best. he hates feeling exposed.” you don’t react to that, instead shifting the focus deliberately. you pull your notebook closer and say, “the dataset isn’t just inconsistent. it’s selectively adjusted. the sample breakdown doesn’t match the raw counts.” sunoo immediately straightens and opens his laptop as he replies, “jake showed me the comparison sheet yesterday.” you pause slightly and ask, “he did?” sunoo nods and continues, “yeah. he already mapped out a way to question the methodology without directly accusing anyone.”
you consider that for a moment before saying carefully, “it’s structured well, but it’s risky.” sunoo looks at you and replies evenly, “it’s measured risk. that’s different.” you fold your hands together on the table and say, “challenging the dataset could imply bias within the department.” sunoo doesn’t hesitate before asking, “do you think he’s wrong?” you look down briefly before admitting, “no.” sunoo watches you closely and says, “then what’s the hesitation?” you glance at your notes and answer, “presentation matters.” sunoo nods immediately and replies, “of course it does, but you’re good at that.” you look back up at him and say, “that doesn’t eliminate the risk.” sunoo gives you a small, knowing smile and says, “you’re not afraid of risk. you’re afraid of looking reckless.” you don’t deny it, and the silence that follows stretches just long enough to feel intentional. after a moment, sunoo raises his hand slightly as if outlining an argument. “option one“ he says, “you present the data as given. safe. high marks. no friction.” you nod faintly. “option two“ he continues, “you follow jake’s structure, highlight the inconsistencies, and frame it as critical engagement.” you meet his eyes and say, “option two could irritate the professor.” sunoo shrugs lightly and replies, “or it could impress him.” you sit back in your chair, considering that. sunoo leans forward slightly and says, “you trust him academically.” you answer without hesitation, “yes.” sunoo nods once and says, “then build on his framework. refine it. that’s what you’re good at.” he pauses before adding quietly, “he’s not reckless.” you look at him sharply, and sunoo continues calmly, “he thinks more than he shows.” you exhale slowly before nodding once. “okay“ you say. sunoo smiles faintly and asks, “okay?” you clarify, “i’ll follow up with him. we’ll use his structure, and i’ll tighten the language.” sunoo closes his laptop and says lightly, “that sounds suspiciously like collaboration.” you give him a look and reply, “don’t romanticize it.” sunoo laughs softly and says, “fine. efficiency.” as you gather your notes, he adds, “he’ll appreciate that you’re backing his approach.” you pause briefly before answering evenly, “it’s not about appreciation. it’s about accuracy.” sunoo smiles in a way that suggests he doesn’t entirely believe you but doesn’t argue further.
after sunoo’s motivational speech the walk to the study room feels strangely normal, which unsettles you more than if it had felt dramatic. students move through campus in steady streams, doors open and close, conversations overlap in the courtyard, and nothing reflects the quiet shift you feel internally. you push that thought aside as you enter the study building and walk down the narrow hallway toward the reserved room. the fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead, and the familiar scent of dry-erase markers lingers in the air. when you step inside, eunchae is already seated at the table with printed notes spread in front of her, and jungwon is standing near the whiteboard with a marker in his hand, staring at an unfinished outline. eunchae looks up first and says with a small smile, “you’re early“ while jungwon glances at the wall clock and adds without turning fully toward you, “you’re usually not this early unless something’s bothering you.” you place your bag on the chair and reply evenly, “i wanted to go over the dataset section again“ then slide into your seat and open your laptop. jungwon sets the marker down and walks over to the table, folding his arms lightly as he asks, “still thinking about the imbalance jake pointed out?” you nod once and answer, “yes. the sample distribution doesn’t align with the raw counts, and if we present it without addressing that, it weakens the entire argument.” eunchae leans forward slightly and says, “yesterday you sounded hesitant about pushing it“ and you glance briefly at her before clarifying, “i was hesitant about how it was framed, not about whether it was valid.” you scroll to the shared document and reread the section quietly for a moment before beginning to type. jungwon watches the screen and asks, “so what are you changing?” without looking up, you respond, “we’re not accusing anyone of bias. we’re identifying a methodological inconsistency and inviting clarification.” eunchae nods slowly and says, “that sounds less confrontational“ and you answer, “it’s not about confrontation. it’s about precision.” jungwon leans closer to the table and observes, “you’re integrating the alternative distribution model he referenced“ and you confirm, “yes. it strengthens the critique without sounding defensive.” the room grows quieter as you restructure one of the central paragraphs, moving the statistical comparison earlier so the logic builds gradually. eunchae studies the screen and says thoughtfully, “that reads stronger“ and jungwon adds, “it shows depth without implying misconduct.” you pause, reread the revised paragraph, and then say, “it’s defensible now.” jungwon looks at you carefully and asks, “you’re comfortable standing behind that?” you meet his gaze and answer, “yes.” there’s a brief pause before jungwon asks more carefully, “you and jake didn’t argue about this?” you close your laptop halfway and respond calmly, “we didn’t need to.” eunchae glances between the two of you and says quietly, “he’ll probably appreciate that you’re not dismissing his point“ and you reply, keeping your tone steady, “this isn’t about him. it’s about the integrity of the argument.” jungwon gives you a knowing look and says, “sure“ but doesn’t press further. you reopen your laptop and read the section from top to bottom one final time before saying, “we’ll present it like this.” jungwon nods once and says, “i agree“ and eunchae follows with, “so do i.” you save the document without adding anything else. you didn’t do this to surprise him. you didn’t do it to prove anything. you did it because it was correct. as the three of you move on to the next portion of the project, discussing transitions and citation formatting, you realize something subtle but undeniable: choosing to stand beside his reasoning academically doesn’t feel like losing ground. it actually feels like the right thing to do.
it’s the next day and you arrive at the study room before him, though not intentionally this time. the hallway smells faintly of dry-erase marker and overused carpet cleaner, and the fluorescent lights hum softly overhead. you set your laptop down and open the revised draft of the policy section, rereading the paragraph you integrated from his framework last night. the structure is solid. risky, but solid. you didn’t misjudge him. you just didn’t look closely enough. the door opens, and jake steps inside looking noticeably less polished than usual. his hair isn’t styled with the same careless precision, and there’s a slight stiffness in the way he moves, like every sound is sharper than it should be. he drops his bag into the chair across from you and says, “if you scheduled this early as revenge, i respect it“ rubbing a hand briefly over his face. “it’s ten“ you reply calmly, closing the document tab and turning your screen slightly toward him. “that’s not early.”- “for someone who feels like they swallowed broken glass, it is“ he mutters, lowering himself into the chair with exaggerated care. you study him for half a second longer than usual before asking, “it’s been two days, did you at least drink water?” he blinks at you, mildly surprised. “that’s unexpectedly considerate.” - “answer the question“ you say, though there’s less bite behind it. “yes“ he replies, leaning back slightly. “niki forced electrolytes on me like i was a dying victorian child.” you almost smile. “good.” there’s a small pause while he opens his laptop. his eyes flick toward you, searching your expression in a way that feels different now that you know what you know. he doesn’t remember the car ride. he doesn’t remember admitting he was tired. he doesn’t remember saying he was happy to work with you. “did i make a complete idiot of myself?” he asks finally, keeping his tone light but not quite meeting your eyes. “no“ you answer evenly, and this time it’s fully true. he studies you for a second, as if testing for sarcasm. “that sounded suspiciously sincere.” - “it was“ you reply, folding your hands neatly on the table. “you were drunk. not reckless.” something in his posture shifts slightly at that word. he exhales through his nose and nods once. “that’s… reassuring.” you open the shared document and scroll to the revised methodology section. “i restructured the critique“ you say, turning the screen toward him. “i kept your comparative distribution model but moved it earlier so the logic builds before the challenge.” he leans forward to read, closer than necessary, his shoulder nearly brushing yours. “you integrated it cleanly“ he says after a moment, scrolling carefully. “you softened the phrasing.”-“it’s not softened“ you correct gently. “it’s precise.” he glances at you. “you’re backing it.“- “yes“ you say simply. he watches you more carefully now. “that’s risky.” - “it’s defensible“ you reply. “you weren’t wrong.” the silence that follows is different from your usual standoffs. there’s no edge to it. no competition. just acknowledgment.
he sits back slightly and tilts his head. “you’re being unusually agreeable today.” - “i’m being efficient“ you answer, echoing his earlier phrasing deliberately. his mouth curves faintly. “that’s my line.”- “you don’t own efficiency.”-“debatable“ he says lightly, though there’s less challenge in it than usual. you notice he’s still pale around the edges, the fatigue not fully masked. he reaches for his water bottle and winces almost imperceptibly at the movement. “you don’t have to pretend you’re fine“ you say before thinking it through. he pauses, bottle halfway to his mouth. “i’m not pretending.”-“you are a little“ you reply quietly. he studies you for a second longer than comfortable. “you’re observing a lot today.”-“i always observe“ you say. “yeah“ he says, and this time there’s no teasing in it. “you do.” he looks back at the document, scrolling slowly. “i’m glad you adjusted it“ he adds after a moment. “i thought you might scrap the whole critique.”-“i considered it“ you admit. “but the inconsistency is measurable.”-“that’s not what i meant“ he says softly. you meet his gaze. he doesn’t elaborate. instead, he shifts back into familiar territory. “if this tanks our evaluation, i’m blaming you publicly“ he says with mock seriousness. “you can try“ you reply evenly. “i’ll bring charts.” he laughs quietly at that, the sound easier than yesterday but still tired around the edges. “you’re terrifying.” - “i’ve heard that before“ you say. “yeah“ he answers, closing his laptop for a moment and leaning back. “you have.” there’s something in the way he says it that feels layered, but you don’t press. not today. for the rest of the session, you work without arguing. you refine phrasing. he challenges a statistic once, and instead of snapping back, you explain your reasoning fully. he nods and accepts it. when he suggests adjusting a conclusion line, you consider it instead of rejecting it immediately. when you both finally pack up, he hesitates before slinging his bag over his shoulder. “thanks“ he says casually, though his eyes hold yours for a beat longer than the word requires. “for what?” you ask. “for not letting me completely self-destruct after the party“ he replies, attempting a smirk that doesn’t quite land. “you didn’t“ you say calmly. “self-destruct, i mean.” he studies your face one last time, like he’s trying to decide whether to ask something else. then he nods once. “see you tomorrow.“- “don’t be late“ you say automatically. he almost smiles. “i’m never late.” this time, it doesn’t sound like a challenge. it sounds like a promise.
the café is too crowded for this to be accidental. eunchae insisted it would be “neutral territory“ which you suspect means she wanted both friend groups in the same room without anyone technically hosting. the long table near the windows is already half occupied when you arrive, voices overlapping in loose conversation. chaewon and sakura are seated side by side, kazuha across from them with her hands folded neatly around her drink. heeseung and jay are arguing about something sports-related near the end of the table while sunoo watches with theatrical disappointment. jungwon is standing, pulling out an extra chair. jake is already there. he’s leaning back slightly in his seat, one arm draped over the backrest, listening to niki complain about a professor with exaggerated betrayal. he looks relaxed. normal. entirely unbothered. you step toward the table and jungwon glances at you immediately. “you’re late“ he says, though there’s no accusation in it. “it’s been three minutes“ you reply, sliding into the empty chair between chaewon and sunoo. jake’s eyes lift at the sound of your voice. just briefly. then they settle back on niki. sunoo leans closer to you and says quietly, “you look less homicidal than usual.” - “i’m not homicidal“ you reply, placing your bag carefully at your feet. “that’s what homicidal people say“ he answers with satisfaction. across the table, jay gestures dramatically while saying, “all i’m saying is that if attendance isn’t graded, it’s optional“ and heeseung groans loudly in response. jake laughs at that, the sound easy and unforced. you glance at him reflexively. he’s not looking at jay. he’s looking at you. it’s subtle enough that no one else reacts. his gaze shifts away almost immediately when your eyes meet his, and he reaches for his drink as if that had been his intention all along. you look back at sunoo. he doesn’t say anything. he just lifts one eyebrow. the conversation shifts topics quickly, as it always does when this many competitive personalities share oxygen. sakura brings up the upcoming presentation schedule, and jungwon immediately says, “we should do a mock panel before the faculty review.”-“that’s excessive“ jay says, leaning back in his chair. “it’s preparation“ you correct automatically. jake glances at you again. this time it lingers a second longer. heeseung notices the shift in tone and grins faintly. “you two are going to turn this into a military operation“ he says. jake shrugs lightly and replies, “she already has.” you tilt your head. “you’re benefiting from it.” - “i’m aware“ he says, and there’s no teasing in it.
the table grows louder again as niki interrupts with a new story involving a disastrous lab partner, and attention splinters into smaller conversations. you find yourself explaining part of the methodology adjustment to kazuha, tracing imaginary bullet points on the table as you speak. “the distribution model wasn’t wrong“ you clarify. “it was just incomplete.” jake is no longer part of the main conversation. he’s quiet now. when you finish explaining, kazuha nods thoughtfully and says, “that sounds balanced.” -“it is“ you reply. from across the table, jake says, “it’s better than balanced“ his voice cutting through the noise just enough to reach you. “it’s structured.” you look at him. he’s just stating it. “that was the point“ you answer. he nods once, satisfied. niki, who has been half-listening while pretending not to, shifts in his seat and watches jake more carefully now. jake doesn’t notice. he’s too busy watching the way you gesture when you explain something, the way your hands move precisely even when you’re not holding notes. eunchae leans forward and asks you, “are you nervous about the faculty panel?” and you shake your head lightly before replying, “no. i’m prepared.” jake smiles faintly at that. but only niki catches it. the conversation splinters again, heeseung dragging jay into a debate about energy reform while sunghoon quietly corrects a statistic under his breath. in the middle of it, you reach for your drink at the same time jake does, your hands brushing lightly against the side of the cup. “sorry“ he says immediately, pulling his hand back. “it’s fine“ you reply, adjusting the cup. he doesn’t look away this time. he studies your face like he’s trying to reconcile something. you’re softer today. not less sharp. just… less guarded. more considerate. he doesn’t know why. niki leans back slowly in his chair, arms crossing as he observes the silent exchange. he waits until your attention shifts back to chaewon before leaning slightly toward jake and saying under his breath, “hyung, you’re staring.” jake blinks, genuinely confused. “i’m not“ he replies automatically. “you are“ niki says calmly, not accusatory, just factual. “it’s not even subtle.” jake scoffs lightly. “you’re dramatic.” niki tilts his head. “am i?” jake doesn’t answer. he looks back at you instinctively. you’re laughing at something sunoo said, head tilted slightly back, eyes bright in a way he doesn’t remember noticing before. niki watches the exact second jake forgets to look away. then he smiles slowly to himself. jake finally tears his gaze away and says, “shut up“ though niki hasn’t spoken again. “i didn’t say anything“ niki replies mildly. “you were thinking it“ jake mutters. “thinking what?” jungwon asks from further down the table. “nothing“ jake answers too quickly. niki lifts his cup and takes a slow sip, eyes still on jake. “sure“ he says softly. jake lasts exactly four more minutes at the table before he pushes his chair back. “i’m getting another drink“ he says casually, though his cup is still half full. niki glances at it, then at him, but doesn’t comment immediately. jake steps away from the table and moves toward the back of the café where the restrooms are tucked past a narrow hallway.
the noise fades slightly as he pushes open the bathroom door and steps inside, bracing his hands briefly against the sink as if steadying something internal rather than physical. a second later, the door swings open again. jake doesn’t look up at the mirror when he says, “you’re predictable.” niki locks the door behind him and leans against it, folding his arms. “you left mid-conversation“ he replies lightly. “that’s suspicious.” jake turns on the faucet, letting the water run longer than necessary before splashing some onto his face. “it’s loud out there.”- “it’s always loud“ niki says calmly. “you don’t usually retreat.” jake shuts off the water and looks at his reflection instead of at niki. his expression is composed, but the crease between his brows hasn’t fully disappeared since this morning. “you’re reading into nothing.”-“i’m not reading“ niki replies. “i hate reading.” jake lets out a short breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “you’re insufferable.”-“and you’re distracted“ niki counters easily. jake finally turns around, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. “i’m not distracted.”-“you’re staring“ niki says, not unkindly. “and you don’t stare at people unless you’re trying to solve something.” jake hesitates for half a second before responding, “she’s acting different.” niki’s expression shifts slightly-not surprised, just interested. “different how?” jake looks back at the mirror briefly, as if checking the answer there. “quieter“ he says slowly. “not quieter in general. just with me.” niki waits. “she’s not snapping back as fast“ jake continues, running a hand through his hair. “she’s… softer. but not weak. just-” he exhales, frustrated with his own phrasing. “less defensive.”-“and that’s bothering you?” niki asks. jake frowns faintly. “it’s confusing me.” niki pushes off the door and steps closer, lowering his voice slightly even though they’re alone. “maybe she’s just comfortable.” jake shakes his head immediately. “no. she doesn’t get comfortable.” -“that’s dramatic“ niki says. “you know what i mean“ jake insists, jaw tightening slightly. “she’s always braced. even when she’s calm she’s braced. today she’s not.” niki studies him carefully. “you’re very observant for someone who claims he’s not staring.” jake ignores that. “i don’t know what changed.” niki tilts his head. “maybe you did.” jake lets out a quiet scoff. “i didn’t.” -“didn’t what?” niki presses. “do anything“ jake replies quickly. “i mean-i was drunk. but she said i didn’t embarrass myself.” niki watches him carefully at that. “you trust that?”-“yes“ jake says without hesitation. “interesting“ niki murmurs. jake straightens slightly. “what is that supposed to mean?” -“it means“ niki replies evenly, “that if she says you didn’t embarrass yourself, then you probably didn’t.”-“that’s not helpful“ jake mutters. niki shrugs lightly. “you’re not upset that she’s softer. you’re unsettled because you don’t know why.”
jake doesn’t answer immediately. niki continues, “you like predictability. especially with her. you know how she reacts. you know the rhythm.” jake looks at him sharply. “i don’t care about rhythm.“- “you absolutely do“ niki replies. “you debate like it’s choreography.” jake exhales slowly and rubs the back of his neck. “it’s just-” he stops, searching for a word that doesn’t feel too revealing. “when she’s competitive, i know where i stand.” - “and now?” niki asks. jake looks down at the tile floor for a second before answering, “now i don’t.” the silence that follows is not heavy. it’s thoughtful. niki studies him with a familiarity that borders on surgical precision. “you’re not confused about her“ he says quietly. “you’re confused about yourself.” jake immediately shakes his head. “don’t start.” - “i’m not starting anything“ niki replies calmly. “i’m just saying- you don’t look at people like that unless something shifted.” jake’s jaw tightens. “nothing shifted.” niki raises an eyebrow. “then why did you leave the table?” jake doesn’t respond right away. he looks at the mirror again, at the faint flush still lingering from earlier embarrassment, at the way his expression is slightly less controlled than usual. “she was laughing“ he says finally, quieter. niki blinks. “okay?” - “she doesn’t laugh with me“ jake continues, almost to himself. “not like that.” -“and you wanted her to?” niki asks gently. jake hesitates. that’s the first real crack. “i don’t know“ he admits. niki’s expression softens just slightly. “you’re in trouble“ he says, though there’s no mockery in it this time. jake rolls his eyes automatically. “shut up.”-“i didn’t say anything dramatic“ niki replies. “i’m just making a note.” jake pushes off the counter and moves toward the door. “don’t.”-“don’t what?” niki asks. “turn this into something“ jake says firmly. niki opens the door and steps aside to let him pass. “i don’t have to“ he says quietly. “you’re doing that on your own.”
when jake and niki return, the conversation has split into two clusters. jungwon is sketching something on a napkin while explaining a policy framework to heeseung and jay, and at the other end of the table, sunghoon has shifted into the seat beside you while you’re mid-sentence. you don’t seem to notice the change in proximity. jake does. sunghoon is leaning slightly toward you, one arm resting casually along the back of your chair as you explain something about the faculty panel timeline. “if we anticipate the critique angle“ you’re saying calmly, tracing an invisible outline on the table, “we can preempt the statistical pushback before they even raise it.” sunghoon nods once and replies, “that’s efficient.” - “it’s actually very strategic“ you correct automatically, though there’s a faint smile in your voice. jake stops just short of his chair. it’s subtle -the pause. barely a second. then he pulls the chair out a little harder than necessary and sits down. niki notices. jake leans back, posture loose, expression neutral. he doesn’t interrupt. he doesn’t insert himself into the conversation. he just listens. but his gaze keeps flicking toward sunghoon’s arm. sunghoon laughs quietly at something you add and says, “you think three steps ahead. that’s terrifying.“- “yeah, she’s always terrifying“ jake says lightly from across the table. you glance at him. sunghoon glances at him too. it all feels a bit awkward but jake smiles, easy and controlled. niki watches the exact way jake’s fingers tighten briefly around his cup. sunghoon shifts slightly closer without realizing it, lowering his voice as he asks you, “are you nervous at all?”-“no“ you reply. “i don’t get nervous.” jake’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. niki leans closer to him and murmurs under his breath, “you look thrilled.” jake doesn’t look at him. “i am“ he replies evenly. “your eye just twitched“ niki says mildly. -“it did not.” -niki takes a slow sip of his drink, still watching. “wow, you already hate when someone else gets her attention.” jake finally turns his head slightly. “that’s not what this is.”-“then what is it?” niki asks quietly. jake looks back across the table just in time to see sunghoon brush a crumb off your sleeve with absent ease. his grip tightens again. niki hums softly. “there it is.” jake exhales slowly through his nose. “he’s not-” he stops himself. “not what?” niki prompts, almost pleasantly. jake shakes his head once. “it’s nothing.” niki smiles faintly. “sure.” across the table, you laugh again -softer this time -and jake’s gaze drops to the table like he’s recalibrating something internally.
the dorm room smells faintly like instant ramen and laundry detergent that promises too much. jake falls down on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, phone facedown beside him like it personally offended him. niki is sprawled across the desk chair backward, arms folded over the backrest, while sunghoon leans against the wall near the window, quiet but very clearly listening. jake exhales slowly and says, “i’m not spiraling.” niki raises one eyebrow. “you said that unprompted.” sunghoon glances between them. “spiraling about what?” jake drags a hand down his face. “nothing.”- “that’s not how this works“ niki replies calmly. “you don’t get to call a team meeting and then say ‘nothing.’” -“i didn’t call a team meeting“ jake mutters. “you walked into the room, sat down dramatically, and sighed like a widow“ niki corrects. “that counts.” sunghoon suppresses a faint smile. “what happened?” jake leans back slightly, staring at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. “y/n’s different.” sunghoon tilts his head. “different how?” jake hesitates before answering. “she’s not trying to kill me lately.” niki nods slowly. “tragic.“- “i’m serious“ jake insists, dropping his gaze back to them. “she’s… nicer. not obvious. just-quieter. softer. it’s weird.” sunghoon crosses his arms. “that doesn’t sound bad.”-“it’s confusing“ jake replies immediately. niki watches him carefully. “you prefer when she’s sharpening knives?”
---btw go stream enhypen’s “knife”---
“at least then i know what’s happening“ jake says. “there’s structure.” sunghoon blinks once. “you want hostility because it’s predictable.”-“i want consistency“ jake corrects. niki snorts softly. “you’re upset because she adjusted her tone.”-“i’m not upset“ jake says quickly. “i just think i’m overreacting.”-“overreacting to what?” sunghoon asks evenly. jake hesitates again. “today she was explaining the panel strategy to you“ he says, nodding vaguely in sunghoon’s direction. “she doesn’t explain things to me like that.” sunghoon frowns faintly. “you interrupt her.”-“that’s not the point.”-“it might be“ niki says. jake ignores him. “it was just… easy. she was laughing. relaxed. she doesn’t do that with me.” niki studies him for a second longer than comfortable. “you’re jealous.” jake’s head snaps toward him. “no.”-“you are“ niki repeats calmly. “i’m not jealous“ jake says firmly. “it was one conversation.” sunghoon shifts slightly, thoughtful. “you paused when you saw me sitting next to her.” jake looks at him like he’s been personally betrayed. “you noticed that?” sunghoon shrugs lightly. “you’re not subtle.”-“i am extremely subtle“ jake protests. niki lets out a quiet laugh. “you gripped your cup like it owed you money.” jake groans and drops his head briefly into his hands. “this is ridiculous.” sunghoon’s voice softens slightly. “you’ve been off since the party.” jake freezes for half a second. niki doesn’t look away from him. “that has nothing to do with this“ jake says too quickly. “doesn’t it?” niki asks. jake straightens slightly. “i was drunk. i cried. it’s humiliating. that’s all.” sunghoon’s expression doesn’t change. “you don’t cry.”-“apparently i do“ jake mutters. niki tilts his head. “you also don’t usually let her drive you home.” jake glares at him. “i wasn’t conscious enough to veto that.”-“that’s not what i meant“ niki replies evenly. the room grows quieter. sunghoon pushes off the wall and sits down on the edge of his own bed, elbows resting on his thighs. “you said you were happy you got paired“ he says carefully. jake looks at him sharply. “how do you-” -“you told me, also you talk when you’re drunk“ niki cuts in. jake stares at him. “what exactly did i say?” niki shrugs lightly. “enough.” jake exhales slowly, tension settling across his shoulders. “that’s not romantic“ he says defensively. “i respect her. that’s it.” - “no one said romantic“ sunghoon replies calmly. jake looks between them. “you’re both implying it.” -“we’re implying you’re reacting“ niki corrects. jake leans back again, staring at the ceiling. “she was just nice. one time. that’s probably it. i’m overanalyzing because it’s different.” sunghoon considers that. “or“ he says quietly, “you’re not used to her seeing you.” jake’s eyes flick back to him. “she’s always seen me.” -“not like that“ niki says.
jake swallows once. “like what?”-“like you’re human“ sunghoon answers simply. that lands harder than the teasing did. jake looks away first. “i don’t need her to see me“ he says after a moment, though it sounds less certain than he intends. niki leans back in the chair again. “you absolutely do.” jake exhales sharply. “you’re both insufferable.” sunghoon shrugs faintly. “you’re the one who’s bothered.”-“i’m not bothered“ jake insists. niki smirks slightly. “you’re threatened by kindness.” -“that’s not-” jake stops, frustrated. “she changed the rhythm.” sunghoon blinks. “you keep using that word.” -“because it fits“ jake snaps lightly. “when she argues, i know where to stand. when she’s calm, i don’t.” niki watches him closely. “so figure it out.” jake shakes his head. “it’s not that simple.”-“why?” sunghoon asks. jake hesitates. because if she’s not fighting him-then maybe she’s not just competing. and that’s harder to navigate. he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and mutters, “i think i just don’t like not knowing where i stand.” niki’s teasing expression softens slightly. “you could ask.” jake lets out a short laugh. “and say what? ‘hi, are you being emotionally strategic or is this genuine?’” sunghoon smiles faintly. “you’d phrase it worse.” jake throws a pillow in his direction without real force. “shut up.” niki stands up finally, stretching slightly. “you’re not overreacting“ he says more quietly now. “you’re just not in control.” jake looks at him sharply. “that’s new for you“ niki adds. jake doesn’t answer. because that part might be true. the room settles into silence, not uncomfortable, just thoughtful. after a moment, jake mutters, “if this turns into something dramatic, i’m blaming both of you.” niki grins. “it’s already dramatic for you.”
professor kim’s office smells faintly like paper and burnt coffee, the kind that’s been reheated twice and forgotten on a desk stacked with journals. the walls are lined with framed policy certificates and annotated newspaper clippings, and the bookshelf behind him looks aggressively intellectual. you sit upright in one of the narrow chairs across from his desk, notebook already open on your lap. jake sits beside you, relaxed in posture but noticeably alert in the way his fingers rest lightly against his knee. professor kim adjusts his glasses and looks between the two of you before saying, “so. how is my top-ranked rivalry experiment functioning under forced collaboration?” you answer first, because you always do. “efficiently“ you reply evenly, folding your hands over your notebook. “we’ve refined the methodological critique and adjusted the distribution model to frame it as analytical rather than accusatory.” professor kim nods slowly. “and that was mutual agreement?” -“yes“ you say without hesitation. jake glances at you briefly, then adds, “we disagree loudly but productively.” professor kim smiles faintly at that. “i expected nothing less.” he leans back slightly in his chair and studies you both. “any major friction?” you consider the question carefully before answering. “not beyond normal structural debate.” jake tilts his head slightly at your phrasing but doesn’t interrupt. professor kim looks toward him now. “and you? how do you feel about the direction?” jake shrugs lightly. “it’s solid“ he says. “she integrated the critique cleanly.” you glance at him for half a second, surprised at the phrasing. professor kim nods again. “i’ve skimmed your shared draft. it’s ambitious.”- “we’re aware“ you reply. “i’d hope so“ he says dryly. “ambition without awareness is how departments implode.”
there’s a small pause while he flips through a printed version of your outline. “this comparative distribution section“ he says, tapping the paper lightly. “whose initiative?” you open your mouth to answer, but you stop. instead, you say calmly, “jake.., jake mapped the initial inconsistency.” jake’s head turns toward you immediately. professor kim looks at him with renewed interest. “you did?” jake hesitates for the briefest fraction of a second before nodding. “yes. the sample allocation didn’t align with the raw demographic breakdown.” professor kim hums thoughtfully. “and you“ he says, turning back to you, “chose to support it.”-“yes“ you answer. “the critique strengthens the argument.” jake is still looking at you. professor kim sets the paper down and folds his hands. “that’s good leadership“ he says, directing the comment at you. “backing your partner’s risk when it’s substantiated.” jake blinks. you remain composed. “it’s not about backing him. it’s about accuracy.” professor kim smiles faintly. “accuracy is rarely neutral.” jake’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. professor kim continues, “have there been any concerns about workload distribution?” you shake your head slightly. “no. jake has been doing great.” the words leave your mouth calmly. directly. jake freezes.professor kim nods approvingly. “that’s what i like to hear.” jake’s expression shifts from confusion to something sharper, something that doesn’t quite have a name yet. he clears his throat lightly and says, “i’ve been doing what’s necessary.” professor kim raises one eyebrow. “she said you‘re doing great.” jake glances at you again. you don’t react. you simply say, “he’s thorough.” jake straightens slightly in his chair. “she’s the one who restructures everything“ he says quickly. “i just point things out.” professor kim looks between you both. “that sounds like division of strengths.” jake nods once. “right. but i’ve handled the bulk of the statistical comparison.” you blink at him. professor kim glances at the document again. “joint authorship“ he says mildly. “yes“ you reply calmly. jake shifts slightly in his seat. “i mean, she polished it. but the framework-” - “was yours“ you finish for him, tone neutral. he looks at you again. professor kim studies the shift in tone with mild amusement. “are we competing in my office?” -“no“ you answer immediately. jake says at the same time, “not exactly.” professor kim leans back again, clearly entertained now. “i do enjoy watching this.” jake exhales lightly and runs a hand through his hair. “we’re aligned“ he says. “mostly.”-“mostly?” professor kim echoes. jake glances at you. “she overprepares.” you raise one eyebrow. “you understate.” professor kim laughs quietly. “there it is.” jake shifts again. “i’m just saying, if we’re discussing contributions, it’s not one-sided.” -“no one said that“ you say confused.
he studies your face carefully, as if looking for something beneath the calm surface. professor kim taps his pen lightly against the desk. “jake.” jake looks up. “why are you defensive?” the professor asks casually. jake blinks. “i’m not.” -“you are slightly“ professor kim replies. jake straightens. “i just don’t want her carrying the narrative that i needed support.” the room goes still for half a second. you look at him fully now. professor kim tilts his head slightly. “no one said that.” jake exhales slowly. “right.” you speak before the silence stretches too long. “you didn’t need support“ you say calmly. “you identified the inconsistency before i did.” jake’s gaze snaps back to you. professor kim looks pleased. “that’s collaboration.” jake’s expression softens for a split second-then something else replaces it. he leans forward slightly and says, “but she adjusted the conclusion angle before i would’ve.” you blink. professor kim blinks. jake continues, “i would’ve been more direct.” -“yes“ you reply slowly. “you would have.” professor kim looks between you both. “is this about tone?” jake nods. “it matters.” you tilt your head slightly. “you’re arguing with praise.”-“i’m not“ he says quickly. “i just think-”-“you think what?” professor kim prompts. jake pauses. you watch him carefully. he frowns slightly and says, “if she’s telling you i’ve been doing great, i want it to be precise.” professor kim looks genuinely amused now. “you’re objecting to positive feedback?” jake rubs the back of his neck. “i don’t like vague metrics.” you stare at him. professor kim laughs outright this time. “you two are impossible.” jake leans back again, posture stiffening slightly. “i’m not competing.”-“you are“ you say gently. he looks at you sharply. kim sets his pen down. “let me clarify something“ he says calmly. “if either of you underperforms, i will know. if either of you excels, i will also know. i do not require inter-office self-sabotage.” jake blinks. “i’m not sabotaging“ he says quickly. “you are arguing against being complimented“ professor kim replies. jake looks at you again. you are watching him with an expression he can’t quite read.not amused.not irritated. just… concerned. professor kim folds his hands again. “jake.” jake straightens slightly. “you are ranked first for a reason“ the professor says calmly. “but rankings are not personality traits.” jake’s jaw tightens faintly. “and“ professor kim continues, “neither is composure.” the air in the room shifts subtly. you glance at jake again. he doesn’t look at you this time. instead, he nods once and says, “understood.” professor kim’s tone lightens slightly. “good. now, are we done subtly fencing with each other, or would you like to duel in the hallway?” you almost smile. jake huffs out a quiet laugh despite himself. “we’re done.”- “for today“ you add. professor kim looks pleased. “that’s the spirit.” the meeting shifts back into structured discussion after that, but the energy has changed. jake speaks slightly more than usual. he corrects one minor statistical phrasing that doesn’t actually need correcting. he clarifies a citation you had already cited. it’s not aggressive. it’s just… awkwardly competitive. professor kim notices. so do you.
and when the meeting finally ends and you both step out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you-jake exhales sharply like he’s just run a mile. you turn toward him and say calmly, “what was that?” he frowns. “what was what?” -“you arguing against your own praise“ you reply. he looks away briefly. “i wasn’t arguing.” -“you were“ you say. he sighs. “i just don’t like it when things sound unearned.” you study him carefully. “it wasn’t unearned“ you say quietly. he doesn’t answer immediately. he nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. “it sounded like you were compensating.” the words hang there. you straighten slightly. “compensating?” - “for-” he gestures vaguely between the two of you. “for the other night.” you stare at him. “for driving me“ he clarifies quickly. “for-whatever i said.” your expression cools almost imperceptibly. “you think i praised you out of pity.” he winces faintly. “i didn’t say that.” he exhales again, frustrated. “i just don’t want you adjusting your tone because i had one bad night.”-“one bad night“ you repeat slowly. he nods. “i don’t need that.” you study him carefully now. “you think i changed how i work with you because you cried in my car.” his jaw tightens. “you don’t have to say it like that.”-“that’s what happened“ you reply evenly. he looks away again. there’s a small pause, then you say quietly, “i didn’t praise you because of that.” he doesn’t respond immediately. “you identified the inconsistency“ you continue. “you mapped the comparison model. that’s not charity.” he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly unsettled. “it just felt… different.”-“different how?” you ask. “you’re not usually that…” he hesitates, searching for a word that won’t make this worse. “public about it.”-“i’m not usually asked directly“ you reply. he nods slightly, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. “still.” -“still what?” he looks at you finally, and there’s something raw there -not dramatic, just unsteady. “you don’t have to soften things.” your expression changes at that. “you think that was soft?” -“it sounded-” he stops himself again. “it sounded careful.”-“i am always careful“ you say. “not like that“ he replies. there’s a beat of silence.
