Hi everyone! I'm a new writer to enhablr. I used to write when I was younger and unsure and decided to stop. But now I'm reaching out on a new platform to give writing a try again!! (thats just an excuse to write out my fantasies rlly...)
I'm a hybe girlie!! (I stan hybe groups, not the company...)
I'm here to UNLEASH my desires for Enha! I don't have much experience yet so my Do's and Don'ts aren't hard lined but I will figure them out as I go!
Will only write for Enha so do send in your requests or ask any question about me and I will answer!
I'm a full-time uni girlie so if I am slow to respond please do forgive me :(
Leave a comment to be added to the permanent taglist!
𝓦𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍⠀ ✶ ⠀your husband, park jongseong, has spent his entire life getting exactly what he wants. unfortunately for him, you're the one person completely immune to his spoiled antics. what begins as a harmless disagreement quickly spirals into an hour of relentless whining, one very exasperated wife, and a lesson your husband never realized he desperately needed.
𝟑𝟕𝟏𝟓 🗯️ ✽ ─── ⏾ 𝗵𝘂𝘀𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗱 park jongseong⠀x ⠀ 𝓯 ! rea ´ ꒳ ` 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : established relationship ˒ porn without a plot ˒ brat taming ˒ light angst with a nice ending ˒
𝔀𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit sexual content ⋮ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀, 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 ✿ oral sex (m. receiving) ˒ creampie ˒ unprotected p in v ˒ handjob ˒ dirty talk ˒ praise kink ˒ edging ˒ degradation kink ˒ make-up sex ˒ consensual power dynamics ˒ dacryphilia ˒
𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬⠀ ✶ ⠀ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭
🍸 。 𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 i love love love me some submissive jay ugh ! anyways happy july guys i love you all so so muchi
"Y/N! You're being too dramatic—it's literally just a restaurant. We've been to this one multiple times, and you're only acting up now? What gives?"
Jay's voice bounces off the marble countertops of the kitchen, sharp and incredulous. He's been trailing behind you like a lost puppy for the better part of an hour, and his patience is wearing thinner than the gold trim on his daddy's credit card.
The argument is absurd, really — over a restaurant. Your monthsary dinner, to be exact. Every single time, without fail, Jay insists on the same overpriced venue with the same underwhelming menu: three kinds of salad, a charcuterie board that tastes like cardboard, and a wine list longer than the actual food options. A new place had opened across the district, equally elegant, actually varied, garlic bread that supposedly redefined the concept, and you'd simply suggested switching things up.
Jay had said no. Not because he had a real reason, but because that was his default. No was his reflex, and everyone in his life had always caved right after.
You hadn't caved.
So here he was, spiraling.
You continued walking, pacing circles through the ground floor of the house, not even granting him the courtesy of eye contact. That made it worse. Jay's jaw tightened as he trailed you from the kitchen to the living room, back to the kitchen, then into the hallway.
"Y/N, seriously?" He huffed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I'll take your silence as a yes then. That solves the problem. We're going to the usual place."
You stopped. Turned. Looked at him with a gaze so flat it could've smoothed granite.
"God damn it, Jongseong. Just give me a moment, can't you? You're way too stubborn for a lot to be coming out of your mouth."
Jongseong? Jongseong. Not Jay. His real name, the one you only used when you were genuinely agitated, and it landed like a slap. His lips parted, something flickering behind his eyes, shock, maybe, that you weren't folding, that you weren't apologizing the way everyone else always did. His family, his friends, his staff, they all gave in. You never did. That was why he loved you, though he was currently too bratty to remember it.
"Me? Stubborn?" He let out a disbelieving laugh, gesturing at you with both hands. "Please. You're the stubborn one here. We wouldn't even be arguing if you just caved. It's tradition, Y/N. We always go there. Why mess with something that works?"
"It doesn't work. You just don't like change." You turned on your heel and walked toward the stairs. "Because nobody's ever made you deal with it."
"That's not—" He followed you, footsteps quickening. "That's not fair. I'm not some spoiled brat, I just—Y/N, come on. Can you stop walking away from me?"
No response. You climbed the stairs, one deliberate step at a time, and his voice climbed with you, gaining pitch and desperation. He rambled about tradition, about how the other restaurant probably wasn't even that good, about how you were being unreasonable, about how he always compromised — laughable, really, given that he'd never once compromised anything in his entire privileged life.
You reached the hallway. The bedroom door was ajar.
Then something in you simply snapped. Not with anger. With resolve. Enough was enough.
You turned, caught his wrist mid-stride, and pulled. Jay stumbled forward with a startled yelp, and you walked him the remaining steps to the bed, pressing a palm against his chest and pushing. He fell back onto the mattress with a soft thud, not hard, not violent, but firm enough that his eyes went wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish pulled from water. He stared up at you from the sheets, hair fanning across the pillow, chest rising and falling faster than it had any right to.
"Y/N, what—"
"Shut up." You climbed onto the bed, onto him, knees bracketing his hips, and planted both hands flat against his chest. Beneath your palms, his heartbeat was already racing. "You've been following me around this house for an hour, Jongseong, whining like a child who got his toy taken away. Has anyone ever told you no before? Has anyone ever not given you what you wanted?"
His throat bobbed. "I—"
"That was rhetorical." You leaned down, close enough that your breath fanned across his lips. His eyelashes fluttered. "You're used to people bending for you. Apologizing. Folding the second you pout. That's not how this works. You don't get to bulldoze over me because you've never heard the word no before."
"I wasn't—I wasn't trying to—"
"You were." You shifted your weight, pressing your hips down against his, and the sound that escaped him, a broken and breathy thing, made heat pool low in your stomach. Already. Just from this. From you barely touching him. "You were trying to wear me down until I gave in. That's what you do, isn't it? Push and push until people just hand you what you want because it's easier than fighting you."
He didn't answer. Couldn't, maybe. His hands had found your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your shorts, and his chest was heaving like he'd run a marathon.
"You're pathetic," you murmured, and the word landed soft and devastating. "A spoiled, bratty, pathetic boy who can't handle being told no. And look at you now." You rolled your hips — a slow grind that dragged the seam of your shorts directly against the growing hardness in his sweats. "You're already this hard? From me just telling you off?"
A whimper. Actual, honest-to-god whimper, high and thready, his head pressing back into the pillow.
"That worked up after just me grinding on your pathetic dick?" You ground down again, harder, watching his face contort, eyebrows drawing together, lips parting, a moan slipping free before he could catch it. "This is what gets you going, isn't it? Someone finally not putting up with your shit?"
"Baby—" His voice cracked. "Y/N, please—"
"Please what? What am I gonna do with that please of yours? Use your words, Jongseong. You had plenty of them downstairs." Another grind, slower, torturous, and his hips bucked up involuntarily, chasing friction that you immediately denied by lifting yourself just out of reach. He let out a shattered exhale, fingers tightening on your thighs. "What do you want?"
"You. I want—please touch me."
"I am touching you." You slid one hand from his chest to his jaw, gripping it firm, angling his face so he couldn't look away. "You mean you want more. Say it properly."
His eyes were glassy, overwhelmed, and his lower lip trembled. "I want more. Please, Y/N. I'm sorry—I'm sorry for being—"
"Sorry for being what?" You tilted your head, pressing your hips back down, resuming that maddening grind. The friction made your own pulse throb, but you kept your expression cool, controlled. "Say it."
"Sorry for being—a brat. For—fuck—" He swallowed thickly as you picked up the pace, rolling against him in deep, rhythmic waves. "For always needing to get my way. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, please—"
"Good." You released his jaw and reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and off in one motion. His torso was lean, flushed pink from his collarbones down to his stomach, muscles tensing under your gaze. Pretty. He was so pretty, and even prettier like this, undone, desperate, trembling beneath you like you hadn't already given him everything he'd ever asked for. "You know, Jongseong," you said, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, watching goosebumps rise in their wake, "I think you needed this. Someone to put you back in your place."
He nodded frantically, a mess of ragged breath and half-formed sounds.
You leaned down and kissed him, hard and bruising, all teeth and tongue, swallowing the moan that poured from his mouth. Your hands found his sweats, yanking the waistband down along with his boxers, and his cock sprang free, flushed and leaking at the tip, straining against nothing. You pulled back from the kiss just to look at it, then at him, and let out a low, mocking laugh.
"You're dripping, baby. That's adorable." You wrapped your fingers around him, just barely, just enough to feel the heat and the way he throbbed against your palm, and his hips jerked up, a choked sound ripping from his throat. "So needy. So desperate. And for what? A little grinding and some mean words? That's all it takes?"
"Y/N—" His hand flew to your wrist, not pushing or pulling, just holding, like he didn't know what to do with himself.
You tightened your grip and stroked him once, slow, base to tip, swiping your thumb over the head and smearing the precum there. His back arched off the mattress, a whine ripping through the air, loud and unabashed.
"Look at you," you said softly, almost tender, which made it worse. "Whining and squirming like you've never been touched before. Tell me something, Jongseong." You stroked him again, setting a pace that was deliberately unhurried, grip just firm enough to feel good but too loose to satisfy. "You've had people before me, right? Of course, a pretty boy like you would have always had. Rich, charming. Probably had them lining up."
He nodded, biting his lip so hard it turned white.
"And how often did you actually finish with them?"
His eyes squeezed shut. A tremor ran through his thighs. "N-not—not often," he admitted, barely audible.
"Not often," you repeated, mocking. "Poor thing. Everyone is so busy worshiping you they forgot to actually take you apart, hmm?" You twisted your wrist on the upstroke, and his mouth fell open, a strangled moan echoing through the room. "No wonder you're like this. You've been half-satisfied your whole life and you didn't even know it."
"Only you—" He was gasping now, chest heaving, fingers clenching and unclenching in the sheets. "Only you can—make me—fuck, Y/N, please—"
"What? Only I can do what? Make you cum?" You slowed your hand to a crawl, and the sound he made was guttural. "Not yet. You don't get to cum until I say so. Do you understand?"
"I—I understand, please—"
"Good boy." The phrase hit him like a drug. His whole body shuddered, cock twitching violently in your hand, and you felt another bead of precum slide against your fingers. "Oh, you like that. You like being good for me."
He nodded again, frantic, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, not from sadness but from sheer, overwhelming sensation. You leaned down, kissing the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the spot below his ear that made him whimper, and then you began to move south.
Your lips traced a path down his neck, his collarbone, his chest, pausing to drag your tongue over one nipple, then the other, making him jolt and cry out, and further, over the trembling plane of his stomach, until your face hovered above his cock. It stood angry and flushed, twitching with every exhale you let fall against it.
You looked up at him through your lashes. He was staring down at you, wrecked — hair a mess, cheeks crimson, chest rising and falling like he'd forgotten how to breathe.
"Hold my hair," you said.
He reached down with shaking hands, gathering your hair into a loose grip at the back of your head, and you took him into your mouth.
The sound he made was broken. Your lips wrapped around the head, tongue swirling, tasting salt and skin, and you sank down inch by inch, letting the heat and wetness consume him. His hips stuttered up, greedy and desperate, and you pulled off immediately, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock.
"What did I just say about being patient?" Your voice was cool, but your eyes were sharp.
"Sorry—sorry, baby, I'm sorry—"
"Be good." You took him again, deeper this time, flattening your tongue along the underside, and set a rhythm that was designed to ruin. Wet sounds filled the room as you bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks, taking him as far as you could without gagging. His fingers tightened in your hair, a warning, and you felt him try to push you down, try to make you take more, and you responded by dragging your nails down his thigh.
"Ah—fuck—sorry, sorry—" he stammered, but his grip stayed, trembling, barely holding back. You pulled off again with a slick pop, and the look you gave him was pure ice.
"You want me to deepthroat, Jongseong? You ask."
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and he meant it, his voice fracturing on the second word. "Please—I'll be good—please keep going—"
You took him back into your mouth, and this time you relaxed your throat, swallowing around him, taking him deep, deep, until your nose pressed against his pelvis and he screamed, a shattered sound that bounced off the walls. His hips canted up involuntarily again but he caught himself this time, forcing himself still even as his thighs shook violently around you. Good. He was learning.
You set a brutal pace then, fucking your own throat on his cock, hollowing your cheeks, dragging suction that had him writhing and crying out in a mess of syllables — your name, baby, please, oh god, more, please more. His cock throbbed against your tongue, heavy and hot, and you could feel him getting close, his stomach tightening, his moans climbing higher, his hands trembling in your hair.
You pulled off.
"No—" The word ripped out of him, desperate, almost angry. "Y/N, no, I was—right—fuck—"
"Calm down, I know." You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, calm as anything, while he stared at you with wild, tear-glazed eyes. "You were close. And?"
"And I—please let me cum, please, I need it—"
"You need it?" You wrapped your hand around him again, slick with your own spit, and started stroking, slowly, so slowly, feeling every ridge and vein, every pulse of his racing heartbeat echoing through his cock. "You need it, but you've been a brat all day. Why should I let you?"
"I said I was sorry—I am sorry—" He was babbling now, words tumbling over each other, hips rocking up into your fist in tiny, uncontrollable thrusts. "I won't—I won't do it again, I'll listen, I'll go to whatever restaurant you want, I'll—ah—"
"Whatever restaurant I want," you repeated, amused. "You'd agree to anything right now, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," he gasped. "Anything. Anything you want, Y/N, just—please don't stop—"
You didn't stop. You kept stroking, kept that same torturous pace, watching him climb higher and higher. His abs clenched, his toes curled, his breath came in short, ragged huffs, and his cock jumped in your grip, once, twice, right at the edge.
And you felt it. That telltale tensing, the way his thighs locked up, the way his mouth opened in a silent cry.
"Oh?" You tilted your head, voice dripping with faux surprise, your hand never faltering. "You're about to cum already? Just like that?"
"I—yes—please, Y/N, let me—"
"Do I make you that needy?" You squeezed the base of his cock, and he actually sobbed. "All those people before me, and none of them could get you there, could they? But I can. Just my hand, just my mouth, and you're already falling apart."
"Only you," he choked out, and the words were so raw, so honest, that something in your chest clenched. "Only you, Y/N, nobody else—nobody's ever made me feel like this—please, I'm right there, I'm so close, please let me cum—"
"You're close," you echoed, and your voice softened, just a fraction, just enough for the air to shift. You stroked him steadily now, grip tight, pace deliberate, leaning down so your face was inches from his. "You've been so good, Jongseong. So good for me. Taking what I give you. Learning."
His eyes searched yours, wet and pleading and so impossibly open.
"You deserve it," you said quietly. "Cum for me."
And he would have, right then, right there, with those words, but you had something else in mind.
You let go of him.
His eyes flew wide with panic, but before he could protest, you were standing, shucking your shorts and underwear in one motion, and then you were back on him, straddling his hips, and you reached between your bodies to position him at your entrance.
"You want to cum inside me, baby?" You asked, and your voice had dropped low, rough, almost as affected as his.
"Yes," he breathed. "Please—"
You sank down.
The noise he made wasn't human. A full-body shudder wracked through him as you took him to the hilt, your own breath catching at the stretch, the fullness, the way he filled you so completely that your vision blurred at the edges. You gave yourself a moment, just one, to adjust, to feel the desperate throb of him inside you, and then you moved.
You bounced on him, once, twice, three times, deep, forceful strokes that had him hitting spots that made your thighs tremble. Your hand found his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, and you gripped, firm and possessive, tugging his head back so he had no choice but to look at you.
"Eyes on me," you commanded. "Don't you dare look away."
He didn't. He couldn't. His gaze was locked on yours, glassy and worshipful, tears spilling freely now down his temples, mouth open in a silent, endless moan. You rode him hard, those few strokes enough to undo everything you'd built and broken and built again, and on the fourth bounce, he shattered.
His orgasm hit like a wrecking ball. He came with a sound that was barely a word and you felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick, filling you in waves that seemed to go on and on. His hips jerked up helplessly, overstimulated, and you kept moving, kept riding him through it, chasing the pressure that had been building in your own core since the moment you first ground against him.
It didn't take long. You were already so close, had been close through all of it, the power, the control, the way he looked at you like you were the center of his universe, and within a handful of strokes, your own orgasm crashed through you. Your walls clenched around him, milking his cock in pulses that drew a weak whimper from his throat, and your spine curved as pleasure whited out every thought in your head.
Then silence. Or something close to it, just the sound of two people breathing, ragged and uneven, slowly coming back to earth.
You collapsed forward.
Your face fell into the curve of his neck, his shoulder, and his arms came around you immediately, instinctive, warm, wrapping you up like you were something precious. His cock was still inside you, softening, and neither of you moved to change that. His hand found the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, and he ruffled it softly, tenderly, the way you'd grip him when you were commanding him. A mirror. A response. His other arm banded around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.
For a long moment, you just breathed.
Then your chest hitched.
It wasn't supposed to happen. You'd been in control, composed, untouchable — but now, in the quiet aftermath, with his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek and his hands so impossibly gentle on your body, something cracked open inside you. A wave of tenderness so acute it hurt, and tangled up in it was guilt, the sharp, stinging kind that came from the realization that you'd been cruel. You'd called him pathetic. Degraded him. Treated him like he was less than, even if he'd liked it, even if he'd asked for it with every whimper and whine.
Your eyes burned.
"Baby?" Jay's voice was soft, concerned, the brattiness entirely gone. He shifted, trying to see your face, but you buried it deeper into his neck. "Hey. Y/N. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," you mumbled, but your voice cracked, and you hated it. "I'm fine."
"You're not." He pulled back just enough to look at you, and his thumb found your cheek, catching the tear that had just begun to slide down your face, one single tear, the only one that escaped before you clamped down. He wiped it away with more care than you deserved, his touch feather-light. "Why are you crying?"
"Because I was mean to you," you whispered, and the admission felt like pulling off a bandage. "I didn't—I didn't want to be that harsh, I just—you were driving me crazy, and I—"
"Hey. Hey." He cupped your face in both hands, tilting it up so you had to meet his eyes. They were warm. So warm it made your throat ache. "You weren't mean. You were exactly what I needed." A small, breathy laugh escaped him. "I've never… Y/N, I've never felt like that before. Ever. You're the only person who doesn't just give me whatever I want, and I need that. I need you."
"But I—"
"You put me in my place," he said simply. "And I probably needed it a long time ago." His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, sweeping away the dampness there, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, soft, lingering, nothing like the bruising kiss from earlier. "I'm sorry for being a brat. I'll try harder. Okay?"
"I'm sorry too," you breathed against his mouth.
"Don't be." He smiled, the one that crinkled his eyes and made him look younger, softer, stripped of all the privilege and pretense. "And for the record—we can go to the new restaurant. I was being stupid."
A wet laugh escaped you, and he caught it with another kiss, pulling you tighter against him, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other traced lazy patterns on your spine.
You melted into him, every hard edge, every sharp word, every ounce of dominance dissolving into something small, soft, and fiercely tender.
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
When a friendship comes with too much history, rules become necessary. It’s easier to stay safe when you can name the lines you refuse to cross. That’s why Jaeyun has always been so strict about his secret little guide, or at least, he was, until the moment you asked him to sleep with you, and everything started to shatter in his hands like it was never real at all.
a friends to lovers oneshot｜27.7K
PAIRING: Jaeyun x fem!reader
WARNINGS: university au, Jaeyun is an electronic engineer student, kinda nerdy, and too down bad for the reader even though she is a bit of a brat, i am not sure if there’s a major plot, smut, nipple play, fingering and oral (f. receiving), handjob, virginity loss, protected and unprotected sex, there’s a fwb situation within, one fight between Jaeyun and reader’s ex, and jaykehoon being the most chaotic roommates ever
PINTEREST MOODBOARD
RULE ZERO: DO NOT RUIN THE FRIENDSHIP
When you were twelve, Jaeyun got you both grounded.
He had the brilliant idea of bringing a bottle of whiskey home — something one of his soccer teammates had stolen from his father’s cabinet and hadn’t known how to get away with now that it had been opened and already had a swig taken from it.
Jaeyun didn’t know why he decided to take charge of it, much less bring it home — he could have just let his teammate deal with it alone, for God’s sake. But perhaps because he liked the thrill of secretly carrying it and the astonishment in your eyes when he took it out of his backpack, he did bring it home.
But the fact was — neither of you drank any of it, yet his brother — the Mr. Perfect, as you used to whisper in each other’s ears — had caught you with your hands on it, and in the end it didn’t matter.
You were grounded for four weeks. No phones, video games, or allowances. You were only allowed to go to school and straight back to your homes — Jaeyun having only the small detour of dropping you off before going to his.
It made you miss the Seoul Annual International Book Fair. A major literary gathering with author events, book markets, and cultural programs that you had been looking forward to.
Nerdy, he had told you, which only made your tears flow even harder, and he felt so bad about it that he gave you a voucher the next morning, a handmade thing that got you laughing when he handed it to you.
Jaeyun had never been much of an artsy type. The voucher was irregular, and his handwriting was so bad you could barely decipher the words free wish — but it was his way of trying, and so, you took it, promising you would use it well.
That was probably when it started: the first page of a guide he would never mean to write, on how not to ruin a friendship that felt bigger than him because as he watched you folding the paper and tucking it into the front pocket of your sweater like a keepsake, he had a sudden clarity that he would do anything not to lose you.
You never really used the voucher.
Eleven years into your friendship, you never once brought it up.
Perhaps because Jaeyun always did everything for you, the voucher seemed useless.
When you got asked for a date for the first time in your life, Jaeyun agreed to go shopping with you without much fanfare, although he despised every second of it. And when you called him afterwards, telling him to come over so you could rant about it, he once again was there without the voucher having even passed through your minds. He simply came and stayed there, listening to you, your backs side to side on the hardwood floor of your bedroom until the walls had turned orange and pink with the sunrise.
When you crashed your father’s car and called him crying, he asked where it had happened with his jacket already on and searching for his keys.
And when you moved out of the university dorms somewhere around your second semester, Jaeyun was carrying your boxes and luggage without you even glancing at his side.
So it felt a bit weird now, seeing you pushing the little thing through the counter — its edges turned so yellow with the advance of the years that he could see it even in the bar’s reddish light — and especially with the words that followed:
“Sleep with me,” you said.
RULE #1: DO NOT ACCEPT RECKLESS REQUESTS
Don’t answer requests she makes when she’s drunk, mad, or sad — that’s when she turns reckless. I’m supposed to get her home, get her water, and let time take the sharp edges off whatever she thought she wanted. If I do my job right, she’ll wake up with a headache — maybe puffy eyes — but no regrets. At least not the kind that have my name on them.
Arcano wasn’t as fierce as the name made it seem.
If Jaeyun were being honest, it was, in fact, a terrible bar. Awful, actually.
The seats were constantly sticky, and the tables were permanently stained with something spilled too long ago. The restrooms always smelled like weed and sex, and there was writing on the walls telling you who to call for a good time — but, awful as it was, it was the only bar on the outskirts of the university, and the drinks were cheap, which made it a reasonable choice for anyone who wanted to get drunk in the middle of a weekday.
Which, apparently, was what you were doing.
You had called him, your voice softened and a little slurred at the edges, even as you tried to keep it brief — trusting him to hear the truth between your words, as he always did — and his body went tight, that low instinct already moving beneath his skin with the need to make it better.
Jaeyun came in without question, his eyes scanning through the dim room. Tables first, booths next, then the bar counter, because putting things in order always helped him keep control — but then he saw you, and his heart hitched hard enough to make his hands unreliable.
Arcano was nearly dark, red bulbs offering more irritation than light, and yet whatever sheen clung to its corners now seemed to gather around you; the glint of bottles, the thin neon humming above the bar. Even the noise shifted, bending your way subtly, as if the room itself couldn’t help but want to be near you.
Or perhaps it was only him — caught on you like gravity, a quiet flaw built into his body that only ever showed itself in your presence.
Across the bar, the music shifted, and someone laughed too loudly as a glass hit the counter with a wet little sound, but none of it reached him the right way, not while you were there, bent toward the counter with your hair falling forward and your shoulders loose with drink and something sharper underneath it.
Jaeyun swallowed and pushed his hair back off his forehead — the gesture automatic in the way habits were — as he closed the last steps in.
You shifted on your stool as he stopped behind you, small and unthinking, leaning back into him as if it was the most natural thing in the world to put your weight onto his chest merely because you trusted him to catch it without ever asking. And he did, his body reacting before his mind did, his arms raising and settling just enough to keep you upright.
He didn’t understand how you did it — how you could recognize him without looking. If your bones had memorized the shape of him and refused to forget even here, in a terrible bar, with alcohol in the air and the whole world pretending not to watch, or if you merely felt the same gravity as him, because you, too, had been built with some quiet flaw that only ever showed itself in his presence.
“Hello,” you said, tipping your head back to look at him.
“Hello, Princess,” he said, leaning in just to drop a kiss on your forehead. But you smelled like vanilla and white flowers — the kind of soft sweetness you always insisted on having threaded through every perfume you owned — and he allowed himself to breathe you for a second more before he let go, sliding onto the stool beside you.
His jeans brushed your bare thigh, and when you turned toward him, he had no other option than to spread his legs further apart, opening space so your knees fit between his; and for a second, Jaeyun’s brain focused on the image, slowly and cruelly, taking the stark line of your skin against denim, the heat of you seeping through a fabric barrier that suddenly felt too thin to be decent. Your knees fit perfectly between his, and the placement was so intimate it might’ve been accidental if he hadn’t felt how quickly his body registered it as right.
He went still.
Not because he didn’t want more contact, but because he did. Because he wanted it in a way that made him feel juvenile, and his restraint could turn into nothing but a costume you’d just tugged at the seam.
So he forced himself to look up, his gaze finding your face like it was the only safe thing left, but it only turned to be worse.
You were flushed from the alcohol, color blooming across your cheeks and the bridge of your nose as if you’d been kissed too many times already. And your eyes were bright in that unfocused way that made his whole body ache with protectiveness and something he refused to name.
Jaeyun swallowed, dropping his gaze before he could stop it — but that was when he saw the dress.
Low-cut, and reckless in the quietest way, exposing your skin in a soft curve that made his throat tighten, not because it wasn’t vulgar or blaring, but merely because it was you — warm, real, and too close.
And resting there, right in the center of it all, was the necklace he’d given you on your fifteenth birthday, the thin chain catching what little light Arcano offered and holding it like a secret. Jaeyun felt something in his chest twist — sharp and familiar. A gift, a promise, a piece of him you’d kept on your skin for years without making a thing of it.
He blinked, dragging his eyes back up, back to your face, as though that could undo what he’d seen. As though looking anywhere else could turn his thoughts into something normal again, but it didn’t.
“You called me,” he said in the end, voice light on purpose, aiming his gaze at the safe edge of your hairline instead of your eyes.
“Is there a question in this statement?” you asked, your head tipping to the side the way it always did when you were teasing him, letting a strand of hair slip loose and rest against your cheek.
Jaeyun huffed a quiet breath through his nose, something that almost counted as a laugh if anyone else had been listening. The bar noise swelled and dipped around you — ice clinking in glasses, a burst of laughter from a booth, the bass thudding like a distant heartbeat — and for a second it made the moment feel ordinary. Like this was just the two of you, playing the same game you’d played a hundred times.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You’re the linguistics genius among us.”
His hand lifted without thinking and brushed the strand away — quick, familiar, and thoughtless — the kind of gesture that belonged to years of friendship, not whatever else was crouched under tonight. He didn’t linger. He didn’t let it become a thing. He just tucked it back like he’d done it before and would do it again. Still, you felt the contact anyway, blinking at him, and it took you a moment to speak again.
“I think there was,” you said, your voice more serious than he expected. “I need to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
You turned halfway on your stool to reach into your purse, and Jaeyun took the moment to breathe — really breathe, looking across the room as his hands found and pushed at his hair, steadying himself.
Overhead, a red bulb faltered, and the neon hissed in — thin, stubborn light clinging on.
“Yun,” you called.
He turned to you again, catching as you slipped the voucher toward him, the piece yellowed into something that didn’t belong to the present. His own handwriting stared up at him, crooked and absurd in the way only a teenage promise could be.
Jaeyun’s lips parted around a question, but the words slipped before they could reach his mouth.
“I’m using it,” you announced, slurring just enough for the words to snag on each other — but not enough to take the weight of the words that followed:
“Sleep with me.”
Jaeyun inhaled too fast and choked on the air, like the sentence had gone straight for his throat and his body refused to swallow it. He coughed once, twice, eyes watering, and hated himself for how obvious it was.
“Drink,” you said, lifting your glass toward him — offering it with the careless kindness of someone who had no understanding of the damage they were capable of causing.
Jaeyun pictured you rummaging through your drawers for the voucher, trying to guess when the decision had formed. Whether it had been planned. Whether it had been impulsive. Whether the dress had been chosen with him in mind—
He didn’t get to finish the thought.
He took the glass too fast, his thumb grazed your knuckle — more an echo of a touch than a touch itself — but his whole body registered it like a confession. And he forced himself to bring it to his mouth and swallow it. The liquor burned his throat, cheap and harsh and useless, and then — for one horrifying second — he tasted you there, sweet and faint beneath the sting.
He set it down.
“What—” he tried, and his voice came out wrong. He cleared his throat. “Where’s Baekhyeon?”
Because it felt reasonable to ask where your boyfriend was when you were asking him to sleep with you.
Your eyes gleamed at the name and then cleared just as quickly. Whatever that feeling was, it was banished with a blink before you reached for your glass again, considering the few drops he’d left.
“We broke up,” you said.
“When?”
“Today — or yesterday.” Your brow creased. “I’m not sure. What time is it?”
“But why?”
You shuddered, already turning toward the bartender for another drink, but Jaeyun reached for your wrist and drew you back in. His hands were cold against your warm skin, and a shiver danced across you, strong enough to make your shoulders tremble.
He let go.
“Princess, talk to me,” he said. “What happened?”
And so you told him, your words coming rushed and messed up, one long stream being pulled out of you because now that you’d started, you couldn’t afford to stop. You told him how Baekhyeon had gotten quieter ever since he started his internship. How he’d been thinking, whatever that meant. How he wasn’t so sure anymore, like your relationship was a class he could drop mid-semester. And when you’d asked where it put you, all you got were half-answers and that look people had when they were already gone but didn’t want to be the villain.
“And it is so humiliating, Yun,” you said, your hands dragging down your face, hiding it as you folded forward and rested on him again — forehead against his shoulder, your whole body fitting into the space between his thighs like it had always known where to go.
Jaeyun reached out without thinking, one hand settling at the small of your back as the other slid into your hair, fingers tangling gently there — holding you together in the only way he knew how.
“It’s not like I thought he was going to be my forever one,” you said. “But I thought that — God, I’m — I’m a virgin in university, Jaeyun. Do you know how insane that sounds? Especially after having a boyfriend? It’s like I’m — defective.”
The whole sentence hit and sank in with a dull ache, shifting a fault line in him so sharply his whole body twitched. His fingers flexed against you, tightening at your back before he could stop himself, because this was simply his first instinct: pull you in, hold you tighter, so perhaps he could keep you from breaking by sheer force of his will.
But then he hated himself for it — for the greedy relief that came with the feeling of you against him, for the way wanting and protecting acquired the same face in his body — and he loosened his grip immediately, forcing his touch back into something safer, something that could still pass as friendship.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“I’m feeling terrible,” you muttered. “Like I might have done something wrong in my life.”
“Princess,” he said again, the nickname rolling softly through the air, and for a moment, it didn’t feel like a joke at all. “Look at me.”
You shook your head, stubborn even like this, forehead still pressed where you’d chosen to hide. And Jaeyun exhaled through his nose, trying to sand the edge off himself before it could cut you.
“You’re drunk,” he told you. “And you’re not thinking straight.”
You didn’t react this time — which somehow made it worse.
“Come on,” he said, his hands slipping away only so they could find you again, but this time, somewhere safer. His palms spread on the bare skin of your arms to guide you up. “I’m taking you home.”
“But—” you began, your gaze sliding to the voucher.
Jaeyun reached for it and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans, taking it out of your sight like he could make the exchange never happen — like merely hiding it could erase the fact that something had moved inside his chest with your ask, and now refused to calm down.
“I’ll keep it safe,” he said, and the promise tasted older than tonight.
He helped you off the stool with one hand at your waist as the other caught your purse, looping it around his wrist before he returned it to your elbow — steadying and guiding, making sure your feet landed where they were supposed to.
You swayed into him, coming so close that when you spoke, he not only heard you, but felt it through his skin.
“You always do.”
Jaeyun’s fingers flexed once again at your side.
“Yeah,” he said, looking ahead as he led you through the mess of bodies and sticky tables. “I know.”
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Outside, it was already spring in theory, but in practice, Arcano’s door swung shut behind you, and the night folded over — winter still pressing into April nights, and making it chilly.
The sidewalk out in front was uneven in that neglected-university-outskirts way, broken slabs and hairline cracks waiting for someone careless, and tonight, that someone was you.
Jaeyun watched as you made it three steps before you stumbled. It had been nothing significant, just your ankle rolling in a way that could have passed unnoticed — but he was watching, and before you could pretend that it hadn’t happened, his hand had already closed around your forearm, firm and quickly, holding you.
He brought you closer to him on instinct, the lines of your bodies collapsing and melting under the same yellow wash of streetlight, and when you looked up at him, it gathered in your eyes in tiny gold flashes, softening you at the edges, and making you look heartbreakingly close; the tiny gasp you released warming his mouth.
“Easy,” he muttered.
“I am being easy,” you argued, but you made no effort to disengage yourself from him, and so, neither did he — letting you both stay in the dim hush of the night for a moment more before he finally eased back, shrugging out of his jacket and easing you into it, one sleeve first and then the other.
Jaeyun gave your purse back, and only when your fingers closed around it did he turn and drop into a crouch in front of you — shoulders broad and steady on purpose.
“What are you doing?” you asked.
“Taking you home,” he replied. “Get on.”
“I can walk.”
“You can barely negotiate a curb,” he argued. “Get on.”
Jaeyun waited then, bracing himself for another surge of protest, but instead, you leaned forward, your arms sliding around his shoulders, automatic, and with the kind of trust that never failed to set a quiet ache behind his ribs.
But if anything, he hooked his hands under your thighs and stood, letting your weight settle against him and your cheek to press into the side of his neck, warm and familiar.
“This is a bit embarrassing.”
“This is practical,” Jaeyun said. “Better than having to take you to the hospital over an ankle you refuse to admit you could break.”
You hummed, and he huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, tightening his hold as if you could slip out of his hands.
As if he would let you.
“Princess,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, “you’re going to be the death of me someday.”
You didn’t react this time — either because you didn’t hear it, or because your hazy mind had already filed it somewhere dangerous for tomorrow — but in any case, Jaeyun kept walking.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Jaeyun’s apartment building greeted you in the same failing way it always did. The hallway light flickered with stubborn inconsistency, always seeming one second away from burning out, and the front door still refused to open unless someone met it with a shoulder and a certain amount of conviction.
He did it one-handed, you still on his back and refusing to let go even when he had to fumble for the key, his free hand going to his pockets once, twice, while the other kept you anchored against him, steadying you with the same absent care, as though you were simply part of the equation.
Inside, the living room looked exactly the way it always did — dim, cramped, familiar in the ugly way cheap rent always was. Sneakers lay abandoned near the entrance like they’d given up halfway through the day. A laundry basket sat in the corner with the quiet menace of something that had been ignored too long.
And a few steps in, Sunghoon was there — barefoot, hair damp, skin still carrying that clean, just-showered warmth, as if he’d stepped out of steam and decided the world could handle itself for a while.
His gaze flicked to you, draped over Jaeyun, then back to him, and his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“She really can do whatever she wants to you,” he said, flat as anything.
At the sound of his roommate’s voice, Jaeyun felt you shift against him, lifting your head just enough for the night’s air to slip into the space you’d made.
“Hello, Hoon,” you said.
“Hello, Princess.”
The hallway light blinked out, wiping your shadows clean for a quiet beat before Sunghoon shifted, and the sensor caught it, coaxing the bulb back to life. Jaeyun adjusted his grip like it meant nothing, like you weren’t warm against him in all the places he worked hardest not to think about. You shifted at his back once more, settling and slipping, and his shoulders tightened on reflex — prepared to steady you, prepared for anything — except your next words.
“If Yun doesn’t, would you do it with me, Hoon?”
“Do wh—”
“Nothing,” Jaeyun snapped. “She’s drunk, and I’m taking her to my room.”
Sunghoon’s brows rose at his roommate’s urgency, his mouth twitching deeper, but he didn’t push. If anything, he stepped back, clearing the way like Jaeyun needed permission at all.
“Tell me tomorrow, Princess,” Sunghoon called after you, loud enough to be heard down the hall. “Though I’m pretty sure Jaeyun will do it for you.”
Jaeyun didn’t give you the chance to answer.
He was already moving, turning down the hall. And when he reached his room, he shifted your weight higher with a small, efficient jerk of his arms, then shoved the door open with his shoulder.
The motion-sensor light in the hallway faltered again behind you, a brief blink of dark, and then the room swallowed you whole — quieter, warmer, smelling faintly of detergent, old cologne and whatever Jaeyun used to pretend he didn’t care about.
He stepped into his room and kicked the door shut with his heel, shutting the rest of the apartment out — Sunghoon’s smugness, the hallway’s flicker, all of it cut off as if it had never happened.
Yet still, he didn’t set you down. Jaeyun carried you the last few steps to his bed, and when he finally tried to set you down, you clung tighter — arms locking around his shoulders as your thighs pressed against his sides.
“No,” you said, and there was no explanation required. It didn’t matter that it had been six months since you last shared a bed. He knew your rules just as much as he knew his: you didn’t do beds before a shower — much less in outside clothes. You didn’t even sit on them in anything that had been out in public.
“Princess,” he sighed. “It’s my bed. I don’t have that rule.”
“Your bed is contaminated,” you decided.
Jaeyun went still for a second, like sheer willpower might make you reasonable. But it didn’t. You stayed latched onto him, stubborn as a vow, and he realized — again — how useless he’d always been at saying no to you.
He sighed again.
“Fine,” he said. “Fine — let’s take a shower first.”
He tried to lower you, shifting his hands to set you down properly, but the moment your heels brushed the floor, you stiffened in protest, clinging harder.
“No shoes inside,” you reminded him, as if he were the one being difficult.
Jaeyun’s eyes shut for a brief beat — his surrender arriving the way it always did with you, tender and doomed.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”
He crouched carefully, still keeping one arm hooked around your legs so you wouldn’t tip, and reached for the thin strap of your heel. His fingers worked quickly and practiced, undoing what he could without looking like he was paying attention.
Only when both heels had slipped free did he straighten again — and only then did you finally loosen, sliding down from his back. Jaeyun kept his hands on you the whole time, steadying you through the transfer, guiding you down until your bare feet found the floor without a stumble.
“There,” he said. “Now cooperate.”
Jaeyun went to his drawer and pulled out a t-shirt so old it had softened past saving, turned into the kind of thing that should’ve been discarded a long time ago. But it was the one you always chose when you slept over, and so it stayed — stupidly and hopefully, waiting for you.
He pushed his hair back off his forehead, his hand lingering there for a beat before he reached for a towel and stood up.
“Come,” he said then, placing his hand behind his back to encourage you to catch up and grab it.
You held hands across the apartment and into the bathroom, letting go only when Jaeyun reached for the switch and snapped the light on — white and harsh in a way that suddenly made the night tangible.
“The lock is broken,” Jaeyun said.
“Wasn’t Jongseong going to fix it months ago?” you asked.
Jongseong had, but it broke again and again, and by the fourth time, the three of them had decided it was what it was and left it to its habits.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said. “Can you handle yourself?”
You leaned against the sink, head tipping to the side. Your necklace sparkled with the movement, catching the bathroom light in thin, bright flickers, and all at once, he regretted asking.
It all felt too real, too reckless. What if you asked him to stay and help you, as it had happened a dozen times before Baekhyeon?
He couldn’t trust himself to make good decisions — couldn’t trust himself to help you out of your dress without looking. Not with the voucher still in the pocket of his jeans and your words coiling through his mind, slowly displacing all his other thoughts.
He was suddenly wild under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom.
“I’ll be right outside,” he said, reaching past you to set the towel on the counter, then the shirt beside it — lining them up like order could keep the night under control. “Take your time.”
“Okay.”
Jaeyun didn’t say anything as he stepped out. He merely pulled the door shut and folded himself down in front of it — knees up, forearms crossed above them, and his fingers tightening against the sides of his jeans for a quiet moment before he let go.
From inside the bathroom came the soft shift of fabric. Then the small, telltale clink of something against porcelain — your necklace, surely your necklace — before the water finally started to run. And Jaeyun let out a slow breath he couldn’t quite believe in.
It wasn’t the first time he’d guarded a door for you, and he should’ve known how to breathe through it by now.
But tonight had reached in and rearranged all the defenses he’d built, and now he was back at the beginning with nothing solid to brace against. His fingers flexed once again, anchoring himself to the pressure and the bone, and making him almost miss the complaint of a floorboard down the hall.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jongseong’s voice carried from the hallway. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“The lock doesn’t work,” Jaeyun said.
“It never worked.”
“She’s inside.”
“Who?” Jongseong asked — more reflex than curiosity — because the moment his gaze landed on Jaeyun, the question dissolved on its own, understanding settling without needing a name.
“Oh, it’s been a while,” he said, and Jaeyun’s mouth tightened, the words pressing an old bruise.
It had been six months since you last slept there, to be exact — the same amount of time you’d been with Baekhyeon, and the same amount of time Jaeyun had been pretending the distance was natural. Reasonable. Maybe even healthy.
It wasn’t as if Baekhyeon had forbidden your friendship with him, or your sleepovers at this apartment. Baekhyeon was—
Jaeyun’s mind halted.
For a second, he tried to call him nice, the word rising up like it wanted to be fair, but then he recoiled from the generosity of it.
Nice didn’t matter. Nice didn’t change what it meant to watch you choose someone else. Nice didn’t stop the humiliating clarity of memory: the shape of you curled into his bed like you belonged there, the way you’d mutter his name half-asleep when you couldn’t find the edge of the blanket — then the way he’d learned, almost overnight, how to live without it. And so, he said nothing, merely breathing out, real slow, between barely parted lips, which ended up being louder than anything he could have said.
Jongseong leaned back against the opposite wall and crossed his arms, staking out the space without saying a word because that was how he always did. He didn’t press — never that. Jongseong just stayed, letting the world breathe between them until it started to feel like an invitation people never knew how to refuse.
Jaeyun looked away.
“She called,” he said. “She was at Arcano. Drunk — not falling-over drunk — but enough.”
“Baekhyeon?” Jongseong asked, not because he was looking for gossip, but because it was logistics. It was the obvious missing piece.
“They broke up — he broke up with her,” he said. “Something about not being sure anymore.”
“Damn.”
Jaeyun hummed in agreement, and because he didn’t know how to bring up the topic, he merely said: “She asked me to sleep with her.”
Jongseong blinked — actually blinked, like his brain had dropped a piece on the floor.
“She asked you,” he repeated.
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed. “Yeah.”
“To sleep with her.”
The words hung there between them, obscene in how plainly they fit the shape of the night. Jaeyun breathed out slowly through his nose, like the air itself didn’t want to make room for them.
“And you said?” Jongseong asked, though his tone already suggested he knew the answer. Everyone knew Jaeyun’s reputation. Everyone knew he didn’t say no to much — especially not to you.
“I said no,” Jaeyun replied.
Jongseong stared at him, then let out a low whistle like he couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or concerned.
“Don’t make it weird,” Jaeyun muttered.
“I’m not making it weird,” Jongseong said. “I’m just—” He paused, pondering what his next words should be. “You’re kind of famous for not being the guy who says no. Not to her.”
Jaeyun’s lips parted, his tongue already rolling in to say something, but the words stuttered and stammered, refusing to leave immediately, and Jongseong shifted his weight, glancing down the hallway once as if checking whether Sunghoon would appear and make this worse. But when he didn’t, he looked back at Jaeyun and waited again.
Of course he did.
Behind the door, the shower shifted pitch — water on tile instead of skin, the soft scrape of movement as you’d turned under the stream — and Jaeyun’s shoulders tightened at the sound, reflexive and stupid, like his body wanted to go in there and steady you with his hands.
He forced himself to stay where he was.
“You know what the problem is?” Jaeyun asked.
“Tell me.”
“I know her,” he said, and he hated himself for how quickly it came out, like a confession that had been waiting all night. “I know she meant it.”
Jongseong’s expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“But what if it changes something?” he asked. “I could say yes, and for one night I’d get—”
He cut himself off, shoving his hair back as if he could physically push the thought out of his head.
“Fuck — I’d get something I’ve wanted for a long time.”
“And then?”
“And then she’d wake up, and something could flick.” Jaeyun said. “Like she’d look at me and realize she made a mistake. Like she’d hate me for letting her.” His grip tightened once, then loosened. “Like I’d lose the only part of her I’m allowed to have.”
The hallway seemed to draw in around him, the air thickening as if it could listen. And Jaeyun lowered his voice in response.
“I’d rather have just a part of her forever than have her entirely for a night and lose her in the morning.”
“That’s — that’s more honest than I expected.”
Jaeyun let out a humorless breath. “Thank you.”
“I’m not done,” Jongseong said, because of course he wasn’t. “You’re treating having her like it’s one thing.”
Jaeyun frowned, irritation returning on instinct because it was safer than admitting Jongseong was right.
“It’s either you stay in the safe version of your friendship forever — half-measures, unsaid things — or you sleep with her and blow it up.”
“But it could happen.”
“But it also couldn’t — not if you do it in the right way.”
“In the right way,” Jaeyun scoffed. “That clears everything up.”
“When she’s sober,” Jongseong continued, ignoring the sarcasm like it was a symptom. “You tell her the truth she can use.”
“Like what?”
“You tell her you said no because she was drunk.”
“Obviously.”
“And you tell her you care about her too much to risk the friendship over a night.”
Jaeyun’s stomach tightened. The sentence was too clean — neat edges, no mess, nothing anyone could accuse him of — and it sounded like something he was allowed to say. But it wasn’t the real reason, though. The real reason lived lower in him, hot and humiliating because of the selfishness of it.
Jaeyun cared too much to let you choose him with alcohol blurring the corners, too much to wake up and find your eyes clear and horrified — he cared too much to have his name become the sharpest part of your regret.
He didn’t want a night he’d have to defend. He wanted a tomorrow that didn’t require forgiveness.
He couldn’t lose you.
“And if she guarantees nothing will change?” he asked, and his voice sounded small there, drowned out by the fantasy of it.
“You decide,” Jongseong said. “You do it, or you don’t. But don’t lie to yourself that you can keep something by freezing it.”
“I can keep it by not touching it.”
“And you can lose it that way too,” Jongseong said, immediately and all at once making Jaeyun halt. “You’re already changing. She’s already changing. Baekhyeon happened. Tonight happened.”
“So what?” Jaeyun asked. “You think I should accept?”
“I think you should accept the conversation,” Jongseong corrected. “Not the drunk proposal. Not the chaos. Not the one-night disaster you’re picturing.”
He paused, just long enough for Jaeyun to swallow.
“It’s the best way,” Jongseong added. “Because it’s the only way she gets to choose you with a clear head — and you get to be chosen without feeling like you stole it.”
“Fine,” he said. “I will talk to her tomorrow — when she’s sober.”
“Good.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, but then Jongseong nodded toward the bathroom door with a faint grimace that tried to pass for humor. “Rap on my door when she’s done, yeah? I need to use the bathroom, and I don’t feel like getting murdered for walking in on — whatever this is.”
Jaeyun shot him a look, he wasn’t going to, but if anything, Jongseong’s mouth quirked, teasing and mean, as he turned and started back toward his room, leaving Jaeyun alone with the thin shaft of light coming from under the door, the broken lock, and the sound of you moving on the other side — alive, breathing, and close enough to ruin him if he let himself reach.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
The bathroom door opened with a tiny complaint from its hinges. Your figure momentarily silhouetted against the spill of light before he blinked and put you into focus, barefoot, hair slicked back and tucked behind your ears, cheeks still flushed from the shower, alcohol, and something that didn’t belong to soap or steam. His old shirt hung off you all wrong and yet perfectly: too big in the shoulders, too long in the hem, but familiar in a way that made Jaeyun’s chest tighten.
Perhaps he was dreaming this night.
“I thought I heard someone,” you whispered.
“It was Jongseong,” he replied, smoothing his tone into something casual, in the hope that you wouldn’t notice the way Jongseong’s appearance now sat warm and heavy beneath his ribs, pulsing each time he breathed, threatening to spill.
“Did we wake him up?”
Jaeyun shook his head and pushed himself up, his joints protesting with stiffness from the position and from the sheer act of not moving every time his instincts had told him to go in and make sure you were okay. “No. He just needed the bathroom.”
You nodded at him, and Jaeyun reached his hand to you, the gesture so unconscious, he didn’t notice he had done it until you reached back to him, fingers finding the slots between his, and intertwining your hands.
“Let’s go,” he murmured, already turning and guiding you down the short stretch of hall.
He wasn’t sure what time it was, but when he opened the door to his room, the world outside seemed vivid in comparison, a mist of light blue and purple coming through his open window, and spilling across the rumpled sheets and the scatter of things that made the space undeniably his: a jacket draped over the chair like it had been forgotten mid-thought, a half-open book, and a glass of water caught a thin slice of shine. The air was warmer in here, carrying the faint, familiar mix of laundry soap and skin and something clean underneath everything that had happened.
“Lie down,” Jaeyun said, swinging your interlaced hands toward the bed even though he expected you to refuse, saying something about contamination or demanding clean sheets, and forcing him into the familiar rhythm of your rules because that was how it always went — he was already halfway bracing for it, already planning how to humor you through it without letting his hands linger where they shouldn’t — but you moved then, slipping from his touch and laying on the mattress without protest. And it was somehow worse than anything.
“Princess,” he called, not really sure what the rest of the phrase was supposed to be, and the nickname hung in the air longer than it was necessary.
“Aren’t you coming?” you asked, and he was caught by the simplicity of it.
“Close your eyes,” Jaeyun said. “I’m going to get changed first.”
You made a small sound that almost counted as a snort, like the idea of him needing you not to look was ridiculous. But you did it anyway — eyes shut, face turned into his pillow, going still with the kind of obedience you only ever gave him when you didn’t want to argue.
Jaeyun changed quickly, like speed could make him safer. Jeans off. Sweatpants on. Shirt pulled over his head and tossed it somewhere he refused to look at. He kept his movements efficient, controlled — all about angles and purpose — because he couldn’t afford softness. Couldn’t afford the way tenderness turned reckless when it had nowhere to go.
By the time he finished, you hadn’t moved, and for a moment, he thought you’d fallen asleep, your body finally ceasing. But when he stepped closer, you opened your eyes, the dim light catching in them like a held secret, glazing along your lashes, turning your gaze into something soft and deep, as if whatever remained of the light had found a way to live inside you.
And Jaeyun hovered at the edge, forgetting for a beat how to be anything but pulled in.
He sat on the bed, and you shifted closer, cheek pressing deeper into his pillow like it belonged there — like you belonged there.
And the fact that you were smelling like him didn’t help. His shampoo was tangled in your damp hair. His soap clinging to your skin. The boring smell of him with something sweet underneath — vanilla and white flowers — threaded through it all. Like the night had taken the parts of him that were supposed to be private and braided them through you.
He wouldn’t sleep tonight.
“Yun,” you called. “About what I said—”
“Just sleep,” he cut in. “We can talk tomorrow.”
Your mouth parted as if you wanted to argue on principle. But your body betrayed you in the softest way: your breathing deepened, your fingers loosened on the sheet, your forehead sank into his pillow as if it was the only safe thing left in the world.
Jaeyun lay down beside you before he could think too hard about it, keeping the space between your bodies like a rule — a boundary he could hold — but you drifted closer inch by inch, pulled by some instinct that had never learned to be afraid of him. Your knee brushed his leg. Your hand settled near his, warm and lax, fingers curved like they might reach if you dreamed the right dream.
Jaeyun didn’t move. He only stared at the ceiling and listened to you breathe — slow and even — trying not to count it.
Tomorrow, he told himself.
Tomorrow, he would be brave. Tomorrow he would say the right things — the usable truth, as Jongseong had called — the truth you could hold without cutting yourself on it.
Tomorrow, he would not ruin you, or the fragile shape of a friendship he’d carried for years like a glass of water.
But tonight—
He turned his head just enough to look at you, and stayed awake anyway — guarding the morning like it was the most dangerous thing he’d ever faced.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Jaeyun woke up to the morning sunlight filtering through the still-open window of his bedroom, and you curled into him, cheek on his shoulder, as your hand rested on his chest.
He didn’t move — he couldn’t bring himself to move — he didn’t even let his breath deepen because his first thought was the same one it had always been, old as instinct and just as merciless: don’t wake you. Don’t jolt you out of whatever gentle, thoughtless trust had guided you here in the dark and kept you here in the light. He merely stared at your hand on his chest.
Your fingers were loose, resting over his heartbeat like they’d found it by memory. Like your body had reached for the most familiar thing in the room and settled before your mind could intervene.
He swallowed.
The sunlight was falling in slow stripes across the sheets and across the line of your shoulder beneath his shirt, turning the old cotton into something almost translucent, and catching on your necklace. Dust drifted through the brightness like the morning was innocent — like the world hadn’t heard what you’d asked for last night, hadn’t seen the way his restraint had shaken under the skin.
He’d stayed the whole night trying to remain as far as he could tell. And still, here you were — curled into him like this was allowed. Like this was fine. Like you belonged in the hollow of his shoulder with your palm over his heart, claiming the one part of him he’d never learned how to hide.
You made a small sound in your throat, barely more than a breath, and nudged closer, your knee tucking nearer, your fingers flexing once against his shirt, and the heat of you spread through him like something inevitable.
His gaze drifted to your face.
Sleep had unmade you cruel in its sweetness; your lashes cast a faint shadow under your eyes; your mouth was parted just slightly, softened by the quiet. There was no teasing there, no armor, no bright deflection — only you, unguarded, and breathing against his shoulder like you trusted him to hold.
Because he would — he always would.
Jaeyun swallowed and very carefully — so carefully it bordered on absurd — slid his arm out from beneath your head, immediately receiving a small sound of protest from you, brows drawing together, and for one panicked second, he thought you’d wake.
But if anything, you only turned your face further into his pillow, drifting your hand from his chest to the sheet between you.
Jaeyun sat up slowly, pushing his hair back off his forehead as if he could physically push the feeling out, and looked at you once more.
Then he reached for the blanket and pulled it higher, covering you with a tenderness that felt dangerously close to a confession — tucking the edge beneath your arm, smoothing it down over your ribs, restoring order because order was the only thing that kept him from doing something reckless — before he stood up, crossing the room barefoot.
Jaeyun left the room, pulling the door nearly shut behind him, careful not to let the latch click.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
The kitchen met him as it always did on weekdays.
The sink was crowded with his roommate’s morning small evasions — a cup abandoned to the drying rack, a plate left half-rinsed as if someone had set it down and decided they couldn’t be bothered to finish. Old coffee grounds sat in the filter, gone cold and sour, and the air held that faint, stubborn bitterness like it had seeped into the walls.
Jaeyun stood in the middle of it all for a moment, then two — trying to make his brain behave.
Tomorrow, he had said, and it was tomorrow.
He exhaled through his nose and opened the fridge, scanning the shelves as if the answer to what to do with his hands might be hiding behind the milk, but not even this they had. There were eggs, half a loaf of bread, butter, something green that had once been vegetables in a kinder timeline, and the strawberries he bought weekly and kept in the back, pretending it wasn’t for you.
He closed the door on impulse, pushing his hair back off his forehead before he reopened it and grabbed the eggs.
Jaeyun had never been a breakfast person, but he needed something to do with his hands that morning, and so, he warmed the pan, melting the butter as he had seen you do a dozen times.
He cracked the first egg too hard, and a piece of shell fell in, forcing him to fish it out with the edge of a fork with a curse under his breath. The second one cracked clean. And he caught himself staring at it for a second, mildly offended by success.
He scrambled the eggs like he was negotiating with them — low heat, constant movement, refusing to let them burn. The toast popped up too dark on one side, and he had scraped it with a knife.
He got strawberries in the back of the fridge, rinsed them, and set them on a plate.
And by the time it started to look like something someone might eat, he heard you, softly coming down the hall and making the air shift, the apartment itself holding its breath.
Jaeyun turned, and there you were in the doorway — his shirt hanging off you, hair a mess, eyes brighter than they had any right to be.
Your gaze landed on the plates — on the counter, catching the eggshells still on it, the crumbs of his burned toast, and the strawberry tops before it moved to him.
“You made breakfast,” you said, the corner of your lips shifting into a smile.
“I’m aware.”
You padded toward him, bare feet on the kitchen tile, and suddenly you were so close, he could smell you, his soap still clinging to your skin. Your eyes were puffy, your cheeks still a little flushed, but the embarrassment had already arrived; Jaeyun could see it in the way you held your shoulders, in the way your gaze didn’t stay on his for too long.
“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly.
Jaeyun leaned his hip against the counter, arms crossing because if he didn’t put his body in order, his face might betray him. “You were drunk. You called me. I picked you up. That’s not like it never happened.”
“I remember what I said.”
Jaeyun went still.
“I’m not going to pretend I don’t,” you said. “Or that I said it only because I was drunk — I mean, I was drunk.”
You paused, heat creeping up to your cheeks and making it a tone warmer.
“Jaeyun, I’m—” You pressed your palm to your forehead briefly, as if you could push the shame back inside. “I’m in university. I’m still a virgin. And it’s not even because I’m some — saint. It’s because I kept waiting for the right moment.”
Your voice dropped. “But now it just feels like I’ve been standing still while everyone else moved.”
Something moved in Jaeyun’s chest then — sharp, protective, and making him push himself off the counter before he meant to, closing the space between you in a step he didn’t ask permission for.
“Princess,” he called, his voice as soft as the way his arms eased apart, but he didn’t touch you. Didn’t put his hands on your shoulders or tuck your hair back or do any of the things his body begged him to do on autopilot — because this was morning, and you were sober, and this mattered.
“You don’t owe anyone a timeline,” he said. “And you don’t have to make it some performance to prove something.”
“I know, Yun, it’s just that—” Your mouth tightened, lips pressing as you searched for the shape of the truth. “When I think about it, I keep coming to the conclusion that it would be safe if it were with you.”
“Do you remember that party at Seoyeon’s where they did that stupid bottle game, and we both had our first kisses in her parents’ closet?” you asked. Jaeyun blinked at the sudden turn of topic, but nodded anyway. “It was awful and so awkward. The guy made it so awkward. And the whole time I remember — the whole time I remember wishing it had been you on the other side of the bottle, because it would’ve been easier if it were you.” You swallowed. “If it were you, I’d be safe — and it’s still true, I know it would be okay with you,”
“You’re the person I trust the most in this world.”
The whole sentence went straight through his ribs and sank there, spreading through the parts of Jaeyun that had learned to stay careful until his restraint loosened another notch, and his chest went tender with it, so sudden it almost hurt.
In his mind, he was back at Seoyeon’s party, you laughing and brushing the situation off in front of him, cheeks flushed even in the low light with what he thought was shyness. And perhaps it had been. Perhaps he hadn’t been completely wrong: you’d been shy there, but not because you’d just had your first kiss, but because you’d wished he was the one there. He, your best friend — and the thought came so suddenly he couldn’t prevent it — he wanted it to be him, too. He wanted to be your first in every way that counted.
And that was exactly what you were offering to him.
Jaeyun swallowed, his fingers flexing on the counter.
“Do you truly want it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“But nothing can change between us,” Jaeyun said. “We start as best friends. And even if this — if this thing doesn’t work and we turn out to be awkward, we end as that. Best friends. No matter what.”
You stared at him for a second.
“Are you afraid of losing me?” you asked, teasing like you could make this lighter if you tried hard enough.
Jaeyun could hear the invitation in it. The offer to laugh. To dissolve the moment back into something safe. But when he looked at you, his eyes were solemn. So solemn that whatever retort you’d been about to throw at him got stuck somewhere between your lips and your courage.
“Yes,” Jaeyun said, and the teasing fell away.
Your breath caught for a moment before you exhaled, your face softening into something older than jokes.
“Okay,” you whispered.
“Okay,” he echoed.
Your gaze flicked to the counter again, to the two plates resting there, and he felt like it was some type of evidence. Proof this wasn’t only shame and late-night chaos, but morning too. Domestic, ordinary, real.
“So,” you said, voice a little too bright, “we’re doing this?”
Jaeyun’s mouth twitched. “Eat.”
“That was not an answer.”
He reached past you, grabbing a fork, and placing it in your hand with exaggerated seriousness.
“Eat,” he repeated. “Then we talk.”
“Jaeyun.”
He held your gaze, and the air between you tightened with something that had nothing to do with breakfast.
“Yes,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he wanted it to. “We’re doing it.”
“Good,” you said, and then, because you were you, because you couldn’t help yourself: “When are we doing it?”
Jaeyun stared at you.
“Are you—” he began. “Are you trying to schedule sex?”
“Seems reasonable.” You shuddered. “Or do you want us to do it now—”
“No,” he cut in, eyes narrowing, but the fondness in it betrayed him. “Tonight.”
“Don’t you have classes?”
“Are you having second thoughts?” he countered.
“Tonight,” you agreed. “My place?”
“That makes more sense,” he said, not only because he didn’t want his roommates hovering around, but because if he kept you here, if he kept you in his bed again, he didn’t trust the part of him that wanted to pretend you didn’t already belong.
“Okay,” you said.
“Okay,” he echoed.
Jaeyun straightened, grabbed his own plate, and turned away from the counter as if he hadn’t just scheduled the end of the life he’d been carefully maintaining like a lie. As if he’d invited you to the movies instead of into the most dangerous part of him.
“Eat,” he said again, voice rough. “Before I change my mind.”
You took a bite of eggs, crunching your nose. “These are terrible.”
“They’re edible,” he argued.
You smiled around your bite, and in the brilliance of it, Jaeyun noticed with sudden clarity that you might not be drunk, you might not be mad, but it had been a reckless request.
And he had just said yes.
He should’ve panicked.
He should’ve backed out and clung to his rules until they cut him open.
But he only watched you — standing in his kitchen with his shirt draped around you, alive and real and trusting him with clear eyes, and he couldn’t make himself care about the danger.
RULE #2: DO NOT TOUCH HER IMPROPERLY
Some touches are allowed because they keep her safe — elbow, shoulder, wrist, maybe her waist; small steadying things I can explain without it sounding like a lie. Improper is anything I do for myself. Improper is touching her like I’m owed something just because I’ve been here a long time.
Jaeyun liked electrical engineering — he really liked it — perhaps more than he’d ever admitted out loud.
There was something about how he could take a mess of a problem — wires crossing like arguments, values that looked meaningless until he stopped panicking and actually looked — and reduce it to rules that held. KCL. KVL. The calm mathematics of not lying to himself. Find the reference. Label the nodes. Define the direction. Solve.
If he couldn’t control other things — timing, people’s feelings, the way you could laugh like nothing was wrong while something in him quietly broke — then at least he could control this.
At least here, the world had edges. Here, the answer existed, and he found some calmness in it.
But not tonight.
Jaeyun sat in the last row with his book open and his pen in hand, trying to make his body obey.
But the professor’s voice moved through the room, muffled by the low hum of the projector and the whisper of AC that never quite cooled the lecture hall. Something about the transient response. Something about step inputs and settling time. Jaeyun stared at the diagram on the slide until it started to blur, because all he could see was you in his kitchen, barefoot on his tile. His shirt on your body. Your mouth around the word tonight like it was a dare and a promise and a joke all at once.
He wrote a line of notes, realizing a moment too late that it didn’t make sense; it was just a string of symbols that meant nothing. His jaw tightened. He scratched it out so hard the paper tore, then froze, breathing through his nose like he could sand himself back into something normal.
He tried to listen again, forcing his gaze to the board, and his brain into the shape of equations.
But the truth was: he wasn’t there anymore.
He was already walking to your studio apartment. He was already at your door, pressing the code of your keypad as he had done a thousand times.
He was already hearing your voice say his name the way you always did when you wanted something — and he hated that the wanting in him answered like a trained dog.
His leg bounced under the desk as his eyes moved to the clock.
The second hand dragged itself forward like it was doing it on purpose, like time had decided to become cruel just to prove it could. Jaeyun forced himself to look back down at the board. Forced his jaw to unclench. Forced his foot to stop bouncing.
It didn’t work.
He dragged a hand through his hair, knuckles scraping his scalp, and stared at the open page like he could threaten it into giving him peace.
Step response.
Damping ratio.
Overshoot — his chest felt like overshoot.
Jaeyun exhaled slowly, then made a decision, closing his book with a sound sharper than it should’ve been in the lecture hall, a final clap that made the person in front of him glance back, but Jaeyun didn’t care. If anything, he slid the book into his bag, capped his pen, and stood.
Outside, the late afternoon air hit him with a faint bite — winter pretending it hadn’t left yet. And the campus was loud in the way it always got near the end of the day: students spilling out of buildings, scooters whining by, laughter too bright, life too easy.
Jaeyun walked straight through it, taking the quickest route off campus, cutting between two buildings, and down the narrow street that always smelled like fried food and stale cigarette smoke.
He didn’t stop to think — didn’t even breathe; he only followed the line to your apartment complex, pushing the door open and taking the stairs, two at a time.
At your door, the keypad was there, small and impersonal, a little square of plastic and numbers that shouldn’t mean anything. But Jaeyun had always been stupidly good at remembering what mattered, and your passcode was one of those things he picked up without asking, without naming it as intimacy — the way he learned strawberry was your favorite fruit when you were both twelve, the way he memorized the sound of your laugh before he realized he was paying attention. Four digits. He knew it — he had used it a dozen times, but as his finger found the first digit, he froze because him knowing it all too well, suddenly felt like trespassing.
Jaeyun stared at the numbers. His hand still in the air, suspended, and ridiculously caught between two versions of himself. The one that had always been allowed inside your life, the one that had walked into your space carrying groceries and textbooks and your bad moods like they were part of his schedule, and the one standing here now, with the taste of tonight still sharp in his mouth, and the knowledge that tonight is not errands or emergencies.
He exhaled, slowly, trying to make his body act normal — trying to make his hand stop trembling with the sheer idiocy of wanting.
But couldn’t, and when he raised his hand again, he only knocked at the door and waited, hearing his own pulse in his ears, a stupid, loyal metronome that refused to slow down.
And then — movement.
The smallest sound from inside. Footsteps. A shift of air through the crack of the frame, like your apartment exhaled before the door even opened.
Jaeyun straightened without meaning to, shoulders going back like he’s bracing for impact. His hand dropped to his sides, finding his pockets because he refused to be caught halfway through panic.
Warm light spilled through the gap, and the scent of your place followed it — something clean and faintly floral, the trace of whatever you always used that made you smell like comfort when you hugged him goodbye. And there you were, framed in the doorway as if you’d been waiting in the exact spot where he would have to see you all at once.
For half a second, Jaeyun couldn’t breathe, his lungs catching, devastated by you.
“Hi,” you said. It was the same word you’d always used, yet it didn’t sound the same. “Did you forget the code?”
Jaeyun swallowed, forcing his face into something neutral.
“No,” he managed, his voice coming out rougher than he wanted it to. But if anything, you hummed at him, requiring no further explanation, as you opened the door a little wider so he could come in.
Jaeyun had molded the moment when he would step into your place in his mind enough times to believe he would be prepared when it finally came into reality.
Yet it didn’t.
He tried to don a neutral aspect, tried to speak — make some joke — but the words stayed in, hooked into years, and yanked, allowing nothing but air to pass through his lips.
Your apartment was small in the way studios always were — everything close enough to touch from the same spot, everything bearing the faint imprint of your routines. A blanket was folded too neatly on the end of the bed. A mug sat on the counter that looked like it had been rinsed and set down without being fully put away. A stack of books with their spines cracked in the middle like they’d been loved, not displayed.
And there was you — too close, too real.
You’d changed since he’d last been here, but at the same time, you were the same girl he had known his whole life, and the combination of both made something in him tighten until it felt sharp.
Jaeyun shut the door behind him with his foot, careful not to let it slam, yet the click of the latch sounded louder than it should’ve, and he stood there for a beat too long, backpack strap still across his shoulder, hands in his pockets.
“Shoes,” you remembered, because you couldn’t help yourself, and a laugh escaped through him, familiar enough to settle him.
Jaeyun bent, unlaced his sneakers, slipped them off with quick, efficient motions before he lined them near the door and dropped his backpack.
When he straightened, you were still watching him, draped in a dress that didn’t try to be subtle.
It hugged you way too prettily, clinging to your waist and hips like it had been made with the sole purpose of making him forget he’d ever learned how to breathe. The neckline dipped just enough to show skin, and right there — resting against it like a quiet, years-old claim — was the necklace he’d given you.
“Jaeyun,” you called. And he knew this tone — he knew it so damn well. It was your do something.
And so he did, striding in your direction, his hands already reaching for your face, cradling it on his palms before he looked down at you with a small question that he couldn’t come to pronounce because you were already replying by closing your eyes, tipping your head up so he didn’t need to do much to catch your top lip within his.
It was your first kiss. Jaeyun had known you for his whole life, but it was the first time he had come to know your mouth, and it felt almost like a travesty of the universe.
You tasted like strawberries, sugar, and something so familiar that his chest ached, threatening to break open and groan escaped him when you parted your lips, allowing him to dip his tongue inside, pressing against yours until he couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t you.
You and the way your hands found the front of his t-shirt and curled on it.
You and the way you pulled him along with you as you stepped back — and back, until the back of your knees had hit the mattress, and you had no other option but to fall on it, his hands bracing around your face, one knee bent and pressed where the skirts of your dress had pooled in too high.
You didn’t say anything as you reached for him, rushing your hands beneath the blue shirt and pushing it over his shoulders.
“Wait, Princess, wait,” he asked. “Slow down.”
“Is this how you always do it?”
And he could have lied, could have merely said yes, that was how he took all the other girls, but he didn’t.
“No,” he said. “It’s because it’s you and me.”
You stared at him, and suddenly the room felt too small for your heartbeats, too quiet for how loud everything inside of him turned.
But then, you leaned in and kissed him again — slower this time — giving him space to meet you properly.
His hand slid from your jaw to the side of your neck, his thumb pressing and feeling your pulse through the tip of it as his other hand followed the line of your shoulders, moving further and further until his palm had found your waist, his fingers spreading on you the way he always did to anchor you — except that now it was less anchoring than keeping you.
You shifted beneath him, your leg sliding close enough to brush the inside of his thigh, and Jaeyun felt it like a jolt — small, accidental, and devastating — traveling straight through his length, and making his breath catch.
He forced himself to hinder — force himself to keep his head clear. But his body was already answering you, heat gathering with every centimeter of contact, the novelty of it turning molten and bright in his blood — wanting to move, to press in, to take what you were offering without thinking.
“Tell me if—” he started, then stopped, trying to rearrange his thoughts.
“If what?”
“If you want me to stop,” he managed. “Say it if you—”
“I won’t,” you said, and the certainty in it hit him like a punch.
Jaeyun exhaled, pressing his forehead to yours — not kissing, not moving — just breathing the sweet scent of you, vanilla and white flowers, the same he always had as he counted the seconds like he could make them behave through the sheer force of his want.
“You’re sure?” he asked — because he had to — because he knew that this was the line where everything became real, and everything before this was going to feel small in comparison.
“Yes, Sim Jaeyun,” you whispered. “I’m sure.”
“Okay,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “Okay.”
Jaeyun’s fingers found the strap of your dress, sliding it with a gentleness that didn’t match the way his pulse was climbing, easing it down through your shoulder slow enough that it felt like a question you could stop without words — yet you didn’t — and the dress shifted with a soft whisper through your body.
He leaned in and pressed his mouth to the skin he’s uncovered — one brief kiss, then another — until the dress loosened and pooled lower, until he could guide it away and reveal your lingerie set, pinkish in a way that only made your skin warmer under the lights of your apartment.
His breath hitched.
You were beautiful in a way he’d always known, but also in a way he’d never allowed himself to study — never this close, never with permission. Never with the soft spill of your skin under his hands, much less with the heat of you turning every familiar detail into something obscene and new.
His hand splayed over your belly, the tips of his fingers skimming the lower edge of your bra before he slid down, finding the band of your panties and hooking it lightly.
“You’re—” he began.
“Don’t get too full of yourself, Jaeyun,” you murmured. “I dress like this because I just happen to have no bad sets.”
The laugh that left him was helpless, more air than sound, relief threading through it because you were still you, even here, even now, just in your lingerie set and with skin turning reddish because of his kisses, and it truly didn’t matter that you interpreted him wrongly this time.
“Right,” he managed. He couldn’t argue with anything you said — not right now — not never. “Of course.”
Your fingers curled in his shirt, pulling him closer — not frantic, not desperate — just needy, and Jaeyun went still for one beat to let himself feel it: the pull, the permission, the way your hands on him turned his years of restraint into something soft and breakable.
“Of course,” he whispered again, bending down and kissing you, your temples first, and then your cheeks — his lips pestering over your face with soft pecks before he moved lower, discovering that one sensitive spot underneath your jaw, and when you gasped, he took it as an incentive to move to the column of your neck, his mouth parting as his tongue slipped out in a tiny tease that got you gasping softly — almost silently, hands closing at the shoulders of his shirt as if you couldn’t help yourself.
“You’re sensitive,” he murmured, tucking his discovery carefully alongside all the other details he’d collected about you over the years.
You called for him, but if it had been a warning or a submission, you lost interest in the rest of your thought as he kissed you again, open mouth and tongue rolling against your skin, surely leaving a mark, and making a moan to rumble through your lips instead.
Jaeyun’s eyes flicked up to your face, and he didn’t let go — not even when his hands slipped to your back, the tips of his fingers finding and curling on the clasps of your bra. Not even as he opened it and slid further into you, kissing the tip of your breast and sending goosebumps through your skin.
He never let go.
And when his lips parted, tipping his tongue out, and making your hands move to the back of his head, fisting at his hair almost bitterly, he only smiled against you, the movement adding another coating to the sensation and making your arch against him.
He licked you softly, licked you hard, covered the areola with his lips and pulled the tip into his mouth, pulled more and harder, until your back arched even more and created a gap between the mattress that his hands took no time to fill, his fingers spraying through your skin and holding you still as his mouth moved, leaving your nipple just to create a path through your body, trailing down to your sternum, your stomach — taking in every piece of your skin in between his lips.
Jaeyun lifted his head then, just enough to look at your face properly, catching the flush on your cheeks, the way your lips had parted because your breath had turned pant, your chest moving too fast and allowing your necklace to sparkle.
The room was suddenly too small for how loud his blood had gotten.
For a moment, he didn’t kiss, didn’t lick, didn’t give either of you the mercy of motion; he only held still and watched, like he needed to see what he was doing to you before he let himself do more.
“Princess,” he breathed, the word slipping out before he could decide on anything else.
You looked at him, and your gazes locked as they had done a dozen times across the existence of you, yet the moment acquired that dream quality because you were here, bare in a way he’d only imagined in the abstract — late at night, in the quietness of his room, in the version of his imagination he kept locked away like contraband — and the distance between wanting and having had narrowed to a single breath.
Jaeyun swallowed, trying to steady himself, before let the moment break by degrees — his palm slid down the slope of your stomach, slow enough to feel like asking, fingertips grazing your skin as if he were relearning it; as if touching you like this rewired something in him that had always been too careful until his fingers finally found the band and paused there, hooked lightly under the elastic.
He looked back up at you then, thumb stroking once along your hip as his other hand held you steady at the small of your back, refusing to let you drift away from him — from this.
“You okay?” he murmured, and it sounded like he meant all of it.
You nodded at him, and he moved — quietly relentless — his knuckles brushed your thighs on the way, accidental touches that weren’t accidental at all, and the sound you made hit him physically.
He had never been so hard in his whole life.
He guided the panties lower, and lower, until they slipped free; and for a beat, he just held them, as though the simplest thing in his hand had become proof that the night had finally crossed into real.
Then he set them aside without looking, his attention snapping back to you immediately — hand returning to your inner thigh with a firmer hold than before.
“If I do anything you don’t like — you tell me, okay? We have to communicate.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoed.
His thumb drew one more slow line along your inner thigh, watching the way you answered it before he allowed himself to lower his head again, kissing the inside of your knee this time — soft — almost innocent, if the moment hadn’t been burning at the edges. Then another kiss, slower, lingering, his mouth warming you as his hands guided you open with a care that felt reverent.
“You are just — beautiful,” he heard himself say.
You let out a small sound that wasn’t quite a breath and wasn’t quite a laugh, startled by how earnest he was being. Your cheeks warmed, and you turned your face just slightly, like you could hide behind the angle.
“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, aiming for teasing, but it came out too soft for anything but shyness.
And Jaeyun’s mouth twitched, a helpless curve that didn’t reach humor so much as relief. And his hand tightened once at your thigh, then gentled, thumb stroking a quiet line as if to soothe the flush he’d put in you.
“Yeah?” he said. “But is it okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, the word threaded through the quiet laugh that escaped you. You didn’t dress it up, didn’t offer an explanation, didn’t hand him the because — you just let the answer be simple. But it wasn’t simple at all, not to him because he heard the rest in the way your gaze found his and held: yeah, you said, because it’s you.
The first touch of his mouth against your folds was light enough that he didn’t even taste you, but your body still reacted: a sharp inhale, a pull through your spine, the instinctive arch that made his own breath break low in his throat.
And when you tipped your hips to him, he mouthed you again, his hands sliding further into you, thumbs finding the tender flesh of your hood and lifting it — leaving your clit in full exposure for him to lean in, the tip of his tongue kneading the sensitive flesh around, slightly rubbing before he pressed it, unable to prevent the sound that escaped his throat then — something between reverence and desperation.
It took your smile away — your lips parting in a gasp as your fingers met and wove through his hair, pulling him in a demand that he had no second thoughts before obeying, giving you another lick — a harder one.
His tongue twirled all around the edge, then he pressed a kiss over it — a long, tender wet kiss before he lowered his head and licked at the entrance of your body because you were clenching around nothing, and it suddenly felt too evil, and Jaeyun would never be evil to you.
He pushed his tongue against your hole, and then, he pushed again until his tip went inside it, and he had to control his will to roll his eyes back.
Even his boldest fantasy hadn’t come close to how sweet you actually were. And the thought landed too tender to survive, cracking him open into something darker because being careful had started to feel like another kind of denial, and he couldn’t come to continue to restrain himself when you had given him all the permission. Jaeyun lifted his head just long enough to look at you, eyes blown wide and honest, as if he was giving you one last chance to pull him back. To tell him to stop. To make him good again.
Yet you didn’t. And something within him shifted. His hands held you firmer, spreading you open as he went back to you no longer soft-edged, and decided to stop hovering at the threshold, giving you what you were asking for.
Jaeyun’s grip tightened as he worked on you, alternating between broad strokes and precise licks on that one spot that never failed to make you cry out his name.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me hear you.”
Your response came almost immediately — a broken moan that seemed to come from somewhere so deeply inside of you, Jaeyun felt your own desperation reverberating through his entire body.
You were getting closer, he could tell by the way your thighs kept quivering under his hands, your breathing becoming more and more ragged with each pass of his tongue, but it wasn’t enough — he needed to see it: the moment pleasure turned undeniable, the moment he could stop wondering if he was reading you wrong.
Jaeyun retreated with a torturous care, pressing a final kiss to your folds as he pushed himself back onto his knees and earned a protest from you.
“Jaeyun—”
“Not yet,” he said. “For now, I need you to hold yourself open for me. Can you do that, Princess?”
You nodded despite yourself, spreading your legs further apart — pushing the soles of your feet against your sheets for some leverage and fuck.
The sight of you like this — glistening with your fluids and remnants of his saliva — the sight of you so ready for him.
He could hardly breathe.
He brought one hand down through your thigh, his thumb resuming the circular motions on your clit while his other hand moved to your seam, teasingly brushing the tips of his fingers through before he slid a single one inside.
You were so wet already, he slipped with no resistance, and it was so dizzying — everything about it was so dizzying — he hardly heard you panting as he began to move his finger in and out, your stomach tightening and giving a small convulsion, but you kept your legs apart as he had asked you to.
It was a false deed, honestly — as if Jaeyun could command anything when both of you knew — he was the one to always follow.
But he really didn’t care.
When Jaeyun felt you opening up to him, he added a second finger in, curling them slightly to discover that one spot that soon enough got you into a mess — squeezing him with your release as your hands grabbed at your sheets. Your lips parted around his name, and your hair turned wilder as your head pushed against your pillows, arching your back in that one beautiful bow before you melted again.
“Princess,” he called, and you clenched at the endearing name, a velvet heat that he felt in his very soul.
You hadn’t done anything to him, but Jaeyun felt utterly undone by you. His breath was coming in short, ragged gasps just by watching you.
God — he could come just by watching you.
You were so wet. His hand was coated with you, white slick dribble coming out of your cunt, making each of his moves obscenely loud in the quiet night, yet — all he could think was how stunning you were like this, so lovely and so his.
He wanted to keep looking — to hold the moment still, to learn it by heart, and make it something real enough to survive the morning. But he wanted to look away, too, all at once — startled by the sheer size of his wanting.
You had so much power over him, it was terrifying even to examine the way you owned his soul. When your gazes caught, his heart seemed to burst in his chest.
Was he doing it for you, or doing it for him? He couldn’t tell anymore.
He curled his fingers deeper inside of you, making you mumble something unintelligible, a sob ripping through your chest and already threatening to turn into a release. Jaeyun couldn’t help but grin at the sound, reveling in the way your body trembled and arched underneath his touch.
You thrashed and thrashed as he still tended you the way you needed, stroking the spots inside that made you shudder and rubbing at your clit until he heard you panting, his own name falling from your lips in a breathless moan before it turned into whimpers, and when you came around him, he leaned in to kiss you.
Jaeyun stayed close through the last shiver, like he didn’t trust the world not to startle you out of it. He kissed you again — slower now, softer — catching your mouth as your breathing stuttered, and pretending that he could take the edge off the intensity just by holding you there. His hand eased from its grip into a gentler touch, smoothing along your thigh.
“Hey,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
His forehead brushed against yours as his hands smoothed over your body, taking you through until he could cup your face, and his thumb could reach for the corner of your mouth, wiping away the evidence of his kiss with a tenderness that didn’t match how wrecked he looked. He swallowed, chest rising and falling too fast, and forced himself to slow his breathing until yours started to follow.
“Still okay?” he asked again, softer, as if the question mattered more now than it had before.
You nodded at him, managing a flimsy sound that might’ve been yes, and Jaeyun pressed another kiss to your temple, then your cheek, unhurried, almost devotional, as if he needed to apologize for his own intensity.
“You did so well,” he whispered. “Tell me what you need. Water? A minute? Do you want me to hold you, or-?”
“Jaeyun,” you cut.
“Yes, Princess?”
Your hands slid to the back of his neck, fingers curling and weaving through his hair, holding him still.
“I need you.”
It might have been the words, the small plea that took Jaeyun anew because he would never refuse anything you asked him, or perhaps it was the way you said them, a bit flimsy because you couldn’t control it still, but either way, he gave in, slipping from your hold only so he could take his t-shirt off.
He almost choked when you stood with him, your hands reaching for his lower abdomen, nails scraping his skin slightly before you took his belt and unbuckled it.
“Princess,” he called, the questions already on his tongue, shaped by habit, and the need to do this right.
But you didn’t give him time.
Your hands moved for his jeans, unzipping them as if you’d decided you were done waiting, easing them down in one smooth, impatient motion. The room seemed to go hushed around the sound of it — denim shifting, breath catching — until the only thing left was the sudden, helpless awareness of his length slapping against his abdomen.
Your hand found him, fingers curling around him almost beautifully, closing and molding with a care that didn’t match, and making his whole body go taut, breath pulling tight in his chest like it had nowhere to go. Not because he didn’t want it — God, he wanted it — but because he did, too much, too fast, the kind of wanting that threatened to ruin the rest of the night by sheer impatience.
He caught your wrist gently, holding you as his forehead dipped toward yours again, his eyes shutting.
“If you do that,” he began. “I’m not going to last.”
The honesty of it landed between you, sharp with embarrassment. And when he opened his eyes again, there was something almost pleading in the way he looked at you — like he was asking you not to laugh, not to make him feel small for how quickly you could undo him.
“Another time,” he promised, realizing the implications of his words a fraction too late. Not just later tonight. Not just when you feel like it. But again. As if he’d already decided that there was going to be a future where he got to learn you — and be learned — without rushing.
But you didn’t tease him. When you looked at him, your gaze holding his until the heat in his face had nowhere to hide, you merely nodded.
“Okay,” you said.
You were no warmer than Jaeyun was, but when he touched your waist, your skin shivered, a fine tremor running under his fingertips.
“Okay,” he echoed.
You let him ease you down onto the sheets, smoothing you into place as he followed you down, bracing himself over you without crushing you, and kissed you — slow, mouth soft, reverent in a way that made the moment feel almost holy.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he whispered. “Tell me if—”
“I know,” you breathed, and the words sounded so much like trust — Jaeyun’s throat worked, and he kissed you again and again and again, only letting go to reach down beside the bed for his jeans, fingers finding the pocket by feel — clumsy in a way he never remembered being. His breath caught when you made the smallest sound behind him, and he hurried to get his wallet free, forcing it out with a practical shuffle before the faint and quick tear of foil came in the hush.
He slid it on with shaky hands that he hoped you wouldn’t notice.
But you did — of course you did.
When he climbed back over you, you reached for his arms, your fingers brushing down until you found his hands.
“You’re shaking,” you whispered, your brows knitted, and searching his face like you were afraid you’d pushed him somewhere he didn’t want to go.
Jaeyun went still.
“Because it’s you,” he replied, not giving himself time to consider how much he had exposed with this mere phrase.
Of course he was shaking. He’d wanted you for so long it had grown into something foundational, something he’d learned to live around and never touch. And now you were here beneath him, looking at him like he was allowed — like he was chosen — and his wanting hadn’t been foolish after all.
His throat worked. He tightened his fingers around yours, trying to make the shaking stop by force.
“If I mess this up, you won’t ever let me hear the end of this,” he smoothed.
You laughed at him — familiar in a way that loosened something in his chest, easing everything inside him as if the sound of you had always known where to press to make him breathe again.
“Don’t worry,” you said. “I’ll keep it all as another of our secrets.”
“What other secrets do we have?”
“What you had under your bed when we were teenagers,” you began. “That you couldn’t sleep without a lampshade until you were twelve. Where we were on your eighteenth birthday. That you cried watching The Notebook—”
“Everyone cried watching The Notebook at least once.”
“Baekhyeon didn’t—”
“Did you watch it with him?”
“It’s my favorite movie, of course I did,” you said. “But don’t worry, it was just once — it’s funnier with you anyway.”
“Obviously,” he said. “Everything is funnier with me — and we are about to have a lot of fun.”
You laughed again, softer and only because he was allowed to — he kissed you again, his hands smoothing your thighs, your calves, his fingers moving and curling around your ankles and pulling you to him, lifting your legs to his hips.
You stiffened as his tip made contact, your body going taut beneath him and he stopped like he’d been trained for it, like every instinct he had rewired itself around not hurting you. His grip shifted back from your ankles to your thighs — his thumbs stroking small, steady circles as if he could coax your muscles out of panic.
“Princess, look at me,” he murmured. “Do you want me to stop?”
You shook your head, a little bit too frantically as if you were afraid he would really stop it, and Jaeyun exhaled through his nose, a sound that stood somewhere between a laugh and a prayer. He kissed you once, slow and grounding, then another at the corner of your mouth.
“Okay,” he said. “Then we go slow. I’m right here.”
He shifted — barely enough to change the angle, but you seemed to feel it and his thumb reached for you seam, wetting the tip of it with your fluids, and finding your clitoris, rubbing it in slow and deliberate circles that got you closing your eyes, moving your hips, and welcoming whatever he was giving.
Jaeyun made himself still enough to read you, his eyes tracking your face with the kind of focus that might’ve felt clinical, if it hadn’t been so tender. He watched your breathing first, then your mouth, then the tiny shifts in your shoulders before he slowed and it eased again.
He moved in careful increments, pausing whenever your breath changed. Waiting whenever your brows pinched. His hands steadied you — firm at your thighs, gentle at your waist, and holding you through the newness of it.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “Is it okay?”
You nodded and he lowered his forehead toward yours.
It was slow at first, all about him discovering the new shape of you, but soon enough, it was confident and knowing. When he drew back, he knew exactly how to move back in, how to make you tighten around him, and his name to escape from your lips a little bit more frantically as his rhythm increased.
Your fingers spread through the back of his neck, fingers twisting at the hair at his nape and bringing him closer and closer, as if you couldn’t help it. And when your breath turned ragged and your fingers tightened, Jaeyun pressed his mouth to your temple, whispering your name like a promise he could finally keep.
Even if only temporarily.
“Yun, I’m going—”
“It’s okay, Princess,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
And this time he meant it in every way.
“Come for me, babe.”
You twisted under his body, even as he kept you pinned in place with his hands on your hips, squirming and whimpering your way through it, finishing with an almighty shudder as you came a second time, and it was so beautiful, and overwhelming — he tried to stay careful. He tried to keep his breathing even. But you said his name like you needed him, and something in him cracked clean through.
He buried his face against your neck, a shaky sound trapped in his throat. “Princess—”
He didn’t have room for anything except you.
No thought. No control. Just the force of feeling, cresting too high and too fast, until it dragged a groan from him with your name inside it — like that was the only thing he could say when he finally lost himself — and with a final, deep thrust, his body tensed and spilled inside of you — groaning your name. The echo of it carved into your skin as he buried himself, his fingers molding into your skin with an intensity that left behind indentations as the waves of his pleasure washed over.
Jaeyun hadn’t realized how noisy you both had been, but the room felt suddenly too quiet after.
And for a beat, he only stayed still — his forehead tucked against the curve of your neck, breathing you in like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of the air between you, the feeling of your pulse under his mouth, your fingers still lost in his hair, and your bodies so tangled, he couldn’t quite tell where he ended and you began — his whole soul afraid that the moment would slip away the second he admitted it had happened.
But then, you made a small sound, and it made him force his head up — just enough to look at you.
He brushed his knuckles along your cheek, then paused, thumb hovering at your lips because he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you like this now that the moment was gone.
“You okay?” he asked, the question already worn thin by the number of times he had used it through the night, but it felt heavier somehow, meaning more than any of the earlier ones ever had.
But if anything, you only nodded — leaning into his touch as your lashes fluttered shut.
“Just stay,” you whispered.
And so, he stayed — rolling you both through your bed, his back sinking into the mattress as he drew you to his chest, giving you a place to rest as if it was any other night and you were merely best friends falling asleep together. He stayed until your heartbeat evened out against him and the room turned orange and pink with sunrise, dust motes catching in the full light like glittering hush, and the night had inevitably bent itself into morning.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Jaeyun lay on your bed, holding a breath in his chest as if it could keep the morning from happening. The sun slipped through your parted curtains and spilled across the room — patient and indisputable — turning everything into proof.
Your dress was still pooled on the hardwood, your panties right above it, and his jeans were so close it could’ve been one thing. Your bra was still at the edge of the bed, pink, half-tucked into the sheets he couldn’t remember tangling.
He let the breath go, and the mattress answered, making you stir — just a little — your head rolling off his chest until your chin found him again.
When your eyes opened, the light caught and held — as if it had nowhere else to be.
Jaeyun felt the instinct to speak. Something practical. Something safe. Something that could be filed under morning conversation and good friend behavior.
Are you okay? he thought. Do you need water?
Do you want me to make breakfast again and pretend I don’t care when you mock me for it?
But you didn’t give him time.
You lifted your head — sleepy as it was certain — brushing your nose against his before you caught his lower lip between yours and kissed him in a way that made teasing feel like a promise.
Jaeyun went utterly still, his hands hovering, useless with hesitation. He had spent years learning which parts of you he was allowed to hold — elbow, shoulder, wrist; the small, steadying touches that could be explained without telling on himself.
But this was your room.
Your bed.
Your morning.
And you were kissing him like you’d never once needed an explanation, catching his lower lip — so gentle it hardly counted as a bite — holding it for one heartbeat longer before you let him go and eased back.
Jaeyun blinked, and the muted morning light dazed him — your room pressing in with a kind of hush that made it feel like a dream: sun-warm sheets, the sound of breath, the closeness of you like something he hadn’t earned but had been given anyway. He let it hold him for a suspended moment before he leaned in and kissed you again, this time with more feeling than thought — one hand found your waist, as the other slid behind your neck, tilting you up to him.
Your breath caught at that, and for a moment, Jaeyun feared he had gone too far — too fast. He’d finally slipped enough to not be able to lie and pretend he hadn’t broken his second rule, but then you shifted, sliding a leg over his hips, straddling him like it was the most natural place in the world to be, and something in him went quiet with the rightness of it.
He didn’t move first. He didn’t take. He only held where you’d placed him.
And when you parted — pulling back just enough for you to breathe — it carried the kind of practicality that had always been your shared language.
“I need a shower,” you said.
For a beat, Jaeyun blinked at you, incapable of understanding the words. But then, his brain latched onto it, and he felt thankful. A shower meant tiles. Water. Soap. Clean lines. A task that could be completed. A thing he could do without interpreting your mouth, your eyes, the way your kiss had said stay.
“Okay,” he heard himself say. “Okay, yeah.”
Jaeyun shifted carefully, guiding you off him with hands that tried to remember what permitted felt like — waist, ribs, shoulder — anywhere that could still pass as gentle logistics instead of want. His gaze skated away from your face on instinct, as if looking at it too directly might pull him back under, and slipped out of the bed.
You followed, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, slightly swaying — more due to sleepiness than weakness, but Jaeyun’s body reacted anyway. He reached for you, his hands steady on your arms.
He helped you up. Guided you through your studio: past the small table with the stack of books, past the mug you never fully put away, and into the narrow bathroom where the tiles were warm and the mirror caught the gold of morning and gave it back to him as evidence.
Your skin carried so many marks from the night before that his breath caught.
He looked away so fast it felt like a flinch.
Jaeyun moved like he was trying to fix the world.
He turned on the light first. Then the fan. Then the tap — hot first, then cold, adjusting in small increments until the water felt right because putting things in order always helped him keep control.
He watched the water steam faintly as it ran, watched it like it was a system he could calibrate.
He set a towel within your reach. Folded it once, then unfolded it because the fold looked too neat and he didn’t want you to notice how nervous he was. Then he reached for your shampoo and put it back where it already was, because he suddenly ran out of things to do, but his hands still sought for something.
You leaned your hip against the sink and watched him with that quiet softness that made his chest feel too full. The bathroom was suddenly too bright for how careful he was trying to be.
“Yun,” you called, and he turned to you like a man answering a question in class — focused, braced, trying to keep his face neutral.
