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END OF THE LINE ✦ 박성훈 PARK SUNGHOON [ PART 01 ]

if you're gonna break me in two ⋆ masterpost ⋆ do what you gotta do GENRE + PAIRING ⋮ college au. ice hockey player!fratboy!sunghoon x fem!reader. PART 01 WC 29.3k

SYNOPSIS ⋮ you’ve been crushing on lee heeseung for most of your college life — long enough that you were beginning to crack. one blessed night, when a girl at a party slips you his number, it feels like fate finally taking pity on you. what follows is a slow, intoxicating unraveling — late-night calls, perfect pick-ups, subtle flirts you’d expect from a charming guy like him. so why is it that when you finally wave at him on campus, he looks genuinely confused?

CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ explicit themes, includes smut so +18 only. themes of mental illness sex as a coping mechanism self esteem issues angst with happy ending miscommunication skinship physical intimacy inferiority complex featuring enhypen slowburn pining

AUTHOR'S NOTE ⋮ hi!! thank you so much for waiting on me. this fic was such an ambitious idea of mine that i had no idea if i would be able to pull it off.. but after 6 months of typing n gathering feedback from my wonderful friends (veevee, annabanana, and mona to my minju + many more) i was able to do just that <33 hoonyn have such a special place in my heart, even though i worked on other fics while fleshing out this one, this project always got me the most excited (and also the most frustrated lmfao). anyway!!!! i had to split it up into two because of the block limit... VERY SORRY about that it's like 52k ish total? i got lost in the plot and just enjoyed my time writing, so that's why...... i hope it lives up to your expectations! i love U aaallll enjoy the word vomit ++ taglist at the end of the fic <3 thank u and see u in part 2 veryy sooonnn

REBLOGS APPRECIATED ⋆ THANK YOU FOR READING

everyone always told you that you had terrible luck. this applied to most things: friendships, competitions, meeting a friend’s parents, even.

but love? oh, love was where it stung. this was somehow more painful than everything else, because while you could flaunt at least one instance where a friendship didn’t explode in your face, or a parent actually liked you, or you won a gold star—you could never say you hit it off with a guy, ever.

perhaps the men of this generation were simply too terrible for this to ever be a matter of luck. it felt more like a rigged casino: every bet placed in good faith, every hand played carefully, and still you walked away lighter, bled dry all the same.

you weren’t desperate. no. far from it. you did everything right. you waited, chose the boys who made you feel safe instead of reckless, who offered steadiness instead of the dizzy thrill everyone else swore by. you could say, with a quiet sense of pride, that you followed the rules and played it by the book. hell, even after all that, every guy’s true colours somehow emerged victorious by the end of it: they just want sex, sex, or sex.

the truth was that deep down, you didn’t want anything to do with it. even if it was indeed the sexiest, biggest, smartest guy on campus… there was only one guy you set your sights on. just one, with the light brown hair and charming smile, shooting hoops at the basketball court by the cafeteria—lee heeseung.

though, the problem was simple: you’d never actually talked to the guy. this could’ve been easily solved if you shared even one class, but of course, he’d signed up late—every elective already full, while you, being the good student you are, had locked your choices in the moment the portal opened.

the second solution, proposed by oh jiwon herself, was rejected the instant it left her mouth. you were sprawled in her dorm room on a normal saturday night—you, legs spread indecently across the tiny couch she’d smuggled past security in first year, and her, upside down on the bed, hair brushing the floor.

“why don’t you just bump into him and knock all his books down?” she muttered, teeth chomping down on a stack of (probably) expired bbq-xtra-hot chips.

oh, heeeell no. what the fuck was this? a poorly produced drama plotline?

“was he born yesterday?”

the third option, though, felt a little more… dignified. it came to you on a random thursday evening, when the rain felt a little too heavy and you were wishing that lee heeseung would swoop in and hold a $5 umbrella over your heads.

replaying the events of the day in your head as your boots sloshed in muddy puddles, kim sunoo’s annoyingly pretty face comes into view.

“the fundraiser’s gonna be so busy this year, gosh…”

yes. indeed, it will.

the annual fundraiser organised by the student relations club. you remembered being ridiculously excited for it last year—around the same time you’d first started noticing heeseung. after some careful “asking around”, you’d learned he was attending, too. and, as if the universe was personally apologising to you for your tragic love life: he was trying his luck at the blind date booth.

what a sweet guy. donating his hard-earned money to charity and putting himself out there? he had your heart in his hands, and you came to understand that his was the target of many others.

so, it was obvious what had to be done. you signed up the moment sunoo—thank the angels for him—let the information slip. it’s nothing short of fate that you shared an elective with him; it took a bit of coaxing and more than a few judgmental looks, but by that sunny wednesday afternoon, good had prevailed in the world.

it’s safe to say you did not get lee heeseung as your date. instead, you endured a miserable twenty-minute speed dinner listening to a stranger ramble about his league rank. ou’d never been more thoroughly turned off in your life.

but this year?

this year, it will be different.

─────────────────────────

the house smells like weed and alcohol, and also everything that you should not be doing on a thursday night. you got the call from jiwon in the middle of your assignment, head half buried in your hands as the glow from the laptop screen burned your retinas—it’s twelve midnight now, and you have class in eight hours, but the impending sleep deprivation still beats handing in sloppy work.

the house belongs to the frat heeseung’s in. sigma alpha eta, if you remembered correctly. it’s three stories tall, tacky, and reeks of soju and everything wrong with the male species. you’re not even sure if the place ever gets cleaned, but considering it’s full of rich mama’s boys, they’ve probably hired someone to deal with the mess for them.

“what the fuck is going on?”

oh jiwon’s staring at you like you’re the one who dragged her here. you scan the room for no one in particular (lie), and when you turn back—

she’s gone.

“who’s ready to party?!”

the dj is embarrassingly bad. like, physically painful to listen to. the bass is cranked up so high it rattles the floorboards, vibrating straight through your bones. you cringe, already picturing the culprit: some frat guy who bought a $100 mixing set off amazon last week and now calls himself “up and coming”.

everyone you know seems to be here. you’d brushed shoulders with ahn yunjin and danielle on the way in, only to watch them dart toward the porch with a joint already lit.

you snake your way through narrow hallways packed wall-to-wall—overlapping conversations, smoke blown straight into your face, bodies pressing in from every side as you aim for the kitchen. instead, you stumble into the living room. leather couches are occupied by unconscious adults—drunk, high, or some lethal combination of both—bathed in warm overhead light that all but promises brutal hangovers tomorrow.

it seems like the party started long before you got here. where the hell did your jiwon go, anyway?

your feet start to move again, carrying you mindlessly through the first floor—you cross the hallway, take a turn into another doorway, and finally stumble upon the kitchen; it’s less crowded, with fewer drunk people and comparably quiet in contrast to whatever’s waiting for you outside the threshold of that door. your eyes are hesitant, oddly enough, though you know why.

parties like this usually mean hookups. and when hookups are involved, lee heeseung is the first name that comes to mind. the guy’s practically a walking target—especially in his own frat house, swarming with every girl who’s been blessed enough to know the name.

this whole situation feels like a ticking time bomb. your chest tightens. how long before someone else gets to him? how long before you turn a corner and see his face buried in someone else’s neck? 10 minutes? 10 seconds?

“hellooooo!”

and as fast as the thoughts come, they go; head snapping toward the sound, locking onto oh fucking jiwon—standing there, smiling innocently, as if she hadn’t abandoned you to die in the crowd.

“where the fuck have you been?” you sigh, hands running through your hair, like you’d just spent a whole day looking for her. to be fair, time moves weirdly in places like this.

“refilling!” she hiccups. “see?” she tips her red cup to show a dubious mix of jack and coke.

she’s tipsy—no surprise there. jiwon’s always been a lightweight. still, she manages to wobble over and hop onto the marble island, scooting back until her legs dangle comfortably. she looks down at you with glassy, sparkly eyes.

“sooo… heeseung’s place, huh? didn’t know their frat was so fancy. they literally have wine older than my grandparents in here.”

you roll your eyes and drag a stool out from under the island. it screeches against the tile, making you wince, before you climb up onto it.

“you’ve been snooping in their alcohol?” you giggle, shaking your head in mock disapproval. you’ll have to look through it later, too. “you’re a shit guest.”

“guest is always right!” jiwon babbles, before abruptly sneezing. the action makes you flinch. “oh… sorry. anyways,”

you cross your arms, waiting. she’s halfway to blackout, but you humor her anyway.

“fundraiser!” she slurs. “heeseung’s in the pantry. think he’s lookin’ for chips. i dunno. he was with sunghoon, and then i ran into him while lookin’ for more soju—”

and it’s like the universe wants to show you how much it wants you to stay in this lifetime, as a form of divine mercy, or something similar to an apology, because lee heeseung slides the pantry door open and waltzes right out with chips tucked under his armpit, as he munches on something else. your eyes follow him, and so does everyone else’s, and naturally they trail towards the slightly shorter man behind him.

park sunghoon. the guy with the ridiculously sharp, thick eyebrows, a staring problem, and close to half of the campus’s female population wanting to lick his boots. there’s often two responses to the question ‘who’s the cutest guy on campus’, and many of your peers often utter one or the other: heeseung, or his colder counterpart, sunghoon.

you took an economics class with him last year, and thank god you didn’t hit the lottery and end up in the same group, because you’d heard… things. too many things. stories about him tearing into a girl’s work so viciously, she had to beg the professor to let her switch groups with sunoo (it’s strange, how he seemed to be in almost every class you took, now that you think about it).

you’d never talked to him, or anyone from that little group, really, aside from kim sunoo. you knew sim jaeyun was popular over in the engineering block; all brains and good looks, apparently. nishimura riki was another name you heard in passing—always surrounded by a crowd whenever he danced with his crew in some random corner with a giant mirror. as for jongseong and jungwon… you didn’t even want to think about the things people said. absolutely vile in nature.

it seems like the whole lot of them were heartthrobs, in every sense of the word.

it’s just… park sunghoon?

that guy didn’t deserve half the glowing reviews he got.

you were half convinced that if people had star ratings floating above their heads—complete with scrollable comments—he’d be inflating his own with burner emails.

park sunghoon. 5 stars. wow, this guy is sooooo hot and rich! — nothoon12345. he just looked like the kind of guy who did that kind of thing.

okay, maybe you were being a little harsh, considering you’d never actually spoken to him. still, it felt telling when even other men talked shit about him: apparently being both the most disliked and the most respected player on the ice hockey team was impressive enough to land him the captain title.

he walks a few steps behind heeseung, his own bag of chips in hand. you don’t realise you’re staring until his gaze snaps towards you as he passes—a look equal parts smug, disgusted, and painfully punchable.

“what the hell is that guy’s issue?”

“stop looking at him,” jiwon waves you off, swinging her feet. her heel accidentally thuds against the wood. “heeseung's right there.”

your eyes flick back to heeseung, now hovering near the front door, greeting the flood of people streaming in—tonight’s barely started, but somehow, you feel ten times heavier than when you walked in.

lee heeseung, leaning casually against the wall, all perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfectly charming face… and park sunghoon, just a step behind him, stiff, scanning the crowd until his gaze finally locks on you.

before you can tear your eyes away, he cocks his head and gives you a smile—all mockery, all challenge, like he just told a joke you’d never understand. you shift your weight on the stool, cross one leg over the other, but your eyes stay zeroed on him.

“i don’t like that sunghoon guy,” you mutter, dragging a hand through your hair and pretending to look elsewhere.

oh jiwon rolls her eyes, snorts, and leans her weight back on the counter. “you’d be surprised how many people wanna get in his pants—”

“don’t. talk. to. me. about. park. sunghoon’s. pants.” you snap, stabbing a finger toward her chest for emphasis—she giggles at the action, and you do, too. though your eyes flick back, just once, toward where he was.

but when you do, he’s gone. no sunghoon, no heeseung. just the occasional partygoer opening and closing doors, the sound barely registering to your ears through the shitty music.

“how have you not drank anything yet?”

“i literally just got here!”

────────────────────────

it’s one in the morning, and the party seems to be at it’s peak—there’s no one else coming through the front door, and it’s more packed than you could imagine; you’re leaning against the staircase with a cup swirling in your hands, only having taken two sips out of it. jiwon’s still next to you, chatting to a guy you’ve never seen before.

you look at him, then at her. unimpressive, if anything. you’re turning to look at your cup again and the feeling hits, sudden and sharp as it claws at your chest: you feel extremely out of place, even in a house full of people and possibility. people shove their way past you and you hold your cup tight to your chest as it happens. you barely hear anything with the laughter, chatter, and music all at once.

your eyes drift toward the window—yunjin’s with someone else; danielle must’ve left earlier. you scan the room again, half-heartedly looking for a familiar face to talk to—sunoo, maybe, even if the guy doesn’t really think you’re normal. or for park sunghoon, perhaps for some explanation as to why he’d looked at you like that earlier.

“looking for hee?”

that voice. too close. it sends shivers down your spine, every hair standing before your neck snaps to your left—jiwon’s gone, and so is that guy, instead replaced by a girl you know all too well.

she’s smiling at you with her lips curled in a way that makes your stomach drop—unsettling by its very nature. the lights strobe across her face, red and white, purple and blue, painting her in something eerie as her expression lingers, sharp and all-knowing.

“what the fuck do you want?”

she laughs softly, hands coming up to her face to cover her mouth like she’s some gentle, kind creature that’s come to save the day. kim sooha’s always been like that. ever since high school, ever since you’ve been bestowed the honour of knowing how ruthless she gets when she wants to be.

her hair falls over her face before she moves to tuck it behind her ear.

god, you want to slap her. some things never change, no matter how many years pass.

“you need to learn how to relax. you’ve been staring all night,” she sighs, leaning her back against the wall as she talks—like you two are friends, always have been—and that this is the most normal conversation ever. “you’re definitely looking for heeseung, aren’t you? i got a shortcut, if you’re interested.”

you don’t answer. you’ve learnt it’s best to shut your mouth instead of lie, because with girls like sooha, the snake always bites first.

your mind flashes, briefly, to the image of him again: light brown hair falling over his face, his genuine smile as people poured in from the front door, eyes squinting as he spots a good friend from a few feet away. your eyes had never truly left him, until you caught park sunghoon staring daggers at you right behind.

and, strangely, it’s never found him again since.

“listen, i have his number—it’ll save you a looot of trouble.”

you don’t realise you’ve turned away from her until you glance back. her smile widens as you meet her eyes—glinting with something dangerous, like this isn’t truly all there is to her offer.

kim sooha is not about goodwill and donating to charities. the charity would have to return her 110% before she could ever consider doing so; in this case, the charity seems to be you.

“what do you want?”

and it feels like you’ve just sold your soul to the damn devil with how bright her face gets. like a child on christmas morning, unwrapping a brand new toy. well—you suppose you’re a toy, too, in this.

she reaches into the back pocket of her jeans, the jingle of her phone charm barely cutting through the kendrick lamar song that’s causing the floor to vibrate. you wonder how long until someone calls the cops on this place—it’s too loud, too much, and you don’t even want to think about what the second and third floor looks like right now.

“one click, and i’ll send it to you.”

you scoff, breaking the eye contact to take a sip of the peach soju in your hands. you almost roll your eyes before remembering that this was sooha you were getting in bed with—one wrong move, and she’s retracting, and you’ll be left to awkward waves and stuttered hello’s at the fundraiser three months from now.

“my jacket’s upstairs, and i need you to get it.”

if you weren’t confused before, you definitely are now.

“your fucking jacket?” you repeat, and it almost comes out as a laugh. she doesn’t think it’s funny, though, because she’s quick to fire back a response:

“i don’t want to bump into whoever you’re gonna bump into. not in the mood. consider it a gift from me,” she pokes a finger at your collarbone, “to you.”

you flinch, her sharp nail making you stumble back, just a little. her eyebrows raise as you tilt your head towards the stairs, watching you glance up and towards the flight of stairs above your heads—there’s people moving up and down, and it just doesn’t click—why not someone else?

“so… are you doing it? don’t have time to sleep on—“

you chew on the lining of your cheek. something isn’t right. she’s looking at you like she doesn’t care if her jacket actually makes it back to her—all that matters is that you fall into whatever she’s setting up.

“fine. keep your fucking word when i get back down here.”

the smile that spreads across her face makes your heart drop straight to your ass. you don’t like this—not the feeling of being a step behind, not the way it feels like she’s holding something over you.

but… like she said. it’s not as if you have a whole day to sit on your ass and think it through.

“you should know by now. i always do,” she sings, voice lilting and smug, watching as you turn away and head for the stairs. “thank you, dear [name].”

you pause at the bottom, fingers curling tighter around your cup as you glance upward. bodies move through the hallways above—laughing, stumbling, disappearing into rooms that smell like sweat, alcohol and poor decisions. the music thumps faintly through the walls, distorted here, like a heartbeat that doesn’t belong to you.

your head feels light, almost dizzy, but you go anyway. one step. then another. your shoes stick slightly to the floor as you climb, each step feeling heavier than the last.

“this yours?”

your head cocks up, eyes locking onto a familiar face—park sunghoon, standing at the top of the staircase, with a leather jacket haphazardly folded into his hands. it looks expensive when it’s under this kind of light, and knowing sooha, it probably is.

“yup,” you say, the word coming out more clipped than you intend. reluctant, wary—but who the hell could blame you? the guy who’s been staring all psycho and weird, treating you like an out-of-earth entity is holding onto the one thing you need to finish this amazing deal. “thank you!”

he’s tall. towering. with you two steps below him, he’s giving himself a stiff neck just looking at you. his face gives nothing away—not surprise, barely any curiosity, perhaps slight irritation. more than anything, there’s that unreadable calm, like he’s not only three steps ahead of whatever this is, but also skies above it.

your arms reach out to grab it from him, but sunghoon’s quick to retract his hand. he dangles it in front of you, an eyebrow raised, still staring as if you were some kind of odd specimen—you blink a few times, waiting for him to say something, anything.

“i’d watch out if i were you.”

his voice is low, nearly lost beneath the bass thudding through the floor below. it’s flat enough that it barely registers as a voice at all.

but just why the hell is he telling you this? park sunghoon’s talking like he knows kim sooha personally.

really, if you had to pick between the two of you… you’d have to consider yourself the expert.

“o… kay?” you mouth, the word barely audible over the bass thrumming through the walls.

for a moment longer, he just looks at you, then lowers the jacket into your hands. you don’t manage to thank him, because you’re turning around before you can even utter another word.

nothing else matters right now. you’re praying that by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, sooha will be there—phone in hand, ready to send those digits your way, just like she promised.

though, even if she isn’t, you’re not entirely sure what you’d do about it. there’s no backup plan. you’re definitely not asking sunoo—because you’re not an idiot with a weird obsession with lee heeseung (lie), and you’re not that desperate to talk to him (lie), enough to corner one of his closest friends and expose yourself completely (truth).

well… you guess you’ve already done so by poking around about the fundraiser, but his number is crossing the line. apparently.

you square your shoulders and keep walking, clinging to the thought that this will all be worth it once lee heeseung’s finally a button away, instead of thirty meters and 6 men apart.

“you’re quick with it,” sooha yells over the song playing, now a remix of some chainsmokers single. roses, a classic, which also means people are starting to get oddly energetic despite it reaching two in the morning.

you watch her eyes flick down to her phone, the screen lighting up her face as she brings it to her chest—typing, swiping, pausing just long enough to be irritating—until your own phone vibrates against the back pocket of your shorts.

“thanks a bunch, y/n.” she says lightly. “always so obedient.”

your jaw tightens. you don’t bother responding—just thrust the jacket into her abdomen, harder than necessary. kim sooha doesn’t take it personally, she never does. the flare of your nostrils, the way your fingers curl like you’re holding yourself back—that’s more than enough to make her night.

a sweet, disingenuous smile blooms across your face, as if to say: ‘no problem, bitch.’

she slips past you, shoulders barely brushing, already headed for the front door. just before she disappears, you catch it—the smudged eyeshadow, the eyeliner dragged unevenly beneath her eyes, foundation streaked down her cheeks like she hasn’t bothered to check herself in a mirror.

for a fraction of a second, you find yourself worrying—for her, and for yourself. you’ve never once seen sooha with makeup this (for lack of a better word) bad; she’s always immaculate, flawless, even if that bruises your ego to admit out loud.

which means there are only two possibilities: she’s just fucked someone and realised, far too late, what a mistake it was—or her heart has just been torn into a million tiny, irreparable pieces.

you don’t take much time to dwell on it, before you tear your eyes away from sooha’s figure slowly fading into the distance. her boots clack against the concrete pavement before it comes to a stop, and for a moment, she just stands—until a car pulls up and she ducks her head to fit into it.

what the hell was that?

the front door slams shut from someone else pulling it closed, the sound cutting clean through the music, and your head turns instinctively toward the staircase.

park sunghoon.

the second floor is quieter, stripped of the flashing colours and strobe lights below. in that softer, warmer glow, park sunghoon comes sharply into focus.

he’s leaning over the railing, forearms bearing his weight. an empty soju bottle hangs loosely from his hand, head bowed, expression obscured by shadow—almost like he’s staring straight down at you.

he’s annoyingly gorgeous. his side profile is so lethal that you think if not for his shitty attitude and tendency to stare at everyone sideways, he’d be a model.

you catch yourself wishing he’d just fuck off and do that instead.

your breath catches in your throat. you’re not really sure why—but your body makes the decisions for you tonight, thoughts of sunghoon quickly dissolving as fast as they invaded, feet carrying you toward the front door.

sleek wood and cold metal doorknobs in all their unassuming glory. it’s an exit. a way out of the noise, the lights, and the man upstairs who feels far too aware of your existence.

you move. fluid, deliberate, like this was always the plan.

sunghoon’s gaze tracks you as you slip through the crowd, hair brushing shoulders, bodies pressing in too close. the lights repaint you with every step—pink, purple, red—until you glance back once, just for a second, and the colours smear into something unreadable.

when you finally cross the threshold of the front door, your body is hit with cold wind; unsurprisingly, there’s scattered groups of people across the front yard, smoking and drinking in their quiet bubbles. you inhale the relatively cleaner air, deep, slow, until it settles in your lungs and you’re spared from the remnants of vape flavours and fruity alcohol.

the music dulls behind you, but the vibrations still reach your feet nonetheless.

you sigh, a hand dragging through your hair, before you make your way towards a stone pillar, only to lean your weight against it. you didn’t realise how quiet it could be, after almost two hours in that god forsaken party—the quiet chatter doesn’t make your head spin out here and the occasional laugh isn’t as annoying as the screams inside.

that’s when you see him.

lee heeseung—smoking—with that guy from engineering. jake sim.

the cigarette is pinched between his fingers, and he takes slow drags like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this messy, overgrown scene. jake’s rambling beside him, hands flying as he retells some story you can’t hear, and heeseung just nods along, offering the occasional laugh that reassures his friend that he finds it equally as funny.

everything feels slowed down. time is suspended. his hair slips into his eyes, and every now and then he shakes his head, a small, unconscious motion to clear his vision.

this is kind of creepy. you’re watching lee heeseung smoke at two in the morning from his front porch. you, a year ago, wouldn’t have believed this even if someone swore on it.

okay. that’s enough. you’re leaving—immediately.

but not before you bring your phone to your face—the blue light stings, almost burns your retinas. you blink hard once, twice, until the haze clears. your thumb swipes into your messages.

kim sooha has kept her word.

sooha (do not reply): +82-xx-xxxx-xxxx 01:53

sooha (do not reply): enjoy yourself! <3 01:53

bitch.

you add the contact while lee heeseung is still laughing in your peripheral vision, smoke curling into the dark, completely unaware that—through totally legitimate and ethical means—he’s now a button away.