then you fold your arms lightly. “you’re upset because i supported you.”-“i’m not upset“ he insists. “you are.” he lets out a breath that almost turns into a laugh. “this is exactly what i mean.” -“what do you mean?”-“you’re dissecting this like it’s a policy flaw“ he says. “and you’re reacting like i insulted you“ you counter. he rubs his temple briefly. “i just don’t want you treating me differently.”-“i’m not“ you say. “you are“ he replies immediately. you stare at him for a second longer than necessary. “you’re the one acting differently.” he opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. because that part is harder to deny. you adjust your bag again and say, “if you’d prefer i withhold credit next time, i can.” his head snaps toward you. “that’s not what i said.”-“it basically is“ you reply, your voice still controlled but noticeably cooler now. he shakes his head quickly. “no. i just-” he exhales sharply. “forget it.” you watch him carefully. “no. finish the sentence.” he hesitates. then, quieter, he says, “i don’t want you feeling responsible for me.” the hallway feels smaller. “i don’t“ you reply. “you drove me home“ he says. “because jungwon asked me to.” -“you stayed“ he continues. “not because of you?” you answer. he swallows once. “you listened.” you don’t deny that. “i don’t need you adjusting your behavior because of that“ he says. your jaw tightens slightly. “you think i’m adjusting?”- “yes.”-“then maybe you’re misreading it.” he looks at you sharply. “i supported your argument because it was strong“ you continue. “not because i felt sorry for you.” -“i didn’t say you felt sorry for me“ he mutters. “you didn’t have to.” he exhales slowly, clearly realizing this isn’t going the way he intended. “i’m not good at this“ he says finally. “at what?” you ask. he gestures vaguely again. “this,” you wait. “not knowing where i stand“ he finishes. the honesty catches you slightly off guard. “you stand where you always have“ you reply. “first?” he asks lightly, though it doesn’t quite sound like a joke. you don’t smile, and you’re so confused with what he’s saying. “no, as my partner.”, you say. he blinks. the word hangs heavier than it should.
he shifts again, clearly thrown off balance now. “right.” there’s an awkward pause. students pass at the end of the hallway, voices echoing faintly, but the space between you feels strangely insulated. he clears his throat. “i have to-” he gestures vaguely toward the stairwell. “i need to grab something from the dorm.” you look at him. “we were going to review the data update.“- “i’ll send comments later“ he replies quickly. you stare at him for half a second longer. “you’re so weird.”- “i’m not“ he says and gives you a tight, almost apologetic half-smile. “i just don’t want to work right now.” for a moment, it looks like he might stay. then he takes a step backward instead. “i’ll text you“ he says, already retreating. you watch him go. he walks down the hallway too quickly to look casual, one hand pushing open the stairwell door with more force than necessary. the door swings shut behind him with a dull echo. you remain standing there for a few seconds. then you exhale slowly. “unbelievable“ you mutter under your breath. maybe he’s right, maybe you do pity him. and somehow, that had turned into something fragile. you adjust your bag on your shoulder and start walking in the opposite direction, irritation simmering just beneath your calm exterior. if he wanted competition, you could give him that, but after the drive it would just feel wrong. you’re already pulling your phone out of your bag as you head toward the library. there’s no message from him, which you expected, and that annoys you more than if there had been something awkward waiting on the screen. you lock your phone and sit down at a table without hesitating, opening the shared document and scrolling straight to the risk section. you make three edits before your phone buzzes.
jake: i’ll review tonight.
you: send comments before midnight. i’m finalizing tomorrow morning. okay.
that’s it. no explanation. no acknowledgment of the hallway. just logistics. you work for another twenty minutes before another notification appears.
jake: you moved the risk paragraph?
you: yes. it reads stronger after the comparative section.
jake: it sounds like we’re accusing them.
you: we are.
jake: that’s not subtle.
you: subtlety created the inconsistency.
jake: you’re pushing harder than yesterday.
you: i’m being precise.
jake: whatever
the next morning he walks into the study room exactly on time, and when he sets his bag down beside the chair he says, “morning“ in a tone that is neutral enough to pass for casual. without looking up from your notebook, you answer, “morning“ keeping your voice even as you continue scanning the page. he sits across from you and opens his laptop, then glances at you briefly before saying, “i left comments on the framing“ as though announcing something procedural rather than provocative. you nod once and reply, “i saw“ still not lifting your eyes. his fingers hover over the keyboard before he adds, “you didn’t change them“ and you respond, “they didn’t need changing“ in the same steady cadence. leaning back slightly, he studies you and says, “it’s aggressive“ to which you reply, “no jake, it’s accurate“ finally meeting his gaze. he watches you for a second longer and remarks, “you’re back to stabbing“ and you answer evenly, “you apparently prefer that.” a faint, humorless curve touches his mouth as he says, “it’s familiar“ and you conclude, “then we’re aligned.” he exhales softly and shifts in his seat before saying, “you don’t have to swing that far“ and you counter, “i’m not swinging.” he tilts his head and insists, “you are“ then adds, “yesterday you were… different“ his pause deliberate. you close your laptop slowly before saying, “and you just left“ and he responds, “i needed space“ while holding your gaze. “you walked away“ you reply, your tone precise, and he looks at you directly now as he says, “you were looking at me like i’d cracked.” you remain calm as you answer, “you were talking nonsense“ then clarify, “not in a bad way.” his jaw tightens before he says, “i don’t need you adjusting because of one bad night“ and you respond, “i’m not adjusting.” he leans forward slightly and says, “you were softer“ and you reply, “and now i’m not“ before adding, “problem solved.” frustration flickers across his face as he says, “that’s not what i meant“ and you answer, “then clarify“ but he doesn’t. instead, he looks down at his screen and says, “let’s just focus on the data.”- “agreed“ you reply, reopening your laptop.
you work in silence for several minutes, the only sound the steady rhythm of typing, until he finally says without looking up, “you don’t have to pretend it didn’t matter“ his voice quieter now. you glance at him and ask, “pretend what didn’t matter?” and he answers, “the night.” you study him briefly before saying, “you don’t even remember it“ and he replies, “i remember enough.” tilting your head slightly, you ask, “do you?” and after a pause he admits, “i remember feeling stupid.”- “you weren’t“ you say, and when he looks at you more sharply, he mutters, “stop looking at me like that.” you hold his gaze and ask, “like what?” and he answers, “like you’ve decided something.”- “i have“ you say, watching him go still before he asks, “and?” you don’t hesitate as you tell him, “you’re not effortless“ then add, “you’re just controlled. like me.” he blinks once and says, “that’s worse“ a brief silence stretches between you before he says quietly, “you don’t pity me“ and you answer, “no.” he searches your face and asks, “you’re sure“ and you reply, “yes.” he nods once and says, “that’s inconvenient“ and although you almost smile, you don’t. instead, you reopen your laptop and say, “we still need to finalize the funding implications“ and he nods, returning to his typing as the air between you shifts into something unsettled but no longer hostile. after a while, he breaks the silence again by saying, “you don’t have to go back to competing just because i made it weird“ and you look up at him before replying, “i’m not competing.” he studies you and insists, “you are“ and you counter, “i’m working.” his eyes narrow slightly as he says, “you’re punishing me“ and you ask, “for what?” he holds your gaze and answers, “for walking away“ and you respond evenly, “if i wanted to punish you, you’d know.” he huffs out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh and says, “that’s reassuring“ and you reply, “i promise.” another stretch of silence follows before he says more quietly, “i didn’t think you’d… back me like that“ and you ask, “in the meeting?” he nods and says, “yeah“ and you answer simply, “you were right.” he shakes his head slightly and says, “that’s not why“ and when you remain silent, waiting, he murmurs, “forget it.” -“no“ you say firmly, adding, “finish“ and after hesitating he admits, “it didn’t feel strategic.” -“it wasn’t“ you reply, and he looks at you carefully before asking, “then what was it?” you pause before answering, “it was fair“ and he holds your gaze a second too long before looking away first. the rest of the session remains steady but tense, and when you finally pack up your things, you notice him watching you as he asks, “you’re not going to say it?” adjusting the strap of your bag, you reply, “say what?” and he says, “that you’re still annoyed.” you adjust your bag more firmly on your shoulder and say, “you’re weird“ and he responds, “i’m not.” -“you are“ you insist, and he gives you that tight half-smile before saying, “i just don’t feel like working anymore.” you shake your head slightly and tell him, “that’s not what this is“ and he asks, “then what is it?” after a brief pause, you answer, “you don’t like not knowing where you stand“ and he goes quiet. you hold his gaze and add, “and i don’t like being misunderstood“ and he looks like he might say something else. instead, he nods once and says, “i’ll send the revised funding draft tonight.” -“i’ll review it“ you reply, and this time you walk out first.
the ranking board goes up at 9:03 a.m., not 9:00 and not 9:05 but 9:03, as if the department enjoys suspense, and by 9:04 the hallway outside the faculty office is packed with bodies pressing forward in anticipation. you did not plan to come this early and you definitely did not plan to stand this close to the board, but eunchae dragged you here under the excuse of “emotional support“ and now you are wedged between jungwon and chaewon while jay stretches on his toes trying to see over everyone’s shoulders. from somewhere behind you, sunoo complains, “move. i can’t breathe and i refuse to faint before seeing my academic downfall“ and kazuha answers calmly, “it’s alphabetical. no one is fainting“ while niki mutters, “speak for yourself.” you do not speak. you do not breathe. you just scan, your eyes moving automatically to the top where the numbers settle into focus.
rank 1: l/n y/n - 4.98.
for half a second your brain refuses to process it, and then eunchae grabs your arm and says, “you moved up“ already grinning as you blink and reply, “by one decimal.” chaewon leans closer to the board and says, “that’s not the point. you moved up“ and somewhere behind you jay whistles and adds, “of course she did. unreal.” you do not look at them. you look down one line instead.
rank 2: sim jaeyun - 4.97.
your stomach tightens in a way that feels strangely wrong because he dropped, not dramatically and not catastrophically but by one decimal, and it is enough. “whoa“ niki says softly, and a subtle shift moves through the crowd, the kind that happens when something unexpected but not explosive occurs as heads turn and whispers travel quickly. you do not turn immediately because you know he is here and you can feel it, standing slightly behind jungwon, close enough to see but far enough not to be at the center of the cluster. jay is the first to say it out loud when he mutters, “that’s brutal“ though he does not sound entirely sympathetic, and heeseung replies, “it’s one decimal. relax“ while niki adds lightly, “yeah. it’s not like he dropped to fifth.” you finally turn and find jake looking at the board as if he is analyzing a case study, not reacting and not smiling, just reading. sunghoon glances at him carefully and asks, “you good?” and jake nods once before replying easily, “yeah. it’s mid-semester. it shifts.” his tone is smooth and controlled and practiced, and you recognize it instantly when he continues, almost amused, “it’s literally nothing. statistical fluctuation.” niki snorts and says, “you sound like you’re narrating your own decline“ and jake answers lightly, “i’m not declining. i dropped by one decimal“ while jay adds, “and she moved up by one.” jake’s gaze flicks to you then, brief and measured, and he says, “congrats“ the word clean with no sarcasm and no edge, and you reply, “thanks.” it should feel like victory. it kinda does, but somehow also does not. eunchae squeezes your shoulder and whispers, “you did it“ and you nod faintly as the group begins to disperse into smaller clusters, some debating what caused the shift and others laughing it off while the tension dissolves into regular campus noise. jake does not move right away. he stands there a second longer than necessary before shrugging once and saying, “guess i’ll try harder“ and it’s a joke and it’s not. niki watches him closely and says, “you don’t have to“ and jake gives him a look before replying, “i’m fine.” you hate how quickly he says it, and before you can overthink it you step closer and say, “it’s one decimal“ and he glances at you and answers, “i know.” you add, “it doesn’t define anything“ and he smiles faintly before replying, “i’m aware“ but there is something too polished about the exchange and too tidy. sunoo leans toward you and murmurs, “this is awkward“ and you whisper back, “shut up.” jake runs a hand through his hair, posture relaxed but eyes sharper than usual, and says, “we still have the funding review next week. that matters more“ and jungwon nods as jake continues, “rankings fluctuate. the project doesn’t.” he is performing calm. you can see it, and everyone else definitely can too.
as the group drifts toward the café while still dissecting the ranking system like it is a sport, with jay arguing that decimals are “psychological warfare” and sunoo dramatically claiming he deserves emotional compensation, jake walks beside you not too close and not distant either, just slightly off, and says quietly without looking at you, “you earned it.” you glance at him and reply, “so did you“ and he huffs a faint laugh before saying, “apparently not enough.” you tell him, “that’s not how this works“ and he shrugs as he says, “it is, though“ and there is no bitterness in his voice, which makes it worse. when you reach the café, everyone orders something unnecessarily complicated except him. he orders black coffee. niki immediately says, “you absolutely hate black coffee?” and jake shrugs before replying, “it’s efficient“ and niki counters, “it sounds like punishment“ while jake smiles slightly and says, “i need to study late tonight.” you watch him take the first sip and he does not flinch, and you hate that you notice that. the conversation shifts to presentation deadlines and midterms and someone’s lab disaster, and jake laughs at the right moments and contributes normally, he even teases sunoo once, but you keep catching him staring at nothing for half a second too long before snapping back. when jay says, “at least you’re still second“ jake replies smoothly, “second is stable“ and takes another sip of the coffee he obviously does not like, making your stomach twists. for the first time in years, you do not feel triumphant. you feel unsettled. you lean slightly closer to him and say quietly, “it’s temporary“ and he glances at you with one eyebrow lifting before replying, “so is yours.” you shake your head and say, “that’s not what i meant“ and he answers, “i know“ with no hostility, just restraint. eunchae suddenly claps her hands and says, “we should celebrate“ and everyone groans except sunoo, who says, “yes. i demand cake“ while jake shakes his head lightly and says, “yes, let’s celebrate her.” jungwon replies, “we can celebrate you both“ and jake answers casually, “there’s nothing to celebrate for me“ and when you look at him sharply he catches it and adds, “i’m joking“ but you do not think he is.
for years this has been the dynamic. he wins. you chase. you narrow the gap. now the gap has shifted, and instead of relief you feel like something tilted that was not supposed to.
when the group starts planning the weekend in loud overlapping suggestions, jake steps slightly back from the circle, just half a step and subtle enough that most would miss it, but you see it, and for the first time being first does not feel like victory. it feels like distance. then he checks his phone, his expression flattening for half a second before he pushes back his chair and stands. “i have a thing“ he says casually as he slides his phone into his pocket, and niki replies over the rim of his cup, “you always have a thing.” jake shrugs into his jacket and says, “it’s a busy life“ which makes jay roll his eyes and answer, “you’re second, not unemployed.” jake smirks faintly and says, “exactly. i have standards to maintain“ and you just can’t laugh. you watch him grab his bag, tracking the efficiency of the movement, until eunchae looks up and asks, “you’re leaving?” and he replies, “yeah. i’ll see you later.” there is no pause and no glance in your direction this time. he just walks out, the door swinging shut behind him. you sit there for three full seconds before standing and saying, “i’ll be back“ and sunoo immediately asks, “are you chasing him?” you answer too quickly with, “no“ and niki mutters into his coffee, “yes, you are“ but you ignore them and step outside. jake has not gone far. he is standing near the side entrance, staring at his phone like it personally insulted him, and when he hears the door open he looks up and asks, “you forgot something?” -“yes“ you say, and he waits, one eyebrow lifting slightly as you walk closer and tell him, “you’re not fine.” he exhales through his nose and says, “i am“ and when you reply, “you’re not“ he answers flatly, “it’s one decimal. you don’t need to manage my emotional stability.” you shake your head and say, “i’m not managing you“ and he counters, “you’re hovering.” you blink and say, “i’m standing“ and he replies, “same difference.” crossing your arms, you tell him, “you’re acting weird“ and he says, “i’m not.”he laughs quietly before adding, “that’s rich.” when you ask, “why?” he answers, “because you win and then you chase me outside to make sure i’m okay“ and there is something sharper under the humor now as he adds, “it’s unnecessary.” you feel that land but keep your voice steady as you say, “it’s not about winning“ and he replies, “sure.” -“it isn’t“ you insist, and he says your name more quietly, “y/n, i dropped by one decimal. that’s not a breakdown.” -“i know“ you say, and he responds, “then stop looking at me like it is.” you hesitate just long enough for him to notice, and he says, “that’s what i thought.” your jaw tightens and you tell him, “you’re allowed to be bothered“ but he answers immediately, “i’m not bothered.” -“but i know you are“ you press, and he steps back slightly, creating space as he asks, “why do you need me to be?” the question catches you off guard and you say, “i don’t“ and he replies, “then let it go.” you study him, taking in the too-straight posture and the tightness in his jaw before saying quietly, “you don’t have to pretend“ and he laughs again, thinner this time, as he says, “i’m not pretending.”- “you hate losing“ you say, and he answers, “i didn’t lose.”- “you moved“ you counter, and he shoots back, “so did you. congratulations“ the word not bitter but not soft either. you swallow and say, “this wasn’t supposed to be like this“ and he raises an eyebrow as he asks, “like what?” -“you behind me“ you admit, and his eyes sharpen as he repeats, “behind you?” -“that’s not what i meant“ you say quickly, but he answers, “it’s exactly what you meant.” you stop yourself mid-sentence and then say instead, “it feels off“ and he looks at you for a long second before admitting quietly, “yeah. it kinda does.”
the honesty slips out unintentionally, and you soften without meaning to as you say, “it’s temporary.” he exhales and says, “you don’t know that“ and you reply, “you’ll move back up.” he gives you a look you cannot quite read and asks, “and if i don’t?”- “you probably will“ you insist. “you sound very confident in me“ he says, and you answer, “i am“ watching something flicker in his expression before it closes again. “that’s the problem“ he says, and you frown as you ask, “what does that mean?” he answers slowly, “it means you don’t need to reassure me.” -“i’m not reassuring you“ you say, and he replies, “you are.” when you start with, “jake-” he cuts you off more sharply than before and says, “i’m fine. i don’t need a motivational speech.” -“it’s not a speech“ you argue. “it feels like one“ he says. you stare at him and ask, “why are you mad at me?” and he answers, “i’m not mad.” -“you’re snapping“ you say. “i’m not snapping“ he insists and runs a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through as he says, “i don’t need you calibrating your tone because i dropped a decimal.”- “i’m not calibrating anything“ you reply, and he says, “you are. you’ve been different since the party.” -“that has nothing to do with this“ you answer, and he counters, “it has everything to do with this.” you go quiet, and he notices as he says, “you don’t get it.” -“then explain“ you tell him, and after hesitating he says lower, “it’s easier when you’re chasing.” you blink and ask, “what?” and he repeats, “it’s easier when i’m ahead“ before adding, “because then i know what i am to you.” the words hang between you, and you ask quietly, “and what are you to me?” he looks at you like he did not expect the question and answers, “competition.” the word feels wrong in the space between you. “and if you’re not ahead?” you ask, and his jaw tightens as he says, “i don’t know“ the honesty slipping out before he can stop it. you step closer and say, “it doesn’t change anything“ but he answers immediately, “it does.” -“how?” you press, and he looks away as he says, “you don’t see it.” - “then tell me“ you say, and he shakes his head once and answers, “no.”- “why?” you ask. “because i don’t want to overreact to something that isn’t even real“ he says. “what isn’t real?” you ask, and he looks at you with something raw flashing across his expression before he gestures vaguely between you and says, “this. whatever this is.” your pulse stumbles and you say, “what? there is no this“ and he lets out a short laugh as he replies, “exactly.” silence stretches between you until he straightens, control sliding back into place like armor, and says again, “it’s fine. i just need to work harder.” - “that’s not the solution“ you say. “it usually is“ he replies. “you don’t need to punish yourself“ you tell him. “i’m not punishing myself“ he answers. “you ordered black coffee“ you point out. “that’s not a crime“ he says. “but you hate black coffee“ you remind him, and he almost smiles as he says, “you care too much.” - “and you deflect too much“ you reply.
he exhales slowly before saying, “i don’t want you feeling responsible for my ranking.” - “i don’t“ you insist. and he studies you carefully before saying, “then stop trying to fix it.” you freeze and say quietly, “i’m not trying to fix anything“ and he nods once as he says, “good.” after a pause he adds more softly, “you should be happy“ and you stare at him as you say, “i am.”- “are you though?” he asks, and the question hits harder than you expect. you hesitate, and he sees it as he says quietly, “see?” you look away for the first time and admit, “it just doesn’t feel right.” - “why?” he asks. “because it feels like i stepped forward and you stepped back“ you say, and he nods slowly as he replies, “that’s how rankings work.” - “that’s not what i mean“ you say, and he knows it but does not want to say it. after a moment he tells you, “you don’t have to chase me“ and you answer, “i’m not chasing you.” - “you are right now“ he says. you exhale sharply and say, “you left“ and he replies, “and you followed“ the words sitting heavy between you. you hold his gaze and say again, “i don’t pity you“ and he nods as he answers, “i know.” - “then why are you acting like i do?” you ask, and after hesitating he says almost under his breath, “because it’s easier than the alternative.” - “what alternative?” you press, and he meets your eyes and for a second almost says it, but then his expression hardens and he says, “it’s nothing.” you feel the wall go up as he steps back and says, “i’ll see you tomorrow.” - “jaeyun-” you start, “don‘t.“, his voice cuts you sharp. “don’t call me that.” it comes out quick, almost harsh. you catch yourself. “jake.” a beat. “what’s going on with you?”- “i’m fine“ and this time it sounds less like reassurance and more like a boundary. “just-… just leave me alone y/n“ he walks away before you can stop him, and you stand there watching him go again.
by the time his dorm room goes quiet, jake tells himself it’s one decimal. he tells himself it’s mid-semester. he tells himself the ranking board is a temporary snapshot and not a verdict. he tells himself a lot of things, because if he doesn’t keep repeating them, his brain starts doing what it always does when something slips. it starts forecasting the worst outcome like it’s preparing a case file. the worst outcome is not “second place“ not really. the worst outcome is being seen as someone who can be beaten, someone who can be surpassed, someone who can be caught and left behind, because jake has lived long enough in rooms where praise turns to disappointment the moment you stop being exceptional. he hasn’t been allowed to be average. he hasn’t been allowed to be “fine.” fine is what people say right before they stop looking at you. he sits on the edge of his bed with his laptop open, the ranking board still there on the screen like it’s nailed to his wall. 4.97. the number should not matter this much. it is a decimal, a rounding error, a meaningless fluctuation in a system that loves to pretend it can quantify human effort. but his body doesn’t treat it like a decimal. his body treats it like threat. his chest is tight, his throat feels strange, his eyes burn in a way that makes him blink too hard and stare too long at the screen like he can intimidate it into changing. he isn’t crying, he tells himself. he’s just tired. his eyes are just irritated. he’s been staring at the screen too long. “that’s all“ he adds under his breath, like saying it aloud will make his body believe him, and he still doesn’t close the tab, because if he closes it, it becomes real. it becomes something he can’t monitor. the overhead light is off. he doesn’t remember turning it off. the desk lamp makes the room feel smaller, like a box, and he is used to boxes because boxes are controllable and boxes are predictable and boxes have rules. he can win inside boxes. the problem is that his life keeps getting bigger, the expectations keep expanding, and the rules keep changing without warning, and every time they change, he has to run faster just to keep the same ground.
the door opens without warning, and niki walks in first, tossing his bag onto the desk as he looks around and asks, “why is it so dark. are we having a grief ceremony“ while jake doesn’t look up and answers, “the overhead light is annoying.” sunghoon steps in behind him and shuts the door quietly, taking one look at jake and pausing, because sunghoon doesn’t joke first when something is off, but niki does as he says, “if you’re brooding about the ranking, i’m filing a complaint. it’s literally mid-semester.”- “i’m not brooding“ jake replies, and the flatness of his voice is the first tell that he is, which makes niki freeze mid-motion and stare at him as he says, “you’re sitting in the dark staring at your laptop like it owes you money.”- “i’m studying“ jake says, and niki counters immediately with, “you’re not typing“ until jake finally looks up, eyes sharper than they should be for this conversation, and says, “can you not.” niki pauses, then his gaze flicks to the laptop screen and he says more quietly, “oh. you have the page open“ and jake moves a hand as if to shut it, but he hesitates for half a second too long, and that hesitation is not about the laptop. it’s about the feeling that if he closes it, he’s admitting it matters. sunghoon’s voice is calm when he says, “it’s not about the decimal“ and jake’s jaw tightens instantly as he replies, “it is.” - “it isn’t“ sunghoon repeats evenly, and jake’s laugh comes out sharp and short as he says, “you don’t get to tell me what i’m feeling“ while sunghoon answers, “i’m not telling you. i’m noticing.” niki drags his chair around and sits backward in it, arms folded across the backrest, and says, “you don’t react like this to grades“ watching jake carefully. “i’m not reacting“ jake insists, and niki points out again, like he’s building a case, “you’re in the dark“ until jake’s fingers curl at his sides and he says, “can we drop it.” niki’s gaze stays on him as he asks, “did you two fight?“ and jake’s head snaps up as he says, “what?“ while niki clarifies, “you and y/n. you left weird. she came back weird. and now you’re sitting here like your soul got audited.” jake looks away immediately, because if he looks at them too long he’ll give something away, and he says, “we didn’t fight“ but niki insists, “you did something“ and jake answers, “i didn’t“ until sunghoon’s voice goes quieter and he says, “you snapped“ and jake’s shoulders stiffen. niki’s eyebrows lift slowly as he says, “you snapped at her?” and jake mutters, “i didn’t snap“ the denial sounding like a reflex, like something he learned a long time ago, but sunghoon says, “you kind of did. outside the café“ and jake’s eyes lift sharply as he asks, “you heard that?“ while sunghoon answers, “you weren’t subtle.” jake swallows, and his throat feels tight again, because he remembers your face when he said it, remembers the way your eyes sharpened and then cooled, remembers the instant you stopped offering softness like it was something you could put away in a drawer and lock, and when he starts with, “she kept trying to-“ he stops, hands clenching because even he can hear how pathetic he’s about to sound. niki prompts, gentler but still persistent, “trying to what“ and jake says finally, “fix it“ and when sunghoon asks, “fix what“ jake’s mouth goes dry because he doesn’t want to say it and he doesn’t want to name it because naming it makes it real, but the word slips out anyway, rough and small. “me“ he says.
niki’s expression shifts like something in him softens and then hardens in the same breath as he replies, “she wasn’t trying to fix you“ and jake says too fast, “you weren’t there“ but niki answers, “we were ten feet away“ and jake pushes on, voice sharpening as if he’s arguing a point in debate because arguing is easier than admitting he liked it. “she followed me“ he says. “she came outside like i was- like i couldn’t handle it“ and sunghoon’s eyes stay steady as he replies, “or she came outside because she noticed“ which makes jake laugh once, humorless, as he asks, “noticed what“ and sunghoon answers, “that you were not fine.” jake’s chest tightens at the phrase, not fine, the worst label, the one that means you’re slipping, and he insists, “i was fine“ but niki doesn’t buy it as he says, “you keep saying that.” jake turns toward the window as if the glass can give him distance and make his body stop reacting, pressing his palm to the back of his neck as he exhales hard and says, “it’s stupid“ but niki answers, “try us“ and jake stares at the curtain seam, jaw clenched, before admitting quietly, “she looked at me like she.., i don’t know- saw something.” the room goes still, and niki tilts his head and asks, “saw what?“ and jake snaps, sharper than he intended, “i don’t know. that’s the point“ because he hates not knowing and he hates being uncertain and he hates not being able to categorize a situation, because uncertainty is where failure grows. sunghoon doesn’t flinch as he says, “you don’t like being seen“ and jake scoffs, “that’s not-“ but sunghoon continues, calm as a judge, “you don’t. not when you can’t control what they see“ and jake’s throat tightens because he wants to deny it and laugh it off and make it a joke and escape, but his eyes burn again, and this time the wetness is real, and it makes him furious because he has spent years proving he doesn’t break. niki’s voice drops, less teasing now, as he says, “it’s not about losing first“ like he’s naming a thing jake refuses to name, and jake swallows hard and answers, “it is.” but niki continues, “it’s about what happens if you’re not first. what it means“ and jake’s laugh comes out jagged as he says, “it means i’m second“ while niki replies, “it means people stop expecting you to be perfect.”
jake’s jaw tightens like a trap as he says, “people never stop expecting“ and the truth slips out before he can guard it. sunghoon watches him and says, “there it is“ and jake turns back fast, eyes sharp, as he says, “don’t.” but niki doesn’t look away as he says, “you act like you can’t afford to slip“ and jake’s chest tightens harder because he can’t. he can’t afford it. he has built his entire safety on performance, not emotional safety, actual safety, stability, respect. the kind of doors that open when you’re the best and close when you’re merely good, and being “good” is a cliff edge in his mind. he doesn’t tell them that, but his silence does. “it was predictable before“ jake says instead, because predictable sounds reasonable and fear sounds pathetic. “it was structured“ and sunghoon asks, “and now?” and jake’s voice goes lower as he admits, “now she’s first.” niki’s eyebrows lift as he says, “and you’re second?” and jake’s fingers flex as he insists, “it shouldn’t matter“ but sunghoon answers softly, “yet it does” and jake exhales slowly as he says, “i don’t like how it changes things.” niki presses, “how does it change things?” and jake opens his mouth and nothing comes out, because he doesn’t know how to explain that the chase was a script he understood, and without the script he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be, and he can’t say that without sounding like he’s admitting he needs you to keep him sharp, needs you to keep him defined, needs the tension to keep him from dissolving into whatever he is without competition. “i shouldn’t have snapped“ he says instead, because guilt is easier to admit than fear, and niki nods once as he replies, “no. you shouldn’t have“ while jake’s voice cracks slightly when he says, “she wasn’t even wrong.” sunghoon’s expression softens faintly as he says, “she was trying to be decent“ and jake looks down, hands clenched again, as he admits, “i made it sound like she was pitying me“ and niki’s voice is blunt when he says, “because you were embarrassed.” jake swallows and says, “i hate that i did that“ and that is the truth, not the decimal and not the ranking but the fact that you followed him and tried to steady him and he threw it back at you like it was an insult. and he doesn’t say that the look on your face keeps replaying. and he doesn’t say it’s easier to take a hit from anyone else than to see disappointment in your eyes. because he doesn’t know why, he just knows. niki pushes off the chair and stands as he says, “then fix it“ and jake looks up and tries, “it wasn’t that bad“ but sunghoon’s voice is quiet and firm when he says, “you’re in the dark. it was that bad“ and jake rubs his face hard before asking, “what if she doesn’t want to see me.” niki pauses like the question actually surprises him and asks, “since when do you care about that“ and jake’s jaw tightens as he says, “i don’t?” but niki lifts an eyebrow and replies, “you literally just asked“ making jake look away. sunghoon’s voice lands steady as he says, “it’ll be alright, she followed you.” and that hits because you did. you didn’t have to. jake’s phone sits on the desk and he hasn’t touched it, because he has been sitting here trying to will his nerves into obedience and he can’t, and when he admits quietly, “i don’t know what to say“ niki shrugs and says, “start with ‘i was an idiot’” which makes jake shoot him a look as he says, “i’m not saying that“ while sunghoon’s mouth curves faintly as he replies, “but you were.” jake huffs a breath that almost becomes a laugh and fails, then grabs his jacket like grabbing something physical will stop his thoughts from spinning as he mutters, “i’ll be back“ and niki’s grin is small but real when he says, “look at that. functional human behavior“ while jake answers automatically, “shut up“ but the bite isn’t there.
he leaves before they can push further, and the hallway outside is loud with dorm life, doors opening and voices echoing and someone arguing on the phone, but jake feels like he’s moving through it underwater. his pulse is too loud. his hands feel too cold. he tells himself this is not a big deal. he tells himself this is basic decency. he tells himself this has nothing to do with anything else, even as the truth he refuses to name stays simple underneath it all. he is terrified of being the kind of person who loses control and then loses respect, and right now he feels dangerously close to that line.
by the time he reaches your dorm building, he slows, not because he’s afraid you’ll reject him, because his brain hasn’t even allowed that category to form, but because he’s afraid you’ll look at him the way you did in the café, like he’s slipping and like he’s not what he pretends to be and like you can see the fear he can’t say out loud. he stands outside the entrance for a full ten seconds anyway, then he steps inside, and for the first time all day he doesn’t turn around. he doesn’t give himself time to reconsider, and by the time he reaches your dorm floor his pulse is loud enough that it annoys him, because it’s just a conversation and it’s just an apology and he’s had harder ones. he knocks once, then again because the first one felt too light, and after movement inside and a brief pause the door opens to you standing there in an oversized sweatshirt with your hair slightly messy like you’ve run your hands through it too many times, your eyes blinking when you see him as you say, “jake?” and for half a second he forgets what he rehearsed before managing, “hey” his voice steadier than he feels as he adds, “can you step outside for a minute.” you study him like you’re searching his face for tension or sarcasm or something sharp and finding none, and then you say, “yes, sure” stepping out and closing the door behind you quietly. the hallway feels too narrow, and without thinking he gestures toward the exit and says, “let’s go downstairs“ and you don’t question it, you just follow.