“Yeah?”
You tilted your head, gaze flicking once before you merely stepped past him, your hands brushing and taking his, pulling him to the shower with you.
The steam gathered immediately, beading on his skin, blurring the sharp edges of the morning until the world became smaller and quieter.
“Sometimes, I can hear you thinking,” you said. “Did you know that?”
“I’m sorry,” he replied.
You laughed at that, but didn’t say anything. You merely turned around, reaching for the shampoo bottle he had previously rummaged and gave it to him.
“Wash my hair,” you said.
And so, he did.
Jaeyun took the bottle, pouring shampoo into his palm — more than he needed, because his hands were unsteady — and rubbed it between them until it warmed and foamed. Then his fingers slid into your hair, working the suds in small circles at the crown of your head, careful and thorough, moving outward as the steam gathered and the water ran down your spine. His knuckles grazed your ear once. An accident, maybe. But you let out a sound — more a sigh than anything, and something in Jaeyun tightened anyway, a flare that made his chest feel too warm. His jaw flexed at it, and he forced his hands to stay where they belonged — his attention to stay on the sequence, because sequence meant control: lather, rinse, repeat.
He rinsed you with his palm shielding your forehead, water sluicing through your hair in clear sheets. The gesture was intimate in the most domestic way — protective, practiced — as if he’d been doing it for years.
And maybe that was why it did him in.
You must have felt the pause in him, the way his body went too still behind you, because when he finally finished, you turned to him, reaching for the bottle, and pouring shampoo into your own palm as you stepped closer — the warm line of you almost meeting the warm line of him, and slid your fingers into his hair.
Jaeyun didn’t know what to do with himself.
He merely bent a little so you could reach, letting your hands take over with a quiet competence that made his throat work. Water ran down his temples, traced the line of his jaw, caught at his lashes. He kept his eyes on the tile like a prayer — like if he looked at you, he’d lose the last clean edge of himself.
You rinsed him, and only when you tapped his hands — did he straighten again.
Then you smoothed soap over his bare skin, starting at his shoulders, your palms unhurried and warm. Down his collarbones. Over his chest.
Jaeyun’s breath broke when you reached his lower abdomen, your fingertips hovering dangerously close to the ache he’d been holding back, and making a sound slip from him — low, involuntary — rushing before he could trap it.
“Princess,” he said, but the word carried no warning at all, and you merely allowed your fingers to rest there, steady as the way your gaze met his.
“You said another time,” you remembered.
Jaeyun froze.
Not because he didn’t understand. Because he did. Because the memory arrived with humiliating clarity: your hand curled on him in a way that made his honesty slip out raw and breathless last night.
He dragged in a slow breath through his nose. Steam beaded along his lashes; water traced the line of his jaw. He still didn’t look at you — not fully — like eye contact might knock the last brace out from under him while he was still negotiating with himself. Like he was trying to find the border between permitted and improper and realizing you’d moved it with one sentence.
“Are you asking me?” he began. “Or—”
“I’m asking,” you said.
His gaze found yours.
“Okay,” he said, and this time the word didn’t sound like procedure, but like agreement. Like trust.
He took your wrist and guided your hand, not down, not yet, but to his jaw, to his throat, to a place he could handle without losing himself.
“Slow,” he said, and you nodded at him, letting your fingers linger.
Your thumb brushed the hinge of his jaw first — testing, almost absent — before your hand slid lower and lower, following the line of his throat, his collar bones. Water ran between your knuckles and his skin, warm and constant, making every touch feel softened at the edges, as if the steam had filed down the danger until it could pass for tenderness, but Jaeyun’s pulse changed immediately, his heart racing as though it too wanted to reach for you through his skin, meeting where your fingers brushed against his chest.
Jaeyun’s lips parted in a soft gasp as you reached for him, tentatively brushing through his extension. Starting from the already flushed tip and moving to the prominent veins all over him and then, all the way back, receiving an almost imperceptible buck of his hips in response.
“Okay?” you asked, and he nodded, but it wasn’t an answer so much as a reflex — his body trying to behave when his mind had gone helpless and searched for something to say — something small enough to fit inside a bathroom, inside steam, inside the ordinary noise of water hitting tile.
But there was no small word that fit because how could he say that anything you did with him would be okay?
How could he say that if you asked for his heart, he would open his ribs for you? If you reached in and took it, he would hold still and even tender you if you faltered.
Jaeyun swallowed, throat tight, breath catching on the way out as he reached for you, his fingers splaying over your cheek as his thumb reached for where a drop had taken place on your skin.
“I’m okay,” he said then, the closest answer he could give for what he meant. If you could feel the shape of the unspoken right alongside the spoken, you didn’t show it.
Your hand merely closed around his length, fingertips tracing the same places his mind had traced a thousand times in private, and every pass of your hand felt like it rewrote him — like your touch didn’t just touch, but claimed a truth he’d been denying for years.
Jaeyun’s breath hitched as you guided him closer, his eyes shutting as his forehead tipped to the curve of your neck.
“Princess,” he whispered, not really sure if he intended to say something, but the sudden call made you pause, your hand motionless enough to make his breath hitch again, his hips bucking and chasing for the friction still.
“Don’t stop,” he said, and perhaps it had been the words, perhaps it had been the way he said it, more like a plea than a request. But you didn’t — even when his grip tightened on you, his finger shaping bruises on your hips, and his lips parted, leaving a matching one at your neck.
You didn’t stop, even when he came into your hand. You merely gentled him, moving to his stomach, his chest, smoothing him down until his breath wasn’t so ragged and his heart had come into peace beneath your touch.
“Yun,” you called, and he hummed at you, still pressed close, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted like he’d forgotten what to do with the air. Water clung to his lashes. Steam softened the hard lines of him into something boyish, something undone. For once, he wasn’t braced for impact — he was simply there, breathing, and letting you see him, and it was strange how it made your kiss just even better.
How he could simply melt into you.
You smiled at that — small, warm — kissing the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then a place beneath his jaw that made Jaeyun’s eyes flutter shut, his head tipping just slightly to give you access, like his body wanted to cooperate even when his mind still tried to keep score.
“Princess,” he breathed again, and this time it sounded less like a plea and more like disbelief.
Your hands found him at your hips, guiding it down through your body, the swell of your ass, giving him enough time to grow on it, and take the lead, brushing over warm skin, following curves with a care that made it feel devotional rather than desperate.
“Okay?” he murmured, because he couldn’t help — he couldn’t ease — not until you had nodded, brushing your noses and making something within settle with the gentleness of it.
Jaeyun exhaled and stepped closer. One hand halted at your waist while the other slid down and around, his fingers tightening briefly against your skin before he shifted, and lifted one of your legs — guiding it up to rest against his hip.
His tip brushed against your seam with the new position, barely anything, but you drew in a breath that didn’t quite make it back out to you, and a faint, trembling noise escaped through your lips instead, and he couldn’t help the soft, almost-gentle smugness that warmed his smile.
He rolled his hips against yours, and your head tipped back, eyes closing and lips still parted on that same faltered breath, allowing sunlight to catch on your skin in the shift, warm and liquid-gold along the lines of you.
“Bed,” you whined, and you didn’t need to tell him twice.
Jaeyun turned the taps off, not really checking if he had done it properly, before he took you in his arms again, folding your legs around his waist as he walked you back down the short stretch of your place. Water tumbled from you both — tiny drops trembling loose with each step, catching the light before they fell in a thin, gleaming trail on your floorboards.
But you didn’t complain, you didn’t even say anything. When he placed you on the mattress; you merely spread your legs further — wordlessly making room for him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Condom,” you reminded him. “Do you have more?”
For a moment, the question didn’t make sense, but then, he nodded at you, slipping from your touch — just enough to reach for the wallet still tossed on your floor.
“How many did you bring?” you asked, and although Jaeyun had listened to it and understood, he didn’t reply, he allowed the question to hang in the air, a flush of warmth spreading up to his cheeks because the memory of him piling it at the chaser before he went to his classes last evening was too fresh still.
Just enough, he had thought like he wasn’t, in fact, hoping.
Hoping that it wouldn’t be a one-time thing.
Jaeyun’s fingers fumbled once at the wallet before he forced them steady. He didn’t let himself look at you while he did it; if he looked, he’d lose the last clean thread of control he had left, and so, he merely tore the foil, the sound too loud in the quiet room, and the practical motions that followed felt like an anchor — something procedural to keep him from drowning in the fact that you were watching.
He climbed back onto the mattress, moving slowly, knees sinking into the sheets between your thighs. The bed dipped under his weight, and you shifted automatically to make space for him, your body already well known in the shape of him.
Jaeyun paused above you.
Water still clung to your hair, darkening the strands where they stuck to your neck. Your skin gleamed in the soft light — warm, flushed, kissed by steam and morning and the evidence of him. You looked up at him with your mouth slightly parted, breath uneven, eyes steady and it hit him so hard it almost made him gentle to the point of breaking.
“Princess,” he said, but if anything, you reached up, fingers catching at the back of his neck — not pulling him down, only holding him there — close enough to feel your breath on his mouth. Close enough that he couldn’t lie to himself about how much he wanted it.
Jaeyun lowered his forehead to yours and breathed once, then twice, as if he was counting himself into calm.
“Tell me if—”
“I know,” you cut, and he snorted at that, his hands finding your thighs, and spreading there with care — measuring you, reading you, bracing you the way he always did when something mattered and he couldn’t afford to do it wrong.
He pulled in slowly, pausing each time your breath changed. Waiting when your fingers tightened in his hair. Listening like your body was the only language he trusted.
“Okay?” he murmured against your mouth.
“Okay.”
Jaeyun exhaled, giving himself a moment before he shifted his weight and settled in deeper.
You made a small sound at that, and Jaeyun halted — caught mid-motion as his eyes stayed on your face, searching for the smallest crack of discomfort, for anything he might have missed and could never forgive himself for.
“Talk to me, Princess,” he said. “Is it too much?”
“No,” you whispered. “It’s — good.”
That answer landed somewhere under his ribs and stayed.
Jaeyun’s eyes shut for a beat. And when he opened them again, he looked wrecked in the quietest way.
He kissed you once more, slower, lingering at the corner of your mouth, your cheek, beneath your jaw — mapping comfort into you the way he mapped calm into circuits, the way he tried to fix the world when it was too big.
And then he moved again, careful and deliberate, letting the moment become real one breath at a time.
The sheets gathered under your fingers. The room narrowed to heat and the sound of his name caught in your throat. Jaeyun held you like he could keep you safe simply by refusing to rush, like tenderness was the only rule he needed now.
“Look at me,” he whispered, and you did, blinking under the morning light and making him swallow, his chest swelling then, big enough to break open with love for you. And perhaps, you had felt it too — heard it in his voice, this sickening desperation, because your hands found his face, cupping it with a tenderness that didn’t match the way he was burying deep inside of you, his tip forming an eminence on the lower part of your belly as he worked on you with slow, long thrusts, and making you come in the morning haze.
Jaeyun collapsed beside you, his back sinking into the mattress as you followed rolling so you rested over his chest.
“Always,” you whispered, the word coming so suddenly, Jaeyun blinked down at you, his head rolling so he could search your face, confused if he had asked you something in his own haze. But sunlight picked strands of your hair, reflected through your damp skin. And he couldn’t make sense of anything.
“What?”
“I’m always okay when I’m with you,” you said.
He knew that he shouldn’t — but Jaeyun felt so right about it.
He felt so right when you called him Sunday afternoon, a tiny can you help me with something? rolling from your tongue and making him sprint to your place, being greeted with you already in your lingerie and you didn’t lie — you had no bad pairs.
When he brought you down onto the bed, he didn’t even care about taking it out of you; his fingers merely reached in between your thighs, holding the piece as he slid inside of you.
He didn’t know then, if his hands were still doing their job or if they’d defected. If he was still keeping you safe — or if he’d finally started touching you like he’d wanted to for years, and breaking one more rule.
But as he held you, listening to you breathe quickening and setting against the curve of his neck, he couldn’t make himself care.
Again.
RULE #3: DO NOT BE POSSESSIVE
I’m her best friend. I always have been. That doesn’t give me the right to be possessive. If I can’t be calm about her, I at least have to be kind. If I touch her, it has to feel like a question she can stop — not a claim. And if someday she chooses someone else, I have to accept it. I have to accept it like it won’t split me in half.
Jaeyun woke to movement.
Not the slow, sleep-warm kind he’d grown used to in the past weeks, but something quicker — restless. Drawers scraped open and knocked shut again in the same nervous motion; fabric whispered against fabric, and hangers clacked as they were shoved aside.
He didn’t open his eyes — not yet. He listened to you instead: your bare feet skimming the floor, the breath you kept trying to hush, the tiny hitch of frustration when something wasn’t unfolding the way you needed it to.
And that — that was what pulled his eyes open at last. You sounded wound tight with it, and Jaeyun couldn’t stand the idea of you being anything but fine.
You were half-dressed — shorts on, bra, hair still messy in the way only the mornings after managed, the frizz denoting the number of times he had made you come the night before, arching and pushing your head against the sheets — one of his t-shirts clutched in your hands like it belonged to you more than it belonged to him.
“What—”
You looked over your shoulder at him, guilty only for the fraction of a second it took before your face rearranged into something else.
“Sorry,” you whispered. “I’m late.”
Jaeyun pushed himself up on his elbows, the sheets slipping down his waist. He blinked slowly, trying to coax his mind into one piece through the morning haze.
“Late for what?” he asked — voice rough with sleep and something worse.
“My exam,” you said, already turning and moving another hanger. This time you pulled a blue plaid shirt free — the kind you’d been loving to borrow and make him come to collect it himself, your scent worked into the fabric like a quiet claim disguised as comfort.
“You’re stealing that,” he said.
You didn’t even bother to look guilty. “Borrowing.”
“My wardrobe is becoming empty.”
“And yet,” you said, turning to him with that familiar tilt of your mouth, “you really don’t hate it.”
Jaeyun didn’t answer. He merely watched as you stepped in close again, stealing the air from between you, as you pressed a kiss to his mouth — soft, swift, like a blessing you left behind on purpose.
And the second you pulled away, he moved. Jeans in his fists, he dragged them on as he went, stumbling through the doorway — desperate to be the first thing at your heels.
He caught you at the exact moment his roommates did — both of them lingering in the living room, their backpacks slung over one shoulder, caught in their coffee-stained routines — until the second they saw you and stopped like they’d walked into an invisible wall.
Sunghoon’s gaze went straight to the shirt.
Then to Jaeyun.
Then back to you, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile.
Jongseong’s eyebrows lifted, slow and serene — the kind of calm that only existed because he liked chaos best when it belonged to someone else.
“Morning,” Jongseong said.
“Morning,” you replied — too bright. “I’m late.”
“Exam?” Jongseong offered, easing into conversation the way he always did: polite, steady, giving everyone an out.
Jaeyun cleared his throat. “She’s late.”
“I am late,” you echoed, pointing at him like it was somehow his fault you’d woken up tangled in his sheets instead of your own — in a room with no alarm clock at all, because Jaeyun despised morning obligations. “But yes.”
You crouched by the door, fingers quick on your laces, and slipping your shoes on.
Sunghoon’s eyes tracked you the whole time, amusement sharpening at the edges of his expression as Jongseong, bless him, kept the conversation where it belonged — safe, ordinary.
“Good luck,” he said.
“Thank you,” you chirped, already halfway upright again. “Do you have exams too?”
“We’re finishing our exams too,” Sunghoon said. “We should go out after. Celebrate.”
Jaeyun’s jaw worked, like he was chewing down whatever sound wanted to come out of him.
“Arcano?” you asked, and Jongseong’s expression tightened into immediate refusal. He despised the bar, convinced it was what got him hospitalized during his first semester. “I know it’s terrible, but Yun has classes until late tonight — it’s the most reasonable for him.”
For a moment, the room went strangely quiet.
Jaeyun’s gaze found yours and held, warmth rising in him — quiet, disarming — and he went still with it, not knowing where to put the feeling. His mouth parted on a reflex, then he swallowed it back.
Jongseong’s eyes flicked to Jaeyun, then back to you.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But if anyone ends up in the ER again, I’m haunting all of you.”
“That’s fair,” Sunghoon said.
“You don’t have to—” Jaeyun began.
“I — we want to,” you cut in, the words coming as gentle as it was final before you stood and took the knob. “Text me the time!”
You slipped out with a bright, hurried smile, the borrowed shirt hanging off you like a secret, and making Jaeyun step forward, holding the door open so he could stand in the doorway, lingering in the shape of you leaving, and the way you’d arranged the world so he could follow.
When Jaeyun finally clicked the door shut, silence filled the hallway for exactly two seconds before Sunghoon whistled.
“So,” he began, but Jaeyun didn’t look at him; his gaze stayed on the closed door. “Friends-with-benefits?”
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed. “Don’t.”
“Oh, it is that.”
“It’s not—” Jaeyun started, pushing his hair back off his forehead before he turned to his roommates. “I mean, I don’t know! We haven’t talked about it.”
“But you should,” Jongseong said, his voice neutral enough for Jaeyun not to hear the warning it carried until the air in the room shifted.
“Baekhyeon talked to me yesterday,” Sunghoon said.
“What?” Jaeyun asked, more as a reflex than in fact, understanding what it meant. “Why?”
Sunghoon’s gaze flicked to the door before it moved to Jongseong. And Jaeyun didn’t need anyone to spell it out — his roommates had already talked about this when he wasn’t there.
“He wanted to ask about her,” Sunghoon said. “He didn’t come in aggressive — just pathetic.”
Jongseong’s mouth flattened. “Careful.”
“I’m not being cruel,” Sunghoon replied. “I’m telling the vibe. He was clearly bothered, like he knew what he’s doing was humiliating.”
“What did he say?” Jaeyun asked, his voice warped to his own ears. “Exactly.”
“That was it,” Sunghoon said. “He just asked if I’d been seeing her around.”
He paused.
“And if she was with someone else.”
Jongseong’s eyes cut to Jaeyun, concern flashing there before he forced his expression back into stillness.
“And?” Jaeyun asked.
Sunghoon’s mouth twitched. “I am not stupid, I didn’t say you both have been acting like bunnies over the past few weeks.”
“Do you think she told him something?”
“No,” Sunghoon cut. “That’s the thing — I think he has been trying to contact her, but she has been ignoring him.”
And suddenly, it made sense — all those times he’d watched you skim your phone, thumb hovering over the screen, before you set it aside and you looked back at him, a smile forced into place.
God — he’d been so silly for overlooking it.
“He broke up with her,” Jaeyun said.
“We are not telling you this to make you stressed,” Jongseong cut in. “We are just telling you so you can decide — this thing of yours is working for now, and I am glad for you — she apparently doesn’t want Baekhyeon back, which is great, but it might be someone else someday, and you will have to decide if you are okay with having only a part of her again.”
The apartment fell silent at this, and only then did Jaeyun notice how fast his heart was beating. It hummed against his ears, so loud he couldn’t even think.
When you were both younger — ten, maybe eleven — you had camped in your parents’ garden, your backs side by side on a too-thin blanket and a tent that never stopped letting the wind in. The world had been so silent, you’d whispered that it felt like there were only the two of you in the world, wouldn’t it be nice? You had asked. Back then, he’d rolled his eyes and said something dumb to make you grin, too young to consider anything.
Now, in his hallway with your perfume still on his skin and your borrowed shirt still bright in his mind, he understood what you’d meant. It would be so nice — so nice — if the world really could narrow down to just the two of you, and choosing you didn’t mean risking everything else. And he didn’t know whether that thought made him in love or made him dangerous.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
By the time Jaeyun arrived at Arcano, you were already on the dance floor with Jongseong and Sunghoon.
And it was stupid, honestly, how whenever he thought he was getting used to your existence, you managed to surprise him — newly lit, newly impossible — you stood between his roommates, eyes sparkling, arms half around Sunghoon’s shoulders as you both shouted the lyrics of a song that was too loud and too familiar, and Sunghoon was singing like he meant it, even if he was off-key on purpose. Jongseong yelled the chorus at your back, his face turned upwards as if the ceiling had personally offended him.
Arcano was the same as it had always been — red bulbs that made everyone look like a rumor, sticky floors that clung to the soles of your shoes like the place didn’t want anyone leaving sober, and bass so loud it turned thought into vibration. The air smelled like cheap liquor and perfume and sweat and the faint bite of citrus from a just-spilled drink.
And it’s too much — everything was too much.
But the moment he stepped further, you turned to him — not searching, but sure — as though you knew he was going to be standing there.
Gravity, he thought.
He moved through the bodies like he’d done it a hundred times — shoulders angled, hands careful, a quiet apology here and there, never shoving, never rushing. The bass beat against his ribs and still he stayed steady, eyes on you the whole time as if the rest of the room was just static.
You didn’t meet him halfway — you never did — you stayed where you were, your body turned subtly toward him, and only when he got close enough, your hand lifted, fingers finding his. And the moment you held him, the noise of Arcano seemed to dull around the edges, like the room had agreed to give you a fraction of quiet.
His hand was cold while yours was warm, and a shiver danced across you, strong enough to make your shoulders tremble.
And God — he wanted to kiss it.
You had changed since the morning, trading the shorts and t-shirt for a white dress, but his shirt remained, draped around your shoulders, and making his breath catch — he tightened his grip only enough to be sure you felt him back.
“Hi,” you said, loud enough to be heard over the music, but soft in the way you always became with him.
“Hi,” he replied.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Sunghoon shouted. “We were about to file a missing person report.”
Jaeyun huffed a breath that almost counted as a laugh. He had gone to the apartment after his classes to drop off his backpack, but he didn’t feel like explaining, not when you were squeezing his hand — small, and private.
“Did you eat?” you asked, and Jaeyun felt the absurd tenderness of it. The fact that you could be in a bar, sweating and laughing and alive, and still your first instinct with him was care.
“Yes,” he lied automatically.
Your eyes narrowed. “Yun.”
“I ate.”
“You ate what?” you asked, and Jaeyun opened his mouth, but his words stalled, and so he closed it again.
“He didn’t eat,” Jongseong said.
“He did that thing where he decides worrying is a food group,” Sunghoon agreed.
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed, but his hand stayed linked with yours like the connection mattered more than winning. “I’m fine.”
You didn’t argue, or at least, not right away. You just watched him for a second, your expression shifting into something softer and knowing, like you could see through him even in red light and bass.
“I am getting you something,” you said. “Stay here — don’t wander.”
Sunghoon leaned in. “He literally can’t. He’s on a leash.”
Jongseong barked a laugh. “Be nice.”
Jaeyun opened his mouth to protest, but you were already gone — your smile tossed back at him before you turned toward the bar and leaving him to stand there, eyes following, and tracking the small obstacles: the drunk guy who swayed too wide, the table edge that could catch your hip, the slick patch of floor near the booths. All the little risks the world liked to place in your path, as if daring him not to rush up and fix it before it could hurt you.
You barely had reached the counter when he approached you.
For a moment, Jaeyun thought it was a guy merely trying his luck with you, but then he shifted, red light catching on his features and Jaeyun recognized him immediately.
Baekhyeon.
Your body stiffened as he leaned in, his mouth close to your ear for a moment before you shifted sideways, trying to create space. Jaeyun couldn’t hear the words leaving your mouth, but your body was speaking loudly enough: no.
Yet Baekhyeon didn’t step back; when you seemed to be about to leave, he reached out, his hand closing around your wrist, and forcing you to stay.
Jaeyun didn’t even think, Sunghoon shouted something behind him, but he was already moving, shoving through people, and cutting a direct line toward you.
“Just listen.” Jaeyun heard Baekhyeon say, his grip still on you. “Just for a second.”
“I said no,” you said. “Let go—”
“Let her go.”
Baekhyeon turned at the sound of his voice, eyes unfocused and caught in that ugly space between sober and drunk. For a second he only stared, his brain having to wade through the noise to understand what he was seeing. But then, something in his face tightened, reading the truth between the lines and understanding, all at once, that you weren’t alone here. That you weren’t waiting to be won back. That whatever space he thought he still had in your life had been filled.
Or worse — that it never existed at all.
Jaeyun inhaled, his chest filling with a silly compassion toward Baekhyeon because he, too, wouldn’t know what to do if he ever found himself being dismissed from your life like this, but then Baekhyeon’s hand tightened on your wrist, making your fingers contract in pain, and Jaeyun exhaled, letting it all go.
He would crawl through hell, cut himself open until his body had become numb to pain, but Jaeyun surely would never hurt you — never.
“Let her go,” Jaeyun repeated.
Baekhyeon’s laugh echoed oddly loud in Arcano’s air.
“Here he is,” he said. “Always showing up like a good little — what is it? Lap dog?”
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed once. He’d been called worse — he could take worse — but then Baekhyeon’s gaze slid over you again, slow and mean, taking in your dress, your flushed cheeks, the smile you’d been wearing five minutes ago like it was a crime, and Jaeyun couldn’t stand it.
He stepped forward.
“Baekhyeon,” Jaeyun warned, and the other released your wrist, flicking his hand in a dismissive gesture as he looked around the bar.
For a moment, Jaeyun believed Baekhyeon had given up, putting an end to it, but then he turned back at you again, eyes brighter than ever.
“Tell me,” he said, loud enough that people nearby started to glance. “Did you ever actually care about me? Or was I just—”
He looked at Jaeyun.
“—filling time until your lap dog finally got his reward?”
Jaeyun didn’t decide to shove him — he didn’t plan it — his body merely moved like it had been waiting for permission from something older than thought.
His hands drove into Baekhyeon’s chest, making him stumble back, hard, and knocking into someone behind him.
Drink spilled onto the floor, and the scent of it rose almost immediately — sharp citrus and cheap sugar, muddled by the stale sweetness already living in the boards. It cut through the sweat and perfume for half a second, bright as a peel torn open, before the warmth of the room swallowed it again and left only the sour bite of liquor drying in the air.
“What the fuck—?” Baekhyeon barked.
“Yun,” you called, but it was already too late.
Baekhyeon launched himself at Jaeyun, his knuckles across Jaeyun’s cheekbone with a hot, skidding sting.
For a beat, the impact didn’t hurt the way it should’ve — it was just information — pressure, heat, the metallic taste of adrenaline flooding his mouth.
But then, something in him snapped.
The image of Baekhyeon’s hand around your wrist flashed behind his eyes like a match struck in dry tinder, and Jaeyun moved before his mind could catch up.
His fist drove forward on instinct, a short, brutal arc — no finesse, no warning — just the need to hit back, to end it, to make Baekhyeon understand with his body what his brain refused to learn.
The punch connected.
Jaeyun felt it in his knuckles, in the jolt up his arm, in the startled give of flesh beneath bone — and the sound that left Baekhyeon was small, shocked, as if he hadn’t expected consequences to be real. Jaeyun didn’t wait to see what it did to his face. He only stepped in closer and did it again.
Baekhyeon fell on the dirty floor, Jaeyun above him, fist in the middle of another throw, when someone hooked an arm around Jaeyun’s chest from behind and hauled him up.
“Stop it,” Jongseong snapped. “You’re going to ruin your damn face.”
But Jaeyun barely heard him. He was still leaning forward, still straining toward the floor like if he just landed one more hit, the feeling in his chest would finally loosen, and make sense.
Jongseong tightened his hold, bracing his weight behind Jaeyun’s back like an anchor.
“Yun,” you called.
Your voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
Jaeyun froze like you’d put a hand straight on his spine. His fist hovered, trembling with leftover momentum, and then your hands were on his face — warm palms cupping his jaw, thumbs brushing his cheekbones as if you could physically pull him back into himself.
“Yun,” you said again, closer now, eyes searching his like you were trying to find the part of him that still knew you.
And just like that, the fight drained out of him in a shuddering rush. His shoulders sagged. His breath broke. He let Jongseong hold him up for a second longer than he should’ve needed before he leaned on your touch.
“Princess, I—”
“Come with me,” you said. “Can you?”
For a second, Jaeyun couldn’t find the shape of an answer. Not because he didn’t have one — but because he had too many, a lifetime of yeses he’d never said out loud. His body was still buzzing with violence, his knuckles still singing, but your hands on his face made the world narrow into something he could survive. You were asking like it was a choice, like he was a person with options, when the truth was simpler than that: he had been following you since he was old enough to recognize your voice in a crowd. Since gardens and tents and school hallways. Since the first time you turned and expected him to be there — and he was.
“Yes,” he breathed, and the word came out rough, almost broken with how easy it was. Because you could’ve asked him to walk through fire and he would’ve stepped forward without thinking, just because you were the place his instinct went when the world got sharp. His hand rose, uncertain at first, then settled at your wrist like a question he’d spend his whole life answering the same way.
Always.
You looked past him to Jongseong and nodded, a quiet reassurance, and Jongseong finally released Jaeyun.
“Come,” you said, your fingers slipping into his.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Arcano’s neon shrank behind you with every step, its red glow thinning into something distant and irrelevant, but Jaeyun’s body hadn’t gotten the memo yet. The adrenaline still sat high in his chest, making his breath feel too big for his lungs, his heart beating like it was trying to outrun what had happened. He kept swallowing like he could force it down.
You didn’t talk much at first. You didn’t need to. You just walked — your fingers laced through his.
And every time his grip tightened without meaning to, you squeezed back once, small and reassuring. It’s okay. I’m here.
The street was cooler than it had any right to be, so closer to the summer, late-night air cutting cleanly through the smell of booze still clinging to him. The city sounded normal — cars passing, a laugh from someone’s balcony, a distant siren that didn’t belong to you. It was strange, how quickly the world returned to ordinary after a fight. As if nothing could be important for more than a few minutes.
Jaeyun glanced at you once, then again.
You looked furious in a contained way, like your anger had somewhere to go now that you’d gotten him out. Your mouth was set, your brow faintly pinched. Your thumb brushed the side of his hand, absent and grounding, like you couldn’t help checking he was still there.
Jaeyun’s chest tightened.
He wanted to say something useful. He wanted to apologize in a way that would actually fix it. But every sentence he tried to build collapsed into the same thing: I saw him touch you and I lost my mind.
Instead, he stayed quiet and let you lead.
You pushed the code into the keypad of your door with muscle memory, the little beep sounding too loud in the stairwell before it buzzed open and revealed your apartment.
Quiet in the specific way your place always was — soft, contained, familiar, smelling like clean laundry, faint florals, the lived-in warmth of your routines. The small lamp near your bed cast a gentle yellow glow that made everything look calmer than it felt. Books stacked neatly where they always were. A mug by the sink. A blanket folded too precisely at the end of the bed like you’d been trying to keep your life in order by force.
“Shoes,” you remembered. “Then sit by the counter.”
Jaeyun did as you said, slipping out of his shoes before he went to your counter and sat down on a chair, his hands on his thighs, and palms down, like he was trying to behave as you rummaged around — drawers, cabinet, a small basket you moved too roughly — the soft clack of objects knocking together filling the silence between you.
“First aid,” you muttered. “I know I have it.”
“Princess,” he said quietly.
“Don’t move.”
“I wasn’t going—” he began, but stopped, suddenly understanding. You weren’t being dramatic, but practical, anchoring the night into tasks: disinfectant, gauze, bandage. The same way he always did when his emotions got too big to hold comfortably.
You found the kit with a little gasp before you crossed back to him and set it on the table with a soft thud, kneeling slightly so you could see him properly.
“Give me your hand,” you said.
Jaeyun hesitated for a fraction of a second — then extended it.
Your hand closed around his, gently turning it over in the light, and beneath this sudden clarity, you frowned, eyebrows knitted, lips pressing into a thin line. The wounds were worse than it seemed. There was a cut over his fingers, bleeding as a darker bruise spread over. You reached for them, the tips of your fingers wandering through his skin as if you could erase them with your bare touch.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
Jaeyun went still, your words reaching past the cuts and hitting something deeper.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say you’re sorry for that.”
“It’s my fault—” you started.
“No,” Jaeyun cut in. “No. He did that. Not you.”
You turned to the aid kit on the kitchen counter, dropping your gaze like you could hide behind the small, practical motions of it — like if you focused hard enough on gauze and antiseptic, he wouldn’t see the way your eyes had gone wet. But Jaeyun did. He always did, in the quiet, unfair way he noticed everything about you.
“I hate that you got hurt because of me,” you said.
Something in Jaeyun’s chest tightened — sharp and aching.
He leaned forward in the chair before he fully knew he was doing it, his uninjured hand sliding to your wrist, fingers curling gently around your skin as he pulled you onto his lap.
The motion was clumsy with the chair and the counter and the first aid kit half-open, but the moment you settled, your thighs bracketing his hips, the world narrowed into something that made painful sense.
His hands came up to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as his thumbs brushed along your cheekbones, cleaning your tears like he had done when he got you both grounded at twelve, and like he’d done again years later, on the night you crashed your father’s car — your hands shaking on his wrists, as he told you to breathe.
He made you look at him.
Your eyes were wet and bright, with tears, the shine gathering at the lower lid until it spilled and traced down your cheek, and his chest ached at that low instinct already moving with the need to make it better.
“Don’t take the blame,” he said. “I can’t stand it when you do that.”
Your breath hitched.
“It wasn’t your fault — he grabbed you and said those things. He—” Jaeyun’s throat worked, and for a second his voice broke. “I heard the way he talked to you, and I didn’t know how to be calm about it. If there’s someone to blame here, it isn’t you. It’s me.”
You stared at him for a second before your hands lifted, your fingers finding and resting at his wrists as they always had.
“Yun,” you whispered.
Jaeyun’s breath shuddered out, and he leaned forward without thinking.
You met him halfway.
Your kiss was soft at first — careful, like checking whether he was still Jaeyun, whether you were still you. Like asking permission in the only language that didn’t require words.
But Jaeyun answered too eagerly.
His grip tightened at your cheeks, desperately — like he needed the proof of you. His mouth moved against yours with a yearning that felt out of proportion to the moment, and he hated himself for it even as he did it.
He kissed you like he was still at Arcano.
Like he was still shaking.
Like the only way to stop the night from replaying was to overwrite it with you.
This wasn’t protection anymore. It was possession.
He wanted proof that you were still here.
Your hands slid into his t-shirt, fingers curling at the thin material the way they always did when you wanted him close, and it was enough to steal a sound from him — quiet, and yet completely wrecked — his arms slipped, and tightened around your waist, pulling you nearer until there was no space left to misunderstand.
“I’ve been trying to be good. I keep failing when it’s you,” he heard himself say. “I don’t know how to be only your friend anymore.”
There was a lost moment — a second where none of you moved, and Jaeyun thought that he finally did it — he had finally ruined the friendship, but then, you leaned in again, lips on his as your knees tightening around his hips, your weight settling into him like you’d chosen the place on purpose.
And it made him exhale like relief.
His uninjured hand slid along your side, finding you. The curve of your waist. The line of your ribs. The warmth of you under your dress like a living proof he couldn’t talk himself out of. He paused every time your breath changed, as if he was listening for the smallest no, for any flicker of doubt.
But you didn’t give him one. Instead, you tipped your forehead to his, noses brushing, and whispered his name in that soft, wrecked way that always pulled something honest out of him.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, the words rough around the edges. “Tell me and I—”
You kissed him before he could finish, fingers threading into his hair, holding him so close, he not only heard the next word, but felt them. “You.”
Jaeyun’s throat worked.
He lifted you — not smoothly, not perfectly, because the chair was in the way and the table was too close and the first aid kit lay open like a dirty evidence — but he did it anyway, with a gentleness that didn’t match the violence still humming under his skin. He carried you those few steps like it mattered, like the distance between your kitchen and your bed was a threshold he needed to cross carefully.
When he set you down, you caught the back of his t-shirt and pulled him after you. His restraint cracked in the smallest way — enough to let a kiss turn deeper, enough to let want show itself without becoming rough.
He braced his weight so he wouldn’t crush you, forearms on either side of your shoulders, head dipping until his mouth you again, again and again, pressing kisses along your cheek, your throat, the place beneath your ear that always made your breath hitch and he made a question of always finding it. His hand slid down your arm to your fingers, lacing them together above your head for a moment like a question, like an offering, and when you squeezed back, he let himself believe you.
His shirt went first, easing off your shoulders like a last, familiar layer — then your dress, and then your bra, quietly as the breath you released when he leaned in again and kissed the tip of your breasts, one at a time before he moved to your sternum, your stomach — taking in every piece of your skin in between his lips.
When he reached your panties, he didn’t care about taking them off; he merely kissed you over them, the thin lace not doing much to dull the feel of his mouth over your cunt and making you shiver, hands coming to his hair and threading almost bitterly, but if anything, he hummed, giving you another kiss and then, another. Open mouthed and tongue sneaking out every now and then to bump against your covered clit, and making you squirm in his hands, head thrown back, and sliding away a bit.
He pulled you into him, hands grabbing at your thighs so he could push his face back between them, licking a flat, slow stripe over your cunt. The lace did nothing to hold your fluid this time, and he tasted you through, his eyes closing almost instinctively to savor it better.
“You taste so good,” he couldn’t help but say. “So fucking good.”
A grin broke across your face — bright, and disarming — and Jaeyun forced his arms to push him up, kissing it like he could keep it there, among your already flushed cheeks, and your hair messy against the sheets because God — he was so in love with you.
“Princess,” he called, not really sure if he had something to say. But you hummed at him anyway, hands reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, and slipping your fingers underneath it.
His abdomen tensed and contracted as you wandered through, your trembling fingertips grazing through the lines long memorized, and pushing the piece up and up, until he had no other option but to lift his arms and help you take it off.
Jaeyun groaned as you moved to his belt, unbuckling it with the same ease you unzipped his jeans.
“Shit,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Condoms,” he whispered. “I — we used the last one yesterday. I was going to buy after Arcano.”
“That’s okay.”
It was his turn to halt, your words catching somewhere between sound and meaning. “What?”
“That’s okay,” you repeated, and when he didn’t move, you arched up beneath him, lips finding his ear. “I am saying that you can hit it raw, Yun.”
He made a sound — small and involuntary — the kind of honest noise his body made when his mind was still trying to pretend it had control.
You blinked up at him for half a second — then a laugh slipped out of you, warm and bright, the exact laugh you’d always used to turn moments into something survivable. Not mocking. Just delighted, but Jaeyun’s face heated immediately, color climbing up his neck.
“Don’t,” he managed, as if the word could stop you from seeing him like this — undone by you, made soft by a sentence and the brush of your mouth near his ear.
But you only smiled wider, eyes shining with the kind of fondness that hurt.
And Jaeyun — God, Jaeyun — looked at you like he didn’t know what to do with how much he felt. Like love had taken up residence in him years ago and never once paid rent, and now it was everywhere: in his breath, in the way his hand hovered and then settled, careful, as if touching you was a question he wanted to keep asking for the rest of his life.
He exhaled, a little shaky. Then, because he couldn’t help it — because you were laughing and alive beneath him, and he was hopeless — his mouth twitched.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Princess,” he whispered, the words rough with tenderness.
You shook your head, not quite dismissively, but more like you couldn’t believe how silly he was — how silly he was for you.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Hips up, babe,” he instructed, and you met him there, your body moving on a quiet arch, as you pushed at your feet, and allowed him to curl his fingers at the band of your panties, sliding them away.
His attention snapped back to you immediately — hands returning to your inner thigh, your calves, taking over your ankles, and pulling you toward him.
You shivered as he pushed himself inside of you, your fingers digging into his back as your lips parted on a quiet moan that he made up for you — Jaeyun simply not being able to be quiet at the feeling of you around him with no limitation and groaning loudly.
Jaeyun never thought he would be the type of guy to be emotional over taking a girl without a condom, but it was you with him, and when he started moving again, it was slow and deep, each thrust deliberate as if he wanted to memorize every sound you made, every way your body responded to his. The friction was different, he could feel every ridge, every pulse of you around. And it was almost too much, the intimacy of it making his chest tight with emotion he couldn’t name.
Jaeyun hissed, looking down between your bodies, eyes all warm and glazed as he watched how you fit together for a quiet moment before his forehead dipped and rested against your shoulder, his breathing uneven, as if he was trying to keep the night from turning reckless again.
He was so careful with you it felt like devotion.
But then, you drew him closer — insistent — and he finally let his body answer with the same honesty his voice had tried to avoid. Jaeyun kissed you until you tasted like him. Until your hands clung. Until the space between your bodies stopped feeling like a rule and started feeling like a lie. Each thrust of his hips pronounced with a wet clash, and the sound of your headboard hitting the wall.
And it was too much, honestly — you were too much.
When you came, he followed — quietly, inevitably, his breath breaking as if your body had taken his and led it somewhere he’d never learned to survive. Yet still, he didn’t punish you; he stayed close, slowly towing your climaxes for as long as he could. And when he finally stilled, he pulled back with a tenderness that looked almost like it broke him to let you go.
Jaeyun eased down and let his head rest against your lower stomach, breathing there for a second — then another — almost as if his lungs needed to relearn how to work. Your hand found him, threading into his hair, fingers combing gently until his face softened and his eyes fell shut. And, for the first time all night, his body stopped bracing.
RULE #4: DO NOT LET HER KNOW YOUR TRUE FEELINGS
If I say it out loud, I make it her problem. I put something heavy in her hands when she never asked to carry me. And I’m afraid — plain and simple — that if she knows, everything changes. And if everything changes, she might step back. She might leave. I can survive wanting her. I can survive swallowing it. I can’t survive losing her. So I’ll keep it useful: jokes, rides home, answers at 2 a.m., the kind of loyalty that looks harmless from the outside. I won’t say I love her. I won’t say I’ve always loved her. I won’t turn our friendship into a question she has to solve.
Jaeyun stayed where he was a little longer than he ought to have, his palms splayed at your sides, lips parted against the skin of your stomach as he pressed a kiss there, and then, at your hips, your thighs, covering all the way to your knees and back up again.
You shivered as he nipped at the tender skin just inside your hip, your fingers tightening in his hair for a moment before you eased again — slow, and unconsciously, keeping time with your breath.
“Jaeyun,” you whispered, and perhaps it had been the way your breath changed then, caught on something that he couldn’t quite hear, but his heart wavered in his chest.
He knew you enough to know it was the beginning of a confession. He just didn’t know what kind. And that was what scared him: not the truth itself, but the possibility of it. That you might be about to ask for distance. That you might be about to reach for a word that would make him either the safest thing in your life — or the mistake.
“Could you turn the lights off?” you asked.
It could have sounded silly then. But it was something old between you — something you’d done as kids when you needed to confess something embarrassing, something heavy. As if darkness could make secrets smaller. As if not seeing each other’s faces could make bravery easier.
Jaeyun propped himself up, knees pressed against your mattress as he reached for your lampshade and turned it off.
The room darkened instantly, but not completely — not with your curtains still open and the city’s light streaming in, painting the walls in soft silver and distant neon, scattering stripes on your sheets.
Jaeyun hadn’t noticed how still you both had become until a car passed outside, its tires whispering over the asphalt before it was gone, and the room held onto the quiet that followed, too complete, too attentive.
The sheets rustled softly as Jaeyun lay back down beside you, not touching you — not yet. He just stayed close enough that when you turned to him, he could feel you through the dark, but then you reached for his hand, interlacing your fingers as you had done when you were nine and whispering that you’d heard your parents arguing and didn’t know where to put the feeling, you were thirteen and admitting you were terrified that one day you’d grow up and he wouldn’t be yours to keep.
“Talk to me, Princess,” he whispered.
“Baekhyeon wasn’t wrong,” you said, the words scattering through the space of your bodies so quickly, Jaeyun took a moment to catch it all, and when he did, he went very still, eyes sharpening on your face.
“Not about you,” you added. “But about me — he wasn’t wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember my first date?” you asked.
Jaeyun let out a breath that was almost a laugh, except it didn’t contain humor. Of course he remembered. He remembered the outfit. He remembered your perfume. He remembered how a strand of hair didn’t quite stay on your pins and he kept fixing it while you paced through your room. He remembered how his fingers lingered there for one last time before you slipped through the door.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I remember.”
You stared at your hands for a beat, thumb brushing against his knuckles.
“I thought you would tell me not to go,” you admitted. “But you didn’t, and so I went, and through the whole day I kept thinking oh, it would have been so much better if Yun was here,”
“The same thing happened with Baekhyeon — I kept wishing you were there with me instead, and I thought it was just because you’re my best friend and everything is funnier when it’s just us. I thought it was just because I feel safer when I’m with you, but—” you paused. “But through these last weeks, I just realized that I truly wished you had asked me to stay.”
Nothing in the room moved, but something in him did, his internal footing slipping, the world turning unstable while his body stayed perfectly still beside you.
You weren’t saying I wanted you to forbid me. But I wanted you to want me enough to risk it.
Jaeyun’s mouth parted, but his body acted like it was still losing its footing. His breath snagging, throat tightening, the words jamming as if speech required solid ground he no longer had. And in the middle of his silence, you created your own answer.
“Never mind, I just—” you began, slipping from his touch and slipping away, but he caught you then, fingers closing around yours again and keeping you there.
“I’ve wanted to tell you to stay a thousand times.”
Your breath caught at his words, your gaze lifting to his and holding, steady and unblinking, the kind of eye contact that made everything feel suddenly too honest to survive. His grip tightened on your fingers, then gentled again, careful not to turn it into a claim — only a question he was asking with his whole body.
“I wanted to,” he said. “When you had that first date. When you called me after and tried to laugh about it, like it didn’t get under your skin. When you—” His breath caught. “When you started seeing Baekhyeon, when he called when we were together. Every time — every time damn time — I wanted to ask you to stay.”
Jaeyun lifted your joined hands to his face, turning them slightly so the backs of your fingers brushed his cheek.
“But I didn’t,” he whispered. “Because I thought if I told you to stay, that was when I was going to lose you entirely — and you know, Princess, I can handle being your best friend forever. I can handle being the one you call when you’re sad or drunk or mad — even if it’s just for you to leave once the moment passes. I can handle having only parts of you.”
His voice lowered. “But I can’t handle losing you.”
You turned toward him properly then, shifting until your faces were close enough that when you spoke, he didn’t just hear the words that followed, but he felt them.
“I would have stayed,” you said. “Every damn time — I would have stayed.”
Jaeyun made a sound that didn’t belong to him — small and raw — the sentence going straight through his ribs and lodging there.
His grip on your hand tightened — and his forehead dipped toward yours, hovering there as if he didn’t trust the space between you not to change its mind.
“Stay, Princess,” he asked.
“I’m going nowhere.”
FINAL RULE: NO MORE RULES
I wrote rules that were supposed to keep me from ruining us. I thought that if I could define every boundary, I could pretend I could control the outcome. Don’t accept reckless requests. Don’t touch her like I’m owed. Don’t be possessive. Don’t say the words that might make her leave.
A small guide for surviving her without losing her.
But I’m not losing her.
She’s here. She’s not a maybe, not a mistake, not something I have to handle with gloves on. She’s with me — clear-eyed, chosen, real. And for the first time, the future doesn’t feel like a threat I need to solve. It feels like something we’re walking into together.
So this is the last rule: no more rules.
Not because I’ve stopped being careful with her — fuck, I’ll always be careful with her. But because I don’t need rules to keep her close when she’s already choosing to stay. Because I don’t have to hide love inside procedure anymore. Because I can finally stop bracing, and start living in the simplest truth I’ve ever had:
SLOPPY SCIENCE ──.୨ৎ jake sim x park jongseong one shot
An embarrassing secret hidden under Jake’s bed was never supposed to be found. But when his frustratingly handsome roommate discovers it, the careful distance between them turns into a teasing standoff and an invitation Jake never saw coming.
nsfw warnings ── SMUT, bi!jay, sub!jake, toy use, oral, dirty talk, praise kink, overstimulation, somnophilia, cum eating, teasing, hickeys, degradation, kissing, talks of ass play, mxm, talks of virginity. rage baiter jay, easily rage baited jake, big dick boys! lmk if i missed any.
word count ── 6k
To the rest of the campus, Jay and Jake living together looked like a housing assignment glitch, well, maybe because it was.
Jake was a chemistry major who practically lived in the science building, a textbook recluse to the core, his social circle was strictly limited to his lab partners and the quiet girls who worked hand in hand with him during projects. When he was home, he was usually buried under his textbooks, his fingers faintly stained with ink or neon highlights, basically invisible to the rest of the university.
Jay, on the other hand, belonged to the people. As captain of the swim team that hadn’t lost a single meet since he joined in freshman year, he was popular and effortlessly charming. So that in turn meant their shared campus housing had a revolving door of bodies—Jay brought back guys from the soccer team, girls from his marketing lectures and anyone and everyone in between. He was both fluid and confident, just entirely unbothered by anyone that was watching.
And Jake sure did watch. He tried not to though but the apartment was only so big.
Every time Jay brought someone back, Jake would put on his noise canceling headphones and stare at his chemistry structures, trying to ignore the heavy thudding against the shared wall or the moans and groans coming from whatever Jay was doing to his hookups.
But it was impossible to ignore Jay himself.
Jake had thought Jay was handsome from the very first day they unpacked their boxes and it only got worse over the time they lived there. Jay had this habit of walking around the apartment completely shirtless after his morning showers, his dark hair would be damp and messy and he would lounge in the kitchen making coffee, wearing nothing but a pair of gray pajama pants that hung dangerously low on his hips, exposing the oh so defined lines of his v line and the broad expanse of his toned chest.
Jake would sit at the kitchen island with his eyes glued to his textbook and his throat going totally dry every time Jay leaned over the island to tease him about being a nerd. He would memorize the way the morning light hit the muscles of Jay's back and try to ignore the strange feeling he’d get in his lower abdomen and in his chest that he kept strictly hidden behind his awkward demeanor.
He was just the nerdy roommate and Jay was the star.
The quiet hum of the refrigerator was usually the loudest sound in the apartment on most afternoons. Jake sat at the kitchen island as usual, surrounded by his notebooks, like a highlighters and index card defense perimeter against the rest of the world. He was mid formula, falling deeper as his mind became occupied by molecular bonds, when the door to Jay's bedroom clicked open.
Jake didn't look up immediately but his focus instantly fractured in a way he couldn’t control. He could hear the familiar drag of Jay's slippers on the floor and out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sight that always made his throat constrict—those soft gray pajama pants hanging dangerously low on Jay's hips, exposing his chiseled body to him.
But instead of heading for the coffee maker, Jay stopped right at the other side of the island and with a loud thud, a medium sized, flesh toned mass of premium silicone rolled onto the smooth marble, right over Jake's carefully organized flashcards. It was half a torso, complete with double sided openings and perfectly molded thighs.
Jake's heart didn't just skip a beat, it actually stopped because his worst nightmare had just materialized directly on top of his homework.
"Care to explain this beauty, pretty boy?" Jay asked, dropping his weight against the counter and crossing his arms over his bare chest. An incredibly smug smirk tugged at the corner of his lips when he looked down at the toy, then back up at Jake.
A violent heat exploded across Jake's face, rushing from his neck straight to the tips of his ears. He looked like he'd been caught doing something that could land him in jail rather than just holding onto a horrible gag gift from his lab partners. He scrambled to cover the item with a notebook but his hands were shaking so badly he dropped his pen and the book.
"Why—why were you even in my room?" Jake squeaked in a shaky voice, trying to find an offensive angle. "That was under my bed. You shouldn't be snooping through my stuff, Jay."
"I wasn't snooping, I was looking for the laptop charger you borrowed last week," Jay drawled, too entirely unbothered by the accusation.
He stepped closer and shot a hand out to lazily tap the silicone base of the toy with his index finger, watching the material jiggle slightly. "But then I hit a massive box with a giant label that practically screamed 'Jake is hiding something filthy.' I gotta say, Jake, I didn't think you had it in you."
"It's not mine! I didn't buy it!" Jake panicked, his fingers digging into the edge of the marble as he stared anywhere but at Jay's face or his defined pecs. "My lab partners sent it as a joke because I lost a bet on a quiz. I was going to throw it away, I swear."
Jay responded with a laugh, adjusting his stance so he was nearly at Jake's eye level. The clean scent of his body wash and his cologne completely overran Jake's senses, making his brain glitch even further.
"Sure, a joke," Jay teased while his eyes gleamed with malicious amusement. He tilted his head and let his voice drop into a direct tone. "So, have you fucked it yet?"
"No!" Jake shouted, the protest coming out of him way too fast and too loud in the quiet kitchen. He practically bounced out of his chair, burning a shade of red that looked physically painful. "No, I haven't! I would never touch that thing!"
Jay didn't back down at all. Instead, his smirk shifted into something actually genuinely curious, his eyes tracked the frantic rise and fall of Jake's chest. "Why not?" Jay asked, dangerously straightforward. "This is a high end model. High friction coefficient, right? Isn't that what you guys call it? Why wouldn't you try it out..." Jay paused and narrowed his eyes slightly as a sudden realization hit him. "...unless you're a scared virgin?"
Jake's mouth snapped shut so fast his teeth clicked and he instantly looked down at the floor, darting his eyes quickly between the pattern on the hard wood floor and his own slippers, his hands gripping the hem of his hoodie like a lifeline. The silence stretching between them was louder than any confession he could have possibly made, it made Jay let out a disbelieving whistle and the cocky smirk made its way back to his face with absolute certainty. "Holy shit. You actually are."
"I'm not—it's just none of your business," Jake muttered to the floor but his voice too thick with embarrassment and he sounded like he was about to choke.
"Hey, there's no shame in it," Jay said but his tone was dripping with nothing short of amusement. He picked up the heavy silicone torso from the table, turning it over in his hands with a casual ease that made Jake want to disappear on the spot. "I'm just saying, if you wanted to start practicing, you couldn't have handed a better tool. Look at this thing."
Jay tapped the molded upper thigh of the toy, pointing directly at the two separate, anatomically detailed openings on either end. "It's got options, pretty boy. Both holes. You know? Just in case you ever want to try out some ass play or if you end up experimenting with a guy."
At the word guy, Jake's head snapped up so violently that Jay heard his neck practically pop. His eyes went completely wide and his pupils blew out, like a frantic wave of panic overtook his embarrassment. He stared at Jay, trying to control the way his chest was heaving under his hoodie but it was useless, he was utterly incapable of hiding the raw shock that the comment had triggered.
Jay halted for a fleeting moment, latching his eyes instantly onto Jake's hyper reactive expression. The teasing smile on Jay's lips slowly morphed into something much sharper and his eyebrows lifted in realization.
"Oooh," Jay hummed out, stepping around the island until the low waistband of his pajama pants was right in Jake's line of sight. "You like guys?"
"No! I—that's not—"
"Don't lie, Jake. Your face is literally purple right now," Jay interrupted him, leaning his hands on the table and tilting his head to force Jake to look him in the eye. The proximity was suffocating, Jake could feel the heat radiating off Jay's bare chest, he could see the slight ripple of his abdominal muscles as he breathed.
Jay's eyes darkened and a new, dangerously playful glint entered his gaze as he ran a slow look down Jake's flushed face and back up.
"So, the quiet roommate likes dudes," Jay murmured in a gravelly register that made Jake's stomach do a violent flip. He closed the distance a little more, staring right at Jake's trembling lips. "Tell me then...am I your type?"
Jay cocked his head to the side when Jake shook his head no, with a lazy grin on his face, he was clearly enjoying the way he had the chemistry major pinned against the edge of the table using nothing but proximity.
"Why?" Jay asked, his voice dropping into a quiet, speculative drawl. "Is it because of how I look? What, are you into twinks or something?"
Jake's jaw dropped slightly, the total absurdity of the question temporarily cutting through his sheer panic. He looked at Jay's broad, tanned shoulders, the heavy definition of his chest and the solid line of his jaw, noting how there wasn't a single fragile or delicate thing about him.
"No," Jake muttered bluntly, his voice cracking a little on the syllable.
Jay nodded in easy agreement, absolutely unfazed. "Fair enough. That makes sense, to be fair. Twinks don't usually like other twinks, anyway."
The words hung in the air for a second before Jake's brain fully processed them. The blatant insult to his entire masculine identity overrode his embarrassment, now all he could feel was a hot burst of flustered annoyance.
"I'm not a twink!" Jake snapped, slamming his hands down onto his notebook as he glared up at Jay with indignant eyes.
Jay didn't even blink at his outburst, he just let his eyes slide slowly down Jake's frame again, taking in the hoodie that swallowed his shoulders, his soft, messy hair and the way he was practically trembling from the whole confrontation before bringing his gaze back up to Jake's burning face.
"Sure," Jay said smoothly but Jake could hear the dismissive irony that said everything it needed to.
A suffocating silence immediately dropped over the kitchen and Jake sat there with his hands still pressed against his homework and his face still burning a shade of red that felt so hot. He wanted to get up and sprint back into his room, lock the door and never come out until graduation but his legs felt too much like lead.
And it wasn't helping that Jay didn't seem to want to move an inch, he didn't look away either, keeping he's eyes on Jake's flushed cheeks with a calculating intensity that made Jake's stomach twist into anxious knots.
He could hear his own heartbeat drumming in his ears, terrified of what Jay was going to say next, yet entirely incapable of breaking the spell.
"You know," Jay started, "Since you've never done anything before...do you want me to show you how to use it?"
Jake actually managed to scoff at, just a defensive sound that didn't quite cover the tremor in his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest and even managed to look Jay in the eye for all but five seconds.
"Right because that sounds like an amazing idea," Jake sarcastically muttered. "I'll pass on becoming your next casual conquest, Jay. I really don't feel like being the subject of a random group chat by tomorrow morning."
The smug smirk vanished from Jay's face and he straightened up slightly as his eyebrows knit together. He looked genuinely caught off guard by Jake's words, eyes searching Jake's with an unexpected seriousness.
"What?" Jay asked. "Why the hell would you say that? Genuinely, Jake, what do you think I am?"
Jay was surprised Jake didn't back down at the sight of his annoyance, in fact he rolled his eyes dramatically, even though his heart was hammering against his ribs at the sudden shift in Jay's demeanor. He gestured vaguely toward the hallway and the front door of their apartment.
"Oh, come on. Do I need to spell it out for you? Look at all the people you bring back here every week. Guys, girls, whoever. It's like a brothel here sometimes," Jake said and Jay definitely noticed the bitter edge in his voice slipping out before he could stop it. He clamped his jaw shut for a second, then looked away. "I live here. I have to study here. I don't want to be just another random person on your list."
Jay stared at him for a long beat, letting the silence stretch out between them before we spoke up again.
"Wow," Jay murmured, his voice low and amused. "I had absolutely no idea you were such a fucking brat."
"No, I'm not!" Jake's face flared an even deeper red, his defense perimeter completely collapsing. He shoved his chair back, the legs screeching loudly against the floor. "Just—leave me alone, Jay. Go back to your room."
"Alright, alright. Suit yourself," Jay said easily, shrugging his broad shoulders.
He didn't argue. What he did do, was reach down and wrap his long hands around the waist of the sex toy to lift it off the marble island and casually tuck it under his arm.
Then he turned around and began walking toward the hallway.
Jake froze, his eyes going wide as he watched Jay walk away with the joke gift.
"Wait—what?" Jake called out in a shocked, high pitched squeak. "Where are you going with that?"
Jay didn't even look back at him, he just kept walking down the dimly lit hallway toward his bedroom, his voice echoing loudly off the walls as he shouted back over his shoulder.
"Well, you said you're never gonna touch it," Jay called out, his tone entirely unbothered and too practical. "And it's a really nice model. So if you won't fuck it, I will."
Jake's brain completely fired off a dozen emergency alarms at once. Before he could even process the absolute absurdity of what he was doing, his legs carried him out of the kitchen and straight down the hallway after Jay.
"Hey! Wait! Stop!" Jake yelled, skidding to a halt right at the threshold of Jay's open doorway. He reached out, his fingers desperately clawing at the cool silicone of the object, trying to wrench it out from under Jay's arm. "Give it back! It's mine! It was literally addressed to me!"
Jay stopped, turning his upper body just enough to lock Jake in place but he didn't relax his grip even a little. He looked down at Jake's frantic face with a mix of disbelief and sheer amusement.
"Are you serious right now?" Jay scoffed, easily keeping the toy pinned against his ribs casie Jake had nothing on him. "You literally just said you would never touch this thing. You screamed it in the kitchen, Jake. So what do you care if I use it?"
"It's the principle of the thing!" Jake lied through his teeth as he yanked hard on the molded leg. "It's my property! You can't just steal my—"
"Watch me," Jay grunted and with an effortless twist of his shoulders, Jay used his athletic leverage to just rip the toy out of Jake's hands. The new loss of momentum almost made Jake trip forward into the room. Jay didn't waste a second, he had turned his back on Jake and casually walked deeper into his bedroom, tossing the heavy torso onto the center of his unmade mattress with a heavy plop.
Jake didn't even know what to do right at the threshold, his hands still twitching from the tussle, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He should have turned around, gone back to his organic chemistry flashcards and pretended his roommate wasn't a complete fucking lunatic.
Instead, a paralysis locked his slippers to the floor and to his absolute but deeply aroused horror, he just couldn't tear his eyes away.
Jay calmly walked over to his nightstand, opening the top drawer and pulling out a thick, black tube of premium lubricant. He didn't look rushed or embarrassed one bit, he looked too casual for what he was about to do, like he was just setting up a video game console. He walked back to the edge of the bed, unscrewed the cap and tilted the bottle over the toy.
With a few deliberate squeezes, Jay squirted a generous dollop of the clear gel directly into the top opening of the toy and then another heavy amount into the lower channel. The sweet vanilla scent of the lube instantly began to drift into the air of the bedroom.
Jay capped the tube, set it down on the mattress and finally turned his head to look directly at Jake, who was still standing in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights.
"So," Jay murmured, reaching his hands down to the waistband of his pajama pants. "Are you just going to stand there and watch me?"
Jake's jaw clicked open but his brain was so thoroughly fried by the visual that he couldn't form a single thought, let alone a coherent sentence.
Jay was already pushing his pants and boxers all the way down past his hips, letting them pool around his thighs, making Jake let out an involuntary gasp, his hands tightening against the wood of the doorframe.
Jay was massive, so thick and already fiercely erect, his cock stood out proudly against the dark stubble of hair at his groin, pressing upward toward his stomach. It was completely different from seeing it through the thin fabric of his pants, the intimidating reality of it made Jake's heart hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.
No wonder all those people couldn't shut up for their lives.
Jay didn't stop there though, he settled himself against the pile of pillows at the head of his bed with his legs spread wide. He wrapped his long fingers around the thick base of his hard length and gave it two slow pumps, the skin sliding taut as he prepped himself.
He gripped torso toy with both hands to lift it before aligning it perfectly and sinking it all the way down his thick length in one smooth, unyielding motion.
A groan tore left him and he briefly closed his eyes. "Fuck..." he muttered, his jaw clenching tight, as if he was adjusting to the intense suction.
The scene was completely surreal, like a chaotic blur of heat and shamelessness that Jake's brain couldn't process. He watched, rooted to his spot as Jay began a slow pace, bouncing the weighted torso up and down on his cock. The suctioned squelch of the lubricated silicone sliding against Jay's skin quickly filled the quiet bedroom.
Jake felt a sudden throb between his own thighs. Within seconds, his cock went rock hard against the fabric of his shorts, the heightened friction caused a hot drop of pre cum to leak through his boxers. It was entirely too hot, watching the captain of the swim team losing his cool composure over a piece of plastic right in front of him was ruining every protective instincts Jake had built.
He started to spiral. What's the worst that could happen? he thought desperately. He was a recluse, no one on campus knew who he was anyway. If he crossed this line, it would probably stay behind the closed door of this apartment.
Jay's eyes suddenly snapped open, completely dark with arousal. He looked directly at Jake and shifted up his pace into a faster one.
"Jake," Jay panted, shoving the toy down to his base again. "Holy shit...it's so fucking tight. The suction is insane."
To emphasize the point, Jay kept his cock fucking into the toy but his left hand snaked around to the back of the silicone torso to align his long fingers with the second opening—the back hole. He slid two of his thick fingers straight into the lubricated channel, pushing them in deep and fingering it open.
Jay let out another loud moan, his spine arching off the pillows as his own fingers stretched the internal ridges of the toy from the other side. "F-Fuck...you have no idea what you're missing, baby boy."
That was the absolute breaking point. The sight of Jay's long fingers working the back opening of the silicone, paired with that challenging rumble in his voice, absolutely broke whatever restraint Jake had left. His social anxieties disappeared and he could no longer ignore the ache in his groin for a second longer.
Without saying a word, Jake reached down and shoved his shorts and boxers straight down to his knees. He kicked them off with a clumsy shake of his legs and began to shuffle over to the edge of the mattress.
Jay's eyes dropped before his dark pupils got even wider as he took in the sight of Jake's rock hard cock. A low, appreciative whistle escaped his lips.
"Damn," Jay growled, his pace on the toy stuttering for a fraction of a second. "Is that what you've been hiding under those baggy clothes? You're fucking huge."
"Jay, please," Jake whimpered, the praise hitting his ears felt like a physical jolt and made his cock throb violently. He crawled onto the mattress on his hands and knees, his thighs trembling as he hovered over the lower half of the silicone torso. "Please...you—you can't ever tell anyone about this. If anyone on campus finds out, I'll literally have to transfer."
"Hey, look at me," Jay murmured, his voice surprisingly steady as he reached up to take Jake's face in his hand and force him to look at him. "My mouth is sealed, Jake. I swear. This stays right here between us. Now come here."
Jake let out a shaky sigh, looking down at the second opening of the toy. The clear lube was still glistening around the edges where Jay's fingers had just been. He slowly lowered his hips, aligning the blunt head of his cock with the tight, synthetic hole but he was hesitating, his whole body shaking with nerves as the cool plastic brushed against his skin.
"That's it, just like that," Jay praised in an encouraging purr as he watched Jake hover. "Go on, Jake. Push it in."
But Jake was moving entirely too slow for Jay, like his brain still trying to process the utter insanity of the situation.
Losing his patience, Jay suddenly stretched down with his free hand and wrapped his fingers wrapped firmly around the base of Jake's cock, he pulled him straight forward with a tug.
"Ah—no, wait!" Jake screamed out, slamming his hands into the mattress on either side of Jay's hips as his body was forcibly dragged down.
Before he could even finish the protest, his cock was already deeply wedged into the lubed up hole. The deep suction of the high grade silicone closed around his length all at once, squeezing him out and dragging a shameless sob from his throat. He tried to flinch backward from the quick overstimulation but Jay's hand instantly shifted to slap and clamp down over the meat of Jake's bare ass cheek, pinning him securely in place.
"Where're you going?" Jay growled, digging his fingers into Jake's skin as he locked their hips together against the toy. "You're in it now, gorgeous. Just take it."
"Now thrust," Jay commanded, his tone left no room for argument. His hand remained heavy and firm on Jake's hip, anchoring him to the toy.
Jake swallowed hard, his arms trembling against the sheets as he tried to find his pace. He shifted his weight, his hips stuttering forward as he drove himself a fraction deeper into the toy. The overwhelming rush of pleasure made his eyes roll back into his head.
"Oh...good god, Jayyy," Jake whimpered and tried to pull back but the beautiful suction of the lubricated polymer dragged along his sensitive cock and forced another breathless whine from his throat. He felt like he coming apart.
"That's it, look at you," Jay praised and squeezed Jake's hip tightly, guiding his motion. "Good boy, Jake. Look how well you're fucking it."
The low praise hit Jake again, like hearing the campus heartthrob call him a good boy with his tone all thick and heavy with arousal, made Jake's knees go weak. His strength gave out completely and his arms buckled beneath him as his upper body collapsed forward, his chest landing heavily against the silicone torso between them.
It made Jay huff out a chuckle against the crown of Jake's head, basking in how thoroughly ruined he was.
"Alright, hold on." His hands moved to grip Jake's shoulders, then he carefully rolled them both over onto their sides. Jake moaned as they moved, his thighs tangling with Jay's on the mattress until they were pinned facing each other, the toy squeezed perfectly between their bare chests like a buffer zone.
"This better?" Jay panted out the question, searching Jake's wrecked, already tear stained face.
Jake could barely think but he managed to give Jay desperate nod, before his forehead dropped for a second against Jay's collarbone.
Jay drove his hips forward, his thick length sliding deep into his side of the toy and the force pushed the rubber wall directly against Jake's cock on the other side, making him scream out a moan and his hips instinctively snapped forward to meet the pressure.
Just like that, the lingering hesitation was gone. They both fell into a brutal rhythm, both of them thrusting relentlessly into the opposite ends of the silicone torso from their sides. The wet slap slap slap of their skin against the plastic was all they could hear, the cheap bedframe creaked violently against the floorboards as they shared the sex toy between them.
The industrial scent of artificial vanilla and silicone hung so thick in the air, completely overtaking the small space as Jake and Jay lay pinned on their sides, facing each other.
"Ah—shit, Jay sl—slow down," Jake choked out, letting out broken moans that sounded too similar to the needy little femboys that Jake usually fucked.
Jay wasn’t doing any better though. Hearing those pathetic sounds coming from his reclusive roommate is driving him totally insane. All he could think about was flipping Jake over, pinning his wrists to the mattress and topping him until he wouldn’t even remember his own name.
Needing more leverage, Jay allowed for his long arm to reach around the torso, his hand snaked directly under the hem of Jake's hoodie. His fingers slid up the damp skin of Jake's ribs until he finds his tight, sensitive nipple, pinching it firmly between his blunt fingers.
"Oh my god! Oh shit" Jake cried out and the new jolt of pain and pleasure made his hips reflexively jerk forward, slamming cock deeper and harder into the toy's internal ridges.
"Yeah, just like that," Jay growled, his jaw clenched tight as he matched Jake’s new and insane pace. "Fuck it just like that, baby boy. Take it all."
The muscles of their legs ground together, their sweat slicked bodies sliding heavily against the wet plastic of the molded torso. The bedroom was a suffocating symphony of slick friction and raw noise, both of them were driven completely wild by the heavy toy wedged between their chests and each other.
Deep in the overwhelming haze of the moment, his vision was spinning out of control from the intense rush of endorphins and Jay's filthy dirty talk, Jake lost his mind. He lurked forward, smashing his wet lips blindly against Jay's.
It was entirely instinctual, like a chaotic grab for connection but the very instant their lips collided, Jake's internal alarms blared. He jerked back instantly, slamming his head back into the pillow. His eyes widened, swimming with a vulnerable combination of tears, pleasure and deep confusion. His mouth clicked open, like an apology was already forming on his trembling lips but Jay didn't even let him speak.
Before Jake could form a single syllable, Jay lunged forward and weaved his long fingers into the back of Jake's soft hair, forcefully dragging him back down. Jay smashed his mouth against Jake's again, kissing him significantly harder this time. It was a messy, like an incredibly sloppy collision of teeth and tongues that tasted like salt and lust, completely swallowing the needy wails Jake couldn’t stop letting out.
Jake completely broke under the crushing weight of it. Instead of pulling away, he melted into it, tangling his tongue with Jay's as he moaned like a total whore straight into the other boy’s mouth. Jay pulled back just an inch to look down at Jake's ruined face.
"Fuck, you're so goddamn pretty," Jay growled, his voice trembled against Jake's lips. "Such a pretty little thing. You even moan like a whore, Jake."
"Ah, N-ggh...Jay!" Jake cried out, his head dancing against the pillow at the words.
Jay dragged his mouth down Jake's jaw line, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He bit down softly on the sensitive skin before sucking a dark bruise into his collarbone, making Jake cry again, "Oh god, hnggh, please!"
Jay's hand rumbled down under Jake's now damp hoodie that had been pushed up to expose his naked torso again, finding his aching nipple to capture it between his lips. He sucked on it hard, swirling his tongue around the peak until Jake was sobbing real tears while his hips blindly bucked forward into the silicone torso with a new and terrifying speed that threatened to split the toy completely between them.
"Yes—yes, Jay, fuck, I'm gonna cum!" Jake shrieked, his voice cracking into an unhinged whine. "Ah, ah...fuck, it's too much, hnghh!" He thrashed wildly against the mattress, his hips fucked into the toy harder and harder, he swore he would pass out the second he came. He was being so completely slutty, crying and begging Jay for it so loudly that it drove a primal spike right through his restraint.
"Yeah? You wanna cum, you little whore?" Jay growled, tearing his mouth away from Jake's chest.
Driven just over the edge by the sight of the subby nerd totally ruined beneath him, Jay snapped and with a coordinated heave of his shoulders, Jay shoved Jake flat onto his back, leading Jake to let out a breathless gasp and cry out at the loss of the stimulation, "Why?! No, wait—!"
As his hips were wrenched out of the toy, leaving his big cock twitching in the open air, completely coated in a thick sheen of pre cum and lube.
Jay didn't waste a single second adjusting his weight to pin the heavy sex toytangling directly underneath his own stomach so his cock stayed buried deep inside his own side of the toy. Then, hovering over Jake like a predator, Jay dove down and wrapped his mouth completely around Jake's throbbing dick.
"Mmmph—! Ha-ah!" Jake screamed, his spine instantly arching completely off the bed, his fingers clawed violently into the sheets as Jay took him all the way to the back of his throat.
Jay was ruthless. He bobbed and pumped his head down hard, the thick width of Jake's shaft stretching his lips as he purposely gags on the head, the sloppy sounds of the blowjob filling the humid room. At the exact same time, Jay's hips were still slamming downward, thrusting relentlessly into the toy pinned beneath his thighs, essentially fucking the synthetic polymer at a feral pace while ruthlessly draining his roommate's cock with his mouth.
"Oh fuck me, Jay! Jay, stop, I'm gonna—ah, god, nggh, fuck!" Jake wailed and shook his head shaking side to side against the pillow. His internal muscles spasmed out of control, his vision going completely white from the hard hitting pleasure of Jay's mouth gagging on him.
Jay heard the broken, pathetic whines, the desperate "Ah, ah, ah!" echoing off the walls and only sucked harder, gripping Jake's thigh with his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white, his own hips driving into the toy with a final, crushing force. He could feel the tight ridges of the silicone melting around him, pushing him right to his absolute limit.
"F-Fucking hell, Jake—nggh!" Jay choked out around his shaft, a guttural grunt ripping from his chest as his body went entirely rigid.
They hit the breaking point at the exact same fraction of a second. Jake let out a ruined shriek, "Ahhh!, his hips giving one final, violent hitch as he erupted, shooting a hot torrent of cum straight down Jay's throat. Jay didn't pull away though, he took every single pulsing drop, swallowing greedily while gagging around the climax and letting out wet, choked grunts. And at the exact same moment, Jay's spine snapped straight and a loud groan vibrated against Jake's skin as he pumped a massive load of cum deep into the tight, suctioned depths of the toy beneath him.
The bedroom descended into a silence, broken only by the sounds of both boys gasping for air. Jake was completely limp, his chest rising and falling under his damp shirt with tears of pleasure still streaming down his burning cheeks. Jay slowly pulled his mouth away with a wet smack, wiping a stray drop of spit and cum from his bottom lip with the back of his hand, his blown out eyes stayed on his ruined roommate, knowing he wasn’t done with him yet and neither of them was ever going to look at the apartment or each other the same way again.
Jay slowly raised himself up on his elbows, shifting his weight off the now ruined toy. His dark hair was messy and damp strands clung to his forehead while his chest glistened with sweat. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth one more time, letting his eyes slide slowly down Jake's trembling body.
He took a deep breath and a lazy grin gradually pulled at the corner of his lips as his hand settled on the soft curve of Jake's hip.
"Hey," Jay panted but Jake didn't move, only letting out a soft, questioning whine, "Nnh?", from the back of his throat.
Jay moved a fraction closer so his hot breath would fan across Jake's burning ear as he delivered the final blow to whatever sanity his roommate had left.
"That fake thing was good," Jay murmured, his hand trailing down to give the flesh of Jake's bare thigh a possessive, heavy squeeze. "But I would love to fuck that ass next."
Jake's eyes snapped wide open and a fresh wave of heat instantly rushed straight to the tips of his ears as he finally turned his head to look at his roommate and there was no sign of a joke on his face.
Oh fuck. What have I gotten myself into?
nene’s note ── super short but i hope you guys enjoy it, this is the last thing ill be posting as i start my exams on monday, thank you so much for all the supportive words i’ve been receiving in my box, i appreciate them❤️ as you know i love feedback so lmk what you guys think of this one💋💋
Kept seeing fancams of tired Riks and just couldn't get this out of my head! Riki coming back from tour finally on a break and you help him to relax!! Subby Riki forever! Lots of whining, like a lot...
Smut content ahead! MDNI !!! Sub! Ni-ki, Dom! F-Reader. Mentions of nipple-play, unprotected sex because this is fictional (unlike you...), p-in-v!, mouth on places that it shouldn't be before a shower, teasing, petnames, light swearing, crying, aftercare. Ni-ki referred to as Riki ~~
WC: 1338
After a month-long of non-stop tours and being out of the country, Riki was finally glad to be able to get back to the comfort of his own home, not the dorms which he had been living in for the past 3 years, but you. Just reminiscing the smell of the baby soap oil which you loved to put into your diffuser has him tearing up, overwhelmed by how much he missed your touch and how tired he was in general. Don't get him wrong, he loved his fans, the ones who allowed him to be on stage and show off his art, but he also needed his long-overdue break and most importantly, he needed you.
"God I missed you so much..."
Riki wastes no time diving on to the bed, effectively squashing you and leaving you with no space to breathe. You giggled as he digs his face into your neck, inhaling and rubbing his head onto you, his dried blonde hair tickling your face. Your hands instinctively reach around his back, soothing him while placing little kisses to wherever you could reach on his face.
"Hey baby, I missed you so much too. How was your trip?"
"It was great but I much rather bask in your presence right now before talking about anything else."
He sighs as he stops writhing on top of you, rolling to the side to finally allow some air back into your lungs. With his face still squashed into your neck, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in, moulding your bodies into one.
You smile as you glance down at him, bringing your hand up to his cheek and caressing it. Slowly, your hand moves down to his neck, rubbing your thumb along his adam's apple as you watch his face start to scrunch up. With his eyes still closed, he lets out a whine,
"Babyyyy, I'm tired, let me rest please."
You don't answer him as you roll yourself on top of him, sitting on his stomach with your legs caging his frame. You lean down to start peppering his face with kisses, slowly moving down to the length of his throat. Your mouth alternates between light pecks and small licks, tasting him and taking in his scent for the first time in a month. Overwhelmed by the atmosphere, Riki's hands clutch onto your thighs, blunt nails starting to dig into your skin.
You stop your actions and move back up, his eyes fluttering open and staring back into yours. His eyes shine, reflecting the tiredness he's tried so hard to hide from the fans, but now that he was finally in his safe haven, his suppressed emotions are starting to shine through. You lean in, your lips barely touching his. He arches up to finally slot your lips together but you pull away quickly, smirking as you tease him. A soft whine escapes Riki and you giggle, leaning back down just to pull away again while he lifts his head up in an attempt to get your mouth on his.
"Thought you were tired ki?"
You tease as he starts to pout, theres a reason the fans often refer to him as a baby duck.
"Just kiss me please..."
He whines out again, his voice going up an octave and eyes starting to shine with unshed tears. Your hands reach down to his shoulders to soothe him as you finally slot your lips with his, diving your tongue into his mouth with no hesitation. Riki lets out a puff of air into your mouth as you kiss, nails starting to dig into your skin. You break the kiss and get him to remove his shirt, allowing you to finally kiss down his naked skin, latching your mouth onto one of his nipples. Riki's back arches up as he succumbs to the sudden pleasure he gets, his breathing getting heavier as you switch to the other side.
Your tongue swirls around the bud as a low whine escapes him again, his hands moving to your head to pull you up as his nipples start to feel sore. You unlatch and lick down his abs, quickly grabbing his hands and putting them back to his side.
"Touch me and I stop, got it?"
He breaths out a small yes as his fingers dig into the sheets instead, your mouth moving lower and nearer towards his growing bulge. You get him to raise his hips and you pull off his pants and boxers in one go, his length springing up and completely hardening after feeling the cold air.
Riki lets out a loud whine as you lick a long stripe on the underside of his dick, eyes clenching tight from the intense pleasure he was receiving. You suckle lightly on the mushroom head before diving down, swallowing whatever you could as your hands come up to compensate for what you couldn't reach.
"Fuck, baby, just like that, please..."
Not even knowing what he was pleading for, tears start to leak out from his tight-shut eyes. A month away from your touch and your mouth was enough to make him go crazy. He had gotten too used to getting his pleasure from you that it took hours of rubbing and your voice talking him through it before he could finally cum while being away.
You pull away and remove all your clothes, sitting back up onto his stomach. Your hands clutch his face and thumbs wipe away the tears, making him open his eyes and look at you.
"Watch me baby"
You lean back and spread your legs, plunging two of your fingers into his mouth to wet them before shoving them up your core to stretch yourself out. Riki's eyes stay glued to the show you were giving him, watching your fingers slowly pump in and out as you add in a third one. Once you deemed yourself ready, you flatten your palms against his chest and raise your hips, slowly sinking down onto his length.
Both of you let out a loud sigh as you finally take him all the way. You look down and caress the bulge slowly forming on your tummy.
"Look baby, it's you..."
You giggle as his eyes zone in on the distended skin, hands coming up to clutch your waist. Usually you would scold him for blatantly disobeying your orders, but right now that was least of your concerns after being celibate for more than a month.
You start to grind your hips, slowly riding him as you try to get used to his size after so long. Your rhythm slowly gains and both of you are panting and moaning, Riki's fingers holding you so tight it would leave marks.
It didn't take long before Riki's whines got louder as your pussy tightens up while moving up and down his length, his dick outright hitting that spot in you that always made you see stars.
"Fuck baby, I'm so close, let's cum together hmm..."
Riki nods his head hard, pulling you down for a deep kiss. Not long after, your core tightens and your orgasm releases violently, causing your pussy to grip Riki so tight that he swears he blacked out for a moment. You continue to move slowly through it, milking Riki in the process as you feel him release his cum deep into your core.
You finally stop as both of you pant into each other's mouth, resting and basking in the other's presence after a month of longing and endless texts of "I miss you" or "I want to touch you so bad".
After a few minutes, you finally get off of him and grab a towel from the toilet. You damp it with warm water to clean yourself and walk back to Riki to do the same.
"God, Y/n, I love you so much"
You climb into bed and snuggled into his chest to whisper the same into his skin,
"I love you so much too Riks"
PHEW! That was long (I wrote this before word counting, idk how people make 30k long fics...). Thank you for making it to the end of my first post and contribution to the MUCH NEEDED Bottom Riki posts! Do comment and let me know your thoughts and how I can improve! I'm new to Tumblr as well so please let me know if theres anything I should've tagged but didnt etc. Hope you have a good week ahead!!
OMG GUYS?! We are at 50 followers and my fics have received so much love 😭 Genuinely guys thank you so much for the love and support. Im working on making my writing much better for you guys. But ALSO PLEASE SEND IN ASKS. I would love to write some things for all of you. Or just send in questions you guys would wanna know about me!!
In summary its been an amazing journey and lets work to 100 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
genre: rich kid au, 80s au, fluff, smut, and angst - minors do NOT interact
warnings: dom!reader, sub!heeseung, i tried to make the setting ambiguous in the previous chapters but it’s pretty obvious in this one that this is set in the united states, entomophobia, mutual masturbation, 69ing, more drunk parents, jealous heeseung, semi-public sex, blowjob, y/n sucks heeseung’s balls (which i feel like yall knew was going to happen), and there is… a lot of crying in this
word count: 14k
a/n: it’s here :’) i cannot thank you guys enough for continuing to look forward to this story and waiting so patiently for it to be updated. here’s part 3. i love you guys a lot <3
warnings: dom!reader, sub!heeseung, (veeery brief dom!heeseung but not really), edging, overstimulation, unprotected sex, breeding kink if you squint, oral sex (f. receiving), dacryphilia, lovemaking, mentions of food, masturbation, heavy drinking, self-destructive behavior, literally so much crying
word count: 15k
a/n: i am emotional 🥲 thank you guys so much for loving this story. the playlist has been updated here if you want to listen while you read! also, you’ll understand this once you read, but the living room song is if the moon turns green by billie holiday <3 again, thank you guys for all of the kind words about this story. i truly, truly cannot begin to tell you how much it means to me :’)
genre: rich kid au, 80s au, smut with fluff and plot
warnings: dom!reader, sub!heeseung, smoking (cigarettes), alcohol consumption, prep school is mentioned but reader and heeseung are both of age, very brief mention of vomit, oral sex (m. and f. receiving), loss of virginity, there is some secondhand embarrassment in this but i swear it’s cute, reader calls hee “baby” literally all the time, the rest of enhypen are in this (and so are K and EJ from iland lmao)
word count: 15k
a/n: this is the longest fic i’ve ever written 😵💫 i also made a playlist to listen to while i wrote this so here it is if you want to listen while you read
masterlist here
You’d always felt the urge to destroy perfect things.
When you were five years old, you smashed your fist into your perfectly-decorated birthday cake. In elementary school, you ran your bike through the pristine flowerbed in front of your parent’s church. Three summers ago you used sewing scissors to cut off your hair simply because the pastor of that church told you it looked pretty.
Nothing was meant to be perfect, including people, though the residents of your town seemed to disagree. They loved to play pretend, to brag to each other about their new boats and cars, their son’s acceptance to Yale, or their daughter’s to Harvard. They loved to bask in the abundance of their wealth during the day, and then drink themselves to death at night. The most miserable people have the prettiest lives.
So you took it upon yourself to let the true colors of everybody else shine through you. Sure, you were an absolute mess, but at least you were an authentic one.
And you were determined to find a perfect boy and turn him into a mess for you. Your most ambitious project to date.
SYNOPSIS ⦂ You've never fit in. That much was true. Always feeling like the odd one out in your friend group. But when you're told to your face, well everything becomes more clear. Suddenly, every sidelong glance, every pity laugh, every party invitation that felt like a mistake, makes a little more sense. But it still stings. Especially when it comes to Soobin; sweet, soft-spoken, out-of-your-league Soobin, who doesn’t even know you exist beyond the orbit of your prettier friends. Enter Heeseung: campus golden boy, effortlessly charming, dangerously smug. He’s the type of guy who knows exactly how attractive he is — and how to use it. When he overhears your predicament (okay, maybe you yell about it a little too loudly in the hallway), he makes you an offer: he’ll help you reinvent yourself, rewrite your story, and finally get Soobin’s attention. In exchange? You’ll tutor him through senior lit, a class he's on the verge of flunking. You agree, of course. What could possibly go wrong?
PAIRINGS: heeseung x fem!reader
WARNINGS: smut mdni, virginity loss, jealousy, alcohol use, mean girls, talk of toxic beauty standards, college setting, ft Dani (katseye), Sakura (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), jay, sunghoon, jake, beomgyu (txt), wonyoung (ive), angst, slight miscommunication + more i’m probably forgetting.
WORD COUNT: 28K
RAIN'S MIC IS ON ࿐ haiii this is based on the movie "the duff" i wanted to give this a fun and very like early 2000s rom-comy vibes!! I do want to note especially that i do not support the toxic mindset that makeup and no glasses and dressing slutty automatically makes you more visually appealing, i think that's a mindset we should be letting go of but for the sake of fiction, it will be playing a part in this. Just a reminder that everyone is beautiful no matter what you wear or what you look like. Wear makeup if you want, or don't. Glasses do not equal ugly and nerdy. Also in this, i shortened “DUFF” to “DUF” because even in fiction i don’t feel comfortable saying “fat” so in my version it just means “designated ugly friend” which is still eh, but again for the sake of fiction it will have to do, Please remember those standards are out dated. Love you all hope you have fun with this like i did (: thank you so much to my love @yeonmuse for helping make the banner, she’s so talented check her out guys.
You’re not sure why you came.
The music pulses like a second heartbeat as you linger in the doorway of the house, the bass reverberating through your ribcage. Inside, it’s packed wall-to-wall with bodies moving in a chaotic kind of harmony, shoulders brushing, drinks sloshing, laughter climbing over music like ivy. You follow the familiar trail of your best friends, Dani and Sakura, as they dive headfirst into the party’s epicenter. They're already laughing with someone, effortlessly folding themselves into a circle of golden-lit conversation. You’re left in the doorway like static caught on the edge of a signal, half-there, mostly invisible. You try to speak, to jump into the flow, but your voice is swallowed by the noise.
Dani’s turning her head too fast, Sakura’s already moving on to a new story. It’s not their fault. They love you. They try; they always do. But in places like this, where charisma is currency and the loudest person wins, you always come up short. You’re the comma in their sentence. The pause between moments.
Eventually, Dani hooks her arm through yours and grins. “Come on. Let’s get some air.” You let them lead you outside, where the music softens behind glass doors and the cool night air brushes against your skin. The wooden deck is lit by string lights and scented faintly of smoke and expensive cologne. And that’s when you see them; The it boys on campus, Leaning against the railing like some untouchable constellation: Heeseung, Beomgyu, Sunghoon, Jay, and Jake. Each one a caricature of cool in different flavors. Beomgyu’s laughing with his head thrown back. Jake is draped over the deck chair like he owns it. Sunghoon and Jay are mid-story. And then there’s Heeseung, casual arrogance wrapped in black denim and a hoodie pushed halfway up his forearms.
The moment the girls approach, everyone shifts to accommodate them, the circle expanding like ripples on water. You find yourself next to Heeseung, who throws you a brief glance that feels like an assessment. His gaze dips for a second to your glasses and lingers. You know that look. You’ve seen it before in classrooms and locker-lined hallways. The look that decides exactly who you are in the span of two seconds and four syllables: nerd. Unworthy of any and all social interaction beside incandescent teasing. How comical that was. “You guys,” Heeseung says, in that smooth, drawling voice that makes everything he says sound vaguely amused, “Mr. Yoon was on my ass today. Said if I bomb this next lit paper, he’s yanking my scholarship. Like, sorry I don’t care about symbolism in 18th-century poetry, man.”
Sakura perks up, turning to look at you. “Wait She’s amazing at lit! Like, scary good.”
“She tutors people all the time,” Dani adds, nudging you playfully. You blink, caught mid-sip of something lukewarm in a red cup, and find five pairs of curious eyes settling on you. Including his.
Heeseung’s lip quirks. “Oh, I’m sure she is.”
You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He gestures loosely toward your face, vaguely circling your glasses. “Nothing. Just, you’ve got that whole bookish prodigy vibe. You know. Brainiac chic.”
“Brainiac chic?” You raise an eyebrow. “That’s your insult? Do you even have a GPA?” His friends snicker. Jake lets out a low “oooh,” and Beomgyu slaps Heeseung on the back like he’s just taken a hit.
Heeseung, unfazed, smiles lazily. “Touché. Though, I’m not the one who just quoted my GPA like it’s a flex.” You can’t help the way your lip twitches. You shouldn’t enjoy this. You do. Heeseung is irritating. Arrogant. Infuriatingly pretty. But he’s listening. He’s bantering back. In this weird, warped little moment, you almost feel like you matter.
And then he walks up. Soobin. You spot him from the corner of your eye, tall and soft around the edges, dressed in an oversized hoodie that somehow still makes him look like a dream. His hair’s a little messy like he ran his hands through it too many times, and his smile; God, his smile, curls up slow when he sees your group. He says something to Jake, who waves him over, and then he’s standing in your circle, next to you, and your brain short-circuits. You try to say hi, but it comes out as a hiccuped squeak. Your voice cracks in three different places, and as if fate hadn’t humiliated you enough, you flinch backward and knock your elbow straight into the flimsy drink table behind you. The cup in your hand slips, spins midair, and splashes all over your shirt in one mortifying arc.
Soobin blinks. Heeseung stares. You feel the heat crawl up your neck like a flame eating paper. Someone offers you a napkin, Dani, maybe — but it doesn’t matter. You’re already backing away. “I—I’m gonna go,” you mumble. “I’ll see you guys later.” You turn before anyone can say anything else, your heartbeat thudding in your ears, the deck already blurry with shame. Behind you, the laughter starts again, soft, harmless, not mean, not really; but it doesn't matter. You’re already gone. And you have no idea how this mess is only just beginning.
The next morning arrives not like a promise, but like a punishment. The sun is too bright, the sky too smugly blue, like even the weather knows what happened last night. You drag yourself across campus wrapped in oversized layers, hoodie strings pulled tight around your face like armor. You haven't checked your phone since the party. Not because it hasn’t lit up — it has, but because you can’t bear to face the missed calls and texts blinking like tiny sirens across the screen. Dani: “hey, are you okay?” Sakura: “babe, call us pls.” A voicemail you didn’t dare open. It’s all waiting for you like unopened letters from a version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore.
Because last night, you crumbled in front of Soobin. You keep replaying it like a cursed tape in your head: the way your voice cracked, the look of gentle confusion on his face, the splash of cheap punch soaking through your shirt like a scarlet stamp of shame. You can still feel the sting of it; hot, sticky, humiliating. You picture the exact moment his eyes met yours and how quickly you broke, like a window catching a stone at the wrong angle. You didn’t even say goodbye to Dani or Sakura. Just ran. Just let the night swallow you whole. And now, in the cruel light of day, everything feels worse.
Your footsteps echo a little too loudly on the concrete path through campus. You keep your head down, gaze locked on your shoes as the crowds blur around you in streaks of motion and color. But you feel them; eyes. Not direct. Not obvious. Just there. Flicking toward you. Lingering. Someone lets out a muffled laugh as you pass. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with you, but the way your stomach clenches betrays you. It’s a peculiar kind of spotlight, being noticed for all the wrong reasons. You’re used to being invisible, not mocked. You never asked for attention, never needed a stage. But now you’re walking through campus like a meme brought to life, like the punchline of a joke you didn’t know you were telling. You pass a group of students lounging on the lawn. One nudges the other. Another whispers something behind a hand. Laughter. It could be about anything. It could be nothing. But you flinch like it’s a slap to the face. So you keep walking, keep shrinking.
Your classroom isn’t far, but the distance feels endless. Like the stretch of hallway in a nightmare where your legs move but you never get anywhere. When you finally reach the door, your hands tremble as you pull it open, slipping inside with all the urgency of someone trying to outrun their own shadow. The air inside is still and cold, the hum of fluorescents a dull buzz in your ears. You’re too wrapped in your own spiral to notice where your feet take you. The room is already half full, students murmuring over open laptops, pens clicking like insects in early spring. You move on autopilot, slipping into the first empty seat you see near the back, hoping the distance from the front will buy you some much-needed invisibility.
But the moment you set your bag down and glance to your left, the universe decides to play its favorite game, humiliation, round two. Because there he is. Lee Heeseung. Slouched in his chair with all the grace of someone who’s never had to try too hard, hoodie sleeves pushed up again like it’s a personal brand, one knee bouncing lazily. His arm’s draped over the back of the chair, dangerously close to yours, and he’s already looking at you when you meet his eyes, eyebrow raised, lips curled in that signature smirk that could make a mirror blush. “Well, well,” he says, low and smug. “Couldn’t get enough of me, could you?” You blink, brain short-circuiting for half a second before the sarcasm kicks in like muscle memory.