─────────────────────────

park sunghoon was not interested in love.

this was, somehow, a known fact across campus.

anyone could guess by that stoic look on his face and that gigantic duffle bag he drags around everywhere, that the man couldn’t be paid a million dollars to be locked down—that’s what so little time and too many (non-romantic) commitments does to you.

mondays were the gym. tuesdays, practice. wednesdays, rest. thursdays, practice again. fridays, the gym, and a night run. saturdays and sundays, practice too. he was surprised he even had time to fit kim sooha into his schedule, though, it was not as often as she preferred.

okay, he admits it was just sex—but an hour or two once or twice a week was already cutting it close.

sunghoon was an ex-figure skater turned ice hockey player, so it was clear what the future held for him: he’s talented, rich, disciplined, a genius—the world was his oyster. everyone around him was in his court.

who would he be if he let someone make the rules for him?

you see: park sunghoon couldn’t be bothered with the girls throwing themselves at him, or the ones who acted shy. in his eyes, it all ended the same.

they wanted more. he couldn’t give more. he didn’t want to give more.

kim sooha was no different. of course she wasn’t—park sunghoon couldn’t deny it, because she fit the stereotype of every girl who’d ever wanted him: bashful, a little self-deprecating, and far too clingy.

at least he had been decent enough to tell her that sex was all it would ever be, and all he could afford to give. but what do you know (park sunghoon always knows), someone ends up wanting more.

the night of the party, around ten, sunghoon found himself holed up in his bedroom trying to finish up a paper before the house had started swarming with people. one moment he’s typing, fingers mashing away at his keyboard as the words flow flawlessly, perfectly, and his mind occasionally drifts to the grade he’d get for this assignment. nothing less than 100, of course. he wouldn’t expect anything less from himself.

“hoon!”

and his genius flow is disrupted by none other than jake, peeking his head from behind the doorway, with an idiotic smile painted across his glowing face.

“what do you want?” sunghoon mutters, head turning back to the screen of his laptop. jake sim’s prsesence usually meant the message wasn’t all that important—if it was, it’d be jungwon up here instead. “i’m busy.”

“sooha’s here,” he says. “she wants to see you.”

sunghoon kisses his teeth in annoyance, solely out of instinct, an action which jake pretends not to notice. it only irritates sunghoon even more, really—he’d rather jake just be honest with him, instead of pretending to be polite just for the sake of being polite. he knows better than anyone that all of his brothers hate when kim sooha is around, and that hiding it won’t convince park sunghoon otherwise.

for varying reasons.

he recalls that one dinner two weeks ago, when jay told sunghoon to ‘do a better job at shutting sooha up’. he could barely eat the rest of his food.

“please don’t send her up here. i’ll be downstairs soon,” and jake is almost ready to turn his pretty face right around and back downstairs to help set up the speakers, before sunghoon asks: “why is she even here?”

“hey, you’re the one fucking her, man.” jake shrugs, before he turns around for the final time. sunghoon’s face morphs into one of disgust, weirdly fast, even though the statement isn’t exactly false—still, it doesn’t stop him from wanting to crawl into a hole and die.

there’s something wrong with him. he can’t deny the sex was good, and yes, kim sooha was gorgeous… but commitment? staying? forever? that was different.

he remembers when yang jungwon had a girlfriend. those were not good times. definitely. the guy refused to leave his bedroom for two days after they broke it off—and sunghoon, as much as he cared for poor jungwon, couldn’t stop thinking about how two days meant two lifetimes of missed productivity.

just how much of an asshole could he be?

so, that’s precisely why he settles for sex. a dopamine hit to get himself off edge, so he’s ready to stretch himself thin all over again.

lee heeseung says it’s not healthy, but what the hell would he know? he’s too busy drowning in love letters, home-baked cookies, and instagram requests to understand why this is the best option out of any presented to him. the golden boy doesn’t know what he’s talking about—the only reason he even bothers giving advice is because of the one, maybe two girlfriends he had in first year, which he seems to think qualifies him as an expert in sweet, innocent, and healthy love.

park sunghoon doesn’t even have instagram. it’s a waste of time.

why the fuck doesn’t he get cookies, anyway? why don’t girls approach him just to talk, instead of trying to grind on his crotch at parties? why doesn’t he have someone sweet and steady, sitting in the stands and watching his games—wiping his tears when he plays like shit, or being the first one he looks for when he scores an amazing shot?

never mind the way he takes their hand and leads them upstairs. never mind how easily he leans into a stranger’s touch and lets himself pretend it means something. never mind that he’s learned to let names slip past him, unheard, while his gaze drifts instead to the shape of their lips.

never mind all of it.

he tells himself it’s circumstantial—something inevitable, something learnt. that he would be different, could be different, if the world around him didn’t demand this version of him in return.

lee heeseung gets to commit. he gets to feel it all—the highs, the warmth, the quiet safety of having someone stay, and he makes it out unscathed, unhurt. he gets to ground himself in knowing that she won’t walk out of that door when shit hits the fan, too—fuck, he doesn’t know anything at all.

footsteps thud from the hallway, but he knows it’s just jay and riki shifting furniture around—boards scraping, chairs sliding—enough to rattle the plaster on the walls. jake’s voice cuts through the mess, yelling at heeseung to find the extra loud speakers jungwon had “borrowed” for his own use. somewhere upstairs, sunoo’s probably napping, blissfully unaware of the chaos below.

sunghoon doesn’t mind. five people are more than enough to handle party prep, and he refuses to be dragged into it. the music, the clatter, the erratic shouts—it all feels like someone else’s life, a background noise he doesn’t need to claim.

instead, up here, he can focus on what matters: finishing his paper, keeping his head down, staying untangled in this mess that’s about to spill over the entire house in about an hour.

he leans back against the leather of his chair, shoulders finally relaxing, and lets his gaze wander over the room. the house smells like air freshener, a somewhat helpful idea proposed by riki, but the sharp tang in his nose makes him grit his teeth.

for the first time that evening, he almost smiles at the absurdity of it all, the chaos of his brothers trying to pull off another last-minute party. he knows it’ll all work out fine, and that this will be the talk of campus until it fizzles out in two weeks, but it’s still ridiculous how these people never learn to plan ahead.

he remembers the last party sigma alpha eta threw—someone broke a table, then went swimming naked in the pool. safe to say, jake and him had to track the culprit down the next morning and demand the funds to get it cleaned.

“hoonie?”

a soft click from the front door snaps him out of his thoughts.

he knows exactly who it is.

kim sooha. standing by the dark frame of his door, dressed in something that would’ve had him weak in the knees if he was some random horny loser—skirt smooth, tight against her skin, a leather jacket framing her small body. it’s too bad that he doesn’t give two shits, though.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” she announces, voice sharp yet playful, as if she owns the room that sunghoon’s made his. it irks him.

she leans against the doorframe, one hip jutting out, arms crossed with a face so smug that it makes him want to flip her off. “so, i came early. just to… check in.”

he looks back at the screen of his laptop, bright blue light shining in his face, and barely moves another muscle. “you know where the rules stand. i’m busy.”

“hoonie—“

“told you to stop calling me that.” sunghoon cuts her off, “i don’t need you checking on me, thanks. party’s not starting for another hour. maybe you can help them prep?”

the words land like a slap. sooha’s jaw tightens, but she forces a smile, refusing to let him see the way it stings.

she steps closer anyway, as if proximity can wear him down, break the walls that are already hardening—or climb over whatever’s already there.

“come on. it doesn’t have to be like this.” she tilts her head, letting her hair fall over one shoulder, “i’ve been asking you for weeks, hoon. i’ve always wanted—”

“no.” sunghoon exhales, forcefully slow, as if that’ll help him calm down. “i’ve been saying the same shit for weeks. you’re pushing me.”

she takes two steps closer, heels tapping against the shiny wood floor. the space between them closes as she leans over his desk, shadow casting over the dark oak. he feels like slamming his head into it—the bruise would be less painful than this, the sharp smell of her fruity perfume that sunghoon never bothered to register, but hates anyway now that it finally has.

he never thought he’d have to tell her that he hates the notes of citrus. it didn’t matter if she never stayed long enough to get the words out.

“hoonie,” sooha mumbles, hands bracing the surface of his table. “i thought we were getting somewhere.”

“even after i told you we weren’t?” sunghoon shifts his chair backwards, widening the gap just so he could feel like he wasn’t going to choke at the smell of her perfume. “know what? i’m done. can’t fucking draw any lines with you—“

“that’s it? we’re just—“

sunghoon’s jaw tightens, and he leans back slightly in his chair. “i said it was just sex. nothing more. if you’re begging for a hug and some kisses, go somewhere else.”

the silence hangs in the air, thick, impenetrable. for a minute, sunghoon wonders if he’s gone too far—sooha’s face falters, her sultry smile now replaced by lips that tremble before her teeth bite down on them. she nods once, slow, looking at park sunghoon like he’s driven a ten-foot pole straight through her chest, twisted it, and ripped it back out.

his eyes flick from his laptop screen to her irises. if one thing’s admirable about park sunghoon, is that if he was going to tear you to pieces, he’ll have the decency to look you in the eye.

at least, for that final word. it’s about as much emotion as he can manage.

“get out.”

so she does—nods slow, before turning on her heel, the sharp click of her shoes echoing once, twice, until it fades down the hallway.

the door shuts behind her with a quiet finality. sunghoon doesn’t watch it close.

the smell of sooha’s perfume lingers in the air, unwanted, and he feels petty for even trying to block it out. after all, they’ve shared a bed before, even if they skipped every prerequisite to get there—but it rarely ever felt worth it to him, if at all.

he’s had his fair share of women. he’s always prided himself on being honest about what he wants—in his mind, there’s nothing wrong with that, as long as everyone’s on the same page.

no promises, no expectations, yet it always ends the same way. someone always reaches for more pieces of him than he’s willing—or able—to give. pieces that have were never there to begin with.

jake tells him he’s lucky. says it with a laugh, like sunghoon should be grateful for the attention, the bodies, the ease of it all. heeseung tries to offer half-assed couch therapy, something about “opening up” and “not shutting people out,” advice sunghoon knows was pulled straight out of his ass—or worse, his tiktok feed.

god, if he wanted someone to tell him what was wrong with him, he’d just pay someone with a degree five hundred a session to do just that.

park sunghoon is not interested in love. park sunghoon is not interested in love. park sunghoon is not. interested. in. love.

it’s inefficient—unstructured, demanding, and prone to spilling into places it doesn’t belong. it asks for time he doesn’t have, space he’s already accounted for, pieces of him that are scheduled, measured, calculated and spent elsewhere, where it should be.

he repeats it like a mantra: no one is looking at him and realizing he’s absent more than he’s present—because sooner or later, they always want more, and he’s learnt that it’s better to draw the line early than to watch disappointment set in later.

this is mercy.

but to whom, he can’t answer.

─────────────────────────

you’re not very sure where you’re going with this.

there’s a list of problems so long it could double as a grocery store receipt:

one) how do you even explain that you got lee heeseung’s number, and

two) what excuse do you have to actually talk to him?

still, you’re laid in bed, the glow from your screen washing your face in harsh white light, painting the ceiling in sharp rectangles. your eyes squint, blinking against the burn, as if staring long enough might make this whole thing less terrifying.

it’s nearing four in the morning, and you’re fairly certain the party has been over for hours—probably everyone has stumbled home or collapsed on some couch somewhere, except for you, hovering in your room like a guilty ghost.

okay, no. these are excuses, and this is you overthinking, twisting your brain into knots. once you finally text that damn number kim sooha “gifted” you—reluctantly, no less—you’ll either regret it or… regret it. either way, there’s no turning back.

you: hiiiii

creep.

you: hi

ominous…

you: is this heeseung?

too direct.

this isn’t working. your thumb hovers over the screen, trembling slightly, and the numbers stare back at you like a puzzle you’re too tired to solve. maybe, if you stare long enough, they’ll rearrange themselves into an opening line that isn’t mortifying.

though, instead of the numbers moving, your thumb does.

“shit. shit, shit, shit—“

oh, yes, your butter fingers saved you the trouble of texting him: why don’t you just fucking call him, instead? like that’s so much better, real smooth of you.

riiing. riiing. riiing.

you barely have time to process before the line goes quiet.

the silence swallows you whole—your ears ring with it. it’s the kind of quiet that makes you question if you’ve suddenly lost all ability to hear.

oh my god. this is hell. you’re either died, or the world has ended, or some black hole just opened up in your room, because it’s too silent for it to be even remotely normal.

“hello?”

the voice on the other end of the line sounds sharp, clipped, like you’ve interrupted something important—or worse, like you’ve woken him up.

you can’t even fault him for it. it’s four in the morning, after the biggest party this term, and you’re an unknown number calling like you’ve lost your damn mind. still, it makes your heart twist a little.

“who is this?”

it’s not rude… not exactly. still, something in your chest sinks because you know what that tone usually means.

you have, roughly, three seconds to justify your existence before lee heeseung hangs up and you become another embarrassing almost in your own head.

maybe one.

“hi,” you mumble, and somehow almost stutter—if that’s even possible over the phone, with a single word—it comes out thin, fragile, and utterly useless.

the line goes quiet again, and you genuinely consider slamming your head into the wall just to feel something else other than the tiny voices evil-laughing in your head. “heeseung, right?”

more damn silence.

not the dead-line kind. it’s worse. it’s the thinking kind.

you picture him on the other end, phone held away from his ear, brow furrowed as he debates whether this is worth his time. unknown caller. 4 in the morning. zero context. and it’s some girl who can’t even say ‘hi’ right.

if you were him, you’d hang up. you’d block the number, move on, this becoming nothing but a blip in your already eventful life.

your grip tightens around your phone. “i—sorry,” you rush out, words tumbling over each other now that the dam’s broken. “this is probably really weird, i know. i wouldn’t usually call, i swear. i just—i got your number earlier and—”

“earlier?” he cuts in.

there’s something in his voice now—not annoyance. interest, maybe. a sprinkle of curiosity edged with suspicion that you weren’t exactly authorized to clear.

your pulse stutters. you should’ve consulted with jiwon before doing something as stupid as this—or sunoo. hell, even the neighbour next door. anyone would’ve been better than diving into this unprepared.

“yeah. tonight, at the party.” you say quickly, like saying it fast will make it make more sense. lee heeseung, pleaaaase be hungover. just this once. “you hosted, right? sigma alpha eta?”

“riiight,” he says slowly, like he’s testing the word on his tongue. “and who gave you my number?”

your stomach drops.

shit.

“uh,” you hesitate, immediately regretting it.

lying feels wrong. lying is wrong, actually, according to everyone ever—but the truth feels… way messier.

you weren’t going to hang kim sooha to dry—who knows what she’ll do to you? you can’t risk heeseung finding out the lengths you went to for some digits. besides, you practically played fetch with her.

“a friend,” you say finally, wearing a prideful grin on your face, as if anyone couldn’t have come up with that ridiculous excuse. “yep.”

“a friend,” he repeats, flatly, like he doesn’t believe a single thing coming out of your mouth. “what friend?”

you squeeze your eyes shut. god, this is going terribly. divert!

“look, if this is a bad time, i can hang up. i really didn’t mean to bother you, i just—”

“you already are,” he says, but there’s something off about it. his tired voice crackles, but it barely sounds angry. almost amused in nature.

you blink. “oh.”

there’s a heavy breath on the other end. you can hear it clearly, like he’s shifted positions, maybe sitting up now, or turning over in bed. definitely more awake than he was a minute ago.

gosh. you’re imagining bed-hair heeseung now. this isn’t good.

“you usually call people you don’t know at four in the morning?” he asks.

“no,” you respond immediately. “never. absolutely not. this is a first and hopefully, a last.”

that gets him—you can tell, even without seeing him. there’s a soft huff through the speaker, not quite a laugh, but close enough to make your chest flutter traitorously.

“so, i’m the trial run?”

you hesitate, then answer honestly, because at this point, what do you have left to lose? your dignity that’s already been thrown out the window and run over by a car?

“i wanted to talk to you.”

another pause. this one lingers, stretching just long enough to make your fingers tingle around your phone. strangely, it comforts you, the idea that he might hang up—that this could end cleanly right here, because you’ve (smartly, or accidentally) yet to tell him your name.

he’ll never have to know if he just—

“yeah?” he says, quieter now.

“yeah,” you echo, barely above a whisper.

something shifts. you can feel it, even through the line—the way he’s genuinely listening now, leaning into every word instead of brushing you off. your heart flutters, warmth blooming from somewhere in your chest (you can’t pinpoint it), and lee heeseung seems to be at the center of it all.

“well,” he says finally, voice way smoother now, like he’s got all the time in the world to offer you. “you’ve got my attention.”

“i do?” you ask, genuinely amazed by yourself. “you’re not hanging up?”

“do you want me to?”

“no,” the word slips out before you can stop it—soft, a little too quick, and much too honest to take back.

for a beat, there’s nothing, then a breath on the other end of the line—slow, deep—followed by a low sound that might be a laugh, or might just be him exhaling tension.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “i thought so.”

you roll onto your side, sheets whispering against your skin. the ceiling blurs above you, white and featureless, while the rest of the world stays asleep—unaware that something small yet irreversible is happening at four in the morning, right in this room, in your hands.

“so,” he says, “why’d you really call?”

your fingers tighten around your phone. your phone peels away from your cheek, and for a brief moment, you just stare at the glow of the screen, at his contact—*heeseung lee—*like it might blow up if you lie.

“well,” you mumble, chewing on the lining of your cheek. “i just wanted to introduce myself.”

“ah,” he says. there’s movement again, like he’s forcing himself to stay awake and hear you out. “did your… friend warn you i’m not friendly at this hour?”

you can almost picture him now. propped up against his headboard, hair a mess from sleep. his arm slipping under the hem of his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at an itch on his lower abdomen. knuckles rubbing hard at his eyes, chasing away the last stretch of drowsiness you interrupted—before you called, that is.

“i don’t think she mentioned that,” you say, a nervous smile tugging at your lips despite the fact that he can’t see it. your knees draw tighter to your chest, arms locking around them like you’re bracing for impact. it feels like there are insects beneath your skin—restless, frantic, crawling along the lining of your stomach. “she just said you wouldn’t hang up.”

“you trusted that?” his laugh filters through the speaker, low and unexpectedly warm, the sharpness from earlier dulled into something almost fond. “what if she gave you a fake?”

“then i guess i just woke up some random guy at four in the morning,” you say after a second, attempting nonchalance and failing spectacularly. “which would be… humiliating.”

“hm.” there’s movement on his end again—fabric shifting, a quiet thud like he’s moving around the room. god, you wish you knew what his room looked like. “so, you’d just apologize and hang up?”

“…literally what else would i do?”

there’s a pause before he speaks. you can almost hear him think out loud. “don’t know. try harder?”

the words are simple, but they settle heavy in your chest. what the hell does he mean by try harder?

“try harder?” you repeat, incredulous, a little astonished that the man you’ve dreamt up is a little different from what you’re hearing.

“yeah.” his voice lowers a fraction, losing the teasing edge and gaining something steadier. “if you wanted to talk to someone that bad, i’d hope you wouldn’t give up after one wrong number.”

your fingers curl tighter around your phone. “you don’t even know why i called.”

“don’t i, though?”

okay—what the fuck? you’ve moved somewhere closer to your window by now, staring at bright windows, counting the very few amount of people walking around at this hour downstairs. anything that’ll fill the silence between his words and your reply, which your brain has yet to compute.

do not call boys you like at four in the morning. note taken.

“anyway,” his voice sends a soothing relief through your body. “what’s your name?”

the question feels strangely intimate.

“why?” you deflect, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed you are. there’s no going back from this—once he knows you’re you, it’s sealed.

you might have to discuss… alternative routes tomorrow. there is no way in god’s green earth that you’ll be able to face lee heeseung in those hallways once this is done.

“because,” he say purposefully slow, like he’s explaining things to a toddler. “if you went through the trouble of getting my number, i should at least know who i’m losing sleep over.”

“y/n.”

okay—flights to antarctica. a new name. a new identity is what you need right now, in order to combat the nerves in your body going into overdrive.

he goes quiet for slightly less than ten seconds—though you’re not exactly sure why you’re counting—and the quiet literally burns. it’s embarrassing to hear his breathing on the other end of the line, because what does it mean? is he disgusted? is he shocked? is he going to block you, or fall in love with you right now?

“it’s a pretty name,” he says. “haven’t heard it before.”

you’re fighting every urge in you to scream.

this feels oddly reminiscent of that middle school crush you had back when you were 13. it’s all butterflies and shaky hands, and even sweatier palms.

lee heeseung’s voice is silky smooth at this hour. exhaustion creeps up on him like it’s claiming his sleep debt, and you hear it in the tiny yawn that sounds through your speakers. you hoped that not holding your screen to your cheek would aid in the worry that he could hear your nervous breathing.

“well, we’ve never talked directly before, so…”

he hums in response. “well, it’s almost five.”

“trying to get rid of me?” you joke, and boy, does the post-flirt-humiliation hit—your eyes screw shut as you silently mutter a ’what the fuck?’.

he scoffs, “am i?” with the faintest trace of a smile in his voice. you can hear it well enough without the need to look at him—though that would be preferable—which only sends you further into a delusional spiral.

lee heeseung finds you funny.

you bite back a grin, pressing your lips into a thin line. your cheeks ache. you’re probably flushed tomato red from this conversation alone.

you stand up just to keep yourself busy. sittig still feels dangerous, like if you let your body settle, your mind will only follow.

the fear of focusing too much on him—on the way his voice dips at the end of certain words, on how easily he fills the quiet with that strangely confident tone—could be catastrophic.

your fingers trail along the edge of your desk, feeling the shallow nicks in the wood, the uneven varnish near the corner. you latch onto the smallest details: the coolness of the surface, the faint tremor in your hand.

anything to keep yourself grounded to the earth, in the very possible case that lee heeseung sends you into orbit.

on the other end, there’s the muted shift of fabric, like he’s rolling onto his side. you picture him staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind his head, the phone resting against his cheek.