outside, the night air hits differently, cooler and softer, and the campus is quieter than it was earlier with most windows lit but distant, streetlights lining the pathway in long golden stretches and casting slow pools of light over the pavement. you both walk a few steps in silence before he stops near the edge of the courtyard and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, then says, “i shouldn’t have snapped at you“ and you blink as he keeps his gaze away and adds, “outside the café. i was being-“ he hesitates, “unfair.” you wait, and he exhales slowly before saying, “you weren’t pitying me.”- “no.” you reply quietly. “i know now” he says, and there’s something tight in the way he says it, like the admission costs him, which makes you tilt your head slightly and ask, “then why’d you act like i was?” he finally looks at you, and the streetlight above throws soft gold across your face and catches in your eyes in a way that makes them look brighter than usual, almost reflective, and for a second he notices the light more than your expression, the thought strangely specific and unsettling in a way he doesn’t have language for. instead of answering directly, he says, “i don’t like when things shift“ and you frown faintly as you ask, “shift how?“ and he replies quickly, almost too quickly, “the ranking. it’s just. different.”- “it’s one decimal” you say gently. “i know“ he answers. “you act like it’s more” you say, and he replies immediately, “it’s not“ but you keep watching him and ask, “then what is it?” and he hesitates, because he’s not going to say fear and he’s not going to say pressure and he’s definitely not going to say that this morning he felt like he was slipping out of the version of himself everyone expects. “it’s just annoying“ he says finally. “i don’t like dropping.” you cross your arms lightly and say, “no one likes dropping“ and he answers, “i’ll move back up“ a hint of edge in his tone, pride and defense threaded together as he adds, “it’s not permanent.” - “i didn’t say it was“ you reply, and he looks at you again as the light shifts with a breeze moving through the trees, the reflection in your eyes flickering in a way he finds distracting for reasons he can’t explain. you don’t look triumphant or smug. you look careful. “i’m not celebrating you losing“ you say quietly. “i know“ he replies, and you continue, “you think i feel good about it.”- “i don’t“ he says. “you did earlier“ you counter, and he winces slightly as he admits, “i was being an idiot.” you almost smile and say, “you said that, not me“ and he huffs out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh as he says, “yeah. well. i meant it.” silence settles between you again, but it’s softer now and less sharp, and you glance toward the path stretching across campus where a few students pass in the distance with voices low and indistinct, the air smelling faintly like rain even though it hasn’t rained. “you don’t have to pretend you’re not bothered“ you say, and he replies, “i’m not pretending.” - “you are“ you insist, and he looks at you again, frustration flickering because lately you see through him too easily, and before he can stop himself he says, “i don’t get to be bothered.” you blink and ask, “what’s that supposed to mean?” and he shrugs like it should be obvious as he says, “it means it’s mid-semester. i’ll fix it.” - “that’s not what i asked.” you reply. he exhales slowly and says, “it’s not a big deal.” - “yeah, you keep saying that“ you point out. “because it’s true“ he answers.
you step a little closer without thinking, not confrontational, just closer, and you ask quietly, “then why’re you here“ and the question catches him because he didn’t expect it. he looks at you. really looks at you this time. and the streetlight glow softens the edges of everything, your expression and the tension in your shoulders and even the night itself, and he says, “because i don’t like leaving things like that.” - “like what?“ you ask. “unresolved“ he answers, and you search his face as you say, “you think we’re unresolved?” and he hesitates before admitting, “maybe.” you look away for a second, then back at him, and you say, “you’re not replaceable, you know“ and he stiffens slightly as he replies, “i didn’t say i was“ but you answer, “you don’t have to“ and he swallows. you step back slightly to give him space again as you say, “i didn’t move up because you moved down. those aren’t connected“ and he replies quickly, “i know.” - “you’re acting like they are“ you say, and he runs a hand through his hair as he admits, “it just feels different.” you nod slowly and say, “yeah“ and when he glances at you and asks, “yeah“ you repeat, “yeah. it does“ and that surprises him, because he expected you to argue or rationalize, and instead you just agree. “it’s weird“ you continue. “i’ve been chasing you for three years“ and he lets out a faint breath as he says, “you make it sound like a sport.” - “it was“ you reply. he almost smiles and says, “you’re competitive“ and you answer, “so are you“ and he doesn’t deny it. the silence between you shifts again, not empty and not tense, just full, and he notices the way the light moves in your eyes when you blink like it’s caught there intentionally, and he doesn’t know why that detail sticks or why he catalogues things like that about you, he just does. “you deserved it“ he says quietly, and you look at him and ask, “what?” and he clarifies, “the move up. you deserved it“ and your expression softens almost imperceptibly as you say, “thanks“ and he nods once. “i’m not going anywhere“ he adds quickly, like he has to reestablish something, and you reply, “i didn’t think you were“ but he says, “i mean academically-“ and you raise an eyebrow slightly as you answer, “yeah, i know what you meant” and he pauses because he doesn’t know if you do.
the breeze shifts again, and the campus feels strangely intimate with warm lights and quiet paths and distant familiar buildings, the kind of night that makes everything feel closer than it actually is, and suddenly he says, “you don’t have to catch me.” you blink and ask, “what “ and he hesitates before shrugging like it’s nothing as he says, “you don’t have to chase“ and you stare at him for a long moment before saying quietly, “i wasn’t chasing because i had to“ and that lands somewhere deep in him even if he can’t name where. he nods slowly, and neither of you move and neither of you step closer, but the air feels different now, softer, and neither of you knows exactly why. close enough that he can see the way your breath fogs faintly in the cool air. close enough that the streetlight above you casts gold along the curve of your cheek. close enough that he notices the tiny flicker in your eyes when you blink. he shouldn’t notice that. he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about it. you say quietly, “you’re not falling behind“ and he swallows before replying, “i know“ though the word comes out rougher than he means it to. the campus is quiet around you, the breeze moving gently through the trees, a door shutting somewhere in the distance while the world keeps going, and you’re still looking at him like that. not competitive. not guarded. not sharp. just open. it does something to him, and he doesn’t think about it or weigh the consequences or calculate the variables. he just moves. it’s subtle at first, barely a step and barely a shift, and then his hand lifts almost on instinct, his fingers brushing lightly against your jaw like he’s checking if you’re real. you inhale sharply, and he sees the question in your eyes but doesn’t answer it. he kisses you. it’s not rushed and not aggressive. it’s almost hesitant for the first half-second, like he expects you to pull away, but you don’t. your breath catches warm and startled against his mouth, and that’s what undoes him. the kiss deepens, not wildly and not recklessly, just enough that it stops being accidental, his hand sliding slightly along your cheek with his thumb brushing your skin while the streetlight glows warm against closed eyes and quiet night air and the world narrows down to warmth and breath and the realization that this feels different. soft. real. you don’t move for a second, and then you respond. not aggressively. not desperately. just there. and that’s what snaps him out of it, because this isn’t a theory and this isn’t tension and this isn’t rivalry. this is you. and he just. fuck. why did he-
he pulls back first. too quickly. like he touched something electric. the distance between you feels enormous now, and you blink up at him with your lips slightly parted and your eyes wide not with anger but confusion as you breathe, “jake.” he steps back like he needs physical space to think and runs a hand through his hair as he exhales sharply and says, “i-“ before cutting himself off and adding, “that was…“ then dragging a hand over his face like he’s trying to erase the last ten seconds as he mutters, “that was stupid.” the word lands wrong. you swallow and ask, “why’d you do that?” and he opens his mouth but nothing coherent forms because he doesn’t know. he doesn’t know why your eyes looked like that under the streetlights or why the air felt charged or why standing close to you felt like standing on the edge of something he didn’t understand. “i don’t know“ he admits finally. you stare at him, not hurt and not furious, just confused, and you repeat softly, “you don’t know?” and he shakes his head once with his jaw tight as he says, “it just happened.” that doesn’t help. you look down for a second and then back up at him, and the softness from earlier is gone, not replaced with hostility but with uncertainty, as you say quietly, “i should go back inside.” he nods immediately, too fast, and says, “yeah“ and you hesitate like you’re waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn’t, because if he opens his mouth again he might make it worse. you step back, then turn, then walk toward the dorm entrance without looking back, and he watches you go until the door closes behind you. suddenly he’s alone in the courtyard with the streetlights and the quiet and the echo of what he just did, and he drags a hand down his face as he mutters under his breath, “what the hell.” he just kissed you. he didn’t plan it and didn’t think about it and didn’t even understand it, and you looked-
“god“ he mutters to himself as he groans softly and starts walking back toward his dorm faster than necessary. by the time he pushes his own door open, niki looks up from his desk and asks, “well?“ and jake doesn’t answer. he walks straight past him and drops onto his bed, covering his face with both hands, and sunghoon glances over and says, “you look worse“ while jake muffles his voice behind his palms and says, “i messed up.” niki’s eyebrows lift as he asks, “how bad?“ and jake exhales slowly before admitting, “i fucking kissed her.” silence follows, and then niki says, “you what?” and jake drags his hands down his face and stares at the ceiling like it personally betrayed him as he mutters, “i don’t even know why.” that’s the worst part, because he can’t categorize it and he can’t frame it as strategy and he can’t explain it as impulse. he just knows that when the light caught in your eyes and you looked at him like that. he stopped thinking, and now he doesn’t know what this is or what he just changed.
you barely slept and the morning after feels so wrong. you wake up before your alarm and stare at the ceiling with the memory of his hand against your jaw still warm against your skin. it wasn’t aggressive. it wasn’t careless. it was deliberate for exactly half a second. and then it wasn’t. you sit up slowly and press your palm against your cheek as if you can still feel the imprint of him there. maybe it was impulsive. maybe it meant nothing. maybe it meant something. you don’t know. what you do know is that you haven’t received a text. not a clarification. not a joke. not even a ‘sorry about that.’ just silence. you tell yourself that’s fine. you get ready anyway. he’s already in the study room when you arrive. that’s new. jake barely ever arrives first. he’s sitting at the table with his laptop open and notes spread out with unsettling neatness. when the door opens he glances up. for a split second something flickers across his face. then it’s gone. “morning.” jake says it like nothing happened. you stop just inside the doorway before replying carefully “morning.” you wait. he doesn’t say anything else. you walk to your seat and sit down slowly placing your bag beside you. the air feels heavier than usual. he doesn’t look at you again before saying “we need to restructure the funding risk section. your phrasing implies direct negligence.” you blink and answer “that’s because it was negligent.” he counters immediately “it was strategic.” you stare at him. “you were fine with that phrasing yesterday.”- “i reconsidered.” -“when.” -“last night.” the words land heavier than they should. you hold his gaze. “you reconsidered the phrasing?” -“yes.” silence. you wait for something more. he doesn’t offer it. your pulse tightens slightly and you ask “are we going to talk about it?” he doesn’t look up from his screen. “talk about what?” you stare at him. he knows. “jake.” he finally looks at you with a carefully neutral expression. “we shouldn’t let personal things interfere with the project.” personal things. your stomach drops slightly. “so it was personal.” his jaw tightens. “that’s not what i meant.” -“then what did you mean?” he exhales slowly. “i meant it doesn’t need to be a thing.” your chest tightens. “it doesn’t need to be a thing?” - “it was impulsive. it doesn’t have to mean anything.” the words are controlled. too controlled. you search his face for hesitation. there is none. only precision. “okay.” the word leaves your mouth steady. you look down at your notes and don’t say anything else. he expected you to push. instead you nod once and open your laptop. “fine. then let’s focus on the project.” he feels the shift instantly. the softness from last night is gone. you are sharp lines and clean sentences again. he tells himself that’s good. that’s safer. “we need to adjust the model.” he leans forward slightly. “your interpretation overstates causality.” - “my interpretation is accurate.” -“no, it’s aggressive.” you look at him, and respond “it’s honest.” -“it’s just risky.” the word sits there. you ask before you can stop yourself “so you’re afraid of risk now?” he freezes. you didn’t mean it like that. but it lands anyway. “i’m not afraid of anything.” the lie settles between you. you push your chair back slightly. “then what is this.” - “this is me doing my job.” -“by rewriting my sections?” you say. “no y/n, by strengthening them.” -“you’re undermining them.” he leans back and crosses his arms. “if you feel undermined that’s not my fault.” that hits harder than it should. you stare at him. “you’re being competitive.” -“we are competitive.” -“not like this.” his eyes flash slightly. “like what.” - “like you’re trying to win something.” he doesn’t answer. because maybe he is. maybe if he wins this argument this structure this academic ground he can reestablish something solid. something defined. something that isn’t a memory of your lips and the way you inhaled when he touched you.
he swallows. “you’re reading into it.” you lean back slowly. “you kissed me jake.” the words are quiet and direct. he goes still. “yes.” -“and now you’re acting like it didn’t happen.” he looks at the ceiling and says “i said it was impulsive.” -“that doesn’t erase it.” -“it doesn’t have to define anything either.” the word define catches in his throat. you study him carefully. “do you regret it?” he hesitates for half a second too long. “no.” the answer is immediate. too immediate. you don’t look convinced. he feels heat crawl up his neck. “i just don’t think it needs to complicate things.” your expression shifts. “complicate?” - “that’s not what i meant.” - “it sounds like you think i’m a complication.”. that landed. “no.”-“then what am i?” he stops breathing for a second. because he doesn’t know. you’ve always been his rival. his equal. his benchmark. his reference point. last night you were something else. he doesn’t have a word for that. “i don’t know.” the admission is quiet and unpolished. the room falls silent. you look at him differently now. not angry. not victorious. just confused. “that’s worse.” he nods once. “i know.” neither of you speak for several seconds. the air feels tight again. not electric like last night. fragile.
you close your laptop slowly. “i’m not trying to define it. i just don’t want to pretend it didn’t matter.” he swallows. it did matter. it mattered so much for him. that’s the problem. he clears his throat. “it’s not that it didn’t matter.” you look up sharply. he meets your eyes for exactly two seconds before looking away. “but i don’t know what it means.” there it is. not regression. not confession. just confusion. raw and exposed. you don’t smile. you don’t step closer. you wait for him to say something else, watching his face for any sign that he might soften again or elaborate on what he just admitted. he doesn’t. instead he straightens in his chair like a switch has flipped somewhere inside him, and the softness that slipped through a second ago disappears as his shoulders square and his posture resets into something controlled. “we’re wasting time“ jake says as he glances back at the document on his screen, his tone evening out into crisp efficiency. “we need to finalize the revised model before friday.” you stare at him for a long second, the pivot so abrupt it almost makes you dizzy, before asking quietly, “did you hear what i said?” without looking at you, he answers, “yes“ and when you press with a tight, “and?” he replies evenly, “and what?” your stomach tightens at the deliberate blankness in his voice. “jake.” you say, letting his name carry the frustration you are trying not to show. he exhales as if you are the one escalating things and says, “i told you it mattered. i just don’t know what it means. that doesn’t have to turn into a thesis“ and the phrasing stings in a way you can’t quite hide. “you’re shutting down again“ you tell him, leaning forward slightly as if proximity might force him to stay present. he shakes his head once and replies, “i’m focusing“ and he finally looks at you directly, his expression composed to the point of detachment as he says, “just forget it.” the emphasis lands harder than the words themselves, and you blink at the subtle separation in that sentence, at the way he frames this as something individual rather than shared. “why are you acting like this?” you ask, and this time there is no accusation in your voice, only confusion. “i’m not acting like anything“ he answers calmly, too calmly. you don’t let him redirect. “you kissed me“ you remind him, your voice steady despite the heat rising in your chest. “i know that” he says without hesitation. “and now you’re dissecting budget models“ you continue, watching for any crack in his composure. “because we have a budget model due“ he replies, holding your gaze without flinching. the eye contact stretches, and it feels as though he is building a wall in real time, stacking controlled sentence after controlled sentence until there is no space left for anything messy. “i don’t get you” you admit finally, the words slipping out before you can filter them. something flickers across his face at that-irritation, maybe, or something more defensive-and he responds, “you don’t have to.” the words colder than he intends. you sit back slowly, absorbing the chill in that statement, and say, “right“ because you refuse to let him see how much that landed. silence settles between you, thick and uncomfortable, the earlier fragility hardening into something structured and rigid, as if he is forcing everything back into a labeled box marked safe.
you close your laptop with deliberate care and tell him evenly, “i don’t think this meeting’s going to work.” his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly before he asks, “why?” and you answer, “because you’re not here.” he gestures faintly toward himself and says, “i’m right here?” but you shake your head and reply, “no, you’re not” and this time he looks away first. you stand and slide your bag over your shoulder, adding, “we’ll review the edits later“ and he nods once without lifting his eyes from the screen as he says, “sure.” you hesitate for half a second, waiting for something-an apology, an explanation, anything-but he doesn’t look up. you turn toward the door. “hey“ he says suddenly, and the word stops you mid-step. you pause without fully turning around, and he keeps his eyes on the laptop as he says, “see you tonight.” you frown slightly and ask, “tonight?” and he clarifies in a tone that aims for casual, “arcade night. you’re still coming, right?” the normalcy of it feels surreal, as if nothing fractured and nothing shifted and you didn’t kiss him under streetlights less than a day ago. you swallow and answer, “yeah.” - “cool“ he says, scrolling through the document like this is just another scheduling detail, before adding, “don’t be late.” there is a brief pause, and then he says, “bye“ the word light and almost detached. you stand there a moment longer than necessary, hoping he might finally look up and undo some of the distance he just created, but he doesn’t. so you leave. the door shuts softly behind you, and the quiet that follows feels louder than any argument would have. jake doesn’t move for several seconds after you’re gone.
the cursor blinks on his screen, steady and indifferent. then he exhales slowly and drops his head into his hands, the composure slipping now that there is no one left to witness it. he hates that you said you don’t get him. he hates that he doesn’t get himself either. he knows what “you don’t have to” sounded like. he knows it was colder than he meant it to be. but pushing feels safer than falling, and if he keeps everything inside clean lines and deadlines and due dates, then maybe he won’t have to confront the fact that when he kissed you, it didn’t feel impulsive at all. it felt inevitable. you walk back to your dorm slower than you mean to. you tell yourself you’re annoyed. confused. frustrated with how impossible he is. that’s easier to hold onto than the other thing - the way your lips still feel warm, like the memory hasn’t fully faded. it was impulsive. he said so. it doesn’t have to mean anything. he said that too. so why are you replaying it? why do you keep remembering the way his hand felt against your jaw, careful and steady? the way he hesitated for half a second, like he was giving you time to pull away? you didn’t. that’s what bothers you. you didn’t pull away. you leaned into it. and now he’s built the distance back up like the kiss was a mistake he needs to contain, and you hate that you want him to undo it. you hate that you want him to look at you the way he did under the streetlights instead of the way he did this morning - guarded, precise, unreachable. maybe it didn’t define anything. but it changed something.
you almost don’t go, and that hesitation lingers while you stand in front of your mirror adjusting your jacket for no real reason other than needing something to fix. the kiss has been sitting under your skin all day, not painful and not pleasant, just present, and the way he acted that morning didn’t help. you hear his voice again in your head saying “it doesn’t have to mean anything” and your jaw tightens at the memory because if it didn’t mean anything then why did it feel like that. but it’s okay, because tonight’s about having fun and before you can overthink it again you grab your phone and head out. the arcade is loud before you even step inside. neon lights flicker against the glass windows and reflect in sharp colors across the pavement, and music pulses through the doors in rhythmic bursts mixed with electronic beeps and the metallic clatter of tokens. when you walk in the air smells like soda syrup and electricity, and he’s already there. of course he is. jake is standing near the basketball game with jay and jungwon, his sleeves pushed up slightly as he laughs at something jay just said, and the neon blue light above the machine cuts across his face and sharpens his features. for half a second he looks up and sees you. the laugh falters just slightly before he smooths it over. you walk toward them before you can second-guess it. from across the room sunoo calls out dramatically “finally i was about to file a missing persons report” and you reply as you approach “i was on time.” sunoo gestures at the clock above the prize counter and says “academically socially questionable” which makes eunchae rush toward you and hook her arm through yours while whispering “you look good” as she scans your face like she’s searching for emotional clues. you deadpan “i always look good” and jake lets out a soft snort that you feel more than hear. when you glance at him his posture is relaxed and his expression neutral but his eyes are sharper than usual, watching you in a way that feels measured.
jay claps his hands once and calls out “teams losers buy drinks” and kazuha responds calmly “define losers” while heeseung answers “lowest combined score” and yunjin warns “you’re not pairing strategically.” sunghoon suggests “pair randomly more entertaining” and your stomach tightens faintly even though you can’t explain why. niki claps once and announces “names in a cup” and within seconds chaos takes over as jay grabs paper napkins, sunoo insists on drawing twice because he “doesn’t trust fate“ and sakura laughs while chaewon tries to restore order. you stand still while jake stands across from you and neither of you mention the obvious. niki begins pulling names and reads them aloud as the group reacts. “jay and yunjin” earns exaggerated groans. “heeseung and kazuha” draws a confident nod from heeseung. “jungwon and sunoo” makes sunoo protest loudly that he deserves a better fate. “chaewon and sakura” prompts sakura to bow theatrically. then niki pulls another slip and pauses before saying “sunghoon and y/n” and you blink as sunghoon smiles faintly and says “guess we’re winning.” laughter ripples through the group, and when niki reads the final pairing “jake and eunchae” you feel the shift before you even look at him. it’s subtle. not anger. not irritation. just recalibration. jay grins and says “cute” while yunjin adds “strategic” and jake replies smoothly “i carry well.” eunchae elbows him and says “you’re not carrying me” which makes you laugh faintly without meaning to. his eyes flick toward you and then toward sunghoon who is now standing slightly closer to you as he leans toward the game list. the proximity is subtle but jake notices and doesn’t react outwardly.
jungwon calls out “first game” and jay declares “air hockey classic” and the machines light up in sharp red and blue neon that reflects across the polished floor. the arcade hums around you with laughter and flashing screens, loud enough that conversation feels close and almost intimate. you and sunghoon take your positions across from jay and yunjin while jake stands just behind eunchae’s shoulder watching. you don’t intend to be aware of that but you are. the puck flies fast once the game starts and you move instinctively, competitive focus settling over you naturally. when you block a shot sunghoon says quietly “nice” and you smirk and reply “obviously.” from the sidelines jake’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. it’s ridiculous and he knows it. sunghoon isn’t doing anything inappropriate and you aren’t doing anything different, but watching you laugh at something sunghoon says and lean slightly toward him while explaining a move feels different tonight and he doesn’t like that even though he doesn’t understand why. eunchae nudges his side and whispers “focus” and he answers “i am” even though he isn’t. he’s watching the way the neon light catches in your hair when you move and the way your hand brushes sunghoon’s when you both reach for the puck at the same time. it’s nothing. it’s normal. and yet it doesn’t feel neutral. the game ends with your team winning by two points and jay groans “unreal” while you say smoothly “you’re welcome” and sunghoon adds with a grin “told you.” jake claps once slowly and says lightly “impressive” and the tone is easy and the smile is perfect but niki notices the slight tension in his jaw.
“basketball next” niki announces quickly and the group shifts toward the next machine. you move with them and jake adjusts his position so that he ends up near you without quite stepping beside you. in a casual tone he says “nice reflexes” and you glance at him and answer “thank you” there is a pause that stretches just a second too long before you add “sunghoon’s not bad too” because it feels strange not to acknowledge your teammate. jake nods once and replies “he’s consistent” and the word carries an odd weight you can’t immediately name. you study him for half a second before asking quietly “you okay?” and he responds immediately “i’m fine” and this time you look away first. because whatever is happening behind his eyes tonight, he isn’t letting you near it. the group migrates toward the basketball machines in a loud, shifting cluster, and the arcade swallows you back into its bright chaos.
neon reflections skate across the floor, laughter bounces off the walls, and the air is warm with the smell of syrupy soda and that faint metallic bite of tokens and electronics. jay is already declaring, “losers buy drinks, and i’m not buying anything” while yunjin argues, “that rule is authoritarian!” and jungwon is busy counting out tokens like he’s distributing rations. niki squeezes past you with a grin that’s too knowing and says, “basketball is where egos go to die” and sunoo immediately gasps and replies, “my ego is immortal niki” and chaewon deadpans, “that’s a medical concern.” you find yourself smiling despite the tension stuck in your throat, and you focus on the game list taped to niki’s phone like it can keep you from thinking about the streetlight glow and the kiss you’re all pretending didn’t happen. jake stands a few feet away, shoulder angled casually toward the machine, but his attention keeps flicking in your direction in a way that’s brief enough to deny and frequent enough to feel. “okay“ heeseung announces, pointing at the row of machines. “we’re doing two rounds. highest score each team gets the points.” kazuha adjusts her sleeves with calm concentration and says, “i’ve seen people take this too seriously” and sakura laughs and replies, “we are people” and jay immediately says, “i’m not” which makes eunchae snort. you and sunghoon end up at the machine nearest the entrance while jake and eunchae take the one beside you, and the proximity is not close enough to be intimate but close enough that you can hear jake’s laugh when eunchae says something sharp and close enough that you can hear the rhythm of the balls hitting the rim and the low mechanical voice announcing time.
the arcade is loud but you’re hyperaware of him anyway, and you know you shouldn’t be noticing the way his sleeves are pushed up again or the way he rolls his shoulders before the timer starts like this is something that matters. you definitely shouldn’t be noticing the way his voice drops slightly when he teases eunchae. you tell yourself it’s just habit. the game starts and you shoot automatically, muscle memory taking over, but your focus is fractured because every time the ball leaves your hands you hear his machine next to yours, the sharp rhythm of his shots nearly synchronized with yours. you glance sideways once and catch him not looking at the hoop but at you, just for a second, before he looks away like he wasn’t. your stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with competition. beside you sunghoon murmurs lightly “focus” and you answer “i am” though your voice sounds thinner than usual. the timer buzzes and the group cheers, someone groans dramatically about losing and jay shouts “losers buy drinks, remember” while arguing that sparkling water should not count as a loss expense. you barely register the score but jake does, and you can tell by the way his mouth curves faintly when he sees his number, not smug but quietly relieved. it’s subtle yet you see the way he straightens slightly like he’s reclaimed something small and necessary, and you don’t know why that bothers you. the group moves toward the drink counter in a loud chaotic cluster arguing about who owes what, and you drift with them until the crowd presses tighter than expected. sunghoon’s hand lands lightly at your waist to move you out of the way of someone rushing past, quick and casual and nothing more, but you feel jake go still before you even look at him. when you finally glance up he’s watching, not angry and not dramatic, just attentive, his jaw tightening slightly before he looks away and says something to jungwon that you don’t catch. niki catches it though, and you see him clock the moment and smirk faintly before nudging jake with his elbow while jake mutters something under his breath and shakes his head. you tell yourself it shouldn’t matter and yet it does.
at the counter plastic cups line up in a row beside a cluster of half-empty bottles someone definitely wasn’t supposed to bring, the sharp scent of alcohol mixing with sugar in the air. eunchae points at the bright blue soda just before someone tops it off with something clear and says “that one looks illegal” while squinting at it dramatically, then takes a bold sip anyway and immediately coughs and laughs at the burn. sunoo insists on something pink purely for aesthetic reasons and carefully pours a generous splash of vodka into it while declaring it “balanced” even though it very clearly isn’t, and after taking a long sip he winces, shrugs, and keeps drinking. sunghoon leans against the counter with a dark drink in hand, swirling it lazily before taking slow confident sips that are just frequent enough to matter. niki, who claimed he wasn’t going to drink much, is already halfway through his second cup and noticeably louder than usual as he argues about nothing in particular with exaggerated seriousness. even eunchae, after insisting she only wanted “a taste“ refills her cup with far less hesitation the second time.
you reach for a cup someone has mixed, something fizzy and deceptively sweet, at the same time jake does. his other hand already holds a drink and the ice clinks softly as he shifts it. your fingers brush, barely contact but it feels like electricity amplified by the faint warmth spreading through your system from the alcohol. you both freeze for half a second as the noise around you dulls and laughter grows brighter and more chaotic in the background, and the memory of streetlights and his hand at your jaw rushes back sharper than it has any right to. he pulls his hand back first though his movements are a fraction slower than usual and says lightly “you can take it“ his tone normal, too normal, but there’s the faintest flush high on his cheeks that wasn’t there earlier. you pick up the cup slowly and reply “thanks“ then take a sip to steady yourself. it tastes stronger than you expected but you swallow anyway. lowering your voice, though sunoo is attempting karaoke in the corner loudly enough that no one would hear you anyway, you ask “are we just going to keep pretending“ your words slightly softer around the edges from the alcohol. jake takes a sip of his drink before answering as if he needs the extra second and replies “pretending what“ with less sharpness than usual. “that it didn’t happen“ you clarify while tightening your fingers slightly around your cup. you’re warm now, not just from the room but from the steady buzz settling into your limbs. he exhales slowly, the sound heavier than before, and says “we talked about this“ his gaze lingering on you a beat too long. you shake your head, the movement looser than you intended, and answer “no, you shut it down“ your words not slurred but more honest than you might have been earlier.
across the room niki bursts into loud laughter at something that absolutely isn’t that funny and nearly spills his drink as sunghoon steadies him with an amused shake of his head, though sunghoon himself is smiling more than usual with alcohol softening the sharpness of his expression. jake’s jaw tightens as he says “we’re not doing this here“ though he doesn’t step away immediately and his fingers flex slightly around his cup. “why not?“ you press, taking another sip without thinking as the sweetness now masks the burn. he glances over your shoulder at the group where eunchae is dramatically explaining something with wild hand gestures, pink-cheeked and giggling, while sunoo clings to her arm and insists the floor is ‘tilting emotionally.‘
“because this isn’t the place“ jake replies, his voice quieter and less guarded than earlier. you let out a breath that feels warmer than it should and tell him “it’s never the place with you“ and even tipsy you see it land. his composure slips just slightly. the alcohol has softened his edges and he’s not as controlled as he thinks he is. instead of stepping closer he steps back but only half a step and says “i don’t want to make it bigger than it is“ though the words lack their usual certainty. you study him with your head tilted faintly, courage fueled by the steady buzz in your veins, and ask softly “or smaller.” for a moment he doesn’t answer. the neon light above flickers across his eyes and there’s a faint flush along his neck now that definitely isn’t just from the room. he lifts his drink, takes another swallow like he’s buying time, then lowers it and admits “i don’t know“ and this time the honesty isn’t pried out of him. it just slips free. there it is again, confusion rather than denial or rejection, and it would be easier if he said it meant nothing or easier if he said it meant everything but this middle ground feels unbearable. the group calls your name from across the arcade and jay waves while yelling about a two-player shooter game, and jake glances toward them before looking back at you and saying quietly “you’re overthinking it.” you hold his gaze and reply “obviously, i have to” because you don’t kiss people impulsively and you don’t lose focus like that and you leaned into it. he swallows before adding suddenly “i don’t regret it,” which makes your heart stutter, but then he finishes with “i just don’t know what it was” and you hate that it sounds honest. you nod slowly and say “okay” though it isn’t okay, and you walk back toward the group before the silence thickens.
the next game blurs into laughter and competition, niki teasing jake about something, sunghoon standing close again, eunchae dragging you into a racing seat while you feel jake’s attention like a current under your skin every time you laugh or someone stands too near or you don’t look at him. at one point you glance up and find him already looking at you, not competitive and not sharp, just searching, and you look away first because if you don’t you might do something reckless. later when the group is distracted arguing about who lost overall and who owes drinks next time you find yourself standing slightly apart near the edge of the arcade while jake stands across the room with neon lights cutting across his profile as he laughs at something heeseung says. he looks fine and composed like nothing has changed but you know better because you felt the hesitation in his hands and heard the crack in his voice when he said he didn’t regret it and saw the way he went still when sunghoon touched your waist. you’re tired of guessing and tired of replaying one kiss and one half conversation in your head like a case study. you want data and certainty and to know whether what you felt under the streetlights was real or just adrenaline and proximity and unresolved tension. you watch him laugh again and think with a slow steady clarity that scares you more than the kiss itself that you need to know.
the arcade is louder than it was an hour ago, or maybe you are simply more aware of it now. flashing neon lights bleed across the floor in restless colors while music pulses near the rhythm machines. jay is arguing about lap times like it is a moral issue, sunoo is dramatically losing to a claw machine and blaming capitalism, and eunchae is laughing too loudly at something heeseung just said. jake is standing near the racing games with one hand resting casually on the back of a seat while nodding at whatever jungwon is explaining. he looks normal. too normal. like nothing happened under the streetlights. like nothing happened at the drink counter. like you did not just spend the last hour trying not to think about his lips. you watch him as he laughs at something, the sound easy and controlled, and then his eyes flick up and land on you. there is no smile this time, only recognition and something unsettled beneath it. you do not think. you move. you cross the arcade floor without planning your steps, the noise fading in strange patches as you walk straight toward him. he notices immediately and his posture shifts slightly as he asks lightly but alertly “what?” you stop in front of him and say “come outside.” he frowns faintly and asks “what? why?” - “just come“ you tell him, not giving him space to argue before turning toward the exit and pushing the door open into the cool night air.
a thin curtain of rain greets you immediately, droplets catching in the streetlights as they fall. he follows. the door shuts behind you and the sudden quiet feels almost shocking after the chaos inside, softened further by the steady patter of rain against pavement and rooftops. the campus is dimly lit with streetlights stretching in soft gold lines across the wet pavement, reflections rippling in shallow puddles, and the faint breeze moves through the trees carrying the distant hum of traffic beyond the gates along with the clean scent of rain. water beads along your jacket and dampens his hair within seconds. he stops a few feet from you, rain slipping from his lashes, and asks again “what’s going on?” you turn to face him, rain cooling your skin, your heart racing harder now not from nerves but from certainty. you do not know what this means. you do not know what he means. you just know you are tired of not knowing. “i have to do something“ you tell him over the soft hiss of rainfall. he narrows his eyes slightly, rain tracing down the line of his jaw, and says “that sounds ominous.” -“it’s not” you reply, blinking water from your lashes. “then what is it?” he presses as thunder rumbles faintly in the distance. you take one step closer, shoes splashing lightly against the soaked pavement, and say “for research purposes.” he stares at you through the rain and says “what?” you do not explain. you reach for him, your fingers catching the front of his rain-damp jacket as you pull him down toward you before your brain can retreat, and you kiss him.
it is deliberate. raindrops cling between you, cool against warm skin. you do not melt into it and you do not hesitate. you kiss him like you are testing a theory, your mouth pressing firmly against his while your other hand steadies at his shoulder, damp fabric beneath your palm. you’re not trying to be romantic. you’re trying to be certain. for a heartbeat he freezes, rain sliding down both your faces. then his hands move. one settles at your waist automatically, warm and grounding even through the chill of soaked clothes, while the other hovers near your side before gripping slightly as if confirming you are real. you deepen the kiss just slightly, rain falling steadily around you, not because you cannot help it but because you need to know. when you pull back first your breathing is uneven and his hands linger a second longer before dropping, droplets falling from his fingertips. the space between you feels charged despite the cold rain soaking through.
he looks at you, water glistening on his skin, and laughs quietly “well, you’re tipsy.” you blink because you did not expect him to put it back on you. ”jake, you’re literally the one with a drinking problem.” rain runs down the side of your neck as you swallow. “hm, that was different…” you admit, your voice softer beneath the rainfall. his brow lifts faintly as he asks “different how?” a drop slides from his hair down his temple. you search your own reaction. it was not panic. it was not adrenaline. it was not accidental. it felt steady. “i think i liked it” you say, the words dissolving into the rain-cooled night air between you. his expression changes, not smug and not teasing, just softer, rain catching on his lashes, and he answers without hesitation “i liked it too.” there is no deflection this time and no attempt to minimize it, just truth carried through the steady patter around you. “you did?” you ask quietly, rain dripping from your chin. “yes.” he replies, and the way he says it makes your chest tighten in a way that is not confusion anymore.
he steps forward slowly, shoes splashing in a shallow puddle, lifting his hand in a way that gives you space to pull away if you want to. you do not. his thumb brushes lightly along your rain-cooled jaw and rests there the way it did the first night, but now there is no uncertainty in his touch, only warmth against the chill. “this isn’t research” he says softly, rain sliding between your faces, before leaning in to kiss you again. this time it is not measured or experimental. it is intentional. his mouth moves against yours slowly as rain falls steadily over you both, as if he is choosing every second of it. his other hand slides around your waist to pull you closer, damp fabric clinging between you, not urgently and not possessively, just enough that the distance disappears. you feel the difference immediately. rain soaks your hair and trickles down your spine but you barely notice. this is not testing. this is wanting. your hands move to his shoulders without thinking and grip lightly, water slick beneath your fingers, as the kiss deepens, warm and undeniable despite the cold rain surrounding you.