“Oh, absolutely,” you say, your voice dry as dust. “I just had to sit next to the guy who thinks MLA formatting is a type of sandwich.” Heeseung whistles through his teeth, hand pressed to his heart like you wounded him. “Wow. Vicious. No wonder you’re single.”
Without missing a beat, you smile sweetly, and flip him off. And that’s what does it. Heeseung bursts out laughing. Not a scoff. Not a half-chuckle. A full-bodied, belly-deep laugh that shakes his shoulders and lights up his whole stupidly handsome face. It’s loud, too; sharp enough to draw a few curious glances from the rows in front of you. Someone turns around. Another student raises an eyebrow. But Heeseung just throws his head back and laughs, like you’re the funniest thing to ever happen to 9 a.m. lit. And somehow, against your will, a laugh bubbles out of you, too.
Just a snort at first, barely more than breath. But it grows, because you can’t help it, because it was kind of funny, because maybe you’re so bone-tired from crying that anything even slightly absurd feels like a lifeline. You laugh into your palm, trying to hide it, but that only makes Heeseung grin wider. “See?” he says, nudging your arm with his elbow. “I knew you liked me.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re delusional.”
“And yet,” he hums, “here you are.”You shake your head, biting back another smile—and for a second, just a second, you don’t care that people are still glancing at the two of you. You don’t care that your shirt from last night is crumpled in your laundry basket or that the video of you spilling punch may or may not be circling the group chat. You don’t care that your friends probably think you’re ghosting them. Because for this one moment, there’s no spotlight. No pressure.
The rest of the class unfolds in a quiet, uninterrupted hum. The professor drones on about motifs and metaphor, and your pen finally scratches to life again. Heeseung doesn’t speak after that, not really, but you can feel the lingering heat of his presence beside you, like a low flame that won’t go out. You catch yourself glancing his way more than once. He catches you every time.
Class ends in a quiet unraveling. You gather your things slowly, letting the rows of students trickle out ahead of you like a stream smoothing stone. Heeseung’s already up, stretching his arms over his head in that effortless way that shouldn't be allowed this early in the day. He tosses you a wink as he moves toward the door, and you pretend to roll your eyes, even as something traitorous inside you flutters like a curtain caught in wind. You follow the flow of students into the hallway, hoping to blend in. Hoping, maybe foolishly, that today might end on a quieter note.
But fate has sharp teeth.
A manicured hand taps your shoulder just as you pass beneath the atrium light, and when you turn, you’re met with a smile so sugar-slick and venom-laced it makes your spine stiffen on instinct. Jang Wonyoung. She’s standing in front of you like a statue carved from polished ambition, long legs, glossy hair, not a flaw in sight. Her clothes are designer without needing to scream it, her lip gloss a shade too pink to be innocent. She oozes confidence, curated and sharpened to a point. And you know who she is — everyone does. She’s not just the most popular girl on campus, she’s the one people orbit around. She’s the center of gravity in every room she enters. You’ve never spoken to her before.
“You’re friends with Dani and Sakura, right?” she says sweetly, voice as light as powdered sugar.
You blink, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah,” you answer, nodding a little too quickly, nerves flaring. “I am.” Her smile doesn’t change, but something behind her eyes hardens. Shifts. It’s like watching a rose bloom only to realize the thorns are still sharper than the petals. She tilts her head slightly, and for a moment, you almost wonder if this is some kind of polite small talk. But then she leans in just enough for her perfume to ghost past your cheek; something expensive and calculated, and her voice drops to a murmur, low and cruel.
“Don’t think for one second you have a chance with Heeseung.” She blinks, lashes fluttering like knives. “DUF.” You freeze. The letters don’t click at first. They hang there in the air between you, meaningless and jagged. You open your mouth, confusion spilling out in a quiet stammer. “Wait — what’s a DUF?”
Wonyoung’s smile stretches wider, and it’s not a smile at all now. It’s the curve of something about to cut. “DUF isn’t a name. It’s what you are,” she purrs. “Designated Ugly Friend.” You stare, the words crashing into you like sleet against glass. You don’t even flinch; not yet. You’re too stunned, too caught between disbelief and dawning horror to react. Your throat tightens. Her words burrow under your skin, cold and gleaming. “You’re always with Dani and Sakura,” she continues, still smiling like this is all just a casual observation, like she’s not peeling your dignity apart with her manicured fingers. “They’re hot. Like, objectively. You’re just… there. To make them look better. That’s your role. Know your place.”
You open your mouth again, breath hitching in protest. “My name is—” But she cuts you off, voice turning sharper, all pretense abandoned.
“DUF,” she repeats, slow and deliberate. “And Heeseung? He’s out of your league. So do everyone a favor, babe, and stay away from him.” She gives you one last look; final, dismissive, like you were never really worth seeing at all, and then she’s turning on her heel, walking away like she just dropped a bomb and is already bored of the smoke. And you — you just stand there. Your heartbeat thuds in your ears like a drum played out of rhythm. Your feet feel rooted to the tile, your hands limp at your sides, notebook barely clutched in your grip. It’s as if the world has narrowed to a single hallway, a single moment, and Wonyoung’s words are etched on the walls around you. DUF.
You’ve never heard it before. Not like that. Not named. But now that it’s been said, now that it’s out in the open, it echoes. It colors everything. It twists last night into a sick joke, replays every photo you’ve stood in between Dani and Sakura, every party where you stood off to the side. You see yourself through Wonyoung’s eyes, and the reflection stings. You don’t cry. Not yet. The tears are waiting, crouched behind your ribs, but you won’t let them win. Not in this hallway. Not here. You just swallow hard, lower your head, and walk, each step heavier than the last, as if you’re trying to carry the weight of someone else’s cruelty on your shoulders. And all the while, her words stay with you like a brand: Know your place.
You don’t remember how you got there. One moment you were frozen in that hallway, still tasting Wonyoung’s words on the back of your tongue like something spoiled and sour. The next, you’re seated at the farthest computer in the campus lab, shoulders hunched, the too-bright monitor casting a cold glow across your face. Around you, students move in hushed clicks and muted coughs, the clatter of keyboards filling the silence like light rain. No one looks your way. No one ever does. It’s what you wanted, right? To disappear? To be invisible? But not like this. Your fingers tremble as they hover over the keyboard, uncertain, like they already know what you’re about to unearth. You type DUF first, because that’s what she said. That’s what she called you. The letters feel clunky and unfamiliar, like a language you were never meant to understand. When nothing pops up, you frown, your pulse quickening.
And then, like the knife finally finding skin, it hits you. And the world splits open. The page fills with links, slang dictionaries, gossip forums, teen advice articles, old Reddit threads dissecting high school hierarchies like scientific taxonomy. You click the first video out of instinct, and a girl on the screen, barely older than you, leans into the camera with a sad smile and says, “The DUF is the Designated Ugly Friend. You’re the least attractive in your friend group, the approachable one, the funny one, the one guys talk to only to get to your prettier friends.” You freeze. Her voice continues, but it becomes background noise to the storm inside your chest. Your heartbeat hammers against your ribs like it wants to escape, and suddenly your body feels far too small for what you’re carrying.
Your fingers move on their own, clicking through link after link like each one might offer a different definition, something softer, something kind. But they don’t. They all echo the same gutting truth. The DUF is the one who fills the empty space. The background character in her own life. The girl who exists not for herself, but as contrast, to make her friends shine brighter by comparison. You feel it like a bruise blooming across your entire being. Memories rise unbidden, like film reels unspooling behind your eyes. The nights out where you stood at the edge of a circle, holding jackets and drinks while Dani and Sakura danced with boys who barely spared you a glance. The time a guy asked you for Sakura’s number while you were still in the middle of a sentence. The photos you’d be cropped out of, the stories you weren’t included in, the parties where you stood on the periphery like a shadow no one noticed.
You thought it was just how things were. You thought maybe you were just quieter. Shyer. Less hungry for attention. But now the pieces fit. Too well. And what guts you, what truly guts you, is the realization that maybe — just maybe — they knew. Dani and Sakura. Your best friends. Did they know what DUF meant? Had they heard it tossed around and just… never told you? Had they laughed about it with others, let it live in whispers while you smiled beside them, oblivious? Were you some inside joke dressed in loyalty? Did they ever look at you and feel sorry? Or worse, did they agree?
The nausea coils in your stomach like a slow-moving wave, threatening to rise. You press your palm to your chest, as if you can keep yourself from unraveling entirely. Your vision swims. The sterile blue of the lab feels too bright, too loud, too full of all the wrong kinds of silence. You’re still staring at the glowing screen, that same sentence blinking back at you like a taunt: “The DUFF is the one nobody notices until they need something.” Your throat tightens. You don’t want to be in this body. In this moment. In this story.
You slam the laptop shut without ceremony. The sharp clap of it draws a glance from a boy a few chairs down, but you don’t care. You’re already yanking your bag from the floor, stuffing your notebook inside with shaking hands. Your fingers are clumsy, rushed, like you’re trying to outrun a tidal wave that’s already crashing through you. You need air. You need to move. You need to not be here, not be seen. The walk out of the lab is a blur of cold tiles and humming machines. Your steps echo like betrayal. Like every footfall might draw more eyes, more whispers, more invisible hands pointing in your direction. You don’t even realize you’re crying until you taste salt.
Not the loud, sobbing kind of cry. No, this is something quieter. A leak in the dam. A silent surrender. The kind of crying that happens when the weight of the world doesn’t come crashing down in one dramatic moment; but seeps in, slow and steady, drop by drop, until you’re drowning. You step outside, wind slicing at your face, the sky too wide, too open. You feel small in a way you can’t describe. Not just physically, existentially. Like someone cracked your reflection and you’re left staring at the pieces wondering if any of it was ever real. And in the back of your mind, like a cruel echo still clinging to the walls of your skull, her voice repeats: Know your place, DUF.
The first thing you do after leaving the computer lab is search. You needed to see Dani and Sakura. You find them exactly where you knew they’d be. The C building’s hallway is packed, echoing with the end-of-period rush. Footsteps slap against the floors in every direction. Lockers clang open and shut, laughter weaves in and out of the noise like a skipping stone. The scent of dry erase markers, mint gum, and cheap coffee lingers in the air. But it all feels distant to you, muted, irrelevant. Like you’re underwater, moving through the crowd on instinct, not thought. And then, through the blur of motion and sound, you see them. Dani and Sakura.
The two girls you’ve called your best friends since freshman year. The ones who’ve seen you through breakups, panic attacks, late-night cramming sessions and slow, sleepy Sunday brunches. The ones who claimed to love you. They’re standing outside their chemistry lecture, laughing at something; Sakura’s head thrown back, Dani’s hip nudging hers. It’s such a familiar picture that for a split second, you hesitate. For a split second, your brain lies to you. Maybe they don’t know. Maybe Wonyoung was wrong. Maybe everything was just some cruel misunderstanding. But your heart knows better. You push through the crowd with the desperation of someone chasing the truth, and the second your voice cuts through the air, they turn to you, your hair wild from the wind, breath ragged from running, eyes rimmed with something between fury and heartbreak. “Did you guys know?”
The words tumble out too fast, ragged at the edges, raw like a wound. They both blink at you, confusion washing over their faces like clouds across sunlight. “Know what?” Sakura asks slowly, brow furrowing. Dani’s already stepping forward, hand brushing your arm gently, like she’s afraid you might shatter on contact. “What are you talking about?”
And then you say it; louder than you meant to, louder than you ever thought you’d say anything in public. “Did you know I’m your fucking DUF?” The hallway doesn’t go silent, but it feels like it does. Their faces freeze, and you see it instantly, the flicker of recognition in Sakura’s eyes, the tightness in Dani’s jaw. It’s not confusion now. It’s not disbelief. It’s guilt. Guilt. They look at each other. It’s barely a glance, half a heartbeat, but it’s all the confirmation you need. Something in your chest gives, a sickening drop that feels like the floor vanishing beneath your feet.
Your voice splinters when you speak again. “What? Are you just friends with me because you feel bad for me?” Your words hang in the air like smoke, heavy and choking. Dani’s eyes widen, her mouth opening like she’s about to say something, anything but you see the panic settle across her face. She wasn’t ready for this. They never expected you to find out. They never thought you’d ask.
“That’s not—” Sakura starts, then stops.
Dani shakes her head fast, her voice stumbling over itself. “That’s not true. Don’t say that.”
“Then why?” you ask, louder now, pain bubbling up from somewhere deep and long-buried. “Why did you always brush me off when I said I liked Soobin? Why did you laugh when I said I thought he might like me back? Why did you look at me like I was crazy?” They don't answer. Not really. They just look at you with wide eyes and silence thick between them.
“You didn’t think I was pretty enough,” you say, and your voice cracks right down the middle. Dani swallows. Her hands are wringing the strap of her backpack like she doesn’t know what to do with them. She steps closer again, gentler this time, quieter. “We don’t think you’re ugly,” she says, the words coming slowly, like they hurt her to say. “It’s just… you could try a little harder, you know? Like, you don’t really… put effort in.” The air leaves your lungs in a rush.
You feel it physically, like someone just knocked the wind out of you, punched a hole in your chest and left it gaping open for everyone to see. The people around you are still moving, still living their lives, but all you can hear is the echo of those words: try harder. As if your entire existence hasn’t been one long effort to be enough. And before you can respond, Sakura adds, “You’re just… not Soobin’s type, that’s all.” You blink. Your mind blanks. Your heart is already in pieces, but that line cracks the rest of you open.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you ask, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with something deeper, more dangerous. Rage wrapped in heartbreak. Sakura falters. She opens her mouth, but no answer comes out. Dani shifts uncomfortably beside her. Their faces are pale now, eyes darting around, noticing for the first time how many people are starting to look. How many are pretending not to listen. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to undo every moment of vulnerability you ever gave them. But more than anything, you want to run. Because staying here, standing in this hallway, heart bared like a wound while the people you loved carve you apart, hurts more than anything you’ve ever felt. You shake your head slowly, backing away from them as the tears begin to fall in earnest. “I thought you were my friends,” you whisper, and then louder, “I trusted you.” Dani reaches out again, but this time you pull back. You don’t want her comfort. You don’t want her pity. You don’t want to hear another word. So you turn. And you walk.
You don’t care that people are watching. You don’t care that your shoulders are shaking, that your tears are spilling freely now, or that your bag keeps slipping down your arm. You walk faster, pushing through the crowd until the voices blur behind you, until the memory of their faces fades into the roar of everything breaking apart. And as you go, the thought haunts you, echoing over and over in your skull: They knew. They knew. They knew. And they never told you.
The doors to the C building groan shut behind you, sealing away the voices, the stares, the wreckage. But the damage doesn’t stay inside. It clings to you, stitched into your skin like frostbite; cold, deep, and invisible to everyone else. The sting of betrayal coils inside your chest, twisting tighter with every step you take. Your breathing’s uneven. Not quite sobbing, but close. That awful in-between sound, caught in your throat like a scream that refuses to come out. The air outside is biting, too cold for early fall, but you hardly notice. It brushes your cheeks like ghost hands, cuts through your sweater, lifts the ends of your hair, nothing reaches you. Not really. You're numb in a way that feels permanent, like someone turned the volume of the world all the way down and you forgot how to turn it back up.
People pass by, some look, some don’t. A few recognize you, eyes flickering with half-curiosity, half-concern, but no one says anything. And thank god for that, because if anyone did, if even one person tried to ask if you were okay, you think you'd crumble. Right there on the sidewalk. Crumple like paper and never get back up again. The walk from the C building to your dorm stretches impossibly long. Every step is heavier than the last, as if the weight of Dani and Sakura’s words is dragging behind you, chained to your ankles. You replay it all, the glances, the hesitations, the way Dani looked away when you asked if they knew, the way Sakura's voice sounded too rehearsed, like she’d already decided what version of the truth you were allowed to hear.
“You could try harder.”
“You’re just not his type.”
Those words circle you like vultures. You can’t outrun them. You can’t out-walk what’s inside your chest. By the time you reach the dorm building, you’re shaking. Not from the cold, but from everything else. Rage. Shame. Heartbreak. All of it, bottled and clinking against your ribs like glass ready to shatter. Your key slips once in the door before you finally shove it in and turn, stumbling down the hall to your room like you’ve just escaped a storm only to find another waiting inside. You push the door open and don’t bother turning on the lights. You don’t take your shoes off. You don’t put your bag down. You don’t think. You just collapse.
Straight onto your bed, face-first, like gravity’s been waiting all day for you to break. The mattress groans under the weight of your body, the quiet rustle of blankets the only sound in the room. But even that silence feels loud. And then — finally — you scream. It’s muffled into your pillow, soaked into the cotton and foam, but it rips through you like it’s been building for years. A scream made of all the things you couldn’t say in that hallway. All the pain you swallowed down so no one would see you break. All the confusion, all the loneliness, all the self-doubt bubbling up into one long, raw, aching sound.
You scream because you thought they were your people.
You scream because you believed, deeply, that you were loved.
You scream because you didn’t know you were being pitied.
And when your voice finally gives out, when your throat goes raw and your breathing hitches in the dark, you don’t move. You just lie there, curled into yourself like something wounded, like you could shrink so small the world might forget you were ever here. Your pillow is damp now, tears soaking through it, hot and angry. You clutch it tighter like it might hold you together. For the first time in a long time, you feel completely and utterly alone. And the scariest part? You're not even sure who you can talk to anymore. Who’s left. Who actually sees you. Because the people you trusted the most already proved they never did.
The morning light is a pale, washed-out gray, soft and dull like an old photograph, like something that’s been wrung out of color and left to dry. You move through campus like a ghost, every step stiff and heavy, your limbs still echoing with the ache of yesterday’s unraveling. Sleep had barely kissed you the night before. It lingered at the edges of your consciousness but never quite arrived, chased away by looping memories, sharp-edged phrases, and the hollow ache in your chest where trust used to live. You’ve walked this path to Literature 204 a hundred times, maybe more. But today it feels different. The air around you feels thicker somehow, like it knows what happened, like the whole campus has been whispering about you while your back was turned. You keep your head low, hands shoved deep into the sleeves of your hoodie, as if retreating into yourself will make you smaller, less visible, less whatever-the-hell-you-are-now. The DUF. The outcast. The joke.
When you finally step into the lecture hall, it’s mostly empty, the way it always is ten minutes before class starts. The lights are half-dimmed, flickering in patches as if still waking up themselves. A few early birds have already staked their seats, nose-deep in books, airpods in, sipping lukewarm coffee out of dented thermoses. And then, of course, there’s him. Heeseung. You spot him near the front, standing beside Mr. Yoon’s desk. They’re speaking in hushed tones, but the words carry in this room where the ceilings are too high and silence feels sacred. You hadn’t meant to listen, you weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but your ears catch on the tension in their voices, the frustration curling at the edges of Heeseung’s sentences. You hear fragments. Tutor. Flunk. Drop out. Phrases that sound too final, too heavy for someone who always seemed so effortless.
You tell yourself not to care. You’ve got your own storm to navigate. You slide into your usual seat halfway up the rows, far enough to disappear, close enough to hear, and drop your bag beside you with a sigh. Your heart still feels raw, your stomach still tied in knots. You’re exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep can fix. And then you hear his footsteps. Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t scan the room for alternatives. He just makes a beeline straight for you and drops into the seat beside yours like it’s his god-given right. His presence is large, like it always is, broad shoulders draped in a hoodie two sizes too big, the scent of citrus cologne and coffee trailing behind him like something you could trip on. Usually, there’s a quip on his lips, something smug and irritating and just a little too charming. But today he’s quiet. And so are you.
For a long moment, nothing passes between you but breath. The quiet around you folds in like a cocoon, the only sounds the low murmur of Mr. Yoon gathering his notes and the soft click of someone’s mechanical pencil two rows back. And then, Heeseung leans back with a sigh and says, “Quite the spectacle you had going for you yesterday.”
You groan before you can stop yourself, dragging a hand over your face like you could scrub the memory out of existence. Your eyes narrow as you turn to him, voice sharp with lingering humiliation. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He’s already grinning, his mouth tilted up in that signature way that makes you want to slap him and kiss him at the same time, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. “Relax,” he says, stretching his arms lazily over his head. “I just mean, you, Sakura, and Dani? Everyone’s talking about it. It was, like, the hallway soap opera of the year.”
Your cheeks burn. You can feel the blood rising in your face like fire licking at your skin. Of course people were talking. Of course the entire goddamn campus probably had a front-row seat to your implosion. “Great,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, “exactly what I needed, public humiliation on top of personal betrayal.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like it isn’t your entire world unraveling. But then, out of nowhere, he asks, “How long have you had a thing for Soobin?”
Your heart skips. Not in a cute, rom-com way. In a fuck, how does he know that kind of way. You blink, caught off guard, mouth fumbling for a denial that won’t sound like a lie. “I don’t, what are you even talking about?” He just smirks, eyes glinting with quiet mischief. “Come on. I’m not an idiot. The way you looked at him at that party? Like he was your last meal. It was kinda cute.”
Your stomach turns, part mortification, part defensiveness. “Why do you even care?” Heeseung shrugs again, but this time there’s something more calculated behind his gaze. “Because I think I can help you.”
You raise a brow. “Help me?”
“You like Soobin. Soobin doesn’t even know your name. I know what guys like him want, hell, I am guys like him,” he says, voice dipped in arrogance that somehow still doesn’t feel entirely cruel. “I could get you there. Make him see you. Want you.” You let out a sharp laugh, humorless and jagged. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m not really in the mood to turn myself into a Barbie doll just to impress a guy.”
“Suit yourself,” Heeseung says easily, turning back toward the front of the room like he couldn’t care less. “But when Soobin’s off making out with someone like Yunjin behind the gym, don’t come crying to me.” That line strikes like lightning, quick, bright, and unmistakably true. Because you have seen Soobin talking to Yunjin lately. Smiling. Laughing. He held the door open for her last week and you felt like your heart was trying to crawl out of your throat. And now the thought of him kissing her, or anyone, while you’re still sitting on the sidelines hoping for a miracle? It makes something sharp twist in your chest.
You chew on the inside of your cheek, arms crossed tighter now, and Heeseung must sense your hesitation because he glances sideways again. “I’m just saying,” he murmurs, this time softer. “You help me pass lit, I help you not be invisible. Easy.” It’s insane. It’s humiliating. It’s kind of insulting, if you think about it long enough. But it’s also… tempting. Because what other option do you have? Soobin doesn’t know you exist. Your friends, the ones who were supposed to build you up, have already torn you down. And Heeseung, for all his cockiness, sees you. Maybe not the way you want to be seen. But still.
Slowly, you turn your palm upward between you. He grins, all teeth and trouble, and slides his hand into yours. You shake. And just like that, the deal is struck.
The evening sun sinks past the dorm window like a sigh, casting the whole room in the soft gold of a day exhaling. You’re curled up on your bed in an oversized hoodie, legs crossed, a nearly-empty takeout container of bulgogi balanced dangerously on your thigh. The smell of garlic and soy sauce clings to the air like a second blanket, and you don’t care. You’ve earned this. You’ve survived this week, barely, and now you’re self-soothing with salty meat and zero regrets. Your phone buzzes once against the sheets beside you. You ignore it at first. Probably Dani or Sakura again. Their texts have been coming in slow waves all day; apologies, explanations, questions that aren’t really questions. You’ve left them on read, unread, ignored altogether. You’re not ready. You don’t know when you will be. But the phone buzzes again. And then again. Finally, with a huff, you set your chopsticks down and snatch the device up. It’s not a contact you recognize, just a random number. But the message?
[Unknown Number]
what are you doing tomorrow?
You blink. Narrow your eyes. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, halfway to typing who is this when another text lands:
[ heeseung ]
it’s heeseung
Duh.
And wow. Of course he wouldn’t lead with an introduction. Or an ounce of normal human decorum. You don’t even remember giving him your number; maybe it was one of those group projects last semester or maybe he’s just unsettlingly resourceful. Either way, you're already rolling your eyes. You type back, begrudgingly.
[ you ]
nothing. why?
There’s barely a pause before the dots start dancing again.
[ heeseung ]
i’m taking you shopping and then we’re going to a party, you’ll wear what we buy and pretend to be hot for once. You nearly drop your phone into your bulgogi. You stare at the screen for a second too long, as if the sheer arrogance of his words might combust it in your hands. Shopping? Party? Pretend to be hot?
[ you ]
what the hell does “pretend to be hot” mean???
[ heeseung ]
it means we’re working with what we got. you’ll be fine. trust the process.
You audibly groan and collapse backwards onto your pillow, phone pressed against your forehead as if it might somehow absorb the stress and return with divine wisdom. This was the deal, you remind yourself. You help him pass lit, he helps you with... what? Popularity? Style? Winning Soobin's attention through sorcery and strategic eyeliner?
[ you ]
i’m not “pretending” to be hot just to impress soobin. i have standards , and pride and a favorite hoodie that smells like detergent and self pity
[ heeseung ]
noted. wear something that’s easy to take off tomorrow.
[ you ]
HEY. phrasing.
[ heeseung ]
relax. for the fitting room, nerd. I’ll be at your dorm at 1. and yes, soobin’s going to be at the party ;)
You stare at that last line for a beat too long. Something flutters, just faintly, in your stomach, uninvited.
[ you ]
Fine. but if this party ends with me throwing up in a bush i’m holding you personally responsible.
[ heeseung ]
deal. i’ll even hold your hair back. I'm generous like that.
You throw your phone onto the bed, face-down, like it’s suddenly on fire. You don’t know why you agreed. Maybe it’s the part of you that still wants Soobin to notice. Maybe it’s pride, or maybe it’s just the sheer inevitability of Heeseung’s energy, like trying to argue with a hurricane wearing a smug smirk. Whatever the reason, you’re already mentally preparing for tomorrow. Shopping. With Heeseung. A party. With Soobin. A new outfit. A new you. A new mistake waiting to happen. You look down at your empty bulgogi container, sigh, and mutter to no one: “…this is gonna be a disaster.”
The knock on your door comes precisely at 1PM. Not a second early, not a second late. You open it with one shoe half-on, your hoodie sleeve caught in the zipper of your jacket, and your face still half-moisturized. Heeseung is standing there, leaned casually against the doorframe like a page out of a campus fashion catalogue, black jeans, leather jacket, sunglasses perched on his head like he’s just so effortlessly cool it hurts. His hair is slightly tousled, like he either woke up like this or spent an hour pretending he did. “Took you long enough,” he says, not bothering to hide his smirk.
You scowl and step out, slamming the door behind you. “I said ‘one second’ in the text.”
“Yeah, and I translated that from Girl to Human Time. So twenty minutes.” You roll your eyes, but you follow him anyway, because the deal has officially begun. Operation: Get Soobin to Notice You is in motion. Your dignity is already halfway out the window. Heeseung’s car is just what you expect, black, sleek, a little too clean, and filled with the faint scent of cologne, mint gum, and chaos. You barely get your seatbelt clicked in before he revs the engine and peels out of the dorm parking lot like he's in a race you didn’t know you entered.
“Oh my god, slow down!” you yelp, clutching the side handle like it might keep your soul tethered to your body.
“Relax,” he says, one hand lazily gripping the wheel, the other already reaching for the radio. “You’re acting like I don’t drive this road every day.”
“You drive it like you’re being chased, Heeseung.” He only grins in response, eyes still on the road, the picture of reckless confidence. “Maybe I like living on the edge.”
You’re about to fire back another sarcastic quip when the car fills, suddenly, gloriously, with the unmistakable sound of Taylor Swift. Specifically: Cruel Summer. And not the background kind of playing. The volume is up. Way up. Your eyes immediately dart to Heeseung, whose mouth is already moving, quietly at first, almost unconsciously, as he taps the steering wheel to the beat. “I’m drunk in the back of the car… and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar…” Your jaw drops slightly. Because he’s not just mouthing the words. He’s singing. And not in a “ha-ha this song is funny” way. In a felt that in his soul, this is on his heartbreak playlist, probably posted a breakup selfie to this in 2021 kind of way. You try. You really try to stifle the laugh bubbling in your throat. You press your lips together, you bite the inside of your cheek, you turn to the window in dramatic fashion. But it slips out anyway, a full, helpless giggle, light and sudden.
Heeseung cuts his eyes toward you, still softly singing, and raises a brow. “What’s so funny?”
You blink at him innocently. “You like Taylor Swift?” There’s a moment, a beautiful, brief, perfectly humiliating pause, where Heeseung seems to glitch. His mouth opens, then closes, then he looks back at the road like he’s searching for an exit from this conversation.
“I — well, I mean —” he clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “She’s… I mean, it’s just a good song, alright?”
Your laugh doubles, slipping out like sunlight through cracked blinds. “Cruel Summer, though?”
“She’s a lyrical genius,” he mutters, half-defensive, half-sincere. “That bridge? That’s literature.”
You raise your brows, lips twitching. “Quoting T-Swift now? Is this what my tutoring is doing to you?” Heeseung flips you off with absolutely no hesitation, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s laughing now too, eyes squinting as he turns into the mall parking lot with a slightly-too-aggressive swerve.
“Fuck off,” he grins. “You wish you had taste this good.” You hold up your hands in surrender, still giggling. “Okay, okay. I’m not judging.”
“You are judging,” he says, putting the car in park. “But I’ll allow it. Because you’re clearly not emotionally evolved enough to appreciate her catalog yet.”
“Oh my god. Shut up.”
“Nope. We’re listening to Lover next. You’ve brought this upon yourself.”
The mall greets you with its usual blend of too-loud pop music, screaming children, and the sweet, seductive scent of cinnamon pretzels. It’s packed with people, mothers pushing strollers, bored teenagers clinging to oversized shopping bags, couples holding hands like it’s an Olympic sport. You trail behind Heeseung, your feet already regretting your choice of shoes and your soul regretting this entire arrangement. “So what’s first?” you ask, trying not to bump into a mannequin dressed in denim overalls and heartbreak.
Heeseung doesn’t answer right away. He just keeps walking, purposeful, smug, like he’s on a mission from god. Then he abruptly turns left into a store that is suspiciously sleek and minimal. You blink. “Wait—this is…”
“An eyeglass store,” Heeseung finishes for you, already heading toward the back. “But more importantly, contact central.” You halt, crossing your arms. “Excuse me?”
“You’re getting contacts,” he says, matter-of-fact. “The glasses gotta go.”
You look genuinely scandalized. “Hey! I’ll have you know — I love my glasses.” He stops mid-step and slowly turns to face you, one brow arched so high it’s practically touching heaven. “Yes,” he says, voice dry. “Very librarian core. Sexy in a please return your books on time or I’ll gently scold you in a whisper kind of way.”
You roll your eyes so hard you practically see your ancestors. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here you are. Following me into Lens & Style like it’s the promised land.” You’re about to argue more, but the woman behind the counter greets you both with a professional smile, and suddenly you’re being ushered into a little fitting room with sterile lighting and a mirror that shows way too much. A few minutes later, you’re handed a trial pair of contacts and instructed, gently, but firmly, to put them in. It’s harder than it looks. “What do you mean I can’t blink? My entire personality is blinking under pressure!”
Outside the door, Heeseung snorts. “You’re being dramatic.”
“You’re being annoying,” you grumble, poking yourself in the eye again.
After a full five minutes of internal screaming, finger fumbling, and probably some divine intervention, you finally get them in. You blink a few times, adjusting. The world sharpens around the edges. For the first time in forever, you can actually see without the weight of frames perched on your nose. You step out slowly, unsure, blinking into the bright lights of the shop. Heeseung looks up from his phone, his gaze flicking to yours. And then — He freezes. His smirk falters for the briefest of seconds. You see it. You feel it.
“Huh,” he says, slower now. “They… actually look good.”
You raise a brow, tentative. “Yeah?” He shrugs, but there’s something unreadable in his expression now, something softer, quieter. “They make your eyes stand out more.” He pauses, then adds with zero fanfare: “You’ve got nice eyes.” It lands like a piano dropped from ten stories. Simple, direct, and impossible to ignore. You blink, stunned; not just by the words, but by the way he said them. Like it wasn’t a joke. Like he meant it. Before you can formulate an actual response, Heeseung clears his throat and looks away. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, already walking toward the exit. “You can thank me later when Soobin gets whiplash tonight.”
It takes you a beat to follow. Just one. But it’s enough to register that your cheeks are suddenly warm. That your stomach did a weird, traitorous flip. That you hate how a single compliment from Lee freaking Heeseung just turned your brain into a puddle. You push the thought aside and jog to catch up, voice light. “You know, for someone who thinks I look like a librarian, you sure stare a lot.”
He doesn’t look at you, but his mouth twitches into a grin. “You wish.” You do not dignify that with an answer. Mostly because your brain is still back at You’ve got nice eyes. And just like that, with one step out of the eyeglass store and into the fluorescent madness of the mall, the first layer of the old you is left behind.
You’ve barely had time to blink, or process the fact that you’re now navigating the mall with 20/20 vision and a slightly compromised emotional state, when Heeseung is dragging you again. His grip on your wrist is light, but determined, like he’s got an agenda and you’re just a reluctant passenger in the Heeseung Express. You stumble to keep up. “Where are we going now? I need emotional closure before the next attack on my personality.”
He doesn’t even turn around. “Hair.”
“Hair what?”
“Hair cut. Hair styling. Hair lesson. Hair magic. Come on, keep up.” You dig your heels into the tile floor and jerk your arm back. “Heeseung, wait — I did not agree to this. My hair is fine!”
He finally turns, a single amused brow arched in classic Heeseung fashion. “Fine,” he echoes flatly. “That’s the bar now? Fine?”
You cross your arms. “It’s my head.” He takes a step closer, voice dipping into that maddening blend of mockery and charm. He laughs — laughs, the audacity of him, and says, “Relax. It’s just a trim. Maybe some layers. She’s gonna show you how to actually style it too. You know, so it doesn’t look like you were electrocuted every morning before class.”
You gasp in betrayal. “I’m sorry?!”
“Respectfully,” he adds, as if that softens the blow, then gestures for you to follow. “Come on. She doesn’t bite.” You eye the interior of the salon like you’re being led to an altar, but against your better judgment, and possibly because you’re too tired to argue anymore, you follow him.
The girl waiting for you is already at her station, brushing her long, glossy black hair behind one ear. She’s tall, unfairly pretty, and wearing jeans that should be illegal. Her name tag reads “Yuri” in bubble-letter cursive. She sees Heeseung and her entire face lights up like a rom-com montage in reverse. “Heeseung!” she squeals, standing to give him a hug. It’s the kind of hug that lasts exactly one second too long to be casual. “You didn’t say you were coming in today!”
“I didn’t,” he says coolly, his hand barely grazing her back. “Brought a friend.”
You watch the interaction with narrowed eyes. It doesn’t take a genius, or even a whole brain cell, to figure out that these two have history. Whether it was a one-night stand, a few steamy study sessions, or something more dangerous like feelings, you’re not sure. But based on the way Yuri’s eyes immediately slide past you and lock on Heeseung like you’re the invisible girl in the background of her fantasy novel? Yeah. They’ve definitely seen each other naked.
“She’s gonna need a trim and a crash course in how not to commit hair crimes.” Heeseung says, throwing a smirk her way. You open your mouth to protest, again but suddenly Yuri’s hands are in your hair and you’re being guided toward a chair like it’s your fate and destiny. “Don’t worry,” she hums. “I’ll take care of her.”
“She’s fragile,” Heeseung calls after her with a smirk as he saunters toward the waiting bench. “Mentally and emotionally.”
“I will throw a brush at you!” you yell back as he flops onto the bench with his phone. Yuri laughs under her breath and begins to run her fingers through your hair. Her nails are long, her movements graceful, and despite your stubbornness, something about the way she works is oddly calming. For the next half hour, you sit there as she snips and styles and explains how to curl and blow out and not look like you just woke up five minutes ago.
“You’ve got good hair,” she says at one point, combing through a section with reverence. “You just don’t do anything with it.” You shrug in the mirror. “That’s kind of my thing.”
Yuri gets to work with practiced ease, fingers threading through your hair, sectioning, snipping. She hums to herself as she teaches you how to twist certain pieces, how to round-brush volume into your roots, how to flick the straightener just so to create an effortless bend. It’s overwhelming, but oddly empowering. Like you’re being handed the controls to your own spaceship. And somewhere beneath all the bitchy undertones, Yuri’s… actually pretty good at this. You glance toward the waiting bench. Heeseung is slouched with his legs sprawled out, scrolling on his phone like he’s not the reason this spiral of makeovers and feelings is happening at all. Every few minutes he glances up; quick, unassuming, but you catch him watching.
Finally, Yuri steps back. “Alright,” she says, tugging off the cape with a flourish. “Moment of truth.” You turn slowly toward the mirror. And okay, fine. You look… kind of amazing. Your hair isn’t drastically different, just sleeker. Softer around the edges. Effortlessly polished in that “I woke up like this but with money and a personal stylist” kind of way. It frames your face, brings out your eyes, makes you look like someone who chose to be seen instead of hiding behind glass and sarcasm. You stand, still a little dazed, and make your way over to Heeseung. He looks up just as you reach him, and something flickers in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything right away.
But then — He grins. That slow, crooked, effortlessly smug grin. “She’s a miracle worker,” he says to Yuri, standing and pulling out his wallet. “Put it on my card.”
Yuri takes it with a wink. “You’re welcome.”
“Thanks, Yuri. I’ll call you.” He says, with the offer a wink in her direction.
She swoons. “You better.”
Once you’re outside, you finally say it, because someone has to. “You’re not going to call her.”
“Nope,” he replies, the ‘p’ popping off his lips like punctuation.
You shake your head in disbelief. “You are such a menace.”
“I prefer charming rascal,” he says, holding the door open for you like a true gentleman-shaped disaster. “Besides, she’s into guys who ghost her. Keeps the fantasy alive.”
You groan. “You’re actually insane.” He only shrugs, hands in his pockets, strolling beside you with the ease of someone who has never questioned his place in the world.
The moment your feet hit the tile floor of the clothing store, you know this is going to be a disaster. The air is thick with overpriced perfume and the walls are lined with mannequins posed like they’re judging you. Bright lights buzz overhead, harsh and clinical, and the racks seem to stretch into infinity, each one more chaotic than the last. There are sequin jackets tangled with pastel blouses, jeans with more holes than fabric, and crop tops that look like they were designed for dolls, not human beings. You glance around, disoriented. “There is… absolutely nothing here I’d wear.”
Heeseung, of course, looks completely in his element. He’s already moving through the racks like a man on a mission, pulling shirts and skirts and things that glitter ominously. “That’s the point,” he says over his shoulder, tossing a fringed jacket onto the growing pile in his arms. “You’re not supposed to wear what you’d wear. We’re evolving.”
“Into what? A disco ball?”
“No,” he replies seriously, “into the kind of girl Soobin stares at across the room and forgets how to blink.” You roll your eyes and reach for a flannel shirt, your comfort zone. Heeseung is there in half a second, gently slapping your hand away. “Nope. Absolutely not.”
“But—”
He points toward the dressing room. “Try these first. And don’t come out until you’ve mentally committed to the bit.” You sigh, arms loaded with fabrics you didn’t even know existed. The dressing room is small and slightly claustrophobic, and the first outfit you try on feels like something a pop star would wear to confuse the paparazzi. You step out hesitantly, tugging at the edges of the bright green top that’s two sizes too tight. Heeseung blinks.
Then he bursts out laughing. “You look like a glow stick in crisis.”
You snort, your face burning. “Okay, rude.” The next outfit is worse: a ruffled floral monstrosity that looks like it belongs in an 1800s romance novel, if that novel had a comedic twist.
Heeseung cackles. “You’re one bonnet away from becoming Pride and Prejudice’s chaotic cousin.” You both descend into full-blown laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and your eyes water. It's ridiculous, how quickly the walls fall between you when you're in this bubble of absurdity, trying on outfits and exchanging insults like secrets. He calls you a fashion war crime. You call him a menace with too much confidence. He claims he’s got the eye of a stylist. You tell him that eye is clearly blind. But somewhere along the way, the laughter shifts. It softens. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, he starts watching you differently.
You don’t notice it at first, not until you slip into the last dress. It’s simple. No sequins, no plunging neckline, no look-at-me theatrics. Just soft black silk that clings gently to your frame, the neckline a graceful square that highlights your collarbones, the hem brushing just above your knees. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, surprised. It’s not flashy. It’s not dramatic. But it feels like you, the version of you that’s always been hiding underneath. You take a breath, then step out of the dressing room.
Heeseung is on the bench, scrolling through his phone, completely unprepared. He glances up, probably ready with another quip, but the second he sees you, he stops. His phone lowers slowly in his hand. His mouth parts. And he just… stares. For the first time since this entire makeover madness began, Lee Heeseung is speechless. You shift awkwardly under his gaze, tugging at the hem of the dress. “Is it—do I look weird? Be honest.” He doesn’t answer.
You take a hesitant step forward, heart thudding. “Heeseung?”
He blinks, like you pulled him from a dream, and then, because he’s Heeseung, he smirks and shrugs. “That’ll do for tonight, I suppose.”
You scoff and roll your eyes, but the flush on your cheeks betrays you. “Wow. High praise. I’m overwhelmed.” He grins, leaning back and resting one arm behind his head. “Don’t let it get to your head. We’re going for hot, not heart attack-inducing.”
You disappear back into the dressing room before he can see the stupid smile tugging at your lips. Your heart feels like it’s doing somersaults, and not because of Soobin. You shake the thought from your head, firmly, stubbornly, and change back into your jeans and hoodie. A few minutes later, you’re at the register, watching the cashier ring up the pile of clothes that feel like pieces of someone new. Someone a little braver. A little shinier. A little less invisible. Heeseung stands beside you, smug and satisfied, like he just built you in a lab.
The cashier announces the total, and before you can even reach for your wallet, Heeseung slides his card across the counter. “On me.”
Your head snaps toward him. “Heeseung, what?”
He just winks. “Don’t worry. I’ll bill you in character development. The cashier bags the clothes, and you step back into the mall with your arms full of potential and your brain full of questions.
After the last store spits you out, bags in hand, Heeseung’s wallet lighter, your soul slightly transformed, Heeseung glances at the clock on his phone and says, “Okay. Next stop: food court. I need carbs before I collapse.”
You blink at him, momentarily stunned. “You eat pizza like the rest of us?”
He shoots you a look. “ I don’t just eat pizza. I inhale it. Come on.” Your stomach growls before your feet can move, and suddenly you realize that in all the chaos, makeup, mirrors, the emotionally unsettling event of someone finding you attractive, you forgot to eat. Now that he’s mentioned it, you’re starving. Practically feral. You follow him past vendors and kiosks, the scent of fried food and cinnamon sugar swirling through the air. The food court is loud and crowded, but there’s something strangely comforting about it, the normalcy of it, the fluorescent lights and orange booths, the chatter of families and teenagers and friends grabbing greasy comfort.
Heeseung gets in line beside you at the pizza place, his arms still casually swinging at his sides like this is just another day. “What’s your poison?”
You glance at the menu. “Uh… pepperoni. And a soda.” He nods and orders for you both, without asking, like he’s already memorized the way you talk, the things you like. You’re about to protest, but then he’s paying with that same black card he flashed earlier and nudging you toward a table like it’s no big deal. You settle into a booth across from him, the tray between you bearing two steaming slices and a pair of plastic cups filled to the brim with soda. The first bite is practically a religious experience, greasy, cheesy, absolutely glorious.
Heeseung watches you with mild amusement. “You eat like you’ve just returned from war.”
“I have,” you say, voice muffled around a bite. “Battlefield: retail.”
He snorts and takes a sip of his drink. Then, after a pause, his expression shifts. “So… have you ever actually spoken to Soobin?”
You freeze mid-bite, the cheese stretching between your lips and the slice. You blink. “Define spoken.”
He raises a brow. “Words. Sentences. Preferably involving two-way communication.”
You swallow and clear your throat. “I, uh, once held the computer lab door open for him.” He’s already laughing. You roll your eyes, cheeks flaming. “He said thank you!”
Heeseung grins, eyes crinkling. “Wow. A whole conversation. Do you guys have an anniversary for that?”
You smack his arm lightly across the table. “Shut up.”
He rubs the spot like you wounded him. “Abuse. I’m calling my lawyer.” You giggle despite yourself, hiding it behind your soda. There’s something so stupidly easy about sitting here with him. You forget you’re supposed to be awkward and invisible. You forget that you’re the DUF. You’re just… you. Which is why the next thing he says nearly gives you whiplash. “Alright,” he declares, brushing crumbs off his hands. “I dare you to flirt with that guy and get his number.”
You nearly choke on your drink. “Excuse me?” He gestures with a nod to a guy sitting alone across the food court, mid-twenties, dark hair, nose in his phone, clearly minding his own business.
“No way,” you say immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on. This is training. You want Soobin, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then get off the bench and into the game.”
You narrow your eyes. “Easy for you to say. You flirt like it’s breathing.”
He smirks. “Because it is.”
And then — he stands up. Before you can even form a sentence, Heeseung is already strolling toward a girl seated at a table nearby, casual and charming, like this is something he does between errands. You watch, jaw slack, as he leans in and says something that makes her smile, tilt her head, laugh. He gestures to his phone, and she takes it without hesitation, tapping her number in and handing it back with a wink. Heeseung returns, smug as a cat, holding his phone out to you like a trophy. “See?” he says, displaying the fresh new contact with flourish. “Easy peasy.”
You stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “I hate you.”
He just shrugs. “Hate me from over there,” he says, pointing again at the guy with the phone. “Go on. Play dumb, but not that dumb. Guys love that shit.”
“I am dumb,” you hiss. “There is no playing.”
“Perfect. Just be your beautiful, awkward self.” Muttering every curse you know, you stand up and start toward the guy. It’s awful. You clear your throat. He doesn’t look up.
You fidget, then say, “Hi!”
He blinks, surprised. “Um. Hi.”
You force a smile. “I like your… phone.” He blinks again. You want to die. “I mean — I like your case! It’s… very rectangular. Classic. Minimalist.”
He looks mildly alarmed. “Thanks?” You attempt a laugh that comes out sounding like a cough. “Sooo, um, are you… single?”
His eyes dart nervously around. “I… I have a boyfriend.”
“OH!” you blurt. “Oh, my bad. I totally support that. I’m not… you know. Homophobic. Or anything.” You want to crawl into a vent and disappear. He offers a small, polite smile. “Have a good day.” And he’s gone, up and out, food tray abandoned. You turn slowly, walking back to the table where Heeseung is laughing so hard he’s red in the face, wheezing into his pizza slice like it’s keeping him alive.
You slump into the seat. “That was a hate crime.”
“That,” he says between snorts, “was the best thing I’ve ever seen. Ever.”
You glare at him. “I hope your soda spills on your lap.” Still grinning, he slides your tray toward you and raises his cup. “To improvement.” You clink your soda against his without smiling. But your heart’s laughing anyway.
When Heeseung pulls up to your dorm, it’s with a dramatic screech of tires and the kind of recklessly confident parking job that screams I’ve never paid a meter in my life. He leans over the center console, smirking at you as you gather your bags of shopping and your still-wobbly self-esteem from the floor of his car. “Alright,” he says, eyes scanning the bags. “You have everything you need to socially destroy the night.”
You roll your eyes. “Thanks, fairy godmother.”
He winks. “I’m hotter than a fairy godmother. And taller.” You snort, slamming the car door behind you and flipping him off over your shoulder. He cackles, the sound following you up the stairs of your dorm and into the echoing silence of your room. Once you’re inside, the weight of the next few hours settles in your stomach like a boulder. You place the shopping bags carefully on your bed, smoothing the edges of the tissue paper like they might calm your nerves. Heeseung said he’d be back at 9 p.m. sharp to pick you up, which gives you a little over three hours to get ready. Three hours to transform. Three hours to convince yourself that you’re not the DUF anymore.
You spend the first half-hour just staring at yourself in the mirror. No makeup, hair messy, hoodie baggy and beloved. You look… like you. Regular. Quiet. Familiar.
You text Heeseung:
“Okay so do I have to wear the mini skirt???”
His reply is instant. “Yes. And send pics. I’m the boss, remember?” You grumble, but slip into the skirt anyway and pair it with a halter top he claimed made your arms look “objectively illegal.” You take a mirror selfie, looking reluctant, and send it off. Within seconds, he replies: “Too ‘I work at a bar and hate my life.’”
You snort, throw the top across the room, and try again. Next outfit: jeans and a crop top. You pose. Click. Send “Cute. But it’s giving ‘we’re just friends.’” You flip him off through text “Try the dress. You know the one.”
You hesitate. That dress. The black silk one, the one that made his words stutter and his eyes flicker. The one that didn’t feel like you were trying to be anyone else, just a bolder version of yourself. You pull it out carefully, fingers gliding across the fabric like it might whisper back. Slowly, you slip it on. It fits like it did in the store. Soft, secure, like a secret. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and for a second… you see it. You see her. The girl who could walk into a party and turn heads. The girl who could maybe, just maybe, make Soobin notice. You send the picture.
Heeseung replies: “Jesus.” Then, seconds later: “That’s the one.”
No teasing. No jokes. Just those three words that knock your heart off-balance. You set your phone down, exhale slowly. Then, the routine begins. You do your makeup with trembling hands, lashes curled, liner precise, lips tinted a soft rose. Your hair falls the way Yuri taught you, soft waves that frame your face and catch the light. You spray perfume on your wrists, your collarbones, the backs of your knees. A whisper of vanilla and hope. You put on your jewelry, simple earrings, the necklace that sits perfectly in the hollow of your throat. You take one last look in the mirror. You don’t recognize her, but you like her.
Then, your phone rings. The name “Heeseung 💀” flashes on the screen. You answer, voice caught somewhere between a smile and a scream. “Hello?”
“Hey,” he says, casual and breezy like this isn’t the first time he’s hearing your voice dressed like this. “I’m outside.” Your stomach flips.
You grab your bag, give yourself one more desperate glance in the mirror, and whisper to your reflection, “Don’t trip. Don’t choke. Don’t die.” Then you’re out the door, the echo of your footsteps ringing down the hall, your heart doing somersaults in your chest.
The car is sleek and stupidly shiny, purring low like it knows it’s hot. You spot it the moment you step outside your dorm building, standing at the edge of the sidewalk like you’re on the brink of a red carpet. And standing against it, leaning like he was born to be the poster child for a Calvin Klein fragrance, is Heeseung. He looks up as you approach, and even in the dim lighting of campus streetlamps, his smile flickers into something that nearly knocks you over. He’s wearing all black, ripped jeans, a bomber jacket, his signature messy hair that probably took way too long to make look that effortless. You don’t want to say he looks good, because that feels too generous. He looks... unfair. Rude. And worse? He knows it. He gives you a once-over, slow and obvious. “Damn,” he says, like he’s complimenting you and mocking you in the same breath. “You clean up alright.”
You roll your eyes, clutching your purse a little tighter. “You’re not so bad yourself. For a menace.”
He smirks and pops open the passenger door for you with an exaggerated flourish. “M’lady.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart skips a beat anyway as you slide into the seat, the cool leather against your thighs making you realize just how very real this is. You’re on your way to the party. With Lee Heeseung. In a black silk dress and mascara that took you 45 minutes to get right. Breathe. The drive is short, just a few blocks away in one of those off-campus houses you’ve only ever seen through the haze of Instagram stories and hearsay. But your nerves are anything but short. They’ve curled into your stomach, wound tight around your ribs, pressed against the back of your throat. You grip the strap of your bag like it’s a lifeline.
You’ve been to parties before, sure. But never without Dani and Sakura. Without their protective, familiar presence to anchor you in the sea of bodies and music and beer breath. Without their shared eye-rolls and whispered commentary and midnight giggles on the walk home. And now… now you don’t even know if they’ll be there. Scratch that. You know they will. You just don’t want to see them. Not tonight. Not when you're dressed like this. Not when you're trying so hard to become someone new.
You barely realize the car’s stopped until Heeseung throws it into park. You’re frozen, staring out the window at the glittering string lights draped across the porch, the thump of bass already vibrating through the concrete. There are people everywhere, laughing, shouting, spilling out onto the lawn like they’ve never had a quiet thought in their lives. You’re going to puke. Heeseung glances over, and; because he’s Heeseung, he notices immediately. “You good?” he asks, casual but careful. “You look like you’re about to get drafted into war.”
You force a laugh, but it’s brittle. “I’m fine.”
“Liar.” You glance at him, cheeks hot. “Okay, I’m just… nervous.”
He nods like he gets it, and maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. But his voice is soft when he says, “Hey. Look at me.” You do. “Everything’s gonna be cool,” he says, with a cocky grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You look insane, by the way. Like, criminal levels of hot. If Soobin doesn’t fold tonight, he’s legally blind.”
That earns a weak laugh from you, and he nudges your shoulder gently. “Just remember who got you here when you’re famous on campus by Monday.”
You snort. “You mean when they put me in GroupMe memes for tripping over my heels and knocking over a keg?”
Heeseung grins. “Even better. Instant legend status.” You breathe out, shaky but a little more stable now. “Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s do this.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
He laughs, throwing open the door. “That’s the spirit.”
You step out onto the curb, your heels clicking against the pavement like you’re a contestant on America’s Next Nervous Breakdown. But still, you stand up straighter. Shoulders back. Head high. You smooth the hem of your dress and tell yourself this is what you came here for. To show them. To show yourself. Heeseung falls into step beside you, his hand brushing against yours, not quite touching, but close enough to anchor you. Together, you walk toward the house, the music growing louder with every step. Somewhere behind the front door, the party waits. Soobin waits. They might be waiting too. But for now; it’s just you. And Heeseung. And the version of you that’s ready to finally be seen.
The moment the front door swings open, you’re hit with a wall of noise and heat, thick and heady like you’ve just stepped into the center of a beating heart. The bass is thudding through the floorboards, lights pulsing with every drop of the music, and bodies are everywhere, moving, swaying, tangled up in each other, laughter and shouting and the occasional high-pitched squeal blending together like some chaotic symphony of college nightlife. It’s not your first party, not technically, but it’s your first this kind of party, this kind of entrance. Not as a background extra or the girl carrying everyone’s phones. No hoodie, no glasses, no fading into the wallpaper.
Tonight, you’re a main character. And Heeseung is your entrance music. He walks in first, easy and smooth, like the world shifts to make room for him. His presence is magnetic, and it pulls eyes toward the doorway like gravity. The second you step through behind him, heels tapping softly, dress swishing around your thighs like smoke, there’s a ripple. You feel it. Heads turning. Conversations pausing. The hush of recognition so subtle you might miss it, if your nerves weren’t already on fire.
You try not to look around too much. You try to look confident. Poised. Detached, even. You tilt your chin up like you belong, even though your hands are clammy and your stomach is doing Olympic-level gymnastics. You’re hyper-aware of everything: the way the strap of your dress slides against your shoulder, the way your perfume clings to the heat of your skin, the soft creak of your heels on the hardwood floor. You catch flashes of recognition from familiar faces, faces that used to glance right through you, now blinking, staring, mouths parted, whispering behind their solo cups. And you? You just keep walking. Heeseung’s friends spot him in the far corner of the room, near a low couch littered with bags of chips and someone’s half-eaten box of pizza. The greetings are instant, shoulder claps, finger guns, head nods and booming “Yo!”s that feel like something out of a movie. Sunghoon practically lunges forward, clapping Heeseung on the back like he’s just returned from war. Beomgyu pulls him into one of those half-hugs that somehow involve three back slaps and an awkward shoulder bump. Jay and Jake both pipe up at once about someone from class asking for him earlier, their voices fighting over the music. And for a second, you’re forgotten.
You stand a little off to the side, hands awkwardly clasped in front of you, smile hovering uncertainly on your lips. You’re not mad, they haven’t seen each other in a bit, and the reunion energy is real, but the awkward ache settles in your chest anyway, that old too-familiar feeling of being adjacent to the fun but not quite in it. Until Sunghoon finally turns toward you, and freezes. His eyebrows shoot up so far they practically disappear into his hairline. His eyes flick over you, slow and not particularly subtle, dragging from the hem of your dress to the curve of your collarbone to your lips like he’s trying to solve a riddle with his eyeballs. “Uh… who’s this?”
Beomgyu leans in, squinting in your direction like he’s staring directly into the sun. “Wait. Are you new? Like, transfer student new? Heeseung, bro, you didn’t say you were bringing someone.” Heeseung, who is somehow already sipping a drink he didn’t have two seconds ago, sighs and smacks Beomgyu lightly on the back of the head.
“She’s not new,” Heeseung says casually. “You guys know her.”
Jay looks genuinely confused. “We do?”
ake leans sideways to get a better look at you. “Hold on…” Heeseung glances at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, with perfect comedic timing and just enough pride to make your knees wobble, he says your name like it was obvious. To them, it was not and for some reason that twisted you up inside.
There is a silence. Then, chaos. “NO FREAKING WAY.” Sunghoon’s voice actually cracks. “Shut up. Shut UP.” Beomgyu’s mouth falls open. “You’re lying. This is not hoodie-and-sweatpants Y/N. This is, like — TikTok viral-level hot girl Y/N. You’re telling me it’s the same person?” You’re half-laughing, half-dying inside. You glance away, cheeks burning, unsure what to do with your hands or your face or your entire existence. This wasn’t supposed to feel like a scene from a teen makeover movie, but, well. Here you are.
“She’s always looked like this,” Heeseung says coolly, giving them a look that says don’t push it. “You just never paid attention.” The group stumbles over themselves with backpedaling compliments, Sunghoon muttering something about your eyes, Jake saying you look “like a star,” and Beomgyu still acting like he just saw a unicorn. You’re saved from having to respond by Heeseung, who, clearly reading your overwhelmed expression, tosses out casually, “You guys seen Soobin?”
Jay shakes his head. “Not yet. Might be outside?” Heeseung nods, and without another word, he reaches down and grabs your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, the contact is sudden and warm and firm, and you don’t even think, you just let him pull you through the crowd, dodging plastic cups and tangled limbs as he weaves toward the kitchen. Your hand stays in his the whole way. You don’t ask why. You don’t let yourself hope. When you reach the drink table, he finally lets go, only to pour you something in a red cup and hand it to you like a bartender with a mission.
“You alive?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.
You take the cup, roll your eyes, and murmur, “Barely.”
Heeseung clinks his cup against yours, grin widening. “You’re killing it.”
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, voice just loud enough to cut through the bass thumping behind you. It’s gentler than you expect, free of teasing or sarcasm.
You nod automatically. “Yeah, I’m—”
“Y/N?!” The sound of your name rips through the music like a siren. You freeze. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. You’d know those voices anywhere. They’re carved into your memory, every syllable, every cadence, familiar and aching in the way only ex-best friends can be. Still, you turn.
Dani and Sakura are standing there, half in disbelief, half in judgment. Their eyes rake down your body, from the sleek dress hugging your frame to the careful curls in your hair. Their mouths are parted like they can’t decide whether to gasp or laugh. Sakura tilts her head. “What… are you doing here?”
Dani crosses her arms. “And with him?”
You glance back at Heeseung for half a second, who hasn’t said a word yet, just watching them with a slight furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips. You force a breath out of your nose and turn back to the girls, your grip tightening around your drink. You let out a laugh. It’s sharp and hollow and lined with every quiet insult they’ve ever made sound like a joke. “What?” you say, voice laced in dry amusement. “Surprised someone like Heeseung would want to hang out with me?” They flinch, barely, but you catch it. Dani opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You don’t wait.
You take a step closer, letting your voice drop, cold and brittle like breaking glass. “Why do you guys even care? Huh? You didn’t seem to care when you were calling me the DUF behind my back.”
Sakura’s expression twists. “We never—”
“This isn’t you, Y/N,” Dani cuts in, voice brittle. “The dress. The makeup. Hanging out with Heeseung? This isn’t who you are.” Your jaw clenches. The words burn, not because they’re true, but because they’re not. Because they’re laced with that same tired condescension, the same kind of backhanded care that always kept you two steps behind, like they wanted you close but never quite caught up. But before you can speak, a sudden warmth settles across your shoulders. Heeseung. His arm slips over you with ease, casual but claiming, protective but not possessive. His fingers brush the edge of your shoulder, and his voice is laced with syrupy sarcasm.
“We’d love to stay and chit-chat,” he drawls, flashing the girls a lazy grin, “but we’ve got somewhere to be.” And just like that, he doesn’t give them another second. He tugs you away gently, steering you through the party with surprising precision, hand resting firmly on your upper back as he guides you toward the back of the house. You don’t look back. You don’t want to see their faces. You’re too stunned, too angry, too relieved. Your heart is racing and your pulse is pounding and your vision is a little too bright. He opens the back door, and the cooler night air hits you like a blessing. You step out onto the porch, the noise of the party muffled behind the closed door. Fairy lights are strung across the railing, casting a soft gold glow over the wooden planks and the few potted plants half-dead in their corners. It’s quieter here. Private.
You suck in a breath and finally speak. “Thank you.”
Heeseung leans against the porch railing, glancing sideways at you. “For what?”
You give him a look. “For that. For getting me out of there.”
He shrugs, eyes flicking away. “It’s no big deal.”
You watch him for a moment, heart still unsteady. “It is, though.” He finally meets your gaze again, and for a moment, the cocky smile slips away. His eyes are dark and unreadable, but his voice is soft when he says, “They don’t get to make you feel like that. No one does.” You feel something twist in your chest. Something warm. Something dangerous. For a second, the two of you just… stand there. The silence stretches out, thick and humming with unspoken things. Heeseung’s hand is still in his pocket, but his shoulder is just barely touching yours now. Not quite close enough to be a statement, but close enough to feel like a promise.
The quiet of the back porch doesn’t last long. It breaks like glass, sharp and immediate, at the sound of stilettos clacking against the wood. You feel the shift before you see it. A cool draft. A wrongness. And then, the syrupy sweet voice that makes your spine stiffen and your heart drop. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”
Wonyoung stood there, draped in a skin-tight red dress that clings like a threat, hair curled into perfect waves, and lips painted a venomous shade of cherry. She walks like the world’s her stage, and you’re just an extra lucky to be in the background. Her smile is the kind that cuts, sharp and gleaming, like she knows something you don’t. Your heart sinks because you remember. You remember her words last time: “Stay away from Heeseung.” You didn’t listen. Maybe you thought she wouldn’t notice. Maybe a part of you hoped she didn’t mean it. But she’s here now, and she’s looking at you like a hunter cornering something helpless. Heeseung straightens beside you, his entire body going taut like a wire pulled too tight. “What do you want, Wonyoung?” he says, voice clipped.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she saunters closer and, without warning, nudges you aside with the ease of someone who’s always taken up too much space. Her hand slides onto Heeseung’s shoulder like she owns it, like she’s done it a thousand times before. But Heeseung jerks away instantly, his jaw clenching as he shrugs her off like her touch burned. Still, Wonyoung smiles. “Hee… I miss you.” He doesn’t answer. Not at first. He just glances at you. And the look in his eyes, God, it’s something between apology and warning and please just trust me. But you don’t know how to read it, not really. Not when your stomach is twisting in knots and your voice is caught in your throat.
“Hey, Wonyoung…” you manage, your tone so high and squeaky you want to slap yourself. Wonyoung turns, slow as a villain in a teen drama, and actually groans, like your existence is somehow the inconvenience of the century. She eyes you up and down with obvious disdain before deadpanning, “What do you want?”
You blink, caught off guard. “Uh—I was just—” But she’s already looking away, like you don’t matter. Like you’re nothing more than a gnat buzzing in her ear. It’s humiliating. It’s infuriating. But you don’t say anything. You just shrink a little smaller.
She turns back to Heeseung, pressing forward again like she hasn’t just made you feel two inches tall. “We’re playing spin the bottle,” she says brightly, batting her lashes. “Wanna join?”
Heeseung lets out a dry laugh. “What are we, high schoolers?” His voice is full of disbelief. “Isn’t that a kids game?”
Wonyoung just shrugs, undeterred. “Still works.”
Before he can argue again, she latches her fingers around his wrist and tugs. You don’t know if it’s the surprise or the fact that he’s clearly outnumbered, but he lets her drag him halfway across the porch. You don’t even realize you’re following until you’re inside again, the noise swallowing you whole. The crowd’s shifted, coalescing into a rough circle on the living room floor. The center of attention now: an empty bottle spinning slowly on the wood, the air buzzing with half-drunken laughter and anticipation. You spot Dani and Sakura immediately. They’re sitting between Jake and Sunghoon, giggling, whispering, stealing glances at you. But there’s something different now. Not amusement. Not judgment. Pity. It glimmers on their faces like a sheen of sweat, and it makes something cold spark in your chest. You hate it. You’d rather be ignored than pitied. You tear your gaze away.
“Finally you’re here! Join us!” Wonyoung’s voice rings out, shrill and triumphant. Soobin. He was here, oh god. Your heart lurches at the sight of him. He’s dressed in a white tee and a leather jacket, hair falling perfectly across his forehead, the picture of cool detachment. He smiles slightly as he joins the circle, settling next to Beomgyu without much fanfare. He hasn’t even seen you yet. But suddenly the air in the room is thinner. The lights are harsher. Every breath feels like an effort. This is what you came for, isn’t it? The moment you’ve been chasing. The whole reason you let Heeseung drag you to the mall, to the salon, through an identity transformation that’s still barely settled on your shoulders. You should be thrilled. But instead, all you can feel is this strange, gnawing pressure. You glance at Heeseung, who’s already watching Soobin, something unreadable flickering across his features. Then his gaze shifts to you. There’s tension there. Tight. Heavy. Loaded. And it hits you: the game has started. And you’re no longer sure whose rules you’re playing by.
You watch as people had their turns with the bottle, watching as the glass spun round and round giving someone their fate for the night and finally after countless spins — it was your turn. The bottle spun with a nervous flick of your fingers, clinking softly against the scratched wood floor as it twirled, and you felt your stomach turn with it. Around you, drunken laughter swirled like smoke, the heat of the crowded living room pressing in from all sides. Someone let out a whistle, another person shouted encouragement, and Wonyoung was watching you with narrowed eyes, her arms crossed like she was waiting for you to fall flat on your face. But none of that mattered right now. None of it mattered because that damned bottle had chosen a direction, and it was pointing straight at Soobin. You could barely breathe.
Soobin tilted his head, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a soft, almost apologetic smile, the kind that made your lungs feel like they were filled with helium. His gaze was kind, nonjudgmental. Gentle, even. As if to say “It’s okay if you say no. I won’t be mad.” And God, did that make it worse. Because now the ball was in your court. Your palms were sweating. Your heart pounded so loudly you couldn’t hear the party anymore. Just the roar of blood in your ears. You’d dreamed of this. Fantasized about this exact moment for years. The idea of kissing Soobin had always seemed like something that belonged to a different version of you, a cooler, prettier, worthier version. And yet here you were. Inches from it. One lean forward and you'd touch lips. And still, panic dug into you like claws.
Your mind spiraled in frantic loops. What if I mess it up? What if I bump noses with him? What if my breath smells like the pizza from earlier? What if my lipstick smudges? What if I suck at it and he tells everyone? And more than anything; do I even want my first kiss to be like this? In front of Wonyoung, Dani, Sakura, and twenty semi-drunk strangers? But before you could finish the spiral, Heeseung’s hand gently curled around your wrist. His fingers were warm, grounding. You turned your head slightly, and he leaned in, his voice brushing against the shell of your ear, low and sincere. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured. “We can leave. Right now.”
You paused. That offer, so casual, so safe, it nearly undid you. You looked at him, and for a brief second the noise of the party dropped away. Just Heeseung and his eyes, steady and unreadable. Ready to walk you out of this chaos with zero judgment. But then your gaze flicked across the circle and found Wonyoung, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable but unmistakably sharp. You couldn’t back down. Not now. Not in front of her. “I’m fine,” you whispered, offering Heeseung the tiniest smile, even if it felt wobbly and weak. “I got this.” Reluctantly, he let your wrist go. And so, heart pounding like a drumline, you leaned in. Soobin did too.
Your faces were so close now you could feel the warmth of his breath, smell the faint citrus of his cologne. You were trying not to close your eyes too soon, but you didn’t know the rules. Were there rules? Were you supposed to count to three? Tilt your head? Your brain screamed at you to stop, to run, to — “COPS!” The word cracked through the house like a gunshot.
In an instant, the entire room exploded. Screams. Shouting. Feet slamming against hardwood. Red solo cups hitting the floor and rolling away. Someone knocked over a lamp, plunging half the room into shadow. The panic was immediate and real, like someone had hit a switch that turned this party into a stampede. You didn’t even get a second to blink before Heeseung was yanking you to your feet. “Come on!” he yelled, wrapping his fingers around yours and hauling you after him through the chaos.
You barely had time to register what was happening before you were stumbling through the living room, dodging people vaulting over furniture and crawling through open windows. The entire party had turned feral. Shouting echoed off the walls, red and blue lights flickered from the front yard, and someone shouted something about hiding in the attic. Heeseung didn’t slow. His hand tightened on yours as he dragged you through the kitchen, shouldering past people, and out the back door. The backyard was even more chaotic. Students were climbing fences, squeezing through hedges, and ducking behind trash cans. You stared at the wooden fence in front of you, at least six feet high, and made a sound somewhere between a groan and a gasp.
“You want me to jump that?” you cried.
“Unless you want your mugshot posted in tomorrow’s student newsletter — yes!” With an ungraceful huff, you hiked up your dress and clambered over the fence, scraping your knee on the way down and landing hard in someone’s overgrown backyard. Heeseung followed right after, barely phased, landing beside you with an effortless thud.
“This way!” so you ran. Breath tearing out of your lungs, dress flapping around your legs, adrenaline pounding through your veins, you ran like your life depended on it. You didn’t stop until Heeseung’s car was in view, parked two blocks down. You practically dove into the passenger seat as he slid behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. He turned the key, the engine roared to life, and the tires screamed against the pavement as he peeled off into the street like a getaway driver in a movie.
You didn’t even speak for the first few seconds, just sat there panting, adrenaline still racing through your bloodstream, chest heaving as the lights and shouting faded behind you. Then, you looked at each other. And burst out laughing. Full, uncontrollable, hysterical laughter. The kind that curled your stomach and left tears in your eyes. You laughed until your lungs hurt. Heeseung clutched the steering wheel with one hand, his other wiping tears from his face. “I almost kissed Soobin,” you gasped out between wheezes.
“And then almost got arrested,” he choked out. “Honestly? 10/10 night.”
You threw your head back, still laughing. “That was insane.”
He grinned at you, cheeks flushed, hair a mess from the mad dash. “You’re kinda fun when you’re not busy hating me, you know that?”
You smiled, your heart slowing in your chest. Outside, the streets blurred past your window. Inside, something was starting to settle. Shift. Change. “I don’t hate you.” You whisper. You were supposed to kiss Soobin tonight. Instead… you ran away with Heeseung. The laughter between you and Heeseung had started to quiet, settling into the thick silence that sometimes follows a shared moment, like the tide pulling back after a crash of waves. It lingered in the air, warm and easy, the kind of laughter that left your chest aching in the best way. You wiped at the corners of your eyes, breath still uneven from giggling so hard, and turned to look at Heeseung.
He was already watching you. His eyes sparkled under the dim glow of the car’s interior lights, lips curled into a half-smile, like he was still amused by the chaos you both narrowly escaped. Then, he tilted his head, that boyish grin deepening. “You were really going to kiss Soobin just now,” he said, like he still couldn’t believe it. You tried to smile back, to laugh it off, but something in your chest twisted unexpectedly. The corners of your mouth dipped, your gaze fell to your lap, and your fingers began nervously toying with your fingers.
Heeseung noticed immediately. The smile on his face slipped, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in annoyance, but concern. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning just a bit closer. “What’s wrong? I thought this is what you wanted?” You swallowed. The words caught in your throat, all scrambled and fragile. You didn’t want to say it. You hadn’t said it out loud to anyone. It was too revealing, too… vulnerable. But something about Heeseung, the steadiness in his gaze, the quiet way he was looking at you now like you mattered, made you trust him in a way that startled you. So you said it.
“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” It came out softer than you intended. Barely above a whisper. But it landed between you with the weight of something unspoken for too long. Heeseung didn’t react right away. He didn’t laugh or make a teasing comment. Instead, he just looked at you. His eyes searched yours for something, you weren’t sure what, maybe the why of it, or maybe just the simple truth. But whatever it was, he found it, because after a moment, he nodded, his voice quiet and sincere. “I can teach you.”
You blinked. “What?”
He nodded again, slower this time. No smirk. No hint of mischief. Just quiet seriousness. “I can teach you,” he repeated, “so you’re not inexperienced when you finally get Soobin.” The words felt… strange. Like something cold and sharp and warm all at once. You weren’t sure what to say, your heart skipping beats like it couldn’t keep up. “You’d really do that?” you asked, voice barely audible.
Heeseung leaned back just enough to look at you fully. “Yeah,” he said. “If you want.” And you did. You didn’t know why. You didn’t know what it meant. But you wanted to. So you nodded. “Okay.” He leaned over the center console, his arm brushing against yours, and suddenly the space between you shrank to something small and intimate. You felt the electricity buzz in the air like static clinging to skin, your pulse racing louder than your thoughts.
You swallowed. “What if I’m bad at it?”
He smiled softly, not in a mocking way but like someone offering reassurance. “That’s why I’m teaching you,” he said. Then, his hand lifted, slow and steady, brushing your hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. His touch was featherlight, the pad of his thumb just grazing your cheek. “You want to set the tone,” he murmured. “Don’t just dive right in.” You nodded, breath caught somewhere between your chest and lips, and then — He kissed you. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rough or overwhelming. It was soft. Intentional. Like he was holding the moment between his hands and molding it into something gentle. His lips were warm, firm but cautious, and he kissed you like he was afraid to scare you off. Like you were something rare. Precious. Fragile.
Your eyes fluttered shut, your hand lifting without thinking to rest gently against his arm. You melted, leaned into him. The world slowed down. The roar in your head dulled to a soft hum. The nervous energy in your chest unwound, slowly replaced by a kind of comfort that made your skin hum. When he pulled away, it was only by inches. His forehead almost rested against yours. His breathing matched yours, shaky and a little uneven. His voice was barely a whisper. “Did you learn anything?”
You blinked at him, dazed, lips still tingling. “I —I think I need another lesson.” He grinned, something sparking behind his eyes, and then nodded. “I think so too.” The second kiss was different. Gone was the careful, tentative pace. This time, his mouth found yours with a hunger that startled you, like he’d been waiting for permission and now that he had it, he wasn’t going to waste a second. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. Your hands, unsure at first, found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly as your lips moved against his. It was fire and silk and all-consuming. His mouth moved with confidence, coaxing you, guiding you, his kiss deeper now, filled with something unspoken. You kissed him back with everything you had, wanting, needing, trying to remember everything, to feel everything.
When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. The windows were fogged, your hearts thundering. He looked at you with wide eyes and a half-laugh in his voice. “Let’s get you back to the dorms before I forget this is supposed to be educational.” You blinked at him, flustered and floating somewhere between disbelief and bliss. You nodded, cheeks burning, and didn’t say a word.
The morning sun crept in through the slats of your blinds like a quiet promise, painting golden stripes across your sheets and the cluttered floor of your dorm. You stirred slowly, a little dazed, blinking against the light and the memory of last night that came flooding back all at once. Lee Heeseung kissed you. Correction: you kissed Lee Heeseung. Twice, you never thought you would see the day. Your cheeks burned as you sat up, the remnants of sleep falling off your body like petals, replaced with a rush of electricity that made you want to scream into your pillow. It wasn’t just that it was your first kiss, it was the way it happened. Soft. Gentle. Focused. Like he’d been waiting to kiss you and didn’t know it until the moment your lips touched. You padded across the dorm floor, slipping into your morning routine with a weird sort of buzz in your chest. Toothbrush. Face wash. Outfit. Breakfast bar you didn’t feel like eating. But everything felt brighter. Softer around the edges. You were still you, but something inside of you had shifted just a little to the left. Your phone buzzed.
[ heeseung ]
Studying tonight? Meet me at the campus cafe. 6pm sharp.
Your breath caught, and for the briefest second you just stared at the screen, heart kicking up a beat like it remembered the feeling of his mouth on yours.
[ You: ]
Is this a date or is Mr. Yoon threatening your scholarship again?
Three dots danced on your screen before his reply popped up:
[ heeseung ]
Can’t it be both? 😏
You let out a snort and shook your head, fingers tapping against the glass.
[ You ]
Fine. But I’m only coming for the lattes. And the pity.
[ Heeseung ]
You love me for my academic desperation.
The audacity of how quickly your fingers typed out “maybe I do” and how fast you deleted it made your heart skip. You settled on a safer:
[ You ]
6pm sharp. Don’t be late, loser.
He didn’t respond right away, and that was probably for the best. Your head was still spinning with thoughts you didn’t know what to do with. Because despite the fact that this whole arrangement started as a carefully crafted plan to get Soobin to notice you, Heeseung had crept under your skin in a way you hadn’t expected. You were supposed to tutor him, he was supposed to help you get a makeover and gain confidence. You were not supposed to like the way he looked at you. Or the way he laughed at your jokes, like they were the funniest thing he’d heard all day. Or the way he kissed you like kissing you was something he’d been waiting to do forever. And yet…You shook your head and tried to push the thoughts down as you threw your backpack over your shoulder. There wasn’t time to obsess. You had a class to get to and a very smug, stupidly attractive boy to study with tonight. Still, as you stepped out into the cool morning breeze, you caught yourself smiling. That soft, barely-there kind of smile that made your cheeks warm and your chest float.
The clock on the café wall ticked toward six with the dramatics of a heartbeat, each second heavier than the last. You stood outside the door for a moment longer than necessary, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. It was just a study session. Nothing more. Just like it had been every time you’d met with him to talk about literature, syntax, metaphor, only now, every word he spoke felt double-edged. Heeseung had kissed you. Twice. You had kissed him back. And now here you were, stepping into the soft glow of the campus café, with your heart tucked somewhere beneath your collarbone and trying desperately not to show itself. Heeseung was already there, lounging in the corner booth like it was made for him. One long leg stretched out in front of him, a cup of iced coffee sweating on the table beside a half-opened notebook. His face lit up when he saw you, that easy grin sliding onto his lips as if it belonged there. You hated how your stomach flipped.
“You’re late,” he teased, gesturing at the seat across from him.
You scoffed, sliding into the booth and unzipping your bag. “It’s 5:59. Maybe your watch is just as bad as your syntax.”
He let out a sharp laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Touché.” You started with the basics, flipping through your annotated copy of Frankenstein, pointing out literary devices with the kind of precision you were proud of. Heeseung listened. Really listened. His brow furrowed when he was concentrating, and his eyes flicked back and forth between you and the book like he was trying to stitch your words to the page in real time. He asked questions, good ones, and when he got something right, his grin was so smug you almost threw your pencil at him. But then, somewhere between explaining tragic irony and discussing the gothic atmosphere, his focus started to slip. You were mid-sentence when you felt it, his fingers poking at your side, soft and quick like a spark.
You jumped, letting out a startled laugh. “What the hell?”
Heeseung smirked, clearly proud of himself. “You were monologuing. I had to bring you back to earth.”
“You’re such a child.” You quip.
“A cute child,” he said, wiggling his brows. You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly with your foot under the table, but there was no bite behind it. There never was anymore. Then, he leaned back in the booth, his voice lowering just enough to signal a shift. “I have an idea, by the way. About how you can actually talk to Soobin.”
You blinked, momentarily derailed. “You mean… like a conversation that doesn’t involve holding a door open and whispering thanks?”
He smirked. “Exactly like that.”
“Well? I’m listening.” Heeseung’s gaze flicked over your face before he continued. “Sunghoon’s hosting a get-together tomorrow night. It’s not a huge thing, more like a casual hangout. Pizza, soda, football on the TV, the works. Soobin’s gonna be there.”
You hesitated, twirling your pen between your fingers. “I mean, yeah, that sounds okay but…” You tilted your head. “Is it going to be weird if I’m the only girl there?” Heeseung paused. That pause said more than he probably meant it to. He scratched the back of his neck, like he was bracing himself.
You narrowed your eyes. “What? What is it?”
He sighed. “Sakura, Dani, and… Wonyoung are going to be there too.” Your heart dropped straight to your feet. You leaned back against the booth, head tilted toward the ceiling in a dramatic groan. “Of course they are.”
“I get it if you don’t want to come,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t blame you.”
But you shook your head, jaw tightening with something that tasted like defiance. “No. I’m going.”
Heeseung blinked. “Really?” his shock, palpable.
“Yeah,” you said, voice sharper than you meant it to be. “I’m not going to let them ruin this. I’m not going to let her ruin this.” You didn’t have to say her name. He knew. Still, you couldn’t help yourself from asking, quieter now. “Why is Wonyoung even going to something like that? I thought you two were… done.”
“We are,” he said. “But she’s still friends with the guys. She shows up to stuff. It’s… whatever.” It wasn’t whatever to you, but you nodded anyway. Because you knew if you let your thoughts go too far, you’d unravel right there over your half-drunk latte. Heeseung shifted again, this time leaning in closer. “Hey. If anything happens, if anyone says something, or makes you uncomfortable, I’ve got you. Okay?”
You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment the din of the café faded behind the weight of that promise. “Okay,” you said. And just like that, it was settled. Tomorrow night, you’d walk into a room where your ex-best friends and your accidental nemesis would be seated on one side, your crush would be on the other, and Heeseung would be somewhere in between. You had no idea what would happen. But you weren’t going to back down.
It was barely past six when you heard the knock on your dorm doo, three quick raps followed by a familiar “Let’s go, loser” muffled through the wood. You smoothed down your shirt, did a quick breath check (because you were just being cautious, not because you were thinking about kissing him again), and opened the door. Heeseung stood there, smug as ever, but there was something different in his eyes, an excitement that made him bounce a little on the balls of his feet. “You’re early,” you said, raising a brow.
“I’m prompt,” he corrected with a wink. “Besides, I couldn’t wait to show you this.”
He brought his hands out from behind his back, and there, held like a treasure map or some kind of sacred scroll, was a single sheet of paper. You blinked, confused, until your eyes scanned the header and the bold black print across the middle. Literature 206 – Midterm Grade: 85% Your gasp was dramatic, theatrical, the kind of sound that would’ve made someone down the hall poke their head out in concern if it hadn’t immediately been followed by your delighted squeal.
“Shut. Up!” you shouted, grabbing the paper from his hands and spinning to look at it closer. “Heeseung, you passed! You didn’t just pass; you did amazing!” He grinned like a fool, the kind of smile that made your chest feel too tight, and before you could even think about it, you launched yourself forward and hugged him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his arms instinctively caught you around the waist, the paper crushed between your bodies. He laughed, that soft, deep sound you were starting to crave more than you should. And when you pulled back, just barely, your faces were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
“Told you I was a genius,” he murmured. You rolled your eyes, still beaming. “No. I’m the genius. You’re just the pretty face riding my coattails.”
He shrugged, smug. “Well, now that I’m officially a scholar,” he plucked the paper from your hand, “it’s time to cash in on your prize.”
You tilted your head. “Prize?” He held the door open for you, gesturing dramatically. “Tonight, you talk to Soobin. It’s finally your moment, superstar.” Your smile faltered, just a hair. Because somewhere, buried beneath all your excited nerves and fresh lip gloss, there it was. That voice. Small. Soft. Inconvenient. What if I don’t want Soobin anymore? You blinked, shoved it down. Laughed, even, like it wasn’t true. But it was. Or at least…it was becoming true. Every second you spent with Heeseung, that voice got louder. The boy who was once just a cocky annoyance was now a constant in your thoughts. He made you laugh. Made you feel seen. Kissed you like you were the only girl in the universe.
But you didn’t say any of that. Instead, you slipped past him into the hallway and said, “Well, let’s not keep my prize waiting.” The drive to Sunghoon’s house was familiar now, the same twisty roads and flashing streetlights. Heeseung’s music was loud, upbeat, something with too much bass and a beat that rattled your bones, but you didn’t mind. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, occasionally tapping along to lyrics, and every so often he’d glance at you out of the corner of his eye and smirk like he knew something you didn’t.
Maybe he did. You watched the world blur outside the window, trying not to think too hard about anything. Not the party. Not Soobin. Not the fact that Heeseung’s cologne was now recognizable by scent alone, or the way your hands had fit so naturally around the nape of his neck just moments ago. When he pulled into Sunghoon’s driveway, the house was already glowing, warm lights, windows open, the soft buzz of voices filtering out to the street. You took a breath.
“Ready?” he asked, not moving to get out just yet. You turned to look at him, heart thudding somewhere between nervous and expectant. “Let’s do it,” you said.
You weren’t sure when your heart had started beating so hard, only that you could feel it in the soles of your feet and the tips of your ears. From the moment you stepped out of Heeseung’s car and followed him to Sunghoon’s front door, your nerves had been steadily building, like pressure in a shaken soda can. The lights inside were warm, the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses casual, but nothing about this night felt easy. You stepped through the threshold like you owned the place, chin high, spine straight, masking your spiraling thoughts with the practiced poise of someone who’d watched one too many confidence tutorials on YouTube. Heeseung’s hand hovered protectively at the small of your back, just barely touching, but grounding you all the same. That slight pressure said, I’m here, and for a moment, you could almost breathe.
The living room was full already. Jake sat cross-legged on the floor, waving a slice of pizza around mid-story, while Jay and Beomgyu were in the middle of a mock argument about what toppings were superior. Sunghoon looked up from where he was grabbing drinks and offered a casual grin. And then, your eyes caught them. Dani and Sakura, tucked on one side of the couch, their laughter too forced, their eyes on you too long. But, Wonyoung. She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. Her gaze zeroed in on Heeseung’s hand still lingering on your back like it was a personal offense, her perfectly glossed lips curling into something sour. “What is she doing here?” she said finally, her voice louder than it needed to be, slicing through the room like a knife dressed in perfume. You froze, but Heeseung didn’t.
“She’s here because I want her here,” he said smoothly, not even looking at her. His tone was so offhand it made Wonyoung’s eye twitch. She scoffed, turning back to Jay with an exaggerated sigh, tossing her hair like she hadn’t just tried to publicly shame you. You swallowed hard. The room shifted again, the center of gravity pulling you straight toward the boy you hadn’t seen since the party. Soobin. He was seated on the couch, drink in hand, wearing a simple hoodie and jeans, his soft smile as warm as you remembered. He looked up when you approached, a flash of recognition lighting his expression.
“Hey — Y/N, right?” he asked, voice gentle.
You nodded, tucking hair behind your ear. “Yeah, that’s me.” He patted the cushion next to him, and you sat, acutely aware of the way Dani and Sakura were watching, and more intensely, the weight of Heeseung’s eyes on the side of your face. But for a moment, none of that mattered. You and Soobin fell into conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world. He asked about your classes, your major, if you were enjoying campus life. His smile never left his face, and yours slowly returned to yours. You laughed at something he said, something dorky and sweet about how he got locked out of his dorm last week, and your hand brushed his arm without thinking. And then your eyes darted up, Heeseung, across the room, sprawled in a chair like he wasn’t watching. But you could feel his attention. Like it was tethered to your pulse.
Before you could dwell too long, a sharp clink of a glass brought everyone’s attention back to the group. Wonyoung, placing her drink with a flourish, said, “We should definitely play Never Have I Ever.” Heeseung groaned immediately. “Are we really doing every high school game in the book this week?”
She shrugged, all innocent smile and lethal intentions. “Come on, it’ll be fun.” A chorus of agreement echoed around the room, and you knew, there was no getting out of this one. Someone dimmed the lights slightly as everyone started moving toward the center of the room, sitting in a loose circle with half-finished pizza slices and soda cans in hand. You sat between Soobin and Heeseung, though the space between you and the latter felt a little too electric, like if you moved even an inch, you might get burned. The game began light, as they always do.
The circle had started off innocent enough, plastic soda bottles sweating on the table, crusted pizza boxes pushed aside, the living room heavy with the low hum of music and the occasional pop of laughter. Someone asked something dumb about stealing candy from a gas station. Another person confessed to cheating on a test in tenth grade. It was stupid, harmless, the kind of thing you could brush off with a smirk and a sip of your drink. But there was something in Wonyoung’s gaze that made the back of your neck prickle before she even opened her mouth. She was perched on the edge of the couch like a queen on her throne, manicured fingers curled delicately around her cup, eyes glittering with something sharp and venomous. She turned her head slowly, deliberately, and locked her eyes on you with a smile that didn’t touch her lips.
“Never have I ever…” she began, the silence prickling around her, “been a loser virgin that no man wants to touch.” The room froze. The words landed like shrapnel, hot and slicing through whatever warmth had existed just moments before. Your chest constricted instantly, the oxygen leaving your lungs in one swift rush. You could feel every pair of eyes in the room shift to you, some wide with shock, others downcast, uncomfortable. You sat rigid, your cup trembling in your fingers, your pulse thudding like thunder in your ears. And then Wonyoung, as if to twist the knife, tilted her head and said, sweetly venomous, “Y/N, that means you have to put your hand up.” Your throat tightened so fast it hurt. You blinked quickly, trying to swallow it down, trying to pretend you hadn’t heard her right. But Heeseung stood up then, voice sharp and cold in a way you’d never heard from him before. “Knock it off, Wonyoung.”
She gave a lighthearted shrug, still smiling like this was all some twisted joke. “I mean…it’s just a game, Heeseung. No need to get snappy.”
Dani scoffed, disgust heavy in her voice. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Cut it out.”
But the damage had already been done. Your vision blurred as a tear slipped down your cheek without permission, hot with embarrassment, with shame, with the kind of humiliation that clings to your skin like ash. The silence was worse than the laughter could’ve been, everyone staring, no one speaking. Just the sound of your shaky breath and the trembling rattle of your heart in your chest. You couldn’t stay. You wouldn’t. Without a word, you stood up on wobbly legs, grabbing your bag with clumsy fingers and bolting for the front door. You didn’t hear who called your name, didn’t wait to see who stood or who stayed behind. You just ran, your face burning and your lungs struggling to catch up to your heartbreak. Outside, the air was cold and biting, but not cold enough to numb the pain in your chest. You didn’t get far before you felt a hand gently catch your wrist, not rough, not demanding. Just there. Just him.
“Hey; hey, look at me,” Heeseung said softly, turning you to face him. The night was quiet except for your breaths, short and uneven. He reached up, brushing your tear-streaked cheek with his thumb, the gesture so tender you nearly fell apart all over again. “Don’t listen to her,” he whispered. “She’s miserable and she wanted to take it out on someone. That’s all this is.”
“I’m fine,” you choked out, even though you weren’t.
“No, you’re not.” His voice cracked slightly, and he gave a soft shake of his head. “And I should’ve never brought you here. I knew she was going to be here. That’s on me.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” you whispered, your voice raw. “You’re not the one who humiliated me.” Still, his face was drawn with guilt, his brow furrowed. He opened the car door for you and you slid in, heart still pounding, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. He got in after you, but didn’t start the engine right away. The silence filled the cabin again, but this time it wasn’t awkward, it was heavy. Dense with something unspoken.
You stared at your lap, thinking of Wonyoung’s words again. Loser virgin. No man wants to touch you. It echoed in your head, bouncing around until it started to stick. Was she right? Was that why Soobin had never looked at you twice? Why you were always the girl just outside the circle? Before you could overthink it, before the voice of doubt could talk you down, you turned to Heeseung. “I want you to take my virginity.”
He blinked like he hadn’t heard you. “What?” You met his eyes this time, steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you to take my virginity.” The silence was immediate. Then sharp. His eyes widened, lips parting, trying to find something to say, some script, some defense. But nothing came. Just silence and the sound of your breath coming quicker than before. “I just…” you began, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “What Wonyoung said. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Soobin wouldn’t want someone like me. Someone who’s never—”
“That’s not true—”
“Please.” Your voice cracked then, raw and soft, but full of something else too. Desperation, maybe. Maybe hope. Heeseung looked at you then, really looked. And something shifted in his gaze, his expression folding into something more serious, more solemn. There wasn’t any cocky grin, no teasing smirk. Just… sincerity.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
You blinked. “Yeah?”
He nodded once. “Yeah.” Relief washed over you slowly, curling around the fear that had taken root in your belly. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, something like gratitude spilling from your chest.
“Tonight?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t hesitate. “Tonight.”
And then he turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life as the two of you slipped into the dark, quiet night, no longer running away, but heading toward something that neither of you could quite name yet. But you could feel it, in the beat of your heart, the warmth in your chest, and the hand that rested gently over yours on the console.
The streets outside were washed in amber, the streetlights spilling honey-colored light onto the hood of Heeseung’s car as he pulled up to the quiet curb outside a low-rise campus apartment building. You recognized it, vaguely, though you’d never had a reason to be this far from your dorm before. He eased the car into park, the soft click of the gear shift cutting through the otherwise silent cabin. For a moment, neither of you moved. You were both suspended in this fragile, private space, like the world outside had hit pause just to give you this breath of stillness. He turned to you, one hand still on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the console like he might take your hand but thinking better of it. His gaze flickered to your face, warm and searching, not demanding. Not expectant. Just careful. Just him.
“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low but steady. And you nodded. Without hesitation. Without the voice of Wonyoung echoing in your ears. Without thinking about Soobin or the plan or the stupid game that led you here. You nodded because it was Heeseung and somehow, in the softest, strangest way, you’d never been more certain about anything in your life.
“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure.” That was all it took. Heeseung stepped out of the car, jogged around to your side, and opened the door for you, offering a hand as you slid out. The air between you pulsed with unspoken tension, not the bad kind, not the kind that makes you want to flee, but the kind that hums beneath your skin like a quiet, rising tide. Neither of you spoke on the short walk to the building. You could feel the beat of your own pulse in your throat, your palms, your knees. Every footstep up the stairwell echoed like a question you were still answering with every breath. When he unlocked the door to the apartment, you stepped into a place that somehow felt like him , even if it wasn’t entirely his. The living room was tidy but lived-in: a half-empty water bottle on the counter, a sweatshirt slung over the back of the couch, a flickering neon sign in the shape of a guitar hanging above the TV. There was a faint scent of cologne and fabric softener in the air , something warm and clean and utterly disarming.
You glanced around, instinctively nervous. “Are you sure no one’s—?”
“I live with Jake,” Heeseung said, gently tugging you further inside. “But he’s out for the weekend. Swear.” Jake was obviously still at Sunghoon’s house. So, you nodded, cheeks warm as he guided you toward the hallway. Every step felt louder now, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. You could feel the shift happening between you, something solemn, something sacred as he led you into his bedroom. The door clicked shut behind you. His room was dimly lit, the overhead light off, only the glow from a desk lamp in the corner casting soft shadows along the walls. Posters of concerts and bands you half-recognized were pinned above his bed. His guitar leaned against the corner, pick still nestled in the strings. The bed was made, barely and a hoodie lay crumpled on the chair by his desk. You turned to him again, breath caught somewhere in your chest. Heeseung was standing just a few feet away now, hands at his sides, gaze never leaving yours.