“didn’t think you’d be the type to be so responsible.”

“one of us has to be,” he says easily. “you don’t sound like someone who keeps track of time, no?”

us.

the word slides into your chest and sits there, heavy and bright all at once.

us, us, us.

you hook a finger through the metal ring of the keychain hanging from your backpack and start spinning it slowly, watching the small charm catch the faint light from your desk lamp. “i absolutely do,” you protest, but the retort comes out thinner than intended.

“do you?” he presses, gentle but unrelenting. “you called me at four in the morning.”

“it wasn’t exactly planned,” you mutter.

“impulsive, then.”

there’s no judgment in his tone. he talks to you like you’re something intriguing under the lens of a microscope.

you cross your room in slow, restless steps, phone held up to chest-level as if the added distance will somehow steady you. the floor is cool beneath your feet. outside your window, the sky is beginning to pale, the darkness thinning into something bluish and uncertain.

“you picked up, though. you didn’t have to.”

the counter-argument is weak. there’s a brief pause before he admits, “yeah, so?”

“so, what does that say about you?”

your fingers still against the keychain. your feet stand still across from it, refusing to move until he says something to keep this seemingly empty conversation moving. there’s a short, succinct moment of quiet that makes you swallow.

and then—a breath. a faint exhale that sounds nothing like a laugh, but more acknowledgement than anything else.

“i make bad decisions before sunrise. i need my sleep,” he answers. “i got an early morning.”

huh. okay. your eyes are narrowing in suspicion before he can get the last word out. “how early?”

“early enough.”

you let it go, though the curiosity lingers. instead, you’re turning around to lean your weight back against your desk, pressing yourself against the solid wood edge, focusing on the cadence of his breathing. “you don’t sound tired anymore."

“that’s your fault.”

your pulse stutters. “mine?”

“hard to sleep when someone’s interrogating you.”

you huff out a quiet laugh, but your grip on the phone tightens. “i’m not interrogating you.”

“right.” the sound vibrates low through the speaker. you imagine him dragging a hand down his face, sitting up now, feet touching the floor. there’s a faint creak—wood under weight—followed by the soft scrape of something being nudged aside.

“i should probably end this,” he says after a moment, words slowed. “tomorrow’s going to be brutal.”

right—he’s crazy popular. probably has a lot going on.

you straighten instinctively. the conversation has shifted into its closing act without warning. “right, yeah. of course.”

“don’t stay up,” he adds, tone a smidge lighter, yet it doesn’t quite hide the undercurrent. “you’ll blame me when you miss your alarm.”

“bold of you to assume i’d admit that.”

“you wouldn’t,” he agrees easily. “you’d just call again. wake me up for the second time to complain, yeah?”

again.

“goodnight, heeseung,” you say before you can dissect the word further. any longer and you might’ve memorised the oxford definition for it.

a beat. you can hear a snicker on the other end of the line, but before you can say much, lee heeseung beats you to it.

“goodnight.”

the line disconnects. you remain standing in the corner of your room, keychain still looped around your finger. your heart’s drumming against your ribs as the early light creeps further across your walls.

your mind’s swirling again—it’s sending you further into that rabbit hole that looks a lot like heeseung’s perfect hair and charming smile.

note to self: call lee heeseung again. tomorrow. four in the morning.

─────────────────────────

the line goes dead.

the sun is barely peeking above the trees now, as if easing it’s way into the sky. he thinks it’ll be fully up by the time he finishes brushing his shower—and there’s that faint smell of citrus. again. disgusting.

a dull, faint thudding sound comes from downstairs. the sound of glasses clinking together reaches all the way up here; echoing in the dimly lit house.

it must be sunoo. making breakfast, he guesses.

there’s sunlight diffusing into the room, divided into slits by his white blinds that’ve all but stayed drawn throughout the night. skin’s sunken in under his eyes, partially, as a result of microsoft word creeping it’s way into his routine again—he supposes he should know better by now, but still. time is short.

his hands trail under his tank, scratching at a small itch under his chest. the metal hanging on the far wall catches the widening morning light, thin ribbons casting fragile shadows against white paint. a golden trophy sits dead centre on his dark oak bookshelf, polished to an almost obnoxious shine.

“fuck…” he groans, dragging both hands through his hair, fingers pressing against his scalp like he can physically push the night out of his system.

the strands fall back obediently, barely disturbed—as if exhaustion has weighed them into submission. there’s something irritating about that, too. like even his body refuses to reflect the fact that he was up until sunrise.

the weekend usually goes like this: brush. shower. dress. breakfast. run. shower. practice. assignments fit somewhere in between.

he begins to crawl out of his duvet. it’s cold—it always is when it’s this early into dawn. the wind kisses his skin like it’s reminding him of this fact, clinging to him as he drags his feet against the wood floor: slow, lazy shuffles until he actually manages to wake up.

open the door, down the hall, to the right. he passes by rooms, involuntarily listening to the muffled snores through wood as his feet carry him to the tiled room at the end of the hallway. the light in sunoo’s room casts shadows at his feet, peeking under the door, which confirms his suspicion: the waffle smell is coming from downstairs.

the door hits the wall with a soft thud. one perk about being the first one up is that the bathroom is almost always spotless.

his toothbrush sits in a black mug, along with six others. it’s a plain white, his name written in permanent marker at the handle. just in case a repeat of five months ago happened—nishimura riki, of course, making that mistake.

toothbrush in the mouth. bristles against teeth. back and forth, left and right, circles. gums. tongue. he stares at the stupid smiski figurine that jake left on the shelf just to give himself an excuse not to look at how tired he is.

and as he spits the mint paste out of his mouth—his phone vibrates against the marble counter. there’s water on his screen from putting it face down.

we2fuckincold🥶 (informal gc)

yeonjun (vice): good morning princesses 06:01

yeonjun (vice): rink opens at 6pm 06:02

yeonjun (vice): game’s coming up. do not be late or our dear captain will not be happy! 06:05

yeonjun (vice): can we all strive for a happy hoonie today 06:05

yeonjun (vice): also send ur fucking food logs bro @nicho 06:07

for fuck’s sake.

he groans, yanking the phone closer, tilting it to shake off the water droplets. the screen lights up his tired face in brief flashes of fluorescence, each message a reminder that the world outside this house has already started without him.

shower. breakfast. run. practice. the ritual is looping in his head, mechanical, familiar—but today, each step feels like it’s being forced through molasses. it’s definitely the microsoft word.

he squints against the glare, ignoring the faint taste of toothpaste still clinging to his tongue, scrolling past the ridiculous group chat chatter to land on the pinned schedule.

2027 training schedule.pdf

and at the top—his name, in bold, for everyone to remember, as if he hasn’t spent long enough drilling it into his team’s heads.

“captain: park sunghoon/vice captain: choi yeonjun”

sunghoon leans against the counter, elbows braced, letting the faint vibrations of the phone thrum through his fingers. the early sunlight, spilling in at an angle the shitty blinds can’t fully block, makes him want to shut his eyes and go back to bed—jungwon’s interior design choices continue to do him no favors.

he stares at the phone a moment longer, thumb hovering over the text threads he knows he should respond to. teasing from his fellow teammates that they know gets under his skin. stupid morning selfies that no one asked for, because the informal group chat is run by no one but the noisiest.

he showers. he’s downstairs. he’s shoving a spoonful of oats into his mouth, gulping down a protein smoothie like it’s water, and only then is he outside and tying his laces. it’s like he’s fucking teleporting around this place.

something feels off. he almost forgets his apple watch before crossing the threshold called sigma alpha beta’s front door. forty minutes later and the morning air is still damp with dew, the neighbourhood quiet save for the distant hum of traffic that hasn’t fully reached it’s potential yet.

the door shuts behind him with a click. heart rate: 93 bpm.

sunghoon begins his run like any other morning. the stretch of his limbs feels mechanical at first, the stiffness in his bones finally relenting after hours spent hunched over his laptop. he jogs in place, letting his blood move, allowing his muscles to remember their morning rhythm.

the street around him is quiet, edges softened by dawn—a stray leaf skitters across the sidewalk and the faint smell of a house’s breakfast drifts through the wind. everything is ordinary, almost painfully so, except for the faint pull in his chest.

god knows why.

a heavy sigh leaves him, curling into vapour the second it meets the cold. his calves are warm, ready to move, muscles primed for the first push forward—

bbrrr. bbrrr. brrrr.

choi fucking yeonjun.

“the hell?” he mutters, wrist lifting automatically as he taps the flashing green icon. “what the fuck do you want?”

there’s a small, sacred list of things that can truly get under park sunghoon’s skin. missed passes. sloppy drills. people who don’t keep their word. anyone who interrupts him. and now, apparently, choi yeonjun calling him at six-fifty in the morning, on a fucking sunday.

“are you on your period or something?” yeonjun’s voice comes through crisp and far too alive. “good morning, my honey bun.”

“stop bothering me.”

“how did you sleep, huh? why do you sound so angry? you usually save it for practice, in case you don’t remembe—”

the thought interrupts him so abruptly it almost throws off his breathing.

okay, to be fair, it was the assignments first. the blinking cursor, and the way microsoft word has this sick habit of stretching minutes into hours until the sky outside starts lightening without permission. he’d told himself he’d sleep right after submitting. just one more paragraph. one more edit. one more citation.

it sounded a lot like a random girl calling his phone at four in the morning. asking about lee heeseung, no less.

gravel crunches harder beneath his shoes as he picks up his pace without meaning to, breath sharpening on the exhale.

“i slept,” sunghoon says flatly, somehow. his eyes stay fixed on the long stretch of road before him.

“no,” yeonjun replies instantly. “you sound tired. sooha kept you up?”

he doesn’t bother to address that. not worth his time. “i’m running.”

a snort crackles through the tiny speaker. “yeah, no shit. i can hear you trying to outrun your personality.”

sunghoon rolls his eyes, though there’s no one there to see it. the park path stretches ahead, thin and empty, washed in early gold. right foot over the left, his stride perfect, pace never faltering. “why are you psychoanalysing me at seven in the morning?”

“it’s six fifty,” yeonjun corrects. he keeps running. “and it’s only cause you sound like you died yesterday.”

and just what the hell am i supposed to do about that, he thinks—it’s not his fault someone rang him in the middle of the night, asked for his best friend like it was urgent, like it mattered at all. it’s not his fault she ate up the remaining hours of sleep he’d planned to ration carefully. it’s not his fault she sounded so intent—so utterly determined—to talk to lee heeseung.

his jaw tightens slightly.

it’s also not his fault that she doesn’t know anything—who she was actually talking to. how easily she let the conversation stretch. how readily she laughed. how she filled silences that would’ve seemed suspicious to anyone else.

you’re so fucking naive. it makes him sick.

“are you trying to break a record right now?”

sunghoon glances down at his watch. his pace has increased by almost thirty seconds per kilometre.

what exactly was he supposed to do, anyway? interrupt her mid-laugh and tell her she’d reached the wrong person? tell her she’d misdialed and should try again? hand her off like a misplaced package?

park sunghoon tells himself he only kept the call going because it was easier, and that it was late—and most of all, it’ll only happen once.

that’s all.

“sunghoon.”

“what?”

“did you hit your head or something?”

sunghoon exhales sharply through his nose, pace steady, shoulders squared like they always are when he runs. unshakeable. “focus on your own head.”

yeonjun laughs. “wow. so cold. captain, your bedside manner is terrible.”

“goodbye, yeonjun.”

he ends the call before the vice captain can squeeze in another comment. silence rushes back in, thick and uninterrupted, save for the steady impact of rubber against pavement. sunghoon’s eyebrows knit together as he continues down the path, watching windows flicker to life in real time—one square of yellow, then another, then three in a row. the campus is waking up, unaware of the private absurdities that unfolded at the expense of park sunghoon’s rest.

and he wonders, briefly, if you slept soundly after that call.

if you rolled onto your side with a faint smile, phone still warm in your palm, thinking about lee heeseung.

or if he were the one you believed you were talking to, would it have sounded the same?

would you have laughed like that—would you have fallen for every word?

the thought is almost amusing.

perfect lee heeseung, who forgets half his deadlines. who shows up five minutes late with an apology grin that fixes everything. who doesn’t have to hold a locker room together or pretend his moods don’t exist. who can afford to be charming because nothing rests on his shoulders long enough to bruise. and still, you never fucking noticed the difference.

but the thing is this: park sunghoon might as well have his face plastered on billboards, because everyone around him knows—or thinks they do. they all see him. they’re all watching him.

a slightly clipped tone. a delayed response in the group chat. half a second too long between reps at practice. they notice. they always notice.

if he’s irritated, the team feels it. if he’s distracted, the drills get sloppy. if he’s quiet, the locker room gets tense. his mood isn’t just his—it’s contagious. spreading like hazardous, passionate wildfire. a fucking plague that everyone’s afraid to upset.

heeseung doesn’t need to think about that, does he?

heeseung doesn’t have thirty pairs of eyes scanning his expression the second he walks into the rink. doesn’t have rookies straightening their posture when he passes. he doesn’t have to calculate the weight of every word because one careless comment could echo for weeks.

how pathetic. sunghoon really has to stop throwing himself into self-deprecating chains of thought in the middle of his morning runs.

─────────────────────────

you move through the day like you’re on autopilot.

your alarming lack of errands feels like the source of your misery—nothing fills the time well enough. the clock drags its feet out of spite, each minute stretching thinner than the last, and there are simply not enough tiktoks in the world to scroll through until four in the morning.

…does it even have to be four in the morning?

you’re sprawled across the couch in your apartment, limbs loose, attention even looser. jiwon’s out tonight—dinner with that guy she met at sigma alpha eta—and you waved her off earlier with a distracted nod after sitting through a solid hour of her spiralling about how she’s “not sure if he’s the one.”

your fingers tapped impatiently against your phone while she twirled in front of you, once, twice, the fabric of her dress catching in the stale air of the living room. you were slumped against the backrest, head heavy in your palms, fighting sleep that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with boredom.

“i literally told you my opinion,” it escapes as a groan, your lashes fluttering shut before your head lands against the cushions. “if you’re just gonna keep going back to this dress, just wear this one.”

jiwon looked at you like you’d shot her in the chest. “you’re just so patient, aren’t you?”

your arm drifted lazily toward the glass table, fingers stretching for your phone like a dying man reaching for water. it’s barely out of reach, but somehow still too far.

you hook it toward you at last. the screen lights up: nothing. of course.

and then she continues to talk—something about silhouettes, about first impressions, about how boys apparently notice everything—but her voice dissolves into background noise. you nod when it feels appropriate. hum when she pauses, look over when she calls your name.

sorry, oh jiwon. you do not have the capacity to give a fuck right now—lee heeseung’s name is sitting on the top of your call log like a secret, ready to be shown off to the world.

“fine. i’ll just wear this—“

she leaves with her keys jingling down the hallway. you chew your lip like the short-lived guilt might manifest into an apology and hunt her down that corridor, but between you and literally anyone else?

it will be forgiven and forgotten when she returns tomorrow morning, you assume, only because there’s smuggled condoms in her purse—like she’s starring in some coming-of-age film.

the rest of the evening passes in a strange, slippery blur.

you’re cooking dinner at one point, staring absently at the stove while oil crackles in the pan, nearly burning the garlic because you drifted too far into your own head. later, you’re in the shower, steam clinging to your skin while you tilt your face away from the showerhead, replaying last night’s conversation in fragments—the way he laughed. the pause before he answered certain questions. the tone of his voice when he teased you.

you’re checking your phone again. this is definitely worse than that crush you had when you were thirteen.

─────────────────────────

a few miles away on campus soil, practice runs longer than it should. park sunghoon has sweat clinging to his skin, darkening the collar of his shirt, tracing the lines of muscle that took years to carve into something worth respecting. every movement feels marginally heavier than usual despite the near-flawless precision of his drills. his turns are clean. his stops sharp. his passes calculated.

still, there’s just something about today.

he pushes the team harder than usual. he tells himself it has nothing to do with your voice bouncing around in his head like an insufferable little ping-pong ball. absolutely nothing to do with the way you laughed at something he said at four in the morning.

it’s discipline. that’s all.

there’s hesitation in the juniors’ movements. it’s especially obvious in the way they avoid him—questions rerouted to choi yeonjun instead, who is currently preoccupied with his self-assigned duty of shooting nicholas with two pucks at once for reasons known only to him. sunghoon watches it unfold with a faint twitch of annoyance—he has to take off his helmet just to breathe right. sometimes, he genuinely wonders how yeonjun managed to snag vice captain.

eventually, though, the confusion climbs its way back to him like it always does. a hesitant shuffle. a cough. a poorly disguised glance in his direction.

“captain—”

his voice cuts through the rink’s cold air with surgical clarity. he explains every movement, every angle, every adjustment with mechanical perfection. there is no room for misunderstanding when he speaks. there rarely ever is when he’s this worked up.

by the time he gets back to sigma alpha eta, his muscles ache and his head feels heavier than it should—his skull weighing on his spine, every knot tightening in a body that was already rigid to begin with. even if he swears he warmed up enough, his gait still comes out stiff.

he heads straight for the bathroom after tossing his bag onto the floor, haphazardly by the doorframe of his room. the tiled floor is slightly slippery from someone else’s shower, much to his dismay.

he peels his clothes off, the overhead light catching the sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. his gaze lingers, unintentional, over the familiar outline of his body—something he built, piece by piece, over years of repetition and restraint.

it’s taken him so long to get here.

park sunghoon turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder. his eyes squint at the subtle tints of blue and purple, an occasional yellow and familiar reds.

a faint bruise blooms along his back—noticeable enough to catch his attention, but still subtle enough to ignore. his thumb presses into it briefly. it doesn’t hurt much, sitting in a valley between his shoulder blade and the deep impression of his spine.

he doesn’t dwell. no time. there’s roughly ten minutes before his eyes have to shut and his cells get to work at repairing the strain he never fails to put himself through.

the shower is quick. burning hot water pelts his shoulders, steam gathering thick against the tiles as the tension in his body dulls into something manageable. afterward, he downs another protein shake, the grainy texture catching in his throat like it’s meant to fill more than just hunger.

then, the sheets rustle as he settles in. tonight feels cooler than usual, though that might have more to do with the window he left wide open—jake sim always made the habit of reminding him to, otherwise, it’d be too stuffy. the blinds sway with the wind, wood tapping lightly against the glass in a steady, hollow rhythm.

no assignments. class begins early tomorrow. park sunghoon needs all the energy he can get if he wants to maintain that stellar gpa of his—it’s reason enough to shut his screen off and reach for the charger without hesitation.

this is what most nights look like. the temperature shifts by a degree or two. the sounds outside change. the air moves differently. but if he squints, it’s all the same, really. park sunghoon—the captain, the leader, the one everyone watches—falls asleep the same way every night, staring at what he’s built.

his gaze drifts back, almost involuntarily, to his now-dimmed phone. the last item on his mental checklist has been crossed off, but the weight on his shoulders doesn’t lift. if anything, it settles deeper, heavier, as the thought of monday presses in.

there will be mondays for the rest of his life. obviously.

it’s sunday nights like this—quiet, cold, stretching endlessly before them—that serve as meaningless prologues that do nothing but make park sunghoon feel like the loneliest man in the world, at the top of the chain that he’s tried so desperately to scale.

his eyes shift to the wall instead. an attempt at distracting himself.

medals, trophies, certificates. plaques stacked where there’s no space left for more.

there’s boxes shoved beneath his bed, too. filled with the rest of it, or rather, everything that didn’t make the cut. almost all of it’s in there—wrinkled homework from the when he first learned how to write his name coherently, all the way to the year he left his hometown.

it’s taped shut with cheap, barely-there adhesive, the kind that curls at the edges if you look at it for too long. he’s almost certain his mother shoved it in the car, insisted he bring it with him to college—something about keeping memories close, about not forgetting where he came from. he can’t recall how else it would’ve ended up here, with him, haunting his conscience like a guilty ghost.

sunghoon plugs the cord in, the battery icon flashing obediently on the corner of his screen. that should be the end—

ding!

his jaw tightens. his tooth almost cracks from how hard he’s gritting them. it’s even more annoying, because his arm’s already bent over the table, ready to drop the device on his small night stand.

so god help him, if it’s choi yeonjun asking for the practice footage again, or sending another half-coherent voice note about formations he absolutely should have memorised by now—

ding!

sunghoon exhales sharply through his nose and retracts his hand. the attention-aware feature on his phone causes his screen to light up almost immediately, and despite the fact that he was just staring at it moments ago, it burns all the same.

unknown contact.

he doesn’t even need to see the name. sunghoon sees the call log from last night, ending at five in the morning, and immediately knows.

y/n l/n: day went great btw 01:21

y/n l/n: not a single yawn 01:21

he’s going to bed. he’s tired, and he’s not definitely past dealing with a girl who doesn’t even care that he doesn’t sound like lee heeseung—or at the very least, not enough to verify that it is indeed park sunghoon on the other end of the line.

y/n l/n: i know you said 4am but i have class at 8 tmr sooo 01:21

absolutely. fucking. not.

riiiiing. riiiing.

park sunghoon is not picking up the phone.