when he pulls back his forehead rests against yours, rain tapping softly against your skin, and you are both breathing harder, mingling with the rhythm of the storm. “so…” he murmurs, voice low beneath the rainfall. “so-” you echo, rainwater slipping between your joined brows. a faint smile curves at the corner of his mouth before he says “come back with me.” your heart skips as thunder rolls faintly overhead and you ask “to your dorm?” he nods slightly, droplets falling from his chin, and replies “niki and sunghoon aren’t leaving anytime soon. they’ll stay.” he does not push. he just waits. you don’t say yes immediately, but you don’t say no either. you just look at him. the neon glow from the arcade sign flickers faintly against his rain-damp face while the campus beyond feels softer and quieter beneath the steady downpour, warmer somehow now that the noise from inside is muffled by the rain. it feels like the world has narrowed to this small patch of wet pavement and falling water. after a moment you ask “you’re sure?” and he nods once, rain dripping from his hair, before answering “yeah.” there’s something steadier in him now, less defensive and less sharp than he was earlier. you swallow, tasting rain on your lips, and finally say “okay.”
the walk to his dorm is quiet. not awkward exactly, but charged. your hands brush once by accident and neither of you comment on it. the silence between you feels thick, full of things you don’t have names for yet. when you reach his building he opens the door and gestures for you to go inside. the hallway lights are dimmer than the arcade’s chaos and everything feels calmer, more private. you’re suddenly aware of how close you’re standing to him again as he stops just inside his room. and suddenly it’s quiet. no neon. no friends. no noise to hide behind. just him. just you. for a second neither of you move and the air feels thicker here, heavier without distraction. he looks at you carefully and says softly “you didn’t really answer me.” you tilt your head slightly and ask “about what” even though you already know. he steps a fraction closer and clarifies “whether this was still research.” instead of replying you step closer, closing the remaining distance between you. that is your answer. his eyes drop to your mouth for a split second and that is all it takes. you grab his shirt this time, not careful and not analytical, and pull him down toward you. the kiss isn’t measured anymore. it’s hungry. he responds instantly like he was waiting for permission to stop holding back, his hands sliding to your waist and pulling you flush against him, not gentle and not rough, just decisive. your back hits the door softly but you don’t care. your fingers tangle into his hair and he exhales sharply against your mouth, the sound sending heat straight through you. this isn’t testing. this isn’t curiosity. this is wanting.
his mouth moves slower now, deeper and more deliberate, and one hand drifts up your side with fingertips pressing through fabric as if he is memorizing you. you tilt your head to give him better access without thinking and your pulse feels like it’s everywhere. he pulls back just enough to breathe and his lips brush yours when he says quietly “so this isn’t research?” you swallow and admit “no.” his thumb slides along your jaw and down the line of your throat, not pushing, just feeling, and the tension between you snaps fully. you kiss him again before he can think. your hands slide under the hem of his shirt and your fingertips brush warm skin, and he inhales sharply not from surprise but from the way your touch lingers. his grip on your waist tightens and there is nothing careful about it now. you don’t feel confused.
you feel heat pooling low in your stomach and spreading slowly and deliberately. he shifts and guides you backward without breaking the kiss until your legs hit the edge of his bed. he pauses there, not because he’s unsure but because he’s checking you. your eyes meet and you nod once. that’s all he needs. he kisses you again, slower and deeper, and this time there is no pretending that either of you don’t want this. when he finally pulls back you are both breathing harder and the room feels smaller and warmer. your hands are still in his shirt and his are still at your waist. neither of you step away. that’s when it hits you. not a romantic revelation and not a safety epiphany but something sharper. you want him. not as a rival. not as a variable. not as a distraction. you want him. and that realization is terrifying because wanting means losing control. he brushes his nose lightly against yours and asks again in a lower voice “you really sure?” your mouth having gone completely dry. so you gave a simple yet frantic nod. well, you tried to, because the second your head moved a mere inch, he dove in.
he was so eager that, at first, it was less of a kiss and more of him aggressively pushing his mouth onto yours. he quickly resolved this, parting his lips as to interlock with yours. already caging you against the wall, he grabbed both your wrists and held them beside your head. the action made you gasp, giving jake the opportunity to slip his tongue in. your tongue battled with his for a moment, but you put up a weak fight, as your mind was going completely blank, and let him take over. jake was moving his lips away from yours, in attempt to come up for air, when you lightly bit his bottom lip and pulled it. he moaned, seemingly forgetting the need to breathe as he went back to your lips, intensifying the kiss, and not daring to pull away again. you whimpered into the kiss, the sounds going straight to his cock. as your noises grew, jake’s erection continued to throb in an unbearable pain. he pressed his pelvis against yours, at first moving to slowly rub it up and down. the friction made you moan, weakening his self control even more. the light grinding began to grow more aggressive, more pathetic as he was now dry humping you in entirety. he moved his hands to your hips, keeping them in place as he began to absolutely rut into you. he needed you to feel him, needed you to know how unbearably hard you made him. jake moved his lips to placed open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck, sensually moving his tongue over the skin as he lightly sucked. your mind was hazy, only being able to focus on the ache in your core, and the hard bulge which was repeatedly being rubbed against you. jake whined out of breath as he got off using you, burying his face in your neck. it sounded pornographic as he whimpered in rhythm with his grinding.
he was so shamelessly needy in trying to rut into you like a dog, and it made your panties dampen even more. slowly, you grabbed one of his hands and lead it to your abdomen, sliding your hands down under the waistband of the shorts until his hand was right over your clothed mound. jake moaned at the feeling of getting to touch you over your soaking underwear. “you’re so wet“ jake said more to himself than to you. “yeah, i was just in the rain“ you teased. you were about to say something else, when you gasped from the feeling of jake’s hand going underneath your panties, keeping his hand still over your folds. “smartass“ he snickered. he looked at you, his eyes softening as he asked, “is this okay?”-“yes, jake. i need you”. he groaned, restricting himself from taking you right there. he wanted to make this last for as long as possible. “tell me where” you didn’t say anything, just pushing your hand against his into your core, trying to get his hand impossibly closer. he wanted to tease you, but decided to give in, slowly sliding his finger into your entrance. he wanted to make you beg for it, but decided he’d have that kind of fun with you later. for a second neither of you register the sudden violent vibration against the desk. your breath is uneven and the air between you is still thick and charged, his body close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your clothes. the vibration stops and for half a heartbeat the world feels suspended again. then it starts ringing. sharp. insistent. impossible to ignore. jake freezes and you do too. the sound slices through everything that was building, everything that felt dangerously close to tipping past the point of return. across the room the screen of jake’s phone lights up.
niki.
jake exhales sharply through his nose and mutters “are you fucking kidding me” under his breath while his jaw tightens. the phone keeps ringing. you shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of how close you are to the bed, to him, to what you were just doing. your pulse hasn’t slowed yet but your mind is catching up fast. reality rushes in all at once. the phone stops, then immediately starts again. jake pulls his hands back like he’s been burned and steps away from you, running a hand roughly through his hair, irritation already surfacing. “of course“ he says quietly, more to himself than to you. he grabs the phone on the third ring and answers without greeting, saying flatly “what.” on the other end niki’s voice is loud and suspicious even through the speaker as he asks “where are you?” jake closes his eyes for a second before replying “dorm.” niki repeats “dorm?” and adds “since when? we’re closing out. you still owe drinks.” jake glances at you while you fix your shirt and avoid his eyes. “since like five minutes ago“ he says tightly. there is a pause before niki hums slowly and says “you sound weird.” jake’s jaw flexes as he replies “i’m not.” niki presses “you sure? because jay says-” and jake cuts him off with “i’ll be there in a bit.” niki asks casually “alone?” and jake’s silence lasts half a second too long. you feel it. “i’ll be there.” he repeats, sharper now, before hanging up. the room falls quiet again but it is not the same quiet.
the heat is still there but now it is tangled with awareness and with the undeniable realization of what you were about to do. jake tosses the phone onto the desk a little harder than necessary and mutters “that was unnecessary.” you look at him and say “what’s up with you?” he answers immediately “nothing.” and when you raise an eyebrow he exhales and adds “he doesn’t need to know where i am every second.” silence stretches between you. your breathing has steadied but your thoughts have not. you start with “that was…” and then stop. jake looks at you and waits. you search for something safer to say and finish with “we were drunk.” the explanation hangs in the air like a lifeline. jake hesitates before saying “yeah. we were.” it is convenient. easy. a way to shrink what just happened into something temporary. you nod slowly and begin “it probably wouldn’t have-” but he cuts you off quietly with “yeah. probably not.” the words feel strange. too final. he steps back another inch and the space between you widens. you feel colder immediately. “i should go“ you say. he nods and replies “i’ll walk you.” you shake your head slightly and say “you don’t have to.” he answers simply “it’s fine.” the walk back is quieter than the one here. there is no teasing and no tension, just silence. your shoulder brushes his once and neither of you react. when you reach your dorm building you both stop automatically under the faint glow of the campus lights. “so“ you say. “so“ he echoes. neither of you mention the way his hands felt or the way you pulled him closer or the way neither of you hesitated. “goodnight“ you say. “goodnight“ he replies. you turn first and as you step inside you do not look back. jake stands there for a few seconds after the door closes, then drags a hand slowly down his face and mutters to himself “we were drunk.” but he remembers everything. every second. you both do. and that is the problem.
you don’t fall asleep so much as drift in and out of consciousness, and every time you close your eyes the same images replay in precise merciless detail. you see the arcade door shutting behind you, the campus lights looking softer than usual, and the way his hand slid to your waist without hesitation. sometime around three in the morning a single thought settles heavily in your chest: you weren’t that drunk. you turn onto your side and pull the blanket higher even though you’re not cold. you replay it again, slower this time, dissecting it the way you would a problem set. you kissed him first. not impulsively and not by accident. you grabbed his jacket and pulled him down. you said it was for research. you deepened it. you went back with him. you said yes. you remember the exact tone of your own voice when you said it. steady. certain. that certainty unsettles you the most. your phone lights up on the nightstand and the glow cuts through the dark. you roll over to check it, your pulse quickening in spite of yourself, only to see the group chat lighting up the screen. jay is complaining about sunoo stealing his hoodie. niki sends a blurry photo of jungwon asleep on the bus ride back. eunchae is spamming emojis. there is no private notification. you stare at the screen longer than necessary. he hasn’t texted. you don’t know if you feel relieved or disappointed. you flip the phone face down and tell yourself you don’t care. but fuck, you absolutely do.
morning feels too bright. you sit at your desk with your laptop open and a document you haven’t actually read in ten minutes, your eyes skimming the same paragraph while your mind loops something entirely different. you hear his voice in your head asking “you sure?” and you remember that you hadn’t hesitated. you lean back in your chair and press your fingers to your temples. that is the second realization. if you had felt unsure you would have stopped it. if you had regretted it you would have pulled away. you didn’t. a knock hits your door and doesn’t wait for permission before eunchae walks in like she owns the space. she takes one look at your face and narrows her eyes before saying “you look like you either committed a crime or didn’t sleep.” without looking at her you reply “both are dramatic assumptions.” she closes the door and crosses her arms. “you left early“ she says. you answer “so did jake“ and her eyebrows rise slowly. “oh“ she says, then repeats more softly as she steps closer “oh- why did you leave with jake?” -“we didn’t leave together“ you say, keeping your gaze on your laptop. she tilts her head and asks “did you go somewhere after?” silence answers for you. eunchae gasps loudly and exclaims “oh my god.” you wince and say quickly “it’s not a big deal.” she points at you and says “that is exactly what someone says before it’s absolutely a big deal.” you close your laptop and explain “we were drunk.” she studies you and asks carefully “were you though?” you hesitate half a second too long and her eyes widen. “you weren’t.” she says, sounding almost impressed. you look away and admit quietly “no.” she drops onto your bed dramatically and asks “did you hook up?” you answer “kinda, i mean we were about to but niki called him.” she presses a pillow over her face and muffles a scream while you fight a small reluctant smile. lowering the pillow she demands “did you like it.” you hesitate and try to analyze your reaction like it is a statistic. it wasn’t awkward and it wasn’t forced and it wasn’t fueled by blurred judgment. it felt deliberate. “yes“ you say finally. eunchae drops the pillow and repeats “you liked it.” you respond “i said yes.” she studies you and asks “do you regret it?”
that question makes you pause longer. you replay not the intensity but the quieter parts, the way he paused to look at you, the way he asked if you were sure, the way he didn’t push. you shake your head and answer “not really” that part is clear. you don’t regret it. you just don’t understand it. eunchae softens and asks “then what’s the problem.” you lean back in your chair and say slowly “the problem is that i don’t know what it means.” she shrugs lightly and says “maybe it doesn’t have to mean anything.” you look at her sharply and say “that’s worse.” she blinks and asks “why?” you answer “because if it means nothing then it was just convenient.” you hate how that word feels in your mouth. “did it feel convenient?” eunchae asks. you think about the way your pulse spiked when he looked at you, the way your body reacted before your mind caught up, the way you didn’t want to stop. “no“ you admit. she leans forward and says “then it wasn’t.” you stare at your desk and add quietly “but he said we were drunk.” she points out “and you didn’t?” you press your lips together because you did. you let that explanation settle because it was easier than dissecting the alternative. you think about the way you stepped back first, the way you said you should go, the way you didn’t text. “i don’t know“ you admit, and that is the honest answer. you don’t know what he is thinking and that is what unsettles you.
the rest of the morning drifts by in a strange half focus. you answer messages and attend class and contribute to discussions. you don’t see him anywhere, not in the hallway and not across campus. the absence feels louder than his presence would have. you catch yourself glancing at your phone twice during lecture. there is nothing. no text. you don’t send one either. you tell yourself you are giving him space and being rational, but the truth is simpler. you don’t want to be the first one to act like it mattered. because what if he didn’t think it did. that thought lingers uncomfortably. you don’t regret it, but you don’t know if he does, and for the first time since the kiss that uncertainty bothers you more than the heat of it ever did.
jake didn’t sleep either. he lays on his back staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head like he could physically hold his thoughts in place. every time he closed his eyes he saw flashes of it, the wall, your hands gripping his shirt, his hands in your shorts, the way you said yes without blinking. he wasn’t that drunk, and that is the part that annoys him most. if he had been, this would be easier. across the room niki shifts in his bed and groans into his pillow before muttering thickly with sleep “you left early.” jake doesn’t answer. sunghoon rolls onto his side and squints at him before adding “you didn’t answer his calls either.” jake finally exhales and says “i was busy.” niki lifts his head slowly and repeats suspiciously “busy. at the dorm.” jake grabs his hoodie off the chair and answers “yeah.” niki immediately asks “with who” and jake shoots him a warning look as he says “don’t.” niki sits up fully with a grin spreading across his face and exclaims “oh my god.” sunghoon rubs his face, awake enough now to be entertained, and says matter-of-factly “you went back with her?” it’s not really question. jake pulls the hoodie over his head and replies “yeah.” niki leans forward eagerly and asks “and..?” jake shrugs and says “nothing.” niki stares at him like he just insulted his intelligence and repeats “nothing?” jake repeats firmly “nothing.” sunghoon studies him for a second before asking calmly “then why do you look like that.” jake frowns and asks “like what.” niki answers helpfully “like someone unplugged you mid-download.” jake throws a pillow at him and niki catches it, laughing as he asks “so what happened.” jake runs a hand through his hair and walks toward the sink, deliberately avoiding eye contact, and says “we talked.” niki gasps dramatically and repeats “you talked.” sunghoon adds dryly “shocking.” jake splashes water on his face and says “we were drunk.” there is a brief pause before niki replies slowly “you weren’t that drunk.” jake freezes for half a second before continuing to dry his face and mutters “you don’t know that.” niki immediately counters “i do. you were calculating claw machine angles. that’s not drunk behavior.” sunghoon snorts quietly at that. jake throws the towel back onto the counter and says “it doesn’t matter.” niki leans forward and asks directly “did you kiss her?” jake doesn’t answer and niki’s eyes widen as he says “you did.” sunghoon raises an eyebrow and asks “oh- even more than that” jake exhales sharply and says “why are you like this.” niki replies cheerfully “because you’re being vague.”
sunghoon tilts his head slightly and asks “did you want to leave?” jake’s jaw tightens and he says “we got interrupted.” niki blinks and asks “by who.” jake shoots him a look and niki’s mouth drops open as he says “me?” sunghoon stares at niki for a full second before saying flatly “number one cockblocker.” niki gasps in outrage and protests “i did not know” jake groans and rubs his forehead as he says “can we not.” niki points at him and says “i interrupted something.” jake snaps back “you didn’t interrupt anything.” niki immediately counters “then why are you annoyed at me?” jake opens his mouth and then closes it again. sunghoon watches him carefully and asks “did you want it to stop?” the room grows quieter. jake doesn’t look at either of them and instead stares at the floor before finally answering “obviously not.” niki leans back slowly and says “damn.” sunghoon’s expression shifts, no longer teasing but observant, as he responds “okay.” jake runs a hand through his hair again and says in frustration “it’s not a thing.” niki says evenly “you say that like you’re trying to convince yourself.” jake glares at him and says “she just left.” sunghoon’s eyes sharpen slightly as he asks “left how.” jake replies more flatly now “she said we were drunk. and then she left.” niki tilts his head and prompts “and..?” jake answers “and that’s it.” silence settles for a moment. sunghoon leans back against the wall and suggests lightly “maybe she just didn’t want it to be awkward.” jake shrugs and says “or maybe she regretted it.” the admission is quiet and not dramatic. niki’s grin fades slightly as he asks “did she look like she regretted it.” jake thinks about it. you didn’t look unsure and you didn’t look nervous, but you stepped back first and said you should go and you didn’t text. “i don’t know“ he admits. sunghoon studies him and says “you’re overthinking.” jake huffs and replies “you think so?” niki smirks and says “you are.” jake grabs his phone off the desk and sees no notifications from you. he doesn’t open your chat and he doesn’t type anything. he locks the screen and tosses it back down before saying again “it doesn’t matter.” niki exchanges a look with sunghoon and sunghoon says lightly “sure.” jake pushes past them toward the door and says “i’m going to class.” as he leaves, niki mutters just loud enough “aannddd he’s gone.” sunghoon replies calmly “finally.”
for the next days you didn’t really plan on avoiding him, and that’s the problem. if it were intentional it would feel strategic, controlled, rational. instead it just happens. you take a slightly different path across campus in the morning without consciously deciding to. you slow down near the library steps longer than necessary. you pretend to check your phone when you normally wouldn’t. you tell yourself it’s coincidence. it isn’t. by the time you reach the lecture hall your pulse is higher than it should be for an eight a.m. class. he’s already there. of course he is. jake is sitting two rows down from his usual seat with his laptop open, posture relaxed in a way that looks effortless but isn’t. he’s talking to jay about something academic and nodding along with a neutral expression. he doesn’t look up when you enter. you don’t look at him either. you choose a seat on the opposite side of the room. it’s not dramatic and it’s not obvious. there are plenty of seats. no one would think twice about it. except you know. you always sit closer. the room fills slowly with low conversation and the shuffle of backpacks. eunchae slides into the seat beside you and immediately glances across the room before leaning toward you to whisper “he’s here.” you murmur back “i can see that.” she studies your face and asks quietly “are we pretending.” you answer simply “yes.” she nods once and says “cool.” you open your laptop and force your attention to the screen while the cursor blinks in the corner of a document you aren’t reading. you feel his gaze before you see it. it lands briefly, just long enough to confirm you’re here. you don’t look up. you know if you do it will turn into something. on the other side of the room jake closes his laptop halfway and leans back in his chair. he didn’t expect you to sit that far away. he tells himself it doesn’t matter. there are empty seats between you. it’s normal. it’s fine. he avoids looking at you for a full minute. then he does. you aren’t looking at him. you’re leaning slightly toward eunchae, saying something quiet with a thoughtful expression. you look normal. not flustered. not tense. just normal. his jaw tightens faintly. maybe you are fine.
the professor walks in and the room settles. the lecture begins. you take notes and when you ask a question midway through your voice is steady and analytical as always. the professor nods approvingly. jake listens. you don’t stumble and you don’t hesitate and you don’t even glance in his direction. later he answers a question, tone confident and sharp. you don’t look at him then either. now it feels intentional. halfway through class the professor announces a short paired discussion exercise and says “turn to someone near you.” you freeze. there are several people around you. none of them are him. jake glances sideways automatically. and you turn to eunchae without looking across the room. he then does the same. the discussion lasts maybe ten minutes but it feels longer. you can hear his voice from across the room, calm and controlled and articulate. it sounds exactly like it always has. that unsettles you. you thought something would feel different. but externally nothing has changed. internally your pulse spikes every time you hear him laugh at something someone says. you wonder if he’s thinking about it. you wonder if he’s relieved. you wonder if he regrets it. when the professor calls the room back to order you don’t look at him once. as soon as class ends you close your laptop quickly and slide it into your bag before the room fully dissolves into movement. eunchae stands slowly and watches you with thinly veiled curiosity before asking quietly, “you’re not even going to look.” you reply, “there’s nothing to look at.”
across the room jake packs his things more slowly than usual and watches you stand. you don’t glance over. you just walk toward the exit with eunchae beside you. he stays seated for a few extra seconds until sunghoon nudges his shoulder and says “you’re staring.” jake replies immediately “i’m not.” sunghoon answers calmly “you are.” jake grabs his bag and mutters “she seems fine.” jake walks out of the lecture hall a few steps behind you, not close enough to look intentional but close enough to notice. you’re laughing at something eunchae says and you look completely unbothered. his chest tightens faintly. he doesn’t know what he expected. maybe a glance. maybe a pause. maybe some sign. you don’t give him one. at the doors you push them open and step into the hallway without slowing. for half a second your shoulders almost brush. almost. you shift slightly to the right and he shifts slightly to the left. it’s subtle but deliberate. the distance between you feels louder than any argument would have. neither of you speak. neither of you stop. you walk in opposite directions.
the hallway spills out into the central quad and the quad is alive with noise. music thumps from somewhere near the fountain. student clubs line the grass with folding tables and banners. someone is handing out free iced coffee while someone else shouts about exchange programs. eunchae tugs at your sleeve and says “oh wait, this is today.” you glance around and ask “the campus fair?” she nods and replies “yeah. we forgot.” you scan the crowd and quickly spot the rest of the group gathered near one of the booths. jay is mid-argument about something academic. sunoo is holding two drinks he clearly did not pay for. kazuha and sakura are reading flyers like they are evaluating them professionally. heeseung stands near them and looks up with an easy smile when he sees you. “hey“ he says. you step into the the group “hi“ and the noise forces everyone to stand a little closer than usual because it is crowded and people brush past constantly. heeseung leans slightly toward you and asks “did you understand that last example in lecture?” you reply “yeah. it was just misapplied.” he nods and says “that’s what i thought.” someone squeezes past abruptly behind you and heeseung’s hand lands lightly at your waist to steady you so you do not stumble forward. it is automatic and his hand drops almost immediately. you barely register it because you are used to physical proximity in crowded spaces. across the quad jake does register it. he did not mean to look. he just heard your laugh and that is what pulled his attention. you look normal and relaxed and you are talking easily. then he sees heeseung’s hand at your waist. it is nothing. just a reflex. just balance. but jake’s shoulders go rigid for a second. he tells himself it is nothing because it is. heeseung is not leaning in and he is not flirting and he is not hovering. he is just there. you laugh at something jay says and heeseung leans closer to say something near your ear so you can hear him over the music. jake’s jaw tightens before he even realizes it has. “stop“ niki says quietly beside him. jake glances at him and asks “what.” niki tilts his head and says “you’re doing that thing.” jake replies “i’m not doing anything.” niki gives him a look and says “you are.”
jake looks back at the group just as someone bumps into you again from the side and heeseung’s hand briefly rests at your waist to guide you a step forward so you are not shoved into the table. and jake inhales slowly through his nose. sunghoon steps up on his other side and says quietly “okay, you’re overthinking.” jake replies “i’m not.” sunghoon answers calmly “you are.” jake runs a hand through his hair, eyes still fixed on the group, and mutters “he keeps touching her.” sunghoon looks over. heeseung’s hand has already dropped. “he’s steadying her“ sunghoon says evenly. “it’s crowded.” jake does not respond because he knows that. he knows it is crowded and harmless and that heeseung is not doing anything wrong. that does not stop the tight feeling in his chest. niki studies his expression and says “you didn’t care about physical stuff like that before.” jake exhales sharply and replies “i still don’t care.” sunghoon looks at him for a long second and says “you do.” jake’s jaw sets. across the quad you glance up instinctively and for a second your eyes meet his. he looks away first, not dramatically but slightly too fast. your stomach tightens and you turn back to the group, though your awareness has shifted. you feel him watching. the conversation moves on and someone suggests grabbing food from one of the trucks. the group begins breaking into smaller clusters. heeseung walks ahead with jay and jungwon while you hang back for a second. jake does not approach you and he does not insert himself. he simply stands where he is. that almost makes it worse. niki nudges him lightly and asks “you going to stand there all day.” jake shrugs and says “it’s fine.” sunghoon folds his arms and comments “you’re acting like she’s going to disappear.” jake answers more sharply than he means to “i’m not.” sunghoon studies him quietly and says “what’s up with you? you didn’t react like this before.” jake swallows. before what. before the kiss. before the dorm. before the interruption. before you stepped back. he looks at you again. you are smiling at something sunoo just said and you look completely unaware of the way he is dissecting every movement. he feels stupid because heeseung did not do anything and you did not do anything and this reaction feels disproportionate. niki leans closer and says quietly “you think she regretted it.” jake’s head snaps toward him and he says “i didn’t say that.” niki replies “but you do.” you really do look normal, maybe too normal. “i don’t know, she seems fine to me” he adds. sunghoon nods slightly and replies “maybe she is.” that lands wrong. jake exhales slowly while the fair continues around them with music swelling and people laughing and the group shifting further toward the food trucks. he does not move immediately. he stands there for a second longer than necessary, watching you and trying to convince himself he does not care.
niki watches him for another second before saying “okay, this is stupid” and then starts walking toward the group. sunghoon follows without comment. jake stands still for half a second longer before he follows too. he is not rushed and not tense. he is simply composed. by the time they reach the rest of you his expression is neutral again, polished. jay is mid-story about something absurd that happened in lab and gesturing wildly. sunoo is holding two drinks and insisting he did not steal them while kazuha quietly points out that he absolutely did. you glance up when jake steps into the circle. your eyes meet for a second. he does not smile. he just nods once in a casual controlled way. you nod back just as casually. he stands slightly to the side of the group, not next to you and not far either. heeseung says something to jungwon and laughs easily. it is normal. there is no visible tension. jake does not react. he listens and waits for an opening in the conversation. when one appears he takes it. “so“ he says lightly while looking at jay “did you even finish the data corrections or were you too busy flirting with the ta.” jay scoffs and says “i finished.” jake tilts his head slightly and replies “did you? because your logic in the second section didn’t track.” the shift is subtle but you feel it immediately. that tone. sharper. competitive. jay rolls his eyes and says “you’re impossible.” jake shrugs and replies “just saying.” then he looks at you briefly and adds “you caught that too, right.” there it is. not aggressive and not accusatory but pointed. you blink once before answering evenly “yes. it was a bit inconsistent.” jay throws his hands up and says “traitors.” the group laughs and jake’s mouth curves faintly. he is back on familiar ground now. competence. precision. control. you watch him carefully. he is acting normal but there is a tightness around his shoulders. he does not look at you longer than necessary and he does not brush your arm accidentally. he does not stand close. he keeps a slight distance like he is recalibrating. sunghoon notices. niki definitely notices. the conversation drifts to the upcoming research panel and heeseung mentions it casually. “you should both sign up,“ he says while looking between you and jake. “you’d probably destroy it.” jake’s smile tightens slightly before he replies “we’ll see.” you glance at him but he does not meet your eyes. instead he says “it’s competitive.” you answer before you can stop yourself “you like competitive.” he looks at you then for a beat too long and says quietly “yeah. i do.” something in the way he says it makes your stomach tighten. the group starts moving toward the food trucks.
jake walks ahead this time, not next to you and not waiting. he falls into step with jay and jungwon instead, talking and analyzing and debating something minor like it matters. he looks fine. that is what it looks like. fine. you slow slightly without meaning to and eunchae notices immediately. she leans closer and says “he’s doing the thing.” you ask “what thing?” she answers “the ‘i don’t care’ thing.” you swallow. he really does look like he does not care. like last night did not shift anything. like you imagined the tension. across the quad jake keeps talking but his focus is not fully on the conversation. he is aware of where you are. he is aware that you are not beside him. he is aware that you did not try to close the distance. a thought settles more firmly in his mind: she did not actually want me. if you had, you would not be acting this normal. you would not be this unaffected. so he does what he always does when something feels unstable. he sharpens. he becomes precise. he picks apart jay’s argument and corrects jungwon’s phrasing and debates minor details with unnecessary intensity. control feels safer. control feels familiar. control does not leave. niki drifts up beside him and says quietly “you’re overcompensating.” jake exhales slowly and says “it’s not a thing.” niki studies him and asks “then why are you acting like it was.” jake does not answer because he does not have one. sunghoon watches him for another second before saying evenly “just don’t be weird.” jake replies automatically “i’m not being weird.” niki, sounding almost bored now, says again “you are.” jake doesn’t argue this time. he just looks away with his jaw set and starts walking toward the library. the rest of you drift in that direction too. someone mentions reviewing notes before the research panel deadline. someone else complains about being tired.
somehow everyone still ends up in the same study room an hour later. you take your usual seat near the center of the table. jake does not sit beside you. he chooses the chair directly across instead. laptops open. papers spread. the low hum of academic focus settles in. jay is mid-rant about formatting guidelines. sunoo is pretending to understand citations. kazuha is quietly correcting something on jungwon’s screen. you start first. “if we adjust the threshold earlier in the model” you say while angling your laptop slightly so the others can see “the margin stabilizes without needing a secondary correction.” jay leans in and says “that’s cleaner.” kazuha nods once and adds “it reads stronger.” jake looks at the screen and does not speak for a second. then he says calmly and evenly “that doesn’t work.” you blink and reply “it does.” he tilts his head slightly and says “only if the secondary variable is already aligned.” you answer “it is.” he holds your gaze and says “you didn’t show that.” there is no teasing in his voice and no smirk and no warmth. just correction. you sit up straighter and say “it’s implied.” jake continues to hold your gaze and replies “implied isn’t enough.” the room shifts almost imperceptibly. jay glances between you. sunoo goes very quiet. you feel the difference. this is not your usual academic sparring. this does not feel playful. “i can clarify it” you say evenly. jake nods once and responds “yeah, you should.” it is not loud and not aggressive but it lands harder than it should. you add the clarification without looking at him. across the table he does not look away. niki leans back slowly and watches jake with narrowed eyes. sunghoon finally says in a casual but pointed tone “enough, jake.” jake shrugs and replies “it’s for the panel.” but niki answers “come on man, it was fine.” it was not about the panel. it was about control and precision and something that happened against a dorm wall that he cannot categorize. you close your laptop a little too sharply and say “i’ll adjust the whole section later.” kazuha adds gently “you don’t have to rewrite it.” you reply “i want to.” jake’s fingers pause over his keyboard for half a second. he did not mean to push it that far. he just wanted something he cannot quite define. the room settles into a strained quiet until jay eventually breaks it by asking sunoo about something irrelevant. conversation resumes but softer and thinner. you keep your eyes on your screen for the rest of the time you’re there.
the days after that study session pass quietly. not dramatically. just… thinner. you don’t see him much, or maybe you do, but only in passing-across lecture halls, at the edge of the quad, through the reflection of library windows. you don’t sit next to him anymore. he doesn’t sit next to you either. no one comments on it, but everyone notices. the group chat stays active with memes, complaints, and scheduling. he replies normally, and so do you. you don’t text him privately. he doesn’t text you either. and that silence sits heavier than it should. you tell yourself it’s fine. you tell yourself it’s easier this way. you tell yourself you don’t miss the way he used to argue with you like it was a sport. you absolutely do. today, though, you don’t have the option of avoidance. you have to meet him. the project deadline is close enough that pretending doesn’t work anymore. you stare at the calendar reminder for a second longer than necessary before grabbing your bag. you don’t want to go, not because you’re scared, but because you don’t know which version of him you’re getting- the competitive one, the sharp one, the quiet one, or the one who was ready to fuck you like it wasn’t theory anymore.
he’s already in the study room when you walk in. of course he is. laptop open, notes spread neatly, posture straight-controlled. he looks up when the door clicks shut, and your eyes meet for half a second before he nods and says, “hey.” you answer, “hi“ and take the seat across from him, not beside but across. the distance feels intentional even though neither of you comments on it. silence stretches while you open your laptop until he breaks it by saying evenly, “i reworked the introduction. it was too repetitive.” you nod and reply, “okay.” he turns his screen slightly so you can see, and you lean forward just enough to read it. it’s good-precise, structured, cold. “it’s cleaner“ you say, and he nods once and replies, “yeah.” that’s it. no teasing, no smug comment, no competitive spark-just agreement. you scroll through your section and say, “i clarified the model alignment.” he responds, “i saw.” you glance up and find he’s already looking at you, so you look back down as he adds, “good.” something about the word feels smaller than it should. you both work in silence for a few minutes, the clicking of keyboards louder than usual. at some point, you say, “we should probably tighten the transition here“ and he doesn’t argue but just nods and says, “yeah.” you blink, almost missing the way he used to challenge everything you said, almost missing the way you’d argue back without hesitation. now everything feels careful, measured, like you’re both avoiding stepping on something fragile.
he scrolls through your section again, slower this time, then says, “this part could be stronger.” it’s not sharp, but it’s still a correction. you straighten slightly and ask, “how?” he replies, “it reads safe. you’re usually more direct.” that lands. you look at him properly for the first time since you walked in and ask, “what does that mean?” he shrugs lightly and says, “it just feels… restrained.” you hold his gaze and reply quietly, “you’ve been restrained too.” the words sit between you, and he looks away first this time. “i’m just focused” he says. “so am i” you answer. silence settles again, thicker now. he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. you notice the tension there, and he notices you noticing, so you look down at your screen again. across the table, something shifts in him. you’re not fighting him. you’re not pushing back. you’re not smiling sarcastically. you’re just calm, detached. you’re fine. you’re fine. she‘s fine. you don’t care. you don’t want-no. he swallows and looks at his screen again before saying, “let’s just finish this section.” you nod, and you both work for another ten minutes without speaking. when you finally close your laptop, it’s almost abrupt. “i have to go“ you say. he looks up quickly and responds, “oh.” it’s small, but it’s there. “we’re almost done…” he adds. “i know“ you reply as you stand. you hesitate for half a second. he could say something. he doesn’t. “see you“ you say. “yeah“ he answers. you walk out, and the door clicks shut behind you. he stays seated, staring at the empty chair across from him. it wasn’t better. it wasn’t worse. it was just… distant. he leans back slowly. you’re fine. you’re fine without me. we‘re both fine. you don’t care. i don’t want- no. that’s not it. but he doesn’t know what it is. you don’t either.