“Are you still sure?” he asked again, quiet and reverent. And again, you said yes. The word had barely left your mouth before he was stepping toward you, not fast, never fast , just sure, just gentle. His hand reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real. Then he was kissing you, slow and careful, lips warm and familiar now. The kiss wasn’t like the one in the car, not teasing, not frantic. This one was patient, intentional. Like he was asking permission with every soft press of his mouth, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your yes.
The rest happened slowly. Clothes were shed like old skins, your nerves still there, still fluttering like moths in your stomach, but softened by the way he touched you. Every brush of his fingers was careful, every motion deliberate. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t teasing. He just was warm and present, grounding you with the weight of his hands and the way he whispered your name like it was something sacred. He kissed your shoulder. Your collarbone. The hollow behind your ear. He held you like you were something breakable and beautiful. When it finally happened, he was looking into your eyes, his hand laced with yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles to calm you. It hurt at first, of course it did, but it wasn’t scary. Not with him. And eventually the pain faded into something else entirely, something you couldn’t name, only feel.
His hands caressed your body like you were made of porcelain. His breathing hard groans falling from his lips with the severance of a melody you’d never want to forget. “Fuck” He grunted, his hips meetings yours. His forehead sheen with sweat fell against your naked shoulder, lining the skin with searing hot kisses.
“You feel so good.” His grip on your hips tightened as he allowed himself to go faster, rougher. The sound of skin, mixing with your breathy moans and Heeseung groans were the only sound in the room.
“Harder.” You choked, letting your head fall against the pillow, your hair creating a halo on the satin pillow case. “Please, Heeseung, harder.” You were begging, pleading for me. It felt too good, better than anything you’ve ever experienced and you just couldn’t get enough.
Heeseung groaned, a low groan that rumbled deep within his belly all the way up his throat. “You want it harder?” He asks, His eyes locked onto yours as you send him a frantic nod.
“Yes!” Your voice was almost shrill. “Please.” Your hands found his back, racking your nails up and down the skin — certainly leaving red marks in their wake. Heeseung’s hips pushed harder, the force of his thirst sending your body jerking upwards.
“Oh my god.” You hissed. “Oh my fucking–” Your voice was cut off with his lips falling to yours, his mouth swallowing the sound of your pleasure. He broke away from the kiss with a low moan and a shaky breath. Your breath caught as you tilted your head back, overwhelmed and undone in the best way. Heeseung murmured quiet things into your skin, not jokes, not one-liners, just your name. Just reassurance. Just closeness. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fireworks. It was better than that. It was real.
When it was over, he didn’t roll away or laugh or ask how it was. He just stayed there beside you, your bodies tangled beneath his sheets, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hipbone. You rested your cheek on his shoulder, skin still tingling, your heart finally slowing. And for a long time, neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to. Soon, you got up — put your clothing back on and thank Heeseung for all he did that night. You went to your dorm with an even bigger smile on your face.
Morning sunlight seeps through the cracks in your dorm blinds, painting golden stripes across your duvet and the delicate curve of your shoulder. You stir slowly, not with the usual groggy resistance of a school day, but with something like ease, something light. Your limbs feel loose beneath your sheets, your chest warm, your lips tingling with memories. Last night plays on a soft reel behind your eyelids: Heeseung’s hands, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing worth seeing, the way his voice trembled when he asked if you were sure. You smile before your eyes are even open. It wasn’t just physical , it was something else entirely. Something safe. Something soft. You don’t know what it means yet, or what it should mean, but right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is the way you feel in this moment. Like maybe, for once, you’re not the DUF. Maybe, for once, you’re the girl someone actually wanted.
You get dressed slowly, pulling on your favorite jeans and a simple top that fits you right, a new confidence buzzing just beneath your skin. Your fingers hover over your phone more than once, tempted to text him, something casual, something teasing, but you stop yourself. You’ll see him in Lit anyway. And God, you can’t even begin to guess what that’s going to be like now. The walk to class is a blur of humming thoughts and overplayed memories, your heart skipping each time you think about him. You wonder if he’ll say something. You wonder if you should. You wonder if this is the start of something... more.
When you arrive at the building, the usual crowd of students loiters by the lecture hall, but your eyes find him immediately. Heeseung is leaning against the wall near the door, black hoodie pulled over his head despite the early morning sun, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He’s looking down at his shoes, but as if sensing you, his head lifts, and there it is. That smile. Soft and crooked and just for you. “Look who finally made it,” you call as you approach, your tone light and teasing, the banter slipping into place like a well-worn jacket. “Didn’t think I’d see your face again after last night.”
Heeseung chuckles, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside you. “Please. You think you’d get rid of me that easy?”
You roll your eyes, a grin curling at your mouth. “You’re relentless.”
“Persistent,” he corrects with a grin of his own. “There’s a difference.” The air between you hums with something more than your usual back-and-forth, a soft awareness, a shared secret, the ghost of his hands still lingering on your waist. Heeseung’s eyes flick over your face for a moment longer than they usually would, like he’s trying to memorize something. Then, as you’re about to reach for the classroom door, he says your name, softly, tentatively. You pause, looking up at him. His expression has shifted, and it’s not teasing now. It’s serious. Vulnerable, almost. Like there’s a weight on his chest and he’s finally ready to let it tumble out.
“Hey, I—” Heeseung starts, but he doesn’t get far.
“HEESEUNG!” Beomgyu’s voice barrels down the hallway like a wrecking ball, all volume and chaos, and before either of you can react, an arm is slung around Heeseung’s shoulder. “Dude! Party tonight. Sunghoon’s place again. It’s gonna be chill this time, no cops, I swear. You’re coming, right? And you,” Beomgyu points to you with a grin, “you better come too. You’re the new fan favorite.” You let out a laugh, caught off guard, but Heeseung just gives Beomgyu a playful shove. “Yeah, alright. We’ll be there.”
“We?” Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, smirking as he wiggles his brows. “Noted.”
And just like that, Beomgyu is disappearing down the hallway, already off to deliver his invite to the next unsuspecting soul. You glance back at Heeseung, your brows furrowed just slightly. “What were you gonna say? Before Beomgyu... you know.”
Heeseung looks at you for a beat, quiet. And in that silence, something shifts again, but this time it doesn’t rise to the surface. Instead, he just shrugs, sliding his hands back into his pockets. “Nothing,” he says casually, a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Forgot what I was gonna say.”
You want to press, there’s something in the way he says it, the way his eyes flick away from yours for half a second too long, but you don’t. Not here, not now. So instead, you just nod, falling into step beside him as you both walk into the lecture hall. You’re still smiling. But this time, your heart is wrapped a little tighter in wonder.
The air tonight feels heavier, not unpleasant, just weightier, charged in a way that isn’t quite like the other parties. The crowd buzzes with the usual electricity, the low thump of bass vibrating through the floorboards, bodies weaving and pressing in rhythm to a beat no one truly hears. But you do. You feel it in your bones, in your blood, in the skin of your arms where goosebumps rise as you and Heeseung step through the doorway into Sunghoon’s house. He walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours, laughter spilling from his lips as he says something teasing about your outfit. It’s familiar, the way he leans in a little closer than necessary, the way he always seems to find something to comment on, from the way you wear your hair to how your drink tastes like battery acid. He’s still the same. But you’re not. Not exactly.
Because now you know what his breath sounds like when it trembles. You know how he looks when he’s above you, eyes full of questions and reverence like you were a poem he wasn’t sure he was allowed to read. You know what it’s like to be wanted, not by anyone, but by him. And that knowledge sits in your chest like a small fire, curling smoke and heat into your thoughts as you walk beside him. You make your way to the drink table where Beomgyu and Jay are pouring vodka into plastic cups with reckless enthusiasm, laughing at something Jake said. It’s all easy, the familiar chaos of a college party, but something inside you feels less swayed by the glitter of it now. Like you’ve seen what matters more, in the quiet hush of a dorm room when all the noise falls away and someone holds you like you're worth the wait.
You glance toward Heeseung, catching sight of him joining in a game of beer pong with Sunghoon. His laugh is loud, tilted back in his throat, his hair flopping into his eyes as he lines up a shot. He’s magnetic like this, full of life, a little too much, and always just enough. You don’t even notice the tap on your shoulder until you feel it. You turn around to see Soobin. Your stomach doesn’t flutter. Your pulse doesn’t spike. You don’t feel weak in the knees or dizzy in the way you once imagined you would. All you feel is... calm.
His smile is soft, almost sheepish, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “Hey,” he says, voice raised slightly over the music. “I wanted to say… I’m sorry. For what happened the other night. Wonyoung was out of line, and honestly? Everyone knew it.” You blink at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes dipping away as if afraid to meet yours fully.
“That… that does make me feel better,” you say after a pause, offering him a genuine smile. It’s small but sincere, the kind of smile you give someone when you’ve outgrown the pedestal they used to stand on. He brightens at that. “Good. You didn’t deserve that.” The conversation unfolds easily, light, harmless. He asks about class, about your professor’s weird rant last week, and you laugh with him, grateful that it’s not awkward or strange. For a few minutes, it’s like nothing ever changed. But every now and then, your gaze slides across the room, to where Heeseung is, to the way his hand gestures wildly in the air after making a perfect shot, the way his eyes scan the crowd and catch on you. You feel it each time, that invisible thread tugging between you both, fragile but undeniable.
Soobin leans closer, tipping his head toward you. “Hey, the music’s kind of loud down here. Do you wanna go upstairs to talk?” You hesitate, only for a moment. This is what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? Alone time with Soobin. This moment; the intimacy, the possibility of something real with him, it used to be the end goal. It was the prize at the finish line. You look back toward the beer pong table. Heeseung isn’t there anymore. You swallow, forcing a smile as you nod. “Sure. Upstairs sounds good.” Soobin leads the way, and you follow, but there’s a hollow tug in your chest, a low ache that whispers: something’s different now. Something’s shifted. And you can’t quite tell if you’re walking toward what you want… or away from it.
The upstairs hall is quieter, hushed like a cathedral built out of creaking floorboards and dim lighting. Soobin’s footsteps are steady ahead of you, confident, calm. You follow him down the hallway, the thump of bass from the party below now muffled by layers of drywall and closed doors. He opens one at the end, someone’s bedroom, likely Sunghoon’s spare guest room and steps inside without hesitation. You enter, arms crossing over your chest instinctively. The room is sparsely decorated: a bed, a desk, a dresser with a dusty mirror. A single lamp glows faintly in the corner, casting everything in warm amber light. The kind of soft hue that makes everything feel a little too intimate.
You sit down on the edge of the bed, hands fidgeting in your lap. Soobin stands near the dresser, one hand running through his hair like he’s searching for the right words, the right entry point into something he’s been building toward. You try not to think about how your heartbeat doesn’t pick up like it used to. How your stomach doesn’t flutter. How the moment you used to dream about, you and Soobin alone in a room, about to have that talk, feels just a little off-center now. He turns to you, expression unreadable. “Can I ask you something?” You nod.
He gives a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Do you… have a crush on me?”
The question hits you like cold water to the face. You blink. “What?”
“I mean,” he shrugs, “you’re here with me. Alone. Talking like this. And I’ve noticed you kind of… watching me sometimes. Not in a bad way, I just — I figured maybe you liked me.”
Your mouth opens, but no words come out right away. You weren’t expecting this — not so directly, not right now. But wasn’t this the whole plan? The makeover, the party, the studying with Heeseung, the kiss that didn’t happen, wasn’t this what you’d wanted from the beginning? So you say it. Quietly, like you’re repeating a line in a play. “Yes. I think I do.” Soobin smiles softly, like that was the answer he expected. He walks over, taking the spot next to you on the bed. There’s a small silence, not quite awkward but definitely unsure. Then, without another word, he leans in. And kisses you. It’s gentle. Thoughtful. His lips press to yours with an easy kind of care. But instead of feeling sparks or butterflies or that dizzy, swept-away sensation you thought would come, all you feel is stillness. Like kissing someone underwater. The moment suspended. Weightless. Hollow.
You don’t know how long it lasts, but eventually, your hand moves to his chest and you pull away, slow and apologetic. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, eyes avoiding his. Your heart pounds for all the wrong reasons. “I… I don’t think I feel what I thought I felt.”
Soobin tilts his head slightly, studying your face. “What do you mean?” You look down at your hands, twisting your fingers in your lap. “I thought I liked you. I really did. But it doesn’t feel… right. Not like I thought it would. Not like…” You trail off, not daring to finish the sentence. Soobin hums thoughtfully, like he’s already solved the puzzle.
“Ah,” he says, nodding once. “I get it.”
Your eyes lift, hopeful. “You do?”
A soft chuckle escapes him. “You like Heeseung.” It’s not a question. It’s a truth laid bare between you. You pause, breath catching in your throat. Then you nod. Slowly. “I think I’m in love with him.” There’s a moment of quiet. Not heavy. Not tense. Just the shared acknowledgment of something that’s been true for a while now, you just hadn’t let yourself name it.
To your surprise, Soobin smiles. Not bitter or wounded, just warm. Maybe even relieved. “I think you should tell him,” he says.
You swallow. “You think I should?” He nods, leaning back on his hands. “I think you’d regret it if you didn’t.”
Your heart flutters with something different this time, not nerves, not fear. Hope. You stand up, legs shaky beneath you, but your decision anchors you. As you move toward the door, Soobin calls out softly, just before your hand touches the knob. “He loves you back, you know.”
You turn your head, eyes wide. “You think so?”
“I know so,” he says, simple and sure. You nod once, lips parting just slightly. “I hope you’re right.” And then you step into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind you. The music is still thudding below. The party still rages. But you’ve never felt more clear. Never more certain of who, or what, you want. It’s not about proving anything anymore. Not about being experienced or wanted by anyone. It’s about him. And tonight, you’re going to tell him.
You step down the creaky stairs, the bass from the party still thumping like a distant pulse beneath your skin. Your breath catches, a subtle panic fluttering in your chest as you scan the crowded living room for Heeseung’s familiar face. Your eyes dart past groups of laughing friends, clusters of conversations, and neon lights that blur faces into hazy outlines. But he’s nowhere to be found. Heart pounding in your throat, you veer toward the kitchen, hoping for some sign, a whisper, a clue. There, leaning casually against the counter, is Jake. His usual smirk falters when he notices your searching gaze. “Hey,” you say, voice barely steady. “Have you seen Heeseung?”
Jake shrugs, tossing a grape into his mouth. “Last I saw, he was in the living room with a bunch of people. Why? You looking for him?” You nod and push past him, a fragile thread of hope knitting itself between your ribs. The living room comes into view, and your steps slow, the air thickening in your lungs like smoke. And then you see him. There, framed by a cluster of familiar faces, is Heeseung. But he isn’t alone. Wonyoung stands close beside him, her body pressed against his in a way that twists something cold and sharp through your heart. His arm snakes possessively around her waist, fingers resting lightly but surely on the curve of her hip. She leans in, lips ghosting across his neck and jaw, a soft, intoxicating murmur escaping her mouth as he whispers back.
The scene unfolds like a cruel play, one you wish you could close your eyes to, but you can’t look away. Your chest caves inward, a hollow ache blossoming beneath your ribs. Your stomach churns, bile rising bitterly as you struggle to breathe through the sudden swell of nausea and heartbreak. You try to wrench your gaze away, but the sight sears into your vision, branding itself onto your soul. You can’t watch. Turning on your heel, you stumble toward the door, desperate to escape the cruel tableau. The room blurs around you, faces, laughter, music, all fading behind the tight clamour of your ragged breaths and pounding heartbeat. Tears spill unbidden from your eyes, tracing warm, salty rivers down your cheeks. Each step away from the party feels heavier than the last, like you’re sinking deeper into a pool of your own shattered dreams.
You reach the night air, the cold biting at your skin but failing to soothe the ache inside. Pulling your phone from your pocket with trembling fingers, you summon an Uber. The glow of the screen feels alien in your hands, like a lifeline thrown across an endless chasm. Inside the car, the world outside dissolves into a blur of streetlights and shadows, but your tears keep falling, a steady cascade that no driver’s small talk or cityscape can interrupt. Your hands grip the seat, knuckles white, as the distance between you and the party grows with every passing mile. You are utterly broken. Stupid, you think bitterly. Stupid for believing, even for a moment, that someone like Lee Heeseung, with his easy charm and dazzling smile, could fall for someone like you. The DUF. The girl who blends into the background. The girl no one notices, the girl no one wants. You were chasing a dream painted in stardust and whispered promises, but it was always just that, a dream. And now, all that’s left is the ache of reality settling cold and hard in your chest.
The days bleed into each other like a slow, endless ache. You find yourself cocooned in your dorm, wrapped in the faded threads of your favorite hoodie, the one that swallows you whole and carries the scent of safety and solitude. The glasses sit perched on your nose, a barrier between the world and the girl who once believed she could be someone else. The weight of silence presses down, heavier than the thick blankets you pull up to your chin. Your phone lies discarded across the bed, buzzing and blinking with countless unanswered texts and missed calls from Heeseung, each one a fresh pang of regret and confusion you’re too scared to confront. You don’t know how to face him. How to face the truth that your heart still aches for the boy who chose someone else, who wrapped his arms around Wonyoung like you were a ghost in the room. You feel like you’ve been stripped bare, every hope unraveling thread by fragile thread. The girl who dreamed of being seen, of being wanted, it’s hard to find her beneath the rubble of broken promises and whispered lies.
Night falls again, the shadows gathering in the corners of your room as if to hold you close in your loneliness. The quiet hum of the city outside is distant and indifferent. You lie there, heart heavy, tears tracing silent rivers down your cheeks, when suddenly there’s a knock at your door. Sharp. Insistent. You don’t want to move, but something in the rhythm of that knock stirs you, a fragile hope tangled with dread. With aching limbs, you pull yourself from the bed, the cold floor a harsh reminder of the world beyond your blankets. You open the door slowly, and there he is, Heeseung. His presence fills the doorway, that familiar, impossible beauty that twists your heart in the best and worst ways. It makes your head spin, your breath catch in your throat.
His eyes search yours, deep pools filled with worry and something you can’t quite name. “Why haven’t you been answering?” he asks softly, voice low, as if afraid to break the fragile silence. “I saw you go upstairs with Soobin the night of the party…” Your throat tightens, the words choking you before you can even think. You take a shaky breath, then whisper, “The deal’s off. You don’t need to worry about making me ‘hot and popular’ anymore.”
His brow furrows, concern deepening. “What happened? Did Soobin hurt you?”
You shake your head, voice trembling but firm. “No. Just… go, Heeseung. Please.”
You reach out, beginning to close the door, but before it shuts, his foot slides gently into the frame, stopping it with quiet insistence. The space between you is charged, a fragile tension stretched thin. His voice is almost a plea. “What’s going on?” The walls you’ve built so carefully around your heart begin to crumble. You swallow hard, biting back the tears that burn your eyes, and say the words you’ve been holding in for too long. “I’m tired. Tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. Tired of playing a role, like I can be that girl, the one everyone notices, the one guys actually want.”
Your voice falters, breaking with raw, aching honesty. “Guys don’t want me. Not really. Not like I am. This was an experiment... and it worked for you, but it didn’t work for me. So… can you just go?” The silence hangs between you like a thick fog. You hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, loud and ragged. This time, your hand moves with quiet finality, closing the door with a definitive click. The sound echoes in the sudden, crushing emptiness of your room. And then, the floodgates break.
You lean back against the door, knees buckling as the tears you held back spill free. The sobs come unbidden, shaking your body, hot and wrenching and real. Each tear a silent confession of heartbreak, loneliness, and the aching desire to be seen, not as a mask, but as the fragile, imperfect soul beneath. In this moment, the girl you tried so hard to hide is raw and vulnerable and fiercely alive. And though it hurts more than words can say, it’s the first step toward something real, toward healing, toward finding the strength to be exactly who you are.
The morning light feels colder somehow, less forgiving as you step out of your dorm room and into the brisk hum of campus life. Today, you wear your armor: a soft, oversized hoodie pulled low over your frame, the familiar weight of your glasses perched on your nose, and leggings that carry no pretense, no flash, no glamour, just you. The girl who sought to dazzle and command attention has quietly slipped away, replaced by someone quieter, more raw, but undeniably real. As you make your way across campus, the chatter and footsteps of other students blur into a dull roar, a soundtrack to your internal storm. The air is thick with the ghosts of last night’s heartache, the sting of broken trust still simmering just beneath your skin. You tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself you’re okay. You’ve got this.
The lecture hall door creaks open, and you slip inside, hoping to be invisible, hoping to blend into the shadowy back rows where no one will notice your retreat from the world. But no one really goes unnoticed, especially not in a room charged with unspoken tensions. And then, just as your foot finds the seat furthest from the usual spot beside Heeseung, you hear it, a snide, low comment slicing through the hum of settling students Wonyoung’s voice, sharp and dripping with that familiar edge, echoes just enough for you to catch it. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s aimed right at you. But this time, something’s different. The bite of her words doesn’t sting. The heat of embarrassment doesn’t flush your cheeks. You simply keep walking, your stride steady and unyielding, heart quietly defiant beneath the soft fabric of your hoodie.
You settle into your seat at the very back, far away from the usual orbit of Heeseung’s presence. And yet, even from there, you feel the weight of his gaze, like a hawk circling above, watching, waiting. His eyes flicker toward you in stolen moments, cautious and curious, as if trying to read the new lines etched into your silence. But you refuse to meet his gaze. You bury yourself deeper into your solitude, the words of the lecture washing over you like distant thunder, barely registered by a mind that’s a million miles away. Minutes stretch on, the clock ticking with relentless indifference. You notice the way Heeseung’s fingers tap lightly against the notebook in his lap, his eyes darting toward you in quick, nervous glances. It’s as if he’s searching for a way back in, a crack in the armor you’ve so carefully constructed. But today, you are a fortress, quiet and impenetrable.
When the final bell rings, a sharp and liberating sound, you rise without hesitation, stuffing your books into your bag with brisk efficiency. Heeseung’s voice trails behind you, soft, hopeful, “Hey, wait—Y/n!” but you don’t stop. You don’t turn. The hall swallows your footsteps as you push through the doors, leaving the echoes of his call behind you.
The evening wrapped itself around your dorm room like a velvet shroud, the dim light casting soft shadows over your tangled sheets and the quiet ache that clung to your chest. You lay there, cocooned in your own solitude, the weight of recent nights pressing down like a relentless tide. The world felt heavy and distant, and the thought of moving, speaking, or facing anything at all felt like a mountain too steep to climb. Then, a sharp knock echoed through the silence, jolting you from your quiet reverie. “Please go away, Heeseung,” you mutter, voice thick with exhaustion and guarded pain, already bracing yourself for the storm you didn’t want to weather again.
But the voice that answered wasn’t his. Soft, hesitant, and tinged with something almost vulnerable, Dani’s words floated through the door: “It’s not Heeseung… please, just open up.” Your heart stutters, surprise and a flicker of warmth breaking through the cold shell you’d built. With a weary sigh, you push yourself up, the weight of days pressing down on your limbs, and unlock the door. There, standing in the dim hallway, were Dani and Sakura, faces soft, eyes sincere, their usual confident air replaced with something tender and remorseful. They step inside without hesitation, their presence gentle like a balm, the space between you shrinking as they settle beside your bed.
“We’re so sorry,” Dani begins, voice low and earnest. “For everything. For not being better friends, for not being there when you needed us.” Sakura nods, her eyes shimmering with an unspoken apology. “We love you, Y/n. We do. And we’re sorry for making you feel anything less than amazing.”
Their words settle over you like a gentle rain, the unexpected kindness dissolving some of the walls you didn’t even realize you’d built so high. They smile, shy but genuine, and Dani confesses, “Sometimes, we’re even jealous of you. You make everything seem so effortless, being smart, funny, just... you. We try so hard, but you just shine naturally.” A quiet laugh escapes you, the sound rusty but honest. You joke back, teasing them for their dramatic flattery, and in the warmth of shared laughter, the tension unravels. The three of you fold into a comforting embrace, a hug woven with forgiveness and the promise of mended bonds.
After the moment lingers, Sakura’s voice breaks through, gentle but curious. “So, what about Heeseung? What’s really going on?” Your chest tightens as you recount the complicated arrangement, the late-night talks, and then, the confession that trembles on your lips. “I lost my virginity to him,” you say quietly, the words both heavy and liberating. “And in all of that... I fell in love with him.”
Their faces flicker between surprise and understanding. Sakura’s eyes soften as she speaks, “The way he looks at you... he loves you too, Y/n.” You shake your head, doubt gnawing at you like a silent ache. “But Wonyoung—”
Dani cuts in gently, firm and unwavering. “He doesn’t care about her anymore. And he never looked at Wonyoung the way he looks at you.” For the first time in what feels like forever, you want to believe them. You nod slowly, the weight of hope settling lightly in your chest. They urge you to hear Heeseung out, to let him speak and show you what’s truly there. But before the conversation can spiral further, they shift the mood, inviting you to a get-together at Sunghoon’s happening just minutes away.
At first, you hesitate, the memory of Heeseung and Wonyoung still stinging fresh. “Heeseung and Wonyoung—” you begin. Sakura cuts you off with a firm shake of her head. “They won’t be there. We promise.” That promise, fragile and shimmering with possibility, nudges you forward. You breathe in, steadying your heart, and then you say yes. Together, the three of you leave your room, stepping out into the night with tentative smiles and the fragile threads of renewed friendship and maybe, just maybe, a second chance at love waiting to bloom.
When you pull up to Sunghoon’s house that night, you’re half-expecting the pit in your stomach to grow teeth and chew you alive. But instead, you’re met with the warm, familiar glow of porch lights, the echo of laughter spilling from inside, and the voices of boys you’ve somehow come to know like brothers. Sunghoon, Jake, Jay, and Beomgyu greet you at the door like you’re royalty, like nothing in the world is out of place. They offer you sodas and cheesy jokes, Beomgyu pulling you into a dramatic bow while Jake salutes like you're being welcomed home from war. And for a flicker of a second, you forget it all, the ache, the shame, the heartbreak. You laugh. You actually laugh. You let your shoulders drop. You exist again.
Sakura appears at your side like she’s always belonged there and gives you a little nudge. “Hey,” she says, smiling with all her teeth, “Can you go grab the extra cooler outside? It’s on the deck.”
You squint at her. “You have legs.”
“Yes,” she says sweetly, “but you have main character energy tonight. So scoot.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, pushing through the backdoor into the backyard. And that’s when it happens.
Twinkling fairy lights string above you like constellations pulled down from the sky, wrapped through the branches of Sunghoon’s backyard trees. They blink softly around the bonfire, flames low and lazy, casting shadows across the grass. And there, seated on a log bench near the fire, is Heeseung. His head is bowed, fingers locked together like he’s praying or maybe bracing himself from falling apart. The moment he hears your footsteps, his head jerks up. His eyes meet yours, wide and uncertain. Time hiccups. You stare. He stares. And then, slowly, shakily, he stands.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what I was going to say to you when I saw you again,” he says, voice low but trembling with everything he’s been holding in. “And now… now that you’re actually here, looking like that…”
You blink. “Looking like what? Like a girl who’s no longer hot?” He shakes his head so fast and so fiercely that a laugh escapes your throat without permission.
“No,” he says, stepping toward you. “Looking like you. Just — you. Glasses, hoodie, stubborn scowl and all. You're beautiful.” Your breath stutters. The world sways. You try to speak, to make a joke, to do anything, but your lips don’t work. He fills the silence. “You’re so beautiful,” he says again, his voice stronger now. “And I love you.” You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You’re too stunned. Too overwhelmed. So he continues, and thank God he does.
“When I saw you go upstairs with Soobin that night… I thought I was gonna be sick. I’ve never felt anything like that. Not anger. Not sadness. Jealousy. Like I was losing something that wasn’t even mine to lose.” Your chest aches. You take a step closer, barely breathing. “Wonyoung came up to me after that,” he says, voice rougher now. “Told me she heard you and Soobin hooking up. She tried to kiss me. Said I should get over it. But I didn’t care what she said. Even if you were with Soobin, I didn’t want her. I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you.”
You want to cry. You want to melt. But mostly, you want to run to him.
“I was never going to get in the way of you and him if that’s what you really wanted,” Heeseung continues. “But then, when you told me outside your dorm that it wasn’t going to work out… I knew. I had to tell you how I felt.” His eyes lock on yours with full, unwavering honesty.
“I love you. Just the way you are. And I think I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you at Sunghoon’s party. When you insulted my G.P.A and spilled that drink all over yourself.” He laughs, almost breathless. “That’s when I knew I was doomed.”
A laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, wet and cracked but real. You take one step closer, then another, until the distance is gone. “I kissed Soobin,” you whisper, eyes locked on his. “Upstairs, that night. And it was... fine. But while it was happening, all I could think about was you. That stupid smile of yours, your dumb little jokes, the way you hold the steering wheel with one hand like you're in an action movie... I realized something.”
Heeseung holds his breath.
“I realized that I love you. Your charm, your goofiness, the way you never let me walk on the outside of the sidewalk. I love you, even the parts I think I hate, because it’s you. And I want you.” His mouth opens like he might say something witty, but he doesn't. He just crashes forward and kisses you, fierce, certain, heart-shaking. His hands come to your face, cradling you like you’re something sacred. It’s not gentle, not this time. It’s messy and passionate and breathless, like a whole novel written in one kiss. Like everything unspoken finally found its voice.
When you finally part, foreheads touching, breath mingling, he murmurs, “You’re it for me, Y/n.” You smile, tears slipping down your cheeks.
“And you’re the dumbest genius I’ve ever met,” you say softly, kissing him again.
Somewhere behind you, from the house, you hear Beomgyu shout, “ARE THEY FINALLY MAKING OUT?!” And then Jake yells, “SUNGHOON OWES ME FIFTY BUCKS!”
You both break apart laughing, and Heeseung groans. “God, they’re never gonna let us live this down.”
You grin, cheeks flushed. “Worth it.” Because it is. It always was.
Pairing: childhoodfriend!jungwon x fem!reader
Genre: college!au, summer love story, fluff, angst
Synospsis: Bestfriends forever and nothing will ever make it change...well that's what you thought, but one summer (and an unrequited love) changed everything between the two of you. Maybe you never really saw him as your bestfriend all along...
Warnings: dry humping, swearing, oral (both!rec), softdom!jungwon, make out (heavy), alcohol
WC: 21k
Note: The story takes place in the WGFT Heeseung ff universe and this time it's Jungwon's turn to get his time to shine!!!! Hope you enjoy!!!
Playlist: Apple Cider by Beabadoobee, Everytime by Ariana Grande, Lost Island by Enhypen, We can't be friends by Ariana Grande, Earrings by Malcolm Todd
You haven't been home in eight months, and somehow the air feels exactly the same as it did when you were seven years old. Some things don't change. Your family's house is exactly as you left it.
"Y/N IS HOME!" your younger brother screams. He barrels into you before you've even dropped your bags, and you stumble backward into the doorframe with an oomph that knocks the breath out of your lungs.
"Daniel, you're seventeen, not seven," you wheeze, patting his back with the one arm that isn't pinned to your side. "You're supposed to be too cool for this."
"Never too cool for my favorite sister."
"I'm your only sister."
"That's why you're my favorite."
Your mother appears from the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour, her face breaking into a smile so wide it crinkles the corners of her eyes. She pulls you into a hug t, and for a moment you just stand there, letting yourself be held, letting the chaos of your family wash over you like water.
"You're too thin," she says, pulling back to examine your face. "Have you been eating? College students never eat."
"I eat, Mom."
"Lies. I can see your cheekbones. That's not natural." She pats your face firmly. "We're fixing this immediately. I made braised short ribs. And your grandmother sent over three kinds of kimchi."
The next hour is a blur of unpacking, being force-fed approximately seventeen side dishes, and deflecting increasingly pointed questions from your mother about whether you're "seeing anyone." You dodge the question with the practiced skill of someone who has been dodging it since high school, and eventually your mother gives up and redirects her energy toward making sure you eat a third helping of everything.
It's only when you're helping clear the table that she drops the bomb.
"Take some of the dumplings next door," she says, already packing a container. "The Yangs just got back yesterday. I'm sure Jungwon would love to see you."
Your hands freeze over the sink. "Jungwon's home?"
"The whole family. And Jungwon looks so grown up now. College has been good to him." She presses the container into your hands and gives you a look that brooks no argument. "Go. Say hello. You used to be inseparable, I'm sure he's been dying to catch up."
You and Jungwon. Inseparable. That's one word for it.
You've known Yang Jungwon since you were four years old, a solemn little boy with a bowl cut and a cute smile who had shown up at your family's barbecue with his parents and promptly shared his packet of strawberry Pocky with you without being asked. That was it. That was the beginning. From that moment on, you were a unit, a package deal, a two-for-one special, a matched set that no one bothered trying to separate.
Your childhood is a highlight reel of Jungwon moments. Jungwon teaching you how to ride a bike. Jungwon walking you to school every morning, even when his own school started earlier and he had to leave his friends to do it. Jungwon sneaking you extra snacks from his lunchbox because you always finished yours first.
You never had to explain yourself to Jungwon. He just knew. He knew that you needed silence sometimes, that your sarcasm was a defense mechanism, that you were terrified of thunderstorms but would rather die than admit it. He knew the exact moment you were about to cry (your left eyebrow twitched, just slightly, before the tears came). He knew you better than anyone, and you knew him just as well.
But then he left for college. And two years later, you left too. And the texts that had started out daily became weekly, then sporadic. The phone calls that had stretched for hours became minutes, then voicemails, then silence. You still sent each other memes sometimes, still liked each other's posts. But the closeness that had defined your entire existence had faded.
It's not anyone's fault. It's just what happens. People grow up, move away, build separate lives in separate cities. It's normal. It's fine. You're fine.
The doorbell chimes, a little melody that you remember from a thousand childhood visits. You hear footsteps inside, heavy and quick, and then the door swings open.
And you forget how to breathe.
Jungwon is standing in the doorway, and he is…he's…he's not the boy you remember.
The Jungwon in your memories is soft around the edges. Lanky limbs, round cheeks, the kind of face that made grandmothers pinch his cheeks. This Jungwon is wearing a tank top that is very, very see-through, because it's soaked with sweat. His hair is damp, pushed back from his forehead, and there's a towel slung around his neck that he's holding with one hand. His shoulders, when did he get shoulders? -are broad and defined. He's been working out. He's been working out, and the evidence is right there, and you are staring.
"Y/N?" His voice is deeper than you remember. He says your name like it's something precious, and his face breaks into that familiar smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes, the one you've known your whole life.
"Dang-" he starts, and then he's pulling you into a hug before you can react, his arms wrapping around you with an enthusiasm that makes the container press awkwardly between your bodies. He smells like sweat and fabric softener and something else, something warm and masculine. "You're home," he says into your hair. "You're actually home. When did you get back?"
"About an hour ago," you manage, your voice coming out relatively normal despite the fact that your face is currently pressed against a pectoral muscle. A pectoral muscle that belongs to Jungwon.
He pulls back, holding you at arm's length, and his eyes sweep over your face with an expression that's so purely, genuinely happy. "You look…you look amazing. Did you get taller?"
"I haven't grown since tenth grade."
"You look taller. It's the posture. You're standing like an adult now."
"Maybe because I’m an adult?"
He laughs. "Come in, come in," he says, stepping aside and gesturing you inside. "Mom's going to lose her mind when she sees you. She was just talking about you yesterday, she found that photo album from the summer we tried to build a treehouse ."
"Oh not the old pictures please."
"You know how nostalgic she can get."
"Y/N?! IS THAT Y/N?"
Mrs. Yang emerges from the kitchen, and within seconds you're enveloped in a hug. She's exactly the same as you remember, warm and effusive, with the same kind eyes that Jungwon inherited.
"Look at you!" she exclaims, pulling back to cup your face in her hands. "You're so beautiful! So grown up! Doesn't she look beautiful, Jungwon?"
"She looks beautiful," Jungwon agrees, and when you glance at him, his ears are slightly pink. Probably from the workout.
"Mom brought dumplings," you say, holding up the container. "She said you just got back yesterday and probably haven't had time to cook."
"That woman is an angel. Tell her we're having dinner together this weekend, no arguments, no excuses. I'm making bibimbap." Mrs. Yang takes the container and steps back toward the kitchen, already calling for her husband to come see who's at the door.
Mr. Yang appears a moment later, and the whole scene devolves into the kind of chaotic, overlapping welcome that you've experienced a hundred times before. Mrs. Yang starts pulling out photo albums. Mr. Yang asks about your classes and nods approvingly at your answers even though you're pretty sure he doesn't fully understand what your major entails.
And then the photo albums open, and the real embarrassment begins.
"Oh, this one!" Mrs. Yang crows, pointing at a photograph. "Look at you two! You must have been... what, six and eight? The school talent show!"
You lean in to look at the photo, and your soul briefly leaves your body.
"We were doing a skit about King Arthur," Jungwon says, his voice pained. "Y/N was Arthur. I was Lancelot."
The photos keep coming. Jungwon's first day of middle school, with you standing next to him on the front steps, your arm linked through his. A Halloween where you both dressed as characters from the same video game. A summer vacation at the beach where Jungwon got sunburned so badly he couldn't move for two days, and you sat beside him reading aloud from his favorite book until he fell asleep.
"I should probably head back," you say eventually, after the photo albums have been exhausted and Mrs. Yang has extracted a firm promise that you'll be at the family dinner this weekend. "Mom's probably wondering if I got kidnapped."
"I'll walk you out," Jungwon says, and there's something in his voice, something slightly awkward, slightly hesitant, that makes your stomach flip.
He walks you to the front door. "Hey," Jungwon says, his hand on the doorframe. "You want to walk to the convenience store? Like old times? I could really go for one of those melon ice creams."
"Sure," you say, and your voice comes out more casual than you feel. "But only if you put on an actual shirt first. I'm not being seen in public with you looking like... that."
He glances down at his tank top, and his ears go pink again. "Right. Yeah. Give me two minutes."
He disappears back into the house, and you stand on the front porch, trying very hard not to think about the way his shoulders looked in that tank top. Or the way his voice has deepened. Or the way his arms felt when he hugged you.
This is Jungwon, you remind yourself firmly. Jungwon, who is basically your brother except not actually your brother but definitely the brother-adjacent figure you've known your entire life.Stop being weird.
He reappears two minutes later in a soft-looking t-shirt and jeans, and the two of you set off down the familiar path toward the convenience store.
"How's school?" Jungwon asks, falling into step beside you. "Your mom said you're doing really well. Something about making the dean's list?"
"Dean's list, yeah. It's not a big deal."
"It's a huge deal. You're a genius."
"I'm a person who doesn't sleep enough and has spent more time studying than partying."
"That's what being a genius is."
You laugh and maybe this won't be so hard. Maybe you and Jungwon can just... slip back into the rhythm you always had. Best friends, nothing more, nothing less. But when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, at the way the fading sunlight catches the angles of his jaw, the way his sleeves stretch slightly over his biceps, the way his lips curve into that familiar half-smile. This is going to be a long summer.
Apple Cider - Beabadoobee now playing
The next few days are as you expected. Jungwon, as it turns out, is completely, infuriatingly, obliviously the same. Not the same as the Jungwon who left for college two years ago, no, he's different in ways that keep catching you off guard. The broader shoulders. The deeper voice. The way he moves now, with a quiet confidence that wasn't there before, like he's grown into his own skin. But the way he treats you? That hasn't changed at all. He's still the same protective, brotherly, endlessly thoughtful Jungwon who's been orbiting your life since before you could tie your own shoes.
And that's the problem.
On Tuesday, he shows up at your house at 9 AM with a toolbox and a determined expression. Your mother mentioned, in passing, at the barbecue planning session that had somehow materialized in your kitchen, that the hinge on the back door was sticking. Jungwon, being Jungwon, took this as a personal mission.
"You don't have to do that," you say, standing in the doorway with a mug of coffee clutched in your hands. You're still in your pajamas. Your hair looks like it's been through a tornado. You were not prepared for visitors.
"It'll take ten minutes," Jungwon says, already crouching down to examine the hinge. His t-shirt rides up slightly as he bends, revealing a strip of skin above his waistband, and you very deliberately look at the ceiling. "Your mom does so much for everyone. The least I can do is fix a door."
"You're a philosophy major, not a handyman."
"Undeclared, technically. And I've picked up some skills." He glances up at you, and his smile is so genuinely warm, so completely devoid of any awareness that he's currently making your morning extremely complicated, that you want to throw your coffee at him. "Besides, I like helping. It makes me feel useful."
"Your people-pleasing is showing."
"My what?"
"Nothing." You take a sip of your coffee.
On Wednesday, he helps your mother cook. You walk into the kitchen to find them side by side at the counter, your mom teaching him how to fold dumplings. Jungwon's fingers are clumsy with the wrappers, his dumplings coming out lopsided, but he's laughing, that bright, infectious laugh that makes your mother smile and pat his cheek like he's her own son.
"He's such a good boy," your mom says to you later, after Jungwon has gone home with a container full of the dumplings he helped make. "So polite. So helpful. Any girl would be lucky to have him."
You make a noncommittal sound and flee to your room before she can see the color rising in your cheeks.
On Thursday, he brings you boba. Unprompted. Just shows up at your door with two cups of brown sugar milk tea and that same devastating smile, saying he remembered it was your favorite and the new shop in town finally opened and he wanted to try it with you.
"This is bribery," you say, taking the cup anyway. "What do you want?"
"Can't a guy just bring his best friend boba without ulterior motives?"
"I've known you for fifteen years. You definitely have ulterior motives."
"Fine." He has the decency to look slightly sheepish. "My mom wants me to clean out the garage, and I was hoping you'd keep me company while I do it. She said she found our old middle school yearbooks in there, and I thought we could... I don't know. Look through them. For nostalgia."
Nostalgia. Right. Because looking at photographic evidence of your awkward preteen phase while sitting in close proximity to Jungwon in a dusty garage sounds like a completely safe activity that won't do anything weird to your heart.
"Sounds fun," you hear yourself say, because you're a masochist apparently.
And it is fun. Infuriatingly fun. You sit on an old lawn chair while Jungwon sorts through boxes, and you flip through yearbooks filled with photos of the two of you at every stage of adolescence. Jungwon with braces. You with bangs that were a tragic mistake. The two of you at the eighth-grade dance, standing stiffly next to each other. The two of you at the high school soccer game, your face painted with the school colors, his arm slung casually around your shoulders.
"God, we were such dorks," you say, holding up a photo of Jungwon in a truly unfortunate neon-green track suit.
"Speak for yourself. I was rocking that look."
"You looked like a highlighter."
"A very fashionable highlighter."
The laughter comes easily, the way it always has. And that's the thing that's messing with your head. Because when you're actually talking to him, when you're just existing in his presence the way you've done a thousand times before, everything feels normal. Easy. Like nothing's changed. But then he'll reach past you to grab something, and his arm will brush against yours, and you'll catch the scent of his laundry detergent mixed with something warm and distinctly him, and your brain will short-circuit entirely. Or he'll laugh at something you said, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and you'll find yourself staring at the curve of his lips and wondering things you have absolutely no business wondering about your childhood best friend.
And then the guilt hits. Because this is Jungwon. The boy who has never once looked at you as anything other than his best friend, his little sister. And here you are, mentally glazing every time he so much as flexes his forearms, like some kind of deranged romance novel protagonist who's forgotten the entire context of her own life.
You're terrible. You're a terrible person. You need to get a grip.
The barbecue is on Saturday. Both families, together, in the Yangs' backyard. It's a tradition that's been going on since before you can remember, and missing it would be unthinkable. So you can't avoid it. You can't avoid him.
On Friday afternoon, your mother hands you a grocery list that's approximately the length of a short novel. "We need everything for the marinade, plus the sides, plus drinks, plus-"
"Mom, this is enough food for an army."
"The Yangs are an army. Take Jungwon with you. He's got a car, and you shouldn't be carrying all those bags by yourself."
"I can carry bags. I'm an adult."
"You're a twig. A strong wind could knock you over. Take Jungwon."
So you text Jungwon, and Jungwon responds within thirty seconds with an enthusiastic yes!!! and three emojis that don't go together in any logical way, and twenty minutes later you're in the passenger seat of his car, heading to the grocery store.
"Remember when we used to ride our bikes to the corner store?" he asks, pulling into the parking lot. "We'd pool our allowance and buy as much candy as we could afford, and then we'd sit on the curb and eat it all before dinner."
"And then your mom would be mad because you ruined your appetite."
"She was always mad. I was a very difficult child."
"Yeah, I remember when you used to get ragebaited by your grandma a lot. Really funny."
"Please don’t mention it again."
"You were twelve."
Grocery shopping with Jungwon is an experience. He pushes the cart, pausing every few feet to consult the list your mother gave him and cross-reference it with the items in the cart. He reads the nutrition labels on everything, which is new, the Jungwon of your childhood would have just grabbed whatever had the most colorful packaging.
"College changed you," you observe, watching him compare two jars of sesame oil. "You're like... a responsible adult now. It's disturbing."
"Someone had to become a responsible adult. You're still the same chaos gremlin you've always been."
"You want that gremlin to punch that pretty face of yours?."
"Oh so you like my face? I’m honoured."
"I like your face only when you shut your mouth."
The checkout line is long, and Jungwon insists on paying, "your mom already does so much, let me contribute something", and you're standing beside him, helping bag the groceries, when you see it.
A small box. Brightly colored. Sitting innocently in the plastic bag among the vegetables and the marinade ingredients and the six-pack of Sprite. Condoms. You stare at the box for approximately three seconds, your brain refusing to process what it's seeing. Then the processing kicks in, and a series of thoughts flash through your mind in rapid succession:
That's a box of condoms.
In Jungwon's grocery bag.
Jungwon bought condoms.
Why does Jungwon have condoms?
Oh god, Jungwon has condoms because he uses condoms.
Oh god, Jungwon has sex.
Jungwon has SEX.
WITH PEOPLE.
"Y/N?" Jungwon's voice cuts through your spiral, and you realize you've been frozen in place with a head of cabbage clutched in your hands like a stress ball. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine!" you say, and your voice comes out approximately three octaves higher than normal. "Totally fine. Great. Never been better. Cabbage. Love cabbage. Great vegetable. Very... leafy."
Jungwon squints at you, clearly not buying a single word of this, but the cashier chooses that moment to announce the total, and he turns away to pay. You shove the cabbage into the bag with perhaps more force than necessary.
It's not a big deal. It's not a big deal. He's a twenty-something guy in college. Of course he's had sex. Of course he's bought condoms. This is normal. This is fine. You're fine.
But the thought sticks in your brain like a splinter, and by the time you're back in the car, the groceries loaded into the trunk, you've worked yourself into a state of quiet, internal frenzy.
How many girls has he slept with? Did he have a girlfriend? Multiple girlfriends? Is he seeing someone right now? Why didn't he tell you? Why would he tell you? It's not like you're his- you're not his anything. You're his childhood best friend. You're basically his sister. He doesn't owe you a detailed accounting of his romantic history.
But still.
Who were they? What were they like? Were they pretty? Smart? Funny? Did he hold their hands the way he holds yours? Did he kiss them? Did he-*
You cut the thought off before it can finish. You don't want to know. You really, really don't want to know.
Back at your house, you help him carry the groceries inside, your movements mechanical, your brain still running through increasingly unhelpful scenarios. Jungwon is chatting about something, the barbecue, maybe, or his plans for the rest of the summer, but you're barely listening. The box of condoms is burning a hole in your brain.
"Hey," you say, setting down the bag of vegetables with a little more force than strictly necessary. "Can I ask you something?"
"Always." Jungwon turns to face you, his expression open and unguarded, and you feel a pang of guilt for what you're about to do. This is none of your business. You shouldn't be asking this. You have no right to ask this.
But you're asking it anyway, because you're a self-destructive idiot who can't leave well enough alone. "Did you..." You pause, searching for the right words. "In college. Did you... see anyone?"
Jungwon blinks. "See anyone?"
"Like... date. Or... you know. Hook up with. Or whatever." You wave your hand vaguely, like you're talking about the weather. Like this is a casual, normal conversation between two platonic childhood friends who definitely don't have weird, complicated feelings about each other.
Jungwon's ears go pink. "That's... a pretty personal question."
"Forget it. Sorry. None of my business." You turn back to the groceries, your face burning.
"No, it's fine. It's just... unexpected." He leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossing over his chest. "Yeah. I dated a bit. Nothing serious. I, uh..." He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous gesture you recognize from childhood. "I hooked up with some people too."
Some people. Plural. Multiple. The words hit you like a punch to the stomach.
"Okay," you say, your voice remarkably steady considering the chaos happening inside your chest. "Cool. That's cool. Normal college stuff. Good for you."
"Are you sure you want to hear this? You're making that face."
"What face?"
"The face you make when you're trying very hard not to react to something. Your left eyebrow is doing the twitchy thing."
"Totally sure," you say. "I'm just curious. We haven't really talked about... any of this. I don't know anything about your life in college."
Jungwon is quiet for a moment, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. "There was... actually, there was someone I really liked. Last semester."
"Someone you liked," you repeat.
"Yeah. A girl in my philosophy elective. I had this whole crush on her for months, but I was too nervous to say anything." He smiles, but it's a different kind of smile, softer, more distant. "It's kind of a long story. She actually ended up with one of my best friends. It's okay now, they're really happy together, and I'm genuinely glad for them. But it was... a wake-up call, I guess."
"A wake-up call?"
"I realized I'd spent so much time waiting and overthinking that I'd missed my chance. I didn't want that to happen again." He shrugs, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "So I decided to just... live. Explore. Stop being so scared of everything. I figured if I didn't put myself out there, I'd just keep watching opportunities pass me by."
"So you started... sleeping around."
"That's a very blunt way to put it."
"I'm a blunt person."
"I know." He laughs, the one that crinkles his eyes. "It's one of the things I've always liked about you."
"So yeah," Jungwon continues. "I hooked up with people. Nothing serious, like I said. Just... trying things. Figuring out what I want. It's been good for me, honestly. I feel more confident now. Less like I'm waiting for something to happen and more like I'm actually living my life."
"That's... good. That's really good." You're saying the right words, but your voice sounds hollow to your own ears. "I'm happy for you."
Jungwon grins. "What about you? Any hot college romances I should know about?"
"No. Nothing. I've been too busy studying."
"Really? No one caught your eye?"
Just you, you don't say. Just the person I'm not supposed to think about like this. Just my childhood best friend who apparently spent his college years having casual hookups with other people while I was sitting in my dorm room wondering why I couldn't feel anything for anyone else.
"Nope," you say out loud. "I'm married to my textbooks."
"That's tragic."
"That's academia."
He laughs again, and then his expression shifts into something more mischievous. "Well, if it makes you feel better, you don't have to be jealous. At least my first kiss was with you."
Your brain screeches to a halt. "What."
"You know. High school. My parents' closet."
Sophomore year. It was a random Saturday afternoon, and both your families were downstairs preparing for some dinner party or another. You and Jungwon had escaped to his parents' room, hiding in the walk-in closet among the coats and the winter boots, having one of those rambling conversations that always seemed to happen when you were alone together.
And somehow, the conversation had turned to kissing. Neither of you had done it before. Neither of you wanted to be bad at it when the time came. And somehow, you still don't remember who suggested it first, you'd agreed to practice. With each other. Just to get it out of the way.
It had started awkward. A nervous brush of lips, both of you too hesitant to commit. But then Jungwon's hand had found your waist, and your fingers had curled into the fabric of his shirt, and something had shifted. The kiss had deepened. Became something hungrier, more urgent. His mouth had moved against yours with a confidence that surprised you both, and you'd made a sound, a small, breathless sound that had made him pull you closer.
It had lasted maybe five minutes. Maybe longer. Time had gone strange and elastic in the darkness of that closet. When you'd finally pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, his forehead pressed against yours, neither of you had spoken. The silence had been so loud it was deafening.
And then his mom had called you both for dinner, and you'd scrambled out of the closet like guilty criminals, and neither of you had ever mentioned it again.
Until now. Apparently. Because Jungwon is just casually bringing it up like it's some funny childhood anecdote, like it didn't fundamentally alter your brain chemistry when it happened.
"That wasn't-" you splutter. "That wasn't a kiss. That was... practice."
"Practice that went on for a really long time."
"We were curious!"
"We were very curious."
"YOU'RE THE WORST."
Your fist connects with his stomach before your brain can intervene. It's not a hard punch, you're not trying to actually hurt him but he doubles over anyway, laughing so hard that his shoulders shake.
"I'm sorry," he wheezes, "I'm sorry, your face, you should have seen your face-"
"I HATE YOU."
"You don't hate me. You've never hated me a day in your life."
"I'm starting today. I'm starting right now."
He straightens up, still grinning, and there's no awkwardness in his expression at all. No hidden meaning. No tension. Just fond amusement, like the memory of making out with you in a closet is just one of many sweet, funny moments in the long history of your friendship.
And that's when it hits you. Really, truly hits you.
This whole situation, the confusing feelings, the stolen glances, the jealousy that's been eating you alive since you saw that stupid box of condoms, it's all completely one-sided. Jungwon isn't looking at you differently. Jungwon isn't secretly harboring feelings for you. Jungwon is exactly where he's always been: your best friend, your brother in all but blood, the person who knows you better than anyone and loves you exactly the way he always has.
"I should... go help my mom with the marinade," you say, your voice coming out steadier than you feel. "I'll see you tomorrow. At the barbecue."
"Definitely." Jungwon's smile is warm and genuine and so completely oblivious that it makes your chest ache.
You're already backing out of the kitchen, your movements stiff and mechanical. Jungwon gives you a little wave, already turning back to the groceries, completely unaware that he's just detonated a bomb in the middle of your emotional state.
You make it to your home, then your room. You close the door. You lock it. And then you punch your pillow with the full force of your frustration.
"At least my first kiss was with you," you mutter, mimicking his voice in a high, mocking tone. "So you don't have to be jealous." Punch. "It was PRACTICE." Punch. "We were CURIOUS." Punch. "I've been pining like an IDIOT and you're out there having HOOKUPS and telling me about your PHILOSOPHY CRUSH."
You collapse face-first onto the pillow, your voice muffled by the fabric.
"He's so STUPID. He's so OBLIVIOUS. He's out there looking like THAT and talking about his SEX LIFE and bringing me BOBA and fixing my mom's DOOR and he doesn't even NOTICE-"
You stop. You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. "What doesn't he notice?" you ask the empty room.
You know the answer. You've known the answer since the moment you saw him standing in that doorway in his stupid see-through tank top. You're into him. You're into him. Into your childhood best friend who has never once looked at you as anything other than a little sister. Into the guy who just casually told you about his college hookups and his philosophy crush and the fact that he decided to "explore his youth," whatever that means.
And what are you supposed to do with that? Confess? Risk ruining a friendship that's been the most stable thing in your life for fifteen years? Put everything on the line for a chance that he might, maybe, possibly feel something too?
No. Absolutely not. You're not going to be one of those people who ruins a lifelong friendship because they can't control their feelings. You're stronger than that. You're smarter than that. You're going to shove these feelings into a box, lock the box, and throw away the key.
Reality check, you tell yourself firmly. He doesn't see you that way. He's never seen you that way. The closet kiss was just curiosity. The way he looks at you is just friendship. The way he always saves you a seat and remembers your boba order and offers to fix things around your house is just the person he is…kind and thoughtful and completely, thoroughly platonic.
You are his childhood best friend. You are basically his sister. And that's all you're ever going to be.
You press your face back into the pillow and let out a long, muffled groan.
The barbecue is in full swing by the time you make your way to the Yangs backyard, and the scene is exactly as chaotic as you expected.
Mr. Yang is manning the grill. Your father is standing beside him, offering unsolicited advice about the proper way to flip the meet, which Mr. Yang is ignoring with the practiced patience of someone who has been receiving this advice for two decades. Your mother and Mrs. Yang are setting up the side dishes on the long picnic table, their heads bent together in what looks like a very intense gossip session. And Jungwon, Jungwon is walking toward you with a plate of meat fresh off the grill and a smile that makes your stomach do a flip.
"You're late," he says, holding out the plate. "I saved you the first batch before my dad could burn it."
You take the plate, and your fingers brush against his. The contact is brief, barely a second, but your skin tingles where he touched you, and you have to resist the urge to yank your hand back like you've been burned. This is fine. You've made peace with your feelings and shoved them into a mental box, and you're going to act completely normal today.
"Thanks for the meat," you say, and your voice comes out blessedly casual.
"You look kinda goofy."
"And you look like an idiot."
"Your idiot," he says. He doesn't mean it the way you want him to mean it. He means it the way he's always meant it, best friends, partners in crime, the two of you against the world.
The afternoon unfolds in the easy, familiar rhythm of family gatherings. You eat too much. Your mother tells embarrassing stories about your childhood. Mrs. Yang counters with embarrassing stories about Jungwon's childhood. At some point, someone produces a karaoke machine, and your father treats everyone to a truly spectacular show of an eighties power ballad that has the entire yard howling with laughter.
And through it all, there's Jungwon. Sitting beside you at the picnic table, his knee occasionally bumping against yours. Refilling your drink before you even realize it's empty. Catching your eye from across the yard and making funny faces until you crack a smile. It's so normal. So familiar. So exactly like every other barbecue you've attended in the past fifteen years.
Except it's not. Because now you're aware of him in a way you never were before. Now you notice the way his laugh sounds when he throws his head back. Now you catalog the way his fingers curl around his cup, the way his shoulders move under his shirt, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins at you. It's exhausting. It's infuriating. It's the most alive you've felt in months.
"You're eating all the mushrooms," Jungwon observes, watching you pluck another one from the communal plate. "You know other people might want mushrooms, right?"
"Other people should have been faster."
"There were like ten mushrooms on that plate and you've taken eight of them."
"Nine, actually. I took one while you were talking."
He laughs, and you stuff another mushroom in your mouth to compensate.
The conversation shifts, as it always does, into the easy back-and-forth that's been your default setting since childhood. You argue about the correct way to pronounce a word you both heard differently. You debate whether the new coffee shop in town is better than the old one. You're laughing unguarded, when Jungwon reaches past you to grab the pitcher of lemonade. His hand slides across your lower back as he moves, just for a second, just to steady himself, but the contact sends a jolt of electricity through your entire body. His palm is warm through the thin fabric of your shirt, and his fingers press lightly against your waist, and his voice, when he speaks, is low and close to your ear.
"Excuse me for a second," he murmurs, and the tone, casual, intimate, completely unaware of what he's doing to you, makes your knees go weak.
Do not fold, you command yourself. Do not fold. You are a strong, independent person who is not going to melt because your childhood best friend touched your waist like it's the most normal thing in the world.
"The lemonade," you manage, your voice slightly strangled. "It's... right there."
"I see it now. Thanks."
His hand slides away, and you exhale a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. Across the yard, your mother catches your eye and raises an eyebrow. You pointedly look away.
The drinking competition starts, as all great disasters do, with your father.
"Beer!" he announces, standing up from his lawn chair with the slightly unsteady enthusiasm of someone who has already had two. "We need more beer! And a competition!"
"A competition for what?" Mr. Yang asks, looking up from the grill.
"Drinking! We're all old now. When was the last time we really let loose?"
"Last New Year's Eve," your mother says flatly. "You threw up in the rose bushes."
"Details."
Despite your mother's protests, the beer is produced. And not just a few bottles, your father disappears into the house and emerges with an entire case, his expression triumphant. Within twenty minutes, both sets of parents are lined up at the picnic table, a row of shot glasses (filled with beer, because they're middle-aged adults who know their limits but are pretending not to) arranged in front of them.
"Rules!" your father announces. "First one to tap out loses. Winner gets bragging rights for the entire year."
"There are no rules," Mrs. Yang says. "You just made this up."
"I'm the commissioner of this competition. I can make rules."
"You're an accountant."
"I'm an accountant and a commissioner."
The competition, predictably, devolves into chaos. Your mother, who has the alcohol tolerance of a hummingbird, bows out after two shots and spends the next hour giggling at everything anyone says. Mrs. Yang puts up a surprisingly strong fight, matching your father shot for shot until she suddenly stops mid-sentence, blinks, and announces that the sky is "very sky-like tonight." Mr. Yang, who has been nursing the same beer for the entire afternoon, is declared the winner by default when your father attempts a victory shot and misses his own mouth entirely.
"I won?" Mr. Yang says, looking genuinely confused. "I didn't know we were competing."
"That's the spirit," your father slurs, clapping him on the shoulder. "That's winning energy."
By the time the sun sets, both sets of parents are in various states of inebriation. Your mother is asleep in a lawn chair, her head tilted back and her mouth slightly open. Mrs. Yang is having a very intense conversation with the family dog about the meaning of life. Your father and Mr. Yang are attempting to fold up the picnic table and failing spectacularly.
Which leaves you and Jungwon. The only two sober people in a yard full of chaos.
"We should probably clean this up," you say, surveying the carnage. Empty bottles cover the picnic table. Plates of half-eaten food are scattered across every available surface. Someone, you suspect your father, has draped a string of fairy lights around the grill in what appears to be an attempt at decoration.
"Probably," Jungwon agrees. "Or we could just leave it and let them deal with it tomorrow."
"Your mom is currently explaining life to a golden retriever."
"The dog seems very engaged."
"Jungwon."
"Fine, fine. I'll get the trash bags."
The cleanup takes the better part of an hour. You collect the empty bottles while Jungwon tackles the food, scraping leftovers into containers and stacking plates with the practiced efficiency of someone who has cleaned up after many family gatherings. The parents eventually stagger inside, your mom leaning heavily on your dad, Mrs. Yang still muttering philosophical observations to the dog, until it's just the two of you in the quiet backyard, the only light coming from the string of fairy lights that your father had so artistically arranged.
"Well," Jungwon says, tying off the last trash bag. "That was..."
"A disaster?"
"I was going to say a successful family event, but disaster works too."
"It's not a real barbecue until someone passes out."
"Your dad set a new record this year. He almost made it to sunset."
"Personal growth."
Jungwon laughs, and the sound echoes in the quiet yard. He's standing close to you, closer than you realized and the fairy lights catch the angles of his face, the curve of his smile, the way his dark hair falls across his forehead. He looks like something out of a movie. A romance movie. The kind you watch when you want to torture yourself with unrealistic expectations about love.
"So," he says, leaning against the now-clean picnic table. "The parents are asleep. The food is put away. The dog is having an existential crisis. What now?"
"I don't know. Go home? Go to bed?"
"We could do that." He tilts his head, and there's something in his expression, something teasing, something challenging. "Or we could continue the tradition."
"What tradition?"
"The drinking competition. You know. Carry on the family legacy."
"Everyone else is passed out."
"Exactly. The title is still up for grabs."
You raise an eyebrow. "You want to have a drinking competition. With me."
"I want to see if you can handle it." His smile widens, and it's the same smile he used to give you when you were kids. "Unless you're scared."
"I'm not scared. I'm sensible. There's a difference."
"Sensible is just a word scared people use."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"It makes perfect sense. You just don't want to admit it."
The banter is familiar, comforting. But there's something different about it tonight. Something that feels almost like flirting, even though you know it's not. Even though Jungwon is just being Jungwon, and you're just being you, and this is exactly the kind of stupid challenge you would have accepted without hesitation back when you were teenagers and didn't know any better.
"Fine. But I'm warning you, I'm very competitive."
"So am I."
"My dad keeps a bottle of whiskey in the study," he says over his shoulder. "The good kind. The kind he thinks no one knows about."
"You're going to steal your dad's whiskey?"
"I'm going to borrow it. There's a difference."
"That's not how borrowing works."
"It's how my borrowing works."
The Yangs' house is quiet and dark, the only sound the distant snoring of a parent somewhere upstairs. You follow Jungwon to the study. He rummages through the bottom drawer with the confidence of someone who has done this before, and when he straightens up, there's a bottle of amber liquid in his hand.
"Ta-da," he says, holding it up like a trophy. "Twelve-year aged whiskey. My dad's been saving it for a special occasion."
"And this counts as a special occasion?"
"First barbecue of the summer? Definitely special."
"You're going to regret this tomorrow."
"Probably. But that's future Jungwon's problem. Current Jungwon wants to see if you can hold your liquor."
You follow him back to the living room, where he produces two glasses from the kitchen and pours generous measures of whiskey into each. He hands you a glass, and your fingers brush against his, and you very pointedly do not think about the contact.
"Rules," Jungwon says, settling onto the couch. "We take turns. Each of us drinks when it's our turn. First one to tap out loses."
"That's not a game. That's just... drinking."
"It's a drinking game. The game is drinking."
"That's the laziest game I've ever heard of."
"Do you have a better idea?"
You don't. So you clink your glass against his and take your first sip.
The whiskey burns going down, warm and smoky, and you can feel it spreading through your chest like a slow fire. Jungwon takes his turn, then you take yours. The glasses are refilled. The room starts to feel warmer, Jungwon's face is slightly flushed now, and his laugh comes easier, and he's sitting closer to you on the couch than he was before. Or maybe you're sitting closer to him. It's hard to tell.
"Remember the closet?" he says, and the question catches you off guard.
"What closet?"
"My parents' closet. High school. The-"
"I know which closet." Your face is heating, and it's not just from the whiskey. "What about it?"
Jungwon grins, and it's a looser grin than usual, less guarded. "Nothing. Just... that was a good kiss. For a first kiss, I mean."
"It was practice."
"It was a lot of practice."
"You're drunk."
"So are you."
"I'm not drunk. I'm... pleasantly tipsy."
"That's a very fancy way of saying drunk."
"I'm a fancy person."
"You're wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon cat on it."
"The cat is wearing a top hat. That makes it fancy."
Jungwon laughs so hard he nearly spills his whiskey. You catch his arm to steady him, and the contact is electric, and you pull your hand back like you've been burned.
"You know what," you say, the whiskey courage flooding through your veins, "you were actually a terrible kisser. Back then. In the closet. You were bad at it."
Jungwon's eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Terrible. All teeth and no technique."
"That is... extremely revisionist history."
"It's accurate history. You were bad. I was just being nice about it."
"I was not bad. I was-" He pauses, searching for the right word. "-enthusiastic."
"Enthusiastically bad."
"You were enthusiastic too!"
"I was practicing. There's a difference."
The room is spinning slightly now, but you don't care. The whiskey has unlocked something in you, something reckless and brave and completely, utterly stupid. The mental box where you've been storing your feelings is starting to crack at the edges, and you can't seem to find the energy to patch it back up.
Childhood friend? Brother-sister bond? Screw that. Screw all of that.
"I've had time to perfect it, you know," Jungwon says, and his voice is lower now, rougher. "Since high school. I've gotten better."
"That's what you think."
"It's what I know."
"Prove it."
The words hang in the air between you like a challenge. Like a dare.
Jungwon blinks, his glass pausing halfway to his lips. "Prove it?"
"You said you've gotten better. I don't believe you." Your heart is hammering, but your voice is steady. "I want to test it out. For scientific purposes."
"You're drunk."
"So are you. That's not an excuse."
Jungwon stares at you for a long moment. His expression is unreadable, surprise, confusion, something else that flickers in his eyes and disappears before you can identify it.
"You're serious," he says.
"I'm always serious."
"You're the least serious person I know."
"And yet here I am. Being serious."
The silence stretches between you. Your heart is pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. This is it. This is the moment where he laughs it off, makes a joke, brings back the familiar brotherly distance that's been the foundation of your friendship for fifteen years.
But he doesn't.
"Okay," he says, and his voice is so quiet you almost miss it. "Let's test it out."
He sets down his glass. You set down yours. Jungwon stands up, and you stand up, and the room tilts slightly, but you don't care.
"Let’s go to my place," you say, and your voice comes out surprisingly steady. "My room. The parents are all passed out anyway."
"Your room," Jungwon repeats. "Your childhood bedroom. With the stuffed animals and the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling."
"The stars are still there. The stuffed animals are in a box."
Jungwon follows you to your house (which is literally five steps outside his house). Your room is exactly as you left it, the bed is made, the curtains drawn, and the lamp on your nightstand casts a warm, golden light across everything.
Jungwon stands in the doorway, his hand on the frame, his expression caught between hesitation and something else. "Last chance to back out," he says quietly.
"I don't want to back out."
"You're sure?"
Everytime - Ariana Grande now playing
Instead of answering, you reach out and grab the front of his shirt, pulling him into the room. The door clicks shut behind him.
Jungwon sits at the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. You stand before him for a moment, heart pounding in your chest, before climbing onto his lap, straddling him with a confidence you don't know you possess.
His hands immediately find your hips, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your shorts. He pulls you closer, pressing you against the growing hardness beneath his jeans, and a soft gasp escapes your lips.
"What are you waiting to kiss me?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough with intoxication.
Instead of answering, you lean in, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss starts slow, tentative that quickly deepens as years of suppressed desire come rushing to the surface. His lips are soft but demanding, moving against yours with a practiced confidence that makes your head spin.
The kiss quickly escalates from tender to feverish. You are devouring each other, mouths opening wider, tongues tangling in a desperate dance. It is messy and urgent and everything you haven't let yourself imagine for all those years. Jungwon's hands roam your body, sliding up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, then back down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him.
He starts sucking your tongue into his mouth, drawing it in with a deliberate, sexual rhythm that sends jolts of pleasure straight to your core. His eyes remain open, locked with yours as he works your tongue, the intensity of his gaze nearly undoing you completely. The wet, obscene sounds of his sucking fill the room, mingling with your ragged breaths.
Your hips begin to move instinctively, grinding against him in a rhythm that matches the pull of his mouth on your tongue. The friction of your clothed bodies sliding together creates a heat that is almost unbearable.
"Fuck," he groans against your mouth, releasing your tongue briefly. "You feel so good. Move harder."
His words spur you on, and you move with abandon, dry humping him with a desperate need that borders on obscene. Every thrust of your hips against his sends waves of pleasure through your body, and you can feel his arousal pressing insistently against you, growing harder with each movement.
Jungwon's hands slip under your shirt, his rough palms sliding against your skin as he explores the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine. He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips along your jaw, down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there. You tilt your head back, giving him better access as your hips continue their relentless rhythm.
"You like that?" he whispers against your skin, his voice husky with desire. "Like riding me like this? So desperate for it."
"Shut up," you breathe, even as your body responds to his taunts, moving faster, harder.
"Make me," he challenges, capturing your lips again in another searing kiss. His tongue invades your mouth with renewed intensity, and this time you meet him with equal fervor, sucking and licking and biting in a battle for dominance that neither of you is truly trying to win.
The room grows hotter, the air thick with the scent of whisky and arousal. Jungwon's hands roam freely now, squeezing your breasts through your shirt, pinching your nipples until you cry out against his mouth.
"You’re so cute," he murmurs, his words muffled by your kisses. "Wonder how you'd look with my mouth somewhere else." Jungwon meets your rhythm, thrusting up against you, his hands gripping your hips to guide your movements. "Look at you," he continues, his voice dropping lower, becoming rougher. "So desperate for it. Bet you're soaking through these panties right now, aren't you?"
"Only if you're not already leaking through those jeans," you shoot back, your own voice breathy with need.
His response is a guttural groan as he increases the pace, his hips bucking up to meet yours with an urgency that matches your own. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound joining the symphony of wet kisses, ragged breaths, and whispered profanities that fill the room.
"Jungwon," you gasp against his mouth, the name a prayer and a curse all at once.
"Right here," he responds, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you even closer as he increases the friction between you. "Not going anywhere."
The pressure builds to an almost unbearable level, your movements becoming frantic as you chase your release. Jungwon seems to sense your need, his mouth returning to yours in a kiss that is both possessive and tender, his tongue once again sucking yours into his mouth with a rhythm that pushes you over the edge.
Your orgasm crashes over you with surprising intensity, waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you collapse against him, boneless and trembling. Jungwon holds you through it, his arms wrapped around you, his lips pressing soft kisses against your hair as you struggle to catch your breath.
When your senses slowly return, you become aware of the hardness still pressing against you, a testament to his own unsatisfied desire. You lift your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the room.
"Your turn," you whisper, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you prepare to return the favor.
Just as you shift to take control, Jungwon's hands shoot out, gripping your waist with surprising strength. "Oh no," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. "I'm not letting you lead this game. Not yet."
Before you can protest, he's flipped the positions, maneuvering you with an ease that is both impressive and infuriating. You find yourself sitting at the edge of the bed, breathless from the sudden movement, while Jungwon kneels before you. His eyes, dark and intense, never leave yours as his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts.
"These have to go," he states simply, tugging them down your legs. The fabric pools at your ankles, leaving you completely exposed from the waist down. A flush creeps up your neck as you realize how wet you are, the evidence of your earlier orgasm glistening on your thighs.
Jungwon notices too, of course. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as he traces a finger along the damp skin of your inner thigh. "Well now," he teases, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Someone got excited. Tell me, Y/N, did you just squirt? Because this looks like more than just regular excitement."
You open your mouth to deliver a sharp comeback, but the words die on your lips as he leans in, pressing soft kisses against your inner thigh. His lips are warm and gentle against your sensitive skin, a stark contrast to the roughness of his earlier actions.
"I should kiss your lips from down there too," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot against your core. "Since you're so convinced I'm a terrible kisser, maybe I need to practice on a different set of lips."
His mouth moves higher, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Then he pauses, sucking gently at the tender skin of your inner thigh, leaving a dark mark that will surely be visible tomorrow. He repeats the action on the other side, creating matching hickeys that stand out against your pale skin.
"I don't see the point of putting them on the neck," he explains, admiring his handiwork. "These are much more interesting, don't you think?"
You can't form a coherent response, not when his mouth is so close to where you need it most. And then he is there, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path along your folds. The sensation is electric, sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body.
Jungwon doesn't hold back. He devours you with an enthusiasm that is almost overwhelming, his tongue exploring every inch of your most sensitive areas. It is too much, too intense, and you find yourself trying to slide away, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.
But Jungwon isn't having it. His arms lock around your thighs, holding you in place as he effortlessly slides you back toward his waiting mouth. "Oh no you don't," he growls against your core. "You wanted proof, and I'm not done proving anything yet."
His tongue enters you then, fucking you with a rhythm that makes your toes curl. It is delicious, the way he moves inside you, exploring every inch of your inner walls with a skill that is both impressive and infuriating. You look down at him, at the way his dark hair falls across his forehead as he works, at the intense concentration on his face as he focuses on bringing you pleasure.
Just as you are approaching the edge again, he slows down, his movements becoming deliberate, teasing. He runs his tongue through your folds with agonizing slowness, pausing occasionally to look up at you, his eyes dark with challenge. He knows exactly what he is doing, the bastard. He is provoking you, testing your limits, pushing you to the brink of insanity with his maddeningly slow pace.
The sounds are the worst part, or the best part, you can't decide. Each slow lick is accompanied by a wet, sucking noise that echoes in the quiet room, a constant reminder of what is happening between your legs.
"Say it," he murmurs against you, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Say I'm a good kisser."
You bite your lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction. You are always stubborn, always bratty when challenged, and this is no different. If he wants you to admit he is good, he is going to have to work harder for it.
Jungwon chuckles, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you. "Still so defiant," he says, pulling back slightly to look at you. "Is that how you treat your precious friend?"
He returns to his task with renewed enthusiasm, his tongue moving faster now, his lips sucking at your clit with a rhythm that makes your hips buck involuntarily.
"Come on, Y/N," he urges, his voice rough with desire. "Just say it. Say I'm a good kisser, and I'll let you come."
That is all it takes. The combination of his skilled tongue and his dirty talk sends you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. As waves of pleasure course through your body, the words finally tumble from your lips.
"You're a good kisser," you gasp, your voice ragged with pleasure. "Oh god, Jungwon, you're such a good kisser."
Jungwon continues his ministrations through your orgasm, drawing out your pleasure until you are completely spent, collapsing back against the bed with a satisfied sigh. Only then does he pull away, a triumphant grin on his face as he looks up at you.
"Glad we settled that," he says, his voice smug with satisfaction. He rises to his feet, standing before you with a noticeable bulge in his jeans. "Now it's your turn. Suck my dick."
Jungwon doesn't wait for an answer. He simply stands and begins to unbutton his jeans. He pushes his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion, and his cock springs free, hard and heavy.
He stands before you, completely exposed from the waist down. He is bigger than you'd somehow imagined, thick and curving slightly upward, the tip already glistening with precum. A vein pulses along the underside.
"On your knees," he commands, his voice low and rough. It isn't a request, but you find yourself complying without hesitation, sliding off the bed onto the plush carpet of your bedroom floor. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that his cock is nearly level with your face. He tangles his fingers in your hair, his grip firm but not painful, using it to tilt your head back.
"Open up," he murmurs, his eyes dark with intensity as he looks down at you. "Let's see if that mouth is good for more than just talking back."
You part your lips, your heart pounding in your chest as he guides himself to your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the salty bitterness of his precum, and he lets out a low groan, his fingers tightening in your hair.
"Fuck, Y/N," he breathes, his voice strained. "Just like that."
You take him into your mouth then, slowly at first, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way he fills you so completely. You move your tongue along the underside, tracing the path of that pulsing vein, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily.
"Careful," he warns, though his tone is more pleased than admonishing. "I’m enjoying this a bit too much."
You want to see him come undone, to hear him gasp and groan, to know that you are the one causing his pleasure. You take him deeper then, until the tip of his cock brushes against the back of your throat, and you swallow around him, your muscles contracting.
"Jesus Christ," he gasps, his hips beginning to move in a shallow rhythm. "You're…fuck…you're really good at this."
You pull back slightly, creating a suction that makes his eyes roll back in his head. Then you take him deep again. Your hands come up to grip his thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch as he fights to maintain control.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with need. "I want to see those pretty eyes when you're sucking my cock."
You look up at him then, your eyes locking with his as you continue your ministrations. The intensity in his gaze is nearly overwhelming, a mixture of raw desire and something that looks suspiciously like affection. Jungwon begins to move more freely then, his hips thrusting in time with the movements of your mouth. The pace quickens, growing more frantic as he approaches his release.
"I'm close," he warns, his voice strained.
You can feel it too, the way his cock seems to swell in your mouth, the way his thrusts become more erratic. You double your efforts, taking him as deep as you can, your tongue working frantically against him.
"Y/N," he gasps, his fingers tightening in your hair. "I'm…fuck, I'm coming."
His release is sudden and explosive, hot and salty as he spills into your mouth. You swallow instinctively, taking everything he has to give. When he is finished, Jungwon pulls away slowly, his cock softening as he withdraws from your mouth. He looks down at you, his expression a mixture of awe and satisfaction, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing.
"Come here," he says, his voice softening as he reaches down to help you to your feet. He pulls you into his arms, his lips finding yours in a kiss that is both tender and reassuring, tasting of him and of you and of everything you have just shared.
"You did great," he murmurs against your lips, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace.
You melt against him, your body still humming with pleasure, your mind reeling from the intensity of what has just happened.
You wake up to the sensation of someone driving a truck over you.
No. Wait. That's just the hangover.
Your eyes crack open, and the first thing you register is the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. The second thing you register is that your mouth tastes like something died in it. The third thing is that you're wearing only one sock. The fourth thing hits you like a freight train.
Jungwon.
You bolt upright so fast that the room spins violently, and you have to press your palm against your forehead to keep your brain from escaping through your ears. The memories come flooding back in fragmented, disjointed flashes, the whiskey, the challenge, the door clicking shut. His hands on your waist. You grinding on him. The way he'd said your name, low and rough, like it was something sacred.
You look down at yourself. You're still in your shirt from last night, wrinkled but still there. Your shorts are on the floor. And there, on your inner thigh, just above your knee, is a mark. A small, purplish bruise that definitely wasn't there yesterday.
You look for more, your heart hammering, and find another one. And another. A whole constellation of hickeys mapping a path across your skin.
"Oh my god," you whisper to the empty room. "Oh my god, it wasn't a dream."
It was not a dream. It was very much not a dream. You and Jungwon had gone at each other like two people who had been waiting their entire lives for an excuse. There had been hands and mouths and the kind of sounds you didn't know you were capable of making. And now you have to face him.
You spend approximately fifteen minutes staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to will the evidence off your skin. The hickeys are not going anywhere unfortunately. The smell of breakfast hits you before you even reach the bottom of the stairs. Eggs. Bacon. The unmistakable aroma of your mother's hangover soup, which she only makes when the entire household has made questionable decisions the night before. You follow the scent to the kitchen, your stomach churning with a mixture of nausea and pure, undiluted terror.
And there he is.
Jungwon is sitting at your kitchen table. Your kitchen table. In your house. Eating your mother's cooking like he belongs there, which, to be fair, he kind of does. He's been eating at this table since before he could see over the edge of it. But today, the sight of him makes your entire body go hot and cold at the same time.
He looks... fine. Completely, infuriatingly fine. His hair is slightly damp, like he's just showered. He's wearing a soft-looking sweater and jeans, and he's laughing at something your dad is saying, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that familiar way. There's no sign of a hangover. No sign of regret. No sign that anything at all has changed between you.
"There she is!" your mother announces, spotting you in the doorway. "The last survivor of last night's chaos. Come, sit. I made soup."
You mumble something that might be "good morning" or might be "please kill me," and you slide into the chair across from Jungwon. He glances up at you, and for one heart-stopping moment, you think you see something flicker in his eyes, a flash of recognition, a hint of heat, but then it's gone, replaced by that same easy, brotherly smile.
"Rough night?" he asks, and his tone is light, teasing, completely normal.
"You could say that."
"Your dad was snoring so loud I could hear it from my house."
You stare at Jungwon, waiting for something, a knowing look, a secret smile, something that acknowledges what happened between you. But he just keeps eating his eggs, chatting with your parents like this is any other morning, like he didn't spend a significant portion of last night with his mouth on your-
"Y/N, you're not eating," your mother says, pushing the soup closer to you. "Are you feeling okay? You look flushed."
"I'm fine," you manage. "Just... tired."
"Too much whiskey," your dad says sagely. "I told you kids. The Yangs can hold their liquor. Our family has no chance."
"I'm literally a Yang," Jungwon points out.
"Exactly. You have the advantage. It's genetics."
The conversation flows around and you sit there in silence, pushing your soup around your bowl, watching Jungwon act like everything is normal. Like everything is fine. Like he didn't whisper your name against your lips in the dark of your childhood bedroom.
Your parents have retreated to the living room, and Jungwon is at the sink, rinsing his bowl with the same helpful energy he's always had. You wait until you hear the TV turn on, and then you grab his arm and pull him into the hallway.
"Hey-" he starts, but you're already backing him against the wall, your hands planted on either side of him, your eyes blazing.
"What the hell was that?"
Jungwon blinks at you. "What was what?"
"That!" You gesture vaguely at the kitchen, at the breakfast table, at the entire morning. "Sitting there, eating eggs, acting like nothing happened!"
"Because nothing happened."
"Nothing-" You choke on the word. "Nothing happened? Jungwon, we…last night…my room…"
Understanding dawns on his face, and his expression shifts into something more serious. More guarded. "Oh. That."
"Yes. That."
He exhales slowly, his shoulders dropping. "Y/N, look. Last night was..." He pauses, searching for the right word. "It was a mistake."
The word hits you like a slap. "A mistake."
"Not because of you," he adds quickly, his ears turning pink. "Never because of you. But I shouldn't have... we were both drunk. We weren't thinking clearly. I took advantage of the situation, and I'm sorry."
"You didn't take advantage of anything. I'm the one who started it."
"You were drunk."
"So were you."
"That's exactly my point." He runs a hand through his hair, a frustrated gesture you've seen a thousand times. "We were both drunk, and we did things that... that we probably wouldn't have done if we were sober. And I don't want that to change anything between us."
Your stomach drops. "You don't?"
"No. You're my best friend, Y/N. You've been my best friend since I was six years old. I'm not going to let one night of... whatever that was... ruin fifteen years of friendship." His voice is earnest, his eyes searching your face for understanding. "I mean, it wasn't even... we didn't even... it was just foreplay, right? It's not like we went all the way. We can just forget it happened. Move on. Go back to normal."
Just foreplay. The words echo in your head like a taunt. Just foreplay. Like it was nothing. Like it didn't matter. Like the marks on your thighs are just random bruises, meaningless and forgettable.
"Right," you hear yourself say, and your voice comes out remarkably steady. "Just foreplay. No big deal."
"Exactly." Jungwon's shoulders relax, and the smile that spreads across his face is so relieved, so genuinely happy, that it makes your chest ache. "I knew you'd understand. You've always been the reasonable one."
"I'm the sarcastic one. You're the reasonable one."
"Then we're both reasonable. Even better." He reaches out and ruffles your hair, the same gesture he's been doing since you were kids, and then he's walking past you, back toward the kitchen, calling out something to your mom about helping with the dishes.
You stand there in the hallway, your back pressed against the wall, and you feel the sting of tears behind your eyes. You blink them back furiously. You are not going to cry. You are not going to cry over Jungwon, who just called what happened between you a mistake. Who said it was just foreplay. Who wants to forget it happened and move on.
You're not going to cry. But you're also not going to forget.
Two days pass.
Two days of pretending everything is normal. Two days of Jungwon acting exactly the same as he always has, helpful and cheerful and brotherly and infuriating. Two days of you smiling and nodding and laughing at his jokes while something hot and angry and desperate simmers just beneath the surface of your skin.
The problem is, you can't stop looking at him.
Every time he reaches for something, you notice the flex of his forearm. Every time he laughs, you watch the way his throat moves. Every time he brushes past you, your body remembers the weight of his hands, the heat of his mouth, the sound of his voice saying your name in the dark.
It's frustrating. It's maddening. It's the most alive you've felt in years.
"Convenience store run?" Jungwon appears in your doorway on the third afternoon. "I'm craving melon ice cream."
"You're always craving melon ice cream."
"Pretty please."
"Fine." You grab your jacket and follow him out.
Jungwon chatters about nothing, a movie he wants to see, a new boba flavor he tried and hated. You respond in monosyllables, your attention divided between the conversation and the way the afternoon light catches the angles of his jaw.
You need to get a grip. You really, really need to get a grip.
The convenience store is blessedly air-conditioned and mostly empty. Jungwon heads straight for the ice cream aisle, leaving you to wander toward the chip section.
"Y/N? Is that you?"
You turn. The guy standing in front of you is vaguely familiar. It takes you a moment to place him, but then the memory clicks into focus: Jaehyun. High school. You'd sat next to each other in math class for two years.
"Jaehyun!" you say, genuinely surprised. "Wow, it's been a while."
"Right? Three years, maybe? You look great." He grins, and it's a nice grin, friendly and open. "Are you back for the summer?"
"Yeah, just visiting family. You?"
"Same. My parents still live in the old house, so I'm stuck here until August." He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Small towns, right? Nothing ever changes."
"Tell me about it."
The conversation flows easily, catching up on majors and career plans and mutual acquaintances from high school.
"Hey, we should catch up properly sometime," Jaehyun says, pulling out his phone. "A bunch of us are doing a bonfire next weekend. You should come. Bring whoever you want."
"Yeah, maybe. That sounds-"
And then his hand reaches out and ruffles your hair. It's an innocent gesture. Friendly. The same kind of casual physical contact that people exchange all the time without thinking about it. But before you can even process what's happening, there's a blur of movement behind you, and Jaehyun’s wrist is being yanked away from your head with enough force to make him yelp.
"Hey now," Jungwon's voice says, and it's light, teasing, the same tone he uses when he's joking around. But there's something underneath it, something cold and sharp that you've never heard before. "Let's keep our hands to ourselves, yeah?"
Jaehyun stares at him, his eyes wide. You stare too. Jungwon is smiling, a pleasant, polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"I was just-" Jaehyun starts.
"Just saying hi. I get it." Jungwon's smile doesn't waver. "But here's the thing…you don't touch her hair. That's not something you get to do. Understand?"
Jaehyun nods quickly, and Jungwon releases his wrist, patting him on the shoulder with that same easy, friendly energy.
"Good talk. Enjoy your summer, man."
And then he's turning away, his hand finding your elbow, steering you toward the checkout counter. You catch a glimpse of Jaehyun’s face, confused, slightly alarmed, before you're being dragged down the snack aisle and out of view.
"What the hell was that?" you hiss, yanking your arm free.
"What was what?" Jungwon doesn't look at you. He's studying the ice cream selection like it's the most fascinating thing in the world.
"That! With Jaehyun! You just, you threatened him!"
"I didn't threaten him. I set a boundary. There's a difference."
"You grabbed his wrist!"
"Gently."
"Jungwon." You step in front of him, forcing him to look at you. "What is your deal?"
For a long moment, he doesn't answer. His expression is unreadable, his jaw tight. Then he moves, one step, two, and suddenly you're backing up, your shoulders hitting the cold glass door of the ice cream freezer. He's right there, inches away, his body crowding yours against the door, and you can feel the chill of the glass through your shirt and the heat of him in front of you.
His hand comes up. His fingers slide into your hair. And then he ruffles it,but it's not the casual gesture from before. It's slower. More deliberate. His fingertips trace against your scalp, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine.
"Don't let other guys touch your hair," he says quietly, and his voice is low and rough and completely, utterly serious. "That's mine."
You stare up at him, your heart hammering, your brain short-circuiting. His face is close, so close you can see the individual strands of his eyelashes, the way his pupils have gone dark and wide. He looks like a completely different person. He looks like someone who wants to devour you.
And then he steps back. "Anyway," he says, and his voice is back to normal, cheerful and light, like nothing at all just happened. "I'm getting melon and chocolate. You want strawberry, right?"
He turns and walks toward the checkout counter, leaving you frozen against the ice cream freezer, your legs weak, your heart racing, your hair still tingling where he touched it.
What. The hell. Was that.
You stay there for a solid thirty seconds, trying to remember how to breathe. The cold from the freezer is seeping through your shirt, and you can hear Jungwon chatting with the cashier like he didn't just press you against a freezer and claim ownership of your hair. Your hair. Like it belongs to him. Like you belong to him.
And the worst part, the absolute, devastating worst part is that some dark, twisted corner of your brain liked it. Liked the way he'd crowded you. Liked the way he'd said mine in that low, possessive voice. Liked the way his fingers had felt in your hair, slow and deliberate and completely unlike anything he'd ever done before.
You push yourself off the freezer door and follow him to the checkout. Jungwon is already paying, his expression serene, his posture relaxed.
"Got your strawberry," he says, holding up the ice cream. "Ready to go?"
You nod mutely.
The walk home is quiet. Jungwon eats his melon ice cream and comments on the weather and points out a funny-shaped cloud, and you walk beside him in a daze, your mind spinning with questions you're too afraid to ask.
*What was that back there?*
*What did you mean by "mine"?*
*Do you want me the way I want you, or was that just some weird protective instinct that you're going to laugh off later and pretend never happened?*
But you don't ask. Because you're scared of the answers. Because if he laughs it off, if he says it was nothing, if he goes back to being the same platonic Jungwon he's always been, you don't think you can handle that. So you walk in silence, and you eat your strawberry ice cream, and you try very hard not to think about the way his fingers felt in your hair.
The invitation comes on a Thursday, delivered via text message with the casual energy of someone suggesting what to have for lunch.
**Jungwon:** *lake tomorrow? picnic? there's that spot we used to go to as kids. i'll pack food.*
You stare at the message for approximately five minutes. The spot he's talking about is a small, secluded clearing by the lake about twenty minutes outside of town—a hidden gem that you'd discovered together when you were kids. You'd spent entire summers there, swimming until your fingers pruned, eating sandwiches that got slightly soggy from the cooler, lying on the grass and making up stories about the shapes in the clouds.
It's also, objectively, one of the most romantic places in existence. Secluded. Quiet. Surrounded by trees and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. If you were a romance novel protagonist, this would be the chapter where the love interest makes his move.
But you're not a romance novel protagonist.
This is a terrible idea. You should say no.
**You:** *sure. what time?*
The next morning Jungwon picks you up at ten, his car already packed with a cooler, a picnic blanket, and two towels that he definitely stole from his mom's linen closet.
"Ready for adventure?" he asks, holding the passenger door open with an exaggerated flourish.
"Ready for a twenty-minute drive to a lake we've been to literally a hundred times?"
"Every time is a new adventure."
"I’m already tired of you speaking."
"It’s just the beginning."
You roll your eyes and climb into the car, and he closes the door behind you with a satisfied grin. You roll down the window, letting the warm air whip through your hair, and for a moment, everything feels simple. Easy. Like it used to be before your feelings got tangled up in everything. And then Jungwon connects his phone to the car speaker, and a familiar song starts playing.
Lost Island - Enhypen now playing
"Oh my god," you say, recognizing the opening notes. "Is this-"
"Lost Island," he confirms, his grin widening. "Don't pretend you don't know every word."
"I don't know every word."
"You definitely know every word. You made me watch the colour coded lyrics when it came out."
"That was just to see the translation.."
"What about when you made me look at the concept photoshoot of the album?"
"It was for art purposes. I was studying the different concepts."
"You were studying Ni-ki’s pictures for the Afterlight version (iykyk), yeah?"
"Those pictures are a cultural reset."
He laughs, and the sound fills the car, and then he's singing along, loud and off-key and you can't help but join in. You've known this song since it came out. You've listened to it on late-night study sessions, on walks across campus, on the bus ride home from college. You know every lyric, every beat, every ad-lib. And singing it with Jungwon, your voices clashing and harmonizing in all the wrong ways, feels like coming home.
"AND NOTHING’S MORE PRECIOUS THAN TIME? THAN TIME WITH YOU!" he belts, completely butchering the song.
"That's not even close to the right key!"
"It's the right key in my heart!"
"Your heart is tone-deaf!"
The banter carries you the rest of the way to the lake, the familiar landscape scrolling past your window like a slideshow of your childhood.
"It's exactly the same," you breathe, stepping out of the car.
"Some things don't change," Jungwon says, and there's something in his voice, something almost wistful that makes you glance at him. But he's already turning away, pulling the cooler out of the trunk, his expression back to its usual cheerful neutrality.
Jungwon spreads the blanket on a flat patch of grass near the water's edge, weighting down the corners with rocks so it doesn't blow away in the breeze. He unpacks the cooler very carefully, sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, a container of cut fruit, two bottles of lemonade, a bag of chips, and a small box of the cookies you used to beg your mom to buy when you were little.
"You remembered the cookies," you say, and your voice comes out more surprised than you intended.
"Of course I remembered. They're your favorite." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like remembering your favorite childhood cookies is just something people do. "I also brought the chips you like, even though you always eat the entire bag and then complain that you feel sick."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
"I will push you into the lake."
"You can try."
After lunch, Jungwon leans back on his elbows, tilting his face toward the sun. "We should swim."
"We didn't bring swimsuits."
"So?"
"So I'm not swimming in my clothes."
"Who said anything about clothes?" He grins at the look on your face. "Kidding. Kind of. You can swim in your t-shirt and underwear. It's basically the same as a swimsuit."
"Underwear is not the same as a swimsuit."
"It's fabric. You wear it. You get wet. Same concept."
"The concept is not the same. There's-" You stop, because he's already pulling his shirt over his head, and the sight of his bare torso short-circuits your brain.