─────────────────────────

“and then?”

he lied.

there are a few things park sunghoon would never admit to anyone else. firstly, that he’s terrible at making his own coffee and still gets riki to do it for him. secondly, that he needs to hug his ridiculously large, sausage-shaped pillow to fall asleep, or he wakes up worse than usual.

and third—

that he’s genuinely listening to a random girl on the phone, without slipping in a quiet, so are you coming over or not? somewhere between her sentences.

it doesn’t feel like a decision. there’s something settling into place, clicking in his chest before he has a real chance to question his own intentions. the words come out easily, slipping off his tongue and past his lips like water, because that’s what this is—natural, for reasons beyond him.

sunghoon lies back with one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding his phone loosely against his cheek. moonlight spills into the room through the half-open blinds, stretching across his ceiling like it has nowhere else to go. he knows he should’ve closed them earlier, but the thought passes without consequence, dissolving somewhere between the moment your name lit up his screen and now.

his hair falls in soft streaks across his forehead, long since dried from the aggressive towel action he’d put himself through not even half an hour ago—something he refuses to think about too meticulously, especially not in relation to the notification that had pulled him back to his phone.

incoming call from y/n l/n.

there’s a dull ache pressing at his temples, insistent, like it’s trying to remind him of something he’s choosing to ignore. he knows better than this, he really does. in the same way he knows that you think he’s someone else entirely.

he breathes, slow and deep like it’ll undo all the knots in his muscles. it’s strange that it’s working now, compared to all the times where he got a sports massage after practice with no real effect, and he wonders—no matter how absurd it is—that if it’s your voice that’s making him so, so sleepy.

on the other end, you never hesitate. you answer him with a kind of ease he isn’t used to, words flowing like there’s nothing in the world worth holding back. there’s something almost intimate in it—not intentional, barely meaningful, but there all the same. like two people who have already decided, somewhere along the way, that they belong in each other’s space.

the thought comes uninvited.

is this what couples do?

it makes him want to shut his eyes and forget he ever had it.

your voice carries through the line with the same unfiltered simplicity that he’s already starting to recognize—light, animated despite the hour, spilling from one thought to the next with barely any pause. there’s a lack of calculation in the way you speak, a clear absence of consideration in what words were okay to say, and what details were appropriate to omit—in which there were none. you even told him about your ten minute doomscroll session on the toilet midway through biochemistry.

it fills the silence before it can exist. it’s not like he’s not used to the noise—he’s surrounded by idiots who can’t keep their mouth shut, and god, has he wished for years that everyone around him would just be quiet for at least ten minutes—but when your soft, sweet voice rings in his ears, he’s not even sure what he’s feeling.

the realistic part of him, however useless he may be now, knows that everything is a lie. there’s you, rambling to him solely because you think he is the man you have that miserable crush on, and then there’s him: feeding your delusions, for his own selfish intents, as if that makes him any less dumber than you.

you’re talking to him because you think he’s someone else. because you’ve attached yourself to a version of a person that doesn’t exist on this end of the line.

he lets it happen, anyway.

sunghoon shifts against his pillows and the mattress dips slightly beneath his weight. the room remains dim, lit faintly by the fluorescent lighting radiating from his screen, probably killing off all his melatonin receptors by now—the dull wash of streetlight slips in, occasionally cut off by a passing car through half-open blinds. the air moves lazily, wind brushing past his skin, cooling what little heat still lingers from his shower.

his responses lag. he lets you talk. it’s intentional at first, an easy excuse for something he can fall back on. you seemed like the type who didn’t need much prompting, anyway—your words come in soft bursts of laughter, half-finished thoughts and tangents that circle back around before he can fully follow them. it should be difficult to keep up with, but as with everything that’s occuring, it’s unknown to him why it isn’t.

somewhere along the way, it stops being passive. there’s things that he’s noticing that he doesn’t want to notice. hearing things that he never means to. it’s lodged into his brain that’s already fighting for more storage space—your tone that shifts when you’re about to say something embarrassing, or how you rush through it a little faster, before doubling back as if to justify it. there’s pauses that aren’t quite pauses, just brief breaths where he can almost picture you thinking, deciding whether to keep going or jump to the next part of your day.

he remembers that party. he remembers how your hair fell on your face, and in the moment, sunghoon thought you’d just be passing in his already busy life—he finds it extremely irritating that he can recall almost every mundane feature on your face as if you were the most beautiful girl he’d seen. that dress that you probably found deep in your dresser and didn’t bother to smooth out, or that cup in your hand that’s barely holding any liquor. you were there for someone, after all.

he stood at that stairwell, watching, as if you were someone he couldn’t approach. please—if lee heeseung wasn’t the one you already set your sights on, he bets he could have you in his bed that very night.

if only he hadn’t froze.

you’re not anyone meaningful to him. you’re not supposed to take up what precious space he has for himself, and yet, here you are, barging into his life like you demand his attention.

it’s not like he’s any better, honestly. he knows that much.

“i was wondering if i should call, y’know,” you mumble through his phone’s speaker. he raises an eyebrow, as if you could see it. “it’s really late. don’t you have class tomorrow, too?”

“i do,” sunghoon sighs. he makes a conscious effort to stop himself from sharing which. “all day.”

unknown to park sunghoon, you’re lying upside down on your pink duvet, hair falling over the edge of your bed. you’re acting like you have no real responsibilities or hour long classes tomorrow morning, and that energy is somehow infecting him, too.

his grip around the phone shifts, thumb brushing absentmindedly along the edge of his thick case. the thought of telling you who he really is comes and goes without fully forming, though the feeling that claws at his ribs is quieter than guilt. it’s not sharp enough for him to address just yet.

you say something. he doesn’t catch all of it, only the way your laughter follows right after. sunghoon almost thinks you must love hearing your own voice with how giggly you are.

nevertheless, it pulls something out of him before it can be stopped. a response—low and tired in nature, slipping into the conversation as if he didn’t spend the past ten minutes wondering if anything he’ll say will give him away.

and still, you respond, picking it up without hesitation, folding his words into yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“i didn’t even realise the time until i checked my phone,” you lie. “i’m sorry if you were just kidding yesterday… and didn’t want me to actually call. i wasn’t sure.”

“it’s fine, really.” sunghoon murmurs, voice low and threaded with sleep. “but you really should’ve called earlier. i’m about to knock out.”

there’s a soft scoff on your end, fabric shifting faintly. sunghoon’s ears pick that up, too. “you picked up anyway, didn’t you?”

he doesn’t respond to that, and the silence continues. it’s not empty or uncomfortable, filled with something else that simmers under his skin. he lets it stay.

you don’t push, instead humming like you’ve already moved on. you talk more about your day, admitting to things that you probably shouldn’t, voice drifting back into that easy rhythm that makes him want to turn over and shut his eyes for the night. “i kept checking my phone like something interesting would happen today, but…”

“nothing did?” he asks, eyes half-lidded—his eyelashes feel heavier now.

“wellll…” you drag out the word slightly, a hint of a smile tucked into it, like sunghoon couldn’t already hear the teeth in your voice. “i’m telling you about my day now, so i guess it all worked out.”

he exhales softly. his finger comes up to his face to rub at his nose, and he sniffles before responding, “that’s a really low bar.”

“i’m being honest,” you admit, voice dipping just slightly, unaware of the cliff you’re driving yourself off of. “you seem like someone who’s always busy.”

he supposes, in a sense, he is. just not in a lee heeseung way. “i’m not that busy.”

there’s a hint of disbelief in your laugh that fades quickly. it gives way to something more curious, and all it does is ease the conversation into something quieter and more fluid. your voice lowers as words blend together, and sunghoon finds his shoulders caving into his chest.

he shifts against the pillows, letting the weight of the night settle into his tired limbs. you wrap around him like a thread pulling taut—he doesn’t need to respond immediately; the words coming from you are enough to fill spaces he’s left behind.

sunghoon blinks slowly. “you’ve got me wrong.”

“yeah, now that i think about it,” you whisper. “i don’t think i know enough to be right.”

park sunghoon rarely gets nervous, if ever. there were a few times in fifth grade that he’d gotten a tummy ache before going up on stage, or in middle school when he had to give a presentation on the cultural history of korean calligraphy. he supposes the habit just vanished, because by the time he turned sixteen and played in his first hockey match, it never manifested again.

there’s a relief that comes with finding your coping mechanism. sunghoon never really examined why he would feel like throwing up before getting in front of a bunch of strangers, but he understood, even if on a very basic level, that hockey took that away from him—it’s the smooth slide of his skates against ice that tends to narrow down the world to just him, where nothing and no one else matters.

he’s not exactly sure why that is; reflection wasn’t really his thing. he knew it when his teacher would set him aside from other kids and ask ’how are things at home?’, to which he had no answers.

as long as it works, right?

still, it’s here now. that feeling of his heart dropping straight through his mattress, and his stomach churning something that refuses to let him speak.

“i feel like i’ve just been yapping,” you say. you aren’t wrong. it’s barely your fault, though he can’t really tell you that.

sunghoon swallows, throat dry and constricting around nothing. the grip he has on his phone tightens momentarily before easing again, his gaze darting around the room like he’s searching desperately for answers that’ll magically manifest.

he could say something. he should. something vague would be good. easy to follow up with, or be mysterious about. slightly personal so you don’t pry too much, that doesn’t let this tip any further than it already has.

and yet—the words don’t come. it barely makes it past his throat.

sunghoon exhales and the sound is almost lost against the line. “it’s getting late.”

it’s been ’getting late’ for the past two hours. his voice sounds worn, and he blames no one but himself—for letting his schedule fall apart like this, and still picking up the phone anyway.

and you, being the unsuspecting, naive girl you are—humming softly as if to tell him you understand. “yeah, i guess so.”

park sunghoon tears his screen away from the warmth of his cheek. only now does he realise how long it’s truly been; the absence of his warm device and the presence of cold wind hitting his face helps him remember how absurd this is.

he looks at the duration of the call, now barely over two hours.

the number sits there, steady and indifferent, as if it doesn’t account for the way time had slipped past him without resistance. as if it doesn’t mean anything at all.

for a moment, he just stares at it, his thoughts lagging behind the reality of it. two hours of listening, of responding, of letting himself exist in something that shouldn’t have been this easy.

this should end here.

sunghoon brings the phone back to his ear, the warmth returning in a way that feels almost deceptive now. he blinks once, twice, before clearing his throat. “goodnight, y/n.”

“goodnight, heeseung.”

the line cuts. sunghoon lies still in his white sheets, the duvet crinkling softly beneath his weight—though it feels heavier than it should, like it’s dragging him deeper into the earth. he stares blankly into the space above him, eyes fixed on nothing, as if he can’t quite register the way the room seems to close in, inch by inch.

outside, the world goes on, completely unaware.

cars pass. lights flicker somewhere beyond his window. time moves the way it always does—steady, indifferent to him, and for a fleeting moment, he wishes he wasn’t in this body.

the thought comes quietly, almost absurd in its simplicity. the thought that he could step out of himself and into someone else—someone forgettable, someone ordinary—someone who doesn’t carry the weight of expectation so tightly wound around his chest. he imagines it briefly, the ease of it: letting tomorrow belong to someone else.

letting the responsibilities, the precision, the constant awareness slip from his grasp for just a day.

just once where he doesn’t have to move like he knows exactly what he’s doing, or carry himself like someone people look up to—like someone who has everything under control, when the truth is that he’s no different from anyone else. just one fucking day is all he asks.

it was nice—the two hours sunghoon got to pretend like he wasn’t sunghoon. he could say it was almost natural, which only unsettles him even more.

he shifts slightly against his sheets, and the loud rustle only anchors him further into the reality he’s in. he blinks slowly before letting his eyelids shut, and almost as if to say ‘you’re never living this down’, your face appears right behind them.

here you are, reconstructed behind his shut eyes like you’re something worth remembering—it's your perfect hair. your eyes that dulled the lights strobing in your face. that dress that looked weirdly good on you.

this is so fucking frustrating.

─────────────────────────

you only see kim sunoo once a week. there’s careful planning that goes behind the days leading up to psychology of mass media—it’s the only hour you can get any intel, if at all, due to the convenient fact that sunoo likes to be the first to leave and last to arrive.

in reality, it’s just you showing up earlier than necessary, and lingering a little longer than you should in hopes that you’ll catch sunoo again.

you have one question. just one. he won’t mind, would he?

the lecture hall is still half-empty when you slip in, and the fluorescent lights actually burn—rows of seats stretching out in that familiar, uninspired gradient of grey and black. there are a few scattered groups that have already settled in, most of them slumped over their desks with jackets thrown over their heads. the sound of keyboard clicking echoes, bouncing off the sterile walls, and you do your best to tune it out.

it takes two minutes for kim sunoo to walk in, beige tote slung over his shoulder, stride light and easy—he always looked put together despite the hour. there were times you considered if he was a vampire, considering how he never looks tired, but the thought never sticks long enough to matter.

he slides into his usual seat without much ceremony, setting his bag beside him before pulling out his macbook. there’s a faint glow of white casts over his face, highlighting the smoothness of his skin, and it feels ridiculous—that split second when you feel a little jealous of him.

fifty five minutes left.

you move before you can think too hard about it, because you already know how that ends. your sneakers thud softly against the carpeted floor as you make your way down the steps, gaze flickering briefly around the room—not because there’s anything to actually be wary of, but because it feels like there should be.

as if anyone here could read your mind, and as if they’d even care enough to judge you for it. the thought lingers in the back of your mind all the same.

you slow just a fraction as you near his row, like the sensible part of your brain’s giving you one last chance to turn around and act like the normal girl who doesn’t care that much. there’d be some grace in taking that empty seat behind him and pretending like the thought of snooping around lee heeseung’s love life never crossed your mind at all—but it has to happen, and unless the gift of time travel is suddenly bestowed upon you, your ass is about to meet the plastic chair beneath you.

the chair creaks softly under your weight, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the low hum of the room. everyone’s blissfully unaware of the humiliation you’re about to put yourself through, though it somehow makes your courage muster a little easier.

“you’re staring at me.”

sunoo’s voice is monotonous. he doesn’t bother to spare you a look, because in truth, he doesn’t need to turn his head to see the way you’re burning holes through his.

“i’m not.”

he scoffs, though he means nothing spiteful of it. as much as he hates to admit, you were one of the nicer seatmates he had this year. “you are.”

“okay, well,” you begin, hands coming up from under the long, laminated wooden desk in front of you. you press them together, like that’d make things less awkward—your fingers fidget just for the sake of doing something other than staring at sunoo. “i was thinking—”

“about me?” kim sunoo smiles, still not looking at you. the corner of his lip is lifted up in something similar to genuine amusement, but it does nothing to help the embarrassment that’s stabbing at your nerves. “you’re blunt, [name].”

“ha ha,” you mock. sunoo can’t help but giggle at that. “the posters. outside. i saw them.”

ah. he sees what this is about.

soul searching ✦ booth 35, level 1, outside block A friday, 10th september 2026, 1pm-8pm ❤︎ love life in shambles? wanna meet new people? come visit our booth to find your perfect match! ❤︎ a quick questionnaire, a curated pairing—one conversation might change everything. rumour has it that the first person you meet… might just be the one. for early bird tickets, scan here!

the promotional poster that you stumbled upon was one of many pasted across campus. there were a few that jiwon mumbled to you about this morning, over the phone, and while you can’t exactly recall the exact details of the conversation, you just know it made her reconsider attending. it was obvious in the way she kept asking, ‘should i?’ followed by ‘i don’t know, maybe i should’, circled back with ‘i’ll think about it’.

it was for, roughly, five seconds that you wondered just how many girls would be lining up for it as well. you remember standing there a little longer than necessary, eyes skimming over the bold lettering like it was supposed to mean more than it did. the paper had been slightly wrinkled at the edges, tape barely holding it against the wall like it had been put up in a rush—but it was bright, unapologetically pink, and you almost grimaced at the thought of other people stopping to stare at it the same way you did.

you’d already decided you were going to go.

scanned the qr code right then and there, shamelessly, in the middle of the hallway on the way here—thumb hovering for less than a second before pressing submit, like hesitation would somehow make it worse.

the soulmate part, though—that stuck, unfortunately. it clung in a way that was irritatingly persistent, like gum pressed into the grooves of your thoughts. not because you believed it, necessarily, but because it was the kind of idea that refused to leave once it had somewhere to sit.

“so…. details?” you ask, a bright and inviting smile plastered onto your cheeks. “is heeseung going for sure? how does it even work?”

kim sunoo shrugs, typing briefly into his laptop before looking at you. “it’s a fundraiser booth. students sign up and get paired at random. i think, like, five seniors found their husbands here a few years back, and it’s been a myth ever since.”

you blink. “wait—so the first person you meet thing, that’s real? the soulmate shit?”

“yeah. haven’t you seen how many campus couples made it because of us? it’s really weird.”

soulmates. it’s all bullshit.

people talked about fate like it was something clean and predictable, like they didn’t sit behind the steering wheel of their own life. it’s as if someone or something invisible was guiding them—like there was a line drawn somewhere out there with your name on it, waiting for you to follow it without question until it led you to the right person.

you’ve never experienced it that way. if anything, your history with relationships feels like the opposite: bad timing, poor judgement, moments that almost worked until they didn’t. near misses are dressed up as something meaningful, but conversations fizzle out just when they start to feel like they might matter.

nothing stayed. nothing was ever meant to. you, having a soulmate—in that sense—it felt extremely unlikely.

it isn’t in a dramatic, self-pitying way—it’s the same way you understand that most things in life don’t fall neatly into place without sustained effort and consistency. relationships aren’t something pre-built that you stumble into, perfectly right and accommodating despite yourself, and they’re definitely not something you keep just because the universe decided you should.

couples will look you in the eye and tell you they’re meant to be, like it was written somewhere long before they ever met, but they barely talk about the parts where they almost walked away, or the moments where instinct told them to leave and they didn’t. the hesitation. the doubt. the very real option of not choosing each other.

fate, soul ties, forever. there are a lot of excuses people make when they don’t want to admit their own fault in something. it’s easier to dress things up as something inevitable than to acknowledge the effort it took to keep it going—or the moments where it almost didn’t.

do people just like pretending that they don’t have a say in what they do?

sunoo pauses, shifting his dark hair from his eyes before glancing at you. “do you think it’s cringey? saeri told me to remove that part of the poster… but i didn’t. it’s the charm of our booth, i think.”

“i don’t think so,” you lie, adrenaline humming through your veins. it is kind of corny, but who would admit that to him—kim sunoo probably doesn’t need more people hating on his poor slogan choices, and the more you act like it was a wise move, the better the chance you get paired with heeseung once he realizes you signed up. “i think it’s… uhm, plausible.”

anything but asking him directly, though.

“anyway,” sunoo glances back at his screen. microsoft word fills the entire monitor with graphs and figures you’re sure are from jiwon’s econ class. “i think everyone’s coming, except sunghoon. that guy…”

you raise an eyebrow. this is the first you’ve heard of him since that party two weeks ago—at this point, he almost feels like a hallucination. “sunghoon? what’s his deal?”

“he’s not a relationship guy. i think he knows it’d be a waste of time to sign up and make the girl feel like shit for five minutes straight,” sunoo sighs, leaning into his palm as if this were the harsh reality he’s learned to accept. “he cares, but has no idea how to show it. he’s like a three year old.”

you nod slowly, like you understand. you don’t.

though, something’s happening in your body that’s reminiscent of sunday night. it’s that odd, simmering sensation—proof. it flickers at the edge of your mind like a fuzzy memory, echoing that same low, lingering pull that sat right in the centre of your sternum.

sunoo’s cheek leans back into his palm, his eyes following professor choi’s figure that’s just strolled in. it’s your queue to shut the hell up and start preparing your materials for class, but it sets something else off.

you try, briefly, to chase it. to trace it back, to link it to something tangible and real and concrete. a face, a voice, a moment that would justify the way it settles into you so easily, but it slips through your fingers just as quickly, dissolving before it can really take shape.

“i see,” you hum. “well, i’ll come. don’t worr—”

“i wasn’t worried.”

“okay, then.”

─────────────────────────

the text comes while he’s brushing his teeth. his hair’s a mess as he stares into himself, eyes flicking down to the sink where some of his toothpaste’s fallen off his toothbrush—your voice is replaying in his head like a sick alarm, though he knows that it’s only because he’d hung up the phone only two hours ago.

sunghoon found himself silently praying that practice was cancelled. it was unlike him; the way he lingered in his sheets and had to take a deep breath before getting up. he dragged himself to the bathroom, hand swiping at the towel rack outside the door—hoping that he didn’t take jake’s by mistake, and begging (to whom?) that he wouldn’t need to use it.

snu hockey boys ’26 ⛸️🏒

yeonjun: practice is cancelled 06:32

yeonjun: coach has an emergency but pls send your food logs by 2200. whoever misses = double ur distance tmr 06:32

yeonjun: rink is still open tho 06:32

he took one good look at his to-do list this morning and resolved that he was going to the library. he’s fully convinced that if he lets his assignments pile up any more, his professors will start to think he’s slipping. god forbid—as if the boy hasn’t gotten less than a a in years.

we2fuckincold🥶 (informal gc)

nicho: guys pls stop eating by the benches too the janitors r gonna beat us :( 06:45

yeonjun: u guys cant fucking control yourselves can you 06:56

park sunghoon moves through the early dawn like he usually does, except that he walks right past the folded jersey and duffle bag already sitting on his desk. he lets himself slouch a little as he walks downstairs; the tiredness is already seeping in despite the constant self-correction.

it’s going to be a long day of cramming if he wants to get anything done, clearly—so he decides on unplugging his laptop charger, folding it neatly into the small zipper of his backpack, and leaving the house without his running shoes packed.

he’s still stretching when he hears the shuffle of footsteps outside. it’s too early for any one of his brothers to be up—on weekdays like this, park sunghoon was always the first to get moving, followed by jay in another hour.

it’s only six. nobody else gets up at six.

sunghoon reaches for the strap of his backpack as he makes his way towards the door—slightly ajar, swaying faintly with the draft, about to shut itself. it’s only when he’s a step away from the frame that he catches sight of lee heeseung walking past.

lee heeseung doesn’t get up until eleven.

reaching for the metal knob, sunghoon pulls back the door with more force than he’d like to admit, only to see heeseung—already at the top of the stairs, leaning lazily against the railing like the early hour means nothing—plaid boxers slung low on his hips, hair flattened in odd directions, and the faint imprint of wrinkled sheets still pressed into his back.

he just watches. doesn’t want to ask. the answer is already written across heeseung’s body in fading purples and reds, scattered along his neck and arms, threaded between the pale, healed superficiality of old scars.

instead, park sunghoon makes his way towards the stairs as well, with a backpack slung over his shoulder and an undeniable tiredness in his bones. he passes his dear friend before making his way down the flight of wood steps, feet thudding against the floor, eyes occasionally glancing towards the big entryway before him.

there’s a girl by the front door, half-crouched as she slips her shoes back on. her hair is messy in an unmistakable way, fingers combing through it as she balances herself against the wall using her other hand. she doesn’t look up, too preoccupied with fixing herself—it’s the last thing on her mind, and all she wants is to fit her heel into the mary janes she’s got sitting outside.

she pulls the metal handle, and looks back up at lee heeseung. nothing else is said, not even a wave, nor does he dismiss her presence—he just watches her warm smile curve up.

it feels like he’s walked in on something intimate. heeseung has a faint smirk that sunghoon was never able to wear when sooha was around, no matter how satisfied she made him feel, and he’s wearing that look of comfortable, guilt-free laziness that he recognises in the mirror every morning, after he hangs up on you.