the hallway outside the study room feels colder than it should. you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder and walk faster than necessary, like distance will make something settle. you replay the entire hour in your head: the way he didn’t argue, the way he did argue, the way he called you restrained, the way he wouldn’t look at you for too long. it wasn’t hostile. it wasn’t warm either. it was careful. and careful feels wrong. so wrong for some reason. you step outside into the evening air and spot sunoo sitting on the low stone wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone with dramatic concentration. he looks up when he hears your footsteps and says, “you look like you just finished a breakup.” you stop and reply, “that’s aggressive.” he shrugs and says, “but you do“ you hesitate before walking over and sitting beside him. “how was it?” he asks casually. “productive,..” you reply automatically. he gives you a look, and you correct yourself by saying, “awkward.”- “ah” he responds. you stare straight ahead at the quad, watching people cross between buildings in the soft evening light. “he’s being weird“ you say finally. sunoo tilts his head and asks, “weird how?”- “different“ you answer. “too controlled. or too distant. or both.” sunoo hums thoughtfully and says, “he’s been quiet.” you glance at him and ask, “with everyone?” - “not exactly“ he replies. “just… sharper. like he’s trying too hard not to be.” you frown slightly because that makes uncomfortable sense. “he keeps correcting me“ you admit. “that’s not new“ sunoo says. “no,“ you reply, shaking your head slightly. “it is. it’s not the same.” sunoo studies you more carefully now and asks, “did something happen?” you look away. you could lie. you don’t. “we kinda kissed“ you say quietly. sunoo’s entire posture straightens as he says, “you what.” - “it wasn’t planned“ you explain. “when?” he presses. “after the arcade.” his mouth opens slightly as he asks, “and?” - “and nothing“ you say too quickly. he narrows his eyes and says, “that’s not how that works.” - “we were really drunk“ you reply. “were you?” he asks. you pause. sunoo’s expression softens immediately as he says, “oh.” you exhale slowly and explain, “he said we were drunk. i agreed. and then he’s just… been like this.”- “like what?” sunoo asks. “like it didn’t matter“ you answer. sunoo considers that before saying, “he doesn’t look like it didn’t matter.” you blink and ask, “what does that mean?” - “he looks like he’s overthinking“ sunoo replies. “not indifferent.” you look down at your hands. “he feels distant“ you say quietly. sunoo nudges your shoulder lightly and says, “maybe he’s confused.”- “great, so am i” you admit. that hangs there. you replay the way jake looked at you tonight across the table, the way he paused when you stood up, the way he said, “oh.” it wasn’t nothing. but it wasn’t enough either. “i don’t know what he wants” you admit. sunoo smiles faintly and says, “that makes two of you.” you let out a small breath that almost feels like a laugh. the quad lights flicker on one by one as the sun lowers. you don’t feel angry. you feel unsettled. because something shifted.
the days after that study session don’t explode. they settle, which is somehow worse. you don’t fight. you don’t flirt. you don’t fix anything. you just exist in the same spaces slightly apart. in lectures, he sits two seats away now. not directly across. not beside. just… offset, like neither of you are claiming anything. you catch him looking at you once in the reflection of the classroom window. he looks away before you can be sure. you stop checking after that. it’s easier. you tell yourself that. this morning feels heavier than usual. the sky is dull and overcast, the air cool enough that you pull your sleeves over your hands as you walk toward the building. the reminder about today’s discussion still lingers in the back of your mind. the professor mentioned it last week: cold-calling, open floor analysis. jake thrives in those settings. he always has. you don’t know why that thought tightens something in your chest. when you step into the lecture hall, he’s already there. that focused, controlled stillness he wears like armor. he looks up when you enter, just briefly. his eyes pause on you half a second longer than neutral, then he looks back down. you sit three seats to the side this time. not too far. not close. just enough to keep things unspoken. the room fills gradually. sunoo slides into the seat behind you and whispers, “you look stressed.”- “i’m not“ you reply. he mutters, “you say that like you’re auditioning for something“ clearly mocking jake’s tone. you can’t really laugh at that. across the aisle, jake closes his laptop for a second and rolls his shoulders back, like he’s bracing for something. you notice the movement. you shouldn’t. but you do. he looks tired. not visibly. not dramatically. just… tight.
the professor walks in exactly on time, placing her bag on the desk with the kind of calm precision that signals today will not be passive. she scans the room and says, “i hope you reviewed the reading. we’re doing discussion differently today.” a ripple of quiet moves through the hall. she writes a question on the board. it’s layered, the kind of question that invites complexity but punishes overcomplication. you read it once. twice. your brain starts mapping an answer. before anyone else speaks, jake does. his voice is steady. confident. “it hinges on structural misalignment within the model’s assumptions“ he begins, leaning back slightly in his chair like this is familiar territory. you don’t look at him immediately. you focus on the board. but you hear the shift in his tone. measured. calculated. he’s in control. he continues, dissecting the framework piece by piece. it’s articulate. logical. thorough. maybe too thorough. the professor tilts her head slightly. you notice that too. he keeps going, layering complexity on top of complexity, pulling threads from earlier readings and weaving them into something ambitious. the room is quiet. listening. he finishes with, “so the instability isn’t accidental. it’s embedded.” silence lingers for a second. the professor nods slowly and says, “that’s an interesting angle, but that’s not what i asked.” the words land softly but clearly. you look up now. jake’s expression doesn’t change immediately. “i understood the question“ he replies calmly. his tone is still composed, but there’s something under it. thin. tight. the professor’s gaze sharpens just slightly as she says, “then answer it.” the room goes still. you feel your pulse pick up. he adjusts in his seat and says, “i did.”- “no,“ she replies evenly. “you reframed it.” that’s when you see it. the smallest crack. his jaw tightens. he inhales. across the aisle, sunoo goes very quiet. you look at jake fully now. not because you want to. because you feel it happening. he straightens slightly, leaning forward this time, and says, “the reframing is necessary. the premise is flawed without it.” the professor folds her arms lightly and replies, “you’re avoiding the constraint.” the air shifts. this isn’t playful debate. this is precision meeting resistance. jake doesn’t back down. “you can’t isolate the variable without addressing-”- “that’s not what i asked“ she repeats. silence. the kind that presses against your ears.
you watch him calculate. you see him choosing. he could pivot. he doesn’t. “then the question is incomplete“ he says. a few people glance at each other. it’s subtle. but it’s there. the professor’s expression doesn’t change, but her voice lowers slightly as she says, “or you are.” that lands. the room holds its breath. you feel something twist in your chest. he doesn’t look at you. he stares at the front of the room, posture rigid now. and for the first time in a long time, he looks… cornered. he opens his mouth to answer again. and you know, before he says anything, that this is where control starts slipping. the room is still. you can hear the faint hum of the projector above the board. you can feel everyone waiting. he leans forward slightly, his voice sharper now as he says, “the constraint ignores structural dependency. if you isolate it without reframing-”- “that wasn’t the task“ the professor interrupts. it’s not harsh. it’s worse than harsh. it’s calm. and final. a flicker passes over his face, too quick for most people to catch. you catch it. he shifts in his chair. you can see the choice happening, pivot or push. he pushes. “the dependency matters“ he insists. “you can’t evaluate the output without-” - “you’re overcomplicating it“ she says evenly. “just answer the question.” silence presses down again, heavier this time. you don’t look at him, but you feel him unraveling. he exhales through his nose, barely audible, his fingers tapping once against the edge of his desk. he answers again, shorter this time, more direct, but it’s off, just slightly, not disastrous but not right. the professor pauses, then says, “that’s incorrect.” the words settle into the room like dust. no one moves. you don’t either. your eyes stay on your notebook, but your focus is gone. you know that tone. you know what that means. it’s not humiliation. it’s precision correction. but for him, it’s exposure. he doesn’t respond immediately. he just sits there, still, then evenly says, “i don’t think it is.” it’s quiet, but defensive now. the professor tilts her head and replies, “it is, jake. it’s wrong.” there’s no anger in her voice, just certainty. a few people glance toward him. no one says anything. he doesn’t look at you, not once, and that makes something twist tighter in your chest because you know he feels it. he hates being wrong publicly. he hates losing footing. he hates slipping. you tell yourself to stay out of it. he doesn’t need you. he won’t want you. he’ll think you’re- no, you can‘t.
you hesitate.
your fingers press against the edge of your desk. the pause stretches too long. he inhales again, sharper this time. “i see what you’re saying“ he says finally, though his tone makes it clear he doesn’t. “but that interpretation assumes-” - “it doesn’t,“ she replies calmly. “it assumes clarity.” the word clarity lingers. you look up now, really look at him. his jaw is set. his shoulders tight. he’s not going to pivot. he’s going to dig. and if he digs, this turns into something else. you shouldn’t step in. you know that. he’ll hate it. he’ll feel exposed.
you hesitate again.
one second. two. the silence becomes unbearable, and then you say, steady and careful, “i think what he’s pointing toward is the instability in the output curve.” your voice cuts through the room softly, not loud, not abrupt, just enough. you don’t look at him when you continue. “if you isolate the variable without reframing the dependency, the margin collapses. but if you assume the constraint holds, then the output stabilizes.” you keep your tone neutral, clinical. you don’t frame it as correction. you frame it as translation. the professor turns toward you and asks, “and does the constraint hold?”- “yes,“ you reply evenly. “because the instability he’s describing only appears under secondary alignment failure, which wasn’t part of the original condition.” silence again, but this time it’s different. the professor nods once and says, “exactly.” the word lands cleanly. the room exhales. you don’t. you keep your eyes on the front of the room. you don’t look at him. you don’t need to. you can feel it. across the aisle, he doesn’t move, not immediately. then you hear it, the faint scrape of his pen against the desk, controlled, measured.
the professor moves on. discussion resumes. other students speak. the tension diffuses, but not for you and not for him, because you know what just happened. you stepped in. you reframed. you fixed it. you gave him an out. and he didn’t look at you. he still doesn’t. he writes something down too hard. the pen scratches louder than it should. you focus on your notes, but you feel the air shift between you. you saw that. you hesitated. you stepped in anyway. he didn’t need any help. no. he swallows. he keeps his eyes on the board. i’m fine. you don’t care. you didn’t want to- no. that’s not it. the professor calls on someone else. the room moves forward. but something in him has already slipped. discussion moves forward. other students offer comments. the tension in the room thins slightly, though it never fully disappears. you keep your focus forward. you don’t look at him. you don’t need to. you can feel him recalibrating, writing too hard, too straight, too still. a few minutes later, the professor circles back. “as y/n pointed out“ she says, glancing in your direction, “the instability only manifests under secondary misalignment. that’s why isolating the variable works within the original constraint.” the word she hangs in the air longer than necessary. a couple students nod. jay murmurs something like, “that makes sense.” and that’s it. but for jake, it’s the second hit. you don’t move. you don’t react. but across the aisle, something in him shifts. he straightens slightly in his chair, too abruptly. the professor continues, “which is also why reframing the premise isn’t required in this case.” reframing. his word. his word used to dismiss the necessity of his answer. you feel it before you hear it, the change in his breathing. then his voice cuts in. “that depends on how rigidly you interpret the premise.” it’s controlled, but thinner now. the professor pauses. “it depends on the question“ she replies. “the question was incomplete“ he says. there it is. not loud. not explosive. just sharper than it needs to be. a few heads turn. the professor studies him for a second and says, “it wasn’t.” silence again. he doesn’t let it go. “you restricted it.“ he says. “and you expanded it,“ she counters calmly. “beyond the scope.” the room is still. you can feel sunoo behind you tense. you don’t turn around. you keep your eyes forward. jake exhales sharply through his nose and says, “that’s not the same thing.”- “it is“ she replies. “and if you can’t operate within constraint, you’ll keep missing the point.” that lands harder than the first correction. missing the point.
you see it happen in real time. his posture shifts. his fingers curl around his pen. he doesn’t look at you. not once. he looks at the board, then at the professor, then down at his notes. and then he closes his notebook too hard. the sound cuts through the room. no one speaks. he stands up. not dramatically. not with a slam. just sudden. “i need a minute“ he says. his tone is flat, controlled, but his jaw is tight. the professor doesn’t stop him. no one does. he grabs his bag, walks toward the door, and he doesn’t look at you. not when he passes your row. not when the door opens. not when it shuts behind him. the room exhales after he leaves. the professor waits a second, then says, “all right.” discussion resumes, but it’s softer, thinner. you stare at the empty space where he was sitting. your chest feels tight. not because he was wrong. not because you were right. because he looked like he was unraveling. and he wouldn’t let you see it. you don’t take notes for the rest of the class. you don’t hear the rest of what the professor says. you register words. you don’t process them. your pen moves once or twice across the page out of habit, but the lines are useless, half-formed sentences that don’t connect to anything. the seat he vacated feels louder than the discussion that resumes. he didn’t look at you. not once. you replay that detail over and over like it matters more than everything else. when class finally ends, chairs scrape against the floor in staggered rhythm. conversations spark up in low, cautious tones, like everyone is aware something just shifted but no one wants to be the first to name it. sunoo appears at your side almost immediately. he doesn’t say anything at first. he just stands there. you close your notebook slowly. “that was…” he starts.- “yeah“ you answer before he finishes. you both look toward the door. he’s not there. of course he’s not. jay approaches next, more careful than usual. “is he okay?” sunoo asks. you don’t know how to answer that. “he’ll cool off,“ jay says quickly, as if trying to reassure himself more than you. “he just hates being wrong.” you nod once. but it wasn’t just about being wrong. sunghoon joins the small circle now, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. “he shouldn’t have pushed it“ he says. “yeah,“ you say quietly. “he shouldn’t have.” there’s no satisfaction in your voice. no triumph. the hallway outside fills quickly as everyone filters out. you take your time packing up, even though there’s no reason to. you could leave. you could pretend it wasn’t personal. you could let him sit in whatever that was. but the thought of him spiraling alone irritates you more than it should. “he’ll be outside“ sunghoon says, almost like he read your mind. you glance at him. sunghoon shrugs slightly and adds, “he doesn’t go far.” you hesitate. then you stand. you don’t announce that you’re going after him. you just do.
the hallway air feels cooler than the classroom did. students move around you in clusters, unaware of the tightness sitting in your chest. you scan the corridor. he isn’t there. you walk farther down, past the vending machines, past the stairwell, and then you see him at the end of the hallway near the windows, standing still, hands on his hips, looking out over the quad like the world personally offended him. you slow your steps. for a second, you consider turning around. you don’t. you walk up beside him, not too close, not far either. he doesn’t look at you. “i didn’t need help“ he says. you hadn’t spoken yet. “i didn’t say you did“ you reply evenly. he lets out a quiet, humorless breath. “you stepped in.” there’s no gratitude in it. just tension. “you were about to argue in circles“ you say calmly. “she wasn’t going to let you.” - “i had it“ he insists. “you didn’t.” the words come out sharper than you intended. he turns his head slightly now, not enough to fully face you but enough. “you think i can’t handle it?” he asks. “that’s not what i said.“- “it’s is.“- “i clarified,“ you reply. “that’s all.” his jaw tightens. “right.” the single word drips with something you don’t recognize. you exhale slowly. “why are you acting like i’m trying to put you down?” he finally looks at you fully now, and there’s something raw in his expression, not anger, not exactly, wounded pride. “you aren’t“ he says. “but jake, that’s not how you’re acting.” he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “you made it worse.” you blink. “how?” - “you translated me“ he says. “like i couldn’t say it right.” the accusation stings more than it should. “i was trying to help.” - “i don’t need your help”- “i know.” silence stretches again.
students pass behind you, unaware of the charged air between you. he looks away first. “i’m not incompetent“ he says quietly. you stare at him. “i never said you were.”- “but you hesitated“ he says. that stops you. you hesitate again now. he continues, voice low. “you waited y/n.” because you did. you waited. because you knew he wouldn’t want you to step in. because you knew he’d take it personally. because you were trying to decide if helping him would hurt him more. “that doesn’t mean i think you’re incompetent“ you say. “it means you thought i couldn’t recover“ he counters. you swallow. “you were pushing,“ you say carefully. “and she wasn’t going to bend.” he laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “so you have to step in?” -“yes.” he nods once, slow. “i don’t want you to do that.” the words feel loaded. “do what?” you ask. “fix it.” - “i wasn’t fixing you“ you say. “i was just finishing your thought.” - “that’s worse.” you stare at him. “why?” you ask. “because it makes it look like i needed you to.” you don’t know how to respond to that because the truth is you don’t care how it looked. you cared that he was digging himself deeper. “i didn’t do it for them,“ you say quietly. “i did it because you were about to make it worse for yourself.” he looks at you again. something flickers in his expression, confusion, hurt, maybe even something softer. then it shutters closed. “i don’t need your saving“ he says. “i wasn’t saving you.” - “then why do you care?” he asks suddenly. the question lands harder than anything else. you inhale. “because i do.” the words leave your mouth before you filter them. the hallway noise fades for a second. he stares at you, not defensive now, not sharp, just still. “i don’t want you to care“ he says quietly. and that’s what cracks something inside you. “you don’t get to decide that“ you reply. his jaw tightens again. he steps back slightly, like the proximity is too much. “drop it“ he says. “i’m not trying to fight you.” you answer. - “i know.” - “then stop acting like i’m the problem.” he looks at you for a long second, then away. “i’m not“ he says. but he is. and you both know it. you don’t say anything else because you’re not going to beg him to tell you what’s wrong. you turn and start walking back down the hallway. he doesn’t stop you. doesn’t call your name. doesn’t move.
a few days later the rehearsal room is mostly empty when you walk in. a standard seminar space with stackable chairs pushed against the walls and a long rectangular table cutting the center in half like a line neither of you are supposed to cross. the projector is already on, the first slide washed-out blue against the whiteboard. it’s early evening. the light outside the tall windows has turned that flat, colorless gray that makes everything look less defined. the fluorescent lights buzz overhead. the air smells faintly like dry erase marker and old ventilation. jake is already at the front. his laptop is open, sleeves pushed up, clicking through the slides slowly and deliberately, not reviewing, inspecting. a neat stack of printed notes sits beside him, edges aligned so precisely it looks intentional. he doesn’t look rushed. he looks braced. when the door shuts behind you, he glances up just once and gives a small nod without smiling before turning back to the screen, as if the slide matters more than the timing of you walking in. you take the seat across from him without thinking about it, not beside, across. you set your bag down and open your laptop. the room hums with the projector, the trackpad, your breathing. it should feel routine. it doesn’t. it feels like something is being held in place carefully and deliberately, and neither of you are testing how much pressure it can take. he clicks back to the first slide again, the one you have already run through twice. starting over will not fix what he is trying to fix. you begin anyway, delivering the same opening sentence in the same measured tone, the one you can summon even when your stomach feels too tight. three lines in, he shifts in his chair. you wait for the interruption. it does not come. that almost throws you more than if it had. you keep going through the dependency chain, the constraint behavior, the margin stabilization under the original premise. you gesture once to the graph without looking at him. you can feel his attention like weight, not casual, not analytical, heavy.
you finish the slide and click to the next one. he says nothing. you click again. still nothing. it is not that he agrees. it is that he is holding himself back. you can almost see it, the restraint, the effort not to correct you, not to adjust phrasing, not to sharpen something just to feel in control again. you reach the end of your section without being stopped. your hand lowers, the clicker still in it. you turn. jake is watching the screen, his jaw tight. not angry. contained. that is worse. you set the clicker down carefully. the sound is too loud in the quiet. “so, what now?” you ask in a neutral tone. he blinks once, like he forgot you were there and is recalibrating. “now we run it together“ jake replies. “okay“ you say. he stands. you meet him at the front, not close enough that your shoulders touch, but close enough that you hear the subtle change in his breathing when you step into his space. he has always been good at presenting. he speaks like nerves do not exist, like words are tools and he owns the entire workshop. today it sounds the same, until you listen for what is not there. half a beat too fast in the middle of a sentence. a breath pulled in sharper than necessary when he transitions to the section he was challenged on in class. a pause, small, almost invisible.no one else would catch it. you do. you watch his hands instead of the slide. his fingers flex once at his side, then still. he gets through the section that tripped him up earlier, his voice steady, his pacing controlled, his precision intact. but something underneath it is bracing. when he finishes, he glances at you, brief and almost involuntary, then looks away immediately, like eye contact would confirm something he is not ready to name. “your turn“ jake says, and you pick up from his slide, matching his tone automatically. for a moment, it almost feels normal. coordinated. familiar. then you reach the line he edited earlier. “when the constraint collapses-” you say, and the phrasing feels wrong in your mouth, not incorrect, just not yours. jake’s gaze lifts immediately, but you keep going. you can feel him listening, not for clarity, not for argument, but for deviation, for control. you finish the slide and let the silence sit until he nods once and says, “good.” it does not feel like approval. it feels like a checkbox.
you set the clicker down and ask, “are we done?” he glances at his notes and replies, “we should run it again.” you lift your shoulders slightly and ask, “why?” jake answers, “timing matters.” you reply, “we’re on time.” he says, “i want it clean.” you answer, “it was clean.” he meets your eyes and adds, “it can be cleaner.” you hold his gaze without raising your voice and ask, “why are you like this right now?” his jaw tightens slightly before he replies, “like what?” you gesture vaguely at the slides, the edits, the way he is hovering over every sentence, and say, “like you’re sanding everything down until it doesn’t sound like me”. he answers “it’s supposed to sound like the project”. you reply evenly, “it is the project and i’m part of it”. he says “i know“ too fast, and you study him before asking, “do you?” his eyes flick away and he reaches for his notebook instead, saying, “we need to tighten the conclusion.” you do not move. he flips a page like the paper can shield him and adds, “if we shorten the final section, we can emphasize the model alignment“ still refusing to look at you. you watch him retreat into structure in real time and say, “jake.” he stops flipping pages but keeps his eyes down and answers, “what?” you ask quietly, “are you okay?” the question lands heavy. he does not look up when he says, “yeah. i’m fine.” there it is. you do not argue. you just nod and say, “okay.” the word shifts something. he glances up then, quick and searching, like he expected resistance, but you give him none. you sit back down and open your laptop. the room feels too large. he keeps writing, too deliberately.
you scroll to the final slide and notice something has changed. you point at the screen and say, “this isn’t what i wrote.” he finally looks up and says, “it’s better.” you reply, “it’s just different.” he holds your gaze and says, “different isn’t always bad.” you let out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh and answer, “it’s not just different...” his expression hardens as he asks, “what do you want me to say?” the bluntness catches you and you respond, “what?” he gestures at the room and says, “you keep looking at me like i’m doing something. i’m rehearsing.” you stare at him and reply, “you’re not just rehearsing.” his eyes sharpen as he asks, “then what am i doing?” you hesitate because the real answer is not about slides and say, “you’re controlling.” his jaw flexes and he replies, “i’m preparing.” you say more softly, “no. you’re controlling.” silence settles between you. the projector hum feels louder. he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated not at you but at himself, and starts, “can we just-” before stopping. you do not help him. you do not fill the silence. you let the unfinished sentence sit between you. he swallows, and for a second his expression slips, not anger, not pride, something thinner, before he blinks it away and says steadily, “let’s run the conclusion.” you nod slowly and say, “okay.” you stand, pick up the clicker, and move back into the projector light. he joins you but not fully. he stays just outside the brightest edge, like he does not want to be entirely exposed. you start the conclusion, your voice steady. he does not interrupt. you reach the line you softened, the one about implications, about how the model behaves in real conditions, about what it suggests beyond the data, and you deliver it the way you wrote it. jake shifts, not an interruption, a recoil. you keep going.
when you finish, you turn to him and ask, “any issues?” he opens his mouth, then closes it. his eyes flick to your face, then away. “no. keep going“ jake says, too flat. you do not move. “you didn’t like that part“ you say quietly. his shoulders stiffen. “it’s fine“ he replies. “apparently it’s not“ you answer. his eyes lift sharply and he snaps, “stop psychoanalyzing me.” you freeze. “i’m not“ you say. “you are“ jake says, his jaw tightening. “you keep asking if i’m okay like i’m-” he cuts himself off. the room goes still. you keep your voice low and say, “i didn’t say anything.”- “you don’t have to“ he replies. silence stretches between you. you take a slow breath and say, “you’re acting different.” - “so are you“ jake says. that lands harder. “how?” you ask. he hesitates just enough. “you’re distant“ he says. you blink once, slow, and keep your face neutral, like that will stop your throat from tightening. “you’ve been distant“ you reply. “i’m here“ he says. “so am i“ you answer. he exhales through his nose, frustrated and cornered, and asks, “then why does it feel like you’re not?” the question is not sharp. it is tired. you look at him carefully and say, “maybe because you keep treating everything like it’s fragile.” his eyes narrow. “i’m not,“ he says. “i’m trying not to let it slip“ - “what?” you ask. he does not answer. instead he says, “we’re wasting time.” you nod once and say, “we are.” he glances at you, startled, like he expected resistance. you do not give it. you sit down and open your laptop.
he stays standing too long, like he is deciding whether to say something else. he does not. he sits back harder than necessary, posture rigid. outside, the campus darkens. streetlights flick on. the window reflects both of you in faint blue, two silhouettes separated by a table stacked with notes. you make a small edit to the conclusion. he watches your cursor move, then looks away quickly. silence again. he flips to the next slide. you have run it three times. he adjusts a bullet point, then another. you do not look at the screen. you look at him. he feels it. “timing was off“ jake says without turning. “it wasn’t“ you reply. “it was“ he says. “by how much?” you ask. “three seconds“ he answers. you blink and ask, “three seconds?”- “yes“ jake says. you stare at him. he is serious, the cursor hovering over the timeline like it personally offended him. “that’s what we’re doing. three seconds“ you say quietly. “it adds up“ he replies. “we won’t run long“ you say. “we might“ he counters. “that’s not the same thing“ you reply. “it matters“ he says. “it’s three seconds“ you answer. “it’s discipline“ jake says. that word lands wrong. your shoulders stiffen. “discipline?” you repeat. “yes“ he says. “since when is this about discipline?” you ask. “it always is“ he replies. “don’t bullshit me,“ you say evenly. “it’s about control.” his head snaps toward you. “it’s about structure y/n“ he says. “you’re hiding in it“ you answer. the air shifts. his jaw tightens. “i’m not hiding“ jake says. “you are“ you reply. “i’m making sure we don’t fail“ he says. “we won’t“ you answer. “you don’t know that“ he says. “i know you“ you say. the words leave before you can filter them. he goes still. “i know you,“ you repeat, softer now. “you don’t need to grind this down to prove you’re in control.” something cracks, not loud but visible. “i don’t get to lose control.“ jake says. the admission is quiet. too honest. you stare at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask. he swallows. “nothing“ he says. that is a lie. you both know it. he looks away first. “run it again“ he says. you do not move. “no“ you reply. he blinks. “no?” he asks. “it’s good“ you say. “we don’t settle for good“ he replies. “maybe you don’t“ you answer. that lands. he studies you like he is trying to see what changed. “are you pulling back?” jake asks quietly. you hold his gaze before answering, “i’m adjusting.” - “to what?” he presses. you hesitate, then say, “to you.” that lands, and his expression shifts, subtle but real. “that’s not an answer” jake says. “it is,” you reply. “you’ve been on edge. i’m not going to keep pushing if you’re going to treat everything like a threat.” silence stretches, his jaw tightening before he says, “let’s just finish.” back to structure. back to safety. “you’re not tightening the timing,” you say. “you’re suffocating it.” he doesn’t answer immediately, his jaw flexing once before he says, “run it again.” now the presentation argument feels connected to the emotional one. you don’t move.
“jake,” you say. “what?” he replies. “you’re obsessing,” you tell him. “i’m preparing.” he answers. “no. you’re obsessing.” you say quietly. his fingers tap once against the trackpad, controlled and sharp. “you’re rushing the emphasis“ he says. “i’m not“ you reply. “you are“ he insists. “i’ve presented before“ you say. “so have i“ jake answers. “and?” you press. “and we don’t hedge“ he says. “i’m not hedging“ you counter. “you are“ he replies. “by breathing?” you ask. “by softening the line“ he says. you stare at him. “you’re hearing what you want to hear“ you say. he closes the laptop halfway, then opens it again. “you didn’t emphasize the model alignment“ jake says. “you’re looking for problems“ you answer. “i’m fixing them“ he replies. “there weren’t any“ you say. “there were.“ he insists. silence presses in. you set the clicker down slowly and ask, “why are you acting like i did something wrong?” the question is calm. that makes it worse. he doesn’t look up. “i’m not“ he says. “you are“ you reply. “i’m correcting“ he says. “you’re dissecting.“ you counter. “that’s the point“ he replies. “no. that’s not the point“ you say, your voice dropping slightly. he leans back. “you’ve been different“ jake says. your grip tightens aroung the clicker until the plastic edge bites your finger. “what?“ you ask. “since heeseung’s party“ he says. you keep your face neutral. “in what way?” you ask. “you don’t argue anymore“ he replies. “i do“ you say. “barely. you just agree“ he says. “i’m choosing when to push“ you answer. “you never used to“ he replies. “you never used to nitpick three seconds“ you say. his jaw flexes. “you’ve been careful“ he says. “careful how?” you ask. “like you’re afraid to push“ he replies. “afraid of what?” you ask. “you tell me“ he says. the accusation under it is unmistakable now. “you’ve been sharp“ you say. “no, i’ve been focused“ he replies. “you’ve been distant“ you say. “you have“ he answers. “you pulled back first“ you say. “no“ he replies. “yes“ you insist. he exhales, frustrated. “you froze“ jake says. you go still. “i didn’t“ you reply. “you did“ he says. “i was thinking“ you answer. “it didn’t look like thinking“ he replies. that’s the first real hit. you hold his gaze. “you don’t get to rewrite it“ you say. he runs a hand through his hair, this time not controlled. “you hesitated“ he says. “and you don’t?” you ask. he goes quiet. “that’s not the point“ jake says. “it is if you’re bringing it up“ you reply. “i’m not bringing it up“ he says. “you just did“ you answer. the room feels smaller now. “you’ve been different since that night“ jake says again, lower. “you keep saying that“ you reply. “because it’s true“ he says. “how?” you ask. “you look at me like you’re calculating something“ he replies. “maybe i am“ you say. “why?” he asks.
you could say it. you don’t. instead you say, “because you fucking cried in my car.” there it is. he stills completely. “and then you acted like nothing happened“ you continue. his throat shifts. “i didn’t act like nothing happened“ he says. “you did“ you reply. “i just didn’t turn it into something“ he says. “it already was something“ you answer. “for you“ he says. “for both of us“ you reply. he looks away. “you’ve been careful with me. like i’m breakable“ jake says. you stare at him. “that’s not true“ you say. “yes, it is“ he replies. “you think i see you as fragile?” you ask. “yes,“ he answers. the answer is immediate. no defense. no delay. it hits. “you’re always stepping in“ he says. “because you were spiraling“ you reply. “i wasn’t“ he says. “you were“ you answer. he pushes his chair back slightly. “i had it“ jake says. “and you’ve been punishing me for it ever since“ you say. that lands. “i’m not punishing you“ he insists. silence again. heavy now. the fluorescent lights hum. outside, the sky is fully dark. “you don’t get to decide how i see you“ you say finally. he looks at you. “and you don’t get to decide i needed saving,“ jake replies. neither of you moves. “i don’t need you to manage me“ he says. it’s not loud. but it cracks. “i wasn’t managing you“ you reply. “it felt like you were“ he says. you step closer without thinking. “it felt like you were pretending nothing mattered“ you say. his breath catches. “it does matter“ he replies. “then stop acting like it doesn’t“ you say. the words hang there. he looks at you, really looks at you, and for a split second the control drops. not anger. not pride. fear. then it’s gone. “you’ve been weird“ jake says, and you immediately reply, “stop saying it like that.” he tilts his head slightly and asks, “like what?” you answer, “like everything changed because of me.” he says simply, “it did.” you go still. “what?” you ask. “you changed“ he says. “so did you“ you counter. “because you did first“ he insists. “jake“ you say, your voice sharpening. “you fucking cried in my car.” he flinches, small and real, and you continue, quieter now, “and then you kissed me, and then you acted like it was just-” - “just what?” he cuts in. “circumstantial“ you finish. “we were drunk“ jake says. “that’s not the point“ you reply. “then what is?” he asks. “you pulled away afterwards“ you say. “so did you“ he answers. “i didn’t“ you insist. “you froze“ he says. “i hesitated“ you correct. jake’s jaw tightens as he answers, “same fucking thing“. “no,“ you say, your voice tightening. “i hesitated because i was trying to figure out if you were going to regret it.” that lands. he goes completely still. “i never said i would“ jake says. “you didn’t have to“ you answer. silence stretches. “i don’t regret things,“ jake says quietly. you look at him. “and that’s not even what this is about“ he adds quickly, like he exposed too much. you say, “you’ve been acting like i embarrassed you.” - “you didn‘t,“ he replies. “you translated me“ he adds. “because you were digging yourself deeper“ you answer. “that wasn’t your job“ he says. “maybe i wanted it to be“ you reply. the words hang heavier than you meant them to. his eyes lift slowly. “you don’t have to fix me“ jake says. “i wasn’t fixing you“ you reply. “it felt like it“ he says. “it felt like you were self-destructing“ you answer. he inhales sharply at that. “i really don’t need you babysitting me“ jake says. “i’m not babysitting you. what’s up with you? why are you acting like this?“ you reply.
his jaw tightens. “i don’t like feeling like i needed you“ he says. there it is. no anger. just stripped. you don’t move. “i never thought you needed me“ you say quietly. “but you hesitated“ he says. “and you’ve been acting like that meant something“ you reply. “it did“ he says. he looks at you fully now. “it felt like you were deciding whether i was worth stepping in for“ he says. the room goes quiet. “what? that’s not what i was doing“ you say. “it looked like it“ he replies. you swallow. “you think i was evaluating you?” you ask. “yes“ he answers immediately. you shake your head once. “that’s insane“ you say. “it’s fucking obvious“ he replies. “to who?” you ask. “to me“ he says, and looks away the second he says it. you exhale slowly. “in class“ he says. “that’s what you’re talking about?“ you reply. he doesn’t answer. “i paused because i knew you’d hate it“ you say. his eyes snap up. “so you knew?“ he says. “yes“ you reply. “i knew you’d take it personally. i waited to see if you could turn it around.”- “and you decided i couldn’t“ he says. “no“ you answer, leaning forward slightly. “i decided you were going to keep arguing and make it worse.” - “that’s basically the same thing“ he says. “it’s not“ you reply. his gaze drops to your hands on the table. “you don’t get it“ jake says. “then explain it“ you answer. he hesitates. you don’t rescue him. he exhales, frustrated. “when you look at me like that-” he starts. “like what?” you ask. “like you’re measuring“ he says. the word lands heavy. “i wasn’t measuring you“ you reply. “you were,“ he insists. “you do it when you’re trying to figure out if something is worth the risk“ you go quiet, because that’s not entirely wrong. his voice drops. “you looked at me like i was a calculation“ jake says. the fluorescent lights hum. you stare at him. “i wasn’t calculating you“ you say. “be for real y/n.“ he replies. silence again. thinner now. “you think i don’t know when i’m spiraling?“ he says quietly. “i think you don’t always see it“ you answer. his jaw tightens. “i don’t need you watching for it“ he says. “i wasn’t watching“ you reply. “i was-” you stop. he catches the silence. “you were what?” jake asks.