You've seen Jungwon without a shirt before. Plenty of times. Swimming as kids, running through sprinklers, that one disastrous summer when he decided to try to get a six-pack and made you do crunches with him in his backyard. But this is different. He's different. The lean muscle of his shoulders, the planes of his chest, the way his stomach tightens as he tosses the shirt onto the blanket, it's all very, very different.
"See something you like?" he asks, and his tone is teasing, light, completely unaware of the chaos happening inside your brain.
"Just trying to figure out where your tan line starts," you say, your voice blessedly steady. "It's very uneven."
He laughs and wades into the water, his back to you, and you take the opportunity to have a small, internal meltdown. If he doesn't see you as a romantic prospect, then what does it matter if you're in your underwear? It's not like he's going to look at you differently. It's not like anything is going to change.
"Fine," you say, standing up. "But if I get hypothermia, you're explaining it to my mom."
"You're not going to get hypothermia. It's like eighty degrees."
You pull your shirt over your head, shimmy out of your shorts, and are left standing in your underwear, a simple black set that you definitely didn't choose this morning with the vague, subconscious hope that someone might see it. That would be ridiculous.
Jungwon glances back at you, and for just a second, just a fraction of a heartbeat, his eyes flicker down your body. But then he's looking away, splashing into the deeper water, his voice carrying over the lake. "Hurry up! The water's perfect!"
You wade in after him, and the water is cold enough to make you gasp. You push through the discomfort and dive forward, submerging yourself completely, and when you surface, your hair is plastered to your face and you're laughing.
You float on your back, staring up at the sky, and Jungwon floats beside you, and for a while, neither of you speaks. It's peaceful. Quiet. The kind of moment you'd want to bottle and keep forever.
And then Jungwon ruins it. "Remember when we used to do this as kids?" he says, his voice dreamy. "You were so small I could carry you around the whole lake."
"I was not that small."
"You were tiny. I could pick you up with one arm."
"That's a lie and you know it."
"It's not a lie. I'll prove it."
Before you can protest, he's moving toward you through the water, his hands finding your waist. You barely have time to yelp before he lifts you, actually *lifts* you, like you weigh nothing and suddenly you're dangling in the water with his hands under your arms, your face level with his.
"See?" he says, and his grin is insufferable. "Still got it."
"That's not, you're using both hands-"
"Details."
The position is ridiculous. You're basically suspended in the water, your legs floating uselessly behind you, his hands wedged firmly under your armpits. But his fingers, his fingers are pressing into the sides of your chest, dangerously close to-
Oh god.
His thumbs are brushing against the curve of your breasts.
You freeze. Every muscle in your body goes rigid. Your face, which was already flushed from the sun, goes approximately forty shades redder. Jungwon doesn't seem to notice, he's still grinning, still holding you up, his fingers still in that exact same position.
"You're so light," he's saying. "Have you been eating enough? Your mom was right, you're like a-"
You don't let him finish. You thrash in his grip, twisting out of his hands with a splash that sends water cascading over both of you. When you surface, gasping, you use the momentum to push a wave directly into his face.
"What was that for?!" he splutters, wiping water from his eyes.
"You were being annoying!"
"I was being helpful!"
"Your hands were-" You stop. You cannot say your hands were on my boobs. You absolutely cannot say that. "You were in my personal space!"
"That's what happens when you carry someone! There's personal space involved!"
"Not that much personal space!"
"You're so weird." But he's laughing, and the moment passes, and he's swimming away from you toward the deeper part of the lake, completely oblivious to the cardiac event he just caused.
You float there for a moment, your heart hammering, your skin tingling everywhere his fingers had touched. He didn't notice. Of course he didn't notice. He was just being Jungwon, playful and physical and completely unaware of the effect he has on you. To him, it was just another childhood game. Just another memory in the long highlight reel of your friendship.
But to you? To you, it was everything.
You take a deep breath and dive underwater, letting the cold silence swallow you whole. When you surface again, you've composed yourself. Your face is still flushed, but you can blame it on the sun. Your heart is still racing, but you can blame it on the swimming.
"You okay over there?" Jungwon calls from the deeper water. "You look like you're thinking too hard."
"I'm always thinking too hard."
"What about?"
About you. About your hands. About the way you said "mine" in the convenience store and then never mentioned it again. About how I'm trying so hard to move on and you keep doing things that make it impossible.
"About how I'm going to get revenge," you say instead, and you launch yourself toward him with a war cry that echoes across the lake.
The splash fight that follows is epic. Water goes everywhere. You end up with lake water in your sinuses and a piece of algae in your hair. Jungwon laughs so hard he accidentally inhales water and spends a full minute coughing on the shore. When you finally drag yourselves out of the lake, shivering and dripping and exhausted, you collapse onto the picnic blanket side by side, staring up at the sky.
The sun is starting its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Your clothes are spread out on the grass, drying in the warm air, and you're lying in your underwear on a picnic blanket next to your childhood best friend, and somehow it doesn't feel awkward. It feels natural. Easy. Like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.
But as the sky darkens and the first stars appear, you remind yourself: this isn't a romance novel. He doesn't see you that way. And you're trying to move on.
You just wish moving on didn't feel so much like falling.
You're both still damp from the lake, a pleasant chill raising goosebumps on your skin. Jungwon notices you shivering slightly as you sit on the picnic blanket, pulling your knees to your chest.
"You're cold," he says, stating the obvious as he stands up. "Come on, let's get you warmed up."
Before you can protest, he's already pulling you to your feet, his hand warm and firm around yours. He leads you toward a large, flat rock at the edge of the clearing that has been baking in the afternoon sun. It radiates a gentle heat against your bare legs as he positions you to sit on its edge.
But he doesn't sit beside you. Instead, he positions himself directly in front of you, between your legs, his body creating a shield against the evening breeze. The proximity is intoxicating, his bare torso just inches from yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, close enough that you could lean forward and press your lips against his if you were brave enough, or stupid enough.
"You need a break," he says, his voice lower than it was moments before, his eyes fixed on yours. "After that epic defeat in the water."
"I didn't lose," you retort, but your voice lacks its usual conviction. You're too aware of his hands as they come to rest on your thighs, his thumbs stroking your skin in slow, deliberate circles. "It was clearly a tie."
"Denial is not just a river in Egypt," he replies, a small smirk playing on his lips. But his eyes... his eyes are serious, intense, focused on yours with an unwavering gaze that makes your breath catch.
You try to ignore the way his hands feel on your skin, the way his touch sends jolts of electricity through your entire body. You try to focus on the lake, on the sunset, on anything other than the man standing between your legs, looking at you like you're the only person in the world.
But then his hands begin to move.
It's a slow, deliberate journey, his fingers tracing a path along the sensitive skin of your thighs. Higher and higher they go, until they reach the inner curve of your legs. Your breath hitches, your muscles tensing as his fingers continue their exploration, inching ever closer to your most intimate place.
His hands reach the apex of your thighs, his fingers curling around the curve where your legs meet your hips. And then, oh god, his thumb slides inward, the tip of it brushing against the edge of your panties, touching the place where your folds begin through the thin fabric.
A soft gasp escapes your lips, your hips shifting involuntarily. The touch is electric, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. You can feel yourself growing wet, your body responding to his touch with an eagerness that betrays your attempts at nonchalance.
Jungwon's eyes darken, his thumb pressing slightly more firmly against you, a silent acknowledgment of your reaction. The air between you grows thick with tension, charged with unspoken desire. You lean in slightly, your lips parting, your entire being focused on the man before you and the hand that's doing unspeakable things to your composure.
And then he pulls away.
Just like that. As if nothing had happened. "We should probably get back to the blanket," he says, his voice completely normal. "I think there are still some cookies left."
You stare at him, your mind reeling, your body still humming with unfulfilled desire. Is he doing this on purpose? Is this some kind of game to him, a way to provoke you, to test your reactions? Or is he really so clueless that he doesn't realize what he's doing to you, doesn't understand the effect his casual touches have on your body, your mind, your heart?
You slide off the rock, your legs feeling shaky beneath you as you follow him back to the picnic blanket. As you dress, you watch him out of the corner of your eye, searching for some sign, some indication of what's going on in that head of his. But he's whistling softly, sorting through the remnants of your picnic, completely at ease.
And you're left wondering, as you have so many times before, whether the tension between you is real or just another product of your overactive imagination.Or whether, just maybe, he's as confused about this as you are.
Jungwon is lying beside you, propped up on one elbow, his hair still wet and curling slightly at the ends. He's got a cookie in one hand and his phone in the other, scrolling through something with casual ease. His phone buzzes, cutting through your thoughts. Jungwon glances at the screen, and his face breaks into a grin.
"Oh, it's Heeseung," he says, already accepting the video call. "I told him I was at the lake. He said he didn't believe me."
Heeseung. The name is familiar, Jungwon's best friend from college, the one he's mentioned a few times in passing. You've never met him, but you've heard enough stories to piece together a rough picture.
"Jungwon!" A voice crackles through the phone speaker, and Jungwon angles the screen so you can see. The guy on the other end is exactly as advertised, sharp jawline, dark eyes, the kind of face that probably breaks hearts without even trying. He's sitting somewhere indoors, a window behind him letting in soft afternoon light. "You actually went to the lake? I thought you were lying."
"Why would I lie about going to a lake?"
"I don't know. To seem more interesting than you actually are?"
"I'm very interesting."
"You read philosophy books for fun. That's not interesting. That's a cry for help."
You snort, and Heeseung's attention immediately snaps to you. "Who's that? Is someone else there?"
"This is Y/N," Jungwon says, tilting the phone toward you. "My childhood best friend. The one I've told you about."
You wave awkwardly at the camera. "Hi. I'm the one who didn't pour coffee on her own head."
Heeseung laughs, and it's a genuine, surprised laugh. "I like her already. She's got better instincts than me."
"Everyone has better instincts than you," Jungwon says. "You're famously bad at decisions."
"I'm famously bad at some decisions. I'm very good at other ones." Heeseung shifts, and in the background of his video, you catch a glimpse of movement. Someone else is in the room with him, a girl, sitting at a desk, her face partially obscured by a laptop screen. She's got headphones on, completely absorbed in whatever she's doing, and there's a colorful highlighter tucked behind her ear.
"Oh, is that-" Jungwon starts, and something in his voice changes. It's subtle, a slight softening, a slight hesitation, but you notice it immediately. You've spent too many years cataloging every nuance of his expressions not to notice.
"Yeah, that's her," Heeseung says, glancing over his shoulder at the girl. "She's studying. Again. I told her it's summer break, but she said, and I quote, the mitochondria doesn't take vacations."
"That sounds like her," Jungwon says, and there's that tone again. That soft, almost wistful tone that makes your stomach clench.
The girl in the background looks up, as if sensing she's being discussed, and Heeseung waves her over. She removes her headphones with a slightly confused expression, and then she's walking toward the camera, and you get your first clear look at her.
She's pretty. Really pretty, in a natural, unassuming way. Round glasses perched on her nose, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wearing an oversized sweater that looks like it's been through several all-night study sessions. There's something about her expression, a little nervous, a little awkward, but also warm and genuine, that makes you understand immediately why someone might fall for her.
"This is Y/N," Heeseung says to her, gesturing at the phone. "Jungwon's friend."
"Hi, Y/N," the girl says, leaning into the frame. Her smile is slightly shy but sincere. "I've heard a lot about you. Jungwon talks about you all the time."
"All good things, I hope?"
"Mostly good things. He mentioned something about a treehouse incident?"
"I'm not taking responsibility for that. That was entirely his fault."
"It was not entirely my fault," Jungwon protests. "You were the one who wanted to add a second story."
"Because you said you wanted a better view of the stars."
"I was being romantic!"
"You were being delusional. The tree couldn't even support one story, let alone two."
The girl laughs, and Heeseung looks at her with an expression so openly, unguardedly fond that it makes something twist in your chest. That's love. That's real, undeniable, completely transparent love. The kind of love that doesn't hide or apologize or pretend to be something else.
"We should let you guys get back to your picnic," Heeseung says. "I just wanted to confirm that the lake does, in fact, exist."
"Confirmed," Jungwon says. "It's still here. Still wet. Still full of fish."
"Excellent. Very informative." Heeseung grins. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"That doesn't leave much."
"Exactly."
The call ends, and the screen goes dark. Jungwon sets his phone down on the blanket and reaches for another cookie, completely oblivious to the storm that's just started brewing in your chest.
That's her. The girl from the philosophy elective. The one Jungwon had a crush on for months. The one he talked about in your kitchen with that soft, distant look in his eyes. The one who ended up with his best friend instead of him. And she's... nice. She seems nice. Genuinely nice, not fake nice, not trying-too-hard nice. The kind of nice that makes it impossible to hate her, even though a small, petty part of you really wants to.
"Jungwon?" you say.
"Hmm?"
"That was her, wasn't it? The girl you liked."
He pauses mid-chew, and for a moment, something flickers across his face, surprise, maybe, or the ghost of an old wound. But then it's gone, replaced by a smile that's a little too casual to be entirely genuine.
"Yeah. That was her."
"She seems nice."
"She is." He swallows the cookie and stares out at the lake, his expression unreadable. "She's really nice. She and Heeseung are good together."
"And you're okay with that?"
"I'm okay with that." He says it firmly, like he's practiced the words. Like he's said them to himself enough times that they've started to feel true. "It took a while, but... yeah. I'm okay with it. They make each other happy. That's what matters."
You don't know what to say to that. There's a heaviness in his voice that he's trying to hide, and you know him well enough to recognize it. He's not lying, he really is okay with it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't still sting. That doesn't mean he doesn't still think about it sometimes, late at night, when the world is quiet and the what-ifs creep in.
"I'm going to take a nap," Jungwon announces, stretching out on the blanket and pillowing his head on his arms. "The sun and the swimming made me tired."
"Okay."
"You should nap too. You look tired."
"I look radiant."
"You look radiantly tired."
"That's not a thing."
"It's a thing now. I invented it." He closes his eyes, and within minutes, his breathing evens out. He's asleep. Just like that.
You sit there for a while, watching him sleep.
We can't be friends - Ariana Grande now playing
It's strange, seeing him like this. Unguarded. Vulnerable. The tension that he carries in his shoulders has melted away, and his face is relaxed in a way it rarely is when he's awake.
Your eyes trace the familiar lines of his face, the curve of his jaw, the sweep of his eyelashes. You know every inch of this face. You've memorized it over fifteen years of glances and gazes and stolen looks. But there's something different about looking at him now. Something heavier. Something that sits in your chest like a stone.
So that's he*, you think. That's the girl who had his heart.
And she's lovely. She's genuinely, painfully lovely. You saw it in the way she smiled, in the way she looked at Heeseung, in the way she clearly has no idea that she was once the center of someone else's entire world. She probably doesn't even know. She probably went about her life, completely unaware that Jungwon spent months pining over her, working up the courage to say something, only to lose his chance because he waited too long.
And that's the thing, isn't it? He waited too long. He liked her and he didn't say anything, and by the time he was ready, it was too late. Someone else had already stepped in. Someone bolder, someone braver, someone who didn't wait.
But he's not like that anymore. You've seen the change in him. The confidence. The ease. The way he carries himself like someone who knows what he wants and isn't afraid to go after it. He told you himself, after that whole situation, he decided to stop waiting. To start living. To explore his youth and put himself out there and not let opportunities pass him by.
She did that. That girl, with her round glasses and her messy ponytail and her complete, oblivious unawareness of the effect she had on him, she changed him. She's the reason he started hooking up with people in college. She's the reason he bought condoms and learned how to kiss properly and became the kind of person who presses other people against freezers and claims ownership of their hair.
You should be grateful to her. In a weird, twisted way, she's the reason Jungwon is who he is now, more confident, more assertive, more willing to go after what he wants. But all you feel is a hot, jealous knot in your stomach that you can't seem to untangle.
What does she have that you don't?
The thought surfaces before you can stop it, ugly and uninvited. You push it down, but it keeps rising back up, persistent and sharp.
What does she have that you don't? You've known Jungwon your entire life. You've been there for every scraped knee, every broken bone, every triumph and every failure. You know the exact way he takes his coffee and the name of every pet he's ever had and the song he listens to when he's sad. You've seen him at his worst and at his best, and you've loved every version of him.
And yet. And yet.
When he talks about her, there's still a softness in his voice. When he looked at her on that video call, there was still a flicker of something, not longing, exactly, but memory. The ghost of a feeling that was once very real. And you've never had that. You've never been the person Jungwon looked at like that. You've never been the person he pined over, the person he wrote letters to, the person he stayed up late thinking about.
You're just Y/N. His childhood best friend. The person he carries around in the lake and ruffles the hair of and tells all his secrets to, but never, ever looks at the way you want him to.
"It's not fair," you whisper, and your voice is so quiet it barely disturbs the air. "What does she have that I don't?"
The question hangs there, unanswered, and the silence that follows is deafening.
You look down at Jungwon, still sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the turmoil churning inside you. His lips are slightly parted. His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths. There's a piece of cookie crumb on his chin that he missed when he wiped his mouth earlier.
You reach out and brush it away, your fingers lingering against his skin for just a moment longer than necessary.
"I've been here the whole time," you murmur. "I've always been here."
He doesn't stir. He doesn't hear you. Maybe that's for the best.
You lean down, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you press a kiss to his cheek. It's soft. Barely there. The kind of kiss that could be dismissed as friendly if anyone saw, but is secretly, desperately not. Your lips brush against the warmth of his skin, and you close your eyes, and for just one moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like if he woke up and looked at you the way Heeseung looked at that girl. Like you were the center of his universe. Like you were the reason he existed.
But he doesn't wake up. And the moment passes.
You pull back, your heart aching, and you lie down beside him on the blanket. The sun is still warm, and the breeze is still gentle, and the lake is still lapping against the shore. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed.
You close your eyes, and you let sleep take you, and the last thing you feel before you drift off is the warmth of his body next to yours, close, but not close enough. Always, always, not close enough.
You wake up to the gentle hum of an engine and the soft pressure of something warm draped over your body.
It takes you a moment to orient yourself. You're not on the picnic blanket anymore. You're not by the lake. You're in a car, Jungwon's car, you recognize the air freshener and the one-eyed bear in the backseat, and someone has covered you with a jacket. Your jacket. The one you'd left in the backseat this morning.
Outside the window, your house is silhouetted against the dusky evening sky. The porch light is on. Your mom's car is in the driveway. Everything is exactly as you left it this morning, and yet nothing feels the same.
You push yourself upright, blinking sleep from your eyes, and that's when you notice Jungwon. He's not in the driver's seat. He's outside the car, leaning against the hood with his arms crossed, staring up at the sky. The first stars are starting to appear, and his profile is illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlamp. He looks pensive. Distant. Like he's been standing there for a while, lost in thoughts he doesn't want to share.
You open the car door, and the sound makes him turn. His expression shifts immediately, the pensiveness replaced by that familiar, warm smile. But there's something tired about it tonight. Something that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Hey, sleepyhead," he says. "You were out cold. I didn't want to wake you."
"You carried me to the car?"
"You were dead weight. It wasn't that hard."
"I'm average height."
"You're fun-sized."
You roll your eyes, but there's no real irritation behind it. You're too busy processing the fact that he carried you from the lake to the car. That he wrapped you in your jacket and drove you home and then waited outside, in the cooling evening air, just so you could sleep a little longer.
"Thank you," you say, and your voice comes out softer than you intended. "For today. For... all of it."
"It was nothing." He shrugs, but his smile is genuine. "I had fun. It was like old times."
Old times. Right. Because that's what this was to him. Just another memory in the long, unbroken chain of your friendship. Nothing more.
He reaches out and ruffles your hair, the same gesture he's been doing since you were kids, the same casual, affectionate touch that used to feel so natural and now feels like a knife twisting in your chest.
"Get some rest," he says, already turning toward the driver's side. "I'll see you tomor-"
"Wait."
The word escapes before you can stop it. He pauses, his hand on the car door, his head tilted in confusion.
"What's up?"
Your heart is pounding. Your palms are sweating. Every rational part of your brain is screaming at you to let him go, to swallow your feelings, to keep pretending that everything is fine. But you're tired of pretending. You're tired of hiding. You're tired of watching him walk away and wondering what would happen if you just said the words you've been holding back for weeks.
"I need to tell you something," you say, and your voice is steadier than you feel. "And I need you to let me finish before you say anything. Can you do that?"
Jungwon's expression flickers, confusion, concern, something else you can't quite name. But he nods. "Okay. I'm listening."
You take a deep breath. The evening air is cool against your flushed cheeks. The streetlamp buzzes softly overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. The world keeps turning, oblivious to the fact that you're about to upend everything.
Earrings - Malcolm Todd now playing
"I like you," you say.
The words hang in the air between you.
"I don't mean like a friend. I don't mean like a brother. I mean... I like you. I have feelings for you. And I've been trying to ignore them, and I've been trying to move on, and I've been telling myself that you don't see me that way and I should just accept it, but I can't. Not anymore. Not after everything that's happened."
Jungwon is completely still. His hand has dropped from the car door. His face is unreadable.
"I know you probably don't feel the same way," you continue, the words tumbling out faster now, a dam that's finally broken. "And that's fine. That's... I mean, it's not fine, but I'll deal with it. I just couldn't keep pretending. I couldn't keep acting like everything was normal when it's not. Not for me."
The silence stretches for what feels like an eternity. When Jungwon finally speaks, his voice is careful. Measured. Like he's choosing every word with deliberate precision.
"Y/N... I think you're confused."
"I'm not confused."
"You've been through a lot lately. The stress of college, being back home, all the changes, it's natural to latch onto familiar feelings and mistake them for something else. But what you're feeling isn't-"
"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than you intended. "Don't tell me what I'm feeling. I know what I feel. I've known for weeks. Maybe longer. Maybe I've known for years and I just didn't have the words for it until now."
"Y/N-"
"I like you, Jungwon. I want to be with you. Not as your childhood friend. Not as your sister figure. As a woman who wants to be with a man. That's what this is."
He flinches. Actually flinches, like the words have physically struck him. "You don't mean that."
"I do mean it. I've never meant anything more in my life."
"You can't-" He stops, runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration that you've seen a thousand times. "You can't just say that. You can't just drop that on me and expect-"
"Expect what? For you to feel the same way? I already told you, I know you probably don't. But I had to say it. I had to be honest with you, because that's what we've always been. Honest. And I've been lying to you for weeks, and I couldn't do it anymore."
Jungwon is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost pained. "I can't return your feelings."
The words hit you like a physical blow. You knew they were coming. You prepared for them. But knowing and hearing are two different things, and the sound of them, the finality of them knocks the breath from your lungs.
"I don't see you that way," he continues. "I've never seen you that way. You're my best friend. You're the most important person in my life. But I can't...I don't-"
"You don't see me as a woman."
"I see you as Y/N. My Y/N. The person who's been by my side since I was six years old. And I can't risk that. I can't risk us."
"Risk us?" You hear your voice rising, the hurt transforming into something hotter. Something angrier. "What about the mixed signals? What about the way you held me in the lake? What about the convenience store, when you told that guy not to touch my hair because it was yours? What was that, Jungwon? Was that just friendship too?"
His jaw tightens. "That was different."
"Different how?"
"That was... I don't know. Instinct. I wasn't thinking."
"You weren't thinking." You laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Right. Of course. You never think. You just do things and say things and then pretend they don't mean anything. Just like the closet in high school. Just like my bedroom last week. Just like everything."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" You step closer to him, your eyes blazing. "Let me ask you something. Honestly. Do you still have feelings for her? That girl? The one from the video call?"
Jungwon blinks, clearly thrown by the shift in topic. "What? No. I told you, I'm over that. She's with Heeseung. They're happy. I'm happy for them."
"Then what is it? If you're over her, and you're out there hooking up with other people, then what's so different about me? Why can't you see me the way you see them? Am I not attractive enough? Am I not-"
"Stop." His voice is sharp, sharper than you've ever heard it. "Don't do that. Don't compare yourself to anyone else. This isn't about you not being enough. This is about-"
"About what?"
"About the fact that you're the only thing in my life that's ever been mine!" The words burst out of him like a dam breaking, and suddenly he's not the calm, measured Jungwon anymore. His eyes are bright, his hands shaking slightly at his sides. "Do you understand that? You're it. You're the one thing I've always had. When my parents were fighting, when school was hell, when I was sitting in my dorm room at college feeling like I didn't belong anywhere, I always had you. You were always there. And I can't lose that. I can't."
"So you'd rather keep me as a friend than risk having me as something more?"
"Yes." The word is quiet but firm. "Yes. Because if we tried and it didn't work...if we broke up, if we hurt each other...I wouldn't just lose a girlfriend. I'd lose everything. I'd lose my best friend. I'd lose the person who knows me better than anyone. I'd lose fifteen years of history and memories and-" His voice cracks. "I can't do that. I won't."
"You're a coward," you say, and your voice comes out quieter than you expected. Softer. Almost sad.
Jungwon flinches. "Y/N-"
"No. You are. You're a coward. You've always been a coward. You liked that girl for months and never said anything, and someone else got to her first. And now you're doing the same thing again. You're so scared of losing what we have that you won't even consider the possibility of something more." You swallow hard, the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "You said you changed. You said after that whole situation, you decided to stop waiting and start living. But you haven't changed at all. You're still the same guy who waits too long and lets things slip away because he's too scared to take a risk."
"Please," he says, and his voice is raw, desperate. "Please don't do this. We can still be friends. We can go back to how things were. Nothing has to change."
"I don't want to be friends!" The words tear out of you, loud and broken. "That's the whole point! I don't want to be your friend anymore! I want to be more! I want you to look at me the way you looked at her! I want you to touch me like you mean it and not pretend it was nothing afterward! I want to be the person you think about when you can't sleep at night! But I'm not! I'm never going to be! Because you won't let me!"
Tears are streaming down your face now, hot and unstoppable. You don't bother wiping them away.
"I have been here," you say, your voice cracking. "I have been here for fifteen years. I was here when you failed your first math test. I was here when you got your heart broken for the first time. I was here when you needed someone to talk to at 3 AM. And I've been here this whole summer, watching you, wanting you, and you didn't even notice. You never notice."
Jungwon's face crumples. "I notice," he whispers. "I notice everything about you. That's the problem."
"Then what is it?" You step closer, your chest tight with frustration and hurt and the desperate need to understand. "You've been giving me mixed signals since I got back. The way you look at me. The way you touch me. The convenience store. The lake. Carrying me around in the water with your hands all over me. What am I supposed to think?"
"I wasn't...I didn't mean to..."
"Didn't mean to what? Lead me on? Make me think there was something there when there wasn't?"
Jungwon's face crumples, and for the first time in this conversation, he looks genuinely stricken. "I wasn't trying to lead you on. I was just... being myself. That's how I've always been with you."
"Maybe that's the problem." Your voice cracks, and you hate it. You hate that he's seeing you like this. "Maybe you've always been like this with me, and I've just been too blind to notice that it doesn't mean anything to you. But it means something to me. It means everything to me."
"Y/N..."
"You know what I hate the most?" You're crying, tears spilling down your cheeks, hot and uninvited. "I hate her. That girl from the video call. I hate her so much it makes me sick."
"That's not fair. She didn't do anything-"
"I know she didn't do anything! That's what makes it worse!" The words are pouring out of you now, unstoppable. "She didn't do anything except exist, and she still managed to change you. She's the reason you're like this now. She's the reason you decided to stop waiting and start living. She's the reason you bought condoms and hooked up with people and became this whole new version of yourself. And I...I've been here the whole time. I've been here for fifteen years, and I've never been able to make you look at me the way you looked at her."
"Y/N, please-"
"You've known her for what, a few months? And she got to have your heart. She got to be the one who changed you. And I've been here since we were kids, and I've never...I've never been anything more than your best friend.. The person you carry around and ruffle the hair of and tell all your secrets to, but never, ever look at the way I want you to."
The tears are falling faster now, and you can barely see his face through the blur. You wipe at your eyes furiously, angry at yourself for crying, angry at him for making you cry, angry at the whole stupid universe for putting you in this situation.
"I've always been here," you whisper. "I've always been yours. And you've never once seen me."
Jungwon's composure cracks. His eyes are wet, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides like he's trying very hard to hold himself together and failing. When he speaks, his voice is raw in a way you've never heard before.
"You asked what she had that you don't? Nothing. She had nothing that you don't. But she was safe. She was someone I could have a crush on from a distance and then let go when it didn't work out. But you...you're not safe. You're not distant. You're under my skin and in my bones and wrapped around every part of who I am. And if I let myself feel what I'm afraid I might feel for you, and it goes wrong..."
He stops, his voice breaking. A tear slips down his cheek, and he doesn't bother to wipe it away.
"I can't lose you," he says quietly. "I would rather have you as a friend for the rest of my life than risk losing you entirely."
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The street is quiet. The stars are starting to come out. And then you shake your head.
"We can figure this out. We can-"
"No. You don't get to have it both ways. You don't get to reject me and then ask me to stay exactly the same. That's not fair."
"Please." His voice cracks, and he reaches for your hand. "Please don't do this. You're too important to me. Our friendship is too important."
"Goodnight, Jungwon," you say.
"Y/N, wait-"
But you're already walking away. Already climbing the steps to your front porch. Already reaching for the door handle with hands that won't stop shaking.
You don't look back. You can't. If you look back, you'll break completely.
The front door closes behind you with a soft click, and you lean against it, pressing your palms to your face, and you let the tears come. All the tears you've been holding back for weeks. All the feelings you've been pretending not to have. They pour out of you in great, heaving sobs that shake your entire body.
You understand. God help you, you understand. He's scared. He's been scared his whole life, scared of losing people, scared of taking risks, scared of wanting something too much and having it slip through his fingers. He looks at you and sees everything he's afraid to lose, and instead of reaching for more, he's clinging to what he already has.
But understanding doesn't make it hurt less. Understanding doesn't fill the hollow ache in your chest or stop the tears from falling or make you forget the way his face looked when you walked away.
You don't know how long you sit there. The house stays quiet. The stars wheel overhead. And somewhere out there, on the street in front of your house, Jungwon is still standing by his car, staring at the door you just closed, hoping you'll come back out.
Genre: Non-idol, Sub!Jake, Fem,Dom!Reader, College AU
Warning! pillow princess Jake, light drug use, unprotected sex, p in v, light swearing, overstimulation, teasing, petnames, whining, mouth on Jakey's princess parts
Synopsis: College boyfriend Jake sees a couple's challenge online and wants to try it with you after your endless petty fights about who has better self control. But poor baby doesn't know how hard he's gonna get hit by the drug.
WC: 2066
Thursday nights had always been your's and Jake's sacred night, a night which allowed you guys to bask in each other's presence after a hectic college week. Fridays were your free days which meant that you guys could do whatever you wanted without the fear of having to be up early for any college commitments.
Tonight was no different, the Thursday of your last semestral week. This meant that assignment submissions had been continuous and finals were coming up soon. This also meant that the past weeks had been mutually agreed upon to be used to lock-in, allowing you guys to be productive yet still enjoying each other's company.
However, with the last week of school being finally over, Jake had suggested a stress reliever day this Thursday before you attempted to use your last few brain cells to cram all the required info for your upcoming exams.
"Ready for tonight baby? I have a game I wanna try and I'm sure you're gonna loveeee it"
Jake whispers into your ear while you were sat shoulder to shoulder with him in the school's cafeteria. You smack his thigh under the table, eyes quickly scanning your friends surrounding you to make sure that nobody had heard what he said. Jake laughs at your skittish response, getting up from the table to throw your trays so that you could go to your final class of the day.
Before you knew it, your day was over and you were sitting at the dining table in your shared apartment with Jake, eating take your favourite chinese takeout while you guys checked up on each other's day. As soon as your containers were cleared, Jake pulls out a thin box onto the table.
"Are these...watermelon flavoured chocolates?"
You read the packaging while your face scrunches up in disgust.
"These sound like an abomination to society. Why the hell would you buy these Jake...?"
You loved your boyfriend, but seriously, in times like these, you really questioned if everything was working right up there. Jake smiles cheekily, letting out a shy chuckle.
"Okay FIRST, these are not just ordinary chocolates, these are aphrodisiac chocolates. I was thinking we could play a game to see who would cave in first since you were SO certain that your self-control is better than mine. Which I promise you, it is NOT. Secondly, they were half off on the website, what did you expect me to do!!"
Jake whines as he takes the chocolates - could you even call them that - out of the box. He takes one square and breaks it in half along the pre-cut line and offers it to you.
"Yeah, with a diabolical flavour like this it's no wonder they couldn't sell it. Who even thought of this nonsense? And might I remind you of how many times YOU jumped me because YOU have, in physics terms, NEGLIGIBLE self-restraint Jakey"
You scoff as you grab the chocolate out of his hand, chucking it into your mouth. Jake stares at you intently as he does the same, face full of determination to prove you wrong tonight. He walks over to the couch to turn on Netflix, scrolling through the selection to put on a random R21 movie. You roll your eyes at his attempt to break you down but you knew eventually, it would be him begging on his knees for your touch by the end of the night.
About an hour into the movie, a steamy scene finally comes on. Both characters on the screen are in a fully intense make-out, tongues darting into the other's mouth, completely devouring each other after a dinner night out. While you start to feel wetness pooling between your thighs, the effects of the aphrodisiac slowly starting to take place, you don't think much about. Truthfully, your mind was not fully in the present right now, stuck on the endless amount of studying you would have to do in the next week.
Slight deep breaths and pants rouse you out of your semi-daydream state. You turn to your right to see Jake, plump lips held between his teeth and his eyes dazed, like he was imagining you and him on the TV instead. It was at that moment that you feel his hand clutching at your shirt, his arm around you starting shake as he starts feeling restless. You smirk to yourself, taking this time to tease him a little.
"What's wrong Jakey? You seem a little distracted, don't like the movie? We can do something else if you'd like..."
You place your hand on his, soothing his knuckles in an attempt to get him to unclench from your shirt. By now, the actors on the screen were fully naked, going at it strong and passionately on the couch, both too heated and desperate to even make it to the bedroom before starting their activities. You glance down to see Jake's hard on bulging so profusely, you swore you could see it throbbing through his sweats.
"No, no love, I'm fine, just feeling a bit...warm..."
You shrug your shoulders and mutter out a "suit yourself" before getting out from his side to grab a cup of water from the kitchen. As soon as his arm leaves your body, his head shoots to the side, reaching out to you again to hold you back.
"Where are you going..."
He whines out as he pulls you back into him.
"I was just gonna go get some water. You know we didn't really set down some game rules. With the way you're holding on to me right now, I think it's best if you just cave baby."
Jakes eyes stare into yours, sparkling with tears that were threatening to fall any second. The tent in his pants was harder than ever, having started hurting more than half an hour ago. But his pride couldn't handle the big hit it would take if he were to pounce on you.
"I...just stay here please, need to feel you..."
His arm around you was the only thing keeping him sane right now, desperate to sneak in a rub just to soothe himself, but he knew better. He could imagine the smug smile that you would have over your victory and in that moment, it felt like protecting his ego was more important than rubbing it out.
"Jake...if your hurting, just tell me already hmm..."
You bring a hand up to caress his face, it almost seemed like the drug was affecting him tenfold than it did to you. His pushes his face into your palm, your touch calming him even though your fingers were far from where he wanted them right now.
"I just, why is it affecting me more than you..."
Jake remains relentless in giving up control, instead choosing to bury his face into your neck to inhale the remains of your perfume as much as possible. Your hand moves to hold the back of his neck and your mouth move down to his ears.
"Just let it go hmm...I promise I won't tease you too much..."
Your voice sends chills down his spine, his panting starting to increase. Suddenly, you feel a sudden wetness against your neck - his tongue had darted out to get a taste of you.
"Jakey, thats a loss already. Come on, let's go to the bedroom."
You turn off the TV and guide him to stand up and head to the room. As soon as the bed became visible, you were pushed harshly onto it, Jake crashing down on to you to slot your lips together. His hands roam everywhere that he could reach, his clothed dick started to grind against the mattress.
"Please, please, please...just touch me already"
He begs into your mouth, getting up to strip both you and him of your clothes. You chuckle softly as you flip your positions, effectively straddling him and sitting your now bare pussy on top of his dick. With how wet you already were, the glide up and down his shaft made it easy and pleasurable, the ache on your clit starting to ease up a bit. Jake, however, was full on whining, his head thrown back harshly against the pillow, baring his pale white skin for you to see. You lean down to take his Adam's apple into your mouth, suckling on the skin to leave a dark hickey there. You move down the column of his throat, hands caressing his biceps.
"Tell me what you want baby. Can't do anything if I don't know what you need..."
Jake huffs at that.
"You promised you wouldn't tease...please Y/n..."
You chuckle at his desperation and decide to let him off just this once. You get off his dick and move down in between his legs, mouth swallowing him in one go. A loud sound punched out of Jake, hands flying to tangle his fingers into your hair just so that he could grab something that would ground him. His touch was light, not pushing you down, yet you could feel the light ache in your skull from the way his fingers gripped your long black strands.
It doesn't take long before you feel his hips stuttering, incoherent pleas spilling out of his mouth. You quicken your pace, guiding him to the edge of release, feeling his cum squirt to the back of your throat. You get up from between his legs and move up to his eye level, making him open his eyes to look at his cum on your tongue. You squeeze open his jaw, letting a mixture of his release and your saliva drip into his mouth before closing yours to swallow the rest of it. He moans deeply, pulling you down for yet another heated kiss.
"Just fuck me already please..."
He begs into your lips, using his hands to guide your hips. You give him some mercy, splaying your hands on his chest to tease his nipples as you get up just to sink down on his dick. Jake's hands scramble to grab something, the pleasure too intense for him to take. You decide to grab his arms, hands moving to interlock both your fingers together as your hips grind up and down.
"Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum..."
"Already baby? We just started..."
You speed up your hips as much as your stamina would let you and not long after, you feel him release his cum deep into your core. However, you don't let that stop your actions. Jake had already came twice and you hadn't even came once, how was that fair? You continue to chase your release, Jake's dick still hard as ever inside. You let go of his hands and lean back, using his legs to support your body as you change the angle so that his tip could hit that beloved spot in you.
Jake's whines get louder as he is sent into overstimulation while you cared about nothing other than the tightening feeling that was rapidly approaching.
"Come on baby, just a bit more yea, we can cum together"
Jake mumbles out incoherent words as he nods his head, using as much effort as he could to snap his hips up to meet yours. Finally, both of you release together, letting out loud and pornographic moans as you ride him through your high. You stay seated on him as you catch your breath, Jake's chest heaving up and down like he had just ran a marathon.
"Baby you okay?"
You slowly get off of him and lean down to pepper kisses onto his face, fingers carding through his hair.
"Yea, I didn't know it would hit me so hard..."
He giggles, causing a smile of fondness to slowly form on your face. You climb out of bed to walk to the washroom and clean yourself up, grabbing a towel and wetting it with warm water to bring back and wipe Jake up as well.
"Is it all out of your system baby?"
Jake nods as he watches you wipe him down with gentle hands, reaching out to pull you back down into side when you were done.
"Okay fine...I admit it, my self-restraints are as negligible as the mass of an electron..."
You roll your eyes at his physics reference and kiss him one more time before you fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart.
Hi guys, so I am back from the dead. This piece was sitting in my drafts so I decided to post it. I'm going to be posting a smau of Jake soon so please stay tuned for that! Comment if you like to be apart of the taglist for it!
heyyyy i really live your writing 💘 i hope you could write something about sub!jay because i rarely find something that is about it. Like imagine shy classmate jay who has a crush on you or sub bf jay
You’re onto something babe 👀 Would you find it crazy if I told you I’ve been on it without a rest bcs I was so into it? 🤭 I tried something and honestly I went a tiiiiiny bit crazy on this one (yeah I totally lost myself in this and well it turned like this) but hey I might just write more about sub!jay after this bcs I really enjoyed 😛
GLORY BOX - Park Jongseong
Pairing: sub!jay x femdom!reader (YEEEEEP)
Genre: oneshot, smut (never wrote this much about fucking in a single oneshot) MDNI
Synopsis: Jay? That rich business student who looks the epitome of manly prestige? Yes that same man who pursued you for the past few months without success managed to get a date with you and was determined to prove his devotion not knowing just how much you liked to play when you get a new "toy".
Warnings: unprotected!sex, breath!play, edging (a lot actually), cowgirl, handjob (m!rec), oral (fem!rec), swearing, spooning, missionary, pronebone, restraining, spitting, nipple!play, cock!warming, sub!jay (as in really desperate and submissive), femdom (hehehe)
WC: 7.2k
The hallway of the humanities building are as busy as they usually are, but for you, the world was focused to the determined footsteps closing the distance behind you. You don't need to turn around to know who it is. You can feel Jay's presence from miles away, a force of nature you've been trying to escape for months. You quicken your pace, but his long stride easily matches yours. He falls into step beside you, his expensive cologne, a strong, woody scent washing over you.
"Y/N, wait up," he says, and his voice is exactly as you expect: smooth, confident, the kind of voice that makes people look up. But you know the truth. You've seen the shift in his eyes when he looks at you, the way that practiced composure crumbles into something desperate and earnest.
You keep your eyes fixed on the exit doors at the far end of the hall, pretending you can't hear him. "I have a lecture to attend, Jay."
"It's a fifty-minute lecture on post-colonial political theory. Professor Kim. I know," he says, effortlessly matching your pace. "I also know you already finished the reading last week. You have ten minutes before you even need to think about heading in that direction."
A spike of irritation goes through you. Of course he knows. He probably has an entire file on you, compiled with the same obsessive precision he applies to his business projects. You finally stop and turn to face him, and the sight is almost jarring. He's wearing a neat black Ralph Lauren polo short, his dark hair perfectly styled. To anyone, he's the epitome of the powerful heir. But his dark eyes are fixed on you with an intensity that’s bordering feverish.
"What do you want, Jay?" you ask, your voice flat and tired.
"You know what I want," he replies, taking a small step closer. The space between you feels charged. "I want a chance. Just one real chance. Not just to walk you to class or buy you a coffee you'll pretend you don't want."
You let out a short, humorless laugh. "I've told you a dozen times. I'm not interested."
"Is it because of my family?" he asks, his brow furrowing slightly. "I can be more than my family name. I am more than that."
"Yeah, it’s about that," you lie, because you couldn’t care less about his family. You just don’t want to get involved with someone like him. And you’re pretty sure that it was just a crush that will eventually fade away.
"What can i do?" he presses, his voice dropping lower, losing its polished edge and gaining that raw, pleading quality you secretly loathe and, if you're being honest with yourself, are minutely intrigued by. "Tell me what I have to do. I'll do it. Anything."
You shake your head, turning to walk away again. This is the part that always happens. The grand, empty declarations. But this time, he doesn't let you go. He reaches out gently, his fingers barely brushing your elbow to stop you. It's the first time he's ever touched you, and the contact sends a strange jolt through your arm.
"Y/N, please," he says, and the word is so raw, so devoid of his usual swagger, that it makes you stop. He takes your silence as an invitation to continue. "I'm not playing games. I'm not just trying to get your attention. I'm... I'm in love with you."
The declaration hangs in the air between you, so absurd and yet so utterly sincere. You stare at him, truly seeing the desperation beneath the handsome facade. He looks vulnerable, almost broken, and it's a side of him no one else on campus ever gets to see.
"Love?" you finally manage to say, your voice laced with disbelief. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough," he insists, his gaze unwavering. "I know you argue with the professors not because you're arrogant but because you're genuinely passionate. I know you go to the animal shelter every Saturday morning. I know you hate cilantro and you only drink your coffee black, no sugar. I know you."
A chill runs down your spine. "So what now?" you ask, crossing your arms. "You've compiled your data. What's your conclusion?"
"My conclusion is that I want to spend the rest of my life finding out everything else there is to know," he says, and then he says the one thing you never expected, the thing that is so over-the-top it almost circles back around to being brilliant. "Marry me."
You actually laugh out loud, a sharp, incredulous sound that makes a passing freshman glance over. "You're insane."
"I'm serious," he says, and he is. The conviction in his eyes is absolute. "I'm not saying next week. I'm saying eventually. I'm saying I want you to know that this isn't a game to me. I would get down on one knee right here in this hallway and propose to you if it would make you believe me. I'm that serious."
The absurdity of it all crashes over you. This perfect, rich, powerful man, who could have any woman on campus, is standing here offering you a hypothetical future in a crowded hallway. You've spent months pushing him away, annoyed by his persistence, by his confidence, by the sheer audacity of his interest. But as you stand there, looking at the raw hope and fear in his eyes, something shifts. And beneath the annoyance, a tiny, treacherous spark of curiosity flickers to life. What would happen if you said yes? Not to a marriage proposal, that's ludicrous. But to him. To one date.
You let out a long, slow breath, the fight draining out of you. "Fine."
Jay blinks. "Fine?"
"One date," you clarify, holding up a finger. "That's it. We go on one date. You get your chance. And if it doesn't work, if it's as disastrous as I think it will be, you leave me alone. For good. No more stalking me in hallways, no more marriage proposal. We're done."
A slow, brilliant smile spreads across his face. "Deal," he says, his voice filled with a relief so profound it's almost pitiful. "Saturday night. I'll pick you up at seven. And Y/N?" he adds, his eyes gleaming with a renewed fire. "I promise you won't regret it."
Saturday evening arrives with a knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach. You stand before your closet, a pile of dresses, blouses, and skirts, spread on the floor. You told yourself this was about getting it over with, about satisfying your curiosity.
You settle on a silk dress with the length just above your knees. It's more daring than your usual attire. You pair it with strappy heels that add three inches to your height. When your doorbell rings precisely at 7:00 PM, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself.
You open the door to find Jay looking less like a business student and more like a model who stepped off a magazine cover. He's in a white button up shirt that fits him like a second skin cover by a tailored beige blazer. His dark hair is slick black, and in his hand, he holds a big, peonies bouquet. His eyes, however, give him away. They sweep over you, from the tips of your heels to the smoky makeup around your eyes, and the confident facade melts away, replaced by pure awe.
"Y/N," he breathes, and for a moment, he seems to lost at word. "You... wow."
"Is that for me?" you ask, your voice cool as you nod toward the bouquet, taking it from him. Your fingers brush against his, and you feel a jolt charge that travels up your arm.
"I... yes," he stammers, clearing his throat and visibly composing himself. "I thought we could walk around window shopping for a bit before dinner. If that's okay."
You agree, mostly because you're curious to see his version of a normal date. But his version of normal involves him leading you into the most exclusive boutique in town. Before you can protest, he's speaking to the manager, and suddenly you're being offered champagne while a personal shopper brings out a selection of items Jay apparently pre-ordered. You try on a designer jacket you'd never in a million years buy, and when you step out of the dressing room, he's standing there, looking at you with an expression that's part pride, part fondness.
"It's perfect," he says, his voice low. "But not as perfect as you are."
You roll your eyes, but a part of you is undeniably flattered. You end up leaving with a small shopping bag containing a silk scarf you didn't even try on, and Jay carries it, along with your purse, like a devoted servant, his stride matching yours as you walk down the street.
The restaurant is even more over-the-top. It's a place you've only read about in magazines, a rooftop spot with panoramic views of the city skyline. The host greets Jay by name and leads you to a secluded table in a corner, away from prying eyes. But instead of taking the seat across from you, Jay slides into the plush booth right beside you, his thigh brushing against yours under the table. The proximity is immediate and intoxicating.
"I thought we'd be closer," he says simply, his eyes meeting yours in the candlelight. "Is that okay?"
You don't answer, instead deciding to test him. You lean in, your lips just inches from his ear, your voice a low murmur. "You're trying very hard, Jay. It's almost... impressive."
He tenses, his breath catching in his throat. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin, and you know you've got him. You're toying with him, and you both know it. But instead of backing down, he turns his head, his eyes locking with yours. There's a flicker of something in them: pride, maybe, or defiance and it's the most attractive thing you've ever seen.
"I told you," he says, his voice a low growl. "I'm serious about you."
You smirk, feeling a surge of power. You reach out and trail a finger down his tie, letting it rest on his chest, right over his heart. "Serious enough to do whatever I want?"
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Try me."
That's when you feel it. A slow, deliberate touch on your leg, just above your ankle. You look down and see his hand has disappeared under the tablecloth. His fingers are tracing a path up your calf, a slow, seductive act that sends a shiver through your entire body. You gasp, your eyes widening as you meet his gaze.
"Jay," you whisper, a warning and an invitation all at once.
"Y/N," he replies, his voice thick with emotion. He doesn't stop. His fingers continue their ascent, tracing the curve of your knee, then higher, to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The feel of his fingers against your bare skin is electrifying.
You should stop him. You should push his hand away and remind him this is just a test. But you don't. You can't. Because a part of you, a part you didn't even know existed, is enjoying this. You're enjoying the power, the attention, the sheer desire in his eyes.
You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "You're playing with fire, Jay."
He turns his head, his lips just a breath away from yours. "Good," he murmurs, his fingers tracing a circle on your inner thigh. "Because I've been burning for you for months."
And then he closes the distance between you, his lips claiming yours in a kiss that's both gentle and demanding. You respond instinctively, your lips parting under his, your hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate, more urgent, and all the while, his fingers continue their slow, torturous exploration of your thigh, a silent promise of more to come.
When you finally pull away, breathless and trembling, you look into his eyes and see the same fire that's burning inside you.
The ride in the back of his chauffeured car is thick with silence. He doesn't speak, but his hand finds yours in the darkness, his fingers lacing through yours in a gesture that's surprisingly tender. You don't pull away.
The car glides to a stop in front of a hotel that reeks of money and luxury. Jay helps you out, his hand on the small of your back. He doesn't check in; the staff simply nods, a keycard already waiting as they escort you to a private elevator. The ride up is silent, the soft music a stark contrast to the ragged sound of your own breathing.
The suite is breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panorama of the city, but you barely register it. Your focus is on the king-sized bed. You turn to Jay, your heart hammering against your ribs, a new, audacious idea taking place in your mind.
"Stay here," you command, your voice soft but firm. You walk over to the plush armchair by the window, where he'd casually tossed his blazer. You find it inside the pocket: a silk tie, dark grey and expensive. You return to him, holding it up. "Put your hands behind your back," you say.
Jay's eyes widen, a flicker of surprise warring with curiosity in his gaze. He doesn't hesitate. He turns slightly, offering his wrists to you. You step closer, the scent of his cologne filling the air. You bind his wrists securely but not painfully. He lets out a shaky breath, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.
"Y/N..." he starts, his voice thick.
"Shh," you whisper, your lips close to his ear. "You wanted to show me how much you're willing to do for me. Let's see."
You then sit down on the plush mattress, the soft fabric rustling beneath you. You look up at him, at the powerful, confident man standing before you with his hands bound, his entire being focused on you, waiting for your next command.
"I want to see it, Jay," you say, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I want to see how far you'll go. How much you'll give up for me."
His dark eyes burn with an unwavering devotion. "Anything," he says, the word a sacred vow. "I would do anything for you. Just say the word."
A slow, deliberate smile spreads across your lips. "Kneel."
For a moment, he just stares at you, and you see the flicker of the proud heir, the man who's never knelt before anyone. But it's gone in an instant, replaced by the enamored man, the man who would tear down the world if you asked him to. He sinks to his knees on the plush carpet, his movements fluid and graceful despite the awkwardness of his bound hands. He looks up at you, his chin tilted up, his expression one of complete and utter submission.
"Good boy," you murmur, and the words send a visible shudder through him.
You lean back on your elbows, your dress riding up your thighs, exposing a length of skin that makes his breath hitch. You watch him, watch the desperate longing in his eyes, and you feel a surge of power so potent it's intoxicating. You slowly, deliberately, trail a hand down your own body, your fingers skimming over the silk of your dress, tracing the curve of your hip, your thigh. You let your hand rest high on your inner thigh, your fingers brushing against the edge of your lingerie.
Jay's eyes are glued to your hand, his pupils dilated with desire. You can see the effect you're having on him, the way his body tenses, the way his breathing becomes ragged. He's hard, you can see it straining against the fabric of his trousers, a testament to his desperate need.
"You like that, don't you?" you tease, your voice a low purr. "You like watching me touch myself?"
"God, yes," he chokes out, his voice strained. "Y/N, please..."
"Please what?" you ask, your fingers inching higher, a tantalizing promise. "Tell me what you want."
"I want to touch you," he says, his voice raw with need. "I want to taste you. I want to make you feel good."
You smile, a slow, predatory smile. "Maybe later," you say. "For now, you just watch."
You continue your slow, deliberate exploration, your touch light and teasing. You watch as Jay's desperation grows, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself back. He's a man on the edge, and you're the one who pushed him there.
"Come here," you command, your voice soft but firm.
He looks at you, his eyes wide with a mixture of desire and confusion. He tries to move forward, but with his hands bound behind his back, he's awkward, unbalanced. He struggles for a moment, his frustration mounting, before he looks up at you, a silent plea in his eyes.
"Like this," you say, your voice dripping with condescension. "Crawl to me."
The humiliation of the command is clear in his eyes, but so is the unwavering submission. He doesn't hesitate. He lowers his body to the floor, his bound hands making the movement clumsy and difficult. He starts to crawl, his knees shuffling against the plush carpet, his eyes fixed on you as if you're the only thing in the world. It's an impossible, undignified movement, but he does it without complaint, his pride forgotten in the face of his desire to please you.
He reaches the edge of the bed, his body trembling with exertion and need. He looks up at you, his face flushed, his eyes burning with a desperate, hungry fire. You've pushed him to his limits, and now, you're the one who has to decide what to do with him.
He remains on his knees, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. The power thrumming through you is heady, a cocktail of control and desire. You shift on the bed, parting your legs, the fabric of your dress falling away to reveal the bare skin of your thighs. The invitation is silent, but he understands it perfectly.
"Come closer," you command, your voice a low purr. "Between my legs. Now."
Jay doesn't hesitate. He shuffles forward on his knees, until he is positioned directly before you, his face level with your core. The scent of your arousal fills the air, a musky, intoxicating perfume that makes his eyes darken with hunger.
"Eat me out," you order, your voice leaving no room for refusal. "Show me how much you want to please me."
He looks up at you, his eyes burning with a fervent devotion that's almost religious. "I was born to please you," he whispers, and then he leans in.
His mouth is hot and eager against your folds, his tongue exploring you with a desperate, worshipful intensity. His lips and tongue moving in a rhythm that speaks of a desperate need to consume and be consumed. He moans against you, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure up your spine.
You lean back, your head resting on the pillows, and slowly, deliberately, you close your thighs around his head. The soft flesh of your legs presses against his cheeks, trapping him, cutting off his air. You don't squeeze hard enough to cause pain, just enough to make him feel your control, to make him understand that his very breath is a gift you can bestow or withhold at will.
He struggles for a moment, his body tensing, but then he relaxes, surrendering to the suffocating embrace of your thighs. His tongue continues its work, even more fervent now, and you can hear his muffled words of devotion, a mix of praise and worship that's lost in the flesh of your thighs.
"You're everything," he gasps, his voice muffled. "I'd die here if it meant I could please you."
A dark thrill runs through you at his words. You reach down with one foot, your toes tracing a path up his leg until you find the hard, straining bulge in his trousers. You rub it gently, a slow, teasing pressure that makes him groan against your pussy.
"You like that, don't you?" you whisper, your voice thick with satisfaction. "You like being trapped between my legs, at my mercy?"
He nods, his movements limited by your thighs, his tongue never stopping.
"Good," you purr. "But don't get too comfortable. If you cum, we stop. All of this stops. Do you understand?"
His body tenses at your words, a silent battle raging within him. He's desperate for release, but even more desperate to please you. You can feel the fight in him, the way his muscles strain with the effort of holding back, of denying his own pleasure in favor of yours.
He redoubles his efforts, his tongue moving faster, more skillfully, as if trying to distract himself from the exquisite torture of your foot rubbing his bulge. He's a man determine to prove his devotion, to earn the right to his own release.
You grab his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands, and pull his head back slightly, just enough to break the seal of your thighs. He looks up at you, his face flushed, his lips glistening with your juices, his eyes filled with a desperate, pleading need.
"Open your mouth," you command.
He obeys without question, his lips parting slightly. You lean in, your face hovering over his, and you spit, a single, deliberate drop of your saliva landing on his tongue. He flinches but doesn't close his mouth, his eyes fixed on yours, a look of utter submission in their depths.
"Swallow," you order.
He does, his throat working as he complies. You release his hair and lean back, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across your lips.
"Good boy," you whisper, your voice a husky promise. "Always taking whatever I give you."
You pull him up from his knees, the effort of which makes your muscles burn with a satisfying ache. He's pliant, compliant, his body moving to your silent direction as you maneuver him onto the bed. He lies on his back, his bound wrists resting uncomfortably against his lower spine, his chest rising and falling with shallow, anticipatory breaths. The sight of him, completely at your mercy sends a fresh wave of arousal through you, pooling low in your belly.
You straddle his thighs, the silk of your dress bunching around your hips. His erection is hard, demanding against your core, and you rock against it experimentally, earning a choked groan from him. You reach down beneath his trousers, your fingers curling around his shaft. He's impossibly hard, the heat of him burning in your palm.
"Look at me," you command, and his eyes, dark and glazed with lust, snap to yours. You begin to move your hand, a slow, deliberate rhythm that has him arching his back, pushing himself deeper into your touch. "You're not allowed to cum. Do you understand?"
"Y/N... please," he whimpers, his hips bucking involuntarily. "It's too much."
"You'll take what I give you," you purr, your grip tightening slightly, your strokes becoming faster, more erratic. You're edging him, bringing him to the brink of release only to slow down, to deny him the satisfaction he craves. He's a mess of desperate need, his body trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"I'm so into you," he confesses, his voice a raw, broken thing. "God, Y/N, I've wanted this for so long. I've wanted you for so long."
"Tell me more," you demand, your hand stilling for a moment, a cruel tease. "Tell me how much you want me."
"I think about you all the time," he babbles, his words a jumbled rush of desperation. "I think about your smile, your voice, the way you don’t give two shits about me. I think about this... about having you like this. I'd do anything for you. Anything."
"Anything?" you repeat, a slow, wicked smile spreading across your lips.
You lean down, your lips hovering just above his, so close he can feel the warmth of your breath. He strains upward, trying to close the distance, desperate for a taste of you.
"Please," he begs, his voice thick with need. "Just a kiss. Please, Y/N, just one kiss."
"I'll give you a kiss," you whisper, your voice a silken threat. "But only if you don't cum. Can you do that for me, Jay? Can you hold back for me?"
He nods frantically, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and longing. "I'll try," he gasps. "I'll do my best."
"Your best isn't good enough," you say, and then you resume your stroking, your hand moving faster, harder, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He's lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, his body a taut and desperate.
He's fighting it, you can see it in the tense line of his jaw, in the way his muscles strain with the effort of holding back. He's whimpering now, a continuous, pathetic sound that's music to your ears. He's begging for release, begging for your kiss, begging for you to stop, but you don't. You push him harder, faster, until he's a trembling, sobbing mess on the brink of exploding.
And then, just as he's about to tip over the edge, you stop. You pull your hand away, leaving him panting and desperate, his body aching with unfulfilled desire. He managed it. He didn't cum. But you're not done.
You slide off his thighs, your movements fluid and deliberate. You reach for the silk tie binding his wrists, your fingers working at the knot. It comes loose, and you pull the tie free. His arms fall to his sides, his wrists red and raw from the restraint.
But before he can move, you're back, the silk tie in your hands. You loop it around his neck, pulling it tight enough to be a firm, possessive collar as a reminder of his submission.
"Don't move," you command, your voice low and dangerous. "Don't touch me. And don't you dare cum."
You position yourself over him, your knees on either side of his hips. You reach down, your fingers fumbling with the zipper of his trousers, freeing his hard, straining cock. You guide him to your entrance, teasing him with the wet heat of your pussy before slowly, deliberately, sinking down onto him.
He gasps, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, his body arching off the bed as you sheathe him completely. You can feel the struggle in him, the desperate need to thrust, to touch, to claim you. But he obeys, his hands remaining at his sides.
You begin to ride him, a slow, sensual rhythm that has you both gasping for breath. He's so into it, his eyes fixed on yours, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. The silk tie around his neck is a constant, possessive reminder of your control.
"Good boy," you purr, your voice a husky whisper. "Just like that. Don't move. Don't cum. Just let me use you."
He nods, his eyes wide with a mixture of pleasure and pain. The slow, deliberate rhythm is a torture you can no longer bear to inflict on either of you. The need to see him completely shatter, to break that last thread of his composure, consumes you. You brace your hands on his chest, your nails digging into the crisp fabric of his shirt, and you change your pace.
The shift is violent. You abandon the teasing, sensual grind and begin to bounce on him, hard and fast. Each downward thrust is punishing, made to push him past his limits, to overwhelm his senses with pleasure so intense it borders on pain. You're using his cock, his body, his desperate devotion, and you're taking your own pleasure with a ferocity that surprises even you.
You watch his face, a mask of agonized ecstasy. His jaw is clenched, his eyes squeezed shut as he fights the command you've given him. But your pace is relentless, the wet, slick noises of your bodies joining growing louder, more obscene. It's too much for him.
With a guttural groan, his hands fly up from the bed, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass, gripping you as if to anchor himself to reality.
You stop moving instantly, the sudden stillness a shock to both of your systems. "Did I say you could touch me?" you hiss, your voice cold and sharp.
His eyes fly open, wide with a mixture of terror and desperation. "I'm sorry, I couldn't-"
You don't let him finish. You grab the ends of the silk tie still looped around his neck and pull, tightening it into a taut, unforgiving band. The air cuts off in a sharp, choked gasp. His eyes bulge, his hands flying from your ass to claw at the silk now biting into his skin. You lean down, your face inches from his, your grip on the tie unwavering.
"You will not touch me unless I say so," you command, your voice a low, menacing whisper. "You will not cum unless I say so. You are mine to use, Jay. Remember that."
You hold the choke for a moment longer, letting the lesson sink in, watching as the fight drains out of him and is replaced by a dazed, obedient submission. He's a dog that's been swatted on the nose, his will to resist completely gone. Satisfied, you loosen the tie, allowing him a ragged, desperate gulp of air.
You resume riding him, your pace just as brutal as before. But this time, his hands remain fisted at his sides, his body a pliant instrument for your pleasure. He's mesmerized by you, his gaze locked on your face, watching the way your head falls back, the way your lips part in a moan as you take your pleasure from his body. The sight of your uninhibited pleasure seems to be his own form of torment and reward.
The pressure builds inside you, a tight coil of heat forming in your core. You grind down against him, angling your hips just right, and the coil snaps. A wave of pleasure crashes over you, so intense it steals your breath. You cry out, your body convulsing, your inner walls clenching around him in a series of powerful, rhythmic pulses. You shudder and moan, riding out the orgasm, using his trembling body to prolong your own ecstasy.
As the last tremor subsides, you collapse against his chest, your body slick with sweat. You can feel his frantic heartbeat beneath you, his cock still hard and throbbing inside you.
You turn your head, your lips finding his. It's slow, deep, and possessive. You pour all of your satisfaction, all of your control, into it, claiming his mouth as you just claimed his body. He responds with a desperate, grateful fervor.
You shift off him, the sudden emptiness making you both groan. "On your side," you order, your voice husky.
He obeys instantly, rolling onto his side. You spoon against him, your body fitting perfectly against his. You reach down, guiding his still-hard cock back into you from behind. The new position is intimate, a stark contrast to the what they did moments before. You press back, pulling him deeper.
"Fuck me," you whisper. "Now."
He needs no further encouragement. He begins to move, his thrusts deep and measured. The angle is different, hitting a new spot inside you that makes you gasp. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tighter against him, his face buried in the crook of your neck. The frantic energy is gone, replaced by a desperate, grinding need.
"You've been so good," you breathe, your voice a low murmur. "So obedient. You can cum now, Jay. Come for me."
Your permission is his undoing. With a hoarse cry that sounds like your name, he thrusts into you one last time, his body going rigid as he pours himself into you. You can feel the pulsing of his release, a final, desperate surrender. He collapses against you, his body trembling, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.
For a long moment, you just lie there, tangled together in the aftermath. The room is silent except for your slowing breaths.
"I love you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, raw and vulnerable.
You don't turn to look at him. You just stare at the city lights glittering beyond the window, a slow, satisfied smile playing on your lips.
"You're not that bad," you say.
The silence that follows your words stretches. Jay's breathing evens out, but the arm around your waist remains tight. You can feel the rapid, frantic beat of his heart against your back gradually slowing to a steady rhythm.
He shifts behind you, his softening cock still nestled inside you. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the sensitive skin just below your ear, a gesture so tender it feels foreign not used to.
"Y/N," he murmurs, his voice a low, hesitant rumble against your skin. "Can we... can we keep going?"
A slow smile curves your lips. "Keep going?" you repeat, your voice laced with mock innocence. "I thought you were satisfied."
"I am," he says quickly, then amends, "I was. But... not completely. I want... I want to do it my way. Just once. Please."
You roll over to face him, the movement pulling him out from your body. You prop yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him. His face is illuminated by the soft glow of the city lights, his expression a mixture of hope and raw vulnerability. The desperate Jay is definitely a sight to see.
"And why should I let you do it your way?" you ask, trailing a finger down his chest. "I was having fun my way."
"Because..." he starts, then swallows hard. "Because I want to make you feel good. In a different way. My way."
You tap his chest once, a sharp, deliberate gesture. "Beg for it."
His eyes widen, but the hesitation is fleeting. He takes a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours, and the words pour out of him. "Please, Y/N. I'm begging you. Let me have this. Let me show you how much I want you, not just as a game, but for real. Let me love you the way I've been dreaming of. Please. I'll do anything. Just let me have you, my way, just this once. Please."
The sincerity in his voice is making you weak. You've tested his body, his submission, his pain threshold. Now, you're curious about his heart. You let the silence hang for a moment longer, savoring his desperation, before giving a slow, deliberate nod.
"Alright," you concede. "Show me."
In a fluid, powerful motion, he rolls you over, flipping you onto your stomach. His hands are on your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulls you up onto your knees, your ass presented to him. He doesn't enter you immediately. Instead, he leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing against your ear.
"I've thought about this," he whispers, his voice a low, needy growl. "You, like this. Only for my eyes."
He enters you in one smooth, deep stroke, and the sensation is completely different. There's no frantic urgency, no punishing rhythm. This is deliberate, intimate. He begins to move, a slow, steady rocking of his hips that pushes him deep inside you, his body molding to yours. It's not fucking. It's making love. He's passionate and sweet, his hands stroking your sides, his lips pressing soft kisses to your shoulders and the back of your neck.
You're moaning, but it's a soft, breathless sound, one of genuine pleasure that feels dangerously close to affection. You can't let him have this. You can't let him win this way.
"Is this it?" you taunt, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder. "This is your big move? It's a bit... romantic, don't you think? A little vanilla for me, Jay. I thought you were better than that."
His rhythm falters, a flicker of hurt in his eyes before it's replaced by a steely resolve. He wants to please you. He'll do whatever it takes. He pulls out of you, and before you can react, he flips you onto your back again. He's between your legs in an instant, his eyes burning with a new, darker fire.
"You want better?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll give you better."
He enters you again, this time in a missionary position. It's classic, intimate, but the way he's looking at you is anything but. He starts to move, his thrusts harder, more demanding than before, but still controlled, still deliberate. He's hitting that spot inside you, the one that makes your toes curl and your breath catch in your throat.
And then his hands move. They leave your hips, traveling up your body to cup your breasts. He's always been fixated on them, you realize, his gaze often drifting to your chest even when he was trying to maintain eye contact. Now, he's finally touching them, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress.
"Can you take this off," he ask, his voice rough with desire.
You reach down, fumbling with the hem of your dress, pulling it up and over your head. You're naked beneath him, and the way his eyes devour your body makes you feel more exposed than you've ever felt. He lowers his head, his lips closing around one peaked nipple. He sucks, hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, his teeth grazing it just enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain through you.
He moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his hands kneading the soft flesh, his mouth and tongue working in tandem. He's still thrusting into you, a deep, steady rhythm that's driving you closer and closer to the edge, but his focus is entirely on your tits, as if they're the source of all pleasure, the center of his universe.
"You like that?" he asks, his voice muffled against your skin. "You like me playing with your perfect tits?"
You can only moan in response, your hands tangling in his hair, holding him to you. And as the second orgasm of the night builds inside you, more powerful than the first, you realize you might like it more than you expected.
With a wicked grin, you push against his chest, surprising him with your strength. He reluctantly releases your nipple, his eyes glazed with confusion and lust as you maneuver him onto his back. His cock, slick and hard, slides out of you, standing proudly against his stomach. You straddle him, not to take him inside you again, but to lean down, your hair a curtain around your faces.
"Your turn," you whisper, and before he can process the words, your lips close around the tight, peaked bud of his own nipple.
The reaction is instantaneous and violent. A raw, guttural sound tears from his throat, a mix of shock and overwhelming pleasure. His entire body bows off the bed, his hands flying up to tangle in your hair, not to push you away, but to hold you in place. He's completely unprepared for this, for the tables being so thoroughly turned. You flick your tongue against the sensitive nub, then gently scrape it with your teeth, and he loses all control.
He's a whimpering mess, a symphony of desperate, broken sounds. "Y/N... fuck... oh god, don't stop," he babbles, his hips bucking upwards, his cock smearing wetness against your stomach. He's so sensitive, so utterly undone by this simple act of reciprocation. You suck harder, your hand reaching down to cup his balls, massaging them gently. That's all it takes.
With a strangled cry that sounds like your name being torn from his soul, he comes. His cock pulses violently, thick, hot ropes of his release shooting across his stomach. He collapses back against the bed, his body trembling, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.
You release his nipple, sitting back up to look at your handiwork. He's a beautiful disaster, his face flushed, his eyes wide with a dazed, post-orgasmic bliss. A slow, predatory smile spreads across your lips.
"Look at you," you tease, your voice a husky purr. "Coming from a little nipple play. I didn't even have to touch your cock. You're pathetic, Jay. A desperate, whimpering mess."
He opens his eyes, and there's no shame in them, only a deep, unwavering devotion. He looks at you, at the mess he's made on his own stomach, and a slow, lazy smile spreads across his lips.
"Only for you," he says, his voice a low, contented rumble. "I'm only like this for you."
The sincerity in his voice, the absolute lack of embarrassment, catches you off guard. The sharp edges of your cruelty soften, replaced by a grudging affection. He's not pathetic. He's just... yours. You lean down, not to tease, but to comfort. You press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips, a stark contrast to the raw intensity of the night.
"Clean up," you murmur, sliding off him and lying down on the bed. "Then come back."
He obeys, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment before returning, his body clean and warm. He slides into bed beside you, and without a word, he enters you again, this time slow and gentle. He doesn't move to thrust, he just stays there, his body spooned against yours, his softening cock still nestled inside you. It's intimate, strangely comfortable, and you fall asleep like that, tangled together in the quiet aftermath.
The next morning, you wake to the smell of coffee and the feeling of strong arms around you. Jay is already awake, watching you with a soft, sleepy smile. He's brought you coffee, exactly how you like it black, no sugar. He's taking care of you, a silent, devoted servant in the bright light of day.
"Morning," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "How are you feeling?"
"Surprisingly well-rested," you admit, taking a sip of the coffee. It's perfect.
He watches you for a moment, his expression shy and hopeful. "So... when's our next date?"
You take another sip of coffee, considering him. You could play it cool, dismiss him, tell him last night was a one-time thing. But the thought doesn't bring you the usual satisfaction. Instead, you find yourself wanting to see that desperate, submissive look in his eyes again.
"I'll think about it," you say, setting the cup down. You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear. "I'll say yes if you promise to be more miserable for me next time. I like you better when you're begging and crying."
He pulls back, and instead of looking hurt or offended, he breaks into a wide, genuine smile. It's the smile of a man who's just been given the keys to the kingdom, even if the kingdom is a hell of his own making.
"Deal," he says, his voice filled with a cheerful, unwavering resolve. "Anything for you."
GENRE/CW: smut (multiple scenes), angst, fluff, porn with plot, down bad hee, switch!hee, lowkey subby hee, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), lots of kissing, cunnilingus, blowjob, dry humping, fingering, sexting, phone sex, mutual masturbation, multiple orgasms, marking, crying. mentions of nicknames, messy feelings, lmk if i missed anything!
WORD COUNT: 24.7k words!
SYNOPSIS: Money can’t buy loyalty, and neither can years of friendship. After your boyfriend and your best friend decide to fuck each other behind your back, the only silver lining is Heeseung—the one person who looks as hollow as you feel. It begins as a petty revenge kiss and a no-strings situationship, but what will you do if it slowly turns into something dangerously real?
A/N: hihi loves <3 sorry for the wait, i had to edit a few scenes but here we are now, i hope you guys enjoy the fic, also i love jaem (sorry jaem), moon nics ricey cameo lets gaurrr <3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <3
It really was a sight to see.
Your best friend pressed up against your boyfriend like they’d invented the concept of gravity, her hands shamelessly roaming under the hem of his shirt while his mouth dragged along the line of her neck.
No shame, not even a flicker of it. To the drunk, sweating crowd around them, it probably just looked like another hazy corner of the party—two bodies tangled in the dim lights, music blasting so loud it swallowed any guilt, if they cared to harbour any that is, but you saw everything.
To be more precise, you found out yesterday when they got bold enough to fuck each other at your boyfriend’s apartment, and oblivious enough to not notice your presence, or your low chuckle at the depravity of the situation. Instead of feeling mad, you felt that bone deep numbness. Why trust anyone at this point?
Emotionally unavailable, the label had never sounded so accurate, but was it truly your fault when you never felt the need to expect anything from him? It certainly was an experience faking your orgasms for him, but you cared on the deeper levels—well, till you found him balls deep inside your now ex best friend.
So you sat there now on the worn leather couch, legs crossed, drink dangling from your fingers, watching them like it was just another Tuesday night show.
“Oh hey—you’re here! Have you seen Mina?”
The voice cut through the haze of music and chatter, slightly breathless. You turned your head slowly, lashes lowering just a fraction as your gaze landed on Heeseung.
He stood a few feet away, tall and striking even in the crowd, dark maroon hair tousled like he’d rushed all the way here. His sharp jaw was tense, brows drawn together in mild confusion as he scanned the room. The leather jacket hanging off his broad shoulders caught the shifting lights, and for a moment, you wondered how he’d react to the news of his girlfriend in the arms of his best friend.
You tilted your head, lips curving into a slow, amused smile that didn’t quite reach your eye,
“yeah,” you said, voice smooth as you clicked your tongue, “right over there.”
You lifted your glass in a lazy gesture toward the corner, and Heeseung followed your line of sight. The shift in his expression was immediate and downright visceral. His eyes widened, pupils blown with disbelief as he took in the scene of Mina’s leg hooked shamelessly around his best friend’s hip, her mouth pressed to the underside of his jaw while his hands roamed with practiced familiarity.
The way they moved together spoke of stolen nights and secret touches—months, maybe longer.
“They’re cheating,” you added lightly, almost conversationally, as if commenting on the weather as you took a slow sip from your drink, “bold choice, doing it in plain sight like this. Guess they figured neither of us would actually show up tonight—I mean, I did mention I wouldn’t.”
Heeseung’s adam’s apple bobbed visible, a flash of hurt brewed behind his eyes, before it ignited this anger within him, “what the fuck—” the words slipped out rather hoarse, broken.
He didn’t really look at you, eyes locked on them as if he couldn’t look away. Before you could say anything else, he was moving, pushing through the dense crowd with single-minded intensity. You watched his retreating back for a moment, that same curiosity curling in your chest. It would’ve been a sight to stay and watch the fireworks, sure, but you just got up.
You wove through the crowd without hurry, heels clicking softly up the narrow wooden stairs, each step carrying you farther from the mess downstairs.
The upstairs hallway was dimmer, and at the end of it, the balcony door was wide open, letting the night air slip in. You stepped outside, pulling a cigarette from the pack tucked in your jacket, lips closing around it as you flicked your lighter.
First drag hit deep, filling your lungs with that bitter, familiar burn. You leaned against the railing, letting the smoke curl out slow between your parted lips, eyes half-lidded against the wind tugging at your hair.
For a minute, everything felt almost peaceful, comfortable even, then the door scraped open behind you, and Heeseung stepped out, breathing hard like he’d run the whole way up. His hair was messier now, dark burgundy strands falling into his eyes, and his face—god, his face was a wreck. Eyes glassy with everything he was trying not to feel, cheeks flushed, mouth pressed into a thin, angry line.
Without asking, he closed the distance in two long strides and plucked it right from your lips.
A surprised little chuckle slipped out of you before you could stop it, and you observed how he took a deep, shaky drag from where your lipstick had stained the cigarette, holding it in for long before he blew the smoke up toward the dark sky. His free hand gripped the railing tight enough that his knuckles went white.
“Fucking hell,” he rasped, voice rough, “how long? Just—tell me how long they’ve been doing this behind our backs.”
“Since at least yesterday,” you said, “I walked in on them fucking in his dorm, didn’t even have the decency to lock the door,” a faint smile ghosted your lips, “I just closed it again and left.”
Heeseung’s head turned toward you slowly, eyes wide with shock, the cigarette nearly slipping from his fingers, “you saw them and didn’t say shit?”
You shrugged, “what was there to say? They wanted each other, and I’ve never been the type to drown myself that deeply anyway. It just felt odd to see Mina do it, that part did affect me, years of friendship drowned for what? A guy.”
Heeseung let out a disbelieving huff, running a hand through his already tousled hair, “Jaemin was my best friend, man. We’ve been tight since freshman year—shared everything. And now this?” His voice cracked slightly, “feels like a fucking knife in the back from both sides. They looked guilty for a second but didn’t even bother following me here to explain themselves, though they did have the audacity to ask me not to tell you.”
You studied him for a moment through his ramble, the way the balcony light cast sharp shadows across his sharp jaw and the pained lines around his eyes. He looked devastatingly undone, yet there was something resilient in the way he stood there, refusing to crumble completely. The sight stirred a spark in your chest—that familiar free-spirited curiosity.
You passed the cigarette back to him after a puff, “people reveal their true colors eventually. It’s pragmatic to accept it and keep moving instead of letting it rot you from the inside.”
Silence stretched between you, thick with shared betrayal. Heeseung took another drag, then offered it back, his gaze lingering on your face with astute observation, like he was trying to peel back the layers of your calm detachment, he just couldn’t understand how you seemed so—unaffected?
You crushed the cigarette against the railing and flicked it into the night. That proactive restlessness bloomed brighter inside you, eyes gleaming with mischievous insight.
“Wanna do something fun?” You asked.
Heeseung blinked, lips parting in surprise, “fun? Like right now?”
“Mhm,” you stepped closer, “are you okay with a kiss, Heeseung?”
His breath hitched audibly, throat bobbing, “a—a kiss?” The word came out hoarse, almost stunned. His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingering, before snapping back up, cheeks flushing darker, “you serious?”
“Very,” you held his stare, “yes or no?”
“Isn’t that cheating?” He looked devastatingly clueless even mumbling that question, and you raised your brow.
“Yes or no?” You asked again.
He searched your face, the raw pain still churning, but something hungrier kindled beneath it—curiosity. After a beat, he gave one slow nod making you chuckle.
You took his hand and led him back down into the party’s suffocating crowd, and he followed without asking any questions. In the corner, Jaemin and Mina were still shamelessly entangled, her arms looped around his neck, his hands possessive on her hips.
You stepped straight into their space without hesitation, grabbing Jaemin’s arm to pull him back.
The sharp crack of your palm across Jaemin’s cheek echoed through the room, his head whipped sideways. Mina stumbled back with a gasp as the crowd around you froze, then erupted in murmurs and the bright flare of phone screens.
“What the fuck?” Jaemin snarled, clutching his reddening face, eyes blazing the instant recognition hit, “w—wait, Y/N?”
Mina’s face drained of color, “we—we didn’t think you would show up tonight—”
You desperately wanted to laugh, but you maintained your character, cause how were they dumb enough to think that you wouldn’t find out, especially when Heeseung did too.
“Clearly,” you said, getting ready to lie beautifully, “Heeseung told me everything. How long have you two been fucking behind our backs?”
Whispers exploded outward. Jaemin fumbled for excuses, mouth opening uselessly.
“I didn’t expect this from you Mina,” you mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek as tears started forming in her eyes.
“No—listen to me, we didn’t—”
“Whatever,” you continued, a crystalline laugh escaping you, “be happy with each other, I’ll find someone better.”
You turned away from their frozen faces, and Heeseung stood right there, looking completely wrecked. Your eyes met his, like really met them. For a second everything else including the stares, the phones, the bass—faded into background noise.
He looked at you like you were the only person left in the room, and maybe to him, you were.
You stepped in close, sliding your hands up his chest. His heart was pounding under your palms, doe eyes full of trust and anticipation for what was to come. Heeseung’s breath caught, but he didn’t move away. His hands found your waist almost on instinct, fingers spreading wide and warm through your clothes, before pressing in to hold on tighter.
His gaze dropped to your mouth before flicking back up, nodding slightly as he understood the question you asked him earlier.
Which is why you tilted your head and kissed him.
You slotted your lips against his rather softly, just to test him at first. His mouth was warm, faintly tasting of smoke and the drink he’d had earlier. He froze for half a second, stunned at the easiness of it all, then let out this quiet, broken sound against your lips and kissed you back.
The kiss turned deeper fast, hungrier. Your tongue brushed his and he groaned low in his throat, the vibration rolling straight through you. You slid one hand into his hair, tugging lightly at the strands, while the other stayed fisted in his jacket, pulling him closer. Heeseung’s grip on your waist tightened almost painfully so, one arm wrapping further around your back to press you flush against him. His chest rose and fell hard against yours. You could feel every shaky breath, the way his fingers trembled just slightly where they dug into your sides.
It was messy, a little desperate. Tongues sliding, breaths mixing hot and uneven, the faint wet sound of it somehow louder than the music behind. He kissed like he was pouring every bit of hurt and anger and sudden want into you as you took it all, giving the same right back.
When you finally pulled back just enough to breathe, Heeseung was completely gone. Lips swollen and shiny, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath, eyes dark and hazy like his brain had short-circuited. A wrecked little sound slipped out of him, half-gasp, half-groan—as he stared at you, dazed and breathing hard.
Your smile embodied satisfaction as you leaned in again and pressed one slow, teasing peck to his parted lips, letting it linger just enough to make his breath hitch all over again.
Jaemin and Mina were staring like they’d seen a ghost with their jaws dropped, faces pale, eyes wide with pure disbelief. The whole party had gone dead quiet around you, everyone watching, phones still pointed your way like this was the best drama they’d seen all year (it probably was).
You laced your fingers with Heeseung’s, gave his hand a light squeeze, and tugged him toward the door.
“Let’s get out of here,” you murmured close to his ear, voice low and a little playful against his skin.
Heeseung didn’t argue, just followed, still breathing hard, fingers gripping yours tight as the door swung shut behind you.
The cool night air hit your heated skin, and for the first time tonight, everything felt wide open again.
A rather loud screech right next to your left ear woke you up, and you wondered if the world had somehow been corrupted by zombies because there’s no other explanation for such sounds, but your friend made it possible somehow.
You jolted, heart kicking once before your brain caught up. Sunoo was practically jumping beside your bed, phone in his hand, “one time—one single time I decide to stay in and catch up on sleep and you create a fucking scene? Gosh, babe.”
Winter shoved the door the rest of the way open with her shoulder, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hair still a wild mess from her deep sleep. She planted herself at the foot of your bed, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at you, “fuck, Y/N,” she said before her tone got softer, “are you okay? I fucking knew that girl was a snake from the first time she came over. And your boyfriend? I always hated him, al-fucking-ways.”
You were still blinking, eyes half open and not willing to adjust to the brightness. Right then, a chuckle escaped your lips at the memory of last night—and you tried to remember the last time you felt so satisfied (maybe never?).
Sunoo dropped onto the edge of your mattress without waiting, “I always said we are your besties. The kind who’d help you hide a body, no questions asked. Ride or die, baby.”
You sat up straight, blanket pooling around your waist, and opened your arms because of course they were right, “come here, idiots.”
They didn’t hesitate, Winter climbing on first, wrapping her arms around you like she could shield you from the whole damn world. Sunoo piled on top a second later, all limbs and very dramatic sighs, squishing the three of you into a tangled heap of familiar warmth.
“Yeah,” you murmured into Sunoo’s shoulder, voice muffled, “you two are stuck with me.”
Winter huffed a soft laugh against your neck, “good, because we’re not letting you deal with that snake ex-bestie and cheating ex-boyfriend shit alone. We’re burning that chapter together.”
Sunoo’s voice came out muffled too, “and—we’re keeping the video forever, that kiss looked cozy girl, what else did you do—”
You let yourself sink into the warmth for a long moment, the bone-deep numbness from yesterday easing just enough to let something real and grateful slip through. The sting of Mina’s betrayal was still there, but it felt distant now—almost coherent in its simplicity.
People drift apart, friendships end. You’d always known that. What intrigued you more was how easily these two could make the weight feel lighter, their amiable chaos wrapping around you like a promise that some things indeed were here to stay.
Meanwhile, Heeseung was suffering.
Jay had shoved his phone into Heeseung’s face, close enough for him to make out, uh, absolutely nothing. It seemed like a blurry mess of lights until Jay yanked it back to show Heeseung a pixel version of you grabbing his jacket and pulling him into what appeared to be a passionate kiss.
The angle caught the exact moment his hands found your waist, the way his shoulders had tensed then eased up all at once. Heeseung’s ears burned red so fast it felt like someone had lit a match under his skin.
“Bro,” Jay said, grinning, “the video is everywhere, especially on the uni insta page for students. Someone made it into a trend—it’s actually insane.”
Before Heeseung could even form a coherent thought, the bedroom door slammed open hard enough to rattle the frame, scaring both the boys.
Jake came barreling in, hair still sticking up from sleep, eyes wild, “you bitch—you kissed Y/N? She’s mine—I called dibs on her months ago!”
Heeseung groaned, dragging both hands down his face, “she’s not an object, Jake.”
“Oh fuck you—you know I like her,” Jake shot back, dropping on his knees.
Sunghoon strolled in next, casual as ever, one shoulder propped against the wall. He let out a low whistle and Heeseung wondered what the fuck is wrong with his friends, “so you’re what? Dating now? That was one hell of a plot twist.”
Jay sniggered, not even trying to hide it, “nah dude, you think he can handle someone like Y/N?”
Jake tried to butt in again, “I can—” but the rest of them talked right over him like usual.
Heeseung sat up slowly, the full reminder of the last night coming right back to him. The slap echoing through the room, the way you’d looked at him right before you kissed him, eyes bright with that reckless spark. The way he’d kissed you back like he enjoyed it. He swallowed hard, throat tight.
“Did I cheat on Mina?” He asked quietly.
The room went still for half a second, all three of them looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Jay let out a disbelieving laugh, “she cheated on you while you were still together.”
“Yeah but I kissed someone else literally a few minutes later—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sunghoon cut in, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Heeseung stared at the blanket pooled over his lap, replaying the kiss again—the heat of your mouth, the way your fingers had twisted in his hair, that soft, teasing peck you pressed to his lips after. It had been the best kiss he’d ever had. The whole situation felt far too complicated for the simple labels his friends were throwing arounf, and yet he couldn’t stop the memory from looping behind his eyes.
Jay sighed, softer this time, leaning back on his elbows, “did it feel good?”
They all looked at him. Heeseung didn’t answer right away, he just swallowed again, the memory burning behind his eyes like it refused to fade.
You on the other hand were absolutely not functioning when Sunoo had a trillion questions lined up for you—all of which consisted of Heeseung. You three had just managed to make coffees when the loud knock interrupted you. A sigh was all you could manage as you opened the door to find your pathetic excuse of an ex standing there with—roses? Wow, he didn’t even have the decency to remember that you were allergic.
He spoke up before you could, “I know i deserved that slap.”
Well, obviously.
“I messed up—I swear I don’t want her.” He was looking at you with that pout he mustered whenever you both had disagreements.
You bit down your laugh, “yeah? So?”
“Take me back, baby, please?”
Right then someone flew past the door, and your mouth hung open as Sunoo straight up landed a kick on Jaemin’s thigh, resulting in him falling down with pain. Now, you laughed freely as Sunoo bent down to warn him, “stay away from her, okay?”
Jaemin turned to look at you, eyes wide, “what—”
“You heard him, we’re over, Jaemin,” you shrugged, wrapping your arm around Sunoo as you both walked inside, Sunoo glaring at man till the door closed shut.
Jaemin stayed on the ground for a few more seconds, roses scattered around him, a thorn making him bleed just enough for him to roll his eyes.
That went well.
The afternoon sun filtered softly through the leaves of the uni garden, casting dappled shadows across the wooden bench where you sat. It had been three days since the party, and the campus still hadn’t let either of you forget it. Random students kept approaching you in the hallways, the library, even the coffee line—some offering awkward condolences, others straight-up calling the slap and the kiss badass with wide-eyed admiration.
You sipped your mango matcha slowly, the garden was quiet now, just the distant hum of students walking between buildings and the soft rustle of leaves overhead. You felt normal, jolly even, like it hadn’t affected you, but even you couldn’t deny how good of a kiss it had been.
Too lost in the pdf in your iPad, you didn’t notice Heeseung approaching until his shadow fell across your lap. He stopped a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, hair still slightly messy and he somehow made it look good.
“Hey,” he said, voice polite as it had always been, “can we talk?”
You looked up, lips curving into an amiable smile, “sure, c’mere sit,” you patted the empty space beside you on the bench and held out your mango matcha toward him, “want some? It’s good.”
Heeseung only cocked his brow, “same straw?”
You blinked innocently, “you’re saying that as if we didn’t make out in front of the entire party three days ago.”
He stared at you for a moment, intrigued cause of your carefree answer, before he reached out and took the cup anyway. He drank without hesitation, the straw brushing his lips where yours had been moments ago, and when he lowered it, the corner of his mouth twitched.
You chuckled, watching the way his shoulders loosened just a fraction, “so—talk, what’s on your mind, Heeseung?”
He handed the cup back, fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary, “I’ve been thinking about that night. A lot.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, but his eyes stayed on yours, “the kiss, the way you just handled everything. I keep replaying it and I can’t make it make sense.”
You tilted your head, taking another slow sip before answering, “what’s there to make sense of? They cheated, we both saw it. I decided not to let it ruin my night and you were there. The kiss happened—simple.”
He let out a short, disbelieving breath, running a hand through his hair, “It’s not simple for me. Mina was my girlfriend, Jaemin was my best friend since freshman year. And so much happened in like—an hour,” he paused, eyes searching your face, “did it really not mess with you at all?”
You shrugged, “It stung a little actually. Losing Mina as a friend after all those years felt kinda—odd? But drowning in it? Not really my thing.” Your lips curved again, “i’ve never been the type to hand my whole heart over and expect it to stay put.”
Heeseung watched you for a long moment, “you make it sound so coherent,” he muttered, almost to himself, “like it’s all just—logical. Meanwhile I’ve been walking around campus getting stopped by random people asking if we’re together now. It’s been three days and I still feel like my head’s spinning.”
You laughed lightly, “same here, a guy offered to buy me coffee because I deserved better, It’s weirdly entertaining.”
Heeseung’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, the first real one you’d seen from him today, “yeah, even my friend Jake was sort of, how do I even put it? But yeah, he wasn’t thrilled, hes got some crush on you.”
Your eyes sparkled, “wait, isn’t he the cute one with an accent? I like him.”
He shook his head at how you would probably encourage Jake, the thought was rather unsettling, then looked at you again, more serious, “but, y’know—the kiss, that part wasn’t just for show.”
That made you pause for a moment, and you held his gaze, intrigued by the way he was looking at you—like he was trying to figure out how someone could be so calm in the middle of the wreckage.
“So what are you saying?” You asked, voice soft but direct, “you regret it?”
“No,” he answered almost immediately, “I don’t regret it, that’s the problem. It felt good and I keep wondering what the hell that means when everything else is such a mess.”
You leaned back against the bench, letting the sun warm your face for a second, “it doesn’t have to mean anything big, I mean—we both got screwed over.” You watched how pretty he looked under the sunlight, lips slightly red cause he’d been biting them, “maybe we don’t overthink it. Maybe we just—just see where it goes.”
Heeseung took the cup again, fingers brushing yours once more, and this time he didn’t pull away right away, “you’re really okay with that?”
You smiled, “I’m okay with a lot of things, Heeseung. Especially if they feel good.”
Neither of you said anything more for a moment. The conversation didn’t need to be solved today, for now, sitting here with him, sharing the same straw and the same tension, felt like enough.
Heeseung has always been a man of few words, but even those little words seemed to disappear when you were around. And the worst part? You weren’t even aware of it.
You weren’t the one to intrude on anyone’s personal space, and that included Heeseung, much to his relief (or dismay?), he was just—confused.
A week had slipped by since the garden talk, and the quiet tension between you two had only grown heavier. He’d spent the days avoiding Mina’s messages, the knot in his chest tightening every time her name appeared. But you—you were everywhere. In literature class you sat three rows ahead, never together, but he stared. He couldn’t stop noticing the way the light caught the curve of your neck when you leaned over your notes, the soft way your fingers tapped the edge of your pen, the small, absent smile that played on your lips when something in the lecture amused you. Every stolen glance left him more tangled than the last.
Tonight the restlessness had won. He pulled on a hoodie and walked to the 24-hour convenience store near the dorms, craving something mindless like his ride or die—ramen to quiet the noise in his head.
The annoyingly white lights buzzed overhead as he stepped inside, grabbing a basket and turning down the snack aisle, mind still half-lost in yesterday’s class when you’d stretched and your shirt had ridden up just enough to—
He stopped just then, cause you were right there,
standing in the middle of the aisle in soft pink pajama shorts that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs and a matching oversized hoodie that had slipped off one shoulder, you looked unfairly soft and warm, like you’d just rolled out of bed. Your hair was a little messy, and you were reaching up for a pack of strawberry gummies, the hem of the shorts riding higher with the movement.
Heeseung’s mouth went dry, and he wanted to slap himself for acting like a fucking creep.
You turned at the sound of his footsteps, eyes meeting his across the narrow aisle. A slow smile curved your lips, the same one that had been haunting him for days.
“Hey,” you waved at him, like running into each other at midnight in pajamas was the most normal thing in the world, “couldn’t sleep either?”
Heeseung swallowed, stepping closer despite the way his pulse kicked up. The faint scent of your shampoo clinging to your hair, “needed ramen, the boys emptied the fridge I swear,” he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.
You nodded in understanding, “same lowkey—was staring at the ceiling but then decided to get out.” You tilted your head, looking at him a little closer, eyes tracing the tired lines on his face, “you look like you’ve got a lot going on up there. Want to talk about it while we walk back?”
Heeseung hesitated for half a second, then nodded, “yeah, sounds good.”