─────────────────────────

sunghoon walks into the library like he owns it. professional poker face and all, heading straight for that seat by the windows that aren’t facing east, so the sun doesn’t burn his face off. just how he likes it.

the air-conditioning hits his skin and the lights above him are bright enough to sting. it’s enough to keep him awake for the next few hours, combined with the warm black coffee swishing around in his tumbler as he takes his time setting his stuff down.

a few stares and silent whispers are expected as he passes by the busier sections. he takes his usual seat—not many people know about it, due to the fact that it’s shoved so far away in isolation, miles from the bathroom and entrance, but park sunghoon appreciates this fact. nobody is around to stare at him sideways while he does his work, and there won’t be any eyes that refuse to leave his when he finally looks up.

the large, wood-laminate six-seat table was completely empty, and spotless. no coffee stains or broken sockets, and completely cut off from student civilization.

he settles into a bright orange chair by the window, where his face is obstructed by a large pillar—the sun warms his hands up as they pull his laptop out, already booted up from the night before, on the microsoft word home screen.

he groans when he sees at least three empty documents, all of which he meant to start yesterday. of course, that was the plan prior to your call, and sunghoon swore he’d at least try to multitask, if only not to feel the guilt later on. it’s obvious that he can’t do that anymore.

his slender fingers slide over the touchpad, navigating to his most urgent assignment for economics.

the cursor blinks at the top of his toolbar—it’s waiting for him to click something, anything, and he almost does. it circles around the add text box and darts away again, to open chrome. park sunghoon is staring at his screen like it’s a foreign, alien-sent object.

once upon a time, this would’ve sufficed. a quiet corner, an uninterrupted day, and his laptop on full-charge. work and productivity comes easily to someone as hard-working as him, and when there’s nothing else competing for his attention. compartmentalization is an incredibly common skill, but sunghoon is different, in the sense that he could live two separate lives in a single day, if need be.

though, these days, concentration feels far rarer than he’d like to admit.

the sound of soft, carpeted footsteps approaching barely registers in his ears. he’s too focused reading over the same one line he’s written—his name and student id number—to shift his eyes elsewhere.

his peers pass through this section all the time. not many, but enough for it not to be alarming. this was still a public space, after all.

his eyes remain fixed on the screen as he reaches for his tumbler, taking a slow sip of coffee. outside, the sky is finally brightening into that familiar golden, instead of a depressing, cold blue. few students pass by the large glass panels, some in clusters and others alone.

this is simple enough. all he has to do is write. sunghoon has the brains for this, the attention span, and overall capability to complete this useless assignment—so he adjusts himself further into the chair and begins skimming through the brief for what feels like the tenth time since it’s released. it’s all market trends, consumer psychology, something about forecasting models by the time the words begin to blur together.

the caffeine isn’t circulating fast enough. he reaches, sips again, and draws a deep breath in through his nose. halfway through his second paragraph, a chair thuds quietly against the carpeted floor, before the faintest “shit” is heard.

libraries are full of idiots. nobody can even drag a chair out properly anymore, apparently. now that the sound has derailed his train of thought, sunghoon can’t help but to flick his dark brown irises up, locking right onto you.

for a second, he genuinely wonders if his sleep deprivation has evolved into hallucinations.

of all the tables and empty seats scattered across four. fucking. floors.

park sunghoon’s grip tightens slightly around his black, metal rimmed tumbler, an action you thankfully do not notice. this corner of the library is so damn meaningless to him—but now that you’re here, it’s like this is all he’ll ever remember, all he’ll ever associate with the place.

the moment of recognition doesn’t last very long. surprisingly, it doesn’t send panic through his bloodstream, nor does it get his heart bursting out of his chest—though, he can still feel it pounding a little harder—instead, it’s just vague acknowledgement written all over that pretty face of yours, reserved for familiar faces.

park sunghoon. hockey captain guy. heeseung’s friend, the one who unintentionally stared at you sideways that one friday night (that he’ll never forget).

“oh.”

the tension binding his shoulders tight is loosened, just a fraction. the tiny sound leaves your mouth quietly, though it sounds nothing like shock, and it’s more to yourself than to him.

“hope you don’t mind if i—”

sunghoon’s response comes out rougher than intended. “no.”

you smile in response, and god, sunghoon wants to fucking drive a ten foot pole into his chest at the sight of your cheeks puffing up. there’s a faint flush on your cheeks from walking in the morning sun, and he notices a few blemishes on your skin as the sun almost blinds you—he can tell it’s getting into your eyes because you’re squinting. “you can sit here.”

you almost choke by the time sunghoon realises what he’s just said. “what?”

“it’s hot on that side.”

there’s three chairs on his side of the long, dark side of the table. it’s oddly poetic how he’s sat in the dark and you’re standing across from him, bathed in that golden sun like it’s your rightful place, and how he can’t help but have you next to him, even now, even selfishly.

fortunately, you save him the humiliation of walking away or just planting your ass down in the sun. you circle around the table, keychains on your backpack jingling as you do, and pull out the plastic chair two seats away from him.

perfect. it’s enough distance for him to pretend like you’re not even there. your gaze flickers between him in the corner of your eye, to the span of other empty seats in front of you. why the hell are you even here?

there’s a moment where he thinks you’re going to change your mind, get up, and walk away without looking back. it’s mostly due to the fact that you haven’t even set your things down yet, organised your stationery or even took out your sleek, plastic-shielded macbook. sitting next to park sunghoon when there was an entire eight-seat table like, ten feet away made most people nervous.

and still, when he turns (or merely pretends to by reaching for his tumbler again), he realises you’re far from nervous, and instead very confused.

your eyebrows are still raised in slight confusion, and you’re scrambling to find a pen you lost somewhere deep in your bag. flecks of dust float in the air, and one lands right on the top of your head—shining so beautifully in this terribly congested space, warmth bouncing off the dull carpet and reflecting back onto your face, dusting your skin like it knows how exactly to make him weak.

you don’t notice, but he does. park sunghoon is noticing everything, and for suddenly, painfully, and very unpredictably, he realises why people write songs about these kinds of feelings.

“do you need something?”

god, you’re so pretty. your eyebrows lift slightly, out of genuine curiosity (or perhaps concern, with the way sunghoon is staring at you… he can’t find a fault), and those lips of yours look so effortlessly perfect, soft, a faint sheen veiling it thanks to the lip-balm chained to your backpack zipper.

“no.”

and it’s like he’s slammed the door on you again.

again?

you’re not sure why you dwell on it too much, actually. most of the evening is spent staring at blank documents, because this module unfortunately included math, and for some odd reason, lee heeseung was always good at math despite being an arts major. he’d know what to do, and for a good minute you wonder if you should just call him right now.

you pause for a moment before your attention slips away from him again. turning back to your bag, hands still searching for something you apparently cannot find, your fingers moving with growing frustration through compartments that seem to hold everything except what you actually want.

sunghoon should probably mind his own business now, yet instead, he’s glancing over your shoulder and at your empty document.

he turns back to his laptop, slightly, or pretends to, lifting his tumbler just enough to give himself something to look at that isn’t you. in doing so he finally catches the full spread of your movement as you settle in, pulling your laptop out, then your charger, then your pencil case, then a small pouch that seems to contain an entire separate ecosystem of items, all of which you organise with a kind of quiet determination that feels oddly intimate to witness.

your brow furrows as you dig deeper into your bag, hand disappearing and reappearing empty more than once, and he notices the way your mouth presses into a line of mild frustration that never fully escalates into anything outright upset, just plastered there as an expression of someone mildly inconvenienced by their own decisions.

somewhere between your second and third attempt at finding whatever it is you’re looking for, your phone appears in your hand, screen lighting up briefly before you unlock it. sunghoon’s attention shifts almost against his will because the movement is too familiar now, even to him, with something he shouldn’t be aware of.

your thumb hesitates over the contacts screen. lee heeseung.

god, please don’t call. please, please, please, please, please.

his eyes are beginning to strain with how hard he’s trying to make himself appear unsuspicious. you hover over his contact, before looking back up at your empty document, and then down again. hesitantly you settle for resting your phone atop the mahogany, letting the screen darken on the words ‘lee heeseung’, then typing your very first words.

the mistake on your screen comes predictably. that’s not to say sunghoon thought you were stupid—it’s only honest for him to say many people messed up the way you did. careless, happens when you haven’t spent the days prior drilling these kinds of theorems into your head. his eyes were starting to hurt, squinting, trying to see how to help you.

the guilt creeps up on him, unexpectedly. he just can’t.

it’s unfortunate that sunghoon already knows exactly what he’d do if he were sitting right next to you, looking over your shoulder properly instead of pretending not to while still catching every mistake you make.

unfortunate that the assignment in front of him is something he could finish in less than an hour if he actually tried, something so mindless it doesn’t even deserve the amount of attention he’s currently refusing to give it, and yet he keeps sitting there anyway as if the decision is more complicated than it actually is.

“swap your x and y values.”

sunghoon has never in his life packed his things so quickly. he’s already moving before he fully processes what he’s done.

his chair scrapes back lightly against the carpet as he gathers his things in motions so quick it almost feels automatic—laptop closing before his assignment is anywhere near complete, tumbler shoved into his bag without care for whether it spills or not.

you’re still looking at him when he straightens, your brows drawn together slightly as you glance down at your screen again, scrolling back to where you left off.

your expression only changes the moment you realise what he said was correct. the mistake is exactly what he pointed out, sitting there so obviously wrong now that it feels almost insulting that you didn’t see it earlier.

sunghoon slings his bag over his shoulder too quickly, the strap wrong-side up, before he quickly settles it in place. he doesn’t look at you directly again, even though he can feel your attention still on him.

there is no explanation he can give that wouldn’t make it worse. no version of this situation exists where staying longer feels safer than leaving immediately, because the longer he sits here, the more likely it becomes that something small will slip.

you will notice. it may be something in the way he speaks or pauses or breathes that does not belong to heeseung at all. he knows you will put it together, because these are things he notices about you, unwillingly.

so, he leaves.

sunghoon’s footsteps are steady as he moves between tables, fiddling with his car keys between his slender fingers—until he reaches the aisle where the library opens up toward the exit.

only then does he allow himself one brief glance back.

you’re looking at him, still. like you haven’t decided whether you’re supposed to stop or keep watching, eyes slightly wider than they were a moment ago, as if you’re still catching up to the fact that he actually spoke, actually stood up, and actually left without giving you anything close to an explanation.

it’s not like he owed you one, anyway. right?

there’s a faint crease between your brows now, nothing like frustration, instead softened into something that makes his heart twist and do all sorts of things against his ribs. it’s not an exaggeration to say that he’s never felt such a feeling, and it’s even more of an understatement when he says it scares him.

he almost trips over his jeans when he crosses the threshold of the library, out into the pavement and in front of the carpark.

sunghoon needs to go home. he needs to get his shit together and go to practice, like how he’s always done in the months before this, and how he’ll continue to do—and yet, god knows why he can’t even drive out of the lot, instead he’s glued to his seat with his feet planted on the mat like it’ll kill him if he stepped on the gas pedal.

sunghoon is already outside the library by the time he’s back in his own body, aware that he’s moving.

the air hits him colder than expected. sharp against skin still warmed by the inside of the building, and for a moment he just stands there, half between steps, like his body has forgotten what it was supposed to do next. the carpark stretches out in front of him in clean, repetitive lines, familiar enough that it should be automatic, but nothing about his movements feels familiar anymore.

“fuck—“

sunghoon almost trips when he steps down the last curb, not because he isn’t paying attention, but because his body is slightly ahead of his thoughts and neither of them are aligned with anything resembling control. he corrects himself quickly, hand tightening briefly around the strap of his bag, and continues forward in a way that would look normal to anyone watching from a distance.

sunghoon’s car is where it always is. he gets in, sits his ass down, and doesn’t move.

the engine is not on yet, keys resting in his hand without being inserted, and his foot stays planted on the mat as if there is some unspoken rule that says starting the car will make something irreversible happen. he stares at the steering wheel for a long time without really seeing it, jaw set in a way that suggests focus but is really just restraint.

that look on your face is so easy to remember. park sunghoon knows he has to tell you, if there’s any chance—any at all—that he gets to look at you like that again.

a curse, truly, because now he knows what it feels like to be so close to you, to have such a feeling strike him so deep, lodging itself in his chest; whenever your face pops up uninvited in his peripheral, or in his daydreams, or on his cell. almost humiliating and actively consuming his sick brain.

the honesty might not even make you stay, and it probably will not make the confession noble—it feels ridiculous to him, almost absurd, because the only thing keeping him tethered to his car mat is the replay of your face in his mind: so painfully uncomplicated that he can’t stand the thought of touching it with borrowed hands and stolen time.

he can still picture the way you looked at him across that table, brows faintly drawn together in confusion, not because you were intimidated or nervous or trying to figure out if sunghoon was really as the rumours say, but because you genuinely did not understand why he had stood up and left.

no expectant eyes, no carefulness, barely any fear. frowned when you were confused and smiled when something amused you, all with the kind of ease that feels so natural on you that he doubts you even notice it yourself. it is the sort of thing most people take for granted, he thinks. the sort of thing people are lucky enough to have for so long that they stop recognizing it as freedom.

sunghoon only notices because he does not have it.

hockey captain, top student, dependable, intimidating, disciplined, the guy could make his own dictionary with the obnoxious amount of adverbs attached to his image. almost every room he walks into seems to demand something from him before he even opens his mouth, and somewhere along the way he stopped questioning it. teammates watch his reactions before deciding how to react themselves. juniors reroute questions through other people because they are too nervous to ask him directly. professors talk to him like they actually have expectations—classmates wait for him to know the answer. even the fraternity treats him like a fixed object, something solid and predictable that will always be exactly where it is supposed to be.

then, there’s you. all perfect hair and soft lips and weirdly adorable frustration carved onto your face, sitting beside him with a pen between your fingers with the other hand on your keyboard. your entire life is on the verge of spilling out your mouth whenever you talk, completely unaware of how rare it looks from where he stands, saying things because you want to say them—because it’s funny, even if it’s meaningless, even if it contributes nothing of value to the conversation.

you call when you miss him, you laugh at his unintentionally self-deprecating humour, you ask questions when you don’t know. you get sad, you cry on the phone, and you get so ridiculously angry about such trivial matters, that he can’t help but smile at his screen.

for one brief, stupid, and careless moment in that library, sunghoon thinks he wanted to stay because you were pretty.

the thought survives all of five seconds. pretty girls are not exactly rare, but the feeling stirring in his chest and the warmth spreading through his body definitely is.

barely any of it has to do with the curve of your smile or the sunlight caught in your hair. instead, it had everything to do with the feeling of being around you, the uncomplicated nature of it all, and the subtle identity crisis where he did not have to be a captain, student, impressive or disciplined.

you will probably leave him, he thinks. the only other option seemed much too cruel, even for him, stripping that choice from you.

You: can we meet up? 12:34

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ever since you moved into your apartment, you’ve been trying to build a routine—something efficient and optimal, taking up the least amount of time and effort, while maximizing the amount of tasks done.

the first few weeks were horrible—every small decision felt disproportionate and too time-consuming. there’s ten minutes you could’ve used to get ready for bed that you spent cooking dinner, which you should’ve made prior to leaving the house, bla bla bla. you knew it was bad when the sequence after unlocking your door alone was enough to irritate you: whether to eat first or shower, how long to wait before brushing your teeth so you wouldn’t scrub your enamel off. it was stupid, the amount of thought you poured into things that were supposed to be automatic, but you couldn’t help it. everything had to fall into place in this busy life of yours and serve it’s rightful purpose.

there were too many small decisions like that. too many things to get right.

maybe that’s why this feels so off. because there’s nothing to figure out, and no reason for it to happen so often.

there’s no adjustment period, no careful slotting of time or reshuffling of habits. he just fits into the spaces you’ve already made. it’s incredibly mundane and underwhelming in the way it happens.

for now, heeseung calls you almost every damn night, and you feel weirdly normal about it.

it starts on a random thursday. then it’s saturday, then monday, then tuesday. somewhere along the way, it stops being a coincidence or convenience.

by wednesday, you’re calling him to help you pick out an outfit for a department event, holding up different tops to your mirror like he can somehow see through the line. you’re describing the colours, the cut, every minute detail, assuming his imagination could keep up with your rambling.

on thursday, you’re complaining about how much you hate psych, words spilling faster than you can filter them. by the time friday rolls around, he’s the one calling—something about needing help with an assignment, though it diverges quickly into him venting about a useless groupmate in his behavioural economics class.

it morphs into something consistent, though, still strange regardless.

you could’ve sworn lee heeseung took his electives in art culture this year. yet, with the way he’s talking about stock markets and all rationality being lost on the modern day consumer, it sounds like he’s well-versed with the contents.

“you ate an entire block of cheese for dinner?” he repeats back to you. now that you’ve retold the entire process of cooking dinner, down to the amount of parmesan cheese you used, hearing it repeated back to you makes it sound a little insane. “you couldn’t just salt it?”

“are you judging me?” you giggle, turning over in your sheets. the fabric twists with you, cool against your skin and your joints protest almost immediately—your right shoulder’s starting to cramp from how long you’ve been hunched over on your side.

you let out a quiet sigh into the air. “it was a better choice. tasted good, so… i don’t see any problem.”

there’s a pause on his end. you fidget as you wait—picking at your cuticles, long overgrown and in desperate need of a maintenance check, even cracking your knuckles just to fill the silence.

“i think that’s the issue,” he huffs. your shoulders finally relax at the sound of him—lacking any true judgment despite his words.

there’s faint rustling that crackles through your device, and for a minute, you imagine how he must look like right now: laid up in bed in some old jersey, shorts barely hanging onto his hips from how lazy he is to tie the drawstrings tighter. the night’s winding down and you’re still here, with him, like this is an absolute must-do before your eyes shut.

and the routine must repeat tomorrow, of course. not that you’re complaining.

the rest of the conversation flows without much resistance. lee heeseung talks about his afternoon run that seemed to piss him off a great deal, because he got a call from choi yeonjun—something about being five minutes late to the gym and how he’s clearly not committed.

“oh. you’re friends with him? isn’t he in a completely different department from you, though?” you mumble, hoping that it doesn’t come off as blunt—you very well could have missed this detail in your earlier conversations. *“*how do you guys get to the point of going to the gym together?”

“he’s been bothering me ever since freshman year.” heeseung responds, “seriously. i don’t know how i haven’t strangled him yet.”

you chew on your bottom lip, searching for a response. the silence stretches just a little too long, and something about it starts to itch—like you’ve asked the wrong question and you’re pushing somewhere you shouldn’t.

“ah,” you say finally. “i see… he’s really popular, so i’m not surprised.”

“yeah, he is. it gets annoying as fuck when he brings his girls to lunch…” heeseung mutters under his breath—you’re toying with the string of your hoodie, if only to make yourself feel less awkward. there’s another long and excruciating pause before you finally decide to push the conversation in another direction:

“are you going to that fundraiser?” your voice comes out softer than intended. you can only hope that heeseung doesn’t make you repeat yourself. “sunoo’s… one. you know.”

“sunoo’s one…” he repeats back to you, slower. the concept almost sounds abstract to him. “no. not my thing.”

not his thing.

you’re back to fiddling with your fingers again. suddenly, the drawstring of your sweats seems more interesting than anything else you can hear from the other end of the line.

his voice fizzles out. you hear him, yes—his tired, monotonous voice crackling through the speaker reaches your ears and lands straight in your stomach. between short breaths and awkward pauses, you hyperfocus on the wind howling past your thin curtains.

“oh,” you manage after a moment. the word escapes weakly, scratching at your throat before you clear it up. “thought you were. my bad.”

you don’t realise how sweat-slicked your palms are until your phone almost slips from your hand. you turn over in bed, just to save your eyeballs from the sting of streetlights hanging outside your window—it’s almost three in the morning, and despite that dreadful fact, cars are still honking like they own the neighbourhood.

“are you?” heeseung asks. “probably, huh?”

“shut up,” you laugh. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

a quiet huff escapes through the line. your free hand traces the hem of your blanket, now tangled between your legs, serving no real purpose.

“it just sounds like something you’d be into.” heeseung states without a hint of laughter or a smile. “trying new things, even if they’re childish and embarrassing.”

“well—”

“it’s not a bad thing.”

you don’t respond immediately. a soft hum of acknowledgment is heard through the device—it’s barely triumphant or teasing—like he understands the reasoning behind why you’re throwing yourself out there, unknowingly, to him.

you roll onto your back again, tucking your arm over your belly. the cotton’s cold from the absence of your body against it, pillows still damp from your wet hair and impatient self; phone pressed awkwardly against your cheek, the heat almost battles that of sunday mornings.

speaking of, you haven’t experienced in it’s entirety for the past few weeks.

“why don’t you try it, then? it could be fun.” you murmur, eyes screwing shut at the instant the words rolled off your tongue. “sorry. you don’t have to… if you find it weird.”

his laugh makes your heart rate stutter, then spike.

it’s sweet. genuine. warm and unrehearsed in it’s charm, filling the dimness of your room and settling right under your ribs. your face burns up like you’ve just swallowed something hot, and the heat blooms right in your abdomen and crawls up your neck ridiculously fast.

“relationships aren’t my thing.”

lee heeseung says it like it’s already been decided—something fixed and immovable, written in bold or carved into a rock somewhere far beyond him. existing outside of his control, predetermined, and he’s made peace with it—it’s simply the way things are—though the heavy sigh that follows betrays him, outlined faintly with something that sounds nothing like acceptance.

the past few weeks have unfolded into something more than they should’ve. conversations stretching deeper than expected, softening and melting into quiet teasing that feels almost familiar, like you’ve known each other your entire lives.

“really?” your lips can’t help but to curl slightly upward. “you’ve never dated?”