you hold his gaze. “i was trying not to lose you in front of everyone“ you say. that one lands harder than anything else. he goes completely still. the control drops for half a second, then snaps back. “i wasn’t lost,“ he says. his voice sharpens. “stop deciding that for me“ - “stop pretending you weren’t“ you reply. silence. heavy. electric. then, quieter, “i don’t need you to translate me“ jake says. “i know“ you reply. “i don’t need you to save me“ he says. “i wasn’t saving you“ you answer. “i don’t need you choosing when i’m worth stepping in for“ he says. that one almost breaks something. you stare at him. “i never once thought you weren’t worth it“ you say. he looks at you, actually looks, and for a second the anger falls away. “i just didn’t want you deciding i couldn’t handle it“ he says. the admission is small. raw. sober. you step closer without meaning to. “i didn’t think you couldn’t handle it“ you say. “then why did you hesitate?” he asks. your voice drops. “because i didn’t know if you’d hate me for it“ you answer. it hangs between you. neither of you moves. the projector flickers faintly. his breathing shifts. you can see the spiral building under his composure now. and he hates that you can see it. his mouth tightens like he’s biting back something sharper. you lean forward slightly. “you want to know what i was thinking during that pause?” - “i already do“ jake mutters. “you don’t,” you say, not looking away. “i was thinking you’d rather argue yourself into a corner than let someone help you.” he flinches. small. real. “i was thinking you’d rather look stubborn than look vulnerable,“ you continue, quieter now. “and i was trying to decide if stepping in would make you hate me more than being corrected would.” silence. his fingers curl against the edge of the notebook. “don’t.“ jake says. “don’t what?” - “talk like you know me.” -“then stop making me fucking guess.” that lands. he looks away sharply. his thumb presses hard into the edge of the table. “it was humiliating.” jake says, almost under his breath. everything stills. not about you. not about the kiss. about class. about being wrong. about losing control. “i know“ you say. his jaw tightens. “you made it worse.” - “how?” you ask. “because you were right,” jake says, the bitterness in it clean. “and she said it like-” he begins, then cuts himself off. you wait. he doesn’t finish. instead he says, “it made me look like i couldn’t do it.” you answer, “you were already being corrected.” - “but i wasn’t done.” he replies. “you were digging” you say. his eyes lift, hard now, and he says, “you think you saved me.” - “i don’t think that.” you answer. “but you did” he insists. “i clarified” you reply. “you always clarify,” jake says, clipped. “you always have the right words. you always-” he stops. “always what, jake?” you ask, your voice comes out too calm. he rubs a hand over his mouth. “i don’t know, you just you don’t get it” jake says. “then explain it” you tell him. he exhales sharply. “when you stepped in,” jake says slowly, “everyone stopped looking at the model and started looking at you.” the words land heavier than you expected. “and i hated that i needed that.” you go still. “i didn’t think you needed it” you say quietly. he looks at you sharply. “you did. that’s why you hesitated.” you frown slightly. “i hesitated because i knew you’d take it personally,” you say. “not because i thought you couldn’t handle it.” he doesn’t answer.
and that’s when it clicks. it wasn’t about whether he could handle it. it was about the fact that you saw the moment he couldn’t. you swallow. “i wasn’t deciding if you were capable,” you say carefully. “i was deciding if you’d rather fall on your own than let me stand next to you,” that hits. he looks away. “and you’ve been punishing me for that ever since.” you say. “i haven’t” jake insists. “you have” you answer. he stands suddenly, not violent, just too fast, and the chair scrapes loudly. “you looked at me like i was fragile.” jake says. “you looked at me differently.” you hold his gaze. “i did,” you admit. that surprises him. “because i saw you differently,” you continue. the room goes quiet. “not worse,” you add. “just… real.” he swallows. “you’ve been careful around me since that night in your car y/n.” he says again. “we both know that” he adds quietly. “because you started acting like i shouldn’t have seen that” you reply. “i didn’t say that” he answers. “you didn’t have to” you say. silence stretches thin. “i don’t even remember what i said” jake admits quietly. “i just remember feeling-” he stops. “like what?” you ask. “exposed.” he says, the word almost swallowed. you step closer before you can stop yourself. “jake, maybe you were,” you tell him. his breath shifts. “but you’re acting like that was a weakness.” you add. “i don’t get to be weak.” jake says. that line lands harder than anything else tonight. you stare at him. “you do with me” you say. he looks at you like he doesn’t know what to do with that. for a second, just one, the control drops. then it snaps back into place. he turns abruptly and walks to the front, clicks to the next slide, and says, “we need to run it clean.” back to structure. back to safety. you watch his back. it’s almost painful how fast he hides. “this is so ridiculous,” you say before you stand too. “fine”. you move beside him, not close enough to touch, and start the conclusion again. your voice is calm. measured. he interrupts once. “pause,” jake says. you stop. “say it again,” he adds. “why?” you ask. “the emphasis matters,” he replies. you repeat it. he nods. no comment. no warmth. just control. you finish the last slide. the clicker lowers. he flips his notes even though there is nothing left to flip. you wait. he almost speaks. his mouth parts, then closes. he looks back at the screen instead. you swallow. “we’re done for tonight.” you say. “yeah” jake replies. he doesn’t look at you. you pack your laptop. the zipper sounds too loud. you pause at the door. he almost says your name. he doesn’t. you leave. behind you, the projector hums for a few seconds longer before it shuts off, and the dark that replaces it feels heavier than the light ever did.
the classroom is already half full when you walk in, and the low murmur of voices and soft clacking of laptops make it look like any other day, which is the strangest part because the world looks normal even when you do not. you pause in the doorway long enough to take in the rows, the projector cart at the front, the professor’s bag slung over the chair near the desk, and then you move toward your usual area without letting yourself look for jake too obviously. he is already there, seated near the front with his laptop open and his notes laid out like he is about to sit an exam instead of do a preview presentation, posture straight, shoulders set, head angled down as he scrolls through the slide deck with careful, precise movements. the glow from the screen lights the underside of his jaw, his sleeve cuffs are pushed up, and his watch catches the overhead light when his wrist shifts. he looks composed, too composed, like if he holds still enough nothing can touch him. you pick a seat one chair away from him, not far enough to be obvious, not close enough to invite conversation, the space between you stupidly small and still deliberate. you set your bag down, unzip it quietly, slide your notebook onto the table, and hesitate on the zipper pull for half a second before forcing your fingers to move again because your body keeps trying to pause on moments that do not deserve attention. you open your laptop and the screen wakes with a soft chime that feels louder than it should.
jake does not look up, does not greet you, does not shift away either. his hand goes to his notes, and you watch without meaning to as he straightens the stack by tapping the bottom edge against the table once. twice. aligning the paper perfectly before tapping the corner and smoothing the top page like he is flattening invisible creases. you swallow and glance down at your own materials. you do not need to check yours. you know the slides, the points, the flow. last night proved you know the flow even under pressure, even with him pressing and pressing and pressing. your brain can still recite the conclusion in exact order without looking at a screen, but your body is still carrying that conversation like a bruise you keep touching accidentally. the professor walks in and sets a coffee on the desk, a few heads turn, the room shifts into quieter readiness, someone laughs in the back row and it fades quickly, chairs scrape, a phone vibrates then stops. jake clicks to the first slide, then back, then forward again. it is small, almost nothing, and you still notice it. he is checking the deck like it might change if he looks away. his jaw tightens subtly while he scrolls down the slide list on the left panel, pausing on the model alignment slide for a beat too long before the cursor moves away. he clicks to the conclusion slide, then back to the intro, then back to the middle as if tracing the path he is supposed to follow. you keep your eyes on your screen but remain aware of him in your peripheral vision like a heat source, present and constant. you adjust your chair slightly, the metal legs squeak, you wince internally and force your shoulders down. jake’s fingers stop for a moment and he turns his head just enough to glance at you, not inviting, not pushing away, neutral and almost blank like he is confirming you are there. you keep your face flat and your posture calm as if last night did not happen, as if the air between you is not still carrying unfinished words. he looks away first. you exhale slowly through your nose. your own hands begin aligning your notebook with the edge of the table, tapping your pen once before stopping when you realize you are mirroring him. you do not want to mirror him. you want to be normal. you scroll through the slide deck to give your fingers something to do. the text looks familiar, the graphs look familiar, the structure is solid. jake checks the slides again and you hear his trackpad click twice.
then you hear something else, quiet and under his breath, almost to himself, “if we frame it as variance, it’s cleaner.” jake murmurs without looking up. the words land like a small confession even though they are about nothing. you keep your eyes on your screen but your throat tightens because he is rehearsing beside you and it is proof he is nervous even if his face refuses to show it. he taps his notes again, straightening them like the paper might anchor him. you realize you have been bouncing your knee and force it still. stillness feels like control. you can do control. you can do contained. you glance up at the front of the room where the professor is setting up the schedule, students flipping through notes, someone whispering and laughing quietly. the normalcy makes your stomach roll faintly. jake reaches into his bag and pulls out a second set of printed pages, lays them on top of the first stack with deliberate care, lines them up again, edges perfectly aligned, turns the remote over in his hand, and sets it down exactly parallel to the laptop. he is organizing his environment like it can organize his head. you have seen him do that before during finals week. you have seen him do it when he is stressed. you did not realize how familiar the sight would feel. you close your laptop halfway and open it again, regretting the motion because it feels like you are copying him, then type an irrelevant placeholder line into the notes section just to give your fingers direction. jake glances at the clock, the second hand ticking, then back at the slides, lips pressing together then relaxing, fingers flexing once like he is shaking tension out of them. you wonder if he slept and hate that you wonder, hate that you care. he is not shaking, not visibly anxious, just too still, too precise, too prepared. it looks like discipline. it feels like fear.
the professor clears their throat and says, “alright, you’re preview presentations are coming up. we’ll do the preview run-throughs today. keep it tight, treat it as practice, and remember you’re here to improve, not to impress.” a few students nod, someone sighs quietly, a couple exchange looks. jake’s posture does not change but his fingers tighten on the remote. you inhale and count your breath. in. out. in. out. you glance sideways. his eyes are on the screen but his lashes lower for a second as if resetting himself before his gaze sharpens again. he leans closer and whispers the line again, quieter, “if we frame it as variance…” then stops mid-thought, jaw tightening as he swallows. you watch that swallow like it is louder than anything else in the room. your fingers curl lightly around your pen. you remember him in your car, voice cracking, words tumbling out, and now he is back to structure like it is the only thing keeping him upright. you shift slightly, shoulder almost brushing his, but you keep your distance. contained. not hostile. not warm. jake finally speaks to you, voice low and directed without looking over. “you have your part memorized, right?” jake asks quietly. you blink once and answer evenly, “yeah.” he nods once and replies, “good.” the word is flat, neutral. you almost respond but do not. the professor calls the first group, niki and sunghoon, to present and the room shifts again as students stand and gather materials. you feel jake’s knee bounce once under the table before he presses his foot flat again. the professor glances at the time and says casually, “you two will be after them.” jake’s chin dips in acknowledgment and you nod as well, the simple fact of being next making your shoulders settle lower and your stomach roll faintly as your fingers align your notebook perfectly with the table edge. jake checks the slides one more time, clicking through the intro, the framework, the model alignment slide, the conclusion, then stopping and staring at the screen for too long while the professor laughs at something up front and someone drops a pen that clatters and rolls. jake does not move. then very quietly, like the words are meant only for himself, he mutters, “don’t fuck it up.” it takes you half a beat to realize he is not talking to you. your breath catches and you cover it by clearing your throat and adjusting your laptop. you do not look at him. you do not speak.
the group before you finishes to polite, scattered applause, and the professor nods while offering a few notes about clarity and pacing that you barely hear because you are already aware of jake standing before the professor even calls your names, aware of the way he slides his laptop into position and gathers the remote in one smooth motion like muscle memory. “next,” the professor says, glancing down at the list before looking up, “jake and y/n” and jake is already moving. you follow a second later, your pulse steady but present, not frantic, not slow, just there, stepping up beside him not too close and not too far as the projector light washes the front of the room in pale blue, flattening everything into clean lines and shadowed edges that make him look sharper somehow, more defined. he does not look at you, he looks at the class, and he begins evenly, “good afternoon,” his voice calm, not too loud, not hesitant, just controlled. it is a good voice, measured and polished, the one he uses when he is certain, and something in your chest loosens slightly as he moves through the introduction without a hitch, the framing tight, his pacing deliberate but not rushed, glancing down at his notes once briefly before looking back up as if he only needed to confirm something minor. his hands are steady, the remote does not shake, and when he transitions to the problem statement he does it cleanly, saying, “what we noticed was that the inconsistency wasn’t random. it followed a pattern tied directly to the third sample set,” while gesturing lightly toward the slide. you see the professor nod once, subtle but approving, and jake does not overplay it or linger on it, he simply continues, the structure audible in his delivery, introduction, context, data framing, everything in the order you rehearsed. he does not check the slides twice now, he trusts them or at least looks like he does, and your fingers rest lightly around the clicker you will use when it is your section while you keep your face neutral and attentive, tracking him in ways no one else is. the cadence of his breathing, the rhythm of his pauses, the slight shift of his shoulders with each new section. he moves into the methodology and explains with precision, “this approach allowed us to isolate variance without overcorrecting the baseline. instead of adjusting for outliers immediately, we mapped the deviation across three cycles to see if the instability sustained.” it is good, more than good, and he sounds prepared and composed, like someone who did not spend the night before arguing about humiliation and hesitation and whether he is allowed to be weak. the class listens with quiet engagement, a few people typing notes, one student looking up more intently when he mentions the third cycle, the professor scribbling something on the printed rubric. you become aware of your own body beside him, your weight evenly distributed, your hands still, your breathing unconsciously matching his rhythm. the professor nods again, someone in the second row tilts their head in interest, and the room relaxes into the rhythm of it. you are supposed to be tense, waiting for something to go wrong, but there is nothing wrong as he clicks forward, does not overexplain, does not repeat himself, does not spiral, exactly as composed as he wanted to be.
jake clicks to the next slide mid-sentence, not by much, just a fraction too early, the graph flashing up before his words fully land. he does not stop. “-which is why we prioritized consistency,” jake finishes smoothly, but you hear the half-beat misalignment between thought and movement as he shifts his weight slightly and tightens his fingers around the remote. you notice the way his shoulders lift a little higher than before as he keeps going. “this model holds under external fluctuation,” he says, the sentence solid and confident, but he says holds twice, the second time softer, like he is correcting himself without wanting anyone to notice. no one does. a student in the second row keeps typing. the professor watches with the same neutral attentiveness as before. jake inhales too quickly and moves into the comparison section, skipping the bridge line you both practiced until it felt automatic. he just jumps. “and when we tested alternative structures,” he says, voice a shade faster now, “the deviation flattened in ways that looked stable but weren’t.” it is not how you phrased it together. it is not wrong. it is just rushed. his jaw tightens, the muscle flexing once near his ear before settling, and he gestures at the slide, the motion sharper than before, less fluid, his hand cutting through the air instead of guiding it. he is still making sense, still articulate, but the rhythm is off. you feel it like a skipped stair. he swallows and keeps talking. “what this shows is that structural discipline matters,” he says, and the word discipline lands heavier than it needs to, like he is gripping it, holding onto it. he presses the remote again too early. the slide shifts before he finishes the sentence, a flicker of light crossing his face as the projector changes, and he pauses for half a second, not enough for anyone else to register, but to you it stretches. you feel your body react before your brain does, your fingers tightening around the clicker, your weight shifting forward as if you are already leaning into something. jake starts again. “what this demonstrates is-” he says, then stops. the silence is microscopic, but it is there. his eyes flick briefly toward the left side of the screen, to the slide list, checking where he is, and then almost involuntarily his gaze shifts sideways to you. it is not a request. it is not a plea. it is a reflex, and it disappears just as quickly. he looks forward again. “this demonstrates that the framework absorbs variance instead of amplifying it,” he repeats, faster now. he did not need to repeat the beginning. he is buying time. his breathing has changed, the inhale slightly higher in his chest, the exhale a little too controlled. the class does not move. the professor does not react. no one is uncomfortable. but you are, because you can see the exact moment where control turns into strain. he is speaking too fast now, not dramatically, just enough that the pauses between sentences are shrinking. he is compressing, stacking, not letting the air settle. he gestures again, and this time his fingers flex mid-motion like he almost lost grip of the rhythm. your pulse ticks up. you know this pattern. he does not spiral outward. he spirals inward. he tightens until something gives. he clicks again and the slide changes. he is ahead of himself now, not lost, not confused, just running slightly faster than the structure he built.
you feel the decision forming in your chest. you could wait. you could let him correct it himself. you could give him space. but the space is shrinking. “and this consistency-” jake says, then stops again, his jaw tightening when the word does not land cleanly. it is small. it is nothing to everyone else. but you see it, the almost, the place where he might overcorrect and start explaining too much, the place where he might try to prove something instead of just say it. his thumb presses harder into the remote, and you realize you are already moving, not visibly, not dramatically, but internally stepping forward before your body does. jake’s voice tightens just slightly on the word “consistency,” and you feel it before you understand it. it isn’t wrong. it isn’t bad. it’s just off. the rhythm he had at the beginning, the calm, measured flow, has narrowed into something sharper, more compressed. he is speaking like he is outrunning something invisible. you don’t let yourself think about last night. you don’t let yourself think about hesitation. you don’t let yourself calculate whether he will take this personally. you just move. “building on what jake just explained,” you say smoothly, your tone steady and even, not louder than his, not softer, and you don’t look at him, you look at the professor, gesturing lightly toward the slide as if this was always your cue. your heart is beating faster than it should, but your voice doesn’t betray it. “the reason we prioritized consistency is because the model doesn’t collapse when pressure increases,” you continue, keeping your phrasing aligned with his rather than replacing it. “it adjusts without losing its shape.” you keep it simple, not dense, not layered, not corrective. you aren’t fixing him. you’re finishing the line. you feel the room settle, not because anything dramatic happened but because the rhythm evens out again. the professor nods once. a classmate types something. someone shifts in their chair. no one reacts. you don’t glance at jake to check if he’s okay. you don’t soften your tone. you don’t give him an out. you finish the thought and then, without pausing long enough to own the space, you turn slightly toward him and say, “and that’s where the comparison becomes important.” you give it back not physically or ceremonially but by stepping half a pace back and letting the air return to him.
jake registers it immediately. he knows you just stepped in. he knows you didn’t have to. he knows you didn’t make it obvious. for half a second his mind blanks, not because he forgot what to say but because something in his chest shifts in a way he didn’t expect. she didn’t hesitate. that is the first thing that lands. she didn’t wait to see if i would recover. she didn’t measure whether i was worth stepping in for. she just did it. his throat feels tight, but not from panic this time. from something else. he nods once, subtle and almost imperceptible, and picks up the thread. “right,” he says, his voice steady again, the word coming easier than he expects. “exactly.” he continues without overexplaining, without stacking, without forcing, and his breathing evens out. the strangest part is that it’s easier now. he doesn’t feel exposed. he doesn’t feel corrected. he feels backed. the thought unsettles him, but he keeps talking. you focus on the screen so you don’t focus on him. you can feel the shift even without looking. your pulse is still a little high, but your hands are steady. you don’t feel embarrassed. you don’t feel triumphant. you don’t feel like you won anything. you just feel aligned. you didn’t hesitate, and that matters more than you expected. jake moves into the next slide, this time clicking at the right moment. his tone regains its earlier control, but it’s softer at the edges now, not weaker, just less rigid. he finishes the comparison section cleanly, with no repeats and no compression. he feels the difference too. he doesn’t know why it feels different. he expected stepping in to feel like exposure, like proof that he couldn’t hold it together. instead it felt seamless, like you trusted him to keep going. his chest tightens again, but not from anxiety, from recognition. you didn’t look at him when you did it. you didn’t make eye contact to check if he was falling apart. you didn’t lower your voice like he was fragile. you didn’t translate him. you continued him. that is the part that sticks. he keeps speaking, but part of his brain replays the moment in real time. she didn’t hesitate. you let him carry the next section. you don’t hover. you don’t prepare a second intervention. you stand beside him like a partner, not a guardrail. when your section comes, you step forward naturally, not rushed and not apologetic. you deliver your part with the same steady tone. you don’t overperform. you don’t compete. you just speak. when you finish, you don’t look at him for approval. you just wait. jake watches you as you talk. he doesn’t mean to. he tells himself he is listening for timing, for structure, for transitions. but he is watching the way you stand, the way your shoulders are relaxed, the way your voice doesn’t waver. she didn’t hesitate. the thought keeps looping. it collides with the memory of him saying, “you hesitated” with him accusing, with him insisting you weighed him, and now you didn’t.
the presentation winds down. you finish the conclusion together, alternating lines the way you practiced. the last slide fades in at exactly the right moment. there is no awkward silence and no stumble, just a clean end. “thank you,” jake says, and this time his voice is fully even. the professor nods and says, “good structure. tighten the comparative phrasing slightly, but overall, strong.” strong. jake nods once in acknowledgment. you both step back to your seats. your legs feel slightly lighter than before. you don’t look at him immediately. you sit, open your laptop, and pretend to review the professor’s notes while your heartbeat catches up. you didn’t save him. you didn’t correct him. you didn’t fix him. you just stood beside him, and somehow that feels bigger. jake sits down next to you with one seat between you again. he keeps his eyes on the screen in front of him, but his thoughts are louder now. she didn’t hesitate. she didn’t look embarrassed. she didn’t translate me. she stayed with it. he swallows. he doesn’t look at you. he doesn’t know what to do with the shift in his chest. it isn’t relief exactly. it isn’t gratitude. it isn’t pride. it’s something more unsettling, because if you didn’t hesitate, if you didn’t weigh him, then maybe he was wrong, and that thought lands heavier than the stumble ever did.
class resumes like nothing happened. the next group stands, the projector shifts decks, someone clears their throat, chairs scrape, and the room resets into ordinary noise so quickly it almost feels absurd how fast the moment dissolves into routine. you sit one seat away from jake again, and the space between you feels smaller now, not because it changed but because something did. you type a single line into your notes so you do not just sit there replaying the last ten minutes, your fingers moving automatically while your brain stays half at the front of the room, half at that half-second where he almost lost it. you didn’t hesitate. the thought settles somewhere under your ribs, quiet but firm. beside you, jake closes his laptop more slowly than usual, not dramatically, just deliberate, aligning his printed notes again and tapping the edges together until they are perfectly straight. he does not look at you, but he is aware of you, too aware. she didn’t make it obvious. that is the part that keeps replaying in his head. she didn’t look at me first. she didn’t lower her voice. she didn’t step in like i was fragile. she just continued. the professor dismisses class, and the room fills with the sound of bags zipping, chairs dragging back, conversations picking up immediately like they were waiting for permission. you slide your laptop into your bag and stand. jake stands at the same time. for a second you are too close, your arms nearly brushing as you both adjust your bags, and you step slightly to the side, creating space without making it look intentional. you start walking toward the door and he falls into step beside you. neither of you rush and neither of you slow down. the hallway is louder than the classroom was, voices echoing, lockers closing, footsteps layering over each other, and you focus on the floor tiles ahead of you, counting the pattern without meaning to.
jake breaks the silence first. “that worked” jake says, his tone neutral and controlled, not proud and not dismissive, just factual. you nod once and answer, “yeah” keeping your voice steady, not sharp and not soft, as you both keep walking. there is a pause while a few students pass you laughing about something unrelated, the world moving as if nothing shifted. jake adjusts the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder and glances at you briefly before looking away again. “you didn’t have to.” jake says, without elaborating, without saying thank you, without saying he needed that, just leaving the sentence there. you keep your eyes ahead as you respond, “i know” and the words land between you. you didn’t have to, but you did. jake swallows. she just knew. that part unsettles him more than anything. she knew she didn’t have to and she did it anyway, not to win, not to prove something, not to translate me, just to keep it steady. you reach the steps outside the building, the afternoon light softer now, the sky edged with early evening gray as students scatter across the quad. you stop at the top of the stairs and say, “so, i’ll look over the comparative phrasing tonight,” adjusting your bag strap. he nods once and replies, “i will too.” it is not competitive. it is not defensive. it just is. there is nothing else to add, no apology, no rehashing last night, just the air between you changed in a way neither of you are naming. you start down the steps and jake turns in the opposite direction at the bottom. for half a second he almost looks back. he doesn’t. you walk toward your dorm with your hands tucked into your sleeves, your thoughts quieter than they have been in days. he walks toward his with his jaw set, his mind replaying one thing over and over. she didn’t hesitate.
the dorm room is loud in the way it always is at night, not chaotic and not quiet, just layered. sunghoon is half-lying across his bed with one arm behind his head and his phone balanced on his chest, scrolling with the distracted focus of someone pretending to relax. niki is sitting cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table with a controller in his hand, swearing softly at the screen every few seconds. the overhead light is off and only the desk lamp and the tv glow fill the room in uneven patches of yellow and blue. jake closes the door behind him a little harder than he means to. neither of them look up immediately. “how’d it go?” niki asks after a second without taking his eyes off the game. “you were there.” jake answers, dropping his bag beside his desk chair and keeping his tone even, flat, controlled. “still, how did you feel?“ niki shrugs. “fine.” jake’s tone is steady. sunghoon shifts slightly and glances over at him. “preview done?” sunghoon asks. “yeah” jake replies without elaborating as he pulls his laptop out of his bag and sets it on the desk without opening it. he does not need to check the slides again. he knows them. he knows every line. he just stands there for a moment longer than necessary. niki snorts at something on the screen and says, “she jumped in” jake’s shoulders tighten almost imperceptibly as he replies automatically, still facing his desk, “she didn’t jump in.” niki pauses the game and looks over. “she did,” niki says casually. “mid-comparison.” jake exhales through his nose. “it was a transition.” sunghoon lifts an eyebrow slightly. “you lost the bridge.” jake turns around at that and leans back against the edge of his desk. “i didn’t lose it,” he says, a little sharper than he intends. “i skipped it.” - “same difference” niki shrugs. “it’s not.” jake answers too fast. niki studies him for a second and sets the controller down on the table. “relax,” niki says. “it wasn’t a big deal.” jake does not answer because that is the problem. it was not a big deal. no one noticed. the professor did not blink. the class did not react. he didn’t even think niki would notice. and yet... sunghoon shifts upright now, more attentive. “you didn’t look pissed, you looked relieved,” sunghoon says calmly. jake’s jaw tightens. “i wasn’t.”- “you were” niki replies lightly, not mocking, just stating. jake pushes off the desk and moves toward the small kitchenette area, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge even though he is not thirsty. “you’re reading into it” he says as he unscrews the cap. “no,” sunghoon says evenly. “we’re not.” jake takes a sip he does not need and can feel the shape of that half-second in his chest even now, the slide flipping too early, the breath catching, the split-second where he thought not now. he swallows and screws the cap back on. “it was fine” he says. niki leans back on his hands. “we’re not saying it wasn’t.” jake’s fingers tighten slightly around the bottle. “she didn’t make it obvious,” sunghoon adds. that lands. jake’s gaze flicks up for a second. no one in the room is smiling. no one is teasing. they are just observing. “she doesn’t usually hold back” niki says. jake lets out a quiet scoff. “she just- she didn’t hold back.”- “she did,” sunghoon replies, voice steady. “you know she did.” there is a pause. jake feels irritation flare up, quick and sharp. “you’re making it sound like i needed saving.” no one answers immediately and that silence is worse. niki shrugs slightly. “you didn’t look mad,” he says. “that’s all we’re saying.” jake feels his stomach drop in a way that has nothing to do with embarrassment. he runs a hand through his hair and pushes it back harder than necessary. “because i wasn’t.” - “exactly.” sunghoon says. jake’s eyes narrow slightly. “what’s that supposed to mean?”- “it means,” sunghoon replies calmly, “you don’t usually let stuff slide.” jake’s mind jumps automatically to defense. “it wasn’t worth fighting.”- “or,” niki says, “you didn’t want to.” jake feels something shift under that and does not respond immediately.
he crosses the room and sits down on the edge of his bed instead, elbows resting on his knees while the tv light flickers across his hands. “i’m not competing with her right now” he says finally, the words feeling strange in his mouth. niki raises an eyebrow. “that’s new.” jake’s jaw tightens again. “we’re working together.” - “you’ve been working together all semester,” sunghoon says. that is not the same jake wants to say. before it was tension. before it was edge. before it was something sharp that kept him alert. but now he does not finish the thought. niki picks the controller back up but does not unpause the game. “you’re not mad she helped…” he says again, quieter this time. jake’s head lifts. “that‘s not-” he stops because he is not and that realization annoys him more than if he were. he looks down at his hands as the memory flashes in his mind without permission, the way her voice cut in steady and smooth, ‘building on what jake just explained…’ not correcting, continuing. he felt the panic ease immediately. he did not have to recover alone. he shakes the thought away. “it doesn’t matter” he says. sunghoon watches him carefully. “if it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be thinking about it.” jake looks up sharply. “i’m not.” - “alright” niki says lightly, and there is something knowing in it. the room feels smaller suddenly, the air heavier. jake pushes himself upright. “i’m going out” he says. niki glances at the clock. “now?” - “yeah.” sunghoon does not argue. he just nods once. “don’t overthink it” sunghoon says casually. jake huffs a quiet breath that is not quite a laugh. “i’m not.” but the moment he steps into the hallway and the dorm room door clicks shut behind him, the noise drops away and the quiet is louder than it should be.
he walks without a destination at first, down the stairs and out the front door. the night air is cooler than he expected and it hits his face and sharpens everything. he shoves his hands into his pockets. she didn’t make it obvious. she didn’t hesitate. he exhales slowly. she likes control. that’s all. that’s why she did it. not because she- but she did not look at me when she did it. she did not frame it like a correction. she did not make it about her. she just stood beside me. he feels the edge of something uncomfortable press against his ribs and he quickens his pace. this does not mean anything. it was a presentation. it was timing. it was discipline. that word echoes in his head. discipline. structure. control. he walks faster. the campus is mostly quiet now, streetlights humming faintly overhead, the pavement damp from earlier rain and reflecting the yellow glow in broken lines. his sneakers hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, each step measured and deliberate. walking usually helps. it gives his thoughts structure, direction, momentum. tonight they refuse to line up. she didn’t make it obvious. the sentence keeps circling. he exhales through his nose and adjusts his pace, faster now, like speed might outrun it. it was a presentation. people interrupt. transitions get skipped. it happens. he has done worse before and recovered cleaner. this was not even a mistake. it was a minor slip. the professor did not react. the class did not react. it was fine. he repeats it internally, controlled, like he is rewriting a narrative. it was fine. but his chest tightens anyway because he remembers the half-second, the slide shifting too early, the silence microscopic but there, the split-second thought that hit before he could stop it. not now. he had felt it, the edge of exposure, the possibility of looking sloppy, of looking unprepared, of looking second. his jaw tightens at the memory. and then your voice, steady. ‘building on what jake just explained…’ he slows slightly without realizing it. she did not rush. she did not sound sharp. she did not emphasize the correction. she did not even look at me. she just continued. he replays the moment again. the panic had eased instantly, not vanished but softened. he had not had to fight the room back. he had not had to reclaim control aggressively. she had adjusted the rhythm and given it back to me. his steps falter slightly before he corrects them. that does not mean anything. it was teamwork. we are partners. of course she stepped in. he clenches his jaw. she always steps in. she is competitive. she likes control. that is all. but something about that explanation feels thinner now because you did not look competitive. you did not look satisfied. you did not look like you had scored a point. she just looked steady. he hates that word. steady implies intention.
he reaches the edge of the quad and slows, hands deep in his jacket pockets now, the pavement damp from earlier rain and reflecting the yellow streetlight in broken streaks. he tells himself this is distraction. he has been off since the ranking dropped, since the stupid decimal shift. that is what this is. pressure. nothing else. but the ranking does not explain the relief. that is the problem. he had felt it, clear and undeniable. relief. not embarrassment. not anger. relief. his breathing shifts again. he stops walking for a second, staring out across the empty lawn. relief means he did not want to fight it alone. relief means- he cuts the thought off. no. it just means she timed it well. it means she is good at reading the room. it means she is strategic. he nods once to himself like that settles it. then why did it feel different? the question lands without permission and he does not like it because it did not feel like strategy. it felt- he swallows and does not finish the word. he pushes off again, walking faster. he is overthinking. niki got into his head. that is all. ‘you looked relieved.’ he huffs under his breath. he was not relieved. he was just- he does not have a clean word for it. the memory shifts slightly in his mind, your hand moving toward the clicker, your tone steady, the way you did not frame it as correction, the way you did not soften it either. she treated it like it was normal, like i was still in control. he slows again because that is the part that does not fit. you did not translate him. you did not fix him. you did not protect him loudly. she adjusted beside me. he exhales slowly, his breath visible in the cool air. that should not matter. but it does, and he does not know why. he stands there for a second too long, staring at nothing. something shifted, and he does not like that he cannot name it. he pushes himself back into motion again, jaw tight. it does not mean anything. it was just a presentation. but the thought follows him anyway, stubborn and quiet. it felt better standing beside her. it follows him like it has weight, like it is something physical he cannot shake off, and he hates that immediately.
jake keeps walking anyway because walking is what he does when something does not fit, because movement makes things make sense, because movement turns chaos into sequence. but the thought does not fall into sequence and does not belong to any category he trusts. it was one preview. a half-second slip. he recovered. it was fine. so why is it still in his chest? he exhales through his nose, jaw tightening, and forces his pace faster across the damp pavement while the streetlights above hum faintly, their glow breaking into reflected fragments on the wet ground. a couple of students cross the quad in the distance laughing about something that has nothing to do with him, and he does not listen because he does not need to, their voices fading behind him like static. he tries to dismiss it again. jake digs his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and keeps walking as if the pressure of fabric against his knuckles will anchor him. he can still feel the plastic remote in his palm even though it is not there anymore. he can still feel the moment the slide flipped too early, the flicker of light across his face, the micro-pause that only he and you would have noticed, and only you did notice. that is part of it. it hits him again, sharp and inconvenient: she noticed. he does not like that his brain uses you like that, like it is automatic now, like your existence is a reference point in his head, and he pushes it away. of course she noticed, she always notices, she always tracks, she always pays attention to details other people miss, and that is what makes her good, what makes her annoying, what makes her dangerous.