You paid for your stuff together, the cashier barely glancing up, and stepped back out into the cool night air. The walk was easy at first, with absolutely no words being exchanged, your shoulders brushed every few steps, Heeseung kept his hands in his pockets, but he could feel the warmth of you next to him, the soft brush of your hoodie sleeve against his every time you shifted.
“Been a week,” he said after a few minutes, “Mina keeps texting, and of course I haven’t answered. It feels weird ignoring her, but answering would feel worse.”
You hummed, glancing at him sideways, “I get that. Sometimes the easiest thing is just to let it sit there until it stops stinging, y’know?” Your arm bumped his again as you walked, and you didn’t pull away, “you holding up okay with all of it?”
He just nodded, granting you a smile which made the corner of your lips lift up too, and he asked you the same, to which you laughed as if nothing had even happened.
It was so nice just walking beside you, even in silence, at this cursed hour of midnight, though Heeseung would argue and say that he felt more awake now than he did the whole day.
The dorm buildings came into view too soon, but then Heeseung saw something that made his steps falter on the pavement, body going rigid right beside you. It made you follow his line of sight, and of course—Mina was there, walking straight towards his building, head down and mind completely focused on her phone. She hadn’t noticed you yet, but it was clear that she was going to approach Heeseung.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, panic flashing across his features in a way you could feel it reach you too.
Before you could provide him with two words of comfort, his hand slid around your waist, fingers spreading wide and warm through the thin fabric of your hoodie. He pulled you in close, so close that your side pressed flush against his, the heat of his body juxtaposing the chill of the air. His palm was steady but his fingers trembled a little against your hip as you caught the faint scent of his cologne, it was clean and woody, just how you liked it.
“Play along, please?” He whispered urgently against your ear, voice rougher now.
You only chuckled, leaning into him as if you’d done it before, slipping your arm around his back, fingers resting lightly against the small of his back. Your head tilted up towards him, a soft smile curving up as you looked at him. Heeseung was flushed cause, damn were you good at acting.
“Got it,” you murmured back.
Mina looked up at the exact moment, eyes widened at the sight, a gasp leaving her lips as she watched Heeseung’s hand slide lower on your back as you reached his dorm door.
You didn’t even realize you were biting your bottom lip until Heeseung’s gaze dropped straight to it, his breath hitched, thumb pausing on your cheek as his other hand came up to cup your face, warm palms cradling your jaw like he was afraid you might pull away.
“Can I?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper, eyes searching yours.
You didn’t answer, just leaned in, closing the small gap between you, and pulled him into the kiss.
Your lips met his softly at first and Heeseung made a quiet sound against your mouth, his hands cupping your face fully now, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek as he kissed you back. The taste of him was faint, a hint of the cherry juice he must have had earlier. Your own hands slid up his chest, fisting lightly in his hoodie as you tilted your head to kiss him a little deeper.
When you finally pulled back, Heeseung’s eyes were dark and a little dazed, lips parted and cheeks flushed. His thumbs were still stroking your cheeks, reluctant to let go.
Mina stood frozen a few feet away, face pale, cause she swore to herself it was an act, but this? It didn’t seem like one.
Heeseung didn’t look at her, just tightening his grip on your waist and guided you through the door, pulling you inside with him. The warmth of his palm stayed glued to the small of your back the whole way, steady now, like he needed the contact to stay grounded.
Inside the apartment, Jake was sprawled on the couch in the living room, a half-eaten pizza box open on the coffee table, some mindless show playing low on the TV. He froze mid-bite when he saw you, eyes going wide.
You smiled, bright and completely at ease, like showing up at this hour with Heeseung’s arm still around you was the most normal thing in the world, “oh—hey. Jake, right?”
“Y/N? Uh yes—hi, you’re here?” Jake stuttered, making Hee roll his eyes.
You just walked over to him, dropping onto the couch beside him acting all normal though your heartbeat said otherwise, “yeah! Mind if I steal a bite?”
Jake blinked, then grinned like an idiot and lifted the slice he was holding right to your mouth, “here, go for it.”
You leaned in and took a bite straight from his hand, cheese stretching between your fingers as you chewed, “mhm, this is actually good, thanks.”
Jake’s face lit up even more, “right? You can have the whole slice if you want.”
Heeseung stood there watching the whole thing, jaw tight. He lasted about five seconds before he groaned low in his throat, “alright, that’s enough.” He crossed the room in two quick strides, caught your wrist gently but firmly, and tugged you up from the couch, “c’mon.”
You let him pull you up, giving Jake a little wave over your shoulder, “night, Jakey. Thanks for the pizza.”
Jake just waved back, still grinning, “anytime!”
The second Heeseung’s door clicked shut behind you, silence filled the room—it was dim, lit only by the desk lamp, the air suddenly too warm and too small. Heeseung’s back pressed against the door, eyes dark and fixed on you before he walked over and plopped on his bed.
You clicked your tongue, tilting your head at him, “now she’s gonna think we’re dating.”
Heeseung rubbed a hand over his face, looking genuinely sorry, “yeah—I know. I’m so sorry—I just panicked and pulled you into this whole thing. You didn’t have to go along with it.”
You shrugged, stepping closer until you were right in front of him. Then, without warning, you turned and sat right down on his lap, straddling his thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world. Heeseung’s breath caught, hands instinctively landing on your hips to steady you, eyes wide with surprise.
“I did kiss you first at the party,” you said, “so it’s kinda my fault too.”
Heeseung’s fingers flexed on your hips, holding you there. He gulped, throat bobbing visibly as he looked up at you, “so, now what?” he asked, voice rough.
You shrugged again, still sitting comfortably on his lap, fingers playing with the collar of his hoodie, “it’s your call, Hee.”
You kept talking as Heeseung pondered deeply about his choices. He didn’t register you saying something about how Jake’s face was priceless because Heeseung wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes had dropped to the exposed line of your clavicle where your hoodie had slipped down, tracing the smooth skin there, then moving up to your lips—still a little shiny from the greasy pizza, slightly parted as you spoke. The way you were sitting on him, the soft weight of you on his thighs—it was too stimulating for him.
He didn’t say anything, just leaned in and kissed you hard, mouth practically crashing into yours, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, the other staying firm on your hip to keep you right where you were. There was nothing hesitant about it this time—it was hungry, deep. His tongue brushed yours, and he groaned quietly into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips. You could feel the way his fingers tightened in your hair, the way his chest rose and fell fast against yours, the way his body reacted instantly to having you on his lap like this.
You kissed him back just as hard, hands sliding up his chest to fist in his hoodie. A soft moan slipped out of you when he sucked on your bottom lip, and Heeseung made this low, wrecked sound in response, hips shifting under you.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth, barely pulling back, “this okay? Tell me if you want to stop.”
You shook your head, lips brushing his as you answered, voice already breathy, “don’t stop—keep going.”
He groaned and kissed you harder, tongue sliding against yours as one hand slid under your hoodie, palm warm on your bare back. You rocked your hips down against him and he moaned into your mouth, the sound raw.
You pulled back just enough to speak, forehead resting against his, “we doing this then?” You breathed against his lips, “no strings, just whenever we want or need?”
Heeseung swore you could read minds, “yeah,” he sighed in pleasure, “I want that—you and me, no strings.”
You smiled against his lips and kissed him again, deeper, grinding down slowly, “good fucking boy.”
He groaned louder, the sound vibrating through you as his fingers dug into your thighs, “shit—I’ve been so fucking pent up,” he muttered between kisses, hips rolling up to meet yours, “all week because of you.”
You moaned softly, rocking against him again with a chuckle, “that’s adorable, keep going, yeah? Don’t stop.”
He flipped you suddenly, laying you on your back and settling between your thighs. The new position made you both moan—the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, lips chasing yours mindlessly as his tongue slid against yours, hand tracing higher under your hoodie, hips grinding down slowly.
“God, you feel good,” he muttered, pulling you down for another kiss.
You nodded, moaning softly into his mouth, “so do you.”
The room filled with the sounds of lips, heavy breathing, and quiet moans as you kept moving together, hands roaming, bodies pressing closer. The conversation faded into breathy words and soft sounds between kisses, and honestly, both of you didn’t care about much anymore. You both were just two horny adults functioning on a verbal agreement with no rules whatsoever.
Outside in the living room, Jake had just taken another bite of pizza when the first loud moan drifted through the door. His eyes widened with betrayal—the slice slipping from his fingers and landed cheese-side down on the floor with a pathetic splat.
He stared at the closed door for a long second, mouth still full.
“Well—shit.”
You didn’t know that the consequences of spending one night with Heeseung could be so dire, granted you didn’t go beyond some innocent humping which bestowed you with the absolute pleasure of seeing Heeseung desperate and flushed underneath you.
The question bugged you—why would Mina even wish to leave such a beautiful man who’s very willing to provide pleasure?
You were still turning that over in your head as you walked down the hallway, iPad tucked under your arm, one AirPod in, but your mind was elsewhere—which was odd considering you never were the kind to just stand and ponder about random things, during the day time at least. The last time it happened was when you were a kid and Zayn had left One direction.
Regardless, you chuckled at the idea of Heeseung being the one to garner your attention, since you never saw him in that light before—something about friends’ partners being inanimate to you. Either way, you started walking back towards your dorm since the lectures were over, only to be stopped by Mina blocking your path with a scowl on her face.
You raised an eyebrow, “hey?”
“We need to talk,” she huffed, looking rather tired, maybe with the way people stopped the second they sensed any drama, and why wouldn’t they? You both were the centre of it given the circumstances.
“Do we really?” You gave her a lazy look, knowing well it bothered her.
Her jaw clenched. “You kissed Heeseung. In front of everyone. While he was still with me.”
A couple more heads turned. You could feel eyes on you now, phones probably already sliding out of pockets.
You let out a short breath, almost a laugh, “while he was still with you? That’s rich. Last time I checked, you were the one fucking my boyfriend in his dorm with the door wide open. I walked in on you two, actually. So maybe don’t lecture me about cheating.”
Mina’s cheeks flushed, “that’s not the same—”
“It kind of is,” you cut in, keeping your voice even, “Heeseung didn’t deserve to find out like that, neither of us did, but at least I didn’t sneak around for months like a coward. And yeah, I kissed him—I’d do it again. He’s too good for the way you two treated him.”
Mina’s eyes flashed with anger, “you’re no better than me. You basically cheated too—”
“Bro, are you actually serious right now?”
A tall guy with messy black hair and a skateboard tucked under his arm stepped out from the edge of the crowd. You’d seen him around in a couple electives. He looked Mina up and down, completely unimpressed, having seen the scene at the party in flesh too.
“Everyone’s seen the video,” he said, loud enough that the people nearby nodded, “I literally saw you and Jaemin at the party. You’re the one who cheated, leave her alone.”
A girl a few feet away nodded like she agreed. Mina glanced around at all the stares, lips pressed tight, then spun on her heel and shoved through the crowd, practically running toward the exit.
You let out a real laugh this time, almost like you couldn’t believe this was real, that your own friend would turn against you in such a manner. Riki turned to you, one corner of his mouth lifting.
“Damn,” he said, “that was satisfying.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, still chuckling as you started walking again, “thanks for stepping in. You really didn’t have to.”
He shrugged, falling into step beside you, “she’s been trying to change the perception, i saw her lying to my friend earlier. Someone had to say it. I’m Riki by the way, or Ni-ki, whatever.”
“Y/N,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly, “seriously, I owe you a coffee for that.”
“Bet,” he smirked, already pulling his phone out, “just text me whenever. I’m free most afternoons.”
Ten feet away, half-hidden behind a cluster of students, Heeseung had stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. Jay almost walked straight into his back, headphones on so conveniently, he missed the whole commotion.
“You good?” He asked, lifting one side of his headphones, “Heeseung?” He asked yet again when he didn’t get a reply.
How would he? When Heeseung was deep in thoughts, the tips of his ears red. Everyone knew he was the guy who kept to himself, not the kind to insert himself into a fight—eventually leading to him never getting into a situation where he’d have to defend himself.
But you did it so naturally with not a single hint of him witnessing the scene. It was heartwarming to say the least, the way you defended him so casually but your tone clearly portraying the care you harboured for him, even if it was little (as per Heeseung and his never ending self doubt).
Before Jay could wave a hand in front of his face, Jake came barreling around the corner like he was late for everything in life, backpack slipping off one shoulder. Without missing a beat he lunged forward, locking an arm around Heeseung’s neck and yanking him down into a tight headlock.
“Spill it right now—the hell did you do with Y/N last night, huh? I’m not letting go till you talk, dude, I swear to god—”
Much to his dismay, Heeseung pushed him off with ease, “the fuck? Get off,” he said, staring at Jake who looked like he hadn’t slept at all.
Jay was completely lost, headphones now resting on his neck, “what am I missing here exactly? What even happened?”
Heeseung groaned, “nothing happened—”
“Nah, he took Y/N to his room and then I heard moans. Moans—do you fucking get it? He’s actually fucking her.” Jake ranted, eyes blown wide.
Jay’s eyebrows shot up, “wait, what? For real?”
Heeseung shoved Jake off properly this time, cheeks burning as he fixed his hoodie, “It’s not—fuck, can you not yell that in the middle of the hallway?”
Jake threw his hands up, looking genuinely offended, “I’m sorry, I was trying to eat pizza and process the fact that my dream girl was getting railed by my roommate. You could’ve at least given me a heads-up, man.”
Jay let out a low whistle, finally catching on. He crossed his arms, which had gotten muscular somehow, “so, you and Y/N? Like, actually?”
Heeseung rubbed a hand over his face, ears still red, “we have an arrangement of sorts. No strings attached, that’s it.”
Jake stared at him like he’d been shot in the chest, “no strings? She deserves love, she deserves aftercare and pampering and—”
Jay was never good at hiding his amusement, especially if it consisted of embarrassing one of his friends, “you sure you can actually do the no-strings thing? You’re the guy who gets attached after one good conversation. Remember that girl from school who just smiled at you in the library and you were googling how to ask someone on a date at two a.m.?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Heeseung muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched with his mind drifting back to you.
Jake however, wasn’t done. He threw his hands up again, “I’m serious, I even fucking dropped the pizza slice she ate from.”
Jay snorted, “you’re never gonna let that go noq, are you?”
“Never,” Jake said, dead serious, “that could’ve been our indirect kiss.”
Heeseung shook his head, finally starting to walk again so they wouldn’t be late for class, “It’s fine. We’re both adults, it’ll be okay.”
Jay fell into step beside him, clapping him on the back a little too hard, “yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that, I give it ten days before you’re buying her flowers and writing her name in your notes with hearts around it.”
“Two weeks,” Jake corrected, still sulking, “max.”
Heeseung didn’t bother arguing. He just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and kept walking, the stupid little smile refusing to leave his face completely.
You, meanwhile, had no idea any of that chaos had just exploded behind you. You groaned, sitting down on the couch, despising the silence that greeted you. Winter had gone to her family home for her cousin’s wedding, and Sunoo had conveniently decided to spend the night over at Hoon’s to torture him with some horror movie.
And you were here, unsure of what to do tonight, and the newfound interest you’d found within your ex’s best friend.
Whatever this was, it was definitely going to be interesting.
Turns out, the night wasn’t about to be boring at all. You had just gotten under the warmth of your duvet as your phone lit up, a text brightening your lock screen. Evidently, you seemed to be lurking in Heeseung’s mind as much as he had started persisting in yours.
Heeseung: you up?
You: that’s such a fuckboy question
Heeseung: oh shit i didnt mean it that way
You: hm? what’s it then
Heeseung: js felt like texting
You clicked your tongue, rolling to your side, phone propped up against your fluffy pink pillow.
You: mhm sure
You: what are you doing rn then
The typing bubble popped up, disappeared, then popped up again—a proper reminder of how Heeseung’s personality shone through even through his texting patterns.
Heeseung: just lying in bed
Heeseung: can’t sleep for some reason
A second later your phone vibrated with a picture, a selfie to be precise. It was rather cinematic how Heeseung appeared to look even prettier with dim lights, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, no shirt, just the chain he always wore catching the light. He looked way too good for someone who was just lying in bed, lips slightly parted and swollen like he’d been biting them. The angle showed the sharp line of his collarbone and that adam’s apple, a few marks evident on his skin, courtesy of you.
You stared for a second longer than you meant to, completely zoned in how beautiful a few marks made him look.
You: oh wow
You: don’t you look dashing at one in the morning
Heeseung only let out a breathy laugh, clearly preening under your praise, as if he hadn’t clicked eight pictures just so he could send you the most perfect one, in his standards at least.
Heeseung: your turn
The corner of your lip twitched up as you sat a little, tugged the neckline of your oversized tee down just enough so the soft swell of your tits spilled over the fabric, nipples barely hidden. You angled the camera, snapped it, and hit send without overthinking, knowing that the reply would come within seconds, and so it did.
Heeseung: fuck
Heeseung: you’re actually evil
You laughed under your breath and sent another one right after, taking off your tee fully, letting him know how hard your nipples had gotten already.
You: now you. don’t be shy baby
Heeseung sent back a shot of his hand shoved down his sweats, gripping himself. The outline was obvious, the tip of his cock peeking out above the waistband, flushed and already leaking. Then another one—his hand mid-stroke, thumb smearing the precum over the head. A low, rather shaky breath left his lips in the process, and he swore he hadn’t ever been the type to be so—so evidently horny before.
You’d say you bring out the worst in people, but Heeseung would contradict it with a goofy smile saying how it’s the absolute best. With that thought, he hit sent.
Heeseung: this is what you do to me
Your mouth went dry, the picture being enough for you to spread your legs under the duvet, only to push the duvet away entirely before angling your phone properly to ensure the slick on your cunt would be visible in the picture.
You: see what you’re missing?
Heeseung: jesus christ i’m actually throbbing
You bit down on your bottom lip, absolutely letting the pleasure of having Heeseung in control take over. So, instead of texting back, you tapped the voice message button and held it down.
Your voice came through low and teasing, a little breathy already.
“Aw, poor baby, you’re throbbing just from a picture? C’mon, lemme hear how good it feels, hm?”
You sent it without thinking twice, and he was quick to listen, his dick twitching just as he heard your voice. A few seconds later his voice message came back—husky, a little embarrassed, but clearly turned on.
“Fuck—you’re so mean,” he whispered, which almost came out as a whine, “I’m so hard it hurts. I’m stroking it slow at first, like this—” You could hear the faint, wet sound of his hand moving, “but I keep thinking about how wet you looked in that last pic. Want my mouth on you so bad right now.”
You caressed your clit gently, letting your head fall back at his not so shy admissions. It was hot how he didn’t shy away from speaking his mind.
“Hmm, good boy—keep stroking just like that. Faster now, I want to hear how desperate you sound for me. Tell me exactly what you’d do if you were here.”
His next voice message was even shakier, breathing heavier.
“I’d pull you on top of me, let you grind on my cock while you tell me how you want it. Fuck—I’d let you use me however you want. I’d suck on your tits while you ride me, make you moan my name louder, please take my name, please?”
You let out a soft, breathy moan right into your reply.
“Yeah? You like when I boss you around, Heeseung? Touch yourself exactly how I would. Tighten your grip—I know you’re close already, aren’t you?”
Heeseung’s voice cracked in the next voice note, barely above a whisper.
“Shit—yeah, I’m so close, your voice is driving me insane. Ah, fuck, wanna bury my face between your thighs right now—”
You were breathing harder too, fingers moving faster. You sent one last voice message, letting your voice be sultry.
“Then cum for me, Hee. Let me hear it. I want you moaning my name when you do.”
That did it for him, he could barely even keep the phone in his hand, shivering at the hyper awareness of it all, of you.
Somehow, you knew exactly the predicament he was undergoing, and you decided to spare the poor man, hitting the call button to free his hands. He picked up after a single ring.
“Fuck—you’re actually perfect,” he panted, the wet sound of his hand still audible. “I’ve never been this gone from just voice messages before.”
You laughed softly, sliding two fingers inside yourself with a quiet moan, “then don’t stop. Stroke it faster for me, yeah? Be good, I want to hear every sound you make while you think about fucking me.”
Heeseung groaned, clearly trying (and failing) to stay quiet because of his friends, who were in the living room. “Feels so good but it’s not enough—I keep imagining you riding me, telling me to go harder, shit,—”
“You’re doing so well,” you praised, clenching around your fingers as he moans out your name, “imagine it’s my pussy instead of your hand. I’m so fucking wet for you right now. You’d slide in so easy, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah—fuck, I would,” he whimpered, “I’d let you use me however you want. I’d let you choke me while you ride me, I don’t even care anymore—”
You moaned louder, fingers curling just right, “yeah, yeah, just keep talking like that and I’m gonna cum, be good c’mon, you’ll cum with me, yeah?”
Heeseung’s breathing turned ragged, desperate little sounds slipping out, “i’m so close—gonna—fuck, Y/N—”
You came first, moaning his name all soft and filthy into the phone. He followed right after with a choked groan, trying to muffle it against his pillow but failing miserably, and god knows what would happen if Sunoo (who was there all thanks to Sunghoon) was to witness this.
For a long moment the only thing between you was heavy breathing.
Then Heeseung let out a soft, wrecked little laugh, making you grin lazily, “you did so well, Hee.”
He didn’t expect that, making him whine again, and you swore you could run to see him all flushed and blushing, “you’re so perfect.”
Your breath hitched at his whispered words, gulping as you stayed silent, letting your breathing even out. He was quiet for a beat too, but his mind wasn’t stopping at that.
“Hey, uh I saw what you did earlier, in the hallway, with Mina.”
You blinked, surprised, “wait, you were there?”
“Yeah. I was a little further back, but i heard everything.” His voice dropped, almost like he was in awe, “the way you shut her down for me—defended me like that without even thinking. It was really fucking hot. Couldn’t stop thinking about it all night, that’s why I texted you.”
You let out a low chuckle at how unpredictable he was, “so that’s the real reason you were sending me nudes and moaning my name like a desperate little slut at one a.m., huh?”
If praises led Heeseung to moan, the degradation caused him to cry—not in a bad way of course. It was new for him too, as if he was learning about himself through you. And the voice you heard was beautiful, a broken cry of his desperation.
“I see you’re into degradation,” you pointed out.
“Fucking hell, even I didn’t know,” he breathed out, eyes closing.
You only smirked, getting closer to the phone now.
“Wanna test how it plays out?”
“Why the fuck did Hoon just tell me you’re fucking Heeseung?”
It was rather hard to distinguish his tone when he sounded both impressed and mad. Turns out, he was mad since he didn’t hear it from you first, then, he was impressed with how fast you moved on. Regardless, he didn’t let you live that down, trying to force the group together, only to see Heeseung squirming and you being absolutely normal.
You were sitting cross-legged on your bed, still in the oversized hoodie you’d thrown on after your morning shower, when Sunoo burst through the door, Winter followed, sipping an iced latte and looking far too amused for someone who was supposed to be your emotional support. And so another interrogation session took place, which you survived (somehow).
Other than that, things had been normal. A few changes did occur such as you all having lunch together, even Winter invited her girlfriend, making the group seem livelier than ever. Jake made it his mission to sit next to you each time, and Heeseung—well, he stared at you more than he ate.
That pattern followed you straight into your English lecture later that afternoon. You slipped into your usual seat in the middle row, barely five minutes late, when Riki dropped into the chair right beside you, and you looked up at him, surprised.
Heeseung walked in later, eyes on how you greeted the guy easily, and with that, he almost walked into someone. He could only manage to groan, because why wouldn’t you talk to him? To be fair, you did talk to him, like a friend, but never more, no initiation of any sort. Heeseung was the one who texted first, and he didn’t mind, but with how soft hearted he was, he probably wouldn’t mind you texting first either.
That being said, Heeseung was basically sulk incarnate watching how you made plans to give Riki a coffee for some reason—was it a date? Why would you even like that tall kid? Heeseung knew you better despite the little time he spent with you. It was a given that you didn’t offer much about yourself despite your outgoing personality, but he did know how you played with your nails, how your eyes go wide when you eat something good, and how fucking good you sound moaning his name.
“We’re all going to the cafe,” Sunoo chirped the second you stepped outside after the class, Heeseung following behind to see all his friends standing there too.
You did find it odd how he was silent today, too silent, even worse when he didn’t try to initiate any conversation with you, just falling into step with his friends instead. His hands were shoved deep in his hoodie pockets, shoulders a little hunched as the group started moving.
Halfway there he slowed down just enough to tug Jay’s sleeve, voice low and trying way too hard to sound casual, “Hey, can you do me a favour?”
Jay only raised his brow, urging him to continue, “uh, so when we sit down, maybe ask Y/N something that’ll get her talking, like the stuff going on in her life, just anything.”
Jay stopped dead for half a second, then let out a loud, wheezing laugh that practically bounced off the buildings. The sound was so sudden and genuine that you actually turned around mid-conversation with Karina and Winter, eyebrows raised like you were trying to figure out what was so funny. Jay just waved you off, still cracking up as he clapped Heeseung on the back a little too hard.
“You’re actually hopeless,” Jay wheezed, trying to keep his voice down but failing miserably, “just talk to her yourself, what the fuck.”
Heeseung shoved him off, cheeks hot, “shut up, man. Just—just do it, okay? Please.”
They caught up to the rest of the group right as you all reached the café. The usual corner table was free, so everyone piled in. Jake, of course, immediately dropped into the seat next to you like it was his assigned spot now. Heeseung ended up straight across from you, eyes meeting yours, but this time, he didn’t look away. The corner of your lips twitched seeing him this way, and soon, he found himself smiling fondly too.
Jay sat there as a witness to Heeseung’s internal breakdown, and well, happiness caused by two seconds of your undivided attention. In the midst of it all, everyone gave their orders, famished beyond words for some reason. The table was lively still, Jake trying to initiate conversations with you, even though Heeseung had not so subtly kicked him under the table to shut him up.
Jay waited until there was a small lull, then leaned forward with that lazy grin of his.
“So Y/N,” he said casually, like it was no big deal, “what’s the deal with you and Heeseung lately? You two been hanging out a lot or what? He’s been weirdly smiley these days.”
Heeseung’s heart did a stupid little flip, face clearly trying to play it cool, but his eyes were glued to you, waiting.
You took a sip of your drink and shrugged, knowing that if you say anything remotely wrong, Sunoo and Winter would be on your ass about it, “it’s nice hanging out with him, he’s funny.”
Jay snorted at how Heeseung’s smile widened, “funny, huh? That’s all you’re giving us?”
Before you could answer, Jake jumped in, mouth full of his cup ramen, which he somehow got into the cafe, “god, I shouldn’t have gotten Shin, I’m telling you, nothing beats Buldak. You team Buldak too, Y/N?”
Jake immediately turned to you with those big puppy eyes, “c’mon, tell him he’s wrong. Buldak or nothing, right?”
Sunoo and Sunghoon couldn’t even stand this, staring at Jake with the same expression of disgust, his fascination for you was genuinely funny.
You looked up at Hee, who waited for your answer with shiny eyes, then back at Jake again. Maybe teasing Heeseung wouldn’t hurt, right? Especially when he looked so innocent and serious about your input as if it mattered.
“I mean, Buldak is definitely good,” you agreed with Jake, taking another sip of your mango matcha.
Jake beamed at the reply, bumping your shoulder. But Heeseung’s smile faltered for a second, and you almost frowned, not expecting him to surrender, “yeah, fair enough,” he muttered, staying silent the rest of the time, eyes flicking up to you every few seconds, while you observed him openly.
Jay only sighed, and somehow Winter was just as exhausted at the exchange, because Heeseung couldn’t hide his feelings to save his life, and you?
You were missing the point of this little conversation entirely.
When everyone finally started packing up for their next lectures, the group split off in different directions. You noticed Heeseung hanging back a little, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders still hunched as he walked alone. With a chuckle, you jogged a couple steps, and grabbed his hand.
Heeseung startled hard, eyes going wide as he looked down at your fingers laced with his, and how perfect your new acrylics looked, the touch being enough to make a shiver go up his spine, “Y/N—?”
You only walked further, swinging your joined hands, “why so silent today?” You asked, looking up at him with a brow raised.
He let out a small breath, eyes flickering back to where your thumb brushed his knuckles, “it’s nothing, just thinking I guess.”
“Hm, about how I picked Buldak over Shin?” You tilted your head, “you got all quiet after that. Kinda cute, actually.”
Heeseung glanced away, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself, “It’s not that, but Jake looked happy, so—yeah.”
“Shin’s my favourite actually, I only said Buldak to see you fight back, but yeah,” you shrugged with a smile.
Heeseung’s head snapped back toward you, surprised, “wait, really?”
“Yeah. Remember that night we ran into each other at the convenience store? You were grabbing Shin too, I noticed.” You pointed out, “and you barely ate anything at the café either. Come over later? We can have ramen together.”
Heeseung’s steps slowed at the implication, and it showed on his face, mixed with the fondness of the simple fact that you noticed such little things. He wasn’t the kind of guy who needed grand gestures, yes he’d appreciate it, but the little things mattered more.
“You—noticed that?” He asked quietly, almost shy.
You hummed, then leaned up on your toes, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “you can eat something else too if you want.”
That sent him into this mode of short circuiting, and before he could even form a reply, you let go of his hand with a bright, mischievous laugh and took off running ahead across the path, glancing back at him over your shoulder with that same playful grin.
Heeseung stood there for half a second, face burning, your words looping in his head like a damn song on repeat. Then a big, flustered smile broke across his face and he took off after you, knowing he’d catch up to you in no time.
“Fuck,” he yelled, half-laughing as he chased you down the walkway, “you can’t just say that and run—get back here!”
He really hoped it could always stay this easy with you.
You fell on your mattress with a thud, the springs creaking under the sudden weight of both of you. Heeseung landed right on top, chest pressed to yours, mouth already chasing yours in a hungry, desperate kiss that tasted like the faint strawberry from his drink earlier.
His lips were hot and insistent, tongue sliding against yours like he couldn’t get close enough, letting out every bit of his frustration into this kiss. One of his hands shoved under your hoodie and straight into your shorts, two fingers gliding through your slick folds before pushing inside you without hesitation. You gasped into his mouth, thighs falling open wider as he curled them deep, stroking that spot that made your back arch clean off the bed.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he breathed against your lips, and you only sank in further, kissing all the way down to his neck, letting an open mouthed kiss linger on his adam’s apple, feeling it blobbing under you as he gulped in need, as if parched.
Heeseung let out a shaky groan, fingers stuttering inside you for a second before he doubled down, thrusting them deeper, curling harder, “shit—you’re gonna make me lose it just from that.”
You smiled against his throat, sucking lightly, then dragged your teeth over the same spot while your hand kept working his cock in slow, tight strokes. He was throbbing in your palm, hot and slick with precum, hips twitching every time your thumb swept over the head, and you almost moaned cause he was big.
But it wasn’t enough, you wanted him under you, wanted to watch him fall apart.
You pushed at his chest, flipping him onto his back in one smooth motion. Heeseung let out a surprised grunt as you straddled his thighs, yanking his pants and boxers down just far enough. His cock sprang free, flushed dark and glistening, curving up against his stomach.
Wrapping your fingers around his base as you leaned in to give his tip a slow kiss, making him moan shamelessly, “wait—you don’t have to,” he managed to let out.
You looked up at him, lips brushing the wet slit as you spoke, “I know, I want to,” you whispered, “been thinking about having you in my mouth since you were sulking on the way here, just to apologize, y’know?”
Heeseung’s breath hitched, “god—you’re serious?”
Instead of answering, you took him in, lips stretching around the thick head, tongue pressing flat against the underside as you sank down. The taste of him filled your mouth, salty and warm, and you moaned softly around his length.
“Shit—baby,” Heeseung’s hand flew to your hair, holding on like he needed something to ground him, his thighs tensing under you, “your mouth feels—so fucking good.”
You hummed in response, taking him deeper until he bumped the back of your throat. You relaxed around him, swallowing, and he let out a broken groan, hips twitching up before he caught himself.
“Sorry—gosh I didn’t mean to,” he whispered.
You pulled off just enough to speak, lips shiny, a thin string of spit still connecting you to him, “don’t apologize. Fuck my throat if you want to.” You stroked him slow and firm, eyes locked on his, “I can take it, I want you to use me.”
Heeseung’s eyes darkened. He’d never done this before, sure he’d gotten blowjobs, but the permission to take in full control of it? Oh, he swore he was gonna die, “you’re gonna kill me saying shit like that.”
You chuckled and sank back down, taking him all the way until your nose brushed his stomach. You held there for a second, throat fluttering around him, before you started moving, wet bobs of your head, hand twisting around the base.
Heeseung’s head fell back against the pillow, a wrecked moan spilling out, “fuck, fuck—oh my god.” His fingers tightened in your hair, not forcing, but guiding you a little now, testing the waters, “you like this? Being on your knees for me?”
You moaned around him in answer, the vibration making his hips jerk. You pulled off with a gasp, spit dripping down your chin, “I like when you stop being so polite and just take what you want.” You licked a slow stripe up the underside, eyes never leaving his, “you’re always so sweet, Hee, but i also know how desperate you are, won’t you show it to me like a good fucking boy?”
Heeseung’s breath stuttered, it was almost like a switch flipping. His grip in your hair tightened just a fraction more, and when you took him back in, he let himself thrust up a little, shallow and careful at first.
“Like this?” He asked, voice strained, “tell me if it’s too much.”
You pulled off just enough to speak, lips brushing the head, “Harder, I can take it. Use my throat, baby.”
The words seemed to break something in him. He groaned deep in his chest and started moving his hips with more purpose, fucking into your mouth in short, needy thrusts. You relaxed your throat and let him, moaning encouragement around his cock every time he pushed deeper.
“Fuck, fuck—you’re so good,” he panted, voice cracking, “so fucking good at this. Look at you—taking me so deep.” His free hand came down to cup your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek while he watched himself disappear between your lips, “I didn’t know I liked this so much, watching you choke on me.”
You moaned louder, the praise and the way he was starting to lose control making heat flood between your legs. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder, and Heeseung’s head tipped back again, a string of curses falling from his lips.
“Baby—slow down or I’m gonna cum,” he warned, but his hips kept moving, like he couldn’t stop himself, “you’re really gonna let me cum down your throat?”
You pulled off with a wet pop, stroking him fast and tight, lips hovering just over the tip, “let me taste you.”
Heeseung’s eyes rolled back as he came with a broken moan of your name, hips jerking as he spilled down your throat in hot pulses. You swallowed every drop, working him through it until he was trembling and oversensitive, little whimpers slipping out every time your tongue moved.
When you finally pulled off, lips swollen and shiny, Heeseung was staring at you like you’d rewired his brain. His chest was heaving, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes dark and hazy.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, voice shot, “I didn’t know I could like something that much.”
You wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb, smirking as you crawled up his body and kissed him slowly, letting him taste himself on your tongue.
“You’re learning fast,” you murmured against his lips. “and we’re just getting started.”
So, you were true to your word, because by the time you both stopped, all breathless and spent, it was nighttime. In the midst of everything, you both had managed to fall asleep tangled with each other. Heeseung was the one to wake up first, caressing your cheek as he stared at how peacefully you slept in his arms.
He stayed like that for a long minute, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek, watching the way your lashes rested against your skin. Something heavy settled in his chest—not regret exactly, but a quiet, gnawing guilt that refused to leave him alone.
Carefully, he slipped out from under you, tucking the blanket around your bare shoulders so you wouldn’t get cold. He padded over to the window on quiet feet, pushing the curtain aside just enough to look out at the dark sky. The campus lights glowed faintly in the distance, stars barely visible through the city haze.
Heeseung pressed his forehead against the cool glass, exhaling slowly. What the fuck am I doing? The thought looped in his head. He’d loved Mina—or at least he’d told himself he did. They’d been together for over a year. But even on the best nights with her, he’d never felt this—free, this wanted. With you, you didn’t ask him to be anything other than exactly who he was in the moment, needy, desperate, a little mean when you pushed him, soft when you let him hold you after. Just a hint of your attention made his chest feel too full and that scared the shit out of him.
Because he’d sworn he loved Mina. But this? He wasn’t even sure what to name this feeling anymore, and it felt dramatic when nothing had even happened, just freedom and the best pleasure he’d ever experienced.
The floor creaked softly behind him, making him turn his head to find you sitting up in bed now, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep. Without saying anything, you reached for his hoodie that had been tossed on the floor earlier and pulled it over your head. It swallowed you, the hem brushing your thighs as you padded over barefoot to stand beside him.
You leaned your shoulder against the window frame, looking out at the same dark sky. For a moment neither of you spoke.
“You okay?” You asked eventually, voice soft.
Heeseung, however, was in deep thoughts of silent appreciation, because you looked beautiful, you always did, “yeah,” he let out a quiet breath, “I feel like an asshole for even saying this out loud, but—I don’t remember it ever feeling this easy with Mina, even when things were good. With you it’s just different. Like I don’t have to pretend or hold back or be anyone else. I don’t know. That probably sounds stupid.”
You stayed quiet for a second, then bumped your shoulder gently against his, “it doesn’t sound stupid. You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel, Hee, it’s valid. You don’t owe her anything anymore, and you don’t owe me some perfect version of yourself either, okay?”
“You’re too nice to me,” he mumbled.
You smiled, looking elsewhere for a moment as you gulped, “that’s what friends are for,” you let out.
Heeseung turned to look at you fully, friends, is that what you were? Because friends don’t do all this. So, Heeseung only managed to muster one question, hoping the reply would be enough of an action to understand if he was truly alone in this or not.
“Can I kiss you?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper with the hope to earn even something as little as a nod.
This means something more, you thought. This isn’t just sex anymore, not for him. Truly, Heeseung wasn’t even the kind to do this, so why did he agree to this? You wouldn’t mind being a rebound for him but him getting attached would be a problem. Would it really, though? You should’ve said no, but you found yourself being entranced by the beauty in his eyes.
So, instead you stepped closer, sliding your hands up his bare chest, and tilted your face up to his, “yeah,” you whispered, “you can.”
Heeseung’s breath caught as he cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks like you were something fragile, slotting his lips onto yours almost achingly gentle, this almost felt like a question and an answer all at once to him.
When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he let out a shaky little laugh, pecking the corner of your mouth once.
The reflection on the window catching on everything you both were too afraid to admit.
Honestly, the fault was yours for not discussing the boundaries or making one of those contracts like they do in the movies or books (though they never work), cause now, you and Heeseung had been hanging around way more often, some witnesses might even confuse this intimacy for dating.
Maybe Heeseung was one of them, because when he texted you to come over, you half expected sex, not sitting alongside him learning League of legends at two in the morning. He was unpredictable to say the least, but he did wear his heart on his sleeve, so you could see the bits and pieces of the things he craved, and right now, he craved your time.
You didn’t mind giving it to him, but it did come with a cost. The second you walked into the room, eyes widening at this small corner of the desk where a mango matcha, a few blue walkers, and a pack of Ferrero Rocher was placed neatly, alongside two packets of cup noodles (just in case).
To Heeseung, it was normal, and you would have agreed had it been some synonym of aftercare, but no. It was just Heeseung being absolutely willing (and needing) to spend more time with you outside of your fancy little arrangement.
He had opened the door with a smile so contagious, you mirrored it as he led you inside. A small corner of his desk was full of snacks, a cup of matcha which he knew was your favourite, a couple of Ferrero Rochers because he saw you eating those during the English lecture. You stood there for a second longer than intended, staring at it all, then at the man who had already made himself comfortable on the spare chair, waiting for you with the same gentle smile he always carried around you, making you gulp for a second before you returned it.
“C’mere? Sit with me,” he said, patting his main gaming chair right next to him, and he half expected you to tease him for doing this, “I swear I’m not trying to be weird, and if you don’t wanna do this we can stop, or you can make fun of me.”
You let out a quiet huff of a laugh and kicked your shoes off before sliding into the chair beside him. Your knee bumped his under the desk and you left it there, the contact warm even through your clothes. Heeseung rolled his own chair closer right away, leaning in from behind you so his chest brushed lightly against your back, one arm resting along the back of your seat while the other reached around to the mouse, and you didn’t notice how he took in your scent with a dreamy sigh.
“We’re playing League of Legends?” You asked, and he nodded.
“Have you played it before?” He asked a little hesitant that you’d say you don’t wish to play or indulge in this.
“Nope,” you said, reaching for the matcha because your mouth suddenly felt dry. The cup was ice-cold, condensation dripping down your fingers as you took a sip, “I’m probably gonna suck at this, just so you know.”
Heeseung let out a small laugh, relieved that you aren’t opposed to this, “that’s fine, we can start from the basics,” he covered your hand with his on the mouse, guiding you through the first clicks. “You just run at people and spin when they get close. Super easy, I promise.”
His fingers were warm over yours, almost careful like he was scared you’d pull away. You felt the way his chest moved against your back when he breathed, the faint brush of his hair against your neck every time he leaned in a little closer to see the screen better.
You clicked around awkwardly and Garen just kind of—stood there swinging his sword at nothing, “this feels dumb,” you muttered, but you were smiling a little, “I look like a robot trying to dance.”
Heeseung bit his bottom lip at the sheer joy of having you play his favourite game, even though you looked lost, confused, and too adorable, “you don’t look dumb. You look cute as hell trying to figure it out.” He squeezed your hand gently and moved the mouse for you, making Garen run forward. “See? Just click on this, okay?”
You tried it and Garen spun like a big metal tornado, actually hitting a couple of the little enemy guys, “oh okay, that was kinda fun,” you admitted, biting your lip to hide the grin. You reached for one of the Ferrero Rochers with your free hand, unwrapped it, and popped it in your mouth. The chocolate melted sweet and crunchy on your tongue, “how’d you know I like this.”
Heeseung shrugged, his shoulder rubbing against yours, “I pay attention to you, sue me.” He took the half you offered him without hesitation, biting it right from your fingers, his lips brushing your skin for a second too long.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the little flutter in your stomach at how brutally honest he was. He pays attention, he set all this up just so you’d feel comfortable doing something he likes. This isn’t what you signed up for, this is him wanting you around, not just in his bed. Stop feeling it. Stop.
The game kept going, as you died a bunch—running straight into the big tower like an idiot, getting smacked by random enemies—but Heeseung never made you feel stupid about it. He’d just lean in closer, chin resting on your shoulder now, arm wrapped a little tighter around the back of your chair, and murmur stuff like, “try backing up a tiny bit next time, yeah?” Or, “you’re getting the spin down though, that last one actually hit three of them, nice.”
You passed him chips from the blue walkers packet, your fingers brushing his every time. He took them without pulling away, crunching quietly while his other hand stayed on the mouse with yours, guiding you through another wave.
Heeseung couldn’t say this out loud but boy was he thrilled. It felt so nice, so domestic to do something so simple with someone (you). He couldn’t help but compare, simply because he didn’t know the basic possibilities of the relationship universe, though you weren’t in one. His ex never spared time for such things, indifferent about his interests, while you were so—sweet.
“You’ve done this before? Teaching someone like this, I mean?” You asked after a while, “or am I getting special treatment?”
Heeseung went quiet for a second, then let out a breathy little laugh against your neck, “special treatment,” he admitted, no hesitation, “and no, it’s my first time teaching anyone.”
You leaned back into him a little more without thinking, the warmth of his chest solid and comforting against your back, the kind of solace that you had never had the pleasure of experiencing before. Was it supposed to be this easy?
The snacks slowly disappeared between you—another Ferrero passed back and forth, the mango matcha cup getting lighter with every sip you took. Heeseung kept talking about random shit that had nothing to do with the game. How Jake had stolen his last ramen again, how he stayed up last night thinking about if aliens eat solid food, or if the Thestrals from Harry Potter can see each other or not.
You told him about the fanpage you had at fifteen, he listened like it was the most interesting thing ever, thumb stroking slow circles on the back of your hand the whole time.
At some point the first game ended. You were still pretty bad, but you weren’t frustrated anymore. Heeseung’s arm had stayed around you the whole time, his chin heavy on your shoulder, breathing warm against your skin.
He didn’t queue another match right away, instead he just sat there for a second, arms loose around your waist, like he was thinking.
“C’mere,” he murmured, voice a little rough as his hands slid to your hips and he tugged you gently, pulling you straight off the spare chair and into his lap like it was the easiest thing in the world. Your back settled fully against his chest, thighs bracketing his, his arms wrapping around you properly so he could still reach everything if he wanted. The chair creaked once under both of you. You fit too well, way too well.
He rested his chin back on your shoulder and clicked into another custom game like nothing had changed, but his arms stayed tight around your waist, like he didn’t want to let go.
“What are we doing, Hee?” You asked in a low mumble.
Heeseung went still, arms locking tighter around your waist like the question had burned him, he was afraid you’d bring it up and that’s exactly what you did. You felt him swallow hard, breath shaky against your neck.
He opted to answer with his actions instead, turning your face toward him with one hand and kissing you, lips pressing firm like he’d been dying to do it. His tongue slid in right away, tasting like chocolate and the mango you’d been sharing all night. He made this quiet, embarrassed little sound in his throat and kissed you harder, fingers sliding into your hair to hold you there.
You tried to pull back half an inch, though absolutely feeling your heartbeat fastening at how good the kiss, the warmth felt, “Hee, wait—”
He chased your mouth instantly, cutting you off with another kiss, deeper this time, tongue lazy and filthy against yours. His hand slipped under your top, palm hot and a little unsteady on your bare waist, thumb stroking slow circles like he needed to feel your skin to stay sane. He was breathing hard through his nose, cheeks burning against yours, but he wouldn’t let you speak. Every single time your lips parted he was right there again, kissing you quiet, desperate and messy like talking would ruin whatever this was.
“Bed,” he mumbled against your mouth. He stood up with you still in his lap, hands under your thighs, and carried you the few steps across the room. The second your back hit the mattress he was on top of you, settling between your legs and kissing you again before you could even breathe.
This time it was slower but no less intense. His tongue moved against yours in these long, deep strokes while one hand pushed further under your top, palm flat on your stomach, sliding up until his fingers brushed the edge of your bra. His other hand stayed tangled in your hair, tugging gently every time you tried to talk. He was so fucking flustered—ears red, breath shaky, little embarrassed groans slipping out whenever you rolled your hips up into him—but he still wouldn’t let you ask.
Every time you opened your mouth he swallowed it with another kiss, and you groaned, pulling him into you deeper, letting him showcase his feelings through whatever this was, and you understood it, but couldn’t stop it or ask any further, because you knew he’d deflect as if it scared him.
As if the only answer he could give was this.
You were decent at saying no, in fact, some might even admit how good you were at it, blunt as fuck. But that ability was limited to the world and it most certainly didn’t apply to this glorious six foot tall man who wished for you to join him at the basketball court. You could have made up some excuse, maybe tell him you have a lab report due, but you didn’t do that—because you wanted to go.
“This is getting ridiculous,” said Winter, watching you change into a loose t-shirt and old shorts, “you hate sports. You once told me basketball was just a bunch of giants running in circles. Now you’re rushing out at night because Heeseung said come watch me play? And you’re dressing up the part too?”
You shrugged, tying your hair up, “It’s not that deep. I’m bored.”
“Sure, tell yourself that,” she mumbled with her brow raised.
Well, she wasn’t exactly wrong, but you didn’t care much as you made your way out towards the court which was lit up by some harsh floodlights, looking over to find some guys already deep in the game. You could spot Heeseung, Chenle, Beomgyu, and Sunghoon—t-shirts sticking to their backs.
Nics (Chenle’s girlfriend) and Moon (Sunghoon’s girlfriend) were already on the bleachers with their chaotic friend, Ricey, who always carried snacks in her bag. The second they spotted you, Nics waved you over with a grin, patting the spot next to her.
Heeseung was mid-dribble when his head snapped in your direction, the ball bouncing once before he caught it against his hip. Even from across the court you could see the way his face softened, that small, stupidly genuine smile breaking through like usual. He lifted his free hand in a quick wave.
“Yo, Y/N’s here!” Chenle shouted, grinning like an idiot as he wiped sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt, “perfect timing, let’s do girls versus boys now.”
Nics hopped off the bleachers first, already pulling her hair up, “final-fucking-ly. Come on, we’re making this four on four.”
Moon laughed and stood up too, nudging Ricey, “you in or are you just gonna sit there eating chips the whole time?”
Ricey popped another chip in her mouth before standing, “I’m in, but if I break a nail I’m blaming all of you.”
You didn’t get a chance to sit as you got dragged into the court. Heeseung jogged over to you, still breathing a little hard, hair messy and damp. Up close he smelled like sweat and that familiar woody cologne, and the way he looked at you made you shiver.
“You actually came,” he breathed, grabbing your arm without thinking much at all.
“Couldn’t let you embarrass yourself alone,” you replied, stealing the ball from his hands just to mess with him. He laughed, eyes crinkling, and for a second it felt like the rest of the court disappeared.
But boy was it chaotic with Moon just distracting Hoon half the time, Nics and Chenle spent the time arguing—which was clearly their way of flirting, meanwhile Ricey was enjoying the drama in the middle of this all. The game was messy, and oh so loud.
You mostly ended up guarding Heeseung, and he was clearly not focused on winning anymore.
The first time you drove past him, he barely tried to block you, just let you slip by with this stupid little smile on his face. When you scored, he was the first one clapping, muttering under his breath, “fuck, that was hot,” loud enough for Beomgyu to hear and immediately start laughing.
“You’re not even guarding her properly!” Sunghoon yelled, hands on his knees, “you just watched her score and looked proud as hell!”
Heeseung didn’t even deny it, just shrugged, eyes still locked on you as you dribbled back.
“She’s fast,” he said, but the way he said it was way too soft, and he wondered why he called you with others around when he should’ve done this one on one, but even then, he was thrilled to see you fit in so well with everyone.
The court lights hummed overhead, casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt, your oversized t-shirt clung to your skin in damp patches, the thin cotton sticking to the curve of your waist and the small of your back every time you moved. Heeseung’s eyes kept dropping to where the hem rode up every time you moved, and honestly? You liked it.
You caught the ball again and drove straight at him. This time his hand found your waist right away, palm warm through the damp fabric, thumb brushing under the hem like he couldn’t help himself. You spun past anyway, shoulder bumping his chest, and laid it up clean. When you landed he was still there, fingers lingering on your hip for a second longer than necessary.
“Shit, you’re good,” he muttered by your ear.
Beomgyu groaned loud enough for everyone to hear, “Heeseung, your hand was literally on her the whole time!”
Sunghoon just shook his head, “I can’t watch this anymore.”
A few plays later you slowed right in front of him, dribbling lazy, then hit him with the pout—bottom lip out, eyes big. Heeseung’s shoulders dropped instantly, “come on, that’s cheating,” he whined, but he was already stepping aside, hand sliding to your hip again as you blew past and scored.
Ricey started cracking up from the fence. “He folded. Let’s fucking go!”
Nics and Moon were dying, “Y/N, you’re actually evil,” Moon yelled, “like—look at him.”
The game kept going like that, every time you got near him his hands were on your waist or lower back, like he needed the excuse to touch you. After one layup he caught you around the middle when you landed, pulling you back against his chest for a second, chin brushing your shoulder.
“You’re killing me out here,” he said quietly, thumb rubbing slow against your side.
You turned your head, “stop letting me win so obviously.”
“Can’t,” he admitted, fingers flexing on your hip, “can’t stop you.”
Final possession got you dribbling right up to him. He stepped up, but the second you gave him the pout he let out a soft laugh and just gave up, both hands settling on your waist.
“Go win, baby,” he whispered, not even trying to hide it anymore as you drove and laid it in clean.
Game over.
Nics scooped you up spinning you once while Moon and Ricey cheered like idiots. The second your feet hit the ground Heeseung was there, arm sliding around your waist and pulling you back against him. His t-shirt was damp against yours, heartbeat steady on your back.
“You’re impossible,” he murmured into your hair, thumb still tracing slow circles on your hip under the hem, “didn’t even wanna stop you.”
You leaned into him, grinning, “you had your hands on me the whole second half.”
“Yeah,” he said, no shame at all, “felt too good.”
Heeseung didn’t get to talk more as a fuming Chenle grabbed his collar and dragged him away for what seemed to be some good beating.
Moon and Nics immediately grabbed your arms at the opportunity and pulled you a few steps away, cornering you near the fence while Heeseung was distracted talking (arguing) to Chenle.
“Okay, spill,” Moon said, “what the hell is going on with you two? Because that was not subtle.”
Nics nodded, still half-laughing, “girl, he had his hands on your waist like every single play. He’s so into you it’s actually funny.”
You tried to play it cool, wiping sweat off your neck with the bottom of your shirt, “It’s not like that. We’re just—hanging out? No strings, y’know?”
They waited for you to say you’re joking, or just laugh, but then none of it came and they gasped, collectively.
“You’re not serious,” Moon deadpanned.
Nics’ eyes went huge, “wait. You’re actually serious.”
Ricey let out a low whistle, leaning against the fence, “damn, Y/N. I thought you were messing with us.”
You shrugged, trying to laugh it off, but the sound came out rather shaky. Your stomach did that stupid little flip again, like your body was calling you a liar before your mouth could. The cool night air on your damp neck suddenly felt too cold, and your t-shirt clung uncomfortably to your skin, “I mean, yeah, that’s the deal. We both said it from the start.”
The words felt flat even as you said them. Your eyes drifted across the court before you could stop yourself. Chenle still had Heeseung in that dramatic headlock, ranting about how embarrassing he was, but Heeseung wasn’t even pretending to fight back. His head turned and his gaze found yours instantly through the mess of hair falling in his face. That soft, stupid little smile tugged at his lips like getting chewed out didn’t matter at all. Just you did.
Your chest squeezed as you looked away, but Moon followed your stare and let out a quiet oh, “girl, look at him right now. He’s getting yelled at and he’s still staring at you like that? Come on.”
Nics nudged your side. “he had his hands on your waist literally every single time you got near him. Called you baby in front of all of us. Folded like a lawn chair the second you pouted. That’s a man catching feelings and not even trying to hide it.”
Ricey nodded, arms crossed, “for real. We were all watching, he was playing how many times can I touch my girl without getting called out.”
You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the game anymore, “It’s not like that,” you mumbled but even you could hear how unsure you sounded. The way Heeseung was still looking at you made the label feel thinner than your sweaty t-shirt.
Before anyone could push harder, Chenle finally shoved Heeseung away with one last groan. Heeseung jogged back over, hair wrecked, cheeks flushed, but his eyes were already locked on you again. His arm slid around your waist without hesitation, palm warm and familiar against the damp fabric like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You guys done roasting her yet?” He asked, voice light and a little out of breath.
Ricey snorted, “not even close.”
Heeseung just grinned and pulled you closer, chin brushing the top of your head. You leaned into him without thinking, the solid warmth of his side against yours making that chest-tight feeling even worse. Or better, you couldn’t tell anymore.
Your newfound friends exchanged a look behind his back, but you caught it anyway.
Whatever this was—it didn’t feel like no strings anymore. Not even a little.
Heeseung always thought that his partner would an extension of his very soul, and he never achieved that. Maybe the saying can be moulded into perspectives of sort, perhaps connection wasn’t about mirroring souls but about finding someone who made the fractures feel intentional, beautiful even.
He mindlessly knocked on the door, heart drumming an uneven rhythm against his ribs, not expecting the door to open so quickly, his breath hitching at the sight of you in front of him.
Maybe your partner isn’t supposed to be an extension of you, but rather someone who’d stand on the opposite side of the spectrum and still look like a perfect puzzle when fitted together.
You stood there like a living poem rendered in silk—clad in a breathtaking white gown that slipped over your skin with liquid grace, the delicate fabric catching the hallway’s muted glow, the thin straps tracing the delicate architecture of your collarbones like a lover’s fingertip. It moved with you, shimmering faintly, alive with every subtle shift of your weight. Your hair styled perfectly, lips glossed to a tempting sheen, and the whole vision struck him so viscerally that the air in his lungs simply vanished.
You looked beautiful, like an angel in all white, while he stood in front of you in a black leather jacket, juxtaposing every bit of elegance you exuded.
Heeseung forgot how to breathe quite literally as time fractured around him. His gaze dragged over you in helpless reverence, while a razor-edged thought sliced through the haze. Are you going out? On a date? With someone else? The image of another man’s eyes tracing that same silk, another hand brushing the curve of your waist beneath it, coiled hot and ugly in his chest, stealing what little breath he had left.
“Hee?” You asked with a smile, tilting your head with genuine surprise, “what are you doing here?”
He gulped, forcing his eyes back up and oxygen to cooperate within him, “you’re breathtaking,” he managed, “I forgot what I came for.”
Warmth crept up your neck at the nervousness of the man in front of you, he was adorable—shifting from one leg to the other, playing with his fingers, as if the simple act of standing there might unravel him completely. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, cheeks flushed a soft rose, and those wide, doe-like eyes kept flicking back to the silk clinging to your body. You could practically feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat from where you stood, the way his throat worked on another swallow, the subtle tremor in his shoulders as he tried (and failed) to play it cool.
“I, uh—” Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a small, embarrassed laugh, “I wanted to show you something. I’ve been carrying it around all day like an idiot because I thought you might like it. Figured tonight could be, I don’t know, nice? Just us.”
Your heart gave a small tug, the evening plans you’d been dreading now sitting like a weight in your chest, “god, Hee—I wish I could,” you said softly, “my parents are in town and we have this family dinner thing tonight. It’s one of those non-negotiable things. I was literally about to walk out the door when you knocked.”
Heeseung’s shoulders dropped just a fraction, disappointment flickering across his face before he quickly tried to smooth it over. He nodded, offering you a small, understanding smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, though he was relieved it wasn’t a boy you’d dressed up for, “no, gosh. It’s okay, I hope you have fun.”
He paused, eyes still lingering on you like he couldn’t help it, “but—if you’re not too tired later, maybe we could still meet up? Even if it’s just for a little while. No pressure or anything, I just—I really like being around you.”
All you could manage was a nod, making him smile wider. It was always a surprise at how clearly Heeseung said whatever he meant, and it wasn’t the best thing for your poor heart, which probably matched Heeseung’s pace now. Bidding goodbye was another problem especially when Heeseung stared till you got inside the cab. The dinner was a haze, your mom staring at your zoned out state with a knowing smile.
“Who is it?” She sighed finally, making you look up in horror.
“Mom—no,” you warned, knowing just how interested your family was in gossiping, which didn’t exclude gossip about you by any means.
“What? She laughed, feigning innocence while your dad hid his grin behind his water glass, “I’m just asking. You’ve been smiling at nothing and zoning out all night, now spill.”
Your cousin leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief, “yeah, girl. You look like you’re thinking about someone. Is he cute? Does he go to your uni?”
Heat flooded your cheeks, “there’s no one,” you lied, though the words felt flimsy even to you, “I’m just tired.”
Your mom reached over and squeezed your wrist gently, “mhm, sure. Whoever he is, he’s lucky if he’s got you looking like this. Just don’t forget to eat, okay? You’re glowing, but you’re also not touching your food.”
You groaned, covering your face with both hands as the table erupted into light laughter. The teasing continued with your dad throwing in a dramatic “If he hurts you, I’ll find him” that made everyone chuckle—but you managed to dodge the worst of it, cheeks burning the whole time. By the time dessert came, your family had mercifully moved on, though your mom’s knowing glances never quite stopped.
Meanwhile, Heeseung stood alone on the rooftop of the main university building, the cool night breeze slipping beneath the collar of his leather jacket and ruffling his dark hair. He’d quietly borrowed the keys from the maintenance office earlier—something he wasn’t proud of, but tonight the small rebellion felt worth it. Up here, the view was stunning. City lights stretched out below like scattered diamonds across black velvet, the crescent moon hung low, casting a silvery glow over everything. He slipped an airpod in, letting his playlist fill the silence.
His hand drifted to the inner pocket of his jacket, fingers brushing the carefully wrapped item inside. He’d wanted to show it to you tonight, watch your face light up, maybe steal a few more stolen moments of that easy warmth you gave him so effortlessly.
Heeseung leaned against the railing, staring out at the glittering skyline while the music in his earpods played on, and he wondered if you were thinking about him too, somewhere across town amid the family dinner. He didn’t mind waiting, in fact, he was good at it when it meant so much to him. Regardless, every couple of minutes he’d glance at the door, half-convinced he was being ridiculous for waiting up here like some lovesick idiot.
As he turned back again, the faint creak of the door was heard, and he went still. You stepped onto the rooftop still wrapped in that white silk gown, the wind caught the hem immediately, making it swirl softly around your legs, and when you smiled at him—he felt it right in the center of his chest.
“Hi,” you said, voice quiet.
Heeseung pulled the airpods out slowly, letting them dangle from his fingers, “you—you actually came,” he breathed, the words slipping out before he could stop them, his eyes moved over you again, helpless, “in that dress, god, Y/N.”
You walked closer, heels soft against the concrete, “told you I would. Couldn’t stop thinking about whatever you wanted to show me,” a small laugh escaped you.
He took a half-step closer, “I wasn’t sure,” he admitted, “but I’m really glad you’re here. You look—” he trailed off, shaking his head with a soft, almost disbelieving smile, “I don’t even have the words tonight, you’re beautiful.”
It was foreign, the way you felt all mushy inside with a compliment, granted you got those all the time, but this felt new. You stopped just inches from him, close enough to see the way the moonlight caught in his dark eyes, the faint flush still lingering on his cheeks, “show me, then,” you whispered.
Heeseung’s breath caught for the briefest moment. Then he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a small box wrapped in simple paper, tied with a slender black ribbon. He placed it gently into your waiting hands, his fingers brushing yours with a lingering warmth that sent another quiet flutter through you.
You untied the ribbon, letting the paper fall away until the snow globe rested heavy in your palms. Inside the delicate glass sphere, a tiny couple danced beneath an invisible sky—her in a flowing white dress that mirrored the silk clinging to your body, him in a dark jacket that echoed the leather draped across Heeseung’s shoulders. Their hands were joined, bodies turned toward one another in quiet, perfect harmony. When you tilted the globe, soft white flakes swirled around them like the first gentle snowfall of winter, catching the moonlight in tiny, luminous sparks.
A rush of something overwhelming bloomed low in your stomach, as if butterflies unfurling their wings until your chest felt too full, too light. You looked up at him, eyes wide and shimmering. “Heeseung,” you breathed, “this is us. The dress, the jacket, it’s exactly like us.”
He bit his bottom lip, smiling shyly as he nodded, eyes soft with affection that he never failed to display. “Yeah,” he murmured, stepping closer until the globe rested safely between your bodies, pressed lightly against the silk over your heart, “I know it’s a little cheesy, but when I saw it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
It was yet again when he had rendered you speechless so beautifully, a small smile still graced your lips, and you couldn’t hide it, you didn’t wish to hide it, “it’s not cheesy, it’s beautiful, Hee. Thank you.”
You held the globe for another heartbeat, letting the tiny flakes swirl and sparkle inside the glass, before you turned gently and set it on the wide concrete railing
Heeseung watched you, nervous as he reached into his pocket, pulling out one of the earpods and holding it out to you between two fingers, “dance with me?” He asked, voice hopeful, “I’ve had this song on repeat—uh, I kept imagining what it would sound like with you here.”
It was as if you were facing the real tale of the entanglement after the initial surface level attraction had worn off, which should’ve made it worse, right? But Heeseung, unlike any other potential love interest you’d met, shone brighter after revealing himself day by day.
You took the airpod from him without a second’s hesitation and slid it in, that familiar, timeless melody of Everybody Loves Somebody filling your ear like an old friend crooning about love that finds you when you least expect it. Heeseung’s fingers brushed yours as he took your hand, threading them together with a quiet certainty that made your breath hitch. His other palm settled at your waist, warm through the silk, and he drew you in until your bodies met, like they’d been waiting all along. You let your free hand rest against his chest, right over the steady thud of his heart beneath the leather.
Heeseung let out a soft, breathy laugh, “fuck, I actually feel stupid right now,” he muttered, “I’ve never danced before.”
You laughed, leaning into his scent further, “you’re doing great, Hee.”
“Yeah?” Another dorky chuckle rumbled through his chest. He adjusted his hold on you, thumb moving in a slow, absent circle at your waist, “I don’t know, lately I keep catching myself doing shit I never thought I’d do. Like stealing keys to a rooftop, buying a snow globe because it reminded me of you. It’s weird, I feel like I’m figuring out all these parts of myself I didn’t even know were there.”
He stole keys, the thought itself made you chuckle again. You’d once read somewhere that the act of loving someone doesn’t stop at accepting them but furthers by coaxing their selfhood out of them—it felt that way for you too because who would have thought you’d be dancing with someone at a rooftop wearing a gown?
You squeezed his hand gently, “I like that,” you said, “I like that you’re figuring it out with me.”
The proximity was perfect, yet your bodies kept on gravitating towards each other every few steps, and eventually the melody began to fade. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, the position mirroring that of the snow globe miniatures. Taking another step, you leaned forward just enough to slot your lips against his, almost as if breathing each other in, lips parting at the same time before pressing into a gentle peck. Heeseung exhaled shakily against you, his hand tightening at your waist for a second like he was trying to remember how to breathe.
When you finally drew back, you gave him that smile you knew he couldn’t resist. You slipped the airpod out of your ear and dropped it into his open palm, fingers brushing his one last time. At the same time you reached over, picked up the snow globe from the railing, and tucked it carefully against your chest.
“Night, baby,” you whispered as you turned toward the door.
Heeseung just stood there, completely still, breathing a little harder than before. His eyes were wide and utterly lovestruck as he watched you walk away. The rooftop door clicked shut behind you, but he didn’t move for a long time—just stayed right where he was under the moonlight, that dazed, helpless smile slowly taking over his face.
You were panting as Heeseung pressed his lips on the base of your spine, sending a shiver up your back. He hadn’t been patient pulling you in his bed, turning you over to unzip your dress. He groaned with each kiss as if he was pleasuring himself instead of you while savouring every inch of skin exposed.
Heeseung pressed his forehead against the middle of your back for a second, breathing hard, “you’re trembling,” he whispered against you, “is my mouth really making you feel that good?” He kissed between your shoulder blades, then higher, until his lips brushed the nape of your neck, “tell me, baby. Tell me how wet you are right now just from this.”
“So wet,” you gasped, pushing your hips back against him, “Hee—please.”
He let out a broken groan and shoved your panties to the side with impatient fingers, not even bothering to pull them off. The thick head of his cock nudged against your slick entrance, hot and heavy, before he sank into you in one long, relentless thrust.
“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound guttural as he bottomed out, stretching you wide, “you’re soaking my cock, baby. So fucking tight and wet for me.” He pulled back slowly, then drove in again, harder, the wet slap of skin echoing in the room, “listen to that. Hear how greedy your pussy is for me?”
You cried out, fingers clawing at the sheets as he set a deep, punishing rhythm, each stroke dragging perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you.
“Heeseung—oh god, yes—” your voice broke on a moan, tears of overwhelming pleasure already stinging your eyes, “harder—please, I need it harder.”
Heeseung cursed under his breath and fucked you deeper, hips snapping forward with filthy precision, “like this?” He panted, voice hoarse “you want me to ruin this pretty little pussy? Tell me how good it feels, baby. I want to hear you fall apart.”
“It feels so good,” you sobbed, pushing back to meet every thrust, “you’re so deep—fuck, Hee, I can’t—”
The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, white-hot and devastating, until it finally snapped.
“I love you—” the words tore out of you, raw and desperate, “Heeseung, I love you—”
He froze mid-thrust, buried to the hilt inside you, body going completely rigid.
“What?” His voice was barely a whisper, shocked and trembling.
You whimpered, hips twitching helplessly around his cock, the confession spilling out again in a blurry, broken rush, “I love you, I love you so much—”
Heeseung pulled out suddenly, making you whine at the loss. In one swift motion he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you with wide, dark eyes and a chest that heaved like he’d forgotten how to breathe.
“Say it again,” he demanded, voice hoarse and shaking as he stared down at you, one hand cupping your jaw, “look at me and say it again, baby. Please.”
Your eyes were glassy, lips parted on a shaky breath, but the words seemed to have blurred, your face disappearing right in front of his eyes as you said, “I love—”
He woke up with a sharp, ragged gasp, bolting upright in his own bed, heart slamming violently against his ribs. The room was dark and silent except for his own frantic breathing. Sweat slicked his skin, and when he looked down, the front of his sweatpants was soaked with a warm, sticky mess.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered hoarsely, dragging a trembling hand down his face, cheeks burning with heat.
It was hard for him to contain himself when this is all he could dream of the past six days, feeling it deep despite it being a dream. Wet dream was fine really, but the confession that echoed? Yeah, that definitely made Heeseung feel eccentric because he needed to hear that for real despite the terms of the relationship between you both. It was bound to bloom into something more.
You two had fallen into a rhythm that didn’t need a label really. He showed up outside your lectures with your stupidly specific drink (matcha), the one with the exact ratio you liked, because he’d paid attention the one time you made a face at the wrong version. You’d started leaving your oversized hoodie at his place just so you could steal his instead and he could wear yours, the sleeves swallowing your hands while you lounged on his bed scrolling through your phone. He noticed how you always tugged at your bottom lip when you were thinking too hard, how you stole the last sip of his drink without asking, how your shoulders relaxed the second you kicked your shoes off after a long day. You noticed the way he rubbed the bridge of his nose when he was tired but too stubborn to admit it, the soft little hum he made when something tasted exactly right, the way his eyes lingered on you a beat longer than necessary whenever you laughed at something dumb he said.
You weren’t calling it dating, you weren’t calling it anything. But you also weren’t fighting it. You’d never been the type to deny yourself something that made you feel good, and Heeseung made you feel good in a way that snuck up on you. So you let yourself have it without the complications of overthinking.
Later that morning, Heeseung walked across campus still half-dazed from the dream, that stupid, lingering smile refusing to leave his face. The memory of your voice saying those three words kept looping in his head, well, until a voice didn’t wish to hear ruined his train of thoughts.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the thief.”
Heeseung slowed to a stop and turned. Jaemin stood there with his arms crossed, wearing the same smug, pissed-off expression he used to think was charming.
Heeseung let out a dry, humorless scoff, “thief? That’s fucking hilarious coming from the guy who was literally balls-deep in my ex while we were still together.”
Jaemin stepped closer, eyes narrowing, “whatever helps you sleep at night. You really think you’re gonna keep her interested?” His voice dripped with condescension, “Y/N doesn’t do soft boys. All that cute shit you do, y’know? All that bringing her drinks, playing with her hair, looking at her like she’s the only person in the room? She’ll get bored so soon. She needs someone who can actually keep up with her, not some pathetic, whipped little romantic who gets all starry-eyed at the sight of her.”
Heeseung forced out a dry laugh, “yeah sure, keep telling yourself that.”
Jaemin stepped even closer, that ugly little smirk twisting his mouth, “you’re playing house while she’s used to getting fucked properly, I’m sure you’re not offering much to at all, you’re nothing but a rebound to her,” he scoffed once, and walked away.
But the damage was done, because yes, Heeseung was soft, almost a whipped little romantic who let you take the lead when things got heated, how you pinned his wrists down or told him exactly how you wanted him, and how much he fucking loved giving in to you. The dream from this morning flashed behind his eyes again, your voice breaking on those three words while he was the one completely undone above you. Now it all felt suddenly pathetic, like something Jaemin could point at and laugh at.
Jealousy, envy, insecurity, these were the things he didn’t wish to feel, and gladly so, he never felt that with you, so why was an outsider here to remind him of his so called weaknesses? It felt like a spiral how he skipped the next lecture and pondered on Jaemin’s words. Did you actually not enjoy your time with him? Was he enough? Did you want a more intense relationship? Was it just a rebound?
He couldn’t find the answers to any of those questions, and managed to ignore every single text and call that came his way, letting himself cool down on the rooftop yet again.
What he essentially forgot was how communication wasn’t a part of the relationship but the very pillar that ran practically any relationship on this earth, this being the very first instance of him not being able to express himself—something he did so freely around you.
And so, the day passed without him replying to you.
You felt the absence like a missing pulse.
“You look crazy checking your phone every two minutes,” Sunoo pointed out, and you huffed, grabbing your phone again to stare at the unread texts you’d sent him through the day.
The screen glowed mockingly in the low light of your dorm room, the blue bubble of your last message still floating unanswered beneath the others, heeseung? talk to me. you okay? i’m coming over if you don’t answer. Just silence that didn’t sit right with you.
Sunoo flopped dramatically across the foot of your bed, legs kicking up behind him, while Winter perched on the windowsill, she watched you with that knowing tilt of her head, the one that always preceded a lecture of affection.
“Babe,” she said, “he’s been ghosting the group chat too, something’s off. Like, capital-O off.”
You set the phone face-down on the blanket, but your fingers still twitched toward it. Sunoo nudged your ankle with his socked foot.
“Go, seriously, and if he’s being a dramatic little shit, tell him Sunoo said to grow a pair and answer his damn phone.” His grin was bright, “you’re so in love it’s pathetic.”
Your lip only twitched, and you didn’t admit nor deny it. It was too early to even overthink what happened, was he drowning himself in self destruction while embracing pain for absolutely no reason? Regardless you frowned with disdain, pushing yourself up to actually do something about the situation, choosing to wear his hoodie he gave you a few days earlier.
You didn’t bother fixing your hair or changing out of the soft shorts you’d been rotting in all evening. This wasn’t about looking put-together, it was about the fact that Heeseung had never once left a message on read without answering, in fact, he was the one who usually texted first, shared his problems, and discussed any and everything this world has to offer. Whatever had him locked down like this, it had teeth, and you were done waiting for him to chew through it alone.
By the time you reached there, a feeling of nervousness washed over you. Jake pulled the door open almost immediately, like he’d been hovering behind it. His eyes were wide, hair sticking up in about six different directions, and he looked so relieved to see you that it almost hurt.
“Jesus Christ, you’re here,” he sighed, stepping aside so you could slip in, “he got back from class and just shut down. Told me to fuck off when I asked if he wanted pasta. Jay tried the concerned roommate bit and got the door slammed in his face. This isn’t—he doesn’t do this, y’know?”
You nodded, throat tight, “I know.”
Jake hesitated, then added almost sheepishly, “if he’s being a dick, tell him I said to stop being a dramatic prick or i’ll take you away, or whatever.”
You gave him a chuckle and headed straight for the bedroom door, hoping that it wouldn’t be locked. It wasn’t, thankfully so, and you pushed the door open before you could talk yourself out of it. Heeseung sat on the edge of the bed in those black sweats that hung too low on his hips, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. His hair was a mess, like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. The silver chain sat against his collarbone, rising and falling with these tight little breaths. He looked exhausted, hollowed out even.
He heard the door and his head snapped up.
For a second his eyes went wide, like he couldn’t believe it was really you standing there. The whiplash of emotions was too much, especially when you were clad in his hoodie with sadness gracing your pretty face that he really always wished to see happy. He stood up so fast the bed creaked, crossed the room in two strides, and pulled you against him like he’d been waiting to do exactly that all day.
His hands were rough as he grabbed your nape the second the door closed shut behind you, breathing hard as your lips parted to ask a question, but he only closed his eyes, slid his hand up to your head as he pushed you against the door, pushing his lips against yours in a messy claim.
He can be rough, he can be the one to give you pleasure, of course he can. His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted it, tongue sliding in deep. You tasted the faint cherry from whatever he’d been drinking, felt the way his chest heaved against yours like he’d been running.
“Missed you,” he mumbled right into your mouth, the words half-bitten off by another rough kiss, “fuck, I missed you so bad today.”
“Heeseung—wait, what the hell happened—” you tried, but he swallowed the question with his mouth, sucking on your bottom lip hard enough to sting before dragging his teeth down the side of your neck. His free hand shoved under the hem of the hoodie, palm sprawled over the expanse of your waist, fingers digging in like he needed to feel skin right now
“Shh,” he breathed against your throat, voice wrecked, “don’t talk. Just—let me.” He sucked a mark right below your ear, like he was stamping proof that you were here, that you were his. His hips pressed forward, pinning you tighter to the door, and you could feel how hard he already was through his sweats.
The force of him made your breath hitch, your back flush against the cool wood while every inch of him burned insistent. He was never like this, not with you. Heeseung had always been careful, as if afraid that wrong move would make you slip away. But tonight something had snapped in him, and the way his fingers trembled just slightly against your skin told you he knew it too. He was trying to prove a point—to himself, to the ghost of Jaemin’s voice still echoing in his head—that he could be the rough, ravenous version he thought you wanted.
He spun you around so fast your palms slapped against the full-length mirror on the back of his closet door. The cool glass kissed your bare chest, making your nipples tighten instantly. Heeseung’s chest pressed flush to your back, one hand sliding up to grip your jaw, forcing your head up so you had no choice but to look at your own reflection—parted lips, eyes already glassy.
“Look at yourself,” he rasped, “look how fucking pretty you are when you’re like this for me.”
His other hand snaked down your stomach, fingers dipping between your thighs without warning. Two thick digits pushed inside you in one smooth glide, curling instantly against that spot that made your knees buckle. You gasped, forehead dropping forward until it rested on the mirror, but Heeseung’s grip on your jaw tightened, yanking you back up.
“Eyes open, baby. Watch, yeah?”
It most certainly was hot to see him take control, but you couldn’t understand the sudden switch, the implications, your mind was too foggy with the way you’d missed him through the day. Heeseung was too in his head, as if on some mission to make you feel good—which he always achieved, yet was not satisfied.
He pumped his fingers slow and deep, twisting them on every drag out so you felt every ridge, every knuckle. The wet, slick sounds of your pussy taking his fingers echoed obscenely in the quiet dorm room. In the mirror you watched it all: the way your lips parted on a shaky moan, the flush crawling down your neck to your chest, the way your tits pressed and flattened against the cool glass with every rock of your hips. Heeseung’s reflection behind you was devastating—dark hair falling into his eyes, jaw clenched tight, that chain around his neck swaying every time he thrust his fingers harder.
“God, you’re so deep already,” you whimpered, hips rocking back to meet his hand, “keep going like that, yeah, just like that, Hee.”
Heeseung groaned low, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second before he forced himself to look up again, as if in pain, “that’s it. Fuck, listen to how messy you sound. You’re dripping down my wrist, baby. Such a good girl for me.”
You bit your lip, eyes fluttering, but he tapped your jaw again.
“Don’t close your eyes. Want you to see how pretty you look when I finger fuck you like this.”
“Bossy tonight,” you teased breathlessly, even as your thighs started trembling, “I like it, but you’re gonna make me cum already if you keep rubbing my clit like that.”
“Good,” he rasped, thumb circling faster, fingers curling relentlessly, “cum for me. Right now. Let me see it.”
You moaned his name loud, walls fluttering and clenching around his fingers as you came, slick coating his hand. Heeseung kept working you through it, slower but deep, murmuring against your neck, “that’s my girl—fuck, you’re so pretty when you cum. Look at you shaking for me.”
He pulled his fingers out slowly, then brought them to your lips.
“Taste yourself, baby, hm? C’mon, open up.”
You sucked them clean, eyes never leaving his in the reflection, and he cursed under his breath the second your tongue swirled around his fingers.
“Fuck—you’re gonna kill me.”
Before you could catch your breath he dropped to his knees behind you, hands gripping your hips and yanking you back so your ass arched toward his face.
“Keep watching the mirror,” he said, voice hoarse with need, “I want you to see me eat this pussy like I’ve been starving for it.”
Then his mouth was on you, as filthy as he could manage. His tongue dragged slow and broad from your clit all the way up, and you moaned loud, hands sliding down the glass.
“Oh my god, Hee—”
“Mhm, fuck, you taste even better after you come,” he groaned against you, the vibration making your legs weak, “spread your legs a little wider for me, baby. Let me get deeper.”
You did, pushing back against his face. His tongue fucked into you while his nose nudged your clit, then he sucked your swollen clit into his mouth hard.
“Yes—right there, don’t stop,” you panted, “your tongue feels so fucking good, baby, keep sucking like that.”
Heeseung moaned into your pussy, one hand reaching around to rub your clit while the other spread you open wider, “tell me how much you like it,” he mumbled between licks, voice desperate, “tell me you love my mouth on you.”
“I love it—fuck, I love your mouth, Hee. You’re so good at this—shit, I’m gonna cum again if you keep going like that.”
He sucked harder, tongue flicking fast, fingers joining to curl inside you, “then let go again, right on my tongue. I want to feel you fall apart while you watch yourself in the mirror.”
Your second orgasm crashed over you even harder, a high pitched moan leaving your mouth, almost as if you were chanting his name like a mantra, thighs shaking violently as you came on his tongue, and Heeseung licked you through every pulse, slow and greedy, humming happily like he couldn’t get enough.
You were still trembling when he finally pulled away, breathing hard against the inside of your thigh. His eyes met yours in the mirror for a second, looking all desperate, almost frantic before he stood up and turned you around. His hands were shaking as they gripped your waist.
“Come here,” he said, voice rough, like the words were being dragged out of him. He kissed you immediately, with the need to taste the way you’d just fallen apart for him, “bed. I need you on the bed right now.”
You nodded, legs still unsteady, and he didn’t wait. He lifted you, your back hitting the mattress a second later. He climbed over you fast, knees bracketing your hips, but instead of diving right in he paused, hovering above you, chest heaving. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, and for a split second you saw the soft Heeseung underneath all that intensity—the one who always checked on you, the one who was terrified of messing this up.
“You really want this?” He asked, voice cracking a little even though he was trying to sound sure. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like he couldn’t stop himself, “all the way, me inside you. Tell me you want it, baby, please.”
“I want it,” you whispered, reaching up to pull him closer by his chain, “I want you, Hee. Stop holding back.”
He let out a shaky breath and nodded, like he was steeling himself. He shoved the rest of his clothes off as you watched the pretty boy in front of you. It was clear how he wanted to prove a point, and you were gonna let him, granted he wasn’t in the mood to talk, his faint muscles flexing was distracting you as well, but yeah, you were letting him take control.
He gripped your thighs and spread you open wider, breathing hard as he tried not to stare to the point he starts drooling because, lord, you looked absolutely stunning all spread out on his bed, looking up at him with need, bottom lip bitten. He lined up, the blunt head of his cock pressing right against your entrance, and for a second he just stayed there, breathing hard, eyes flicking up to yours like he was still fighting whatever storm was in his head.
“Tell me again,” he said, “tell me you want this.”
“I want this,” you breathed, pulling him down into a messy kiss, tongues sliding deep right away, “I want you inside me, Hee. Stop thinking and just take me.”
He groaned into your mouth and pushed forward.
The first inch stretched you open, slow and thick. You both gasped against each other’s lips.
“Fuck—you’re so tight,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours, hips trembling as he held still, “just the tip and you’re already gripping me like that. You okay?”
You nodded quickly, nails dragging lightly down his back, “keep going, I can take more.”
He kissed you again, deeper this time, almost desperate, and rolled his hips forward on the second thrust as another inch sank in. The burn was sharp but so fucking good your back arched.
“Shit—baby,” he groaned, voice cracking. He sucked a hard mark right under your jaw, teeth grazing your skin as he pushed in a third time, slower, letting you adjust, “you feel—gosh, you feel unreal, i’m trying not to lose it already.”
Your nails dug in harder, scratching down his shoulder blades as he gave one more careful thrust and finally bottomed out, hips flush against yours. The full stretch made you moan loud into his mouth, legs tightening around his waist.
Heeseung stilled completely, breathing ragged against your neck, trying not to whimper, “talk to me. Does it hurt? Tell me the truth.”
“A little,” you whispered, “but I love it. You feel so deep already. Move, baby, I need you to move.”
He started with slow, deep rolls of his hips, grinding against you on every stroke like he was still trying to stay in control. But you could feel the tension building in his body, the way his fingers dug into your thighs a little harder each time.
“Yeah? Like this?” He asked, voice rougher now as he snapped his hips forward a little sharper, “you want me to fuck you harder?”
“Harder,” you moaned, nails raking down his back again, leaving red lines, “don’t be gentle tonight. I want all of it.”
He dropped his head to your neck and bit down hard, sucking yet another dark mark into your skin as his hips suddenly slammed forward. The thrusts turned brutal, the bed creaking loudly under you. His chain slapped against your chest with every snap of his hips. He was fucking you like he’d been holding back for months—desperate, almost punishing strokes that knocked the breath out of you.
“Fuck—fuck, baby,” he groaned against your throat, voice completely wrecked, “you’re taking me so fucking good. This pussy is mine tonight. Mine.”
You cried out and he kissed you again, tongues sliding messily while he pounded into you without any rhythm left. His hips stuttered, slamming harder, faster, completely mindless now, like every doubt in his head was being fucked out with every brutal thrust.
“Shit—I can’t—can’t slow down,” he panted, “you feel too good, gonna fuck you until you can’t walk tomorrow.”
He was gone—eyes hazy, sweat dripping down his chest, hips snapping wildly as he lost himself inside you, chasing that raw, desperate need to prove he could be everything he thought you wanted. His chain bounced wildly against your chest, his fingers digging bruises into your thigh like he needed something to hold onto.
You were right there with him, body tightening, moans spilling out against his mouth, when the intensity tipped over into something too much, too fast. Your hand shot back, fingers digging into his hip.
“Heeseung—stop. Stop for a second.”
He froze mid-thrust, buried to the hilt, every muscle locking up at once. His breath hitched hard against your neck. For a long second the room was just the sound of both of you breathing, ragged and uneven. You could feel the panic crashing over him.
“Fuck—did I hurt you?” His voice cracked, he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes already glassy with tears that spilled over when he blinked, “shit, I’m so sorry—I got too rough, I didn’t mean to, I was trying so hard not to be soft and I just—fuck, I thought if I fucked you harder you’d want me, you’d stay, I—”
His lip trembled. Another tear slid down his cheek and landed warm on your skin. He looked completely shattered, still deep inside you, like the idea that he might have hurt you was breaking him apart right there.
You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs gently brushing the tears from under his eyes, “baby, shh. You didn’t hurt me,” you whispered, voice soft, full of warmth, “not even a little. I promise. You feel so good, Hee. C’mon breathe with me, okay?”
He stared at you, eyes wide and wet, lips pressed tight together like he was trying not to fall apart completely. He gave the smallest shake of his head, refusing to speak at first.
You leaned up and kissed him, just a gentle press of your lips until he softened into it, a shaky little exhale leaving him. When you pulled back you kept your forehead against his, thumbs still stroking his cheeks.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I can feel it, baby. Something’s been eating at you. Please talk to me.”
Heeseung swallowed hard, eyes fluttering shut for a second as another tear slipped free. His voice came out small, cracked, almost ashamed.
“Jaemin cornered me after class,” he whispered, “uh—he said I’m too soft, fucking whipped. That I’m just a pathetic rebound and you’d get bored of me in a week because someone like me could never keep a girl like you. Said you need someone who can actually fuck you right, not some gentle loser,” his breath hitched, “I just—I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. I wanted to prove I could be what you need, I know this isn’t what you wanted, our whole FWB thing.”
You stayed right there, forehead pressed to his, thumbs still gently wiping his tears as you looked at him with nothing but softness in your eyes, heart hurting at how the guy who makes you the happiest was reduced to some loser by your pathetic excuse of an ex.
“I like you exactly how you are,” you let out, heat creeping up your neck, the position only making you feel more with his cock still buried deep in you.
“Y—you like me?” He gasped as you licked his tear away, “really?”
“I do, Hee. I forgot about the whole no strings arrangement long back, I found myself wanting to spend more time with you, and who am I to deprive myself of happiness?” You chuckled, “you can’t force your feelings to go away, or change yourself, y’know? Fuck Jaemin, he doesn’t know shit, he could never make me cum and he definitely could never make me feel the way you do.”
Heeseung let out a shaky, broken exhale, his forehead still resting against yours as fresh tears welled up, “I thought—I thought I was ruining everything. I was so scared you’d realize I’m just the rebound, and you’d leave. I didn’t want to lose you, so I tried to be someone else tonight. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
You shook your head, “you didn’t ruin anything, Hee, not even close. You could never ruin this. I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere, I don’t mind you being rough or soft, yeah?”
He swallowed hard, “I don’t want to be rough, I never really did. I just, I thought that’s what you needed from me. But I want to be soft with you, can I—can I do that? Please?”
You couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped you, the sound made his lips twitch, and then he was smiling—small, shy, and so genuinely relieved it made your heart squeeze. He immediately hid his face in the crook of your neck, embarrassed, his breath warm against your skin as he let out a quiet, shy laugh of his own.
“Stop laughing at me,” he mumbled into your neck, but you could hear the smile in his voice, the way his shoulders relaxed.
“I’m not laughing at you,” you whispered, still chuckling as you threaded your fingers through his hair, “I’m laughing because you’re adorable, and I like you like this. Exactly like this.”
Heeseung lifted his head just enough to look at you again, eyes still glassy but now shining with something brighter as he managed another kiss, pouring every unsaid feeling into it. When he pulled back, his voice was soft.
“I love you,” he breathed out, “I’m so in love with you. I don’t want no-strings, I want everything. Mornings where I wake up and you’re stealing my hoodie. Nights where we fall asleep tangled up like this, and I want all of it with you.”
You smiled against his lips, heart so full it felt like it might burst, “I’m falling in love with you too, Hee, I want all of that with you too.”
He whined, kissing you all clumsy, rolling his hips in long, loving strokes that made you feel every inch of him. The pace was unhurried, like he wanted to savor every second.
“Feel that?” He whispered, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on you, “I love being inside you like this. I love feeling you around me—so warm, so perfect.”
You moaned softly, legs wrapping tighter around him as you rocked up to meet his slow thrusts, “you feel so good, baby.”
Heeseung smiled again with a giggle, hiding his face in your neck for a moment before kissing along your throat, “you’re so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses, “the way you look when I’m inside you, the little sounds you make, I could stay like this for hours. Just loving you, just making you feel good.”
His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together and pinning it gently above your head while the other slid down to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, tender circles. Every thrust was accompanied by quiet words—I love you, you feel incredible, never letting you go, whispered against your skin like prayers.
You squeezed his hand, “I love how you make me feel safe, don’t ever change, okay?”
“I won’t, I promise, i just want to make you feel loved. Every single day.”
The room filled with nothing but the soft creak of the bed, your quiet moans, and his gentle praises. He kept the pace slow and deep, grinding against you on every thrust so your clit rubbed perfectly against him. His lips never left your skin—kissing your neck, your jaw, your mouth, your collarbone like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.
“You’re everything to me,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion as he rolled his hips again, “I’m so lucky you’re mine. So fucking lucky.”
“I’m the lucky one, baby. Now keep loving me just like this, I never want this to end.”
Heeseung smiled against your mouth, eyes shining with pure adoration, and did exactly that—loving you slow, deep, and full of so much tenderness it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared.
Just the two of you, and the moonlight in the room.
MEANWHILE:
You shushed Heeseung for the nth time as he smiled against your palm, but you were serious, peering down the hallway from the narrow alcove where you’d both hidden behind a pillar.
“Stop smiling, you’re going to get us caught,” you whispered, though your own grin was fighting to break free.
Heeseung only chuckled quietly, pressing a soft kiss to your wrist, “can’t help it. You look so adorable trying to be all serious.”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt warm as his arms stayed wrapped around your waist from behind, chin resting on your shoulder.
The classroom door finally swung open. Students spilled out, and then Jaemin stepped into the hallway, laughing loudly with his friends.
The second you saw him, you stepped out without hesitation, you lifted the chilled cup and poured the entire icy matcha straight over his head from the first floor, the aim being too good to your surprise.
Jaemin gasped, stumbling back as green liquid drenched his hair and hoodie, “what the fuck—”
Loud laughter exploded from the crowd around him. Phones came out instantly, people whistling and clapping, and you didn’t stay to admire your work.
You grabbed Heeseung’s hand and ran, both of you sprinting down the side hallway until you ducked into an empty stairwell, breathless and laughing.
“Oh my god, his face,” you wheezed, back pressed against the wall.
Heeseung leaned over you, one hand beside your head, smiling so beautifully it made your knees weak—eyes crinkled, full of pure adoration and joy.
“You’re insane, taking revenge for me again,” he said softly, “and I’m so in love with you.”
You reached up, cupping his cheek. He leaned in and kissed you sweetly, so full of everything you two had become. When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he was still smiling that same breathtaking smile.
“I love you,” he whispered.
You kissed the corner of his mouth, grinning, and you did mean it with your whole heart as you proceeded to say.
GENRE/CW: smut, angst, fluff, porn with plot, slow burn, multiple smut scenes, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), lots of kissing, cunnilingus, blowjob, dry humping, fingering, car sex, mutual masturbation, spit kink, multiple orgasms, marking, crying. mentions of nicknames, pda, messy feelings and bets, subtle mentions of jaywon. lmk if i missed anything!
WORD COUNT: 30.9k words
SYNOPSIS: Jake is utterly oblivious to the fact that you are well aware how his sudden devotion to you is stemmed from nothing but a pathetic little bet. He is also unaware of the fact that you have been matching his energy, playing your part so convincingly that the line between performance and truth starts to blur, and you are not sure what is real anymore. OR, the classic bet trope twisted into bet inverse.
A/N: hihi loves <3 so i finally used my 2 year old idea and made it into a fic, it was soo fun to write and i could not have done it without doll (ily for sprinting w me always), i hope you guys enjoy it <3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <3
CHAPTER ONE: Raised stakes.
If there was one word to describe Jake, it would be carefree.
Some deeper parts within him would care to disagree, however, he had perfected this art of burying them six feet under layers of easy smiles. At twenty-three, Jake was the hot Physics student pursuing Masters with a killer arm (or leg in this case) on the football field.
He had always been good at drowning out uneasiness with a bright grin, a well-timed joke that he somehow laughed at harder than the others, the easy way his hand would find the small of someone’s back as he guided them through a crowded party. It worked, it always worked.
Hardworking to a fault, he balanced brutal training sessions, demanding coursework, and still found time to be the social glue of every group he touched. Clumsy in the most endearing ways—tripping over his own feet during victory celebrations or spilling his coffee down his jersey—he’d just laugh it off, turning mishaps into stories.
So, in a word, Jake Sim was considered to be carefree by any living creature that had the slightest pleasure of meeting him.
And to put it simply, he enjoyed it. He basked in the attention thrown his way, not in a way that would label him as arrogant, it just came to him as easy as, well, breathing. All that effortless energy around him kept him sane, coming from a loving family, to having friends he could call his second family, he truly cherished it to the core.
Tonight the spring kickoff party in the quad thrummed under strings of warm fairy lights, the bass from the speakers mixing with the scent of grilled corn (to Jay’s absolute delight), spilled beer, and early cherry blossoms. Jake stood right at the center of it all, lean athletic build relaxed as he leaned against the brick pillar, red solo cup in hand, black hair falling in soft tousled waves. He ran his fingers through it absentmindedly while Heeseung gestured wildly mid-story, the group around him already cracking up at the enthusiasm of it all.
“—and then she just looks at me after the game, all flushed and smiling, and says you looked really good out there tonight. Next thing I know we’re back at her place and I’m thinking, damn, maybe I should score more goals if this is the reward,” Heeseung said, smile wide as he took a swig from his cup.