“never had time for that. i’m not the best with affection. people talk to me like they’re scared of me, that kind of thing. even at that stupid party, i just drank by myself upstairs.”

perhaps your memory is failing you, then.

it’s strange, in hindsight, how most of your attention that night had never really stayed where it was supposed to. you remember the first few times you saw lee heeseung—his best friend following shortly after—and your gaze always seemed to lag behind who you claimed to like.

just how did those two end up together?

your seniors used to tell you to look forward to college. new place, new faces, new prospects—like the world finally opens up and hands you options you didn’t know you had. one day, you’re trapped in a classroom from seven to six; the next, you’re weaving through a campus that doesn’t know you yet, trying to decide who you get to be in it.

lee heeseung made it easy to know. he was the kind of person people noticed without trying. effortless in a way that felt almost unfair—hair falling exactly how it should, skin catching the light like it was always meant to. you’d pass by his friend group and hear him before you saw him, laughter loud and uncontained, a basketball tucked under his arm like it never knew how else to store itself. he fit into everything so naturally that it almost felt like the world was his and his alone.

it made sense to like him. and even then, your attention seemed to stray—slipping quietly and slowly just past him.

sunghoon hangs behind like it pained him to be around other people. always a little removed and distant enough to not involve himself in the conversation but not to turn around and walk away unnoticed; broad shoulders angling themselves slightly away, eyes flicking over other people like it physically pained him to see other humans.

it’s small, useless things. the way he’d shift his weight from one foot to the other when conversations dragged on and he was tired of it. his hands would stay tucked into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them otherwise. watching more than he spoke, like he was just slightly out of sync with everyone else.

you’ve only ever seen him laugh once*.* it was weirdly off-timed and the rest of his friends laughed only three seconds later. you wondered if all of heeseung’s friends were as strange as that, or if it was just him.

it’s weird, actually. thinking about it now, you realise you remember more about park sunghoon than you should for someone you never consciously paid attention to. his name seemed to be the last piece to his mysterious identity, no thanks to oh jiwon.

“i’m sure that’s not true.”

“it is,” he says. “i try to stay, but things don’t work out. rarely ever do.”

you raise an eyebrow. “work out? so you almost dated?”

“i show up. i do what i’m supposed to. it just stops feeling like something i want to be in after a while.”

“so you just dip?” you question.

“not all at once. i get scared. i pull back and i cancel things that i already fought to fit into my schedule,” he pauses. “i say it’s nothing. they don’t press much after that.”

you hum. the line goes quiet for a few seconds. you’re trying hard not to bombard him with every invasive question on your mind: who’s your most recent girlfriend? how long ago was the relationship? why do you run away?

he continues regardless.

“people get frustrated with me,” he mutters. “i can’t even handle my own emotions. i run from my issues and go on pre-workout to deal with my baggage. nobody sane does that shit.”

“heeseung—”

the name slips from your tongue like a mistake. you bite down on your bottom lip as if that would stop the words from echoing into his ears, somewhere, miles away.

“you’re the only girl that doesn’t treat me like that. i still don’t get it.”

just where did all these thoughts come from? there's weeks of conversations that stretched until midnight. unfiltered words that you silently agreed to keep between you two. your heart’s begun to match the rhythm of his voice, unintentionally, from the moment he picks up the phone to the second he cuts the line. somewhere between your first call to now, you’ve gotten to know him—it’s exactly why you can’t blame the confusion bubbling in your head or the pit in your stomach that only seems to sink deeper.

“aren’t you scared of me, too?”

and here you were, thinking that the answer was abundantly clear. he cuts himself off when you want to start rambling. he finishes your sentences when you’re falling asleep. he asks what ridiculous, unhealthy dish you cook up for dinner every single day without fail—so why does he still sound like that?

you shift slightly against your sheets, phone pressed a little tighter to your ear as if proximity could make sense of it. “i don’t get it,” you admit quietly. “why would anyone be scared of you?”

there’s a pause on the other end. it doesn’t feel empty. things rarely ever do when you’re on the phone with him; it feels more like he’s weighing whether to answer honestly, soften the blow or leave it alone entirely. “this is what i mean, [name].”

you frown. there’s a shuffle of feet upstairs, thudding against your ceiling, which momentarily distracts you. it’s almost four in the morning and nothing feels any clearer than it did ten minutes ago. “what?”

“you don’t care,” he continues. “simple.”

he doesn’t bother to explain further. he hasn’t bothered to say much at all, actually—not in a way that should make sense to you or anyone that knows the name heeseung. still, you understand it anyway, in that vague, unspoken way that two people manage to do, where language feels slightly too slow for what’s already being felt, and too shallow to tell the other person what you really mean.

there’s a hollow kind of discomfort sitting low in your stomach. you’ve learned by now that this is usually a warning sign, even if you don’t always know what it’s warning you about.

you’ve never had particularly good luck with these things, anyway. whatever invisible logic governs timing, people, attachment—it has never seemed especially fond of you.

you exhale softly, pulling your blanket higher over your shoulder, as if that might settle something internally. your gaze drifts to the empty space beside you, unoccupied, waiting in a way that feels louder than it should at this hour.

“what don’t i care about?”

your voice comes out as a whisper, unintentionally. the sound barely makes it past your lips, weak and soft like it’s embarrassing that you even thought about saying it and just plain humiliating that you let it out. either way, heeseung’s answering it seconds later.

“what people say about me,” he sighs, “i like it better like that.”

you don’t really know what he means by that—your hair scratches against the cold, crisp pillowcase under your head as you turn over anxiously. lee heeseung was very known, yes, but the way the words land just feels so… odd.

sniffling when he speaks again, the responses that follow never reaches your ears.

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finals week has made you it’s bitch.

there’s something almost childish in how irritable you get in the days leading up to exams. you’ve never learnt to move past it, and soon enough, the people around you eventually adapted to the sensitive storm that is you, minimally three days before a major paper.

three rules:

one) do not disrupt y/n l/n’s naps;

two) do not text, call, or approach first, and

do not ask how studying is going. the answer is never changing: it’s bad, i’m going to fail, my life is over.

okay, to be fair, these rules were not as strict as they sound. most of the time, people are already cooped up in study rooms and occupied with their own revision—clearly much too busy to talk to anyone else, much less you. so, when your entire friend group goes awol, you do nothing but let it happen.

though, there is just one person that remains.

lee heeseung, sounding entirely too relaxed over the phone with a blender going somewhere in the background, because he’s making his second protein shake of the day. he doesn’t sound very… worried about the approaching three-hour exam.

your feet are folded together, criss-cross on your office chair as you hunch over your desk. your room is pitch dark, save for the bright, white light radiating from your study lamp—sprawled over the surface of your cheap table is rewritten notes, scribbled equations and the occasional bible verse (for good measure).

“you sound upset,” he says.

“oh, do i, now?”

you almost drop your phone at that. you’ve been silently panicking for the last forty minutes without realising you’ve been breathing like that, and talking like this. you’ve spent even more time, close to five hours on this laptop that’s crying for you to shut it down, on lectures that you should’ve watched weeks back.

there’s a pause on his end, something shifting in the background—cupboard, blender stopping, maybe him leaning against the counter—and when he speaks again, it’s slower. “which one are you on?”

“twenty,” you say.

“how many left?”

“twelve,” you admit, already hating how it sounds when spoken out loud. somehow, all hope seems lost when you utter that forsaken number, despite it being (very) obviously displayed on the top left of your screen for the past few hours. “…fuck.”

this morning felt like hell. you’re sure your eye-bags have magically darkened themselves in the past few hours, and for a minute, you grimace at the thought of having to show up to school like that every damn day, all because you’re too tired to seem put together. breakfast was skipped, which was unfortunate, cause the guilt of preparing a heavy lunch only made the stress worse. heavy eyelids blinking open, slow, regretful for every delayed hour of sleep—limbs still tangled in cold sheets like it physically pained you to leave.

the sun bled through your blinds, warm over your ankles and blinding you through your eyelashes. you walked around the house in nothing but your underwear, even forgetting your slippers under the bedframe; there was only one thing on your mind. that much stayed consistent today, with the only variable factor being lee heeseung on the phone.

you didn’t think he’d call. schedules do that.

“it’s manageable,” his voice crackles through the speaker, and then there’s the sound of a cupboard slamming shut, along with the soft shuffling of… something. you actually consider hanging up on him, just for a brief moment. “how many topics?”

to be honest, you’d half-expected heeseung to tease you. laugh, even. maybe even tell you to stop being so dramatic, to answer his texts, and that he doesn’t understand why you’re freaking out over a dumb test—but here you are, and here he is, telling you that you have it figured out.

“four. it’s over,” you answer flatly, staring at the lecture list like if you looked hard enough another topic might spontaneously disappear. “it’s actually so over.”

“it’s not, y/n.”

heeseung’s voice stays annoyingly level. the speaker crackles with something that sounds like a spoon scraping against plastic and the jealousy almost gives you whiplash. he’s making a fucking protein shake while you’re stuck here memorising lecture slides on two-times speed and slowly developing permanent neck damage.

“you said your paper’s next tuesday. if there’s four topics left and you stop rewriting things you already know, you’ll finish tonight and still have time to revise.”

your head hits the table before you even realize you’ve moved. forehead pressed into paper, warm skin sticking slightly against cheap ink and printer sheets, you let yourself rot there dramatically. with your phone right beside your face, his voice sounds clearer than before—too clear, actually—and it feels vaguely humiliating, how quickly your chest warms when he talks like this.

you let out a long breath instead of responding, eyes drifting downward toward the floor beneath your desk. there’s crumpled paper scattered near your chair. a few sticky notes had missed the bin entirely and ended up attached to the outside of it instead, clinging there stubbornly like even they didn’t want to commit to failure.

he’s talking like he knows you.

“how’d you know—”

heeseung cuts you off with little trouble. “you’ve told me. pretty sure you can cut some lectures out, since you’ve been learning them for the past few weeks.”

you don’t answer. you narrow your eyes at his response, because who the hell is that observant? he doesn’t even need to confirm your schedule anymore—he just talks and cuts you off, knowing he’s completely right, because he listens that intently—but god.

he has no idea how warm that makes you feel.

on the other end of the line, heeseung walks back upstairs with his phone trapped awkwardly between his cheek and shoulder, head tilted enough that his neck would probably hurt later. his laptop balances in one hand, tumbler in the other, and his steps slow unconsciously as your breathing filters through the speaker.

his room looks exactly the same as always.

his duffel is already packed for practice tonight despite being excused for finals week. the afternoon sun catches against the medals mounted along his wall and reflects across his desk in strips of gold, schedule taped beside his wardrobe. his calendar is updated three weeks in advance, with a single day blocked out for the day you end your exams.

his eyes drift over the reminders stuck to his wall, and he’s reminded of it—the reason why he decided he was still going to practice today.

studying isn’t enough, clearly, if he’s still on the phone with you.

he already decided that he’d wait. finals week meant distance. finals week meant no showing up unexpectedly and no making this worse than he already has. finals week meant letting you breathe and not letting himself confuse temporary loneliness for something else, and finals week also meant not sinking deeper into you.

it’s just two weeks.

two weeks, and then, he’ll tell you.

“do you think i’ll do okay?” you mumble, so soft that you almost don’t hear yourself. it’s so quiet that you can hear the exact moment his fingers stop clicking against his keyboard, and so intense that the second he answers, your heart begins to pound.

“yeah. i know you will.”

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you don’t think much of it when you tell heeseung where you’ll be tomorrow, or rather, today. truthfully, you haven’t been thinking much at all lately—unless you count the thirty-second ponder about lunch options earlier this morning.

finals week does something deeply unfortunate to people. everybody becomes uglier in small, socially acceptable ways, because everyone around you just… gets it. hair goes unwashed for an extra day, clothes repeat twice, thrice in a row, and eyebags sink further in with no substantial effort to conceal them. entire friend groups, including yours, quickly dissolve into delayed replies and weak promises to hang out after exams, because who the hell wants a mass social gathering after four all-nighters?

your room starts becoming unbearable by day four. there’s something fundamentally wrong with spending twelve hours in one place—any longer and you might’ve begun associating your digital lock chime with impending doom.

the second you sit at your desk, your chest tightens automatically. it’sm like your brain immediately morphs the cute wallpaper around you into blank rows of seats, and your ears only hear mindless scribbling, despite the cheerful music blasting through your headphones.

by the time noon comes around, you’ve scarfed down every grain of rice from your takeout container—dragging your feet and will to live through your apartment, searching for your purse before leaving.

it’s wednesday. the sun is shining on you, warm and consequentially irritating as the sweat begins to pill on your temples. they roll down your cheek in fat beads, and it almost serves as motivation for you to get your ass into that library as soon as possible.

your macbook is pressed against your side, tote slipping down your shoulders every few minutes, only to be caught by the crevice of your elbow. there’s an iced coffee from last night, standing in for your mid-day snack; and, as if you hadn’t eaten just an hour ago, your stomach rumbles in defeat.

the library doors open as you stomp against the carpeted sensors. the cold air hits your face hard enough that you nearly stop walking, but you settle for a deep, relieving sigh before turning left and speed-walking down those winding corridors built out of metal shelving.

your body already knows where to go now—past the noisier floors, up the stairs, away from printers and bathrooms and groups of students pretending to study while giggling about their situationships at full volume. roughly fifty-six seconds later, your consciousness kicks back in full gear, and you’re dumping your things down onto a familiar table before immediately realizing that you forgot your fucking charger.

“are you fucking—”

oh, well. problem for future you. worse comes to worst, you’ll scare some freshman away with your horrendous, sleepless eyes and unusually wide smile and steal theirs.

libraries distort time as well as they force you to keep track of it. hours behave well in the quieter corners, but if you’re somehow in urgent need of completing an assignment, they start speeding themselves up. it’s exactly why you’re chanting mantras to yourself now: studying isn’t urgent at all. this exam will not kill me! yes! i already know everything there is to know!

afternoon becomes evening rather quickly. suddenly, your water bottle is empty, your iced coffee splits into two separate layers of cloudy water and room temperature caffeine, and the light crawls across the carpet so much that your chair is no longer in the same patch of sun you sat down in.

you stopped checking the time thirty minutes ago. notes multiply, hair becomes tangled at the back of your neck, and your spine hurts. you spent forty minutes writing notes on a lecture, not realizing it’s a replay.

sometime later, when your legs are beginning to feel like tv static, movement catches in your peripheral and your eyes lift automatically before your brain even has a chance to catch up.

“sunghoon?”

my god. just stand up and run into his arms, why don’t you?

his reaction comes a fraction of a second later. despite the prior brain lag, you’re suddenly thinking about his face—sunghoon looks different outside of wherever you usually see him. less assembled, with a ridiculously large hoodie hanging loose around his frame, which only makes him look even bigger from where you’re sitting; there’s shadows beneath his eyes that soften his face unexpectedly.

his hair looks horrible. his sweatpants are dragging against the floor, too. sunghoon looks exhausted, and his gaze hangs low, until you call out for him, that is.

the corners of your lips curl upward before you even realise it’s happening. his expression doesn’t change much, but the faint raise of his thick eyebrows tells you enough. his eyes flick toward the empty chairs around you, and you almost assume that you weirded him out—great, he’ll walk away now—but all sunghoon does is return a soft, supposedly meaningless smile in your direction.

there’s that brief moment, where people who know each other silently debate whether acknowledging the other’s presence is necessary in public—and then he gives you a small nod, right before he takes his laptop out and sits right in front of it.

two seats away from you. like last week. if you hadn’t met the man before, you would’ve thought he wanted to kill you with a face like that. eyebrows knit together in frustration, typing furiously at his keyboard like it owed him twenty bands, tapping his foot against the carpet like he was thinking about something deathly important.

cute—wait, what the fuck, said you, around fifteen times over in the past two hours.

you become aware of him in entirely useless ways. he drinks water without looking away from his screen, sometimes even types with one hand as the other holds that tumbler to his lips. he cracks his knuckles at every given opportunity, and his fingers hover over the keyboard occasionally when he thinks. you leave for more coffee, come back, go to the bathroom, and he’s literally still there.

at one point, you look up because your neck hurts, and caught yourself stretching. fucking stretching, left to right, just for an excuse to get a full view of his side profile. in that tiny, meaningless moment, you witnessed him rub his eyes and immediately return back to typing his unfinished methods section.

it’s strangely comforting that park sunghoon is there for you to look at. oddly. it helps with the whole ‘i’m the only one in this universe, it’s all a simulation’ delirium.

regardless, at around six, the words on your screen are beginning to morph into one big demonic face, and every letter on your keyboard just resembles an egyptian hieroglyphic. words are decorative, english is just a bunch of made up gibberish, and you need to get out of this plastic seat before you melt into it—so after rereading the same paragraph four times, absorbing nothing (shocker), your eyes begin to ache and decide: changing tasks will fix all these worldly pains you have.

the ‘changing tasks’ arrives in the form of a reference nook your professor mentioned. standing, stretching, you’re doing it all before disappearing into the shelves.

it’s warmer here than it is at the tables, somehow. perhaps it’s the way the sun is setting now, and it’s getting all in your eyes and in your hair, just like it did this morning. though, when you turn towards the closest, wide-set window, your breath almost gets taken away at the blend of pinks and oranges that colour the sky.

you see this sunset almost every day. still, it doesn’t take any of the beauty away.

dust catches in the overhead light, paling in comparison to the golden hue that the light is bathing the room in—the smell of old books penetrates your nose in a way that makes you think about middle school. you drag your fingers across rows of spines, reading titles under your breath, stepping slower in each aisle because your brain refuses to remember the author’s name. you bet sunghoon doesn’t struggle with things like that.

“behavioural psychology… where the fuck even is that?”

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following a mini mental breakdown, park sunghoon’s brain decides not to accomodate a single molecule of information until he gets up and got his blood moving.

there was only so much economics and statistics a person could consume before words stopped behaving like language and started looking like numbers flipped around. his screen brightness had been lowered twice, and his coffee had gone cold sometime around four—the sleeves of his hoodie were pushed halfway up his forearms and there was a faint imprint from resting his cheek against his knuckles for too long, which he finds immensely humiliating.

he closes the document, opens it again, reads the same words over and over, and realises he won’t get anything done like this; so his eyes leave the screen for the first time in twenty minutes and settle automatically on the empty seat in his peripheral.

his head back turns so fast that he almost curses at himself.

and, to make things extra embarrassing, his mind starts to weigh the odds of whether you’re about to leave, or if you’re just gone for another break. scanning your side of the desk, taking in your untouched water bottle, open laptop and tangled wired headphones—you’re somewhere nearby, a conclusion he unwillingly comes to.

sunghoon’s fingers drum once against the tumbler before he remembers there was a book he wanted earlier. or needed. something vaguely related to an assignment he’d been putting off. either way, he stands, pushes in his chair halfway, and makes his way into the shelves.

it really does feel different in here. the high-pitched clacking of mechanical keyboards is muffled, almost muted behind these thick walls of books, where light filters in through strips and catches every speck of dust floating around. he turns once, twice, passing business ethics—until he finally reaches behavioural psychology, and stops dead in his tracks.

it’s not even about the book. if he remembered correctly, the one he was looking for’s two floors down, but this—here, in front of him, on this floor, was you.

sunghoon ducks into the next aisle like he’s guilty. he presses his back lightly against the endcap of the shelf, as though the solid structure might help him reset whatever just short-circuited in his brain.

this is ridiculous. he’s in a library. on a weekday. trying to study. and yet, somehow, his entire nervous system has decided that walking in a straight line is suddenly the most difficult thing in the world.

he exhales, before trying to occupy himself by looking for something similar to what he’s studying for another module. he stands still for a second longer than necessary, fingertips running against this one book which he can’t bother to know the name of, and all it does is feel like a weak alibi.

business psychology is a popular section. lots of students with sunghoon’s major share modules, hence, explaining why the other book he’s pretending to need isn’t even here. it also explains why the fuck his eyes keep gravitating towards you, through tall-enough gaps, locked on your concentrated face and frustrated pout.

every interruption in his life, somehow, becomes framed with you. a horizontal slit between two rows of books, a deliberate architectural hesitation, tall enough to fit even the thickest and tallest of publications out there—and you, existing between it.

it’s closer than before, not in distance but in clarity. the kind of proximity that does not require physical reduction to feel intimate. the light falls differently here, angled through a window he cannot fully see, softening the edge of everything it touches—your tip of your nose, the ends of your hair, and the faint movement of your hand as you adjust your page.

you look so beautiful. nothing has changed. he knew it when he saw you sitting in front of him today, he knew it when you walked into this place last week, and he knew it when he saw you at that party, wearing a dress that seemed so inclined to his attention and a smile that made all the flashing colours pale in comparison.

and, most of all, he knows it now. a fool he is, for thinking that these feelings would fade.

sunghoon tries to locate himself properly in the task he came for—something about organisational theory, a phenomenon he can usually reduce into clean frameworks and exam-ready structure. his hand has been resting against the spine of the book for the past twenty seconds, fingers curled just enough to suggest intent, but nothing in him is actually compelling the pull.

the thought arrives with a sharpness that feels almost physical, like pressure behind the ribs.

park sunghoon wishes he could redo college from the start. not in the abstract, as nostalgia or regret type thing, instead with specificity—clean edits to timing, tone, and presence. a revision pass on himself. one that would let him stand a few steps closer to you now, without feeling like the distance between yourselves is self-inflicted.

his thumb shifts minutely along the book’s spine. the motion is absent-minded, almost mechanical.

once you know who he really is—strip away whatever version of him you’ve only seen in passing corridors and half-glances at the long oak table—will you stop looking for him?

fuck. he doesn’t even care enough to stop looking at you. hair falling over your face, your lips blowing air to get the tiny, annoying strands to stop itching your nose.

selfish. selfish, selfish, selfish. that’s all he is.

─────────────────────────

─────────────────────────

august meant summer.

the sun is unforgiving, blazing hot rays beating down on your back as sweat trickles down your shoulder blades—everything about today seemed relentless, exam included. around you, people are already decomposing the paper in clusters: comparing answers, laughing too loudly, swearing they’re finished in voices that sound almost celebratory. someone says question 47 was impossible. someone else says it was free marks. you keep walking.

there’s that feeling when you finally press submit on a paper. not relief exactly—more like your body forgetting what to do after operating at full capacity for too long. to be truthful, there were multiple times where you thought you were fucked throughout the exam, and then you’d look at the bottom of your screen and see: 21 out of 80 questions saved.

you really, sincerely thought handing in that empty thing was better than typing whatever you studied. no matter how hard you worked these past few weeks, there was always that irritating, sly little voice whispering into your ear that it was for nothing. that all those late nights, colour-coded notes, skipped breaks and panic-induced productivity spurts would collapse into one single, defining moment that you were never going to catch up.

somewhere around the second hour—after your eyes started blurring and the timer at the corner of the screen felt less like a clock and more like a countdown to execution—you broke. quietly, of course. you had enough tact not to lose your shit in front of a hundred other students in the same venue.

you understood less than you thought. you should’ve started earlier. you’re embarrassing yourself.

you just stared at question 22 for three minutes straight and felt your throat tighten because suddenly, everything became impossible at once. reading felt impossible. thinking felt impossible. even moving your cursor felt weirdly impossible. you literally just bought it yesterday, because you were convinced the one you always use would die.

fuck everything, you thought, until some other voice started talking to you—in that calm, gentle demeanour that you’ve gotten used to over months. low and amused in tone when he said, “why’re you so hard on yourself, y/n?”

last night, he was on the phone with you. you remember lying flat on your bed with your notes open but untouched, your lamp the only thing still awake in your room. coffee wasn’t doing it, or maybe it was just the fact that it was your sixth cup today; he’d called later than usual, and somehow the conversation drifted away from exams, and shifted more toward your incessant need to be perfect, despite and in spite of the circumstances.