his pace slows without him meaning it to and he corrects it immediately, walking faster again, because he hates losing control of his own body and hates the way his thoughts are dragging him sideways. it was not the normal satisfaction of a clean recovery. it was not even about being right. it had been something else, and he hates that he cannot name it. he reaches the edge of the quad and slows near the steps, staring out across the open grass, the campus at night looking almost staged like it was designed to feel calm, path lamps glowing at regular intervals, trees swaying lightly in the wind, air smelling faintly like rain and cold stone. he stands still for a second too long. something shifted, and he does not like that he cannot name it. he pushes himself back into motion again, jaw tight. it does not mean anything. it was just a presentation. but the thought follows him anyway, stubborn and quiet. it felt better standing beside her. his mind flicks to the ranking board without his permission. midterm day. the decimal. down by one. yours up. he remembers the heat in his neck - and the way you weren’t smiling. you weren’t celebrating. you were watching him. jake remembers walking up like it did not matter. he told himself it didn’t matter. one decimal. a stupid fucking decimal. yours up. his down. and you weren’t smiling. you were watching him. you were not celebrating his slip. you were just looking at him differently. not smug, not victorious. softer. but he hated it. hated it because it felt like pity. hated it because pity is for people who lose. hated it because he could not afford to be someone who loses. he had played it off, joked, smiled, acted like the decimal did not matter, but he had felt it like a bruise. and then later, when the campu had emptied, when the noise had faded, when it was just him and you and the air between you still carrying that weird tension, he had done something he still could not explain. he had not meant to- except he had. and that contradiction is the part that makes his stomach tighten now. he had leaned in. he had closed the space. he remembers the moment with brutal clarity, not because it was romantic but because it was the first time in a long time he did something without running it through strategy first. he leaned in. he could have stopped. he didn’t. no hesitation. no strategy. it didn’t feel like rivalry. it felt inevitable. the word lands in his head again and he hates it. inevitable implies a pattern. inevitable implies it started earlier. inevitable implies he did not choose it, except he did.
he stands still again near a lamppost staring down at the wet ground, his reflection broken in the puddles into pieces distorted by light, and he flexes his fingers inside his pockets like he is trying to wake them up. he is not supposed to feel inevitable about anything except success. he moves again, taking the long path around the quad as if distance will untangle his thoughts. arcade night flashes next, not the games or the laughter or the noise but the walk back, the way the air cooled after the arcade heat, the way the night felt quieter than it should have been with so many people around, the way you kept glancing at him like you were checking something you did not want to admit you were checking. then the door closing. the shift. the quiet that fell like a heavy blanket. he remembers the dorm hallway light harsh and yellow, the way his pulse was too fast, the way his head felt slightly fogged, the way he kept telling himself it was just alcohol, just tension, just the night, and then the feeling that followed, not drunk chaos, not blurred impulse, deliberate. that word again. deliberate is worse than inevitable because deliberate implies choice. he remembers how close it got and does not let his mind linger on physical details. your breath changing, his hand not pulling away, you not pulling away, the moment where everything could have stopped and did not. not because you could not, but because neither of you wanted to. he swallows, throat tight, and turns his head sharply like he can shake the memory out physically, walking faster now, the rhythm of his steps turning almost aggressive. he does not like that those memories do not feel messy. he does not like that they feel chosen. chosen means he let you in. chosen means he lost control. chosen means he wanted something that was not strategic. he hates that the thought makes him feel exposed even though no one is here. the campus path curves toward the library, the building dark except for a few lit windows on the lower floor, probably students studying late, silhouettes moving inside, and he feels a familiar tightening in his chest. an old pressure that has always driven him. be exceptional. don’t be second. don’t let anyone see you struggle. and that pressure is comforting because it is predictable. but now another thread is weaving into it, something he did not ask for. you. he thinks about your face during the preview presentation, the way you did not look at him before you spoke, the way you did not soften your voice, the way you did not announce that you were helping, and the way you did not even make it about him. you just continued.
he cannot stop replaying the way the relief hit his body before his brain could argue it away. he can still feel it, the tension in his shoulders loosening, the breath coming easier, the rhythm returning. and relief is a word he hates because relief implies need, need implies weakness, weakness implies second place. he stops again near the steps of the library and stares at the railing like it has answers, hearing his own breathing, the faint buzz of the streetlights, a distant door opening somewhere and then closing. proximity. that is all. you are working together, of course it feels different. it is stress, midterms, rankings, the project, it is tension, rivalry turning sideways. it is habit. i’m is used to her being there. used to pushing against her. but the explanations do not stick and slide off the truth like water off glass, because if it were just rivalry, relief would not feel like safety. because if it were just tension, it would not feel steady. because if it were just ego, he would not care that you stepped in without making him look weak. the problem is not that you helped. the problem is that he wanted you to. that thought lands and it does not land softly, it lands like a weight. he does not move, not even a step, not even a shift of his shoulders. his hands stay in his pockets, his jaw locks, his breathing slows, not because he is calming down but because his body has gone into a weird still mode where it is bracing for impact. he waits for a counterargument, waits for the defensive voice that always shows up with a clean answer. and nothing comes, because his brain is running images without permission now. not explicit and not romantic. just devastatingly simple. you not smiling when he dropped that decimal. you watching him instead of celebrating. you stepping in during the preview. you walking away after he snapped. not because you did not care, but because he made it impossible to stay close without getting cut. he has been telling himself you pulled back because you regretted something. telling himself you froze because you did not want it, telling himself your distance was rejection. but what if it was self-protection? what if she withdrew because i hurt her? what if she did not hesitate today because she never hesitated about me in the first place? his chest tightens again, not with panic exactly but with fear. because if that is true then he has been wrong. and if you weren’t his enemy, then who was he fighting? he stands there still as the thoughts stack up like blocks he cannot rearrange. i don’t want to beat her. the sentence forms slowly in his head and it feels like it breaks something just by existing. i don’t want to beat you. i wants you beside me. that is worse- because wanting someone beside him implies partnership, partnership implies trust, trust implies vulnerability, vulnerability implies losing control. he swallows again but his throat stays tight. i don’t want to lose her. the thought comes next, sudden and blunt. like it was not filtered through his ego at all. he goes even stiller as if that is possible, his brain stalling. why? the word is almost angry. it can’t be-
shit.
he exhales slowly, breath fogging in the cold air, and stares out across the empty quad again, path lights humming, grass dark, the campus a still image. for the first time since freshman year he is not thinking about rankings, not thinking about decimals, not thinking about being first. he is thinking about you walking away. and that possibility, quiet and simple and not dramatic, feels worse than losing. he does not move. he does not reach for his phone. he does not text. he does not call. he does not fix it. he just stands there in the middle of the night with the streetlights humming overhead and the awareness sitting in his chest like something irreversible.
the campus looks ordinary in the morning light, students moving between buildings in loose clusters with coffee cups and backpacks and low conversation, everything predictable, structured, familiar. you spot him at the long wooden table outside the economics building before he sees you, already there with his laptop open, notes spread beside it, a pen balanced neatly across the margin of a printed draft. you slow down slightly without meaning to and approach. he glances up when your bag touches the bench. “morning” he says, without a smirk, without a dry remark about punctuality. “morning” you reply, and your eyes drift to the screen automatically. slide 14. you pause. “that’s different” you say. he nods once. “yeah” he answers, offering no explanation, and when you wait he turns the laptop slightly toward you. “i adjusted the transition after the model comparison.” he says, just that, no performance, no claim of credit, no subtle implication that he caught something you didn’t. you blink. “you adjusted it?” you ask. “it was clunky,” he says simply. “the shift into limitations felt abrupt.” you stare at the new wording. he split the bridge into two steps, tightened the language, removed one of your longer sentences. it reads better. you hate that it reads better. “you didn’t have to” you tell him. he shrugs lightly. “it flows cleaner this way” he replies, no edge, no satisfaction. you sit down slowly, aware of the strange absence in the air, like a missing note in a chord you’ve gotten used to hearing, and you open your laptop. “run it from the top?” you ask. he nods. you begin with your section, moving through the regression framing controlled and precise, leaving space deliberately in your explanation, a minor phrasing vulnerability, a statistic that could be challenged if someone wanted to. he usually would. you reach the end of the segment. silence. you glance up. he’s listening, chin resting lightly against his knuckles, eyes steady, not calculating, not waiting to interject. “that’s it?” you ask before you can stop yourself. he tilts his head slightly. “yeah?” he says. “you’re not going to push back?” you press. a small pause. “if i disagree, i will” he answers, no sarcasm in it. you feel your shoulders tense. “that’s not what i meant” you say. he studies you for half a second longer than necessary. “i know,” he replies, then gestures toward the next slide. “continue.” you do, but your rhythm is off, prepared for interruption, for debate, for the sharp back-and-forth that’s become instinct. without it your words feel slightly unanchored. you finish again. he nods once. “good” he says. you stare at him. “that’s all?” you ask. “do you want me to argue?” he asks, no challenge in his tone, just a question. you hesitate. “no” you answer. he accepts that immediately and leans forward to adjust the font size on one of your bullet points. “it’ll read better from the back” he says, his hand hovering over your section not possessive, not dismissive, just precise. you watch him make the change. he doesn’t narrate it, doesn’t draw attention, doesn’t look at you afterward for approval. he just continues. “you want to run the q&a simulation?” he asks. “yes” you reply. you switch roles. he presents now, structured, controlled, smooth. when he reaches the variance explanation you instinctively lean forward, ready to cut in, ready to refine his wording before it slips. it doesn’t. he tightens the phrasing himself. you blink. he finishes the segment. “thoughts?” he asks. you open your mouth automatically, almost say something sharp out of habit, but instead you say, “it’s clear.” he nods once, polite grin, no subtle victory, no teasing comment about how generous that was of you, and he just clicks to the next slide. the air feels strangely neutral, not hostile, not warm, just even. you didn’t realize how much the friction structured things until it disappeared.
you try again. “in the second example,” you say carefully, “you’re assuming the panel will accept the sampling frame without challenge.” he considers that. “they won’t,” he replies. “but i’m not going to escalate it unless they do first.” you blink. “you’re not?” you ask. “no,” he answers and folds his hands loosely in front of him. “it’s cleaner if we don’t force the tension” he says, and the sentence sits between you. cleaner. you don’t know why that word unsettles you. you’ve always associated him with controlled chaos, sharp improvisation, strategic provocation. now he sounds deliberate, measured. something shifts under your ribs, not panic, not irritation, just displacement. the rivalry had a rhythm. push. counter. refine. correct. you knew your place in that rhythm. if he steps out of it, you’re not sure where you stand. “run it again.” you say a little too quickly. he nods. this time you listen more than you speak, tracking his phrasing, his tone, the way he transitions between sections. there’s no defensiveness in his voice, no subtle competitiveness woven into his inflection. he doesn’t perform the debate. he performs the work. you notice the small things: he references your model without framing it as separate from his, he says “our projection” instead of “your estimate,” he adjusts one of his own sentences mid-delivery when it sounds too sharp. you didn’t even ask him to. he just does. and when he finishes, he closes the laptop halfway. “that was solid” he says. you stare at him. “you’re so calm” you observe. a beat passes. “why wouldn’t i be?” he replies. he’s right, why wouldn’t he– it’s not like he had the biggest breakdown since ever last night.
students pass behind you, someone laughs too loudly, a door slams somewhere in the building, the world continuing. you look at him again, trying to locate the edge you’re used to. it’s not gone. it’s just quieter. you fold your arms lightly. “why are you not trying to win this rehearsal?” you ask. he meets your eyes evenly. “i’m just trying to get it right.” he answers immediately, uncomplicated. you don’t know what to do with that. you look away first. he doesn’t. you feel it, the absence of competition as pressure, not dramatic, not loud, just different. you close your laptop slowly. “same time tomorrow?” you ask. “yeah, sure” he replies. he gathers his notes, stacks them neatly, and slides them back into his bag without flourish, without careless stuffing. you’re still holding your laptop half-open when footsteps cut across the concrete behind you, too fast and too coordinated to be random, and you already know it’s going to be someone you can’t ignore. jay’s voice hits first, bright and shameless. “oh my god,” jay says as he, jungwon and kazuha slow down beside the table, “look at you two. studying in daylight. i feel like i’m interrupting a very serious documentary.” you blink once and set your laptop lid down a little harder than necessary because you were about to leave and now you’re not. and you hate that the timing makes you look like you were lingering. jake doesn’t seem bothered, which is worse. he just shifts his bag strap onto his shoulder and looks up at jay with the expression he uses when someone is talking too much and he’s deciding whether it’s worth responding. “we’re done” jake says evenly, and there’s no bite in it. jay grins like that’s an invitation. “yeah, sure” jay replies, dragging the word out as he drops into the seat opposite you anyway. jungwon doesn’t sit, but he leans against the edge of the table with his hands in his pockets, scanning the open screen like he’s clocking the slide deck without meaning to, while kazuha sets her bag down on the bench with a quiet thud, polite but unapologetic, as if this table has always been communal property. you shift your weight slightly, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder, and you can feel how your body is already preparing for the old rhythm. someone jokes. jake deflects. you sharpen. he counters.
the conversation snaps into place like a familiar mechanism. jay’s eyes flick from you to jake and back with exaggerated curiosity. “so,” jay says, tapping the table once, “are you guys in a truce era or are we still doing the whole academic enemies thing because i miss the tension. it was entertaining.” heat rises faintly up your neck at the word tension, not because it’s new but because it’s not accurate anymore, not in the way people mean when they say it. you keep your face neutral and say, “we’re just working” because that’s safe and factual and boring enough to end the subject. jake doesn’t contradict you, which is the first sign something is off in a way you don’t have language for. he just reaches down and nudges his bag with his foot, pushing it closer to the bench like he’s anchoring it. jungwon tilts his head and asks, “preview went fine?” and you open your mouth to answer out of habit, but jake answers first, calm and concise. “it was fine” jake says, and it’s not dismissive. it’s not cocky. it’s just a statement. jay makes a face like he’s offended by how uninteresting that is. “jake saying ‘fine’ is terrifying,” jay says, pointing at him like he’s presenting evidence, “because that means he’s either lying or about to win something.” you expect jake to smirk or toss something sharp back, because that’s what he usually does when jay turns him into a caricature, but jake only lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. “we’re not winning,” jake says. “we’re presenting.” the words are mild, but they land with an odd firmness, and you watch jay blink like he’s recalibrating.
kazuha slides into the seat beside jay, crossing one leg over the other, and looks at you with a small smile. “you look tired,” kazuha observes lightly, like it’s casual and not a diagnosis. you hate that she’s right, and you hate that your first instinct is to deny it, so instead you adjust your grip on your bag strap and say, “i’m fine” because that’s what you always say when you don’t want to explain anything. jay makes a sympathetic noise that’s mostly fake. “we’re all fine,” jay says dramatically, “we’re just slowly dying inside as midterms approach again.” you feel jake’s gaze flick toward jay for half a second at the mention of midterms, then away, so fast you almost miss it, and you don’t know why that tiny movement sticks in your mind. jay’s eyes drop to jake’s bag, then to the corner of the printed draft peeking out of it, then back to jake’s face with obvious delight. “wait,” jay says, leaning forward, “hold on. jake has paper.” he says it like he’s caught a rare animal in the wild. “jake has printed paper.” jungwon lets out a quiet laugh through his nose, and kazuha’s eyebrows lift. jay turns his head toward you like you’re supposed to confirm it. “he doesn’t even look like he studies,” jay declares, voice loud enough that a couple of passing students glance over, “he just shows up and wins. it’s sick.” you glance at jake automatically, expecting him to laugh it off, to smooth it over, to keep the persona intact. jake doesn’t laugh. jake doesn’t even smile. he just says, “i do jay.” three words. flat. final. it’s not defensive the way it would be if he said it too quickly. it’s not performative either. he says it like it’s a fact that doesn’t require debate, like he’s done pretending the myth is convenient.
the silence that follows is small but real. jay’s grin falters just enough to show surprise, and jungwon’s gaze sharpens with quiet interest like he’s watching a crack form in glass. your fingers tighten around your bag strap, then loosen when you realize you’re gripping it too hard. jay recovers first, because jay always does, and he laughs. “okay, damn,” jay says, “sorry, didn’t know i was touching a nerve.” jake’s eyes stay on jay, steady and unamused, but not hostile. “you weren’t” jake replies, and something about the calmness of it makes the air feel different. you swallow, your throat suddenly dry, and you can’t decide if the discomfort is because jake just corrected the narrative out loud or because a part of you feels exposed, like your old assumptions are standing in the sunlight. more footsteps approach, familiar and quick, and you don’t have to turn to know who it is because niki’s voice carries like he was built for interruptions. “why do you look like someone just insulted your entire bloodline?” niki asks as he drifts toward the table, and sunghoon follows half a step behind him, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable in the way that means he’s clocking everything. niki’s eyes flick over the group, then land on jake, and his mouth twists into a grin. “what’s up man-” niki says, dragging the word out. jay points at jake like he’s proud. “i said he doesn’t look like he studies,” jay admits, “because it’s true.” niki’s grin widens, but there’s something sharper under it than joke, like he’s enjoying the chance to poke at the myth because he knows exactly how false it is. “you should see him during midterms,” niki says, tone teasing but edged, as he drops into the chair closest to jake like he owns the place, “man goes ghost.” he says it like it’s funny, like it’s casual, like it’s not also a confession that jake’s calm is curated. jay laughs too loudly. “ghost?” jay repeats. “jake?” niki nods like he’s confirming a fact everyone should already know. “yeah,” niki says, glancing at you briefly and then back to jake, “like you’ll text him and he’ll reply three business days later with one word, and then you’ll realize he’s been in the library basement pretending he doesn’t need oxygen.” sunghoon makes a quiet sound that could be agreement or warning, then adds, “he forgets food exists,” in that same calm voice he uses when he’s stating something obvious, and you feel your chest tighten again because they’re saying it like a joke, but jake isn’t smiling, and neither are you. jake exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to the table for half a second like he’s counting his reactions. he doesn’t deny it. he doesn’t deflect it. he doesn’t snap at niki to shut up. he just says, “you’re exaggerating” and it’s the closest thing to a protest he offers. niki’s eyes brighten like he’s been given permission to push. “am i?” niki asks innocently, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and sunghoon’s gaze flicks to jake in a silent check-in. jake’s jaw tightens once, barely, then relaxes.
“we’re leaving” jake says again, not to the group but to the situation, and it’s not angry. it’s controlled. it’s him trying to reclaim the exit he was going to have before jay arrived. you shift again, adjusting your stance like you’re preparing to follow him, and you realize with a jolt that you’ve been aligning yourself with him instinctively, physically, without deciding to. your stomach twists at the realization, and you force your expression back into neutral. jay is still grinning, oblivious to the subtle tension because he’s not the one living inside it. “wait,” jay says, “so you’re telling me jake is actually human?” niki laughs. “barely,” niki answers, and sunghoon’s mouth twitches like he almost smiles. kazuha looks at jake with softer curiosity now, like she’s seeing him from a new angle. “you really study?” kazuha asks, and it’s not mocking, it’s just genuinely surprised. jake meets her gaze briefly. “yes,” jake says, and then, because he doesn’t seem to know what to do with that kind of attention, he adds, “i just don’t like to talk about it.” the sentence is plain, but it lands harder than anything else he’s said today, and you feel it hit somewhere low in your chest like a weight shifting. you remember the times he disappeared during midterms. the gaps where he wasn’t at group meetups. the way he always showed up afterward looking normal again, like he’d simply been out having fun. you remember how easy it was to assume the reason for his absence was comfort. privilege. safety. a faint sting settles behind your ribs. jay misses the complexity and barrels forward. “okay,” jay says, “but like you still make it look easy.” niki’s grin fades slightly, not fully, but enough that you notice the shift. “looking easy doesn’t mean it is” niki says, still casual, still teasing, but the edge is sharper now, like he’s warning jay without turning it into a confrontation. sunghoon doesn’t say anything, but his gaze holds steady on jay for a second too long, and jay finally lifts his hands like he’s backing off. “alright, alright,” jay says, laughing, “i get it, you guys are sensitive about your golden boy.” jake’s eyes flick up at that, quick and cold, and for a second you see the edge you were trying to locate earlier, the one you know. it’s there. it’s just been kept on a leash today. he doesn’t snap, though.
he just slings his bag higher on his shoulder and says, “okay, we’re done.” like he’s closing the conversation with the same precision he stacks paper. you should feel relief, but you don’t. your mind keeps snagging on the same points. jake is not effortless. jake is not careless. jake is not coasting. jake is private. privacy doesn’t fit neatly into your rivalry logic. you can compete with arrogance. you can compete with talent. you can compete with ego. but you can’t compete with someone you don’t fully understand. and the thought unsettles you more than it should. niki stands and stretches, bumping jake’s shoulder lightly with his own as niki passes. “don’t forget to eat” niki says, half-joking, and jake’s mouth tightens like he’s refusing to react to the softness hidden inside the tease. “i will.” jake replies, and you don’t know if he means it, but you do know he didn’t roll his eyes. he didn’t joke. he didn’t brush it off. he just accepted it. jungwon checks his phone and says, “we’re grabbing coffee,” and kazuha nods, already pulling her bag strap up. jay points at you. “you coming?” he asks. you open your mouth to say you have class because you always have an excuse ready, because leaving is easier than sitting in discomfort, but you hesitate, and the hesitation is physical before it’s mental. your fingers shift on your bag strap. your weight rocks back on your heels. “i have class” you say finally, because it’s true and because you need the escape. jay groans dramatically and waves you off. “of course you do” he says, already turning away as the group begins to drift. kazuha gives you a small smile and jungwon nods once, and then they’re walking off, their conversation fading into normal campus noise like nothing happened. but something did.
the table feels emptier even though you and jake are still standing there. you look down at the closed lid of your laptop like it can give you structure, like it can give you the familiar certainty you like living inside. jake doesn’t move right away. he adjusts the strap on his bag again, fingers tightening once on the fabric, then releasing. you watch the motion and realize you’re tracking him the way you track data points, like you’re trying to find a pattern that explains him cleanly. you hate that your first instinct is to soften toward him. not in a romantic way. not in a sweet way. in a pity-adjacent way you don’t trust, because pity is a trap. pity changes the power dynamic. pity makes you careless. pity makes you misread people. and yet the idea of him going ghost during midterms, of him disappearing not because he doesn’t care but because he cares too much, presses uncomfortably against your old assumptions, and a quiet heat rises behind your eyes like irritation that has nowhere to go. you clear your throat, not because you need to but because you need sound. jake glances at you. “what?” he asks, neutral. you almost say, “nothing.” you almost say, you could’ve told people. you almost say, i didn’t know. instead you say the safest thing you can find. “are you really going to eat?” a beat passes. then jake’s mouth twitches, almost a smile, but it doesn’t fully form. “yes,” jake replies, his tone still calm but much softer at the edges. “i’m not trying to die before presentation day.” you huff a quiet breath that could count as a laugh if you let it. “good,” you say. jake studies you for half a second, like he’s trying to read why you said it that way, and you feel that familiar pressure building in your chest. the pressure of being seen not as a competitor but as a person who cares enough to ask. he looks away first, as if he doesn’t want to sit in that recognition. “same time tomorrow?” jake says, not a question. “yeah” you answer. he starts to walk, then slows, matching your pace without commenting on it, and you hate how natural it feels for your steps to align. you walk toward the building together, not touching, not close enough for anyone to comment, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him when the wind shifts. jake stops at the entrance of your lecture hall and nods once. “see you” he says. “yeah” you reply. you turn toward the door, and you feel his gaze on your back for a second longer than necessary, not intense, not possessive, just present. you don’t look back. you tell yourself you don’t need to. but your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag anyway as you walk inside. you thought he was effortless. now you’re not sure what he is. but you know this in a way you don’t like admitting. it’s harder to compete with someone you can’t reduce. it’s harder to feel victorious when you start noticing what it costs them.
the week before midterms always does something to campus, like the air gets thinner and everyone pretends they’re fine while quietly unraveling. you tell yourself you’re not going to a party. you tell yourself you have too much to do, too much to lose, too many reasons to stay in your dorm with a highlighter and a spreadsheet. you tell yourself you don’t need loud music and sweaty rooms and cheap alcohol to cope with pressure. you tell yourself all of that right up until eunchae is standing in your doorway with her arms crossed and a look that says she’s not leaving until you move. “you’re coming,” eunchae says, and she says it like it’s a fact, not a suggestion, while chaewon leans against the wall behind her with that calm, unimpressed expression she gets when she’s already planned your entire evening for you. sakura is sitting on the edge of your bed scrolling through her phone like she owns your room, and yunjin is already halfway into a jacket, grinning like she’s about to have the fun of her semester. kazuha, quietly lethal as always, offers you a hair tie like she’s bribing you into compliance. “you’ve been staring at the same page for an hour” chaewon points out, and her tone is too gentle to argue with. “that’s called focus” you reply automatically, but eunchae cuts in immediately, rolling her eyes. “that’s called spiraling” eunchae says, and she doesn’t even sound mean, just certain, like she’s observed you long enough to know the difference. you open your mouth to protest again, but yunjin steps closer and bumps your shoulder with hers, warm and insistent. “it’s one night,” yunjin says, and her grin turns softer for half a second. “you’re not gonna lose your scholarship because you danced for forty-five minutes.” sakura looks up and adds, “also, we’re not letting you sit here and stress-cry alone” and the fact that she says it so casually makes your stomach tighten. like you’ve been caught doing something you didn’t want anyone to name. you hate that it lands, and you hate that they’re right, and you hate that your chest loosens a fraction anyway like your body’s already giving in before your pride does, so you stand up with a sharp exhale and grab your jacket, muttering, “if i fail my midterm because of you, i’m haunting all of you.” eunchae beams like she’s won something. “deal.” eunchae says, already turning toward the hallway, and kazuha slips her arm through yours in a quiet, grounding way that makes you feel less like you’re being dragged and more like you’re being escorted.
the party is on campus, in one of those apartments that somehow always ends up being the center of whatever social event happens before everyone collapses into exam mode. you can hear it before you even reach the door, bass vibrating through the walls like a heartbeat that doesn’t belong to you. the hallway smells like perfume, cheap cologne and something sugary. someone you don’t recognize stumbles past laughing too loudly, nearly knocking into you until sakura shifts smoothly and blocks you with her shoulder like she’s been doing this her whole life. “breathe, it’ll be fun.” kazuha murmurs near your ear, and you do, because her voice is calm enough to make your nervous system listen even when your brain doesn’t want to. eunchae knocks once and then doesn’t wait, pushing the door open with the confidence of someone who has never questioned whether she belongs somewhere. warm air rushes out immediately, heavy with sweat, alcohol and heat from too many bodies in one space, and the sound hits you like a wall: music, laughter, someone yelling over the song, glass clinking somewhere in the kitchen. chaewon steps in first like she’s unbothered, sakura follows with a smile that’s too practiced, yunjin looks delighted, and you hover half a step behind them for a second longer than you should, because you already want to leave and you haven’t even fully entered. eunchae turns back and catches your wrist lightly, tugging you in with a grin. “welcome back to being a person” eunchae says, and it makes your face heat because you don’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed, so you do neither and let her pull you inside.
you clock the room fast because that’s what you do when you’re uncomfortable: you inventory. a cluster of people near the couch, someone perched on the armrest with a red cup, a couple making out in the corner like they forgot walls exist, a line forming toward the kitchen where the drinks are. you recognize heeseung immediately because he’s tall and loud and somehow always looks like he’s having the best time even when he’s doing nothing. he’s leaning near the counter with a grin while sunoo stands beside him, laughing with his whole face like the world isn’t currently built to stress him out. jungwon is there too, shoulders relaxed, eyes sharp like he’s watching everything at once, and jay is mid-story, hands moving dramatically as he talks, the kind of person who can turn midterm dread into a joke if he tries hard enough. then you see niki, and he’s already got that gleam in his eye that means he’s about to cause problems purely for entertainment, and he’s standing in a loose circle near the kitchen island like he’s holding court. and then jake is there. you spot him before you can pretend you didn’t. he’s leaning against the edge of the counter like he belongs there. one hand holding a shot glass, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messier than usual like he didn’t bother making it perfect. the light in the kitchen makes everything look warmer than it should, and it catches the line of his jaw when he tilts his head back to laugh at something heeseung says. he looks easy. he always looks easy. that’s what makes him infuriating, and it’s what makes a part of you go tight with something you refuse to name. heeseung nudges him with his elbow and says something you can’t hear over the music, and jake’s mouth curves into that lazy, controlled grin that used to feel like a weapon when it was aimed at you in class. niki lifts his shot glass like he’s toasting the concept of poor choices, and jake mirrors him without hesitation, like the motion is automatic. heeseung claps his hands once and calls out, “okay, okay, pre-midterm therapy shots” and his voice cuts through the noise just enough to carry. jake tips his head slightly and says something back with a calm confidence you can’t hear, and the fact that you can’t hear it makes you want to move closer. listen. and also makes you want to turn around and leave immediately.
eunchae notices your stillness because eunchae notices everything, and she leans in close enough that her hair brushes your cheek. “don’t,” eunchae says softly, and she doesn’t even have to specify what she means, because you know. don’t glare. don’t overthink. don’t turn this into a war in your head. you swallow and force your shoulders to relax. you let kazuha tug you toward the living room like it’s no big deal, like your pulse didn’t just spike. sakura says something cheerful to someone passing by, chaewon accepts a drink with a polite nod, yunjin laughs at a joke that barely registers in your ears. and you try to make yourself match their energy because you don’t want to be the person who ruins the night with your tension. but your eyes flick back to the kitchen anyway, because you’re not made of stone, and because jake is still there, tipping a shot back with heeseung and niki like he’s immune to consequences. like midterms aren’t going to chew everyone up next week. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks up-just briefly-and for a second you think he’s looking at you. your stomach tightens. then he turns to heeseung again like nothing happened. like he didn’t just shift your entire nervous system with one glance you’re not even sure was real. and you hate that you’re standing here calculating him while pretending you came to relax.
you take a drink from the cup kazuha presses into your hand, the plastic warm from someone else’s grip, and you tell yourself this is fine. it’s just a party. it’s just noise. it’s just one night before midterms start to swallow the campus whole. and yet, when another round of cheers erupts from the kitchen and you hear heeseung shout, “again!” you find your gaze drifting back like it has its own gravity, because jake is laughing at him again, head tipped slightly, eyes bright, and niki is already pouring another set of shots like he’s committing to the bit. the music is louder in the kitchen. of course it is. it always is, because that’s where the shots are, where the counters are sticky and the floor vibrates slightly from too many people shifting their weight at once. eunchae is the one who pulls you closer without asking, because she lives for this exact chaos, and chaewon follows with the calm composure of someone who can drink and still remember formulas the next morning. sakura slips into the circle smoothly, smiling at heeseung like she’s amused before he even says anything, and yunjin is already hyping someone up about midterm “survival shots,” while kazuha stays half a step beside you, steady and quiet. you don’t intend to end up next to jake. you just do. heeseung is laughing mid-sentence, one hand thrown over niki’s shoulder, the other pointing dramatically at jake like he’s narrating some grand victory, and jake is leaning back against the counter with a shot glass in his hand. he looks easy. he always looks easy. it makes your jaw tighten before you can stop it.
niki finishes pouring and slides a glass toward jake. “pre-midterm cleanse” niki declares with a grin that’s already too sharp to be innocent. heeseung claps jake on the back. “jaeyun,” heeseung says loudly, proud and teasing at the same time, “i heard you killed that preview, dude. professor kim mentioned it in office hours. said it was ‘impressive.’” jaeyun. the word lands wrong. not for the room. the room just laughs. someone whistles. sunoo leans in with an exaggerated “of course he did” and jake goes still, small and brief, half a second you wouldn’t see if you weren’t watching him. his fingers tighten around the shot glass. his jaw locks. then he says, flat and immediate, “don’t.” heeseung blinks. “what?” he asks, and jake doesn’t smile as he tells him, “you know i hate that.” heeseung laughs like it’s a joke. “hate what? it’s your name,” he says, and jake’s eyes flick up for just a second, not defensive, not embarrassed, just sharp. “not here.” jake says. the music swells again and someone shouts from the living room, and the moment almost gets swallowed whole. heeseung lifts both hands in surrender. “alright, alright. jake” he corrects lightly, still grinning, but you’re still watching, because that wasn’t embarrassment, and it wasn’t annoyance. jake lifts the shot glass and tips it back without breaking eye contact with the counter before setting it down harder than necessary, the sound clicking sharp against the granite. niki notices, of course he does, and he mutters under his breath, “damn, touchy” not loud enough to escalate it. because jaeyun doesn’t belong here. jaeyun belongs to professors mentioning him in office hours. to expectations. to quiet admiration. to something polished and impressive and untouchable. jake belongs in kitchens that smell like tequila and lime, and the fact that he separates the two so instinctively makes something shift in you. heeseung pours another round. “okay, redemption shot for over-praising!” heeseung laughs, and jake doesn’t protest as he reaches for the glass again. you step closer without meaning to and tell him, “maybe slow down” leaning in just enough so the music doesn’t swallow your voice. jake glances at you and asks, “why?” and there’s something steady about him, not sloppy, not even that tipsy yet, just a little looser than usual. you fold your arms lightly and say, “we have rehearsal tomorrow” and jake tilts his head slightly as he answers, “and?” you reply evenly, “and i’m not covering for you if you show up hungover.” the words are simple, but the air changes as niki goes quiet and jake doesn’t look away. “i didn’t ask you to.” jake says, calm and controlled, but with an edge under it, and you answer, “you don’t have to.” that lands harder because you both know what it means. you stepped in before. you adjusted. you smoothed it out. you made it seamless. jake sets the second shot down untouched this time and says, “you don’t get to manage me.” not raising his voice, not sneering, just stating it like a boundary. your jaw tightens as you reply, “i’m not managing you. i’m being realistic” and jake asks, “about what?” with something sharper in it now. you say, “about the fact that this project doesn’t just affect you” while the music pulses through the cabinets and someone shouts your name from the doorway and you don’t look.
jake studies you like you’re an equation he’s not sure he wants to solve and says, “of course i’ll show up” and you reply before you can stop yourself, “that’s not what i’m worried about” making his eyes narrow slightly as he asks, “then what are you worried about?” you don’t say what you’re actually thinking. you say, “that you think this doesn’t matter,” and jake lets out a quiet, humorless breath as he says, “it matters.” you tell him, “then act like it.” and that’s when it snaps, not loud, not explosive, just clean, as jake says low, “i don’t need you to supervise me.”. you shoot back, “and i don’t need you to pretend you’re invincible,” there’s a flicker in his expression at that, not anger, something else, as he asks, “you think this is pretending?” you don’t hesitate when you tell him, “you always try to make it look easy” and the words hang between you.
the room stays loud around you. people laughing, someone bumping into heeseung and apologizing, yunjin dragging sakura toward the living room, chaewon saying something dry to jungwon that makes him grin, but the space between you goes quiet. jake holds your gaze and then says, very quietly, almost too quiet for the room he’s standing in, “jaeyun doesn’t get to screw up.” it isn’t dramatic. he doesn’t look at anyone else. he doesn’t elaborate. he says it like it’s obvious, like it’s fact, and you don’t respond because suddenly you understand. not fully, not perfectly, but enough.