Jay laughed at that, “you’re too fucking easy,” he mumbled, taking a bite of corn, pairing it up with vodka right after.
Sunghoon leaned back against the pillar, smirking as he shook his head, “you two are hopeless, now let me tell you guys about what real pleasure is—”
“Spare us the details,” Jeno mumbled, a tad bit tipsy with the amount of booze he’d been consuming, Jaemin holding him up, but his mind was elsewhere, planning something rather crazy to wash out the usual mundane conversation.
Jake’s laugh rolled out bright, head tilting back and shoulders shaking with genuine amusement, “you guys are practically whores,” he clicked his tongue, “but yeah—nothing beats that post-game high when someone’s waiting for you looking like that. Makes all the bruises worth it.” He bit his lower lip lightly, still grinning as he scanned the lively surroundings, eyes crinkling warmly at the corners.
Across the grass, you stood with Jungwon and Karina near the low stone wall, Jungwon had dragged the two of you here earlier, insisting it would be lowkey fun because his Jay hyung had invited him and “it’s not like we have to stay forever.” The music played in the background, but your attention stayed on them—sharp little remarks about random campus drama, Karina’s latest story about a disastrous blind date, the usual easy flow that made the noise somewhat bearable.
Jungwon glanced toward the center of the party, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips as he watched Jake’s group, “Jake’s in full golden-boy mode tonight. Look at him— Jay says he’s the same off the field, always cracking jokes even when everyone’s half-dead from practice.”
Karina nodded, swirling the last of her drink slowly, “It’s almost unfair how he does that, wish i could’ve been that extroverted honestly.”
You followed their gaze without meaning to. Jake was mid-laugh again, black hair falling messily into his eyes as he ran a hand through it. The light catching the sharp line of his jaw, the way his whole body seemed to lean into the moment. Everyone around him was leaning in too, feeding off that bright, effortless warmth.
It made something tight and irritated coil low in your stomach. Not jealousy, no, just exhaustion at the performance of it all. The way the entire party seemed wired to orbit one guy who never seemed to run out of smiles or energy.
You shrugged, “he’s too loud. Must get exhausting pretending the world’s that fun all the time.”
Jungwon bumped your shoulder lightly, his laugh soft and familiar, “c’mon, he’s not that bad. Jay swears he’s actually decent when you get him one-on-one. But yeah, he looks a wee bit too jolly tonight.”
Karina smirked, eyes glinting with teasing as she glanced at you, “you’d probably shut him down in two seconds flat if he ever tried talking to you. I’d pay to see that.”
You pressed your lips together for half a second, the thought of Jake Sim turning that sunshine smile on you—of him thinking he could just waltz into your carefully guarded space—sent a flicker of pure distaste through you. You weren’t interested in being another notch, another story he told his friends the next day.
Your life revolved around the quiet satisfaction of getting things right, majorly focusing on, well, studies. Romance, especially the loud, golden-boy kind, had no place in it.
“Exactly,” you said, tone edged with dry sarcasm, “not interested. Let’s grab something from the food trucks and dip before it gets worse. I’ve hit my limit on forced fun for one night.”
You didn’t mind being in the crowd as long as your friends were with you, however, you did mind the exhaustion creeping upon your body. No one but you were to be blamed for it. Going to the gym in the morning, catching up on lectures later, getting groceries, and now being at a party—you’d tired yourself out with the simple mindset of being busy is a blessing. It was true to some extent, albeit not in a way that your friends would agree. The conversation didn’t dull as you started making your way out to eat with your best friends.
On the other side of the quad, Jake was only half-listening to the guys now, he felt himself getting comfortable in his smaller circle, it was exactly the kind of night Jake usually loved.
But his eyes kept drifting.
It wasn’t as if it was his first time seeing you, especially when Jungwon was always around too, it was merely the fact that you kept your distance, always. Jake wasn’t blind, he appreciated beauty which you carried around effortlessly. The lack of general courtesy to acknowledge strangers? Not so much.
You looked like you wished to be anywhere but here (which was true), making him wonder why. He ran his hand through his hair, messing the soft waves before smoothing them back down, a habit he barely noticed anymore.
Jaemin, who had been unusually quiet for the last minute, suddenly leaned in closer, voice dropping low enough that only their small circle could hear over the music, “wanna make things interesting?”
Jay groaned, knowing his proposal would cause damage in the name of merriment, because that’s how Jaemin thrived. Sunghoon was rather interested in knowing what was gonna be the deal here, and so, he continued.
“See her? Jungwon’s friend?” The group turned and looked your way, Jay already opening his mouth to stop him, but of course, Jaemin was quicker, “make her fall in love with you in a month.”
“Wait—me?” Jake echoed, the word half-laugh, half-disbelief, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it usually did.
Jaemin leaned in closer. His grin was sharp, almost scary, “yeah, you, in one month. Make Jungwon’s friend fall for you, hard. Like, actually in love with you to the point it gets public.”
Jay’s head snapped up so fast the corn on his plate nearly toppled, “Jaemin, no. She’s not—fuck, she’s not gonna be interested, at all. I literally know her, she keeps everyone at arm’s length, especially guys like Jake, no offence.”
Sunghoon’s smirk didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed, interested now in a way that made Jake’s stomach twist, “stakes?”
Jaemin didn’t hesitate, “If Jake wins—makes her say it out loud, in front of us—he gets the M4. Keys, papers, the whole matte-black beast. Mine for a month, and if he wants to keep it after that, it’s his. No take-backs.”
The circle went quiet for half a second before Heeseung let out a low whistle, cup frozen halfway to his mouth, “your car? The one you won’t even let me sit in without a fucking background check?”
“Yep.”
Jay dragged a hand down his face, shoulders tight, “Jake, this is messed up. You’ll hurt her, and then you’ll feel like shit, and she’ll hate you, and the whole group’s gonna be stuck in the middle because Jungwon’s her best friend. This isn’t a game, It’s gonna blow up in both your faces.”
Jake’s fingers found the back of his neck, then slid up into his hair without thinking. He messed them further, his eyes drifting across the quad again to where you were still walking away with Jungwon and Karina, posture straight, silver ring catching the light as you twisted it mindlessly.
He should say no. He should clap Jaemin on the shoulder, laugh it off, steer the conversation back to the upcoming football match or the thermodynamics midterm that was currently trying to murder all of them.
But something stubborn flickered in his chest. The same part that hated the idea of failing at the one thing he was supposedly best at, making people feel seen. You hadn’t even looked at him twice.
One month, one girl who looked like she probably just needed someone nice to talk to and share her worries—right?
Jake bit his lower lip for half a second, the way he did when he was locking in on a tricky play. Then the grin came back as bright and effortless, the one that always worked.
“Deal,” he said, not confident at all, though great at hiding it.
The group exploded, clearly not okay with the idea itself. Jay groaned louder, already shaking his head, “you’re both idiots. This is gonna end badly.”
Sunghoon just laughed under his breath, leaning back against the pillar, “I’ll take that bet too. Odds on Jake cracking first?”
Heeseung was already pulling out his phone, demanding proof in the form of media. Jaemin slapped Jake’s shoulder hard enough to make his red solo cup slosh over the rim.
“Day one starts tomorrow, Jakey. Better bring everything you’ve got.”
Jake laughed again, but when it settled, it left something quieter behind. Something that tasted a little (a lot) like doubt.
Later that night, when the place had emptied and the only sound left was the low hum of crickets, Jake lay on his back in his room. The mellow playlist he always played when the noise finally stopped drifted from his phone. His small notebook—the one no one ever saw—was open on his chest, a half-finished football formation doodled in the margin. He wrote one line.
She doesn’t like loud spaces, or crowds.
He closed the notebook, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, and exhaled into the dark.
“What the fuck am I doing?” He whispered.
Across campus, you were already in your room, bullet journal open on your desk, silver ring still on your finger. You didn’t know about the bet yet. All you knew was that Jake Sim had never looked your way before last night, and something about the way his eyes had followed you across the grass fell off.
You pressed your lips together, biting the inside of your cheek once, then wrote in the tiniest handwriting in the margin of tomorrow’s schedule.
Keep your distance from Jake Sim.
CHAPTER TWO: Bet inverse?
Jake’s alarm went off at 6:47 in the morning like it always did, but this morning he didn’t bother hitting snooze. He stayed there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, the bet from last night practically sitting on his chest. Jaemin’s evil smile and Jay’s warning kept on repeating in his mind.
He should have let it go, instead, he rolled out of the bed, pulled on his black hoodie and shorts, laced up his running shoes after freshening up. He knew where Jungwon lived, the dorms near the science buildings where there was always an influx of food carts nearby.
The distance wasn’t long per se, but his breathlessness certainly made it seem like it was, and the little hope he had to spot you in the cold of this morning.
The sky was soft gray before the sun decided to show up, and Jake’s lungs were burning in a way that made him feel good, hair sticking to his forehead by the time he slowed to jog near the coffee cart.
To his absolute luck, he spotted you right there as you thought what you should order from the coffee cart, looking too proper in your jeans that fit you just right as if it wasn’t so early in the morning, and he took a moment to observe you, breathing hard, wiping his face on the sleeve of his hoodie. He stepped up beside you, the scent of your perfume overtaking his senses.
His friends called him weird for this rather peculiar habit of his where he leaned in too much to get a sniff of, well, practically everything. So, it was hard fir him to control himself at the moment.
“Y/N,” he said, voice low so it wouldn’t startle you, “uh—hey.”
You turned, eyes meeting him before you granted him the smallest nod of acknowledgement, “Jake.”
The barista waited and Jake kept his hands in his hoodie pocket so he wouldn’t fidget, “one Americano for me, and whatever she’s having—I’ll cover it.”
You frowned at this because Jake truly had no reason to be talking to you here, much less paying for your drink, “you really don’t have to.”
“I know.” He offered a half-smile, the real one, “but I want to. We’ve been around each other enough—Jungwon’s parties, that study hall last semester. Felt kinda stupid that we’ve never actually talked.”
You studied him a second longer, like you were trying to decide if this was a line or just politeness. Then you told the barista your usual—vanilla latte, extra shot, and stepped aside while the machine hissed to life.
The silence between you wasn’t awkward exactly, Jake could feel the bet sitting heavy in his throat, but right now it was better—the way your perfume kept drifting over every time the breeze picked up. He wanted to lean in again, but he didn’t.
When both cups came out he handed yours over carefully, no fingers touching, just the warm cardboard passing from his palm to yours.
“Uh—thanks,” you said simply before you started walking.
He fell in beside you, matching your stride without crowding your personal space. The path was empty enough to give you both privacy which you didn’t need as his heartbeat felt a little too loud in his ears, and for the first time, he found himself being nervous to talk to someone.
After half a minute you spoke again, “so how do you always act all nice for people you barely know?”
His lips curved, “I don’t do that, not really. Usually I’m the one everyone expects to keep things light,” he mumbled, “I saw you last night, you looked—bothered? Made me wonder what it’d be like to actually talk to you instead of just watching.”
You took a sip, wondering how he so casually admitted to staring at you, “and what’s the verdict so far?”
He glanced sideways, the early light was starting to hit the side of your face, “still figuring it out. But the coffee seems like a decent start.”
You didn’t smile, not really. But something in your expression eased, and it made him feel a little accomplished, as if he’d won something small and fragile that could disappear any moment.
The path split ahead, biotech building looming on the left. You slowed, turning to face him fully. For a second the guarded look cracked open, and he caught something underneath it—irritation, maybe, or the faintest flicker of curiosity you didn’t want to admit to.
“I’ve got lab,” you said.
Jake nodded, the easy warmth still on his face even though his stomach twisted with how badly he wanted to ask one more question, “yeah, of course. See you around, Y/N.”
You gave one small nod then turned and walked toward the doors. He stood there until you disappeared inside, the taste of black coffee bitter on his tongue and the ghost of your perfume still clinging to the air around him. He breathed it in once, almost guilty, then let it go.
Back in his dorm he dropped onto the bed still in his hoodie, the room quiet. The small notebook he never let anyone see was already open on his lap. He stared at the blank page for a long moment, before writing: Vanilla latte with an extra shot, morning lectures in lab 291.
He closed the notebook, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, and stayed like that until the pressure behind them eased.
Meanwhile, you were beyond confused narrating it to Karina later, who gave you a dry chuckle, “yeah, don’t entertain him,” she said, and you scoffed—as if you’d ever do that.
But three days had passed since the party, and it was as if Jake had made it his personal mission to accidentally run into you whenever you least expected him to. Somehow, he had managed to get your schedule, which is why he was standing outside your lecture on the very next day.
Jake was a poor actor and highly unaware of the same, so his exclaimed Oh, Y/N, felt rather comical to you, granted he had two coffees in his veiny hands. You chose to ignored him, face pulling into a natural smile for a second, and he stood there shocked, only to realize you were waving at Jungwon who stood behind him.
Jake stood there for a few minutes, not moving even when you had left while Heeseung and Sunghoon stood right there, judging him. Your smile—as brief as it was, had been pretty, too fucking pretty, and doubt crept up Jake. He wondered if he’ll ever be able to coax that smile out of you himself.
The thought followed him through the rest of the day, sharp enough to make him reroute his afternoon lecture so he happened to be near the vending machines right as you stepped out of lab. He was there again the morning after that, leaning against the wall outside the biotech building with a single vanilla latte in hand, the extra shot already marked on the side in the barista’s neat handwriting. Each time he appeared, he kept his voice low, never demanding more, though it felt like a blow to his ego how you actively tried to avoid him. He genuinely wished to talk to you (for the bet, of course).
By the third afternoon the rain had started, insistent against the library windows. You had slipped into the far back study nook, the one buried behind the tallest reference shelves, you needed it—needed to bury yourself in studies and forget how Jake’s persistence was beginning to thread through your days like a melody you couldn’t quite shake.
You pulled out your bullet journal and started annotating protocols for the upcoming lab, pen moving with sharp precision, and you felt a presence behind you. You were most ready to snap at Jake, but it was Jaemin who found you instead.
He dropped into the chair across from you, smirking, like he had been waiting for this exact moment, “Jake’s been hanging around you a lot lately,” he said, voice light but knowing, “you might fall for him.”
You set your pen down slowly, “what makes you think I’ll fall for him?”
Jaemin’s smirk deepened, “well, chances are less but certainly never zero.”
You frowned, irritation rising, “what do you want, Jaemin?”
“I was getting to it.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting, “I wanna propose another bet since I’m bored and I clearly care for you.”
“Another bet?” You asked, brain finally working. Jake was following you around for a fucking bet, you should’ve known.
Jaemin watched your face change and his grin widened, “I give you thirty days to make him fall for you. And I mean truly head-over-heels kind of fall, then reject him, then you win, since you clearly don’t care about him.”
You stared at him, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, “I don’t want to be involved playing with feelings.”
“If he didn’t care for your feelings, why are you holding back?”
“Cause I’m not like him?”
“Fair, but here’s the deal—” Jaemin leaned in closer, voice dropping.
“Isn’t he your friend?”
“Yeah.”
“So?”
“It’s fun.”
“You’re insane.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“What is he getting out of this?”
“My car.”
Another scoff left your mouth at this, and Jaemin said he’d give you anything you wanted if you’d win. Nothing was in your mind honestly, but you were too pissed to let it go.
“And what will I get?”
“A chance to absolutely shatter Jake’s ego, and that trip to Paris with your friends, you’ve been eyeing it for a while now.”
“How the fuck did you—”
“I have my ways,” he shrugged, but his eyes, oh his eyes were glimmering with joy. He almost seemed like a Cheshire cat.
So you agreed. Jaemin only smiled, walking away from you now, leaving you rather disturbed.
As if the universe itself had been listening, Jake walked past the end of the aisle at that exact moment, eyes scanning the shelves until they landed on you. You met his gaze head-on and gave him the smallest smile you owned, and he paused mid-step, lips parting like he might say something, then you looked away, not bothering with him anymore than you had today.
The game had just begun. And this time, you were the one holding the cards.
CHAPTER THREE: Ignorance isn’t bliss
You ignored Jake.
It was rather easy to do so despite all the plans you had brainstormed to make him fall in love with you hopelessly. The day had been too hectic, and to say you were exhausted would be an understatement—even the slightest voice would absolutely make you scream out in frustration given the state of your mind. Which is why you found yourself sitting in the bleachers, all silent and calm.
Truth be told, you didn’t wish to get into this mess by any means, however, Jake wasn’t one to give up. You scoffed at how he’d trade any stranger’s feelings for a stupid car, and even then he’d be celebrated for winning a bet.
Jake didn’t know why but the past few days had been weird for him. He couldn’t understand why you smiled at him in the library only to abruptly disappear from the face of the earth next—and yes, it bothered him because the time was ticking by. Maybe Jake was a lucky guy, cause right then, he found you at the bleachers, sitting up there as if trying to hide from the world.
It was clear you didn’t wish to be disturbed, by Jake of all people, but his feet carried him before his mind could keep up, and that’s how he found himself sitting three seats away from you, prepping to show his absolute best flirt game, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “are you okay?”
“Why are you everywhere?” You exasperated, finally turning to look at him despite knowing he’d found you before.
For once he didn’t jump in with some easy line. He just sat there a second, elbows on his knees, watching you like he was actually trying to read the mood instead of skating past it.
“I saw you from the path,” he said, “you were up here alone, I figured I’d check if you were okay. That’s it.”
You let out a sharp breath, the exhaustion from your day mixing with the frustration that had been building since Jaemin dropped his little bomb about the bet. This is all fake, you reminded yourself. He’s only here because he wants that stupid car, that bet.
“Checking in, right. You’ve been turning up at the coffee cart, outside my lectures, the vending machines, now here. I’m not in the mood for whatever this is.”
He shifted one seat closer, jacket creaking a little, but still left space between you, “I’m not trying to push. I know it probably comes off like I’m in your face every day. It’s just—you always seem like you’re carrying a lot and you’re doing it alone. I guess I wanted to see if you were actually alright or if you were just pushing through.”
You turned to face him, eyes narrowing, “pushing through is what students do, Jake. I don’t need an audience for it.”
“Yeah, I see that,” he said, gulping as he stared at your side profile, “you’re pretty resilient about it. Most people would’ve already vented to someone by now—and maybe you did to your friends but yeah.”
“Resilient?” You let out a short laugh, “or just tired of everyone expecting me to perform. Unlike the quintessential golden boy who’s always got a smile ready.”
Jake winced, looked out at the empty field for a second, then back at you, “golden boy—ouch, fair though. That’s the label I got stuck with.”
You crossed your arms tighter, “so, why are you up here trying to talk to me instead of being there with your friends? It doesn’t add up.”
He rubbed his palm over his knee, “uh—with them it’s nonstop noise, like I love my friends but it’s all just football practice, jokes, keeping the energy up no matter what. With you—it doesn’t feel like I have to be that version of me.”
You scoffed, how cliché, “right. So now the guy who’s always the center of everything suddenly wants to sit in silence on the bleachers?”
Jake leaned forward a fraction, elbows on his knees, “there’s this whole dichotomy between what everyone sees and what’s actually going on inside. Talking to you, it’s not like that.”
“Not like that,” you repeated, the words coming out flat, “how convenient, Jake.”
He swallowed again, eyes flicking to your face as you said his name, “It’s not convenient, It’s just true. You don’t expect me to keep the vibe going, y’know? You just say what you think.”
You felt your chest tighten. He sounded so damn eloquent even when he was lying, “you’re really good at this, you know? Making it sound like you actually get it.”
“I’m not trying to be good at anything,” Jake said, voice dropping, “I just keep showing up because every time I do, I see more of the real you. Not the version you show everyone else.”
You let out a breath, he could definitely get a few points for acting, “okay, so listen then—my lab did suck today. Equipment kept failing, I’m behind on three lectures, and I came up here to be alone, that’s it. Nothing exciting.”
“Hey—i didn’t ask for exciting,” he said, staring at the way your fingers still twisted the ring, “my day was shit too—coach rode us hard about tomorrow’s game and I barely studied for my midterm. Sometimes I just want to sit somewhere and not pretend everything’s perfect.”
You stared at him, “so you picked me to sit with? Out of everyone on campus?”
“Yeah,” Jake said simply, meeting your eyes, “because you don’t expect anything from me. You call me on my shit. It’s nice, I guess.”
“Whatever, I’m fine keeping my distance and acting like you care won’t change that, okay?”
“I do care,” Jake let out too quickly, surprised at his own words, “that’s the part you don’t believe, but it’s true.”
The conversation was getting too real, too fast, and the knowledge of the bet made every word feel like a trap, “It’s exhausting trying to figure out if any of this is real or if you’re just—”
Mid-sentence, just as your voice rose, Jake closed the gap by embracing you into a hug. His arms wrapping around you without hesitation, one hand settling at your back, the other across your shoulders. The dark jacket was soft against your cheek, still warm from the afternoon sun, carrying that clean, steady scent that was just him.
You practically froze as his heartbeat thudded against your ear—fast, as if the move had surprised him too. It was warm, really warm, making everything feel a little less heavy for a second. Even though you knew this was all part of the cursed bet, the gesture was still something, making your eyes sting. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had held you like they actually meant it.
Jake’s own breath caught as he held you. His pulse wouldn’t slow down, guilt and something else he couldn’t pinpoint made his heart seem heavier. For those few seconds he just held on, chin resting lightly against the top of your head, breathing you in like he could somehow make the whole stupid situation disappear.
It was awkward, because you in fact did not reciprocate the hug that well, proceeding to pull back with your cheeks burning. Jake’s hands stayed on your shoulders for half a second longer than they should have before he let go, looking just as thrown as you felt. He closed his eyes, biting on his bottom lip too hard, panicking cause for once, he didn’t know how to handle the situation.
The anxiety only rose as you grabbed your bag, planning on getting up, however, his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, “I’ve got a game tomorrow—It would mean a lot if you came, no pressure. You don’t have to stay the whole time or cheer or anything. Just come—if you want to for a break.”
You didn’t answer right away, watching him mutter it out all breathless, hair messy and cheeks seemingly red now. You barely caught on to his words, still processing the warmth, but a part of you did wish to reject him on the spot and walk away before the things got more complicated.
Another part wondered what would happen if you actually showed up, since you did have your own bet to take care of.
CHAPTER FOUR: Like a rom-com actor
The next afternoon the stadium was already packed and buzzing when Jake stepped onto the field for warm-ups. He was supposed to be loosening up his legs, listening to the coach bark instructions, getting his head in the game. Instead his eyes kept flicking up to the stands every few seconds. The wind was blowing hard across the pitch, constantly shoving his black hair into his eyes no matter how many times he tried to push it back.
Jay jogged over and bumped his shoulder, “dude, earth to Jake? You’ve been staring up there like you’re waiting for the love of your life to appear. You good?”
Sunghoon, who was retying his cleats a few feet away, let out a low laugh, “he’s been doing it nonstop. Head snapping up every ten seconds. What’s got you so distracted today? You never get like this before a home game.”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a casual laugh even though his stomach was doing flips, “I’m fine, just looking for someone.”
Jay raised an eyebrow, exchanging a quick glance with Sunghoon, “someone? As in a specific someone who’s basically a bet? Damn, this must be serious if it’s got you this antsy within a week.”
Jake didn’t get the chance to answer, because he finally spotted you.
You were sitting a few rows up with Jungwon and Karina, the wind tugging at your hair the same way it was messing with his. The second your eyes met his across the field, Jake’s breath caught hard in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs because—you actually came? For a second he forgot how to move, just standing there staring like an idiot while the wind kept pushing his hair everywhere.
You gave him a small smile and lifted your hand, waving at him softly.
Jake’s whole face lit up before he could stop it. Without thinking, he waved back enthusiastically, arm swinging high and wide as if he was trying to reach you from the middle of the pitch. His hair flew wildly in the wind as he did it, the motion so eager and over-the-top that Jay choked on his water and Sunghoon doubled over laughing so hard he had to grab onto Jay’s arm to stay upright.
“What the fuck—” Sunghoon wheezed, “you just waved like a little kid who spotted his mom after school. I’ve never seen you do that in my life.”
Jay was cracking up too, wiping water off his chin, “yeah he’s absolutely finished. Down horrendously bad and it’s not even been a few days.”
“Guess we know who’s gonna lose the bet,” added Hoon in a singsong voice.
“He never stood a chance honestly.”
Meanwhile, around you, a bunch of girls in the stands noticed Jake’s dramatic wave and immediately started squealing, waving back excitedly and calling out his name like he’d waved at all of them. A few even stood up, cheering for him loudly.
You raised an eyebrow, watching the chaos unfold with a mix of amusement and slight disbelief, “damn,” you muttered, glancing at the crowd, “he sure is famous.”
“And a player,” added Jungwon.
“And an asshole,” quipped Karina, arms crossed over her chest.
You had told them, of course you did, and watching them get so enraged on behalf of you did make you feel tons better, which shouldn’t have been the case since they did threaten to chop Jake’s dick off, but hey, the way Karina said it was quite comical.
Down on the field Jay spotted Jungwon in the stands and lifted his hand in a casual wave with a clueless grin on his face like nothing in the world was wrong. Jungwon just stared back with his jaw tight, not waving back as he was convinced Jay already knew about the bet and was somehow backing Jake up, and the thought made his expression go hard.
You nudged Jungwon’s side with your elbow, keeping your voice low, “c’mon, be normal, wave back or he’s gonna think something’s weird.”
Jungwon let out a reluctant huff, but he finally lifted his hand and gave a small, stiff wave. Jay’s grin widened like nothing had happened at all, and he turned back to the field, completely oblivious.
Karina groaned beside you, pulling her knees up to her chest against the wind, “I still can’t believe we’re freezing our asses off here when we could be on your couch watching Harry Potter for the nth time.”
You let out a small laugh despite everything, the sound almost swallowed by the growing roar of the crowd as the teams lined up, “you said you’d come for moral support.”
“Yeah, well, moral support is currently questioning every life choice that led me here,” she muttered, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at her lips anyway, “at least the view isn’t completely terrible.”
The whistle blew and the game kicked off in a whirlwind of motion. You tried to follow the ball, the quick passes, the way the players cut across the pitch, but your eyes kept drifting back to Jake. He moved with this radiant energy that pulled focus without even trying, hair whipping in the wind, legs eating up the grass, every sprint full of that effortless, captivating drive. The crowd’s cheers rose and fell in effervescent waves, but you didn’t feel any better, still suffering with that familiar push-pull of suspicion and something warmer you really didn’t wish to name.
The first half was all back-and-forth tension, both teams trading chances without anyone breaking through. Jungwon kept up a quiet running commentary under his breath, trying to keep things light, while Karina complained about the cold seeping through her jacket and how much better butterbeer would taste than the lukewarm soda they were selling. You nodded along, but your attention stayed glued to Jake, much to your friends’ dismay. Every time he glanced toward the stands, even mid-run, your chest did this annoying little flip, which pissed you off.
Then the second half heated up. The score stayed locked until the final minutes, the air thick with anticipation. Jake got the ball near the edge of the box, dodged one defender, then another as he cut inside. The crowd held its breath as he struck it clean, a powerful curving shot that sailed straight into the top corner, past the keeper’s desperate reach.
The stadium lit up into celebration but Jake didn’t celebrate with the team right away. He turned straight toward the stands, eyes scanning until they found you. Then he pointed, right at you, his whole face breaking into this bright, almost whimsical smile as he jogged backward, arm still extended like he was making sure the entire world knew exactly who that goal was for. His jersey had ridden up in the sprint, revealing the sharp, glistening lines of his abs under the stadium lights, every defined ridge catching the late afternoon sun for a fleeting second before the fabric fell back down.
Your heart raced, oh that traitorous little thing, thudding hard enough that you could feel it in your throat. Heat rushed to your cheeks even as the knowledge of the bet sat heavy in your stomach, whispering that none of this was real. Still, for that split second, with the roar of the crowd and his hair messy in the wind and that radiant look aimed straight at you, it felt too much. Too real perhaps? Too dangerous regardless. The enigmatic pull of him was getting harder to ignore, and you hated how easily your body responded anyway.
Karina snorted beside you, rolling her eyes so hard it was almost theatrical, “oh my god, could he be any more performative? Pointing like he’s the hero in some cheesy romance movie, puh-lease.”
Jungwon chuckled quietly, but his eyes flicked to you with that same protective glint from earlier. You didn’t say anything, just stared down at the field as Jake got swarmed by his teammates, the final whistle blowing and the win sinking in. The crowd was still cheering wildly, but all you could feel was the lingering echo of that pointed finger and the confusing satiation it left within your chest.
Jungwon turned to you, voice low so only you could hear, “so, you’re actually going through with the plan?”
You let out a long sigh, shoulders dropping as you pushed yourself up from the bleacher. The metal was cold under your palms, “yeah, I kinda have to now. It’s the only way to beat him at his own game.”
Karina stood too, brushing off her jeans with a dramatic huff, “let’s get out of here before I turn into an icicle, you better make him drop down on his knees, babe.”
You nodded, hugging them both, but instead of heading toward the exit, your feet carried you toward the locker room area. You hated this part already, leaning against the brick wall, arms wrapped around yourself against the biting wind, you waited, every second dragging like you were standing there on purpose just to prove a point to yourself.
The door eventually did swing open and you watched Jake stepping out, hair still damp from the shower and curling softly at the ends, a fresh black hoodie hanging loose over his frame. He was laughing at something one of the guys said behind him when his eyes landed on you, causing him to stop mid-step.
For a second he just stared, surprise flickering across his face before it melted into this softer, brighter, almost disbelieving expression. His lips parted, and then he broke into the biggest, most genuine smile you had seen on him yet. It was radiant, boyish in how uncontained it was, his eyes lighting up like you were the best part of his entire day, and it made your throat go dry.
“Hey—you’re still here,” he said, voice warm and a little breathless as he walked straight over to you.
You pushed off the wall, trying to keep your expression casual even as your heart picked up speed, “you played really well out there. That last goal was incredible, it was the first time I experienced the whole stadium going crazy,” you said, completely ignoring the part where he dedicated that goal to you.
Jake’s smile grew even wider, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He ran a hand through his damp hair, still looking at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there, “you really stayed for the whole thing. God, that means a lot. I kept looking up into the stands and there you were. I—it motivated me, I can’t even explain it.”
He looked so happy, so openly thrilled, his eyes bright and captivating under the fading stadium lights. The way he was looking at you, like your presence genuinely made his day, made something dangerous flutter in your chest despite the reality of it all. You stepped a little closer, heart hammering, and did what you had to do.
You rose onto your toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, letting it linger for a second, “Uhm—I’ll see you around,” you murmured against his skin, starting to pull back.
But Jake’s hand gently caught your wrist, stopping you. His touch was light, almost careful, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he held on too tight, since this did seem like a dream to him. Behind him, Heeseung had paused in the doorway, watching the whole exchange with an amused little smirk he wasn’t even trying to hide.
“Wait,” Jake said softly, still processing the kiss, his thumb brushing once over your skin, “you’re leaving already?”
You swallowed, “yeah. I have an assignment I need to finish tonight.”
He nodded, but didn’t let go right away, “right, of course.” Then, a little shyly, he added, “there’s a party at the house tonight—but if that doesn’t work, we’re having a smaller one at the dorm in a few days. Just the guys and whoever shows up. You should come, I promise I’ll make it worthwhile for you.”
You hesitated, the warmth of his fingers and the hope in his eyes making it harder than it should have been, “I’m not really a party person, Jake.”
“I know,” he said quickly, voice gentle, “that’s why I’m telling you it’ll be chill. No pressure at all, just come hang out for a bit. I’ll even make sure there’s something better than cheap beer. Please?”
The way he looked at you, so earnest and a little nervous, made you feel guilty just a smidge. You could feel Heeseung’s amused gaze on the both of you, but you kept your focus on Jake.
“I’ll think about it,” you said finally, offering a small smile.
Jake’s eyes lit up like you’d already said yes. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
You gave him one last nod before gently pulling your wrist back and turning to leave, but Jake’s hand caught your wrist again, gentle in his action, like he couldn’t let the moment slip away just yet. He gave a light tug, drawing you back toward him until your back pressed against his chest. For a heartbeat you felt the solid warmth of him behind you, the faint dampness of his hoodie, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then he leaned down, one arm slipping loosely around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.
His lips were plump and soft, warm from the shower, staying there for a second longer than necessary. The touch was rather unhurried, sending a quiet shiver through you that had absolutely nothing to do with the wind.
“Jake—”
When he pulled back, he bit his lower lip, eyes bright and a little shy as they met yours, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, voice hopeful, like the words were a promise he was already holding onto.
You managed a small nod, heart still stumbling over itself, and finally stepped away. The spot on your cheek stayed warm long after you turned the corner, and you wondered how this game was gonna end.
CHAPTER FIVE: Soaked and blue balled.
She gets cold so fast, shoulders hunch up the second wind hits.
She keeps twisting the rings on her index and ring finger.
She has a faint dimple on her right cheek.
She fits perfectly in my ar—
Now, Jake had not the faintest clue where he was going with this, yet he kept on writing under the pretence of keeping all the minute observations in a precise manner for his advantage. He stared at the page for another moment, then shut the notebook and tossed it onto his desk.
The ever so unforeseeable rain had started hammering against his window, and he watched one single raindrop cascading down the surface before he sat right up, grabbing an umbrella to head out without any destination in his mind. Well, he did have to bring Jay back from Jungwon’s dorm (who was facing this taxing challenge of acting normal around his hyung). It didn’t go beyond that really.
He wasn’t used to this silence and peace, he never really went out in the rain, calling it the perfect time to just play games with his friends. However, it was truly hard to pinpoint what made him rush out like this, only coming back to reality once he reached the lecture hall area. He was about to keep walking when he saw you pushing through the doors with Haechan beside you. Jake knew him, he was Jeno’s friend and also one of the dude who fucked around a lot.
Jake wasn’t any better by any means, but he hadn’t even thought of such a thing in the past eleven days. He simply stopped, watching how your umbrella showed no signs of cooperating in this windy weather, and your shoulders were starting to hunch in the same way Jake had noticed during his half time game yesterday.
He jogged to you, dismissing any other thought, especially the one that sounded a lot like Jay’s voice laughing at him for being too involved, “hey—wait up!”
You turned around, rain evident on your lashes already, and in that fleeting second, your mind was quick to admit his beauty under the dimness of the evening.
He lifted his umbrella higher, covering you completely as you lowered yours, the wide canopy shutting out the worst of the storm and pulling the two of you into a small, private bubble.
“Jay’s over at your dorm with Jungwon right now,” he said, a little out of breath, water dripping from the ends of his hair. “He needed some notes or something. I was heading there anyway to pick him up. Come on, my umbrella’s bigger.”
You glanced at your own umbrella, which was flapping uselessly, “I have one.”
“Yeah, but it’s not doing you much good,” Jake replied, stepping closer so the shelter stayed perfectly over you. His shoulder brushed yours as you started walking, “seriously—you’ll be soaked before you even get halfway. Let me walk you.”
Haechan gave you a quick, amused look and muttered something about seeing you in lab tomorrow before disappearing down another path with a wave, making you roll your eyes as he made missy faces, which Jake noticed.
The two of you fell into step under the umbrella. Jake kept it tilted toward you even when it meant his own left side kept getting wet. The closeness was apparent, his arm warm against yours, the faint clean scent of his shampoo mixing with the wet earth and rain. Every time you stepped around a puddle, his sleeve brushed your wrist, sending a small spark up your arm.
For a minute the only sound was the rain. Then Jake spoke, voice low and a little playful, “you know, I was halfway convinced you’d avoid me today after yesterday.”
You let out a small breath of laughter, “I thought about it, then I remembered I don’t own a boat and the campus flooded.”
He grinned, glancing down at you. The way the rain made your lashes look darker, the little droplets clinging to your skin, made his stomach flip, “lucky for me then. I would’ve been stuck walking alone, getting soaked, feeling so sorry for myself.”
“You’re still getting soaked,” you pointed out, noticing how his left shoulder was dark with water. Without thinking you shifted a little closer under the umbrella, your arm pressing more firmly against his.
Jake bit down his smile, “worth it. Besides, you’re warm and It’s nice.” His voice dropped a fraction, “are you always freezing or is it just me that brings the chill?”
You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved despite yourself, “It’s the rain, genius. Though you do have a habit of making normal things seem complicated.”
“Complicated in a good way, I hope,” he said, the words light but his eyes searching yours for a second longer than necessary. His free hand brushed yours again as you both avoided another puddle, and this time his fingers lingered for half a second before he managed to pull himself back.
The rain kept falling, steady and heavy, but under the umbrella everything felt smaller, rather warmer, you noticed how steady his breathing was, how the warmth of him seemed to chase away the chill seeping into your bones. He bit the inside of his cheek because in that moment, he wasn’t really acting, the wanton ease you provided him with was too real.
“You’re weird,” you muttered, clearly not meaning any bit of it, and he knew the implication behind it, or maybe it was his maladaptive daydreaming.
The dorm building appeared through the silver curtain of rain. Jake slowed deliberately, drawing the last few steps out as if the walk could stretch forever. When you reached the small covered overhang by the entrance, he lowered the umbrella but didn’t step away. Instead he moved in closer, guiding you gently until your back met the cool brick wall. The overhang sheltered you both from the downpour, but the world narrowed to the narrow space between your bodies and the solid wall behind you.
He was close now, so close you could see the tiny freckles across his cheek, the way his damp hair curled softly at the temples yet again, the faint flush across the bridge of his nose from the cold. His gaze moved over your face with quiet hunger, taking in every detail—the way rain glistened on your skin, the soft flush on your cheeks, the faint dimple that appeared when your lips parted slightly. You looked so pretty like this, natural and glowing in the dim light, and the sight made his throat tighten.
You raised your eyebrow, heart hammering against your ribs, “Jake?”
He only smiled, slow and unsteady, biting down on his bottom lip as he leaned in closer, closer, until the space between you was almost gone. His eyes dropped to your mouth, dark and wanting, then lifted again to meet yours. In that suspended second neither of you were thinking about the bet, about the car, about the game you were both playing. There was only the rain, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the dizzying pull that made everything else disappear.
Right then the dorm door swung open with a loud metallic scrape.
Jay stepped out, nearly walking straight into the moment. He stopped short, eyes widening as he took in how close you and Jake were standing against the wall.
“Whoa, Y/N?” Jay said, a smirk already spreading across his face, “am I interrupting something?”
Your eyes widened in realization and you slipped sideways, ducking under Jake’s arm without a word. You pushed through the door and disappeared inside, cheeks burning, the echo of the almost-kiss still buzzing hot in your mind.
Jake stayed frozen, then groaned hard. He turned and leaned back against the same brick wall, eyes falling shut as the rain continued to fall around him, umbrella now lowered. His heart was still racing, loud and unsteady, the ghost of your warmth lingering against his chest.
He let out a slow breath, jaw tight. I’m going to kill Jay.
CHAPTER SIX: Jaemin the instigator.
Jake had only read a few books in his life, only one of which had a plot that truly stuck with him as someone who was never an avid enjoyer of reading literature. There was a line that kept replaying in his mind lately, more often than he cared to admit.
As soon as I saw you, I knew an adventure was going to happen.
Funny enough, it was from Winnie the pooh.
It isn’t a romantic line, not even remotely, but he manages to fit it into his narrative perfectly, especially during the quiet. Mind drifting back to when the rain had been dripping from the eaves and your back had been against the brick and he’d leaned in close enough to feel the warmth of your breath. The bet had started as a stupid game. Now it felt like the kind of quiet adventure he hadn’t seen coming.
Unfortunately, the distraction followed him to the practice field.
During a simple change-of-direction drill, his mind slipped again. The ball came low across the turf and Jake planted his left foot to cut inside, making his ankle roll with an ugly twist. It wasnt anything dramatic, just a sharp flare of pain that shot up his calf and dropped him to one knee, breath hissing between his teeth.
Jay reached him first, crouching down fast, “shit, Jake, what the hell? You good?”
Heeseung slowed beside them, still breathing hard, “dude, you’ve been completely zoned out all week, like—really zoned out. This bet is fucking with your head too much, just call it off, man. For real.”
Sunghoon hung back a step, arms crossed, watching quietly, “coach is gonna notice, y’know? It’s not worth it.”
Jake sat back on the grass, testing the ankle with a careful flex, the place already swelling under the sock. Minor, probably, but it hurt enough to make his eyes sting for a second,“It’s fine,” he muttered, forcing the usual half-smile, “just a tweak—I’m good.”
From the edge of the drill Jaemin let out a soft, pleased laugh, “or this is actually perfect timing. Wounded-puppy Jake? She’s gonna eat it up.” He clapped Jake on the back once, “I’ll handle it. You just stay looking all soft and grateful.”
Jay shot him a sharp look, “Jaemin, I swear to God—”
But Jaemin was already jogging off to find you.
You were stepping out of your last lecture when Jaemin fell into step beside you, which was kind of scary.
“Jake’s in the medical room,” Jaemin said casually, making your eyes go wide at the sudden voice, “twisted his ankle pretty bad at practice. Trainer’s got him taped up with ice, might even sit out the next game if it swells.”
A flicker of worry did pass through your head, but then you shrugged, “hm, kinda sounds minor.”
Jaemin’s smirk was small, “c’mon, this is perfect for the bet. He’s all vulnerable right now, best time for you to go and play nurse, make him fall a little harder. You’re already halfway there anyway.” He bumped your shoulder lightly.
You sighed, the worry sitting heavier than you wanted to admit. Pretty bad, he’d said, “fine—I’ll check on him.”
Jaemin grinned, satisfied, “atta girl.” He peeled off toward the dorms.
You told yourself you weren’t going to bring anything. But the cafeteria line was short, and the smell of warm rice and simple broth pulled you in anyway. You ended up with a container of congee, a cold can of the original red bull, and two slightly squished steamed buns. Your hands stayed steady, but your pulse? Yeah, it didn’t.
The medical room door was halfway open. You knocked once with your elbow and stepped inside.
Jake was on the padded table, left leg propped up, ice pack soggy at the edges. His practice jersey hung open, undershirt damp against his chest, dark curls still messy and sticking to his temples. He looked tired—shoulders a little slumped, the usual bright energy dialed way down. For a second you just stood there in the doorway, and Jake’s eyes lifted to meet yours.
He gulped at the sight of you, the way a few strands of hair had slipped loose after class, the small crease between your brows that you probably didn’t even realize was there. You looked pretty like this.
Jay and Heeseung were hovering nearby. The second they saw you with the bag, they exchanged a quick glance.
Jay cleared his throat, lips twitching, “well, look who showed up.”
Heeseung pushed off the wall with a low chuckle, “we were just leaving anyway. Coach wants us back on the field.” He gave Jake’s shoulder a gentle clap. “Don’t be an idiot, yeah?” The two of them slipped out, the door clicking shut behind them and leaving the room suddenly quieter.
Jake cleared his throat, bottom lip bitten as he observed you walking closer, “I—you didn’t have to come,” he mumbled, flustered all of a sudden.
“You’re really being shy at me visiting you? Aren’t you the flirt of the campus?” You chuckled, “but yeah, heard you fucked up your ankle pretty bad, figured you’d be hungry.”
His ears flushed red, “yeah, well—I wasn’t expecting anyone here, least of all you showing up here with food,” he shifted on the padded table, wincing a little, “thanks, genuinely. I was mentally preparing myself to order takeout today.”
You set the bag on the counter, pulling out the container and a spoon, handing them over. Your fingers brushed his, absorbing the warmth of his skin, and he took the food with a grateful smile.
He peeled the lid back and took the first bite. His eyes fluttered shut for half a second. “God, this is actually really good,” he murmured, “way better than anything I would’ve scavenged later.” He ate quietly after that, the spoon scraping softly against the plastic, but every few bites his gaze lifted to you.
You dragged the plastic stool closer and sat down beside the table, elbow resting on the edge near his good leg, watching the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the small crease between his brows when he shifted his ankle, the way his damp hair fell across his forehead. He looked softer like this, stripped of the usual energy—which you had grown accustomed to.
“Does it hurt too much?” You asked.
Jake shrugged one shoulder, “throbs like a bitch when I put any weight on it. Nurse said it’s just a swelling, I’ll survive.” He took another bite, then glanced at you again, heart warm at the sight of you going out of your way to be here—even though it stemmed from Jaem’s instigations. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. I know you had a full day.”
“It wasn’t that far out of the way,” you lied, because admitting you’d gone to the cafeteria on purpose felt too revealing, “besides, someone had to make sure you didn’t try to be a hero and walk on it.”
He let out a low chuckle, “guilty, I probably would’ve.” He set the container down for a moment, fingers brushing the edge of the table near your arm. The contact was light, accidental, but it stayed there a second too long, “you’re really something else, you know that?”
You felt the heat creep up your neck but didn’t pull away, instead, you leaned in a little closer, resting your chin on your folded arms on the edge of the table, “eat the rest before it gets cold, idiot. I’m not carrying you anywhere.”
Jake grinned, small and crooked, but his eyes stayed soft on your face. He kept eating, slower now, like he was dragging the moment out. Your eyelids grew heavy. The day pressed down on you all at once—the lectures, the walking, the quiet ache of pretending this was still just part of the game. You let your head rest fully on your arms, cheek against the cool edge of the table, close enough that your breath stirred the fabric of his shirt. Just for a minute, you told yourself.
You didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the warmth of the room, the steady sound of his breathing, the faint scent of ginger and him all mixed together, and your eyes slipped shut completely.
Jake went completely still.
He set the spoon down without a sound and lowered himself back onto the table until he was lying flat, turning his head so he could look at you properly. You were right there—head pillowed on your arms on the edge of the table, breathing slow and even, lashes dark against your skin, lips slightly parted. A strand of hair had fallen across your face. He reached out without thinking, fingertips barely grazing it before he caught himself and pulled back.
Would it make any sense for Jake to feel this unexpected emotion he still couldn’t quite pinpoint? Maybe his friends were right, he didn’t really need to follow through with whatever the bet was about. It really wasn’t worth hurting you, or himself—but then, did you even think of him as someone close to you? Perhaps as a friend at least?
He let out a slow, shaky breath, and resorted to watching you—the way your shoulder rose and fell, the way your fingers formed a cute fist, how you let your guard down enough for your body to trust itself to fall asleep right next to him. Perhaps it was something small, yet to him, it was grand.
So, he just lay there, inches away from you, letting the silence settle as his mind spun in circles he couldn’t stop.
CHAPTER SEVEN: Holy stalker
“So, you spent hours sleeping with him?”
“You’re literally wording it wrong Jungwon.”
“And you almost kissed right outside the dorm—”
“Can you guys stop?” You groaned, but Karina was far from done, she was just getting started actually.
“—you can’t fucking lie to us, like genuinely you were smiling when you came in yesterday and today. What’s next? Fucking him at a party?”
“Oh god—nothing is happening, what is wrong with you both?” You stand up from the couch, turning to stare at both your friends, who sat rather comfortably with their arms crossed.
“This is not nothing, I’m just asking you, what’s the end point? Where would you draw the line, hm? If it requires physicality for him to actually fall in love with you, would you do it?”
Well, Karina did have a point.
“We’re grown adults with active sex life so, why would that change anything?” You finish, almost defensive.
Karina’s eyebrows shot up so fast it was almost comical. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, that wicked grin spreading slow across her face, “oh my god, listen to you. Active sex life, babe, you haven’t had dick in months and now you’re out here acting like it’s no big deal if Jake Sim rails you for the sake of the bet? Be so fucking for real right now.”
Jungwon nearly spit out his coffee, “Rina—”
“No, no, let me speak,” Karina cut him off, waving a hand without breaking eye contact with you, “I’m not judging, I’m just saying—if he’s already got you smiling like an idiot and almost-kissing you against a wall in the rain, what’s stopping you from seeing how far it goes? You gonna let him fuck you on the kitchen counter just to watch his ego implode when you ghost him after? Because honestly? I’d pay to see that. But don’t lie to yourself and say it’s all strategy when you’re feeling that way for him.”
You felt your face burn hot, “It’s not like that. I’m not—god, I’m not planning on sleeping with him, okay? I’m still in control.”
Karina barked out a laugh, “look, I love you, but if you’re gonna play this game, at least own it, and you’re allowed to enjoy the ride before you drop him and collect our Paris trip. Just don’t catch feelings and cry to us when the car means more to him than you do.”
Jungwon rubbed the back of his neck, looking equal parts amused and concerned, “she’s got a point, even if she’s saying it like a psycho. Just be careful, I still don’t trust him around you, but you’re always welcome to cry to us.”
You threw a pillow at Karina’s head. It bounced off her shoulder and she just cackled harder, “you two are the worst. Go to class before I actually kick you out.”
They finally dragged themselves up—Jungwon pulling you into a quick, tight hug and muttering, “text me if it gets weird,” before heading out, Karina pausing in the doorway to shoot you one last teasing smirk, “If you do end up letting him hit, at least make him beg first. Love you, bitch.” The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the dorm suddenly, blissfully quiet.
You let out a long breath and flopped back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Your lab had been cancelled last minute—the TA had blown up the group chat at 8:47 with some excuse about electrophoresis set up not working—and now the whole morning stretched out empty in front of you.
Too much time to think about yesterday, or the day before that, or—
Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, thankfully breaking the train of your thoughts. You grabbed it lazily, expecting another spam message from the group chat. Instead it was an Instagram DM.
jake.sim:
hey
didn’t have your number so i figured i’d slide in here like a normal person instead of showing up at your door like a creep
Your lip twitched, just a smidge, because of course Jake would find your instagram and text out of nowhere.
you:
hi
and you still managed to sound like a creep anyway
The three dots popped up instantly, like he’d been waiting with his phone in his hand.
jake.sim:
fair actually
listen, random question
is your oven working? mine’s been dead for two days and i’m craving something sweet
You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. Of course he had friends with working ovens. Half the football house probably had better kitchens than you did. But he was asking you, specifically.
you:
yeah it works
why
jake.sim:
can i come bake a cake at your place?
i’ll bring everything
just wanna spend time with you, if that’s cool
Your stomach did a stupid little flip, and you groaned. What have you even come to?
you:
sure
door’s unlocked if you’re fast enough
Twenty minutes later there was a soft knock. You opened it to find Jake standing there in his black hoodie and grey sweats, hair still a little damp from a shower, maybe. Arms full of grocery bags, and he looked unfairly good, but when he shifted the bags higher on his arm you caught the tiniest wince in his leg. He hid it fast with that easy grin.
“Hey,” he breathed out, staring at just how comfortable you looked in shorts, “thanks for letting me invade, i come bearing burgers to show my gratitude.”
You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying to ignore the way his eyes dragged down your bare legs for half a second before snapping back up, “didn’t you say you wanted a cake?” You raised your eyebrow.
His grin turned a little sheepish, “cake’s the whole point, yes. Burgers are just—extra, i saw you eating this with Jungwon two days back so—”
“So you are a stalker—”
“Just observant,” he finished quickly, stepping inside as you moved out of the way. The door clicked shut behind him and he realized that your flatmates were not home, leaving the place to you and him, “not in a creepy way though.”
You just nodded, as if humouring him, eyes fixed on his hands—which were veiny as hell somehow—unpacking the stuff including flour, sugar, eggs, and well, every ingredient needed for a good cake, before giving you a burger (he got two extras, just in case).
Hopping on the edge of the counter, you unwrapped the burger as he took all the bowls out with you pointing around the cabinets. The room itself was silent but his eyes? Pretty shameless, you’d admit, because his focus was more on your ridden shorts than the flour.
Jake caught himself after a second, lips twitching like he knew exactly what he was doing, “you really gonna sit there and not help me?”
You took a bite of the burger, chewing slowly while holding his gaze, “you’re the one who begged to come over and use my oven. Eyes on the bowl, Jake.”
He laughed under his breath, and went back to the flour, but the glance he stole at your legs was anything but subtle, “easier said than done when you’re sitting right there looking like that,” he mumbled to himself as he started scooping ingredients, movements smooth despite the way he kept most of his weight on his left leg, “pass me the sugar?”
You did so without getting down. He reached past you anyway, arm brushing the side of your thigh, and didn’t pull back right away. When you finally slid off the counter to actually help, he didn’t give you much space, he handed you the whisk and stepped right behind you, chest brushing your back as he reached around to adjust your grip on the handle.
“Easy circles,” he murmured, voice dropping close to your ear, “you can be gentle with it, y’know?”
Be gentle with me—is what he wished to say, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit how much he enjoyed your grumpiness as well, and he was almost eager to find what more you had to offer.
His hand stayed over yours, so warm and steady, the other settled lightly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your tank top to brush bare skin. You could feel every small shift of his body against yours, the clean scent of his hoodie mixing with the butter and vanilla already in the air.
“You’re crowding me,” you said, dry but not moving away.
“Am I?” His thumb traced one slow line along your hip, “didn’t hear you telling me to back up.”
You elbowed him lightly, feeling lightheaded, because it was odd how he actually achieved to bring out your playful side in what? Fourteen days since his bet started. But it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, “focus on the cake, not my legs.”
He leaned in, “trying and failing pretty badly.” His thumb traced one slow circle on your hip, right where your tank top had ridden up, and your pulse jumped harder. The touch was light, but it felt deliberate, like he was testing how long you’d let him stay this close.
The banter stayed easy after that, but every word felt—crazy. He teased you about not knowing how to bake (you actually didn’t). You told him he was being annoyingly precise for a guy who claimed he just wanted to hang out. Finally the batter came together, perfectly thick, smooth, and chocolatey. You scraped it into the pan he’d already greased, and Jake slid it into the oven without a word. He set the timer, then turned to you, leaning against the counter with that crooked grin.
“Twenty-five minutes,” he said, eyes flicking over you again, “think we can behave ourselves till then?”
You raised an eyebrow, still catching your breath from how close he’d been, “you’re the one who can’t keep his hands to himself.”
Before he could answer, you flicked a leftover pinch of cocoa at his cheek—light, almost absentminded, but enough to leave a small dark smudge, shocking yourself at the easiness of it all.
Jake blinked, then his grin turned wild, “oh, it’s like that?”
He scooped a small handful of leftover flour from the counter and flicked it right back at you. It exploded in a soft white cloud across your tank top and collarbone. You gasped, eyes widening, and retaliated instantly—grabbing more flour and tossing it at his chest. Another puff burst between you, dusting the front of his black hoodie and catching in his hair.
“Seriously?” He laughed, already scooping more, “you started it, babe.”
You tried to duck behind the island, but the kitchen was tiny and he was faster, even with the slight limp. He caught you around the waist mid-step, pulling you back as he flung another handful. Flour went everywhere—exploding in soft bursts across your arms, your hair, the counter. You twisted in his hold, laughing despite yourself, and managed to smear a streak of cocoa down his cheek before he spun you again.
He couldn’t explain it, but having you laugh so freely in his presence—him making you laugh, yeah, it felt pretty damn good, and this smile was way better than you had given Jungwon in the earlier days of Jake chasing you—not that he was comparing (he was).
Your back hit the edge of the counter, both of you breathing harder now, covered in white powder and cocoa streaks. His hands stayed locked on your waist, thumbs pressing in, meanwhile yours ended up fisted in the front of his hoodie, pulling without thinking. Flour clung to his lashes, dusted his hair, streaked across his jaw. Your heart was hammering, butterflies rioting in your stomach, every inch of you hyper-aware of how close he was, how warm his body felt through the thin layers between you.
“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dropping straight to your mouth, “you’ve got flour on your lip.”
“So do you,” you whispered.
Jake didn’t wipe it away. He leaned in slow, giving you every chance to stop him. Your breath caught again, but you closed the last inch anyway.
His lips were just as soft as they appeared to be, but more hungry than you could fathom, or manage. It felt consuming, the way his mouth moved against yours with this urgency but also a silent battle of him holding back. A low sound rumbled in his chest when your lips parted, granting his tongue the excess it so desperately craved.
It slid in slow, tasting faintly of the bitter cocoa and flour, your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were sure he could feel it. Butterflies erupted low in your stomach, fluttering all around hard enough, it made your thighs press instinctively around his hips.
Bet. Bet. Bet.
The words flashed sharp in the back of your mind, but it dissolved rather quickly when Jake’s hand slid higher under your tank top, palm hot and rough against the bare skin of your back, fingers spreading wide as if he was trying to cover the expanse of your skin. His other hand stayed locked at your waist, thumb digging in just enough to anchor you against him while he kissed you deeper—slower, learning the shape of your mouth.
Everything else was forgotten for both him and you. All that existed was the warmth of his body pressed flush to yours, the faint scratch of his hoodie against your arms, the way his breath hitched when you tugged harder at the front of it.
“Yeah—fuck, like that,” he murmured against your lips, “kiss me back harder, c’mon, pretty.”
And so you did, tongue sliding against his in a messy push-pull that made his breath hitch, “you came over here to bake a cake,” you managed between kisses, sarcastic even as your hips rolled forward to meet his, “not to end up grinding on me in my kitchen.”
Jake laughed low against your mouth, the sound wrecked, and pressed his hips forward harder, letting you feel exactly how hard he was getting through his sweats, “pretty sure you started the flour fight, sweetheart. Don’t act like you weren’t waiting for this.” He kissed you deeper, tongue stroking yours in a filthy rhythm while he ground against you slow and deliberate, the friction pulling a sharp breath from you, “there, yeah. Feel that? That’s what you do to me every time you look at me like that, so fucking pretty.”
“Shut up,” you shot back, nipping his bottom lip hard enough to make him groan, then soothing it with your tongue. You rocked your hips right back into his, matching his pace, “you talk too much.”
He grinned against your mouth, that cocky little curve you could feel more than see, and rolled his hips again, slower this time, dragging right where it made your breath catch, “and you fucking love it.” His hand tightened on your waist, holding you steady as he kept that steady, grinding rhythm, “but keep doing that with your hips—yeah, baby, just like that—fuck.”
The oven timer went off, making you realize exactly how much time you’d devoted to this unholy activity.
You both froze, foreheads pressed together, chests heaving. His lips were swollen, eyes dark and glassy, breath hot against your mouth. Jake let out a rough, breathless chuckle, still holding you close, thumb stroking slow circles on your waist like he couldn’t stop touching you, “cake’s done.”
You dropped your head to his shoulder, a quiet laugh escaping you too, “this is insane.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, lips brushing your temple before he kissed the corner of your mouth once, lingering for a few seconds, then helped you slide down off the counter, hands steady on your hips the whole way, like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment slip away.
It felt too—intimate, not that the act of making out wasn’t on par, it clearly was, but this? It carried more emotion than just your everyday lust.
While the cake cooled on the rack, he prepared the frosting, letting everything take place before he reached into one of the bags and pulled out a small box of candles, trying to focus on regulating his breathing, and you started with your eyebrows lifted.
“Candles? For a random cake?”
He shrugged, cheeks going a little pink under the flour, “It’s for you, actually. Kinda a thank you? You sat with me after the practice when my leg was fucked, nobody else would’ve stuck around like that. Figured I owed you something sweet.”
You stared at him for a second, because this felt too genuine again, “Jake, that’s—”
“Crazy?” He laughed softly, lighting the candles anyway. They flickered golden in the morning light, “yeah, maybe. But you make me want to do crazy shit.”
You shook your head, the word “dork” slipping out quiet and fond before you could stop it. He just grinned, making you blow the candles, and yet again, you indulged in his theatrics before he managed to cut two big slices, sliding one over to you.
The cake was actually perfect, and it was clear that there wasn’t anything Jake Sim couldn’t do, maybe he couldn’t make you fall for him, but even you weren’t too sure, granted that you’d been smiling, and it wasn’t fake by any means. You took a bite and hummed in surprise, Jake watched you the whole time with a satisfied look on his face.
Then he scooped a bit of frosting onto his finger and held it out, eyes locked on yours, “here—try it this way.”
You leaned in and took it off his finger with your lips, slow. His breath hitched hard, and when you pulled back, he brought the same finger to his own mouth and licked the rest off, shameless and unhurried, tongue dragging over the pad like he was tasting you instead of frosting.
“Fuck,” he murmured, stepping close again, hands finding your waist like they belonged there, “you’re gonna kill me, YN.”
If domesticity with you felt like this, then Jake swears he can give up his parties just to spend an extra minute holding you close to his heart—which never lied. Jake was never dumb, not even now. He had always been quick to acknowledge his feelings, which screamed at him that nothing else mattered in this moment, just him and you. When you started to look in his eyes again, you gulped.
Because all that existed was him looking at you like this was exactly where he wanted to be.
CHAPTER EIGHT: Redbull gives you wings
“The fuck?”
Jay frowned, staring at his best friend.
The sight was diabolical to say the least, the smile on Jake’s face despite it all—idiotic. There was no way to describe it, at least for Jay, who couldn’t fathom what absurd war Jake had gotten into to return back home with flour on his hair and body, and wait was that a Tupperware full of chocolate cake in his hands?
Jake didn’t bother with explanations, simply dropping the box on Jay’s lap, courtesy of you packing some up saying how he’d managed to make way too much for a single person.
With how loud Jay’s voice had been, Sunghoon and Heeseung managed out come out of their rooms, equally as confused.
“Explain,” Sunghoon muttered, sitting next to Jay and grabbing a piece of cake.
“Nothing really, i just went to bake a cake with Y/N,” he managed to let out, still dazed.
“And she decided to maul you with flour?” Heeseung winced, brushing some power off of Jake’s hair, “seems like you lost the fight.”
“C’mon, she started it, so of course I didn’t stop at that—and things, uhm, escalated.”
Right then, Hoon took a big bite of the sweet, regret clear on his face, nose wrinkling, “what the fuck, dude—there’s a whole patch of raw flour in the middle.”
Well, that batch was put in after the flour fight, which would explain the quality difference.
Heeseung, who had already taken a forkful, shrugged and kept eating happily, “tastes fine to me. A bit lumpy, but the chocolate fixes it.”
Jay refused to touch it, not being polite in the way he pushed the whole container towards Heeseung, “yeah, I’m not eating that. And why do you look like you just got laid?”
Jake rubbed a hand over his jaw, the corners of his mouth still curved up, “we may have gotten a little distracted after the cake went in the oven.”
Heeseung choked, “distracted, how?”
Jake shrugged, not even trying to hide how pleased he was, “by kissing—a lot, oh god it felt good.”
Jay dragged both hands down his face, “you went over there to make her fall for you and ended up making out with her in the kitchen? Jake, what the hell is going on with you? You’ve barely looked at any other girl in weeks.”
Jake didn’t answer right away. He just picked up a piece of the slightly floury cake and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully even though it really wasn’t that great.
“I’m thankful though, I can finally sleep without having to hear moans each fucking night,” Heeseung shudders, mind drifting back to how loud Jake and his night partners used to be.
Sunghoon barked out a laugh, “yeah, we went from daily noise complaints to peaceful silence. Did you catch feelings or did she put her tear drop into the cake batter?”
“Shut up, it’s not like that,” Jake mumbled, though the tips of his ears turning red said otherwise, “and we’re not in Descendants.”
They all just stared at him, till he managed to huff, sitting down on the couch which offered no space to him, dirtying it in the process, “it’s just—it’s nice, okay? I don’t have to be loud or use up all my energy around her, it feels calm to be there even in silence.”
Jay almost gagged, “calm? Did you just change your whole personality cause you’re in love now?”
Sunghoon was grinning, “next thing you know he’ll be holding her hand on campus and calling her baby in public, and trust, I’ll be documenting every bit of it.”
Jake threw a small piece of cake at him, missing on purpose, “you guys are annoying as hell. Can we talk about something else?”
The boys kept teasing him for a few more minutes—throwing in dramatic predictions about Jake turning into a full boyfriend and suggestions to get him a I’m in my soft era shirt before finally letting it go and arguing about tomorrow’s practice instead. Jake just leaned back on the couch, half-listening, the small smile never quite leaving his face.
Because he knew things had changed, and so did you. It was a gradual shift, from you tolerating Jake’s presence to enjoying it (well, some part of you did at least). The idea of seeing him often didn’t make you groan in agony, it felt like a routine granted Jake had your schedule memorized to his bones, and he made it his mission to randomly appear and fall in step with you without making it awkward.
“Hey, got you some coffee,” he’d naturally say, always bringing the latte, but he did make you try out an overly sweet drink which he fancied, and somehow, you didn’t hate it.
It was concerning to say the least, your friends being more concerned than you, but of course no one was blind to the fact that maybe Jake was more deep in this than you were, and that bit was not an act, not anymore at least.
It only escalated when one afternoon, you showed up at his practice session without him having you ask, a cold can of coconut berry red bull tucked in your bag. When you tossed it his way, his whole face lit up and he stared at you with such warmth, it seemed like his eyes were shining. It wasn’t a big deal, right?
Wrong. Jake knew it didn’t take a lot to do something for others, but you’d noticed his favourite flavour—you’d managed to remember it despite him having not mentioned it.
He was glad it was break time, cause he immediately cracked it open, “you remembered?”
You wanted to slap yourself for how hard it was to not smile at him, so you managed a shrug, “yeah, not a big deal.”
He stepped closer, still in his practice jersey, hair slightly damp from running drills, and you noticed how they’d grown longer, the afternoon sun catching on the sharp line of his collarbone. For a second he just looked at you, “it’s a big deal when you do it.”
The way he said it was enough to send a warm flutter through your chest that you quickly tried to ignore. You crossed your arms, pretending to watch the team stretching behind him, “don’t make it weird, Sim.”
“I’m not,” he replied, but the small grin tugging at his lips said otherwise. He took another sip, eyes never really leaving your face, and he swore, it was the best drink he’d ever had.
It almost felt like you were flying in the moment, as cheesy as it might be, maybe you’d blame redbull for giving you wings or whatever.
There were other small things too. He started saving you the quiet corner seat in the library because he knew you liked your back to the wall. You’d gotten him a hair tie when you noticed the length of his hair again, and the second he tied his hair, even you were rendered speechless for a moment.
The way it exposed the clean line of his jaw and the sharp cut of his cheekbones made something in your stomach tighten unexpectedly. You quickly looked back down at your notes, pretending you hadn’t noticed, oh but he noticed, and leaned in till his nose brushed against yours, “how do i look?” he’d asked.
“Good,” you remember breathing out, making him smile and lean in further, pressing a soft kiss on your lips before jogging back to the field, where three of his friends stood with their mouths hung open. It was a rather comical sight for anyone who watched from a distance.
At least to Jaemin, it was. He was always lurking around, and no one knew what he was trying to achieve. Jeno could only shake his head standing beside him, but well.
Anyway, as if that wasn’t enough, Jake would send you random memes at 2 a.m. when he knew you were still up studying, and you’d reply with a dry “go to sleep” that always made him smile at his phone like an idiot.
Jake had truly forgotten about the bet.
The whole stupid game barely crossed his mind anymore. He wasn’t playing anymore. He just wanted to be around you.
You were trying to bury the memory of the bet deep inside too. Every time it tried to creep up, you shoved it back down. You told yourself you were still in control, that this was all part of the plan. But the truth was simpler and scarier—you liked having him around. You liked the easy quiet when you studied together. You liked the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
And that terrified you more than anything.
CHAPTER NINE: Jealousy allegations?
“Are you like a hundred percent sure?”
You sighed, plopping on your bed with ease as you stared at Karina, who’d asked you this question at least, give or take, a million times.
“Yes, I am sure—gosh, you gotta stop,” you mumbled, running a hand over your skirt, while Karina shook her head.
“Trust me I have a feeling that something will happen tonight,” she exasperated for the nth time.
Jake was finally throwing that party he’d mentioned after his game a few days back, and to Heeseung courtesy, it wasn’t a small gathering anymore, but a full blown party at their dormitory which won’t even fit the amount of people he’d invited.
“What would happen? C’mon, I’m really okay,” you tried to reason.
“Okay? Girl, you’re practically beaming, and you got ready before I did, is that not proof enough?” She went on, doing her eyeliner by side, “you look hot as hell in that skirt by the way, I’ll be praying for Jake.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. The black skirt sat high on your waist, paired with a simple fitted top that showed just enough skin, and most importantly—you felt confident about yourself, which just completed the look altogether.
“Whatever. Let’s just go before I change my mind.”
Jungwon was already ready and waiting outside, and so you three went on as they both kept mumbling warnings in your ear, as if a child going outside alone for the first time.
“Seriously, if he gets weird just text me,” Jungwon said, half-joking.
Karina bumped your shoulder. “Or I’ll drag you out myself. I’m still not convinced this is a good idea.”
You just shook your head and kept walking.
The dorm was loud when you stepped inside, music playing from the living room and voices overlapping in every corner. The place smelled like pizza and cheap beer (of course), the usual Saturday night mess. People were everywhere—some chilling on the couches, others crowding the kitchen for drinks.
You hadn’t even taken three steps before Jake spotted you.
He was mid-conversation with Jay near the counter, cup halfway to his mouth, when he froze. His eyes locked on you and stayed there, dragging slowly from your face down to the skirt and back up again. For a second he looked completely thrown, like someone (you) had knocked the air out of him. Then he was moving, crossing the room in a straight line without saying a word to anyone, and Jay only shook his head with a small smile.
The second he reached you he pulled you into a hug.
His arms wrapped around you tight, one hand splaying across your lower back, the other sliding up to cradle the back of your head. He buried his face in your hair for a long moment, breathing you in like he needed it. You felt his chest rise and fall against yours, warm and solid, completely forgetting your friends who tried to process the situation from a respectful distance.
“Fuck,” he muttered into your hair, voice low and rough, “you look—I don’t even know what to say right now.”
You laughed softly against his shoulder, letting yourself relax into the hug, “hi, Jake.”
He didn’t let go right away. His thumb rubbed a slow circle on your back, almost absentminded, and when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were darker than usual, a little dazed, “you’re actually trying to kill me tonight, huh?”
You raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile, “It’s just a skirt.”
“It’s not just a skirt,” he said, voice quieter. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing the edge of the fabric like he couldn’t help it.
You were about to tease him some more when he finally loosened his hold, stepping half a step back so he could actually look at you properly. His eyes flicked down again, then back up, and he let out a small breath like he was trying to collect himself.
That was when Sunoo wandered over from the kitchen, two cups in hand, spotting you both.
“Hey, Y/N,” Sunoo said, voice bright and easy like it always was in lab, “you actually came. I was starting to think you’d bail after that nightmare protocol we had last night.”
You turned toward him with a small laugh, “yeah, I almost did, Karina basically dragged me here,” you lied easily.
Sunoo grinned, holding out one of the cups, “here, sprite with lime. I know you hate the sweet crap they make in the kitchen.”
Jake raised his brow, almost ready to scoff because you did like sweet drinks, and whoever this man was clearly didn’t know you enough.
“Thanks,” you said, taking it, “needed that, the last lab almost killed me too.”
“Tell me about it,” Sunoo replied, leaning casually against the wall, “I spent twenty minutes trying to fix my gel after it kept tearing. Thought the TA was gonna cry with me.” He glanced at your outfit and nodded appreciatively. “By the way, that skirt looks really good on you. Way better than the lab coat.”
You let out a soft laugh, “appreciate it. Lab coat does no one any favors.”
Sunoo chuckled, “right? Anyway, how’s your presentation prep going? You were stressing about the lack of research papers ast class—”
From the corner of your eye, you saw Jake’s hand tighten slightly on your waist. He hadn’t moved away completely, still standing close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.
Across the room, Karina caught your eye from where she was standing with Jungwon near the couch. She raised her brows in a clear what the hell look, while Jungwon just shook his head slowly, arms crossed like he was already bracing himself. Jay, leaning against the kitchen counter with Heeseung and Sunghoon, muttered something that made all three of them glance over. Heeseung smirked, while Sunghoon shook his head again, amused. Jaemin, kicked back on the armchair nursing a drink, was outright grinning like he’d hit the jackpot.
Sunoo kept talking, completely unaware, asking a casual question about the upcoming quiz. You answered easily, laughing at the right moments because talking to Sunoo was just—simple? He was the same bubbly guy from lab who always offered to share notes honestly.
Jake’s jaw ticked though, he wasn’t happy with this situation at all.
After another minute of the easy back-and-forth, Jake’s hand slid firmly from your waist to your lower back.
“Hey,” he said to Sunoo, voice calm but edged, “mind if I steal her for a second?”
Sunoo blinked, then gave an easy, unbothered smile, “yeah, of course. Nice catching up, Y/N.”
Jake didn’t bother waiting really. His hand stayed steady on your lower back as he guided you through the living room, weaving between people chatting and laughing. You could feel the tension in his fingers, the way they pressed a little harder than necessary against the fabric of your top. He didn’t say a word the whole way down the hallway. The party noise faded behind you, turning into a muffled hum.
The second his bedroom door clicked shut, Jake turned to face you, eyes dark, stepping in close, backing you up until your shoulders hit the door. His hand came up, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your head just slightly to the side.
“Ignoring me the second he came in to talk, hm?” He asked, voice low as his breath ghosted over your neck as he leaned in, lips barely brushing the skin just below your ear, “looking this good while doing so?”
You swallowed, “Jake, he was just—”
He cut you off by pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss right under your jaw. You felt his teeth graze lightly, then the warm drag of his tongue.
“Answer me,” he murmured against your skin, voice smug, “what was so funny?”
Your breath hitched, “It—it wasn’t anything, just talking about the lab—”
He simply granted you another kiss, slower this time, right by your pulse. His hand slid down to grip your waist, holding you in place as he sucked lightly on the same spot.
“You stuttered,” he said, the words warm against your neck, you could hear the smirk in his voice, “so fucking cute.”
You let out a shaky laugh, even as heat pooled low in your stomach, “you’re actually jealous right now, aren’t you?”
Jake pulled back just enough to look at you, not waiting as he leaned in and kissed you on the mouth—soft at first, almost sweet, like he was trying to shut you up gently. It didn’t last, the kiss deepening fast, his tongue sliding against yours until you were gripping his shirt tighter.
When he broke it, he was breathing harder, “yeah, I am. I don’t like watching you smile at someone else when I’m standing right there.”
You opened your mouth to tease him again, but he kissed you once more, firm, before you could get the words out.
“See?” He muttered against your lips, smirking, “try and be bratty if you want me to kiss you stupid.”
“Jake—” you started, voice already breathy.
He cut you off with another kiss, this one deeper, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours for a second.
“Keep going,” he chuckled, “tell me how ridiculous I’m being.”
You tried, you did, “you’re being ridiculous. Sunoo was just—”
Jake’s mouth was on your neck again, sucking a slow, wet mark right below your ear. You gasped, fingernails digging in his skin now.
“Wrong name coming out of your pretty lips, baby, try again,” he murmured, kissing the fresh mark.
“You’re fucking jealous,” you managed to say despite his previous confirmation of the same. Maybe you wanted to hear it again, maybe you wanted to feel the conviction of truth behind those words, the reality of it all.
He kissed your lips hard, swallowing the rest of your sentence, then moved back down to your neck, sucking another mark lower this time.
“Yeah,” he admitted yet again against your skin, “I hate it—hate how easy it was for him to make you laugh like that when it took me days.”
Your head tipped back against the door with a soft thud. He kept going—kissing, sucking, marking you up like he needed to claim every inch Sunoo had made you smile at. Every bratty little comment you tried to throw at him earned you another kiss on the mouth or a deeper suck on your neck until your legs were actually trembling.
Finally Jake straightened up, eyes hungry. Without a word he bent down, hooked his arms under your thighs, and lifted you. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you the few steps to his bed and laid you down.
To have you so close to him was a maddening experience, words leaving his lips with ease, “you’re beautiful, you know that?”
Somewhere between the bet and the reality, you started getting used to his blatant sincerity he put into words. But this praise? It made you sigh blissfully, eyelids fluttering close despite not wanting to be separated from the sight of Jake getting closer to where you needed him the most.
He crawled over you, settling between your legs, and kissed you again—slow and deep this time.
“Still think I’m ridiculous?” He asked against your mouth, hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher.
You nodded, breathless, “very.”
Jake grinned, that same smug, jealous little smile, and kissed you once more before moving lower. He took his time with your neck again, sucking fresh marks while his hands worked your skirt up around your hips. When he reached the lace edge of your panties he paused, thumb brushing over the delicate fabric.
“These are pretty,” he murmured, hooking his fingers in them and slowly dragging them down your legs, tossing them aside somewhere, taking a note to pick it up later.
Then he settled between your thighs properly, spreading them wider. He looked up at you, hair falling messily around his face from the small ponytail, eyes gleaming as he mumbled the praises of your beauty as if he was here to worship your being instead of what seemed to be a punishment for making him jealous.
“Still got something smart to say?” He asked.
You opened your mouth, but the second his tongue dragged over you, slow and so perfectly warm—the words turned into a broken moan.
Jake groaned at the taste of you, the sound vibrating right against your clit. You reached down without thinking, fingers finding the hair tie at the back of his head. You pulled it out, letting his dark hair fall loose, then slid your hand into it and tugged hard.
Jake moaned louder against you, the vibration making your hips jerk.
“Fuck—do that again,” he breathed, voice wrecked.
You did, tugging on his hair as he ate you out like he had all the time in the world—long, deep licks followed by quick flicks of his tongue that had your thighs shaking around his shoulders. Every pull on his hair earned you another low groan that went straight through you.
“C’mon, tell me how it feels,” he spoke against you, and you groaned merrily.
It’s not that you didn’t have any experience before, because you did. But never once a guy made you feel like they actually cared about getting you off rather than them chasing their own pleasure. Their flick of tongues did nothing, but Jake? He seemed like even having his whole face pressed against you wasn’t enough, as if nothing could satiate how desperate he was to have not a molecule of space between you two.
A lot of things were in your mind, but you could only manage to choke out a few words, “so good—baby, it feels so good.”
If Jake hadn’t already lost his damn mind, your nickname certainly made him lose the last few of his working brain cells. The moan he let out was downright pornographic, and you could swear there wasn’t a sound prettier than that.
You were completely gone, back arching off the bed, fingers tight in his hair, lost in the wet heat of his mouth and the smug little sounds he kept making against you.
While you were wrapped up in this little bubble of unadulterated pleasure, outside the things were a bit different as Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon stood together, shaking their heads.
“He really just dragged her straight to his room,” Jay muttered.
Heeseung sighed, “not even trying to be subtle anymore.”
Sunghoon smirked, “a hundred fucking pounds says they don’t come out for a while.”
Karina, standing with Jungwon near the couch, crossed her arms and muttered, “I knew something was gonna happen tonight.”
Jungwon just sighed, looking resigned, “this is exactly what I was worried about.”
Jaemin, on the other hand, was leaning back in his chair with the biggest grin on his face, looking far too pleased with himself.
“This is even better than I planned.”
CHAPTER TEN: Bet versus feelings.
“Are you out of your damn mind?”
The voice seemed to have echoed, because the same sentence was being uttered at the exact same second inside two different dorms, by two different people.
First being Jungwon, clearly directed towards you once you were done giving your side of the story to him.
Jake was undergoing the exact same procedure of questioning, causing Jay to scream in agony.
Things were clearly going perfectly, Jake was in too deep, you were in too deep, all for the bet, right? Right?
Because as far as acting was concerned, even it had limits, which certainly didn’t include getting eaten out and fingered all night. Cherry on the top was when you both fell asleep in each other’s arms with Jake caressing your back so gently, you learned the meaning of comfort in its truest scene.
So, why did it feel so easy when Jake kissed you in the morning, when he walked you back home with ease, talking normally as if everything was fine. Your heart broke a little at the thought of him just using you, and trust was a delicate topic for you. How could you even let yourself think that he actually wanted you when the whole relationship of yours was built on a pathetic bet. Which is why, you let yourself fall in deeper, to feel more of his warmth before it ends.
Before he could ask what was bothering you, a gentle kiss was placed on his lips, “bye, Jakey.”
The simple fact that you initiated the kiss had Jake smiling like an idiot before you walked inside your dorm, and he left for his own, heart thumping fast, almost in a way that it was synchronized.
And now you were here, eyes watering in front of your friends who could only pull you in a deep hug.
“Y/N, just tell him, just end this I swear,” Jungwon mumbled, and you didn’t know what to say, so you resorted to hugging them both till you fell asleep again.
Jake on the other hand—he couldn’t stop pacing around as the three watched him like a hawk, eyes moving in sync with every step he took across the living room.
Jay leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, looking way too smug, “I told you you’d fall for her.”
Jake stopped dead in his tracks, spinning around so fast he nearly tripped, “I didn’t fall. I’m not—fuck, okay maybe I did, but shut up.”
Sunghoon let out a loud laugh, slapping his knees “you dragged her into your room in front of everyone. You’re on your knees for her at this point.”
Heeseung was already cracking up, head thrown back, “the way you looked at Sunoo? Pure murder like, he didn’t even do shit.”
Jake groaned, running his fingers through his hair, “you guys are the worst. I was standing right there and she was laughing with him like it was the easiest thing in the world. I hate it.”
Jay raised an eyebrow, “you hate it? Or you’re jealous as hell?”
“Both,” Jake muttered, then dramatically dropped to his knees right in the middle of the living room, forehead hitting the floor with a thud, “I’m so fucked. What the hell is wrong with me?”
Jay let out a loud laugh, leaning forward on the couch, “wrong? It’s literally called love, Jake.”
“On your knees in the living room because a girl, you’re not yours by the way, smiled at someone else? Yeah, you’re fucked.” Sunghoon added helpfully.
Heeseung clapped slowly, “soft boy Jake is real. We’re witnessing history.”
Jake stayed on the floor for a second, breathing hard, face pressed against the carpet. His mind wouldn’t stop replaying last night—the way you’d gasped his name when he had his mouth on you, the way your thighs had shaken around his shoulders. How he couldn’t stop staring at you even after you came down, all soft and sleepy in his bed, lashes resting against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. You looked so beautiful like that, relaxed and trusting, nothing guarded in your expression for once. He’d kissed your forehead then, slow and careful, while you dozed off against his chest. Later, when he still couldn’t sleep, he’d grabbed his diary and sketched you—just the curve of your cheek, the way your hair fell across the pillow, the small peaceful smile you had even in sleep. It wasn’t weird. It was just—you. He needed to remember exactly how it felt.
He groaned again, louder this time, “I’m so fucked.”
“So you’ve said.”
The boys kept teasing, but Jake was already thinking ahead.
He pushed himself up, hair a mess, cheeks still flushed, “whatever. Laugh all you want, I’m gonna ask her on a proper date.”
The room went quiet for half a second, observing him closely to find out any signs of humour or a joke.
Jay blinked, “you’re serious?”
“Yeah,” Jake said, grabbing his glasses, “I’m serious.”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, still amused but skeptical, “you sure that’s a good idea right now? Things are already messy as hell.”
Heeseung nodded slowly, “moving kinda fast, don’t you think?”
Jake just shrugged, the stupid smile creeping back onto his face, “I don’t care, I want to do it right.”
The problem now was that Jake had never planned a date before, heck he’d never even dated before. He knew that something grand wouldn’t work, not right now at least, so when he woke up the next day, he had a few errands to run. Thankfully, he had only one lecture, after which he found himself running around the campus with a list, more motivated thann he’d ever been.
By late afternoon he found himself standing outside the biotech building, leaning against the wall near the main exit with his hands in his pockets. He knew your schedule by heart now. When you finally stepped out, backpack slung over one shoulder, he pushed off the wall and walked straight up to you.
You stopped, surprised, but the second he pulled you into a hug your expression softened. His arms wrapped around you tight, one hand rubbing your back like he needed the contact more than air, “hey,” he mumbled into your hair.
You smiled despite everything, pressing your face into his chest for a second, “Jake? What are you doing here? Don’t you have practice right now?”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands still on your waist, “I skipped.”
“You skipped?” you asked, eyes widening a little.
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit awkward but determined. “I want to take you out right now, just us, if you’ll let me.”
Your heart skipped. He was being so boldly awkward about it, standing there in the middle of the hallway like skipping practice for you was the most normal decision in the world.
You teased, trying to keep your voice light, “what if I say no?”
Jake’s face fell instantly, that hurt-puppy look laughed at you right in the heart—big eyes, slight pout, shoulders slumping just a little like you’d actually kicked his favorite ball into traffic. It was funny how you could compare him to puppies so often and he didn’t seem to mind.
“Then—I guess I’ll go back to practice,” he said quietly, voice cracking at the end, “but you’re really gonna say no?”
You didn’t know what to say, skipping classes wasn’t really something you did, unless you were sick beyond your ability to stand, however, a small voice within you screamed, skipping once wouldn’t hurt, right?
You reached out and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, sending a shiver up his arm, “lead the way, Sim.”
Jake’s whole face lit up like you’d just handed him the world, and maybe you did. He squeezed your hand once, tight, and started walking, pulling you gently along with him.
You walked side by side across the quad, the late afternoon sun warm on your skin. His thumb kept brushing slow circles over your knuckles, and the simple touch felt so grounding, so comfortable.
“Where are we going?” You asked after a minute, glancing up at him.
Jake grinned, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, “It’s a secret.”
You raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips, “you’re really not gonna tell me anything?”
“Nope,” he said, voice light and playful, “just trust me, okay?”
From a distance near the science building, Heeseung stood watching the two of you with a small smile, “they’re already acting like a couple,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head fondly.
When you reached the parking lot, Jake stopped in front of a sleek black car you didn’t recognize.
You looked back at Jake, “wait—you drive?”
Jake grinned, a little cocky as he opened the passenger door for you, “yeah, borrowed it from Jay. Figured walking you around campus wasn’t gonna cut it today.”
You slid in, the leather seat cool against the back of your thighs. Jake got in on the driver’s side, started the engine, then turned to you, looking a little nervous but hopeful.
“So, uh, what’s your favourite flower?” He asked, voice casual but his fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel.
You raised your brow, surprised by the question, “Tulip, why?”
Jake let out a small, relieved breath. He reached into the backseat and pulled out three bouquets—a bright bunch of fresh tulips, a classic dozen roses, and a smaller mixed one with daisies and soft white flowers.
He handed them to you carefully, almost shy, “I wasn’t sure which ones you liked, so I got a few options. Just in case, thank god you chose one of those—”
You stared at the flowers in your lap, heart squeezing so hard it almost hurt. He had gone out and bought three different bouquets because he didn’t want to get it wrong, for you.
Before you could stop yourself, you leaned across the console and kissed him midway through his nervous ramble.
It was soft and grateful at first, but Jake melted instantly, one hand coming up to cup your cheek like he needed to hold onto the moment. When you pulled back, his eyes were a little dazed, lips parted, that stupid, lovestruck smile back on his face.
“God,” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek, “you’re gonna kill me one of these days.”
You laughed softly, cheeks warm, and settled back into your seat with the bouquets still cradled in your lap. Jake grabbed your hand again, lacing your fingers together on the center console like he couldn’t stand not touching you.
He started driving, thumb still tracing slow circles over your knuckles, stealing little glances at you every few seconds like he still couldn’t believe you were here with him.
You were so fucked, and now, you didn’t even care.
The drive was short, just ten minutes out of campus to a quiet spot by the river. You’d passed it a few times before, always packed with students on weekends, but on a weekday afternoon it was practically empty—just the soft rush of water, a few birds, and the warm sun filtering through the trees.
Jake parked and killed the engine, then turned to you with that soft smile you’d grown to love, “wait here.”
He got out, popped the trunk, and came around to your side with a big picnic basket and a folded blanket. You watched him spread the blanket on a sunny patch of grass near the water, setting everything out with careful hands. There were little sandwiches you liked, fresh fruit, the coconut berry Red Bull he knew you’d steal from him, and even a small box of those chocolate cookies you’d mentioned once in passing.
You stepped out of the car, flowers still in your arms, feeling suddenly shy that was very out of your character, “Jake—you did all this?”
He looked up at you from where he was kneeling on the blanket, eyes bright, “yeah. Figured we deserved something nice, just us.”
You sat down beside him, cheeks warm, and he basked in it—the way you ducked your head a little, fiddling with the edge of the blanket, the small smile you couldn’t hide. He loved seeing you like this, unguarded and a little flustered because of him.
The sun got brighter as the afternoon stretched on. After you’d eaten and talked about nothing and everything, Jake stretched out and laid his head in your lap, looking up at you with those pretty eyes. No big smile this time—just quiet, almost reverent.
You reached down, fingers finding the hair tie at the back of his head, and gently pulled it out. His dark hair fell loose around his face. You slid your hand into it, playing with the strands, slow and gentle.
Jake let out a contented sigh, eyes never leaving your face.
“You know I have a dog named Layla?” He said quietly after a while, voice warm.
You smiled down at him, still running your fingers through his hair, “yeah? Tell me about her.”
“She’s a Border Collie. Super hyper, loves chasing balls, but she’s the biggest cuddler when she’s tired. She always knows when I’m having a bad day and just—sits next to me until I feel better.”
You laughed softly, “she sounds perfect.”
He hummed, eyes soft, “she is.”
Time passed easily between you. The river flowed steadily nearby, birds chirped overhead, and the sun warmed your skin. Jake told you how he loved singing but almost never did it in front of people because it felt too embarrassing. You told him how you were terrified of roller coasters and how you liked cats because they were quiet and independent. He almost gasped when you admitted you loved horror movies, cause they scared Jake half to death.
“You ever scream at the screen?” He asked, grinning up at you.
“Never,” you admitted, “do you?”
“A lot,” he mumbled, and you chuckled—that sound becoming Jake’s favourite each passing second.
Jake’s eyes stayed on your face the whole time, soft and full of something deep. He felt surreal having you like this—so close, so willing, so in love with the version of you that no one else really got to see. The way your fingers moved through his hair, the gentle way you looked down at him, it made his chest ache in the best way. It made no sense how you looked so fucking pretty even from that angle, so perfect.
At one point he reached up, hand gentle on the back of your neck, and pulled you down for a soft kiss. It was slow, sweet, full of everything you both weren’t saying yet. You got goosebumps all over, your body reacting so perfectly to him, to the quiet love blooming between you.
When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he whispered, “I’m really glad you said yes.”
You kissed him again, softer this time, heart so full it almost hurt.
You could feel how down bad he was—the way his hand rested on your thigh like he needed the contact, the quiet reverence in his gaze every time he looked up at you, the small, content sighs he let out whenever your nails scratched lightly against his scalp. He didn’t say any of it out loud, he didn’t need to, really. It was all there in the way he looked at you.
After a while he sat up slowly, hair messy from your fingers, eyes soft and dark. Without a word he reached for you, hands gentle on your waist as he pulled you into his lap. You settled against him easily, knees on either side of his thighs, and he grabbed your chin with careful fingers, tilting your face down to his.
The kiss was soft at first, full of everything that had been building between you all afternoon. His lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, thumb brushing your jaw in the gentlest way.
When he pulled back he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tight against his chest. You held him just as tightly, arms looped around his neck, face buried in the crook of his shoulder. You didn’t want this to end, not the warmth of him, not the steady beat of his heart against yours, not the way he made the rest of the world feel so far away.
Jake pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, slow and lingering. You whispered his name, soft and breathless, “Jake—”
He smiled against your skin, the curve of his lips warm and pleased. Then he licked over the same spot, and your breath hitched.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, cheeks warm, “you’re terrible,” you complained, but there was no real heat in it.
Jake’s eyes sparkled with that smug little glint. Before you could say anything else he pulled you back down into a deeper kiss, filled with everything he felt—the want, the softness, the quiet desperation of someone who was completely, utterly, helplessly in love with you. His hand slid into your hair, the other pressed against your lower back, holding you close as the kiss turned slow and emotional, tongues brushing, breaths mingling, hearts beating in the same unsteady rhythm.
You melted into it, fingers curling into his shirt, losing yourself in the way he kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Foggy façade.
It was the third time Jake had rerouted the car to go away from the campus, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his antics, a pout on his plump lips as you pointed out that he was, in fact, not willing to take you home.
“I just don’t want the day to end, is that so bad?” He spoke so freely and you wondered how he got the confidence to say things like that without sounding ridiculous, his hand stayed laced with yours on the console.
“You’re literally driving in circles,” you said, squeezing his fingers, “we’ve passed that same coffee shop twice now.”
Jake glanced over at you, eyes bright even in the fading light, “worth it. Every single time I look at you I forget where I’m supposed to be going.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face gave you away completely, “smooth talker. Take me home, Sim, I have an assignment due tomorrow.”
He made a dramatic whining sound, slowing the car at a red light, “one more hour. Please? I’ll be good. I’ll even let you pick the music.”
You laughed, leaning your head back against the seat, even though you couldn’t deny it yourself, you didn’t wish to go back, “you’re impossible.”
The light turned green and instead of turning toward campus he took another random right, the river still sparkling in the distance behind you. You narrowed your eyes at him, “Jake.”
“What?” He asked innocently, but the grin tugging at his mouth was anything but, “I’m just—taking the scenic route.”
You were still bickering lightly when he suddenly pulled off the main road into a quiet, tree-lined side street and parked under the shade of an old oak. The engine cut off. For a second the only sound was the soft tick of the cooling car and your own heartbeat.
“Jake,” you said again, softer this time.
He turned to you fully, eyes dark and a little desperate, “I can’t stand not kissing you for one more second.”
Before you could even tease him about it, he was leaning across the console, one hand sliding into your hair as his mouth crashed into yours. The kiss was messy and urgent, like he’d been holding back the whole drive. You kissed him back just as hard, fingers curling into his shirt, the taste of the picnic strawberries still lingering on his tongue.
“Backseat,” he mumbled against your lips, already fumbling with both your seatbelts, “c’mon, baby.”
You laughed breathlessly into the kiss, “Jay’s gonna actually murder you if he finds out what we’re doing in his car.”
“Let him,” Jake grinned, nipping at your bottom lip before climbing over the console in that surprisingly smooth way he had. He tugged you with him and you tumbled into the backseat together, legs tangling, laughter bubbling up between more kisses, “totally worth getting murdered for.”
You ended up straddling his lap, your jeans rubbing against the front of his as his hands gripped your waist tight. The humping started almost immediately—slow rolls of your hips that had you both groaning at the friction. Denim on denim felt stupidly good, the thick seam of your jeans pressing right against your core every time you rocked forward.
“Fuck,” Jake breathed, head falling back against the seat as you ground down harder, “even through the jeans you feel incredible.”
You leaned down, kissing him again while you kept moving, slow and teasing, “you’re so impatient, Jakey,” you murmured against his mouth, smiling when he chased your lips.
“Can you blame me?” He bucked up to meet you, hands sliding under your top to grip your bare waist, “been hard since the river. Watching you play with my hair, looking so fucking pretty, I couldn’t help it.”
The laughter died down into heavier breaths and soft moans, and you fucking loved how vocal Jake was. You kept rolling your hips in lazy circles, feeling how hard and thick he was beneath you. Jake’s hands roamed higher, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, and every little sound he made went straight to your core.
Eventually you slid lower, kissing down his neck, then his chest, until you were kneeling between his legs in the cramped backseat. Your hands worked open his belt and jeans, and when you pulled him out, his cock was so big and thick it made your mouth water.