“what do you mean?”

moonlight spilling in through thin curtains, the thrum of public transport and dogs taking late-night walks with owners who talk too loud on the phone. no one knew where you were, no one cared what you were doing, but it didn’t matter. he knew. he cared.

you don’t even remember how the conversation got there, either. was it some joke about failing? one too many of those were made, now that you think about it. it wasn’t even self-pitying, either—all casual in the way that people talk, repeating the same thing enough times that it sounds like truth—but then he went quiet and said, “you talk like you’ve already decided on fucking it up.”

you remember laughing. whatever, because what do you do when someone says something so accurate? what the hell do you say when someone sees right **through you?

“i just have bad luck in these things.”

he laughed. fucking laughed. it was this short, incredulous breath through his nose like he couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused. “you study all day, every day, and act surprised when you know the material.”

you frowned automatically. “well—”

“no,” he interrupted. “you’re smart. hard working. you’re trying, and i don’t think you should dismiss those efforts.”

“but—”

“i have to get back to work,” he breathed into the phone. his voice dropped slightly at the end, words softened by distance and whatever position he’d shifted into. you could hear movement through the phone—the subtle crackle of fabric, the hollow acoustics of a room that sounded emptier than yours. “get some sleep before your exam. goodnight.”

no good-lucks, no you’ll-do-wells, no last minute reassurance that would only soothe your nerves for ten minutes before you’d spiral again. last night, it had seemed cruel. not in the obvious sense—he wasn’t mean nor dismissive—but there was something irritatingly unsympathetic about the way he refused to give in to you. you’d left that call mildly offended, convinced he was sick of hearing you talk like that. sick of your catastrophizing, sick of your weird habit of turning every achievement into an exception and every mistake into evidence. sick of you.

yet, now, walking towards your car with the heat sitting heavy against your skin and your student id still peeking out the pocket of your jeans, it seemed more like belief.

in you, that is. almost as if that you doing terribly had never come across his mind, occurring as a possibility.

you recall staring at your ceiling, phone falling face flat to your mattress, face flushed with embarassment and annoyance that only seemed to erupt when it came to late replies and slightly off-sounding tones. it’s almost exclusive to him—you were never that great at reading rooms, after all.

your car keys twirl around your index finger, a different spring in your step now that the bitter taste of last night has dissolved completely. you’ll call him tonight, later, maybe once your foot crosses the threshold known as your front door, or once you step into the car. you’ll tell him about the exam, about how there was a moment where you genuinely considered submitting half a paper because, somehow, failing after trying felt more humiliating than failing without trying.

you’ll tell him that his stupidly calm voice somehow survived twelve hours and a three-hour exam. that while you were sitting there spiralling and preparing to abandon the entire thing, you remembered the way he said it—like he knew, understood, and reached for you when you abandoned yourself.

you’re already halfway through mentally composing the conversation when movement ahead catches your attention. someone’s walking towards you from the opposite direction, feet dragging against concrete in a way that would usually annoy, but instead of diverting your attention to the phone in your pocket—you look up.

you recognize him immediately. lee heeseung.

weirdly enough, you haven’t seen him up close around campus for the past three months. you assumed it was probably because he was just that busy—you’d seen his figure in the distance, but by the time you caught up, he’d be gone. there were tons of excuses that he made up on the phone, too, earlier into your relationship: personal projects, mostly, though the details were always lacking.

perfect hair. perfect face. perfect stride. even now, people notice him as he walks past. conversations soften for half a second, eyes lifting instinctively and following his pace before returning to wherever they were before. heeseung moves through it without acknowledging anything, shoulders relaxed, expression neutral, looking exactly like someone who’s long stopped recognizing attention as something unusual.

you straighten automatically, lifting your hand, almost waving, but not quite yet. heeseung doesn’t even need to see it in motion for him to look right into your eyes.

his expression shifts—something adjacent to confusion, an eyebrow raised as if to say, where do i know you from?

what. the. fuck.

© kissued 2026 — do not repost, edit, redistribute or translate my work without prior permission and credit. all my work is strictly fictional and not an accurate representation of these people in real life.

@h7llow @janeluvwonuuuu @fancypeacepersona @iamnibbsi @12e45 @iiunique @tearsforyrsins @areikii @rikisblog @lawjakesim @omlhyck @nxzz-skz @minjiblue @fouldiplomatpapershark @tessa365 @sm0kinhghotvirgn @alondra6011 @hunbunki @yngjwnz @vissnipherwifeey @faust-pda @honestlyatomicpanda @jaystardust @dazedhooniexx @punchbug9-blog @kitteaasstuff @sievenderz @veemegatron @dmstoyangyang @joohyunrene @glitterywonderlandtimemachine @sailorinthesie @suramini @zohaaz @arminswife12 @sparkleslightsworld @nanilis @iluvblackk @felixthemrow @d4zedndc0nfused @hoonlovesun @lxneraven @acolytees @blooqz @songbyeonkim @angelhyuka @nosungluv @seongiewon @jellykitti

[tmtxtf-library]

no where do i know you from line? sh deserves the girl asap

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── BACK 2 U ⁺₊✧ s. jy

pairing ⋆₊˚⊹⋆˙⟡ sim jaeyun x f!reader ── .✦ angst, f2l to exes to ???, smut (mdni!), exes with benefits ft. friend group!enha wc ꩜⊹✎ᝰ.ᐟ 35k ˙𐃷˙

synopsis ₊˚⊹⋆˙⟡ sim jaeyun broke up with the love of his life eight months ago. sim jaeyun is doing just fine. or at least, he's gotten very good at saying he is. unfortunately, the truth is a little more complicated when the person you're trying to get over still exists in your everyday life, still shares the same friends, still shows up to game night, still laughs at your jokes, and still reminds you of what you lost. so when one reckless night becomes another, then another, then another, jake finds himself caught between the future he thought he wanted and the person he can't seem to stop choosing. because while some people leave your life, some become the place you're always trying to get back to.

warnings ✦ ݁˖ 18+ // angst, the entire thing is angst bro // spoiler: yes happy ending do not fret :D // ok yes there's some crack in it though because im unserious // it's literally lovers to exes to friends to exes with benefits, it's messy shit (there’s rebound dating & third party tension & jealousy, yes) // emotional dependency, attachment issues, insecurities, self-doubt // reader & jake are objectively not good decision makers // very introspective and very emotionally constipated but also healing, i promise :D ˗ˏˋ nsfw tags ᝰ.ᐟ it's literally exes with benefits..so lots of sex implied lmfao, hate sex kinda, car sex, one heavy smut scene but the rest implied, unprotected sex, oral sex, fingering, jake is needy and hot lol

°˖➴ .ᐟ wow ok this is my BABY. what started out as me being an emotional angsty girl in her time of month, tmi sorry, turned into the longest thing i've written and i genuinely loved writing it but also nervvyyy lol bc i feel this one is heavier than my usual kind of style? & i got so much excitement for this one so i really hope it meets everyone's expectations :3 but ty for being patient and excited and sticking around with me when i disappeared a lil bit and haven't really done a long fic in a while <3 i appreciate each & every one of you guys and everything gets noticed so thank u very very very much mwah (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) hope you guys enjoy <3

jake had spent the last eight months telling himself he was fine. which, if we're being honest, is already not a particularly encouraging sentence.

people who are fine don't usually spend eight consecutive months reminding themselves that they're fine. people who are actually fine just go about their day. people who are not fine, however, tend to wake up on a random tuesday, stare at the ceiling fan for forty-five minutes, and have to convince themselves they're fine. 

jake knew this. and unfortunately for him, knowing something and doing something about it was two completely different skills that he had no idea how to differentiate.

the thing is, there were days when he was genuinely fine. really. there were entire afternoons where he didn't think about you once. moments where he would be halfway through a conversation with heeseung or laughing at something stupid jay said and realize, with a small burst of relief, that an entire hour passed without your name crossing his mind. which, yes, he's aware it sounds pathetic, but heartbreak has a funny way of lowering the bar like that. eight months later, jake was still collecting small victories wherever he could find them.

still, there was another reason why he kept insisting he was fine, and this one is probably the realest one of them all—because that's just what everybody says after a breakup.

especially when the breakup involves what jake would describe, with absolutely no exaggeration whatsoever, as the best thing that has ever happened to him in his twenty three years of being alive. and that might sound dramatic, but to jake, it was just true. it wasn't anything like a rom-com, nothing cinematic or perfectly timed. nobody ran through an airport, nobody stood outside anybody's window holding a boombox.

it was worse than that, actually. it was ordinary. it was the quiet, ordinary kind of best thing that sneaks up on you and becomes the shape of your days before you even know it. the kind where you wake up next to someone and the first thing you do is reach for them without thinking, because their body becomes as familiar as your own. the kind where inside jokes turn into entire languages only the two of you speak. the kind where you start keeping their favorite snacks in your cabinet and they leave an extra toothbrush at your sink, because of course.

you and jake had been together for three and a half years, and somewhere in the middle of that stretch of time he had stopped thinking of himself as a singular person and starting thinking in plurals. we should try that new ramen place. we need to remember to water the plant before we leave for the weekend. we'll figure it out. he had liked the way it sounded. the way it felt. like the two of you were building something forever-shaped.

it started slow, the way only real things tend to. a shared friend group that slowly narrowed until it was just the two of you staying up too late on the couch, talking about nothing and everything until the sun came up. then it was late night texts that turned into late night calls that turned into late night car rides where the rest of the group was conveniently not invited. then it was the first time he kissed you—properly, too, not in the heat of the moment but rather after waiting for a long time—and the way you had smiled against his mouth like you'd been waiting for it too. by the time anyone in the group noticed, you were already something solid. something that made sense. the guys teased you both about it constantly, but jake didn't mind. he liked the way it felt to be known like that. to have someone who saw every version of him, the charming one he showed the world, the quiet one who got overwhelmed around too many people, the one who still sometimes doubted he deserved good things—and stayed anyways.

you built a life in the small spaces of jake's life that he hadn't realized was missing you. weekends at his place or yours, trading hoodies and playlists and the kind of easy domesticity that felt revolutionary at twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. you knew how he took his coffee (two sugars, splash of oat milk) and he knew the exact pressure to use when rubbing your ankles after a long day. you had matching scars from the time you both tried to cook something ambitious and set off the smoke alarm three separate times. you had a list of 'stupid things we've done together' that lived in the notes app on your phone. he introduced you to his family over video calls and during the holidays, you fit there too—laughing in the kitchen with his mom, letting his little cousins climb all over you like you'd always been part of the chaos.

but yeah, jake was fine. jake was fine because he had gotten very good at only remembering the good moments. which was pretty easy, if he was being honest, because that was pretty much most of all three and a half years of it, which only made the end hurt only worse. there was that one rainy sunday in your apartment, the one with the leaky faucet in the kitchen he kept meaning to fix and never did. you had woken up before him, which was rare, and instead of getting up you stayed curled against his side, tracing lazy patterns on his bare stomach with your fingertips while the rain tapped against the window. jake had pretended to still be asleep just to feel it a little longer. he remembered the exact weight of your leg thrown over his, the way you kept humming some half remembered song under your breath. eventually you got up to make coffee—badly, because you always forgot how many grounds to use—and brought it back to bed anyways. you climbed on top of him, straddling his lap, and handed him the mug with that little smirk that said you knew it was terrible but were proud of it anyway.

"drink it and tell me it's good," you said, your voice still heavy, hair still messy, eyes still sleepy.

jake had taken a sip, made a face, and said, "it's the best coffee i've ever had in my entire life."

"liar."

"would i lie to you?"

you then leaned down and kissed him, slow and unhurried, tasting like bad coffee and late mornings and the kind of quiet happiness that just tends to show up on its own. your hands had slid into his hair and he pulled you closer until there was no space left between you, and for a while the leaky faucet and the rain and everything else outside that bed stopped existing.

and yeah, it wasn't all perfect, no relationship that real ever is. there were the harder nights, the ones that proved you were both still human, that you could hurt each other even when you didn't mean to. there was the one night in the middle of fall, maybe three months before the end. you were stretched thin by exam season and jake with his own mounting pressure of what came after graduation and the quiet fear that he wasn't moving fast enough, wasn't good enough, wasn't enough period. it started off small, something about him canceling your plans last minute. you had been tired and a little too sharp, he had been defensive and a little too quiet. it escalated in his kitchen, voices rising, the kind of argument where old insecurities got dragged into the light because you knew each other too well to keep anything hidden.

"you always do this," you had said, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in frustration. "you pull away when things get hard and then act like i'm the one being difficult for noticing."

"i'm not pulling away," jake had shot back, even though part of him knew he was. "i'm trying to figure my shit out so i don't drag you down with me."

"that's not how this works, jaeyun!" you had paused then to take a breath, as if to steady yourself. then, smaller, softer, "you don't get to decide what i can handle, i'm not some fragile thing you have to protect from your bad days."

jake had faltered midstep at the sound of his name, the sound having landed somewhere deep, cutting straight through the defensive haze he wrapped himself in. he hated fighting with you, hated the way your voice got tight because he knows you cry whenever you get overwhelmed, hated the way his own chest felt like it was caving in because he loved you so much it made every sharp word feel like it was cutting him too.

it ended the way most of them did, with one of you cracking first. this time it had been him. he crossed the kitchen in two steps, pulled you into his arms even though you were still stiff and angry, and buried his face in your neck.

"i'm sorry," he had mumbled against your skin. "i'm an idiot. i know i'm an idiot."

you stayed rigid for a few seconds longer, then your arms had come up around him and your voice had gone soft in that way it only did for him. "yeah, you are."

later that night you ended up on the couch, your head in his lap while some mindless show played in the background. his fingers were in your hair, gentle and light, and you had looked up at him with that small tired smile and asked, "we're gonna be okay, right?"

jake had nodded like he believed it. like he could will it into existence just by wanting it hard enough. those nights had always felt survivable back then. like proof that you could get through anything as long as you kept choosing each other at the end of it.

and then there was the last and final night.

it happened on a normal tuesday night that had felt completely unsuspecting when you both woke up that morning. except jake had already been in his own head silently, falling back into that old, familiar pattern of doubting himself, the future, and every uncertain thing that stood in between the two of you.

it happened in his room this time, the plant you both had jokingly named after jay still half-dead and the string lights you forced him to hang blinking above you. you had been sitting on the floor with your back against his bed, knees pulled to your chest, wearing one of his old hoodies because you always did. jake sat across from you, legs stretched out, trying to find the right words and failing.

"i just think…" he had started, then stopped. then started again. "we've been doing this for a long time now. and i love you. i really fucking love you." his voice almost cracked, so he looked down at his hands. "but sometimes it feels like we're holding each other back from figuring out who we are without the other person in the middle of everything."

you had looked at him for a long time without saying anything. your eyes were shiny in that way that meant you were holding back tears, and jake felt something in his chest twist so violently.

"and that's not your fault. it's not. it's just—" he exhaled shakily. "you're in everything. every plan i make, every place i go, every version of my future i imagine. and i know that sounds like a good thing."

"it's not?" you asked quietly, like you were scared for the answer.

"i don't know," he whispered. "i don't know if it is when i can't tell if i'm choosing things because i want them or because they keep me close to you."

he remembers the way your eyes filled when you looked at him then. "are you…unhappy with me?"

jake looked up fast. "no."

he had reached for your hand then, selfishly, stupidly threading his fingers through yours like he could still be the person who comforted you while simultaneously becoming the person to ever hurt you the most.

"no," he repeats immediately, shaking his head. "i just—i don't want to lose you. that's the last thing i want. but i also don't want to wake up in five years and realize i never figured out who i was because loving you was the easiest thing to do instead."

you had then nodded slowly. a tear slipped down your cheek and you wiped it away. then another and another, until wiping them away became useless.

"okay," you finally whispered, nodding again because you had loved him enough to let him go if that's what he thought he needed.

it wasn't what jake needed, he would realize many months down the road. not at all. but at the time, terrified and twenty-something and stupid enough to mistake pain and insecurities for maturity, it was what he had convinced himself was best for both of you. the right choice, the one that would hurt less in the long run.

it was selfish, is what he would also realize. because he didn't save either of you from pain at all, it would turn out. he only made sure he was the one holding the knife, so that maybe breaking your heart first felt safer than waiting around for you to break his.

you had stayed on the floor for a long time after that, neither of you quite ready to stand up and make it real. eventually jake shifted to sit next to you, your head instinctively falling to rest against his shoulder, eyes closed, breathing the same shared air one last time.

"i love you," you had said, so, so quietly in between your tears that he almost missed it.

he closed his eyes too. "i know. i love you too."

when you finally left, the door had clicked shut with a sound that felt a little too gentle for how much everything had just changed. jake sat on the floor for maybe another hour, staring at the half-dead plant and the single burnt out bulb on the string lights and the empty space where you had been, and told himself over and over again that this was the right thing. that love sometimes meant letting go. that he would be fine.

he was still telling himself that.

jake was still telling himself that he was fine because he had to be fine. the group made it pretty much impossible to disappear cleanly from your life. that was the thing about sharing the same three people who had been in the same orbit for years. every late night takeout run, every casual 'you coming?' text in the group chat kept pulling you both back into the same room. he convinced himself that two people who had once been everything to each other could still be friends, real friends too, not just the polite kind of acquaintances who avoided eye contact. that it was possible to love someone and let them go and still sit across from them in the living room during game night without the world ending.

jake had gotten good at it, mostly. at first it was awkward because, well, of course it would be. it was the kind of stiff, overly polite dance where you both speak a little too carefully and laughed a little too loudly and made sure to never sit a little too closely. the first group hangout after the break up felt like walking through a minefield, honestly. every shared glance, every accidental brush of hands when passing snacks, every time someone said something that used to be an inside joke between just the two of you. he remembered how you smiled at him that night like it hurt to do it, and how he had smiled back the same way.

but time did its thing, the way it always does. slowly, painfully, things started to settle into something that almost felt normal. he could sit across from you at jay's place now and steal fries off heeseung's plate and not stare too long when you tuck your hair behind your ear the way you always do when you were overthinking. he could text updates in the groupchat without his thumb hovering over your name first, without typing and deleting three different versions of a message that used to be just for you.

there were even the small moments where it started to feel almost normal again. like the one particular night sunghoon had made a dry comment about 'exes who still share the same three friends and see each other every day are the strongest soldiers.' the whole table burst into laughter, even jake. you had laughed too, bright and genuine, and for a second your eyes had met across the table and something soft and knowing had passed between you. and jake didn't really know if it was pain or longing or both. maybe it was recognition, like both of you understood exactly how ridiculous and impossible this arrangement was, and yet here you both were.

because this version, this careful friendship, the polite distance, the shared laughs that didn't really quite reach as deep as they used to—was better than nothing. better than losing you completely. better than waking up one day and realizing the friendship that was the foundation of everything you two had ever built had been completely destroyed all because jake woke up one morning and made a rash, terrified decision he still wasn't sure he believed in.

so he showed up. he smiled at the right times. he stole fries and sent his updates and laughed at sunghoon's jokes and pretended the ache in his chest was just old habit. and most days it was fine.

but fine was a fragile thing. a fragile, sheer layer that cracked in the quiet moments. in the way he caught the faint trace of your perfume on a hoodie he swore he'd wash after the breakup, or when his phone lit up with a notification with your name and his heart did that hopeful little stutter thing before he realized it was you texting the groupchat, not just him. fine was what he wore like armor, but underneath it the truth sat heavy and patient, the kind that lived in the small details of the past. like how he still knew exactly how you liked your eggs cooked, the way his hands remember the shape of your waist even when they had no right to anymore, the way he still hears the way 'jaeyun' would slip from your mouth, the only person in the world allowed to use that version of his name like it was something precious.

jake told himself he was fine. he still believes it. well, most nights he believes it.

tonight was not most nights.

the party is loud in the way parties stop being fun after twenty two and start being endurance tests—bass vibrating too hard through the floorboards, red cups everywhere, that specific smell of cheap vodka and someone's cologne that was trying too hard. jake doesn't even fully remember how you all ended up here, it was something along the lines of all five of you lazily sprawled across jay's living room with a movie no one was watching playing in the background until jay mentioned something about knowing a guy who knows a guy who was throwing a house warming party even though he moved in over six months ago and now here we are.

jake had been doing alright the first hour, he'd taken two shots with sunghoon and heeseung just to feel something, let jay rope him into some dumb drinking game that mostly involved shouting and losing, and nodded easily when you told the group you were going to go say hi to some people you recognized. he didn't think about it too much, which was a good habit he found himself trying to get better at more recently—not overthinking every little thing you did, not letting his eyes follow you across rooms like they still had the right to.

but then everything and anything he learned about good habits was thrown right out the window the second he looks over and searches for you, solely only because he's being a good friend, he tells himself. just making sure you were okay, just checking, nothing more. the lie sits easy on his tongue even as his eyes scan across the crowded room, past the clusters of people and the haze of spilled drinks and cigarette smoke drifting in from the balcony. he finds you near the kitchen island, leaning against the counter in that comfortable, familiar way, talking to yang jungwon.

now, yang jungwon was the kind of guy who just kind of existed to jake, a friend, but the kind that never really orbited in his life. he was younger, a little removed from the group, the kind of person whose life didn't collide with jake's enough for a solid, everyday friendship to form. to jake, he was always kind of like background noise, someone he used to nod at across campus, someone he sees at parties and gives a quick 'hey' to before moving on and that's it. never someone significant enough to warrant a second thought in jake's head.

until jake looks over and finds you looking at jungwon. and then what occurs in jake's head isn't only a second thought, but a third, a fourth and maybe the beginning of a fifth. all of which are circling the same stupid, irrational thing: jake hates yang jungwon.

because now here he is, watching the way jungwon leans in a little closer when he speaks, the way your hand brushes against his arm when you make a point. the way you look relaxed in a way jake hasn't seen in a while, shoulders soft, smile easy, the kind of open that used to be reserved for early nights and late mornings when it was just the two of you and the rest of the world felt far away.

and the worst part is that jake couldn't even be mad at jungwon. jungwon, who was all bright smiles and sweet and a little shy and looked at you like he was trying not to look too hard. jungwon, the kind of person who probably remembered birthdays without being reminded and asked follow up questions about people's days. jungwon, the kind of person who probably returned rogue shopping carts in the grocery store's parking lot. jungwon, who didn't know that the last time you laughed like that was because jake said something stupid on purpose just to watch your eyes crinkle at the corners in that way that always made his chest feel too full.

that's the funny thing about perspective. because here's the thing. jake had been looking at the breakup entirely from one side of it, his side. the side where he lost you. which, objectively speaking, was terrible enough on its own. but still, loss is a strangely selfish thing. because when someone loses something, they almost center themselves around the surrounding artifacts of what is no longer theirs. for jake, it was the calls he didn't get anymore, or the newly cold and empty space beside him in bed. or like how he still pauses in grocery aisles in front of snacks he didn't even like because buying them for you became so automatic that not buying them felt stranger. he spent so long mourning the absence of you that he never really stopped to consider what came after.

because yes, you're now his ex-girlfriend. yes, the relationship was over. yes, he had been the one to end it. all of those were true. but there was another truth too, the one that he unfortunately believes in more than the former—that the two of you had loved each other for three and a half years. and that doesn't just disappear. there were entire pieces of one another that would always belong to that relationship, memories nobody else would understand, inside jokes nobody else would find funny. versions of yourselves that only existed because the other person had been there to witness them. it was something sacred, in a way. sacred and special and it belonged to you and him and him and you and some small, selfish part of jake maybe took comfort in that. because even after everything, it still felt like yours and his. like nobody else could ever touch it, understand it, or even come near to it.

but then jake looks across the room and sees you laughing and suddenly, a realization hits him hard enough to make his stomach drop. that you weren't just something he lost. you were someone who would keep going, someone who would keep living. someone who would keep collecting new memories and new experiences and new people. and someone who would eventually fall in love again and be loved.

the thought sat heavy in his chest like a bruise that he couldn't stop pressing. jake was all at once suddenly and painfully aware that not only did he take you out of his future, but he had given you back to the rest of the world. that the version of you he still carried in his head wouldn't just be his anymore. that one day it would belong to someone else, someone who would look at you for five minutes and immediately understand why jake had loved you for three and a half years. someone like jungwon, who was sweet and safe and looking at you like he already knew exactly how lucky that would make him.

jake takes a long sip from his drink. then another. then another. as if enough of whatever concoction this is in his cup might somehow make him stop thinking. and obviously, because we all know how this goes, it doesn't. if anything, it makes the spiral worse, because now he's really watching. and once jake starts watching you, he's kind of screwed.

he watches the way you're smiling, real and unguarded, the way you lightly shove jungwon's shoulder after something he says, the way he grins, the way you grin back. and suddenly jake is very aware that he hates this. which is ridiculous because, really, nothing is happening. because jungwon is jungwon. because you're allowed to talk to whoever you want. because jake is twenty-three years old, not twelve. because he broke up with you. because he broke up with you. because he—

the thought doesn't get to finish itself. jake is already moving. already halfway across the room before his brain catches up. because apparently all that maturity he spent the last eight months building could be taken out behind a shed and shot the second he saw you smiling at somebody else.

and before he knows it, before he could let himself think about what he's doing for even a second, he's right there against you, his arm sliding around your waist before either of you could react, fingers spreading possessive and familiar over the curve of your hip like they had every right to be there. the warmth of your body against his side hits him like a memory he didn't realize he wasn't ready for. and for the first time in eight months, for one stupid, selfish second, jake felt like he was home again.