jaeyun is the version people brag about in office hours. jaeyun is the one professors mention by name. jaeyun is the golden one. jaeyun doesn’t drink too much. doesn’t hesitate in presentations. doesn’t need help. doesn’t misstep. jake does. and jake hates when the two get confused.
he picks up the untouched shot and slides it back toward niki instead. “not that one,” jake says flatly, and niki raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, just sliding the extra shot back toward the bottle with a little clink like he’s filing it away for later. you should step away and you should let the moment dissolve, but jake is standing there, jaw tight, gaze fixed somewhere between the counter and the floor like he’s forcing his thoughts into a straight line, and you can’t not say it when you tell him, “don’t do this” your voice low enough that it shouldn’t carry even though the way his attention snaps up makes it feel louder anyway. his eyes flick to yours as he asks, “do what?” you fold your arms lightly because if you don’t put your hands somewhere you’ll fidget and if you fidget you’ll look like you care too much, replying evenly, “drink like you don’t have consequences. rehersal is tomorrow.” his mouth twitches like he’s about to make a joke, but he doesn’t, instead exhaling slowly through his nose and saying, “i’m not getting wasted” and you point out, “you’re doing shots” only for him to answer, “so is everyone else” and when you tell him, “that’s not an argument” his gaze sharpens as he says, “it’s not supposed to be.” irritation flares, quick and familiar, and it would be so easy to slip into the old rhythm, but you’re not trying to win right now and you’re trying to keep tomorrow from collapsing, so you say, “jake. we have rehearsal. we have the dataset response. we have q&a framing. if you show up hungover, i’m not doing this alone.” and something flashes in his expression fast enough that anyone else would miss it, not anger but offense at the idea underneath it, as his shoulders square like he’s bracing and he says, controlled, “you’re not doing it alone y/n.” while you lift your chin and tell him, “then act like it.” his eyes narrow and for a second it’s like the room blurs and it’s just you and him and the edge between you that always seems to sharpen when you least expect it as he replies, “i am acting like it.” and you say, “you were literally about to take another shot” and he looks at the counter and back at you and says, “because we’re at a party,” and when you press, “and?”, he answers, calm but strained anyway, “and i can handle it.” and you say before you can stop yourself, “i don’t care about that.” he pauses, a small, dangerous pause, and then asks too evenly, “what is it about then?” you don’t answer immediately because the truth sitting behind your teeth is messy. because you saw him flinch when heeseung said jaeyun. you saw him go still like someone had grabbed him by the throat with expectations. you don’t know what to do with the fact that it made you want to step closer instead of away, so you pick the cleanest version and say, “it’s about tomorrow. i’m not risking this because you want to ‘let loose’ tonight,” and he gives a short laugh that doesn’t match his eyes as he says, “you think this is me letting loose?” and you blink and ask, “what else would it be?”.
his jaw flexes and he looks like he’s about to say something and stops himself, the silence filling up with all the things you both keep circling without naming. he asks, louder than you expect and definitely louder than the music, “you think i don’t care about tomorrow?” as it cuts through the room like someone yanked a cord and the kitchen doesn’t go silent but it shifts, people pausing mid-laugh, mid-sip, mid-sentence, heeseung’s grin faltering, jay’s eyebrows lifting, jungwon straightening slightly, and even sunoo’s smile dropping into something curious while your stomach drops. not because of the words but because of the volume. but because jake doesn’t do loud unless he’s cornered. heeseung leans across the island sensing tension like a shark sensing blood and grinning like he lives for drama that isn’t his. “yo, are you guys arguing about regression models right now?” and jay laughs and says, “please tell me you are” while jungwon’s gaze flicks between you and jake, calm but alert. niki stays beside jake watching him with that sharp, almost-too-aware expression he gets when he knows exactly where the line is and is waiting to see who crosses it. you keep your expression steady even though your pulse jumps as you reply, “that’s not what i said.” and he steps half a pace closer, not aggressively but enough that you feel it, saying sharper than the first, “stop supervising me.” and that’s the one that gets everyone’s attention because now it isn’t just a disagreement. it’s personal. heeseung’s eyes widening slightly like he’s just realized he walked into something real, jay’s mouth opening like he’s about to make a joke and then shutting, jungwon’s gaze staying fixed on jake, measuring. niki moves, not dramatically and not like he’s body-blocking, just a casual step closer to jake’s side with his shoulder brushing jake’s like he’s inserting himself into the orbit before the gravity gets too strong. niki says lightly with a warning under it like a leash tightening, “okay. don’t be weird,” while jake doesn’t look at niki and keeps his eyes on you as he continues, still loud enough to carry and still controlled enough to not sound drunk, “you’ve been acting like i’m irresponsible. like i’m going to blow this up.” you inhale slowly to ground yourself and repeat, “you’re doing shots” because it’s the only factual thing you can cling to without falling into whatever this is becoming, and he shoots back, “and you’re acting like i’m not going to show up.”
you say, already regretting the wording because fix is the wrong word and fix is the trigger word and fix makes it sound like you think he’s broken, “i’m acting like i don’t want to have to fix it” and jake’s eyes flash as he says, “there it is. that.” and when you ask, “what?” he says, “that tone. like you’re already planning to cover for me” while niki taps jake’s shoulder once as a quiet signal and murmurs, “bro” trying to pull him back without making it obvious, but jake doesn’t move. heat rises behind your ribs as you say, steady, “because i have. i have covered for you. you don’t get to act like that’s not true”. niki steps between you, “okay, okay, time-out. this is a kitchen. not a therapy circle,” and jay snorts, relieved at the escape route, adding, “yeah, take your academic trauma somewhere else.”
the tension doesn’t dissolve, it just gets pushed aside like furniture, and niki uses the moment, leaning in closer to jake’s ear with concern masked as annoyance as he says, “you’re getting heated. chill.” while jake replies automatically, “i’m fine” even though the words don’t match the stiffness in his shoulders, and niki mutters, “you’re not,” before straightening and raising his voice just enough to sound casual as he says, “come on. breathe. you’re gonna start arguing about dataset framing in the tequila zone” drawing a couple laughs as jake exhales through his nose and, like his body finally remembers the room is full of eyes, lets niki steer him backward, not because he’s weak but because he’s choosing control. before jake turns away fully, he looks at you again. the music is loud enough to blur edges, the kitchen lights too bright, and when someone bumps into the counter behind you tequila sloshes dangerously close to the rim of a plastic cup, the party keeps moving like nothing just cracked open in the middle of it. you’re still standing exactly where the argument stalled, and he studies you for a second. not long enough for anyone else to clock it but long enough for you to feel it land. his jaw tight, not angry, not defensive, just braced, and you don’t even know what you would’ve said if niki hadn’t stepped in. you don’t know what you were about to accuse him of. jake’s mouth moves before he can stop it as he says, “you really think i don’t care?” not shouted but loud enough to cut through a dip in the music. niki’s hand tightens on jake’s shoulder as he says under his breath, “don’t.” while jake doesn’t look at him and keeps his eyes on you. and then, softer, so soft it barely survives the bass vibrating through the cabinets, jake adds, “you think i’d care this much if it wasn’t you?”
it isn’t performative or dramatic, sounding almost irritated, almost exasperated, like he’s frustrated you don’t already know. no one reacts because no one heard, and the world doesn’t pause. but you do, because the sentence doesn’t feel like a joke or ego or rivalry. it feels like something that slipped past his filter. jake’s expression shifts a fraction, not regret, not exactly, more like awareness, like he realizes the line crossed some invisible boundary he’s been pretending isn’t there. niki doesn’t push it, only leaning in again as he says low, “okay. that’s enough.” you stare at jake trying to translate it into something safe, because it could mean he cares about the project because you care and it could mean he cares about being seen by you. it could mean-
but before you can answer or even breathe properly, sunoo shouts from the living room, “jake! come drink like a normal person!” and niki tightens his grip on jake’s shoulder as he says louder with his grin back in place like armor, “yeah. come on, romeo. stop fighting in the kitchen” and jake turns toward the noise and then back to you one last time, not regretful and not taking it back, just aware, before letting niki pull him away into the living room where bodies and music and laughter swallow him like nothing happened. but something did. you’re left standing in the kitchen with your drink untouched in your hand, the plastic cup warm against your fingers, the bass vibrating through your bones, and the sentence replaying in your head like a glitch you can’t close out of. across the room jake is on the couch with niki leaning in close to his ear and saying something that makes jake run a hand through his hair like he’s trying to reset, and he looks up and your eyes meet for a second, and you don’t know what to do with the fact that he doesn’t look away first, so you look down at your cup and back up. but he’s still there, still watching, not competitive and not amused and not careless, just steady. like that sentence didn’t belong to the party noise. like it belongs to something else. something you’re not ready to name. and you hate it because you can’t tell whether it was nothing or whether it was the first real thing he’s said to you all semester.
the rehearsal room is too bright, not warm-bright, not late-afternoon gold, just fluorescent and unforgiving, the kind of light that makes everything look sharper than it feels, and you get there early, telling yourself it’s because you want one uninterrupted run-through before the final presentation, because timing matters, because transitions matter, because if you shave three seconds off slide seven the conclusion lands cleaner. it totally has nothing to do with not wanting to walk in at the same time. the room is empty when you unlock it, the projector humming faintly as it warms up, and you set your bag down, plug in your laptop, pull up the deck, click through slide one. slide two. slide three. your reflection flickering briefly across the white screen before the first title loads, and you stare at it longer than necessary because the party sentence replays anyway.
you think i’d care this much if it wasn’t you?
it’s not even the full sentence every time. sometimes it’s just care this much- then again if it wasn’t you- you swallow as the door opens. not turning immediately because you hear him first. the soft click of the handle, the measured steps across the floor. no rush, no hesitation. he drops his bag in the chair near the back wall and says, “morning,” in a tone that is completely normal. you click to slide four and reply, “morning,” just as normal, and that’s the problem. he moves to stand beside you instead of across from you, close enough that you can feel the residual cold from outside clinging to his jacket but not close enough to touch. without looking at him you ask, “do you want to start from the methodology or the intro?” and he answers easily, “intro. timing felt slightly off last time” slight, not wrong, not flawed, just slight. you nod once and begin, moving through the introduction smoothly, pacing measured, voice even. he doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t adjust your wording, doesn’t correct emphasis. and when you finish the opening section and glance at him out of habit he nods once and says, “good” that’s it. no “tighten the transition“, no “slow down on that statistic“, no raised eyebrow, no subtle challenge, just good. you move into the framework section and he takes over on cue. clean, no stumble, no hesitation, no improvisation. efficient. too efficient. you wait for him to cut you off when you overlap slightly on slide six, but he doesn’t. when you reach the conclusion the room feels wrong, you click to black and silence fills the space where debate should have been.
he checks his watch and says, “three minutes under” and you answer, “that’s fine” and he nods and says, “that’s good” and you hate how agreeable that sounds. you cross your arms without meaning to and say, “you didn’t interrupt once.” he looks at you with mild curiosity and replies, “you didn’t need interrupting” and you answer, “that’s not the point” he tilts his head slightly and asks, “what is the point then?” you open your mouth. then close it. you look back at the blank screen instead of at him as the fluorescent lights hum. and after a moment he says, “you adjusted slide eight. the transition is cleaner,” and you respond, “i know.” - “i noticed” he adds, and when you look at him and say, “okay” it’s just another calm acknowledgment. no spark, no competition, no ego. smooth. too smooth. and that unsettles you more than last night did. you pick up the remote just to have something in your hand and say, “this feels weird.” and he replies, “i think the presentation looks fine” and you say, “i know.” he studies you a second longer than necessary and asks, “you want to focus on delivery?” and you answer, “that’s not what it is” he asks again, neutral, controlled, open, “what is it y/n?” and the sentence from last night presses against the back of your throat. because he said it like it meant something and now he’s standing here like it didn’t. you turn fully toward him and ask, “what did you mean?” no build-up, no softening, just direct. jake doesn’t pretend not to understand, doesn’t ask you to clarify, doesn’t deflect to slides. just meets your eyes and says, “you know” and you hold his gaze as you tell him, “don’t do that.” and when he asks, “do what?” you gesture vaguely between you and say, “that. answering without answering. avoiding.” his expression stays steady as he says, “i’m not avoiding it” and you reply, “it feels like you’re acting” after a pause he says evenly, “i’m not.” and the phrasing lands heavier than it should because he’s right. he’s not acting different. he’s acting normal. and that’s what’s wrong. you almost pivot, almost reach for the laptop, almost say this is stupid, almost redirect to slide transitions. old instinct telling you to hide in structure, hide in competence, hide in measurable things. but you don’t. you stay where you are as the silence stretches and the projector fan hums quietly behind you. jake waits. not impatient, not pushing, just there. and that’s worse, because now you have to decide whether you’re going to say it or pretend you didn’t hear it at all. and you don’t pretend, not this time.
“you don’t get to say something like that and then act normal.” you tell him, the words steadier than you feel. jake doesn’t look surprised when he replies, “i told you i’m not acting.” you shake your head and insist, “jake, you said it like it meant something”, and he holds your gaze as he says, “it did.” you hesitate, then push forward. “then why are we standing here like we didn’t just-” you stop yourself before finishing and amend, “why are we standing here like this is just rehearsal?” jake answers evenly, “because we have a presentation in a week.” - “that’s not what i mean” you reply. and when he says, “i know” without softening, it only sharpens your frustration. “you said it,” you continue. “you wouldn‘t care if it wasn’t me.” - “yes” jake says. you take a step closer and tell him, “then don’t stand there like you didn’t.” jake responds, “i’m not saying i didn’t” and you counter immediately, “you are acting like it didn’t shift anything.” he studies you, then says, “i’m just not turning it into something chaotic.” - “it already is chaotic” you argue. jake corrects you quietly. “it’s chaotic for you.” you look away, jaw tight, and say, “you act like none of this costs you anything.” he stills and asks, “costs me what?” - “energy. focus. whatever it is,” you answer, gesturing between you. “you act like you can compartmentalize it and move on.” and after a brief pause, jake says, “when you look at me like i’m effortless, it makes me feel invisible.” you frown and respond, “that’s not what i’m doing.”- “i didn’t say it was intentional” he replies. “invisible how?” you ask. jake inhales and answers, “like i don’t have to try.”-“that’s not fair” you say. “why?” he asks. “because i never said you don’t try.” jake answers quietly, “you don’t have to.” you open your mouth, then shift your wording. “you make it look easy.”- “that doesn’t mean it is” he says. “i know that” you insist. jake meets your eyes and asks, “do you?” you hold his gaze for a second too long, because you don’t. not really. you know he studies. you know he prepares. you know he isn’t coasting on instinct. but you’ve always framed his control as natural, like composure is something he was born with instead of something he built. you think about the way he never looks rushed, the way he never looks unsure, the way you’ve used that steadiness against him in arguments like it proved he was less affected.
you swallow. “i-” you start, but the word stalls before it can turn into defense. he watches you closely, not accusing, not smug. just waiting. and for the first time it occurs to you that maybe you’ve mistaken his restraint for indifference, and the realization doesn’t settle gently- it shifts something, sharp and destabilizing, and you inhale slowly as it rearranges the ground under your feet. “and the kiss?” you ask, not softening it or circling it, and the words hang between you like something thrown too hard to retrieve. jake doesn’t blink or laugh or reach for a safer angle. he just says, “not strategy.” clean and final. you stare at him. “not-” you begin, then stop, because your mind is still trying to file it under something controlled, something tactical, and you swallow before asking nothing at all. jake adds evenly, “i don’t kiss people i’m competing with.” as if that should settle it. your chest tightens. you demand, sharper than intended, “what are you even saying?” he holds your gaze and replies, “you think i’d complicate this if you didn’t matter?” the calm certainty of it lands harder than raised volume ever could, and you struggle to categorize his expression-no smirk, no defensiveness, nothing easy to dismiss. he watches you think and says, with the faintest edge, “you’re thinking too hard.“- “i’m not,” you answer automatically and force yourself back to something concrete. “you said it didn’t mean anything.” he corrects you without flinching. “i said we were drunk.”- “i wish i knew what you were thinking.” you reply, quieter now. jake nods once. “i know.” you press further. “and the night at your dorm. the-” your voice falters, but he doesn’t make you finish. “that wasn’t nothing either,” jake says simply. your pulse jumps. he continues, measured, “i didn’t want to reduce it to…that.”- “to what?” you ask. “to a mistake.” he answers. you swallow and say, “but you acted like you did. after.” his jaw tightens slightly as he admits, “because it was easier.”- “for who?” you challenge. “for both of us.” jake replies immediately. the truth of it stings, and you try to steady yourself. “so what,” you say, “you’re saying it wasn’t to throw me off?” his eyes narrow, in quiet offense. “you think i’d need that?” you freeze, realizing the implication. jake holds your gaze and says, level and deliberate, “i don’t do things like that to win. not with you.” heat rises behind your eyes, but you keep your voice even. “then what was it?” he doesn’t look away. “it was me not stopping,” jake says. your breath catches. after a beat, he adds, quieter, “and it was me letting you see that.” the room feels too bright as you try to process it.
you just stand there, stunned, as he meets your gaze steadily, like he’s been waiting for you to understand. and something in you finally stops fighting for an explanation that keeps you safe. he watches you and repeats, softer but no less certain, “you think i’d complicate this if you didn’t matter to me?” because the truth is too clear to ignore. he didn’t lose control. he chose exposure. he chose- oh.
OH.
of course. of course that’s what it was. of course that’s why the silence after the phone rang felt like grief. of course that’s why the “we were drunk” excuse tasted wrong in your mouth even as you used it. of course that’s why the smoothness today feels worse than any argument. because he wasn’t treating it like nothing. he was treating it like something he didn’t know how to hold. and he still came back, he still showed up, he still stood beside you.
your throat goes dry. you almost laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s absurd how long you’ve both been circling the same obvious truth like it was dangerous. you almost say something sharp, almost turn it into a joke, almost protect yourself with cleverness. you don’t. you just stand there, stunned, your heart beating too hard in a room that is too bright, looking at him like he’s a new variable you didn’t account for, and he looks back like he’s been accounting for you the entire time. jake steps closer, not quickly, not like he’s trying to corner you, just one measured step that makes the air shift, and your body reacts before your pride does. you step back automatically, heel catching the leg of a chair as you steady yourself with one hand on the table, fingers splayed against the cold surface, that sharp flare of panic igniting under your ribs. not because you don’t want him but because you do. because wanting him has already proven it can turn your brain into static. because you remember the dorm hallway and the dim lights and the way you let yourself slip before pretending you hadn’t.
jake stops immediately he doesn’t follow, doesn’t close the space you created, just pauses like he’s reading the step back instead of taking it personally. that restraint hits harder than anything else. “y/n,” jake says, low. a careful test to see if you’re still here. you swallow. “i don’t want it to be like that again” you say before you can polish it. his brow lifts. “like what?” jake asks. “you know,” you reply, hating the wavering edge in your voice. “complicated. messy. the next day. the pretending.” jake holds your gaze, steady. “it won’t be.” jake says. you let out a short breath. “you can’t promise that.” - “i can” jake answers, certainty flipping your stomach. you search his face for the catch and find none. “how?” you ask. his jaw tightens slightly. “i’m not confused” jake says, and the sentence lands like a firm hand at the back of your neck. “you’re saying you were confused before?” you press. “no,” jake replies, shaking his head once. “i’m saying i’m not going to act like i am.” your throat tightens. “i kissed you because i wanted to.” jake says, simple and clear, and the words hit your chest like weight. he watches your face. “that day,” jake continues, “after the midterms. when i apologized. i wasn’t trying to fix anything. i wasn’t trying to make you forgive me. i wanted to kiss you.”- “jake-” you start, but he keeps going. “you asked me if it was still research in my dorm,” jake says. “and i told you it wasn’t,” you whisper, “i meant what i said. and i didn’t just mean it then.” silence swells. “i kissed you because i wanted to.” jake repeats quietly. “and i’m not going to pretend it was an accident. not the café. not the dorm.” you reply as your fingers curl against the table. “and the arcade?” jake asks, careful. heat creeps up your neck. “i wasn’t drunk,” you admit. “not enough to not know what i was doing.” jake waits. “and what were you doing?” jake asks softly. you force yourself not to retreat. “i kissed you because i needed to know” you say. “know what?” jake presses. “if it was real,” you answer, the word too big and too honest. “or if it was just me being stupid.” - “you’re not stupid-” jake says immediately. “that’s not the point,” you reply, breathless. he steps closer again, slower this time, giving you the chance to move. you don’t. “the café kiss wasn’t an accident,” you say. “i told myself it was.” jake’s jaw tightens. “and the arcade was me trying to see if it felt the same.” his eyes flicker. “and?” jake asks, lower. “it did.” you answer. the room feels suspended. “i wasn’t sure what it was… feelings, you know?” you admit, sharp and terrifying in their simplicity. “i’ve had them. i just didn’t want them.” jake’s expression shifts, something loosening. “yeah,” jake says quietly.
he steps close enough now that you feel his warmth, not touching, just there. “i’m sure,” jake says. “about you. about this. and i’m not going to make you guess. not anymore.” you stare at him, stunned by the simplicity, your fear not gone but reshaped into something smaller, something survivable. because he’s cutting off the pretending and the uncertainty right here. with certainty, with choice, with you standing in a room that’s too bright and finally not pretending you don’t want what’s in front of you. he’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of him. not touching, just there. “you don’t have to overthink this,” jake says quietly, not teasing, not challenging, just steady. you swallow and answer, “that’s a big ask” and a faint, almost private smile touches the corner of his mouth before jake replies, “i know”. the silence stretches between you but it isn’t sharp anymore, it isn’t defensive. it’s something thicker, waiting. his hand lifts slightly-not reaching yet, just hovering like he’s giving you one last exit he won’t take and never has. your heart pounding hard enough you’re sure he can hear it. “for once,” you say, breath uneven but voice sure, “i don’t want to fight this anymore.” and his eyes soften. not weak, not gentle, just certain. jake answers, “then don’t.” without closing the distance, without forcing it, simply waiting, and this time you don’t step back.
the air feels heavier now. thicker in your lungs. you can feel his warmth without touching him, like your body already knows what it wants before your brain catches up. jake’s eyes drop to your mouth again. slower this time. deliberate. your breath shifts first. then his follows. you step into him. his hand comes up carefully. his fingers brush along your jaw, then slide to the back of your neck. his touch is controlled, grounded. like he’s steadying both of you. you don’t give him time to reconsider. you kiss him. it starts soft- it doesn’t stay that way. his lips move against yours with quiet certainty that makes your knees feel weaker than they should. he exhales into your mouth, warm and unguarded. your hands slide up his chest automatically. your fingers curl into his shirt like you need something solid. he pulls you closer firmly. your bodies line up. there’s no space left between you. you feel his breathing against your own. you feel the tension in his shoulders where he’s trying to stay composed and failing. the kiss deepens. your mouth parts and he follows. slower now. more deliberate. his hand tightens at your waist. his other hand slides into your hair. his fingers thread gently but possessively at the base of your skull. it isn’t frantic like the dorm. it isn’t restrained either. it’s hungry in a quieter way. your pulse spikes when his tongue brushes yours, enough to make your breath hitch. he makes a low sound in his throat. it goes straight through you. you tilt your head and press closer. the control slips a little. the kiss turns deeper. warmer. slower and more consuming at once.
his hands slide from your waist to your hips. he holds you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. you break for air. he doesn’t move far. his forehead rests against yours. his breathing is uneven. his lips hover close. he kisses you again. not your mouth this time. the corner of it. slow. then along your jaw. your pulse jumps when his mouth trails lower. he presses kisses beneath your ear. then down your neck. “jake-” you breathe. there’s no real protest in it, just surprise. his lips curve faintly against your skin. “you remember,” jake murmurs near your collarbone, kisses inbetween his voice, low and rough, “how that night ended?” your fingers tighten in his hair. “i remember a phone call-” you manage. he huffs softly against your neck. “i remember you pulling me down like you’d already decided,” jake says quietly and kisses your neck again “i remember you telling me it wasn’t research,” heat floods your chest. he presses another slow kiss to your skin. “and i remember not finishing it.” the words land low and clear. his hand slides slightly higher at your waist and he reminds you how close you are. “so,” jake says, lifting his head enough to look up at you, eyes darker but steady, “should we finish what we started in my dorm?” your face burns. you push lightly at his chest, while grinning at him. “jake.” you warn, but you’re smiling. he raises a brow. “what?” jake asks. “you’re unbelievable.”- “you were pretty committed,” jake replies smoothly. “against the wall. on the-” you press your palm to his mouth before he can finish. “presentation first.” he kisses your palm lightly before lowering your hand. his grin widens. “you’re ruthless.”- “focused.” you correct softly. you glare at him, but it’s playful. he leans in once more and brushes his lips against yours. shorter this time. lighter. a promise instead of a culmination. “fine,” jake says, stepping back half a pace. “slides.” you inhale slowly and steady your breathing as he moves beside you again. close. not touching. your shoulders brush. neither of you pulls away. you click to the next slide. he leans closer to look at the screen. his voice is lower now and a bit awkward. “slide seven transition still needs tightening,” jake says. you glance at him sideways. “prove it.” he smirks. the room feels different now. not too bright. not too quiet, just charged.
presentation day arrives a week later with sunlight too bright to ignore. the campus feels sharper this morning. colder almost. the air is crisp in a way that makes everything feel like it matters more. you’re already in the rehearsal room when jake walks in. not because you’re anxious. just because you like the quiet before everything starts. the projector hums softly. slides are open. your laptop glows against the dimmer walls. you hear him before you see him. measured steps. no rush. the door closes behind him. you don’t turn immediately. “you’re early” jake says. you click to the title slide without looking up. “so are you.” a beat passes. then warmth at your side. his hand slides lightly to your waist. he leans in and presses a slow kiss to your temple like it’s something he’s been doing for months instead of six days. your pulse still jumps. “morning,” jake murmurs against your hair. you try not to smile. “morning.” he lingers half a second longer than necessary before stepping back. there’s no awkward checking of boundaries. it’s just easy. you glance at him. he’s wearing a button-down you haven’t seen before. sleeves rolled once at the forearm. hair slightly messy in a way that looks accidental but isn’t. “you changed the shirt” you say. jake glances down. “it’s presentation day.” - “you had a perfectly good one yesterday.” he raises a brow. “this one’s better.”- “for who?” you ask. “for me” jake replies. you narrow your eyes. he steps closer without asking. his fingers brush the edge of your collar. he adjusts it carefully. “you’re crooked,” jake says. “i am not.” you roll your eyes but let him fix it. he then teps back and scans you like he’s reviewing a final draft. “better.” jake says. “you’re insufferable.”- “you’re welcome.”
the door opens again. niki walks in mid-yawn and stops. he looks at you. then at jake. then back at you. “…wow.” niki says slowly. you stiffen slightly. jake doesn’t. “what?” jake asks mildly. niki gestures between you. “you two are-“- “rehearsing,” you interrupt. niki squints. sunghoon appears behind him, already dressed like he’s heading into a boardroom. he clocks it immediately. “finally.” sunghoon says under his breath. your cheeks warm. jake doesn’t deny it. he just picks up the remote. “run-through?” he asks you calmly. like nothing has shifted. like everything has. you nod. sunghoon watches for another second and then smirks. “don’t let it make you sloppy” sunghoon says. “it won’t,” jake replies. “it makes us efficient,” he adds. niki makes a face. “gross.” but you both ignore him as the room settles. slides advance. you begin. your voice is steady. jake transitions seamlessly. it feels familiar but different. there’s no edge now. no attempt to outpace each other. when you pause, he fills the space smoothly. when he emphasizes a point, you support it instead of challenging it. it feels less like a duel. more like rhythm. after a few minutes jake cuts in gently. “slide eight transition.” you glance at him. he smirks slightly. you narrow your eyes. “still think it’s weak?”- “hardly” jake says. you step closer so your shoulder brushes his. “how hard?” you whisper. niki groans. “please do not flirt over regression analysis.” jake leans in and lowers his voice so only you hear it. “not now,” you glance at him. “focus.” he smiles faintly. “i am.” you try not to think about last night. the way his voice sounded when he said your name. the way he held you like he had nowhere else to be than on top of him. you swallow. jake notices immediately. “you’re pacing” jake says quietly. “i’m not,” you cross your arms. “i’m preparing.” -“are you nervous?” -“i’m not.” he steps closer again.“you don’t need to be,” jake says. you look at him. he doesn’t look nervous. of course he doesn’t. “are you?” you ask. he shrugs lightly. “not really.”- “that’s suspicious.” a corner of his mouth lifts. he leans closer. “last night helped” jake murmurs near your ear. heat shoots up your neck. you elbow him lightly. “jake.”- “what?” he asks innocently. “we are about to present.”- “i’m aware.” you try to glare but fail. he straightens.
down the hall the auditorium door opens. your names are called. it’s time. jake looks at you. not competitive. not challenging. just steady. “you ready?” jake asks. you inhale. the nerves are still there. but they’re different now. “yeah,” you say. he holds your gaze for half a second longer and nods once. “let’s go.” he doesn’t grab your hand. not yet. but as you walk toward the stage together, your shoulders brush.
the lights on stage are warmer than the rehearsal room but just as exposing. you step forward when your name is called. the clicker feels steady in your hand. you don’t look at jake when you begin because you know he’s exactly where he needs to be. “good morning,” you say, your voice carrying clearly across the auditorium, and the introduction unfolds smoothly as you outline the core question, the scope, and the limitations of the institutional dataset without rushing, your pacing deliberate and controlled. when you reach the final line of your opening, you glance at him briefly and jake steps in seamlessly. he doesn’t shift the tone. he builds on it. his explanation of the methodology is concise and precise as he walks the audience through the regression model without overcomplicating it. he gestures toward the slide and highlights only what matters. the transition between you feels natural, not stiff with rehearsal. you step slightly aside to give him space. when he finishes, you move back in without hesitation and guide the audience into the comparative analysis. on slide seven your mind blanks for half a second. the statistic you intend to cite slips just out of reach. jake fills the space smoothly. “as reflected in the secondary regression output,” jake says, supplying the number without breaking rhythm. you nod once. “exactly,” you continue, reclaiming the flow as if the pause never happened, and the presentation keeps moving. you reach the section where the supplementary dataset appears on screen and a subtle shift ripples through the room because it isn’t part of the original brief. you explain the expansion clearly. “while the university-provided dataset offered strong internal validity, it lacked longitudinal depth beyond the institutional sample,” you say. jake continues without missing a beat. “we integrated an external dataset to test whether the observed pattern held under broader conditions,” jake explains. you advance the slide and the comparative visualization appears. “it strengthened the predictive consistency.” you conclude. the presentation moves toward the final section and you and jake stand closer now, not alternating distance but occupying the space together. the conclusion lands cleanly. you summarize the implications and jake reinforces them. the final sentence is delivered in alignment, not overlapping and not forced. you both stop speaking at the same time. applause follows, stronger than you expected.
the q&a begins. a judge leans forward. “you chose to incorporate an external dataset that was not included in the original materials. why take that risk?” the judge asks. you answer first. “we wanted to test whether the trend we identified was institution-specific or structurally consistent,” you say. jake adds, “relying solely on the provided data would have limited the robustness of the conclusion.” you continue, “the supplementary dataset allowed us to evaluate predictive stability across a broader sample.” the judge nods slowly. “and you’re confident in the reliability of the external source?” she asks. “yes,” jake replies calmly. “it’s peer-validated and publicly archived. we verified the methodology before integration.” the judge leans back. “ambitious,” she says. “but well defended.” when the final question ends, the moderator thanks you and you thank the panel. as you walk off stage, the noise of the auditorium softens behind you. your hand brushes jake’s at your side and this time neither of you pulls away immediately. “you recovered slide seven,” you say quietly. “you set it up,” jake replies. you glance at him and he looks back. the competition isn’t gone. it just feels different now. and for the first time all semester, you know exactly why.
the hallway outside the auditorium feels strangely quiet once the doors close behind you, the applause fading and voices blurring into background static so that for a second it’s just the two of you under harsh overhead lights with adrenaline still buzzing through your veins. your hands warm and your pulse unsettled as jake exhales slowly and rolls his shoulders like he’s releasing something he’s been holding for weeks. “you were annoyingly good,” you say before you can stop yourself, and jake glances at you with calm amusement before replying, “you weren’t bad” which makes you narrow your eyes and repeat, “not bad?” and he tilts his head slightly and corrects, “impressive. if we’re being honest” and you fight a smile and fail because the energy between you feels lighter now, not tense or sharp, just charged differently.
from inside the auditorium you hear sunghoon begin his introduction and you turn toward the sound automatically and say, “they’re starting” and jake follows your gaze and answers, “yeah” and you lean back against the wall for a moment, letting the adrenaline settle enough to think clearly before adding casually, “they still have to present…” and jake looks at you and asks, “and?” but you don’t answer right away, instead pushing off the wall and stepping closer, not rushed or dramatic, just enough to shift the air as you continue lightly, “and that means we’re technically free for the next hour” and his expression changes almost imperceptibly. his eyes sharpening as he says quietly, “oh-” while you pretend to consider something important and then tell him, “you did well. better than i expected” and he raises a brow and replies, “that’s concerning” and you continue evenly, “you should be rewarded,”. and when he asks, “for the presentation?” you correct him, “for being composed. it’s rare.” and he steps closer so you can feel his heat again. his gaze locked on your eyes and asks, “and what exactly does that reward look like?”. you glance toward the auditorium doors before answering, “your dorm’s close” and the silence that follows is charged rather than awkward as jake’s jaw tightens slightly and he mutters, “you’re for real?” and you reply, “it would be efficient” he lets out a short laugh and says, “you realize i’m going to remember this” and you answer, “i hope so ” and for a second neither of you moves until his hand finds your waist and pulls you half a step closer, natural and unhurried, and you don’t resist as he looks down at you and says softly, “you were so nervous,” and you answer, “i wasn’t.” and he insists, “you were,” and you don’t argue as his thumb brushes lightly against your side and he adds, “you didn’t need to be.” and you admit, “you filled my gap” and he smirks faintly and says, “i always will.” which makes your stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with adrenaline. applause breaks out again from inside and you tilt your head and say, “they’re going to be good,” and jake replies, “probably” and you add, “but not better,” and he studies you and observes, “you’re still competitive?” and you respond, “i’m still winning.” and he leans closer and asks quietly, “are you?” and you meet his gaze and answer, “yes.” after a long second he slides his hand more firmly around your waist and pulls you fully in before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek, affectionate and certain, and you let your hand settle against his chest as he steps back and his hand lingers a moment longer before you say lightly, “walk faster,”. he raises a brow, “is that an order?” and you answer evenly, “it’s a suggestion”. he steps in just enough to shift your breathing before murmuring, “careful. you’re being very brave for someone who’s about to be alone with me.” and you tilt your head slightly and reply, “then don’t let me win.” which makes his grin slow and deliberate as he says, “you know i don’t lose,” then adds smoothly, “after you.” you turn toward the exit with sunlight spilling through the windows as you pick up your pace, hearing his footsteps behind you, unhurried and certain. you reach the doors first because you like the head start, but he reaches you a second later. he always closes the gap.
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