Jake let out a shaky breath, fingers gently threading into your hair, “baby, you really don’t have to—”
“I want to,” you said, looking up at him. You nuzzled your cheek against the heavy length first, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along it, feeling it twitch against your skin.
“Fuck,” he groaned, low and wrecked. “Look at you—nuzzling my cock like that. So pretty.”
You licked a slow stripe from base to tip, then took the head into your mouth, sucking gently. Jake’s groan was loud, head tipping back against the seat.
“Shit—yeah, just like that,” he panted, fingers tightening in your hair but never pushing, “you look so fucking good with your lips around me.”
You took him deeper, tongue swirling every time you pulled back. He was so thick it stretched your mouth perfectly, and you loved the way he filled you.
“Jaeyun,” you moaned around him, the name slipping out soft and needy.
Jake’s whole body jerked hard, “fuck—say it again,” he groaned, voice breaking, “god, I love when you call me that. Say it again, baby, please.”
“Jaeyun,” you whispered, taking him even deeper, eyes watering a little as you looked up at him through your lashes.
He let out a wrecked sound, hips twitching up just slightly before he caught himself. His fingers tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding on like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, the way his thighs tensed every time you hollowed your cheeks.
But then his hand slid down to your shoulder, gentle but urgent, “come here,” he breathed, voice rough, “I need you closer.”
You pulled off with a soft pop, lips shiny, and he didn’t waste a secon—he tugged you up into his lap again, hands already working your jeans open. You shoved his jeans down further, wrapping your hand around his cock, stroking him slow and tight while he pushed two fingers into you without warning. The stretch made you gasp, forehead dropping to his shoulder.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he muttered against your neck, curling his fingers just right, “all this for me?”
You nodded, breath hitching as you kept stroking him, thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke. The car was getting warmer, windows starting to fog, the cramped backseat making everything feel even more intense—elbows bumping seats, knees knocking, but neither of you cared. You rocked into his hand while he fucked you with his fingers, messy and uncoordinated and perfect.
Jake’s mouth found your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. You moaned, head tilting to give him more space, and he took it, kissing, licking, biting down gently before soothing the spot with his tongue. Another mark right below your ear, then one on your collarbone. He was claiming you in the quietest way possible, and it made your stomach flip.
His fingers sped up, thumb pressing against your clit, and you squeezed him tighter in response, stroking faster.
“You feel so good,” he panted, voice low and broken against your skin, “I—I can’t even think straight when you’re like this. I think I lo—”
You cut him off with a kiss, hard and desperate, swallowing whatever he was about to say. Your heart was hammering too loud, the guilt and the want twisting together until it hurt. You weren’t ready, not yet. Not when everything still felt like it was built on something you couldn’t admit out loud.
Jake groaned into your mouth, kissing you back like he understood anyway, fingers still moving inside you, thumb circling faster. You kept stroking him, messy and slick, both of you breathing hard between kisses, bodies pressed so close you could feel his heartbeat against yours.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead on yours, eyes dark and glassy, “you’re everything,” he whispered instead, the words thick, “don’t stop, baby.”
You didn’t, kissing him again, slower this time, the act so devastatingly soft, your bodies couldn’t help but react by reaching the peak of unadulterated pleasure you both provided each other with, messy and desperate, but none of you cared in the moment, enjoying the bliss of it all.
Letting the mess of feelings stay buried under the heat of his mouth.
CHAPTER TWELVE: The forgotten bet
You didn’t know what to do with yourself anymore, and somehow hiding in the library was the best you could do to get away from everything you wanted to be close to. Choosing a seat which you normally didn’t opt for was even worse, and the notes in front of you seemed to be in an entirely different language when your mind was elsewhere.
But someone had this weird idea about the whereabouts of practically everyone in the campus, which is why Jaemin found you sulking in a corner, his smile as bright as ever as invited himself to sit next to you.
“Bet not going too well, I presume,” he started, breaking your train of thoughts.
That shit eating grin on his face infuriated more, and there was nothing more you wished to do than punch him at the given moment.
“What the fuck do you want?” You snapped, not even bothering to look up from the notes that might as well have been written in ancient Greek.
“Relax,” he said, leaning back like he had all day, “I come in peace. Just checking in on my favorite partner in crime.”
You finally glanced at him, jaw tight, “there’s no bet anymore. So, you can leave.”
Jaemin laughed under his breath, spinning one of your pens between his fingers, “sure looks like there is to me. I saw you two at the party, the way he dragged you into his room right in front of everyone. Then yesterday? Jay’s car parked on that quiet street for almost an hour, windows completely fogged up. Jake came back to the dorm looking like he’d just won the lottery. He’s been skipping practice, smiling at nothing, telling the guys he’s taking you on a date again very soon. He’s in deep, Y/N. Like, actually gone.”
Your stomach twisted. Of course he knew. Jaemin always knew everything that happened on campus.
He leaned in a little, voice dropping but still smug, “you’ve got him right where you want him. One more good date, a couple more nights like yesterday, and he’s gonna say it. The whole i’m in love with you speech. Then you reject him, take the Paris trip, and we both win. Easy.”
You stared at him, chest tight, “you’re actually serious right now.”
“Dead serious,” he said, grin still firmly in place. “This was your plan too, remember? Make him fall hard, then crush him. Don’t go soft on me just because he bought you three bouquets and looked at you with those puppy eyes. You’re winning. Don’t fuck it up now.”
He stood up slowly, tapping the table once with his knuckle, “think about it. He’s already forgetting the car even exists. Finish the job before it gets too messy.”
Jaemin walked off without another word, even though you did scream your answer, garnering the attention of students who weren’t pleased about it. But yes, he did leave you alone with the heavy knot in your chest and the notes you still couldn’t read.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Too good to be true
This wasn’t the plan.
Sitting in the bleachers, supporting Jake, clad in this jacket as if you were his girlfriend. To make things worse, Jake absolutely preened in showing you off, not one care about embarrassment, not when he was the one who had insisted you wear it before the game even started.
“Looks better on you than it does on me,” he’d said with that easy grin, tugging the collar straight and pressing a quick kiss to your forehead right there on the sidelines where half the team could see. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, but now, with his name printed across the back in bold white letters, you felt the weight of every curious glance from the crowd.
The game was loud to say the least, Jungwon and Karina agreed, but they also silently agreed that your happiness came first, and at the moment, you looked really happy. Jake was everywhere—stealing the ball with sharp precision, setting up plays that made the stands roar, running like the field belonged to him alone. Every few minutes his eyes would flick up to the bleachers, searching until they landed on you. The second they did, his whole face would change. That bright, boyish smile would break through the concentration, and he’d give you this tiny, secret nod like you two were the only ones who understood what it meant.
“I’m not doing it,” you whispered to yourself.
Jungwon only smiled, “we know—we’ve always known.”
You turned to look at him, “how?” Somehow the question itself made you seem small, especially the possibility of Jake finding out and losing trust in you—seemed way worse.
“You try to act all tough, but we know how soft you are,” Karina spoke softly.
“And with Jake? There was no way we didn’t see this coming, you really can’t fool us,” Jungwon added with a dimpled smile, making you chuckle despite the breakdown you were going to have.
You didn’t realize how heavy the bet felt till you got it off of your chest, eyes watery as you turned to look at Jake in his element yet again, watching how he moved with ease under the burden of the timer ticking. But Jake was really good at what he did, kicking the ball straight into the net as it curled around in the corner left just as the whistle blew in the background.
You didn’t even realize you were screaming until your own voice hit your ears. You shot up fully, hands in the air, cheering so loud your throat hurt. “Yes, Jake! Go!” The words just flew out of you, completely unfiltered. Jungwon and Karina were jumping beside you, all three of you yelling like idiots.
Jake didn’t celebrate with his teammates. He broke away from the pile and ran straight for the stands, jumping the barrier in one smooth motion, and before you could even catch your breath he was right there in front of you, chest heaving, that huge, bright grin on his face.
He grabbed your waist with both hands and spun you around once, fast. Your feet left the ground, the roar of the crowd blurring into one big cheer.
“Jake!” You squeaked, laughing but instantly embarrassed as people around you whistled and shouted, “put me down—everyone’s watching—”
He didn’t listen. He spun you one more time, slower this time, eyes locked on yours like the rest of the stadium had disappeared. “Let them watch,” he said, still grinning like an idiot, “I scored that goal thinking about you, I want them to know it.”
When he finally set you back on your feet he didn’t step back. He cupped your face with both hands and kissed you right there in front of everyone—deep, a little messy, his jersey was damp with sweat, his heart still hammering against yours, but the kiss felt steady.
Your face burned hot the second his lips touched yours. You could feel hundreds of eyes on you, phones probably out, people cheering and laughing, but Jake didn’t care at all. He kissed you like the crowd wasn’t even there, like this was the only thing that mattered.
When he finally pulled back just enough to rest his forehead on yours, he was breathing hard, eyes shining, “I—I, uh,” he tried to find words, but with you looking at him so sweetly, he just melted, “you’re my good luck charm.”
And gosh, you smiled, pecking him softly, reciprocating the exact feelings he’d been harbouring towards you. His teammates were yelling his name from the field, and so he left with a promise to be back soon.
It’s normal for any sane person to get scared when things feel too good to be true, exactly how they felt for you and Jake, so the flicker of worry didn’t go unnoticed by Jake after the whole team came out. When they came out of the locker rooms, hair damp and smelling like fresh soap, Jake made a face at the idea of the big victory party happening across campus.
He glanced at you, really looked at you for a second, and caught the tiny flicker of worry that crossed your face, clearing his throat, “guys, I’m tired, let’s just go to the dorm and get some food and drinks ordered in.”
Jake looked down at you again, voice softer just for you, “that cool? We can keep it small.”
You managed a small smile and nodded, “yeah. That sounds perfect, actually.”
He smiled back, the kind of relieved, soft smile that made your chest feel a little lighter, and pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head, “good, let’s go home then.”
Jaemin, who had wandered over to join the group at some point, grinned wide. Jeno, standing a step behind him, shot Jaemin a sharp look and shook his head once, trying to warn him without saying anything out loud. Jaemin just smirked and ignored him completely.
Jake didn’t notice. He was too busy lacing his fingers with yours again, already tugging you gently toward the dorms. It was new to you, the feeling of being held in someone’s arms—in front of everyone, as if the concept of personal space was foreign to Jake, but did you actually want him to let go of you? Absolutely not, even if you won’t admit it out loud.
Jake hadn’t let go of you once. He kept you tucked right against his side on the couch, one arm looped around your shoulders, fingers tracing lazy little patterns on your arm like he couldn’t stop touching you. Every few minutes he’d lean in and press a soft kiss to your temple or the top of your head or the corner of your mouth, completely unbothered by the others being right there.
Was it really that easy to fall in so deep for someone within a month? Take yourself for example, wrapped up in Jake’s embrace, it certainly did seem true to some extent.
“You okay? You’ve been quiet since we got back, was I too much?” He asked, thumb brushing the side of your neck, a worried pout on his face.
You shook your head just a bit, “I’m just happy, you did so well out there, Jakey.”
He sighed with happiness, all worries gone in a second, “couldn’t have done it without you.”
Sunghoon groaned loudly, “dude, you’re so gone it’s painful to watch.”
Jake laughed, pressing another kiss to the top of your head, “leave me alone, man. I earned this.”
You were about to tease him back when the door swung open.
Jaemin strolled in with Jeno beside him, grabbing a slice of pizza from the nearest box and dropping onto the arm of the couch across from you, taking a big bite. His eyes flicked over the scene—Jake’s arm still wrapped around you, the way Jake was still leaning into you like he couldn’t get close enough. Jaemin’s grin sharpened.
“Damn, look at you two,” he said casually, chewing, “still going strong, huh? So Jake, did you finally drop the L-word on her yet? Cause you have two days left till the bet ends.”
You stilled, staring at Jaemin with wide eyes, just like everyone else in the room. Jeno groaned at the back cause he did try to stop Jaem, but to no avail. But it was almost as if he couldn’t pick up context cues, and so he continued, “you told her about it right? Since you’re smitten now, that’s why you’re together, right?”
“Jaemin,” Jake warned him, his hold tightening on you, “shut the fuck up.”
Jungwon and Karina were ready to take you back, almost jumping to their feet, but that’s not where Jaem stopped. Jungwon was already shifting closer on the couch until his knee pressed against yours, one hand resting lightly on your arm like he was ready to pull you out of there the second you needed it.
“What? You didn’t tell her?” He smirked, now staring right at you, “well, too fucking bad cause she already fucking knows you’re playing her for a car,” he smirked, leaning back against the couch, finally letting the drama unfold.
Your chest tightened so hard it hurt to breathe. You felt the heat rush to your face, then drain away just as fast, leaving you cold. Jay was staring at the floor like it had answers. Heeseung’s hand froze around his beer. Sunghoon looked like he wanted to sink into the cushions. Karina’s eyes were wide, looking at you knowing exactly how you felt right now—especially after the nights you cried with her. Jungwon’s fingers tightened on your arm because of the same.
Of course his friends had known the whole time.
You pulled away from Jake’s arm slowly, like your body was moving through water. The walls you’d been trying so hard to keep down slammed back up, higher than before. You felt small, exposed, stupid even. Like every soft kiss, every my girl, every time he looked at you like you mattered had been watched and laughed at behind your back.
You stood up, “I knew it the whole time,” you confessed, observing just how panicked he seemed at the moment, “Jaemin told me everything at the very beginning—how you just bet on my feelings for his car,” you tried to stop yourself from getting emotional, letting a shaky breath out as Jake’s shaking hand held on to yours, “so he asked me to do the same, to show you how it hurts to play with someone’s emotions.”
His face went pale, and even though he opened his mouth, no words came out, just throbbing pain in his heart, and eyes wide as if he’d gotten punched in the gut.
Maybe him accepting it would’ve made it better, but for Jake, there wasn’t an option between fight or flight, only freezing on the spot. Everyone stayed silent, watching it unfold and Jay tried to shake Jake’s shoulders, but all he could see was your trust crumpling, and his heart breaking.
“You—you don’t actually like me?” He asked, voice breaking.
“I do—I fucking do,” your voice cracked as well, “going through with the bet was not my intention, but what about you, Jake?”
Jake’s hand, still reaching for yours, started to tremble. His mouth opened again, but nothing came out. The guilt on his face was so raw it made your stomach turn. He looked hurt—really hurt, and you weren’t sure how to feel anymore, the hypocrisy of it all sinking in deeper, making everything worse. You’d planned to use him too, you were no better. The walls around you shot up even higher at the absence of words, of reassurance.
So you asked again, “Jake, was any of it real?”
Jake finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper, broken, “you—you knew the whole time?”
You nodded, a tear cascaded down the curve of your cheek freely, “yeah. I knew.”
He let out a shaky breath, like the words physically hurt him, “and you still—you let me fall for you anyway? You let me get this deep even though you knew I started it for a stupid bet? Why didn’t you tell me?”
The rise in his voice almost made you laugh, “so now you’re hurt cause I knew? After you started the whole thing for a car? That’s rich, Jake.”
Jungwon stood up right beside you, shoulder brushing yours, protective, “Y/N, you don’t have to explain anything else to him, not right now.”
“No, no—Jake just fucking tell me, is it real?” You waited for an answer, to get absolute silence in return, “Jake?”
You tried for the last time, just to find tears streaming down his flushed face, but nothing came out of his mouth. He was too in his head, cursing himself, cursing Jaeming for letting it happen, but you? How could he ever hate you?
Wiping your tears roughly, you let Karina embrace you, who kept glaring at all the boys. It wasn’t awkward for them, they felt guilty too, but knew better than to speak up in between them.
You stepped back, “fine then—I’m done, we’re done. Don’t follow me, don’t text me. Just stay the hell away from me.”
You turned toward the door. Jake shot up after you, voice cracking, “Y/N, wait—please, just let me explain—”
“Don’t,” you snapped, not turning around.
Karina was already grabbing your jacket, “c’mon, let’s get out of here.”
Jungwon stayed right at your side until you reached the door, then spun around, glaring at Jay, “you should’ve stopped him, you knew what he was doing from the start. You let him play with her feelings like it was nothing. What the fuck, Jay?”
Jay looked wrecked, never expecting Jungwon to get angry, “I tried, man. I told him it was fucked up—”
“You all knew!” Jungwon’s voice rose, “every single one of you sat there and watched her fall and didn’t say a word. That’s fucked up—you couldn’t reassure her after she told you everything, huh, Jake?”
You didn’t wait to hear more, stepping into the hallway, Karina right behind you, her hand gentle on your back,“I’ve got you,” she whispered, “just breathe, okay?”
Behind the closed door, it only got worse, Jungwon’s voice only got louder as Jay tried to explain himself.
As the boys gathered to calm down Jungwon, they completely missed the way Jake got up and headed towards Jaemin. Only the sound of a loud crash got their attention—Jake’s fist connecting with Jaemin’s jaw.
“You fucking asshole,” Jake snarled, his voice raw and broken. Another punch landed, his knuckles splitting open against Jaemin’s cheekbone. Blood smeared across his hand and dripped onto the floor. Heeseung and Sunghoon tried to pull him back, but Jake was swinging again, tears streaming down his face as he cried freely, angry and devastated all at once.
“Fucking get off me!” He shouted, his voice cracking between sobs, "this is your fault—all of it! You ruined everything!”
Furniture scraped against the floor. Someone yelled for them to stop, but it fell deaf to Jake’s ears. He kept swinging, his knuckles bleeding worse with every punch, tears falling fast down his cheeks, until Heeseung and Sunghoon finally managed to drag him back, both of them breathing hard.
Jaemin didn’t care much, he looked rather amused at the situation as Jeno tried to pull him up in furious whispers of urging him to stop being messy.
Jake stood there in the middle of the mess, shoulders shaking, blood on his hands and tears still streaming from his bloodshot eyes. He looked completely destroyed.
And you? You didn’t look back.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Salvation
So maybe you did jinx yourself for thinking everything was perfect. However, it made no sense to you, or to anyone for that matter. You weren’t an expert about feelings by any means, yet it was clear to anyone with working eyes that whatever you and Jake had was far from fake.
Why couldn’t he say it?
You knew the stakes, you came clean to him, and god knows you couldn’t be mad at him for telling you that it, in fact, started off because of a bit. But the silence hurt.
“I love him,” you whispered, and Karina hugged you tighter at how raw the confession sounded.
“I know,” she mumbled, “it’s okay, it’ll be okay.”
You stayed quiet for a while, letting her hold you. The numbness had settled deep, leaving you strangely serene even as your heart ached. There were no more tears left. Just this heavy, enthralling ache that refused to let go.
Karina eventually pulled back and brushed a strand of hair from your face, “I’m gonna make you some tea, okay? I’ll be right back, yeah?”
You nodded mutely and watched her head to the small kitchenette. The soft clink of the kettle and mugs filled the room as you sat there on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.
Karina was busy with the kettle as a knock came at the door, making her pause her ministrations. She walked over and opened the door just a crack, hoping it’d be Jungwon.
It was Jake.
He looked utterly destroyed. His eyes were bloodshot and had started to swell from crying, cheeks still damp with fresh tears. His knuckles were split open and bleeding, dark red smeared across his hand and the sleeve of his hoodie. He was breathing hard, like he’d run the entire way here without stopping.
Karina’s eyes widened in horror, “Jake—what the hell happened to your hands?”
He didn’t even look at her. His gaze was fixed past her shoulder, desperately searching for you, “please,” he said, his voice hoarse and broken. Without waiting, he slowly lowered himself to his knees right there in the hallway, bloody hands clasped in front of him, “please, Karina, just let me talk to her. I need her to know it was real, I’m begging you.”
Karina stood frozen for a long moment, clearly torn. She glanced back at you, then down at Jake kneeling on the floor, tears still slipping down his face, knuckles dripping blood onto the tiles.
She let out a heavy, reluctant sigh.
“I—come in,” she said quietly, stepping aside, “but if you make this any worse, I swear to God, Jake—”
Jake didn’t even stand up right away. He stayed on his knees for another heartbeat, bloody hands still clasped like he was praying, before he pushed himself up on shaky legs. God, his eyes—they were red-rimmed and glassy, the golden-boy sparkle completely shattered. He looked like he’d been run over by a truck and then backed over again for good measure.
Karina shot you one last warning glance before she slipped into the kitchenette, muttering something about giving you two five minutes and that she’d be right there with a knife if needed. The door to your room clicked shut behind her, leaving nothing but the sound of Jake’s ragged breathing and the faint drip of blood onto your floor.
You stayed rooted on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped tight around your middle like you could physically hold yourself together. Your heart was hammering so hard it hurt. A part of you wanted to scream at him to get the fuck out. The other part—the stupid, traitorous part that had fallen anyway—ached at the sight of him like this.
You swallowed hard, voice coming out sharper than you meant, “what the hell are you doing here, Jake? What now?”
Jake ran a shaky hand through his hair, smearing a thin streak of blood across his forehead, “I don’t know,” he groaned, “I really fucking don’t. You said all that shit after the game and I just—I just froze, okay? I punched Jaemin so hard I think I broke something, and it still didn’t make me feel better. Nothing did.”
You looked away, “so you came here?”
“Yeah, I came here,” his voice was rough, frustrated. He took another step closer, boots scuffing the floor, “what else was I supposed to do? You just walked off, were my actions not enough for you, huh? I sat in my room staring at the wall like an idiot for an hour.”
You let out a sharp laugh, finally looking at him again, “oh, poor you. Must’ve been real hard.”
“Don’t,” he warned, “don’t do that. You told me you knew everything and you fell anyway. And then you just—left. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”
You stood up fast, arms dropping to your sides, “what did you expect? A hug? You started this whole thing. You came after me for a bet. I only played along to fuck you over and now look at us. I’m the dumbass who actually caught feelings, while you couldn’t even admit it in front of your friends.”
Jake’s jaw clenched so hard you saw the muscle jump, “I broke the bet off before the date, Y/N. Before I even took you out. That morning I told Jaemin I was done with the whole thing. He was just stirring shit tonight to fuck with both of us.”
You stared at him, the words hitting like a slap, “you—you what?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, “I ended it days ago. Because it wasn’t a game anymore, not for me. But you still think I was using you the whole time, don’t you?”
Your hands started shaking, “then why the fuck didn’t you tell me? You let me keep thinking it was all fake while I was falling for you like an idiot? While I was lying to my friends and to myself?”
“Because I was terrified!” His voice cracked, louder now, “I knew the second I said it out loud you’d look at me like this—like I’m the enemy. I didn’t want to lose you and I still fucking don’t. I’m in love with you, okay? Not for the bet or the stupid car.”
You shoved at his chest, hard, but your fingers stayed twisted in his hoodie at the confession. He loves you, and he was never once hesitant to show it till now, “you’re such a fucking coward, Jake.”
“I know,” he breathed, eyes glassy as he pressed closer, forehead almost touching yours, “I’m the biggest coward on campus. But I’m yours if you still want me.”
You yanked him down by the hoodie and pulled him into a deep kiss as Jake groaned into your mouth, hands sliding under your shirt, bloody knuckles rough against your skin, and you could taste the saltiness of his tears on his lips.
“I love you,” he gasped right against your lips, the words spilling out shaky between kisses, “fuck, I love you—”
You whined into his mouth at how freely he said it now. Jake had always been truthful to his feelings, while you’d been insecure, which is why you couldn’t do much but kiss him back, hoping that it’ll show how you reciprocate the feelings.
The sharp tang of blood hit your tongue when his injured knuckle brushed your jaw. You pulled back, breathing hard, eyes dropping to his right hand. Only that one knuckle was split open, still seeping a thin line of red.
“Jake,” you muttered, fingers wrapping around his wrist gently and turning it over, “you’re still bleeding.”
He tried to pull you back in, eyes dark and hazy, “don’t care—”
“I do.” You slid off his lap before he could argue, legs a little unsteady as you crossed to the shelf by your desk. Your hands shook slightly when you grabbed the antiseptic wipes, a small tube of ointment, and a strip of gauze. When you turned back he was still sitting on the edge of the bed exactly where you’d left him, watching you with this raw, open look that made your stomach twist in the deepest way—cause gosh, he looked beautiful.
You knelt between his thighs again and took his injured hand. The wipe stung when you pressed it to the cut. Jake hissed softly through his teeth but didn’t pull away. He just stared at your face like the sight of you taking care of him was something he couldn’t quite believe was real.
“You’re really doing this right now,” he said quietly.
“Someone has to,” you whispered, dabbing the blood away carefully, then smoothing ointment over the split skin. Every small touch felt heavier than it should—the faint tremble in his fingers, the way your own heartbeat was slamming so hard against your ribs it felt like it was echoing in your throat. You wrapped the gauze around his knuckle slowly, and the quiet intimacy of it settled somewhere deep in your chest, warm and aching and terrifying all at once.
When you finished he caught your face with both hands and pulled you up into another kiss as if pouring every ounce of emotions he’d ever felt towards you, his lips slotting perfectly against yours, a bit messy with how reverent he was. He even wish to breathe anymore, just accepting the warmth of your mouth as a way to live.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed against your mouth again, the words vibrating through you, “god, I love you so much it feels like it’s in my bones. Like every time I touch you I remember how close I came to losing this.”
You climbed back into his lap, straddling him, and kissed him harder, hips rolling once against the obvious hardness straining in his sweatpants. The friction made you both moan softly. His bandaged hand slid up your back under your shirt, palm warm against your spine, while the other cupped the back of your neck like he was scared you’d pull away.
He broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. His eyes were glassy, voice cracking when he spoke.
“Do you actually want me?” He whispered, lips brushing yours with every word, “not because we’re both fucked up right now. Just—tell me, if not i’ll just stop. Say it against my mouth, pleasw, I need to hear it.”
Your heart felt too big for your chest, a heavy, aching throb that matched the pulse between your legs. You leaned in until your lips touched his with every syllable.
“I want you,” you breathed right against him, “I want you so fucking bad, Jake. Just you—all of you.”
The second the words left your mouth you grabbed his bandaged right hand and pressed his palm flat to the center of your chest, right over your racing heart. His fingers spread wide, the gauze rough and warm against your skin, and Jake let out this low, broken groan that vibrated straight through you.
“Fuck—baby,” he rasped, eyes fluttering like he was barely holding it together, “for me?”
You’d seen how Jake got during intimate moments, but the way he was acting right now—breathing hard against your skin, you weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to handle without confessing all your feelings for the pretty boy in front of you. The fact that he came running so soon, that he wished to clear things up, it was enough. Staying mad at him wasn’t ever a choice when every single cell within you yearned for him.
“For you,” you whispered gently, eyes never leaving his face.
He looked stunning to say the least, perhaps the prettiest crier you’ve ever laid your eyes upon. His face was flushed, this beautiful shade of red gracing it, and you couldn’t help but trace your thumb over his swollen lip, “you’re so pretty,” you whispered without thinking twice.
In one smooth motion he flipped you both, laying you down on the bed and settling between your thighs, his body pressing you into the mattress. The sudden weight of him, the heat rolling off his skin, the way his pendant swung forward and rested cool against your clavicle—it made you shiver. You looked down and saw it, your initials, small and delicate on the silver chain around his neck, nestled right there against your skin.
A soft, involuntary moan slipped out of you.
Jake’s breath hitched hard against your neck, “you see it, baby?” He whispered, his lips—so fucking soft and plush, brushed your throat as he spoke, “got it the next day after our date, been wearing it since.”
“You’re crazy,” you managed to say, but your eyes were shining just as bright as his own, his usual smile stretching, making your heart race faster than usual.
The proximity was maddening. His chest pressed flush to yours, heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his ribs. The heat of his body soaked into every inch of you, his breath hot and ragged on your neck. He took his time to take your scent in, shamelessly so, doing exactly what he couldn’t when he first talked to you, and swore he was rather drunk on it.
He buried his face deeper into the curve of your neck and inhaled again, slow and shaky, like he was trying to memorize you, “fuck—wanted to do this when I first met you,” he mumbled, lips dragging along your pulse point, open-mouthed and wet.
You shivered hard, fingers sliding up into his hair and tugging lightly, “then stop holding back now, Jake. Touch me.”
He groaned, “yeah? You want that?” His bandaged hand slipped under your shirt, palm hot and trembling as it cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it tightened, “like this? Tell me if it’s good, baby. I need to hear you.”
“Feels so good,” you breathed, arching into his touch, “don’t be gentle. I want to feel how bad you want me.”
“Fuck,” he rasped, voice cracking, “I’m gonna show you how sorry I am. Gonna make you feel it with every fucking inch of me until you know I’m yours.” He pushed your shirt higher, mouth following right behind, kissing and sucking down your chest like he was starving, “god, look at you—so fucking pretty under me. Can I take this off? I need to see all of you, baby. Please?”
You nodded fast, lifting your arms. He peeled your shirt off and tossed it aside, then just stared, chest rising fast, “fuck—these tits. Been thinking about them every night.” His mouth latched onto one nipple, plush lips sucking slow and deep while his hand palmed the other one, thumb teasing the peak until you were squirming.
“Jaeyun—shit, that feels so good,” you moaned, back arching.
“Yeah? You like my mouth here?” he asked, switching sides, tongue swirling lazy circles. “Tell me, baby. I need to hear how good I’m making you feel.”
“So good,” you whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair, “don’t stop.”
“Won’t stop,” he sighed in pleasure, sucking harder as his teeth grazed just enough to make you gasp, the pendant dragging cool over your skin with every move of his head.
You couldn’t take it anymore. You pushed at his shoulders and flipped you both again, straddling his hips, grinding down slow and filthy against the hard line of his cock through his pants.
Jake’s eyes rolled back, a wrecked groan tearing out of him, “Jesus Christ—yeah, keep going, pretty.”
You leaned down, hair falling around both of you, and kissed him deep, tongue sliding against his, his fingers digging into the flesh of your waist, as if no amount of kissing could satiate his hunger.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, lips still brushing and his eyes were blown wide, chest heaving under you. Holding his gaze, you gathered spit in your mouth, and let it drip slowly right onto his waiting tongue.
Jake’s whole body jerked hard beneath you. A wrecked, filthy moan tore out of his throat as the warm spit landed on his tongue. He didn’t even hesitate before swallowing it down with a shaky groan, then leaned right up and licked into your mouth like he was chasing the taste of you, tongue sliding against yours again, ever so messy and eager.
The absolute joy of being here, so free and filthy with Jake despite everything, had you getting freakier by second knowing damn well how Jake would be thrilled, and he did. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself if you didn’t accept his apology, or if you’d admit that it was a game to you. But seeing neither was the case, he had to take the next step—to show exactly how much he wanted you.
“So dirty for me, huh?” He smirked, sucking on your tongue, “fucking perfect, you’re mine, yeah? Made for me.”
“Getting possessive already?” You chuckled deeply, licking up his neck, nibbling on his earlobe, confidence boosting by second at the sight of him shivering with your ministrations, “you like it when I spit in that pretty mouth of yours, Jake?
He tugged your bottom lip between his teeth, gentle but playful, giving it a light pull before letting it go with a soft pop, “like it?” He murmured, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief even now, “darling, I fucking love it. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to be this comfortable with me—this filthy.”
You grinned, rolling your hips down against the hard line of his cock, “then stop talking and do something about it.”
Jake clicked his tongue, rolling over so you were under him again, pinning you to the mattress with his weight, eyebrow cocked up, “bossy tonight, aren’t you?” He teased, lips brushing yours as he spoke.
You traced your finger up his spine, grabbing the hair on his nape with a tug that had him groaning, “why wouldn’t I be? You’re mine now, aren’t you?” You challenged.
“Claiming me now, hm? Not mad anymore?” He caught your wrist, pinning it beside your head with his bandaged hand while his other slid down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider under him.
The weight of him was heavenly, you could feel the faint ridges of his abs through his hoodie, the way his heart was slamming against your ribs like it was trying to reach you. His pendant swung forward, cool metal kissing your skin right between your breasts, and the sight of your own initials resting there made you whine yet again.
“Want me to be mad?” You pecked his neck, “want me to go ask someone else to please me—”
Jake’s head snapped up so fast it was almost comical, “you fucking dare say that again,” he almost groaned, his grip on your thigh tightening, fingers digging in like he needed to remind himself you were really here, “don’t even joke about that shit, the thought of someone else even looking at you the way I do makes me want to lose my fucking mind.”
You blinked up at him, surprised by how quickly the jealousy hit, “Jake—”
“No,” He he you off, voice rough as he shoved your shorts and panties down your legs in one impatient yank, the fabric tearing slightly at the seam. He didn’t care. He tossed them off the bed and settled between your thighs like he belonged there, his big nose brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he inhaled deep, shameless.
“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes locked on how wet you were, “you’re actually dripping. All this for me, just for me, hm?”
You tried to answer, but the words died in your throat when he dragged two fingers through your folds, spreading the wetness before pushing them inside you in one smooth thrust. The stretch made your back arch off the bed with a sharp gasp.
“Jake—”
“Yeah?” He curled his fingers deep right away, thumb brushing your clit in slow circles. His nose rubbed against your inner thigh as he leaned in closer, breath hot against your pussy, “keep talking. I wanna hear what you wanna say while my fingers are buried in you like this.”
You clenched around him, hips rolling up to chase the feeling, absolutely enamoured with how possessive he was—maybe that’s what you wanted, him claiming you so freely, “you’re so fucking jealous,” you managed, half-laugh, half-moan, “god—I fucking love you.”
It didn’t take much for you to say it, but to Jake, it was everything.
His fingers froze deep inside you for a split second. Then he yanked them out so fast you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, but before you could even protest he was surging up your body, cupping your face with both hands, thumbs pressing into your cheeks as he stared down at you like you’d just knocked the air out of his lungs.
“Say it again,” he demanded, chest heaving and eyes wild.
“I love you, Jaeyun,” you whispered, looking straight in his eyes.
“Fuck—I love you too,” he managed to say desperately, he crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin, “i needed to hear that.”
He pressed open mouthed kisses all over your torso, only stopping to take his hoodie off in a go, revealing the faint lines of his abs and the light scatter of freckles across his shoulders. The sight of him all flushed, made heat flood between your legs even more.
He slid back down your body fast, shoving your thighs apart wider. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up even more, his big nose brushed your inner thigh as he inhaled deep and shameless. “Fuck, you smell so good when you’re this turned on,” he groaned, then dragged his tongue in one long, filthy stripe up your pussy, moaning loud when he tasted you, “mine, hm.”
His nose rubbed firm and perfect against your clit as he licked, the pressure making your hips jerk.
“Jake—godd,” you gasped, fingers twisting in his hair.
He looked up at you, lips shiny, eyes dark, “yeah? You like my mouth on you?” He sucked your clit into his mouth, fingers pushing back inside you, curling just right, “tell me, baby, I wanna hear how good I’m making you feel while I eat this pretty pussy.”
“So good,” you moaned, thighs shaking around his head, “your nose—right there, it feels so fucking good rubbing my clit like that.”
He caressed the soft flesh of your inner thighs with his veiny hand, thumb stroking back and forth.
Placing open mouthed kisses on it made it worse (better), and you twitched hard.
Jake’s eyes flicked up to yours, lips curving into a filthy little smirk, “oh? Sensitive here?” He dragged his teeth along the inside of your thigh, then sucked hard, leaving a dark mark right where his thumb had been stroking, “fuck, I love that. Gonna mark every spot that makes you shake for me, yeah? My good fucking girl.”
He didn’t give you time to recover. He buried his face between your legs again, eyes never leaving your face, and just how perfect you looked shaking for him, memorizing every bit of it.
He sucked harder, fingers pumping faster, nose pressing firm and relentless. “Mhm, cum for me, baby. Let me taste how much you want me right now.”
You came hard, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out his name, pulsing around his fingers while he kept licking and sucking you through it, moaning like your orgasm was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
He didn’t stop until you were whimpering and pushing weakly at his shoulders, over-sensitive and trembling.
Only then did he crawl back up your body, kissing you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue. His cock was straining hard against his pants, the front completely soaked with pre-cum.
You reached down and palmed him through the fabric. “Take these off,” you said, voice hoarse, “I want to see you. All of you.”
Jake sat back on his heels, eyes locked on yours the whole time as he shoved his pants and boxers down his hips, keeping it on the side. His cock sprang free, thick, flushed dark, and leaking at the tip. He wrapped his veiny hand around it and gave himself one slow stroke, watching your reaction.
“Better?” He asked, a smirk tugging at his swollen lips even as his chest still heaved, “this what you wanted?”
You bit your lip, heat flooding through you at the sight of him so flushed and bare, freckles standing out across his nose and shoulders, faint abs flexing with every breath, cock heavy in his hand.
“Better,” you breathed, sitting up just a little, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his thick length.
He let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan when you stroked him slowly from base to tip, thumb swiping over the leaking head, “love your hand, so fucking pretty,” he mumbled, hips twitching forward into your fist, “been hard for you for so long it hurts. C’mon, get on your back, baby, I need to be inside you.”
You lay back, spreading your legs for him. Jake settled between them, rubbing the thick head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness, being thick enough that the first push made your breath catch.
“Easy,” he murmured, voice strained as he pressed in slowly, making you feel every inch he gave you, “you’re so tight—fuck, just breathe for me. I’ve got you.”
It took time. He worked himself in with shallow thrusts, letting you adjust to the stretch, his jaw clenched tight, sweat already beading on his flushed chest. When he finally bottomed out, buried to the hilt, the fullness made your eyes flutter shut and a broken moan slip out of you.
“Shit, Jaeyun you’re so deep,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.
He stayed still for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, “you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, “like you were made for me. Tell me when you’re ready.”
You rolled your hips experimentally and moaned, “yeah, yeah—please.”
He started slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, building the pace slowly with steadier strokes that made your back arch and your moans louder. Every thrust pushed the air out of your lungs, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room.
“God, look at you taking me,” he panted, eyes locked on where you were stretched around him, “so pretty and full of my cock.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, “harder, Jake. I can take it.”
He groaned and gave you exactly what you asked for, hips snapping faster, the pendant with your initials swinging between your breasts with every thrust. His veiny hand slid down to rub your clit, drawing eights on them.
You were moaning his name, right on the edge, when you suddenly pushed at his chest, “wait—I want to ride you.”
Jake didn’t hesitate, in fact, he was already drooling at the image of your pretty tits jiggling right in front of him. He flipped onto his back, pulling you on top of him in one smooth motion. You straddled his lap and sank down onto his cock in one go, both of you moaning loudly at the new angle.
“Fuck—ride me, baby,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips as you started moving. His thumbs brushed your nipples, pinching and rolling them while you bounced on his thick length, “so fucking pretty riding my cock like you own it.”
You leaned forward, pressing your chest to his, and started sucking dark hickeys into the side of his neck, right below his jaw, “I do own it, baby.”
Jake’s head fell back, a low moan escaping him as you marked him up.
“You do, just you” he panted, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, holding you against him while the other kept playing with your nipple, “want everyone to see I’m yours.”
He reached blindly to the side, grabbing his discarded pants. From the pocket he pulled out a delicate silver pendant—his initials engraved on it. He had planned on asking you out properly before Jaemin fucked it up, but he didn’t plan on waiting anymore, caressing your neck as he clasped it around you, letting it sit beautifully on your clavicle.
“Wear this for me,” he said, voice rough as he watched it bounce lightly with every roll of your hips. The cool metal rested against your overheated skin, a constant little shock that made you shiver, “now say it. Say you’re mine while you’re riding my cock.”
You sat up straighter, rolling your hips deep, warmth blooming inside you at how beautiful the small accessory was, “I’m yours, Jake,” you moaned, looking down at him, “all yours.”
His eyes rolled back for a second, hands tightening on your hips as he helped you ride him harder. “That’s my girl,” he groaned, thumb still playing with your nipple, “keep saying it. I wanna hear it every time you sink down on me, baby.”
You pressed your face into his neck again, sucking another mark there as you rode him faster, both of you lost in each other, sweaty and desperate and finally, completely real.
Jake’s grip on your hips turned bruising, fingers digging in as he thrust up to meet every roll of your body.
“Fuck—baby, I’m so close,” he panted, voice ragged, eyes half-lidded and wild, “I should pull out, shit, I didn’t even ask—”
You shook your head fast, nails digging into his shoulders as you kept riding him, “It’s a safe day,” you gasped, lips brushing his, “I want you inside. Don’t pull out, please.”
Jake’s breath hitched hard, like the words alone almost broke him, “I can’t ever deny you anything, my love,” he groaned, “not when you ask me like that.”
He slammed up into you twice, burying himself deep as he came with a wrecked moan of your name, loud enough to reverberate, hips jerking as he spilled hot and thick inside you. The feeling of him pulsing, filling you, pushed you over right after—you clenched around him hard, thighs shaking, a broken cry of his name leaving your lips.
For a long moment you both just stayed there, trembling. Jake didn’t pull out, wrapping both arms around you and flipping you gently onto your back so he could hover over you, still buried deep, bodies pressed together with no space left. His chest heaved against yours, sweat-slick skin sticking, heartbeat slamming so hard you could feel it through your ribs.
He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at you, eyes glassy and a little wide like he still couldn’t believe this was real. Then he started kissing every mark he’d left on you tonight—the dark bruise on your inner thigh, the ones on your neck, the one just above your breast. Each kiss was slow, open-mouthed, his nose caressing your skin, warm breath fanning over the fresh hickeys like he was memorizing them with his mouth.
You carded your fingers through his damp hair, letting him take his time.
“I was so ready to beg on my knees tonight if that’s what it took,” he finally whispered against your collarbone, “don’t ever make me do that again.”
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, still a little dazed, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you on your knees, actually.”
Jake lifted his head, eyes meeting yours, he leaned in and pecked your lips once, letting it linger before he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed like he needed the contact more than air.
“Brat,” he murmured, the word warm and fond against your mouth, but the way he said it was so full of quiet, desperate attachment it made your chest tighten. He stayed like that, still inside you, arms wrapped around you, one hand gently stroking up and down your back while the other traced lazy circles over the pendant now warm against your skin.
“I love you,” he finally said, cupping your cheek.
“I love you,” you smiled, letting him be as clingy as he wanted to be.
“Wanna make a bet?” Jake asked, eyes gleaming as you raised your brow.
You laughed under your breath, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “Depends. What are we betting on this time?”
He grinned, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “that I’ll spend the rest of my life proving this was the best bad idea we ever had.”
You smiled against his lips, pretending to think which only made him whine further. But maybe, this one was worth spending time over.
“Bet.”
MEANWHILE:
Jay was repenting for Jake’s sins, staring up at Jungwon, who still appeared to be dissatisfied, half pressed against the man who kept on mumbling, “sorry, Wonie. I’m sorry Jungwonie, please?”
Jungwon only huffed, arms crossed tight even as Jay clung to him like an oversized koala, “you knew about the whole stupid bet and didn’t say a word. I had to watch my best friend get emotionally waterboarded for weeks.”
“I tried to stop it!” Jay whined, nuzzling his face into Jungwon’s shoulder, “I told Jake it was a terrible idea at least thirteen times—”
“Fourteen,” Sunghoon and Heeseung deadpanned from the couch.
Jaemin, already sprawled in the armchair rocking a fresh black eye and split lip, let out a smug little snort, “relax, you babies. I was trying to get them together.”
Jeno, sitting on the floor looking two seconds from committing murder, dragged a hand down his face, “they didn’t even fucking know each other, Jaemin.”
Jaemin shrugged, completely unfazed, “but I saw the bigger picture.”
Heeseung threw a pillow at his head, “there were better ways, you absolute menace.”
Jaemin dodged it with a grin, “yeah, but none as entertaining.” He popped a chip in his mouth and asked casually, “now who do I do next?”
The entire room exploded at once.
“No.”
“Fuck no.”
“Touch another person and I’m punching you this time.”
“I swear to God, Jaemin—”
Jaemin just laughed, raising his hands like he was innocent, “fine. Jay’s next.”
The poor guy looked up in horror.
“Absolutely the fuck not,” Jungwon snapped, yanking Jay behind him like a human shield who only blushed at the display of power, “you stay the hell away from him, Jaemin. End of discussion.”
LHS. ᝰ is writing — "it's completely normal to like your wife you know?"
vol 8. — after the distressing breakup of your five years long relationship you finally decided to settle down and marry the infamous disciplined family friend and the heir of Lee Corporation. What you did not expect was a shy tall guy who stammered three times while saying one sentence and looked at you with stars in his eyes.
𖧧 ָ࣪ 𖧵ֹֺֽ໋໋݊ arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff
note: don't let the synopsis fool you
ʚĭɞ if you liked this don't forget to check out my other works in library
Your friends expected it. Your parents braced for it. But when your long-term boyfriend of nearly five years packed his bags, left your shared apartment, and walked out of your life with nothing but a muttered apology and a shadow of regret in his voice, you didn’t shed a single tear.
Instead, you stood by the door, fingers curled around your sleeves, heart thudding like a dull drum inside your ribs as you watched him go. The soft click of the latch felt louder than thunder. And yet, the silence that followed was even louder.
That was the worst part.
Not the betrayal. Not the abandonment. Not even the mess of memories he left behind, the cracked photo frame he bought you in second year, the shared playlist you couldn’t bring yourself to delete, the faint scent of his cologne in your closet.
No. The worst part was how quiet you became afterward.
You, who once painted the world with laughter, you, who danced barefoot in the rain and burned cupcakes on purpose just to see how far disaster could stretch, you, who used to fill empty rooms with your presence before even speaking.
You disappeared slowly. Like fog rolling into the ocean.
It took months before you left your childhood room again. You’d returned home after graduation, saying it was temporary. That you needed to "rethink things.” Your parents didn’t push. Not when they saw the dark circles under your eyes or the way you flinched when the phone rang. You still hadn’t told them the full story. You couldn’t. How do you explain to your mother that the man you were ready to marry simply changed his mind? That he said you were “too much” one day and “not enough” the next?
That he left without a proper reason. Just a goodbye.
You had just curled up with a blanket and an old journal when your mother knocked on your door.
“Y/n-ah,” she called softly. “Come downstairs.”
You didn’t move. “Why?”
“There’s someone we want you to meet.”
You let out a quiet sigh. “Not today.”
“It’s important.”
You sat up slowly, fingers tracing the corner of your blanket. “Who is it?”
“Lee Heeseung.”
Your breath caught.
The name felt familiar in a distant, foggy kind of way, like a song you once heard in the background of someone else’s life.
Heeseung. The boy with perfect grades, perfect posture, perfect life. The son of your father’s business friend. You remembered vague stories about him growing up, the golden heir. Always abroad. Always busy.
Why would he be here now?
Before you could ask, your mother added, “Just for a few minutes.” And for some reason, you listened.
You expected a stiff man in a starched shirt, radiating cold ambition and forced smiles. What you didn’t expect was a man standing awkwardly in your living room, holding a mug of tea like it was a fragile artifact, and looking more nervous than you felt.
He turned when you walked in and paused. You saw the subtle shift in his breathing pattern.
His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, time bent around the space between you. You noticed the way his gaze softened, then darted away quickly, almost embarrassed. The tips of his ears flushed faintly pink.
You blinked. Interesting.
He bowed slightly. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
You gave a polite nod, sitting across from him. “You too.”
You didn’t speak much after that. Your parents carried the conversation, polite chatter about the market, mutual friends, old memories. Heeseung answered like a proper gentleman, straight laced and careful with his words. You watched him more than you listened. There was something oddly... stiff about him. Like he hadn’t been in a room with a stranger in years.
He caught you watching once and looked away quickly, clearing his throat leaving a warmth pooling in your stomach as you directed your eyes at your palms resting on your stomach.
They dropped the bomb after dinner. An Arranged marriage. With Lee Heeseung, the heir and future CEO of Lee Corporation.
“Just think about it,” your father had said, his tone soft, his eyes more so. There was hope in them, but it was cautious, almost tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure whether it deserved to be there. Next to him, your mother looked everywhere but at you. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger as if it were a question she couldn’t answer.
And across from you, Heeseung sat.
Tall. Composed. The collar of his button-down crisp, the sleeves of his dark blazer pushed back just enough to show a silver watch that gleamed under the dining room light.
He didn’t look surprised.
He didn’t look anything.
Only when he spoke did something shift “You don’t have to decide now,” he said gently, voice as even as his expression. “We can meet a few more times. Talk. See if it’s something you’re open to.”
You stared at him.
Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it like he already knew how this story ended. Like he’d already accepted whatever answer you might give, even if it was a no. He didn’t plead. He didn’t push. He wasn’t playing the role of the desperate suitor or the charming stranger trying to win your favor.
If anything, he seemed… resigned.
And you?
You were so damn tired.
Tired of grieving a love that had left you in pieces. Tired of pretending you were still the same girl who once believed in fairytales. Tired of hearing your friends get engaged, move abroad, fall in love again while your life stood still, wrapped in a fog you couldn't shake off.
So you nodded. Not because it made sense. Not because it felt right. But because, in that moment, anything was better than standing still.
The wedding was simple.
Elegant in the way a gentle breeze was elegant, soft, intentional, and fleeting. There were no loud colors, no over-the-top displays of affection, no extravagant celebrations. Just muted tones of white and beige draping every corner of the small private hall. Golden hour light filtered in through sheer curtains, making everything seem like a daydream. A few strings of fairy lights hung above your heads like stars that had descended for just this moment. The music was soft, almost distant, like a memory trying not to disturb anyone.
Only family and a few close friends were invited. That was the way you both preferred it — quiet, contained. No crowd to force a smile in front of. No strangers to pretend for.
You stood at the entrance, your hand gently clutching the silk of your ivory dress. It clung to your frame delicately, elegant in its simplicity. Your hair was pulled back, and gold earrings brushed against your neck every time you moved. They had once belonged to your mother.
And across the aisle, waiting....was him.
Heeseung.
He wore a slate grey suit that fit him too well, paired with a navy tie that brought out the deeper shades in his usually unreadable eyes. His posture was rigid, but not from arrogance. From nerves. His fingers twitched at his sides. His lips parted slightly when he saw you.
And he didn’t stop staring.
You walked toward him slowly, trying to ignore the way your heart thudded against your chest like it didn’t remember this wasn’t a love marriage. This wasn’t the fairytale. It was an arrangement. Something practical.
But then why did he look at you like that?
As though something about you had caught him off guard.
His gaze didn’t lower or flicker away, even when you stood right before him. Even when the officiant cleared his throat and began the short ceremonial script. Even when you reached out your hand. His hand met yours with a tremble.
Just a flicker. Barely there. But you felt it. Both of you felt it actually.
When the rings were exchanged and the final blessing was offered, the photographer gestured gently, asking for a hug for the photos. A staged embrace, a brief moment of closeness for the sake of memory.
You hesitated, and so did he. But you stepped forward anyway, lifting your arms with quiet grace and sliding them around his waist. His body stiffened instantly under your touch, like he hadn’t prepared himself to be held. Like he didn’t think you would do it.
But then slowly you felt him breathe. His shoulders softened.
His arms came up, unsure, before settling loosely around your back. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t passionate. But it wasn’t cold either. It felt… human. And when you pulled away, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, you saw it.
The faintest blush spreading softly across his cheekbones, like the sun peeking over the edge of dawn.
You bit your lip, amused. A giggle slipped out before you could stop it. It was light, airy, and very real. The kind of laugh you hadn’t heard from yourself in a long time. Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting it. But then, something shifted in his expression. Not quite a smile but something close. His lips twitched at the corners, and he looked down, embarrassed.
You didn’t know why, but your chest warmed.
The first night in your shared apartment was quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. A silence that allowed space to exist between two people without demanding they fill it. You both stood in the living room for a moment, bags still at your feet, before silently choosing opposite doors. You unpacked in your rooms. No drama. No awkward hovering.
Well you didn’t expect to be comfortable anytime soon.
But it wasn’t as strange as you thought it would be.
Heeseung knocked softly after a while, standing at your doorway like he didn’t want to intrude. “Are you hungry?” he asked, voice tentative.
“I was thinking of making something,” you replied, brushing off your hands from folding clothes. “Do you want to help?”
He seemed surprised. “I—I mean, I can. If you don’t mind.”
You didn’t.
So you both ended up in the kitchen.
It wasn’t big, but it was clean. Minimalist, like the rest of the apartment. The kind of space that hadn’t yet been lived in. You gave him the task of slicing the vegetables while you heated the oil. It was an ordinary moment. Too ordinary. But he tried his best to keep up. He worked in silence, furrowed brow, bottom lip tugged between his teeth.
And then
“Ow.”
You turned immediately. “What happened?” He lifted his thumb sheepishly, where a thin line of red had appeared. “It’s not bad.”
A spurge of panick rose as you stammered to find anything you can, fortunately heeseung had his emergency bix ready for moments like this. You grabbed a tissue and dabbed it with alcohol immediately, clicking your tongue. “You’re hopeless,” you muttered, gently pressing it to the cut.
He winced.
“You ever held a knife before?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
He looked genuinely guilty. “Not often.”
That made you laugh almost. The corners of your mouth twitched, but you suppressed it. Barely.
Dinner turned out decent. Slightly over-salted, but edible. You both sat at the table across from each other, clinking spoons occasionally. Heeseung ate slowly, carefully, complimenting the food like he was afraid of insulting you otherwise. When the dishes were cleared and the clock ticked past ten, you curled up on the living room couch with a light blanket, journal in your lap. Random dates, random events, random thoughts. Writing helped. It always had. It made you feel like your thoughts were being listened to.
Heeseung settled into the chair across from you, laptop open, fingers dancing over the keyboard. A pair of glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, making him look softer, more academic than corporate. His brows furrowed again as he read something on the screen. You watched him for a moment. The way he adjusted his posture every few minutes. The way he chewed the inside of his cheek when something didn’t make sense. The way he pushed his glasses up with his knuckle.
He was handsome, yes. Way too much handsome from what you've seen till now.
But he was also strange.
Like a puzzle you didn’t know you were supposed to solve. You tore your gaze away and focused back on your journal until the question slipped out of your mouth.
“You always this serious?”
Heeseung paused mid keystroke. His eyes slowly flicked toward you, clearly startled. “Huh?” You leaned back, head tilting playfully. “Or are you just pretending to impress your very pretty wife?”
A beat of silence.
Then he blinked.
And blinked again.
His face flushed. Not pink. Red. An unmistakable crimson that painted his ears, cheeks, even the base of his neck.
You watched it spread with fascination.
He looked away quickly, clearly flustered. “I, uh—I’m not pretending.”
You grinned, unable to help it. Gotcha
And then you laughed. Finally
Not the soft, polite kind. But a laugh that shook your shoulders. A laugh that sounded far too much like your old self. One that tasted like freedom. Like lightness.
Heeseung stared at you wide eyed, confused, but not unhappy. And in that moment, something inside you cracked open.
Not completely.
But enough to let a little light in.
Enough to remember that this whatever this was didn’t have to be cold or lonely. Maybe it could be… different.
Maybe. Just maybe.
After dinner you followed him, heart awkward in your chest. “We’re married,” you said quietly.
He looked at you. Eyes crinkling a bit “We are.”
You bit your lip. “How does it feel?”
“Like I’m going to pass out.”
You laughed. So did he. And just like that, the room warmed.
You both fell asleep that night, not in each other’s arms, but in the same room. Two souls still cautious. But not strangers anymore. Somewhere between the silk sheets and the soft rustling of fabric, you felt his fingers brush yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away.
The days that followed weren’t perfect but they were real. You cooked breakfast. He cleaned the dishes. You danced alone in the living room. He watched, pretending not to smile.
You fought over the last slice of toast but he shared it anyway.
One evening, he returned early and found you on the balcony, feet up, journal in hand.
He stood there, watching you, quiet.
You glanced over. “You know, for someone who likes his space, you hover a lot.” He gave a small smile. “You’re easy to hover around.” Your heart thumped against chest your walls as you closed the journal.
Heeseung walked closer, placing a cup of tea beside you.
You turned to him, a silly expression playing on your lips “You know...I do notice how much you blush every time I touch you.”
He froze. “No I don’t.” You raised a brow. “You just did.”
His ears flamed. “I’m—That’s not—You’re very—” pretty. He stopped. “Never mind.”
You giggled. “You’re cute when you malfunction.” He groaned into his hands. “I’m regretting this marriage already.”
You reached over, gently flicking his forehead. “Liar.”
You were quiet. Not shy. Not submissive. Just... still. And Heeseung had thought, Perfect. No dramatics. No chaos. No endless talking that led nowhere. You seemed like someone who wouldn’t get in the way of his routine. Obedient. Low-maintenance. Easy to manage.
But stillness, he would later learn, was not the same as simplicity.
You weren’t “easy” in the way he first assumed. You were surviving. He just didn’t see it yet.
The first time you touched him, it was nothing. Really, it was nothing. Just a brief adjustment to the collar of his shirt before a family photo. The fabric was crooked, and you, dutiful, distant, fixed it with all the care of someone folding a stranger’s laundry.
But his throat closed.
And later that night, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he found himself staring at the spot your fingers had grazed. Like it had left a burn.
Heeseung loved that. He loved that he was starting to notice things.
The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. The way your voice softened when talking to plants, like they were old friends. The way your eyes darted around the room when you were overwhelmed but trying not to show it. He hated how easily his heartbeat betrayed him.
Once, you fell asleep on the couch wearing his hoodie. He had walked into the room to ask if you wanted tea. Stopped. Stared.
And nearly had a cardiac arrest.
You looked smaller somehow, curled into the armrest, face turned into the fabric that used to smell like him. The hoodie dwarfed you, sleeves swallowed your hands, and you breathed so softly he thought you might disappear if he blinked.
He didn’t touch you. Didn’t dare. Just stood there and watched you sleep like an idiot, pretending it meant nothing that you’d chosen his hoodie over the dozens in your wardrobe. He told himself it was fine.
Until it wasn’t.
Because one evening, you hummed while watering the plants near the window, barefoot in your pajamas, and something twisted painfully in his chest.
You looked… light.
Like whatever darkness you were dragging around had loosened for a second.
And he thought, She still has it. That light. It’s just buried.
But then someone flirted with you at a company party. Some friend of a friend with too many teeth and not enough respect. The guy leaned in too close when he spoke to you, smiling like he knew you, fingers brushing your elbow as he laughed.
And Heeseung saw red.
He was across the room, drink untouched, shoulders tense. The man’s hand hovered near your lower back, and Heeseung didn’t even remember moving, just that he was suddenly there, standing beside you, one hand on your waist, his tone calm but sharp enough to bleed.
“She’s taken.”
The man backed off. Quickly. You glanced up at him, startled. “I was handling it.” But inside you were going absolute nuts. THAT WAS SO FUCKING HOT WTF.
“I know,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t like watching.”
You fell in love with Lee Heeseung. You weren’t sure if it was real, if your brain was just weaving comfort into romance. But the way he looked at you made you feel real. Grounded. Heeseung didn’t flirt. He didn’t chase. But he remembered. He remembered the one time you said you hated sleeping with the door closed. He remembered your favourite scent was lavender, not rose like everyone assumed.
He remembered the time you offhandedly said you always wanted to stargaze, but no one ever took you.
And he remembered you. Even on the days when you couldn’t remember you.
You sat at the breakfast table, spooning cereal into your mouth, pretending not to notice how Heeseung kept glancing at you over the rim of his coffee mug. You were wearing his hoodie, not for sentiment, but because it was soft and smelled like cedarwood and something vaguely comforting.
He cleared his throat. Loudly.
You blinked at him. “Yes?”
He tensed. “What? Nothing.”
“You’ve been staring for five minutes.”
“I wasn’t—” He cut himself off. “You just have milk on your lip.”
You wiped your mouth while giggling “That’s your excuse today?”
He went red. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m imagining you blushing every time I breathe?"
He said nothing. Just took a long, slow sip of his coffee and looked away. You leaned your chin on your hand. “It’s okay, you know.”
“What is?”
“Liking your wife.”
He choked on his coffee. You handed him a napkin, laughing, and Heeseung groaned into his palm. “Why are you like this?”
You smiled. “Because you like it," and god.... poor Heeseung swore if his gorgeous wife doesn't stop terrorising him anytime soon.
The day began like any other. Soft sunlight filtered through the lace curtains as you flipped the page of your journal, pen poised above the paper. A list of dates stared back at you. Appointments, grocery items, a friend’s birthday next week. There were tiny corrections in the margins, crossed out reminders, swapped days and scribbles you didn’t remember making.
You blinked at them, brow furrowed.
You always kept your journal close. It wasn’t just a habit anymore, it was a lifeline. Your memory had been slipping, barely noticeable at first. A word forgotten. A date misremembered. But lately, the fog had thickened.
You tapped the pen against your palm, trying to recall what you’d written five minutes ago.
“Y/n?” Heeseung’s voice came from the hallway, sleepy and warm. He peeked into the room, his hair tousled from bed. His tie hung loose around his neck. “Did you see my cufflinks?”
You pointed to the dresser. Heeseung stepped in, brushing a kiss over your temple without a second thought. You smiled, heart tugging. His affection had changed. He’d become gentler, softer. He didn’t look at you like he was tolerating a contract anymore, he looked like he was slowly learning how to love.
And you… you were starting to believe in it.
“I’ll make us coffee,” you said, standing a little too fast.
The world tilted sharply and you didn’t even register the fall.
You woke up to beeping machines and Heeseung’s panicked voice floating somewhere near your ear. His hand gripped yours like a lifeline, tight and trembling.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, over and over. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”
Doctors ran tests. Your blood pressure, blood sugar was normal. Heart rate was stable. CT scan was clear. They told you it might’ve been a stress induced fainting spell. Nothing serious.
But it felt serious. You could see it in Heeseung’s eyes. The quiet way he watched you that night, tucking you into bed, fingers ghosting against your forehead. You felt it in your bones too. Something had shifted inside you. And it wasn’t just fatigue.
That night, as you lay beside him in bed, your voice broke the silence “I used to think love was something safe.” He turned his head to you, still half-awake, droopy eyes slowly meeting yours. “But it’s not,” you whispered. “Not always. Sometimes… it just leaves you.”
Heeseung didn’t say anything. But his fingers found yours beneath the covers and squeezed, tender.
“It left me once. Completely. And I’m scared if I ever feel it again, it’ll do the same.”
Your throat closed, you didn’t tell him you were in love with him. But your eyes did. They searched his, trembled with quiet confession, and Heeseung… oh, he was unraveling from the inside. He said nothing. He only gathered you into his arms and held you so tightly, so fiercely, that your breath caught.
And then he kissed your forehead like a promise.
Like he’d never leave.
The warmth didn’t last forever. A shadow crept in slowly, just as your memories began to slip through your fingers like grains of sand.
You fainted again three days later.
This time, it wasn’t dramatic or alarming in the way most people imagined fainting would be. There was no dizziness or shortness of breath. Just silence. Just a quiet, mundane moment, laundry on your lap, socks in your hand, sunlight spilling through the windows like everything was perfectly normal, and then…
Black.
A blink later, you were waking up to the sound of footsteps thundering down the hallway. Heeseung’s voice, frantic and cracking at the edges, shouted something unintelligible into his phone. There was desperation in his tone, something close to begging, and when you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was his silhouette pacing like a man unraveling thread by thread.
You groaned faintly, and the sound jolted him. “Y/n!” The phone clattered to the floor as he dropped beside you, his knees hitting the hardwood. His hands hovered over your shoulders, afraid to shake you too hard, afraid to touch you too softly.
You tried to speak, but only a croaky sound came out.
“Jesus, don’t do that again,” he breathed, brushing a stray hair away from your face with trembling fingers. “You scared the hell out of me.” You blinked at him, mind still foggy, body weak. And then perhaps to deflect the weight in his gaze, perhaps to avoid your own rising dread, you smiled faintly and said,
“Maybe I’m pregnant.”
The words hung in the air like they didn’t belong there. Heeseung stilled.
“Preg—what?!”
You blinked again, suddenly aware of what you’d just said. “I was joking—obviously—I mean, we haven’t even—oh my god—”
His entire face flushed crimson. He scrambled upright, running a hand through his hair like the heat on his cheeks could be shaken off. “Why would you even say that?!”
“I don’t know!” you blurted, still breathless. “I was just—I don’t know—it slipped out!”
“I—okay, well—” He turned away for a second, then turned back just as fast, blurting out, “Would you… want to?”
Silence.
You blinked again, a faint blush creeping on your cheeks this time “What?” you asked softly. He cleared his throat, swallowed, tried again. “I mean not now—not like this, I just–if we ever did...you know like if we were ready—would you want to have a kid with me?”
You just stared at him. Eyes round, heart skipping, stare that peeled you open from the inside and left every thought exposed.
He panicked. “Shit–I didn’t mean it like that. I just–God, I sound like a lunatic. I’m sorry—”
“No,” you interrupted, and your voice, though small, was steady now. “You don’t.”
Heeseung’s breath caught.
You reached forward, hand brushing over his where it hung awkwardly by his side. Slowly, you entwined your fingers, tugging gently until he let himself sit beside you on the couch. He didn’t speak, neither did you.
The silence felt soft this time, tender, warm in its own way.
“I see a future,” you murmured. “And you’re in it.”
He inhaled sharply, chest rising like he’d just been given permission to breathe again. His hand tightened around yours instinctively, and then without another word he pulled you into him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his around your waist. He held you like you were something fragile and precious. His chin dropped to your shoulder, and you felt his lips press into the crook of your neck, featherlight. Then the top of your head. Then again and again.
The crown of your skull. Your temple. Your hair. Tiny kisses, barely there, like he couldn’t help himself.
His hands moved up and down your back, long strokes, slow and careful like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. Like he wanted to trace your shape into his memory forever. You leaned into him, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, listening to the way his heart thudded so loud it echoed through his chest.
“Heeseung,” you whispered.
“Hmm?”
“You don’t have to be scared.”
He said nothing for a long moment. Then, softly, “You’re the only thing I’m scared of losing.” That’s when you knew...he meant it. Every trembling, terrifying word. It wasn’t just affection. It wasn’t just comfort. He loved you. Quietly, desperately, in the way only someone who’s afraid of not being enough ever could.
But you couldn’t say it back.
Because something in your chest twisted whenever the words reached your throat. You wanted to. God, you did. But how could you, when a part of you knew you might forget the weight of those words one day?
So instead, you just pulled him closer.
Let his warmth anchor you. Let your silence be love. And he accepted it like it was all he needed.
For now.
You weren’t supposed to forget things like this.
It started with little slips. You misplaced your favorite pen, the one you always kept clipped to your journal. You put milk in the pantry instead of the fridge. Called Heeseung’s PA by the wrong name, twice.
You told yourself it was stress.
But you started writing everything down. Grocery lists. Things to do. Things you’ve done. Just in case. You didn’t tell Heeseung. Not yet. He’d been watching you more carefully lately, even after the hospital said you were fine. Normal vitals. Normal bloodwork. Just a little fainting from low blood sugar, they said.
You smiled at Heeseung when he brought you tea in the mornings. Laughed when he’d forget his tie and you’d fix it for him before he left for the day. Kissed his knuckles goodbye.
And then, at night, when he was asleep next to you, you wrote.
Remember: His coffee is black with half a sugar. He hums when brushing his teeth. He hates losing control. He loves order. But he loves you, even when you’re chaos.
Your handwriting trembled some days.
You couldn’t afford to forget him.
Until something happened which shook your whole world. You were out for a small grocery run, just around the corner of your cozy apartment.That afternoon, the sky had been unusually dull for mid spring, kind of gray that made everything feel quieter. You were reaching for a carton of oat milk when someone said your name.
A voice you hadn’t heard in years, soft, hesitant. Drenched in familiarity
“Y/n?”
You froze mid-motion. Hand halfway to the shelf. The fluorescent lights above flickered like they always did in that dingy corner aisle. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
But you did anyway.
Jongseong.
There he stood. Your ex. Five years of history packed into one lean frame and a stupidly familiar jawline, he hadn’t changed much, still wore that same brand of denim, still had his hair pushed back like he hadn’t really tried but somehow looked effortlessly put together. Still had that look in his eyes, like he was constantly on the verge of saying something meaningful. You wished you could’ve walked away, wished your feet moved. But your body betrayed you. You stood rooted, staring at the man who had left you broken on the bathroom floor that night so many years ago.
“Hi,” he said, cautiously, as if testing the waters.
You let out a shaky breathe, recovering. “What the hell are you doing here? ”
His lips curved into that apologetic smile, the one that once made you forgive things you never should have. “Shopping. Just moved back last month.”
Of course he did. A painful silence settled between you, thick like humidity before a storm. You hated how your heart still reacted, a strange, erratic beat that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with trauma. You glanced down at your cart. Laundry detergent, a bag of oranges, ice cream you knew Heeseung would pretend not to like but eat anyway.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, voice low. “You look…”
“Don’t.”
That shut him up. He nodded, eyes darting around. “I heard you got married.”
You responded by muttering a quiet 'hm' and stepping back. “I—I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said finally, breath hitching. “For how I left. For all of it. I was a coward. I know that now.” You closed your eyes for a second. Let the words wash over you like cold water. They didn’t heal anything. Didn’t change the nights you’d spent alone wondering what you did wrong.
“I don’t need your apology,” you said, quiet but firm.
He took a step forward, then another. You didn’t move. You should have, but it was too late. He pulled you into a hug before you could protest. His arms wrapped around you like old muscle memory. You felt nothing.
No heat. No pain. Just a dull ache — like pressing on a bruise that had already begun to fade.
You let it happen.
Maybe out of shock. Maybe because you needed to feel nothing for a moment. Then you pushed him back.
“Don’t do that,” you said, voice sharp.“I just—” He looked desperate now. “I miss you, Y/N.”
“I don’t.”
He recoiled like you’d struck him. And maybe you had.
Your hands were still trembling when you stepped out of the grocery store. The air outside was thick with city noise, buses hissing past, horns blaring somewhere in the distance but everything around you felt strangely muted. As if the world had taken a step back, blurred its edges, dulled its colors.
He had touched you.
He had hugged you.
And you had frozen. Stiff, shocked, disgusted. You didn’t even know what scared you more, the fact that he dared to wrap his arms around you, or the fact that, for a split second, you didn’t pull away fast enough. You could still feel the ghost of that hug clinging to your skin like grease. You wiped your arms with your sleeves again and again as you walked, as if scrubbing the moment off could make it disappear.
It didn't.
Halfway back to your apartment, your vision started to blur. The world tilted to one side. Your legs stumbled, heart racing in your chest, a noise ringing faintly in your ears.
And then nothing.
You woke up under hospital lights, too white, too sharp, sterile brightness. A cold breeze hummed from the AC. Your wrist had a hospital band. Your head throbbed.
“Miss?” the voice of a young nurse stirred beside you. You nodded.
It was third time in one month. And the last two times you’d brushed it off, too little sleep, maybe low blood sugar, maybe stress. But this time felt different. Your limbs still felt heavy. Your memory hazy. You sat up slowly as the doctor entered, young, calm, and professional, with a clipboard in his hand and a thoughtful expression behind his glasses.
“We ran some tests while you were unconscious. Vitals look stable, but I want to ask a few questions.”
You nodded absently, already reaching for your journal. The leather cover had softened from overuse. You opened it and began jotting something down under the last entry, the date, the name of the hospital, a reminder to track symptoms.
The doctor noticed.
“You carry that with you often?” he asked.
“Always,” you replied, not looking up. “It helps me keep track of things. Sometimes… I forget details. Or what day it is.”
He tilted his head. “How long have you been doing that?”
“For months....more than half a year to be exact...”
“And before that?”
“I....don't remember ” you said simply.
The next ten minutes passed in quiet tension as he asked you a series of questions. Your age, your name, your address.
Easy enough.
Then what day it was, the current year, who the president was.
You fumbled. You knew it. You did. But in that moment, it slipped away like mist through your fingers. You blinked hard, tried again. But your mouth stayed still.
The doctor’s voice was gentle. “Y/N… I’m going to be honest with you. Some of the signs you’re displaying memory lapses, spatial confusion, fainting episodes they’re consistent with early onset Alzheimer’s disease.”
You stared at him. What?
The words didn't make sense. Not at first.
That was something older people got. Grandparents. Not someone in her twenties. Not someone like you.
“That's not possible,” you murmured. “That’s not—people my age don’t get that.”
“It’s rare,” he agreed, “but not impossible. Especially when there’s a genetic predisposition or trauma involved. We’ll need to run more scans, cognitive assessments, but... I’d advise preparing for the possibility.”
The room closed in.
You were still holding your pen. You hadn’t even finished your sentence in the journal “What happens now?” you asked, your voice brittle.
“You be careful,” he said quietly. “You start documenting everything. You let someone close to you know. And… you prepare. Because things might start getting messy from now on.”
You nodded.
You didn’t cry. Not yet. There was a storm going inside you. What happens now? Instead, you turned to your journal and wrote everything down.
Because if your brain was going to fail you…you needed your words to remember.
Heeseung noticed the emotional shift before anything else. You became quieter, guarded again. It reminded him of how you were when he first met you, polite, careful, full of silences that hurt more than shouting.
He didn’t understand why.
You weren’t pulling away physically. You still reached for his hand, still leaned into his chest on the couch. Still smiled at his stupid jokes. But something behind your eyes had dimmed.
Heeseung didn’t press. At first. Then, one afternoon, he caught you staring blankly at the laundry machine. You’d loaded it three times and hadn’t turned it on.
You didn’t even notice him standing behind you until he touched your arm.
“Are you okay?”
You blinked. “Yeah. Just... zoned out.” He didn’t believe you but he nodded anyway. That night, you sat on the balcony with your journal in your lap. The stars were faint, the city always swallowed most of them. Still, you looked up and whispered to yourself
“I hope I remember what the sky looks like.”
Heeseung’s promotion came two weeks later.
CEO.
The letters barely held any weight in your mind, but they meant everything to the company and to him. It was the culmination of years of dedication, late nights, near flawless discipline. He had been groomed for this position since the day he stepped into his father’s office, and now he finally stood at the top. There was a celebration, of course. Lavish, gleaming, all sharp suits and champagne glasses. You were expected to be there, not just as his wife, but as his partner, the quiet, polished figure beside the man of the hour. A photograph for the headlines. A name in the caption.
And so, you helped him get ready.
He stood in front of the mirror while you adjusted the lapels of his charcoal suit, the one you had picked for this night months ago, long before the diagnosis, long before your world started folding in on itself. It had a clean cut, regal structure, and a dark sheen under warm lighting. He looked like a leader. Like someone people would follow.
Like someone who deserved everything good in this life.
You moved closer, fingers brushing over his shoulders as you smoothed down the fabric. Then the tie — a deep navy silk one that complimented his skin. You looped it slowly, methodically, the way you’d done a hundred times before, but today your hands were a little shakier. When you finished tightening the knot, you adjusted the collar, folding it just right.
And then… you met his gaze.
He was looking at you the way he always did when he was proud of something. Eyes full of stars. That small boyish smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. The kind of smile that made your heart ache because he still saw you not the version that was slowly slipping through cracks, but the version that had once walked into his life like a spark.
“You’re really good at this,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “Should I be worried? You might have a secret career as a stylist.”
You chuckled weakly “Only for you.”
Heeseung grinned, a hint of pink on his ears as he lowered his head shyly. He had always been like this, confident in the boardroom, decisive in crisis, but hopelessly soft around you. “When are you getting ready?” he asked “I mean, not that I want to rush you, but… should I help you with your dress too?” It was teasing, yes. But the sincerity in his tone turned it fragile. Tender. As if he wanted nothing more than to make you feel cared for.
You couldn't meet his eyes anymore.
Your smile felt forced, stretched across your face like something stitched on. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips quick, light, almost mechanical then pulled back and murmured, “I’ll go change now.”
You walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind you.
Locked it.
The moment you turned around, the first sob escaped before you could stop it. Your back slid against the door, and you dropped to the floor, your knees folding beneath you.
You cried.
Not the loud, guttural cries of heartbreak. These were quieter. More dangerous. Cry that hollowed you out from the inside. The kind that didn’t shake the walls but carved themselves into your ribcage like scratches from within. Because how could you stand beside him tonight? How could you wear a smile and pose for photographs next to someone so perfect, so capable, so destined while you were falling apart in silence?
You didn’t deserve to be in those frames. You didn’t deserve the warmth in his voice or the light in his eyes. Heeseung wasn’t just beautiful, he was good. A man who’d carry the weight of the world and still ask how you were doing. He deserved someone strong. Someone helpful. Someone who would hold his hand and not forget the reason why she loved him.
Not someone who would make his life harder. You pulled your knees to your chest, pressing your forehead against them, biting back the next wave of sobs. Tears soaked through the fabric of your dress before you even realized.
And then came a knock. Gentle, hesitant.
“Y/N?” His voice. Muffled through the door, but heavy with concern. “Are you okay?” You panicked for a moment. Could he hear you crying? Could he feel it through the wood? You scrambled to your feet, wiping your face with trembling hands. “I’m fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just… changing. I’ll be out in a minute.”
A beat of silence.
“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. You heard his footsteps retreat, but slowly. Like he was still half-listening. You turned to the mirror.
Your eyes were red. Your lips were trembling. Your heart was still fractured in your chest.
But you smiled. You forced it. You fixed your face, did your makeup, washed your cheeks with cold water. You put on your dress, the one he loved and stepped into the role you needed to play tonight.
His wife, His person. And maybe a ticking clock he hadn’t heard yet.
Everyone at the office practically worshipped him that day. Heeseung stood on the stage like he was born for it, tall, composed, every line of his suit sharp, every word he spoke deliberate. The perfect heir, finally crowned. You watched him from the back of the room, fingers loosely threaded in front of your dress, the heels you wore pressing too hard against your ankles. He scanned the crowd with those piercing eyes of his, unreadable as ever, until they landed on yours. His gaze softened. Just a flicker a small, private moment no one else caught.
You smiled. Clapped along with everyone else. Even mouthed a “congratulations” later, when he walked off stage and found you again.
But it ached.
The pride did. The smile. The applause. The knowledge that this moment belonged to him, but not fully to you.
Because you’d seen it all evening.
That woman Heejin, his PA hovering just a little too close. Laughing at his jokes like she’d memorized the rhythm of his humor. Knowing the stats, the reports, the number of interviews scheduled, the name of the board member’s wife who just had a baby. She touched his arm like she had every right. Whispered in his ear and was so dangerously close to adjust his tie like it was second nature.
You told yourself it didn’t matter.
Heeseung was with you throughout the whole event. When he wasn’t being pulled away to speak with department heads or board directors, he returned to your side. He introduced you formally. Called you his wife. Smiled that same smile that always softened at the edges when it was just the two of you. Still, it felt like a storm was swelling beneath the chandeliers.
The whispers began slowly, it curled around your ankles and trailed up your spine like a chill. Faces half turned. Brows raised. Smirks too subtle to name. For a moment you thought you were imagining it.
Until Heejin, heels clicking, ponytail high made her way to Heeseung and whispered something in his ear while holding her phone to his face. His jaw tensed. The sharp intake of his breath wasn’t loud, but you felt it like a slap.
He didn’t say anything. Just handed the phone back, eyes suddenly blank. You took a step forward, concern prickling in your chest, but before you could reach him
Your own phone buzzed.
One notification. Then another. Then another.
You froze as the screen lit up with a forwarded image and a text chain that had clearly been passed from one employee to another.
A picture.
Of you and Jongseong.
Your arms around each other in the middle of a grocery store aisle. His head tilted, mouth close to your ear. The caption was cruel —
"The new CEO’s wife already bored? Guess Heeseung’s cold heart wasn’t enough to keep her warm."
The room spun for a second. You gripped your clutch tighter, your breath lodged in your throat. You remembered that day. Every nauseating second of it. How you’d walked out of the store in shock and disgust that you’d let your ex touch you. How the encounter made your stomach churn. How you’d fainted halfway to your apartment the third time in a month. How you woke up in the hospital, and how that day changed everything for you.
But none of that was in the photo.
Just a snapshot. A second. A cruelly timed frame that looked like you were holding someone you still loved.
You barely made it through the rest of the event.
when you returned home, Heeseung was quiet.
Too quiet.
He removed his tie slowly, hands shaking in the low light of your shared bedroom. You stood by the dresser, unsure whether to speak first. The silence between you throbbed, thick and pulsing like a bruise.
“I didn’t know about the picture,” you breathed out, finally. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”
He didn’t look at you. Just nodded. “Okay.” But that okay was hollow. A placeholder. You stepped closer. “I didn’t know someone took it. It wasn’t a… moment. It was nothing. I told him to stay away.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, still not meeting your eyes. “Did you?”
You blinked. “Yes.”
He licked his lips, exhaled. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Do you still love him?”
The question hit you like a punch.
“No,” you said too quickly. His eyes finally lifted to yours. Red rimmed. Vulnerable in a way he rarely showed. “Then why did you look like you did?”
You hesitated. “I didn’t. That photo—”
“No,” he interrupted gently, almost apologetically. “I’m not blaming you. I just… I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like I’m accusing you, but… was I not enough? Am I… not enough for you?” It broke your heart to hear him ask that. To hear that insecurity come from someone who had always seemed so sure of himself so composed, so precise. “You’re more than enough,” you said. “God, Heeseung, you’re everything. That day… I was in shock. I didn’t want him to touch me. I felt disgusted the second he did. And after that— I—" you stopped, more like the words abruptly run out of your brain. What exactly happened after that? You wanted to reach out to your journal but at this moment it felt like a foreign subject in that room.
He stared, breath caught in his throat “after that what?”
You opened your mouth. But nothing came out.
So instead, you reached for him. Sat beside him. Took his hand in yours “I felt like I didn’t deserve you,” you said honestly. “You’re… perfect. And I’m not. I’m going to ruin your life.”
He shook his head, eyes stinging. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” you whispered.“No.” He squeezed your hand. “I’ve ruined every relationship I’ve been in because I’m quiet. Closed off. I tried to do better with you. I tried to laugh more, talk more, open up. I don’t know if that scared you. Maybe I overwhelmed you—”
You didn’t let him finish. You pressed your mouth to his.
Soft at first. Like reassurance. Like apology.
But it didn’t stay soft. Your lips opened. His hands found your waist. Yours slid to the nape of his neck. He pulled you into his lap, clutching you like he didn’t want you to vanish. It was desperate. Heated. His mouth moved against yours with all the frustration and confusion he couldn’t put into words. His tongue tasted of hurt, of longing, of too much and not enough all at once. Your hands explored his jaw, his chest, the familiar planes of his body.
You gasped into his mouth when he gripped your thigh, and he caught the sound with his own lips, like he couldn’t stand to be away from you for even a second.
Clothes shifted. Hands wandered. You both chased each other’s warmth, each other’s breath, each other’s forgiveness. Your bodies tangled, your mouths pressed again and again, as if trying to remember what this meant what you meant.
When it was over, you lay against his chest, both of you breathless.
He held you like you were something breakable. You clutched the fabric of his shirt in your fist like he was your anchor.
Neither of you spoke.
Because sometimes, silence wasn’t emptines.....sometimes it was healing.
You stayed like that until sleep found you, nestled in the wreckage of that night, hearts still beating wildly but at least for now still together.
The next morning, he woke up alone.
Your pillow was cold.
Your phone was gone.
So were you.
Heeseung tore the apartment apart. Every room, every drawer, every closet. He called everyone. Checked hospitals. Airports. Police stations.
Nothing.
It was like you’d never existed.
Except for one thing
Your journal.
You’d hidden it behind the books on the shelf. It fell when he yanked the entire stack down in a frenzy. He opened it with shaking hands. Inside, he found pages pf him. Notes, memories, doodles of his face, stupid jokes, coffee orders, days he looked happiest, days he looked tired, the way he kissed your temple after work, the time he asked if you wanted kids and you couldn’t stop laughing.
But nothing about you.
No fears. No timeline. No diagnosis.
Until the last page.
Your last entry....probably
If you’re reading this, I probably forgot to tell you...I didn’t mean to leave like this. But I was so scared, Heeseung. I’m still scared. Alzheimer’s, That’s what they said. I’ll forget my name. My home. Maybe one day… even you. But I wrote you down so I wouldn’t. Because how could I forget the only place I ever felt safe?
He found the prescriptions next, right in between the pages, crumbled hard truth. His hands were shaking and he dropped the journal.
You weren’t in any of the places that made sense. Not your mother’s. Not your childhood home, the hospital where they gave you that impossible diagnosis, not even that quiet little beachside cafe you loved as a teenager, the one you once told Heeseung you’d run away to if life ever got too loud.
Heeseung checked them all. He didn’t stop looking. His PA begged him to rest and his board of directors hinted at taking a leave. Tabloids started speculating that you had disappeared because of him but that was not enough to make him stop looking for you. He ignored it all.
You were gone.
And all he had left was a journal where you remembered everything about him… but not a single word about yourself.
It destroyed him.
Every scribbled sentence felt like a goodbye in slow motion.
You wrote down his allergies, his favorite tie, the way he bit his lip when he was nervous. You even wrote down the first time he ever said your name like it meant something. But nothing — nothing — about when you first forgot your keys. Or when you got your test results. Or when you decided that loving him meant leaving.
Heeseung knew you did it to protect him.
But he didn’t want protection.
He wanted you.
At nights, Heeseung found himself on the beach. The sky quiet, no stars and too much cloud. Just the sound of waves, soft and endless. He remembered what you said once about wanting to see stars
“I feel like I belong to the sea. It forgets everything and still keeps going.”
He stared at the ocean for a long time. Then whispered, “I won’t forget you. Even if you forget me.”
Back in Seoul, your disappearance became public. Someone leaked the hospital records. Someone else found the journal. It was only a matter of time. Suddenly, the narrative changed. You weren’t the runaway wife anymore.
You were tragically sick. Young. Beautiful. Doomed.
The world grieved you like a ghost while you were still breathing somewhere. Heeseung hated it.
He hated that they mourned your memory while he still clung to your toothbrush. Hated that your name became a headline when it used to be a whisper only he was allowed to say that gently. And through all of it, the noise, the press, the pity he kept looking.
Weeks passed.
The world moved on.
He didn’t.
It was almost six months later when the knock came. A strange, hesitant rhythm, three soft raps, then silence. It wasn’t the knock you get from someone delivering mail or asking for a favor. It was the kind that came burdened with weight. With grief. With something you weren’t ready to hear. Heeseung opened the door, expecting a stranger. And he was though somehow, not entirely.
The man looked about his age. Disheveled, eyes filled with exhaustion and rimless glasses around them, lips trembling like he’d rehearsed this moment too many times only to still not be ready.
“Are you… Heeseung?” he asked, voice rough, tight. Heeseung blinked. “Yes. Can I help you?”
The man swallowed, then took a deep breath like it hurt to say her name. “I’m Jake. I—
I’ve been taking care of Y/N.”
Heeseung didn’t register it at first. But then the words unfurled inside his chest like shrapnel.
“I found her,” Jake continued, “about six months ago. On the street. She had fainted. Hit her head pretty bad.”
Everything around Heeseung went still. His fingers gripped the door tighter.
“You what?”
Jake nodded, frantic now. “I tried to help her. I brought her to the hospital. I wanted to call you—believe me, I did. But she… she begged me not to. Said you’d worry. Said she just needed a moment away.”
Heeseung felt his world turn inside out. “So she’s with you?” Jake’s expression shattered. “Yes...but I can't do this anymore. ” He stepped forward, desperate now. “Please, can I come in?”
They sat in silence for a moment on opposite ends of the couch. Jake’s fingers trembled around the cup of water Heeseung handed him. “I’m sorry,” Jake murmured, voice cracking. “I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know if there’s a right way to explain any of this.”
Heeseung nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. Jake looked down. “She didn’t remember much that day. Just bits and pieces. She kept asking for directions to a bakery that closed years ago. She was mumbling about… socks, a couch, stars. It didn’t make sense at first.” He paused to take a breathe “But there was something about her. Something… delicate. She didn’t want to be seen as fragile, but she was. She had this quiet kind of sadness. Like she was running from her own mind.”
Heeseung’s throat felt like sandpaper.
“I brought her to my place,” Jake continued, wiping his eyes. “It was closer than the hospital. She stayed for a few days. Then… weeks. And I just… let her.”
There was guilt in every syllable.
“I should’ve called you. I know that. But I—she asked me not to. She said she wasn’t ready to go back. That she needed time. And after everything she told me—or tried to tell me—I didn’t want to force her.”
Heeseung finally found his voice, low and raw. “Told you?”
Jake let out a weak laugh. “Pieces. Fragments. She kept scribbling on papers. I read one by accident one night when she forgot where she hid it.” That hit Heeseung in the chest. “She still wrote?”
“Obsessively,” Jake whispered. “Dates. Events. What you wore. The first time you laughed during breakfast. The time you hugged her when she thought no one would.” He looked up at Heeseung with a hollow sort of respect. “She didn’t write about herself. Just you.”
The silence that followed was cruel.
Then Jake broke it, voice cracking open. “I didn’t plan on falling for her. But it happened.”
Heeseung’s fingers curled into fists.
“I think… I think I fell in love the moment she offered to fold my laundry. She said she couldn’t sleep unless the room was organized, so she started arranging things, my books, labeled my kitchen spices.” He gave a humorless laugh. “She even asked me one night what tie I’d be wearing the next day. I told her I was a kindergarten teacher—I don’t wear ties. I don’t even own one.”
Heeseung looked at him, and something inside him twisted.
Jake’s next words came with a crack.
“She said she loved me once. Looked me straight in the eye and said it. But I knew—God, I knew—she didn’t mean me.”
Heeseung's chest ached.
“She looked at me like she loved someone. But there was no warmth in it. No spark. Just muscle memory.” Jake’s hands trembled harder. “Every day, she did things I knew weren’t meant for me. She’d ask me if I remembered the constellation we saw last December. I’ve never gone stargazing with her. She made tea the way you liked it. She even called me 'Seung' once.”
Heeseung felt the blood drain from his face.“I tried to be enough,” Jake whispered. “I told myself if I loved her hard enough, it wouldn’t matter that she was forgetting. That I wasn’t the one she loved. But I’m not strong enough. I can’t keep lying to myself. I’m going crazy.”
His voice finally broke. “She’s still in love with you.”
Heeseung sat frozen, pain slicing through every nerve. Jake covered his face. “I didn’t come here to fight. Or to beg. I came because I can’t hold this anymore. She’s slipping, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to keep her grounded.”
He looked up, red-eyed. “But maybe you do.”
Heeseung didn’t sleep that night. Jake left after an hour. Not because he wanted to, but because he said staying longer would feel like he was asking for permission.
Heeseung wandered back into the old room you used together. It still smelled like you. The scent hadn’t left, even though you had. He sat at your desk and opened one of the drawers.
And there it was.
Your journal. The one with the frayed corner and ink blot on the back. His hands shook as he turned the pages.
February 3rd – Heeseung laughed today. Actually laughed. I think it was because I burnt the toast and blamed the toaster, but I want to believe it’s because he’s starting to feel safe around me.
March 19th – He looked at me like I was someone worth choosing.
May 1st – I told a joke. He didn’t laugh. I think I messed up. I think I’m slipping again. Heeseung, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I wanted to remember. I wanted to stay.
Heeseung pressed the pages to his chest and let himself cry.
Because you didn’t run away. You simply… forgot your way back. And now he had to find you before the memory of him disappeared too.
The storm had passed, but the ruin it left behind still trembled beneath Heeseung’s ribs. The next morning, sunlight spilled pale and cold over his apartment floor, but there was no warmth in it. Just silence. Thick. Suffocating. Jake had left the address on a wrinkled piece of paper, scrawled in shaky handwriting like his hands were trying to outrun guilt. Heeseung held it tight as he stood in front of the door now, frozen not from fear, but something worse.
What if you look at him and see nothing? He didn’t knock. He just stood there for a second. Then another. Then the door opened from the inside. You stood barefoot, hair pulled back loosely, wearing a familiar oversized cardigan. His cardigan.
But the eyes that met his weren’t familiar at all.
You frowned.
“Who are you…” your head tilted, voice uncertain. “Why do you look so sad?”
It wasn’t a joke anymore. It wasn’t teasing. Your voice was too sincere, too puzzled. Heeseung’s heart dropped into a bottomless void.
He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even breathe. So he stepped forward and hugged you. He didn’t ask. Didn’t wait. He just pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it nearly broke both of you.
“I missed you,” he whispered, voice trembling against your ear. “I missed you so goddamn much.”
For a beat, you didn’t move. Then your fingers clutched his shirt. And you began to cry.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” you said, voice cracking. “But you… you feel familiar.” He nodded into your shoulder, gripping you like an anchor in a storm.“You’re warm... but so familiar ” you mumbled, cheek pressed against his collarbone now. "Heeseung...why are you sad?”
His tears spilled freely now.
Behind them, Jake watched from the hallway, shoulders stiff, arms crossed, mouth quivering.
When you turned slightly and met Jake's eyes
You blinked. Shifting suddenly,Then asked, “Who are you?”
Silence.
Jake’s lips parted. But no sound came.
A second passed. Then another. He blinked once, twice, swallowed the storm threatening to choke him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.
Heeseung didn’t speak. Didn’t turn.
Jake’s eyes glistened. But he smiled anyway, as if giving you up was the easiest thing he’d ever done. He turned away and went into the other room. A silent retreat.
That night, Heeseung stayed. He didn’t sleep. Neither did you. You curled against him on the couch, wrapped in past like a quilt. He tucked you into his side like he had never lost you. Your hand rested on his chest, fingers twitching every so often like you were trying to remember something with touch alone.
In the silence, you whispered, “I want to go.”
He turned to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Where?”
You shook your head, confused. “I don’t know. Just… away.”
“Away from what?”
“I don’t know that either,” you said. “But I want to go. With you.” Heeseung kissed your forehead, gently. “Okay.”
Jake woke up to an empty house. No voices. No breathing. No you. He called out once. Twice. Silence answered.
His heart seized.
Then he saw it, on the dining table. A phone. No, not a phone. A voice recorder. The kind Heeseung used sometimes when working through business proposals aloud.
He pressed play. And heard Heeseung’s voice. Soft. Tired. But steady.
“Jake…I know you probably hate me right now. Maybe you should. But I need to say this before I go.
Thank you.
Thank you for finding her when I lost her. For caring for her when I didn’t know how. For loving her in the quiet ways that kept her alive.
I read the journal.
I know now that she didn’t leave because she wanted to forget me. She left because she was scared I’d forget her. Or worse, that I’d watch her forget me. But Jake… she remembers something. Somewhere deep down, in the part of her soul untouched by time or illness or fear...she remembers love.
And I’m going to remind her. Every day. Until the stars go out. I’m taking her away. Just the two of us.
She wanted to go. So I’m taking her where the sky’s clear and quiet. Where the world slows down.
I’m going to show her the stars.”
The recording stopped. Jake stood there for a long, long time. He didn’t cry right away. Instead, he sat down at the kitchen table. Fingers trembling, he reached for the cross that hung from his necklace.
Clutched it. Pressed it to his lips. And closed his eyes.
“Take care of them,” he whispered. “Please.”
And then he cried. For you. For Heeseung. For himself. For the cruel poetry of loving someone who never truly belonged to you.