"there you are," he says, low enough that only you could hear the small crack in his voice. he then presses a quick, deliberate kiss to your temple, the kind of small, possessive thing that used to make you roll your eyes and smile at the same time. the kind of thing that he's done a thousand times before that used to mean absolutely nothing but now means entirely too much.

everything in your body immediately goes still and jake feels it. he feels the way you freeze beneath his arm, the sharp inhale you try to hide. he feels jungwon's eyes snap to him. then yours. but jake's committed now. or perhaps more accurately, he's already ruined his own life.

"been looking everywhere for you."

there's a horrifying two seconds of silence where nobody says anything.

jungwon then blinks, his eyes flicking between the two of you with that polite confusion that says he's realizing in real time that he's stepping into something he didn't really have the full context for.

"oh—shit, sorry, i didn't know you guys got back—"

"yeah, yeah we did," jake cut in smoothly, smiling like he had everything totally under control and didn't just lie right through his teeth with ease. your head whips towards him. jake pointedly does not look at you. instead, his thumb strokes once, slow and instinctive against your hip under the hem of your top before he could stop it. "right, baby?"

you don't answer right away. the music pulses around you, the lights catch your eyes, and for a second jake recognizes that look and that's when he realizes he's absolutely done for, that he pretty much dug his own grave and is actively getting in it.

jungwon then backs up slightly, mumbling something polite about catching up later before he finally turns and disappears into the crowd. the second he's out of sight, you spin in jake's hold, shoving his chest with both hands, and the look on your face is the one he had been waiting for and dreading in equal measure.

"what the fuck, jake?"

jake blinks at you slowly, like his brain was still catching up to what his body had done. like he's only just realizing that he crossed an invisible line that he laid down himself and then proceeded to sprint fifty feet past it.

"i thought we were good," you say, your voice tight as you look up at him, eyes wide and filled with the familiar mix of frustration and hurt that he knows all too well.

jake's jaw flexes, like he was trying hard to hold back every single, selfish, ugly emotion he'd been suffering with ever since you walked out of those apartment doors eight months ago and took half of him with you. his hold tightens too, his fingers pressing into your side before he answers, exhaling through his nose.

"we are good." the words come out too fast, too defensive. he heard it and hated it.

you let out a short, disbelieving laugh, "right. yeah. because that was totally normal."

he hesitates for a moment, the small distance forcing his eyes to flick down to your mouth for half a second before he forced them back up.

"c'mon, i mean…you—" the words stopped. for a second he just stands there, just looking at you, accepting that this is the closest he's been to you ever since eight months ago and this could very well be the last time he ever will be. just looking at you and the way your lips press together like you were holding back something much bigger than anger. and then at the very, very obvious fact that even now, even when upset at him, you still haven't stepped back. neither of you have. eight months of carefully curated distance and here you were again, letting him hold you like this in the middle of a crowded room.

"jungwon," he says finally, quieter. "really?"

"and what's wrong with jungwon," you ask, voice deceptively calm, your mouth quirked in that way where jake can't tell if you're annoyed or amused, or both.

his thumb moves without permission, a quick stroke against your hip, restless and desperate. "he's a kid."

"he's like a year younger than me," you shoot back, tilting your head, the movement bringing your faces a fraction even closer.

jake's jaw tightens. "he's still in school."

you stare at him for a long second, something dangerous and challenging sparkling behind your eyes. then the corner of your mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close enough to make his stomach flip.

"i'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that," you say, voice laced with that teasing edge that always used to get under his skin in the best way. "since when did you become such a possessive old man, jaeyun?"

jake closes his eyes at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue, trying his hardest to pretend it didn't hit him the way it always did whenever you called him that. he sighs, the sound quiet and exhausted, in that defeated kind of way that tells you this isn't coming from completely out of no where.

"c'mon, y/n," his voice is softer now, almost pleading. "i know you."

"right," you scoff, but your stance falters slightly. "so you know what's best for me, right? for the both of us?"

and that lands somewhere. somewhere deep and hard and admittedly more vulnerably raw than he wishes it had. his fingers tighten slightly around you, his breath hitching for a moment before he catches himself.

"c'mon..don't be like that," he murmurs, eyes searching yours like he was looking for an exit he already knew didn't exist. his hand slides a little higher against you, his palm now flat against the warm skin of your lower back. "you know i'm not trying to—"

"i'm not being anything," you cut in, voice quieter now but still edged with that defensive frustration, "you're the one who decided to make it weird. you're the one who came over here and—" your voice breaks off with a shaky laugh. you shake your head then, eyes now shining. "you know what, this is stupid. whatever."

a beat of silence stretches again between you, jake still unmoving, holding you right there against him. your bodies were nearly flush now in the cramped room, your knee slotted between his thighs, every point of contact painfully impossible to ignore.

then, soft and almost reluctant, you whisper, "let go of me, yun."

he swallows hard, voice low and defeated when he finally answers, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

"i kinda really don't want to."

the confession hangs there in the small space between your bodies, the truth heavy and honest in a way that solved absolutely nothing and made everything worse. you let out another small scoff, but despite yourself you still don't pull away. you don't push him. you just stay right there, letting him hold you, neither of you making any real effort to create distance. then, your eyes meet his in the dim party light, dark and shining and full of the same messy, desperate thing he was feeling. you break the silence first.

"how drunk are you?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

"not at all."

you pause, studying him. your gaze traces his face like you were memorizing it, like you were actively aware you were making a mistake but couldn't bring yourself to stop. then, slowly, hesitantly, one of your hands slid up from his shirt, fingers trailing along his collarbone before curving around the back of his neck, finding the ends of his hair automatically, mindlessly playing with the strands in that familiar way that always used to make his breath catch.

your eyes then meet his again and something flashed between you, something tired and hurt and full of everything you weren't supposed to feel anymore.

"sober enough to drive me home?" you ask after a moment.

"yes ma'am."

and for another agonizingly long second you just watch him again, eyes searching like you were waiting for one of you to be smart enough to stop this. to choose self-preservation over whatever this still was between you.

"liar."

jake's breath hitches. a small, low chuckle escapes him.

"would i lie to you?"

and what happens next is, what jake would later say, probably not his brightest idea.

the backseat of jake's car is cramped and all too familiar.

the second the door shut behind you both, it was as if the last thread of restraint never even existed. jake barely has any time to lock the doors before you're on him, or maybe it was him on you. it's messy from the start, your hands fisting in his shirt, yanking him closer as his mouth crashes into yours like he'd been starving for it, which, yes. eight months is a long time, so he won't deny that part. the kiss is all teeth and heat and months of pent up frustration. he tastes like a mix of beer and something that was just him, something that makes you make a small, broken sound against his mouth that goes straight to his head.

jake's hands go everywhere at once, one sliding up the back of your shirt to press flat against the warm skin of your back, the other gripping your thigh as he pulls you into his lap. the movement is clumsy in the tight space, your knee knocks against the seat, his elbow hits the window, the car rocks slightly with the shift of weight, but neither of you care. you pull back just enough to breathe, lips swollen, eyes wide.

"we're not getting back together," you mutter, voice already rough and gasping.

jake's mouth stays on your jaw, going lower and lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. "i didn't say we were," he mumbles against your skin, teeth grazing slightly before soothing it with his tongue. his hands slip higher under your shirt, palms dragging up and down your sides like he needed to relearn every inch.

you tilt your head back, giving him better access even as your fingers tighten in his hair. "you're such an asshole," you breathe, the scoff cracking in your throat as a moan slips out anyways. "getting all jealous over jungwon like you have any right to—"

that's when jake makes a low, rough sound in the back of his throat and tugs you harder against him, rolling his hips up so you can feel exactly how much he didn't care about being called an asshole right now. "don't say his name while i'm trying to kiss you," he mutters, voice muffled against your collarbone.

you let out a short, breathless laugh and tug his head back by the hair so you can look at him, your eyes dark, lips parted. "you're the one who started it," the words low, your mouth barely touching his. "coming over there like some possessive ex."

"i am a possessive ex," he cuts in, voice wrecked before leaning in and kissing you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to shut you up and pull you closer at the same time. one of his hands slips between your bodies, fingers toying with the button of your jeans without actually undoing it quite yet. "and you're still letting me touch you like this, so what does that make you?"

you bite his bottom lip in retaliation, hard enough to make him groan, head falling back against the seat as you drag your mouth down his neck. "someone who's definitely not getting back together with you," you whisper back against his mouth, even as your hips roll down against the hard line of him through his pants. his breath hitches sharply at the sensation, his hand sliding fully into your back pocket now, gripping you harder against him, guiding you into a rhythm that was hungry and messy and perfect.

"good," he pants between kisses, voice lower and desperate. "because i'm not asking you to."

but even as the words left his mouth, you could feel the lie in them just from the way he kisses you after that. like he's trying to pour everything he can't bring himself to say into the press of his mouth. like he was contradicting every careful denial he just made. his hands held you like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go for even a second, his hips rolling up to meet yours in that slow, needy rhythm that said everything he refused to.

you both knew it.

you pull back again, breathing heavier, lips shiny, "this is so stupid."

jake doesn't respond yet, instead he tilts his head and mouths at your neck, slow and deliberate, lips dragging along your skin until he finds that spot he remembers just below your ear. he starts gently at first, then sucks even harder, pulling a soft sound from your throat as he leaves a mark you're definitely going to hate him for tomorrow—amongst many, many other things. when he finally pulls back, he tilts his head back up to look at you, his eyes half-lidded, dazed and dark, pupils grown wide with something that looked a lot like surrender. no more careful distance, no more bite. just the pure, raw, unguarded want.

"yeah," he agrees, voice hoarse. "so stop me."

and well, you don't. because again, loss is a funny, selfish little thing. it makes you greedy, it makes you reach for what you know will hurt you later, just because the ache of not having it right now felt worse.

so you lean back in and kiss him again, slower this time, deeper like you were both finally admitting that the last eight months had been one long, exhausting lie you were both too tired to keep telling. you just pull him in even closer, and jake responds instantly, arms wrapping around you tighter, like he could somehow press the two of you back together if he held on hard enough, until there's no more fight between you. no more denial, no more pretending you could keep ignoring what still lived in the space between your bodies. just two people giving in.

you don't stop him when his hand drifts from your neck down to the front of your jeans, fingers toying with the button again until it finally pops open. you don't stop him when he tugs the fabric down your hips, lifting your leg to help him slide it off completely. and he definitely doesn't stop you when your own hands start working on his belt, the metal clinking harshly with the rush.

it's all too messy, too clumsy. it's eight months of missing each other crashing into the present all at once. and when it finally tips over, when you fully give in and give him all of you, it's fast and intense and full of everything that was left unshared between you two. his hands go everywhere, gripping, guiding, almost too rough in the way as if he was terrified this would be the last time. yours were in his hair, tugging, anchoring, like you needed the reminder that he was real. eventually, the car grows hotter, the windows fogging over completely, the only sounds your shaky breaths, the creak of leather, the soft involuntary noises that jake doesn't even try to hold back anymore.

and when it's over, when the tension finally breaks and leaves you both trembling and shaking hard, jake doesn't find it in him to pull away. he just stays there, holding your body on his, arms wrapped around you like he can't bear the thought of putting space between you yet. his thumb strokes slow, soothing circles against your skin, like his body is still trying to comfort you even now.

he closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath against your neck, his hands now tremble slightly where they rest on you. and jake knows he should let go, knows that this is the part where he's supposed to pull away, fix his clothes, and pretend this didn't just happen. but his body is much slower than his brain, and for a few seconds he let himself stay there—let himself feel the weight of you against him, the way your forehead presses against his shoulder like it used to on sunday mornings when neither of you had anywhere to be. the way you'd wake up tangled in his sheets, steal his hoodie before he could even open his eyes, kiss his face stupid until he finally woke up. the way you used to fix his hair with your fingers after sex, the same way you did just now without thinking. some habits never learn how to die.

eventually, you shift with a quiet wince, and jake's hands move on instinct, steadying you at the waist as you lift yourself off him, the loss of contact hitting him harder than expected. once you move to the seat next to his, he reaches over the front seat with one arm, fumbling blindly until the glove compartment clicks open, pulling out the small pack of wipes he'd kept in there for so long now and that you two were all too familiar with. he doesn't even remember when he'd last replaced them. maybe he never took them out in the first place.

he tears one open without looking at you and hands it over. you take it without a word. he then grabs another for himself, wiping himself in quick, efficient movements before tossing it into the small trash bag he keeps hooked on the back of the passenger seat.

then, without thinking too hard about it, he reaches for the hem of your shirt that had ridden up and tugs it back down gently, smoothing it over your hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. you don't say anything about it. instead, your hands move on autopilot too—fixing the collar of his shirt where you pulled at it just a few minutes ago, brushing a piece of his hair back into place like muscle memory. it was too comfortable, familiar. the kind of quiet and ordinary tenderness that only existed between two people who had known each other too long and too deeply to pretend things were simple.

"you still keep the wipes in your car," you finally say quietly, breaking the silence.

jake lets out a small, breathy laugh through his nose, the kind that sounds more tired than amused. "yeah. guess i never got around to taking them out."

you didn't say anything to that, but your eyes soften for a moment, just long enough for him to catch it before you look away. he wonders if you're remembering the same things he is. like how he used to keep your favorite snacks in the same glove compartment. or how you used to leave hair ties and lip balm in here like this car was yours. the way he still hasn't cleaned it out completely even after the breakup, like some pathetic part deep within him had been waiting for nights like this.

you then reach over and gently fix another piece of his hair sticking up in the back, your touch soft, thoughtless. it makes something in the chest pull tight.

"still a mess," you murmur.

jake's mouth twitches. "you caused it."

you don't deny it. instead, you give him a small look before letting out a quiet sigh as you lean back against the seat, pulling your jeans back up in the cramped space. jake starts to help without saying anything, tugging the waistband up over your hips when your hands fumble, his fingers brushing against your stomach in the process. he tries not to think about how many times he's done this before. how many nights that ended with him helping you get dressed in this very same backseat, both of you laughing quietly in bliss like the rest of the world didn't exist.

this time, there was no laughing, just the quiet sound of zippers and fabric rustling and the heavier thing sitting between you that neither of you seemed ready to address. you were the first to speak again, voice even softer this time.

"this was a really bad idea."

jake leans his head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling. his hand finds yours in the space between you without thinking, thumb brushing over your knuckles once before he catches himself.

"yeah," he lets out quietly. "i know."

and for a moment longer, neither of you move. jake lets himself sit in it, the weight of everything you both used to be and everything you weren't anymore. he thinks about the night he broke up with you, sitting on the floor with the plant on the window and the lights above. he thinks about how he'd been the one to say you both needed the space, and how you looked at him like you already knew this was going to hurt worse than either of you could admit.

he thinks about all the nights since then that he spent telling himself he was fine. he thinks about how he spent the last eight months convincing himself that breaking up with you was the mature choice. now jake is starting to think that was the worst part. because at the time, it did sound mature. it sounded selfless. it sounded like the kind of thing a person says when they are trying very hard to be very good.

i don't want to hold you back. i don't want us to lose ourselves in each other. i don't want to wake up one day and realize we stayed because leaving was too hard.

all very reasonable, mature sentences. all very responsible. but all absolutely devastating when translated into what jake really meant, which was:

i'm scared. i don't know who i am without you, and somehow i convinced myself that means loving you is the problem. and frankly, that sim jaeyun, intelligent in several areas but yet deeply stupid in one very specific department, had mistaken fear for wisdom.

and now here you are again, in his car, letting him fix your clothes like nothing changed, when, in fact, everything has.

"you're still gonna drive me home?" your voice cuts through the silence, the heaviness of what you both refuse to acknowledge sitting between you.

jake turns his head to look at you. your eyes meet in the dim light, and for a second he let himself really look at you—the tiredness in your face, the slight redness around your eyes, the way your lips were still a little swollen. he wonders if you could see the same things in him.

"yeah," he says, simple and honest. "of course i am."

you nod once, like that was enough for now.

jake then reaches over across your body and unlocks your side of the door, pushing it open for you, and he follows on his side, patting his palms against his pants like he's trying to steady himself before getting back in. the two of you move in silence, you sliding into the passenger seat and instinctively adjusting it to the exact position you always used to, him sitting up straighter as he turns the key in the ignition. he swipes his hand across the inside of the windshield, clearing just enough of the fog so he can see the road.

he doesn't ask if you want to go back inside first. he doesn't ask if you want to talk about what just happened. he just puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb, one hand loosely holding the steering wheel, the other resting on the center console between you two.

it's quiet for most of the ride. no sound other then the soft blast of air conditioning and jake's indicator blinking every now and then. but somewhere along the ride, somewhere between the third red light and the turn onto your street, your hand found its way back to his on the center console, neither of you saying anything about it. jake just turned his palm up and let your fingers slide between his, squeezing once, like his muscle memory refused to erase itself no matter how hard he tried.

he let out a small breath when he felt your touch, keeping his eyes on the road but his mind staying stuck on the same loop it always did when it came to you.

he didn't know if letting you go had been the right thing.

he didn't know if he'd ever stop missing this.

you stay silent sitting beside him with your head leaning against the seat, eyes half-lidded, thumb brushing slowly against his hand, watching the road like you were somewhere else entirely.

jake looks over at you briefly, and he remembers all the times he's driven you home like this. how many nights ended up with you in his passenger seat, your hand resting on his thigh while you hummed along to whatever song was playing. how you used to fall asleep sometimes on longer drives, and he would turn the music down and drive slower just so he wouldn't have to wake you up. how he used to hate dropping you off at your place because it meant the night was over. but at least back then, there was always a tomorrow, always a next time. always a version of his life where tomorrow always existed with you in it. until one day, it just simply didn't.

jake swallows hard, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

when he finally pulls up in front of your building, he puts the car in park but doesn't turn the engine off right away. the low hum fills the space in the air, neither of you moving quite yet. you stare out the window for a second, then finally turn your head to look at him. your eyes were soft in a way that made jake's chest ache, that made him want to take back every word he ever said eight months ago and pretend that night never happened at all.

you look at him for a moment longer before your voice comes out low, almost careful.

"…do you want some water or something?"

and it's such a simple question. so casual, so normal, like you were asking him to come inside after a usual night out, not after he'd just hooked up with you in the backseat of his car while you both ignored the fact you've been broken up for nearly a year now.

jake knew what you were really asking. he also knew that he should say no. that he should say goodnight, drive away, and go home. he should be the one to put the distance between you, because the both of you were clearly too weak to do it when you were this close, and because he had been the one to draw the line eight months ago in the first place.

but he doesn't. he turns the car off.

by the time you unlock the front door to your apartment, jake moves on instinct, his body remembering the motions like instinct. you mumble something about using the bathroom, disappearing down the hall while jake kicks off his shoes and wanders into the kitchen before he even consciously decides to. he reaches into the cabinet to the left of the sink and pulls out two glasses all without thinking. he almost doesn't even notice how your kitchen sink faucet is still leaking—the exact same leak you used to complain about every week. the exact same leak he kept promising to fix, and the exact same leak he never actually fixed.

he turns the handle and waits exactly seven seconds to let the water run cold first, because he remembers your sink is slow like that and because he, unfortunately, also remembers you hate drinking room temperature water. the sound of the leaking faucet and the running water and the distant shuffle of you moving somewhere in the apartment feels too familiar and selfishly comforting in a way that makes his stomach twist. like maybe if he looked down at his phone, the date would say it was last year. that you were still together and he still belonged here.

by the time you return, jake's noticed too much around him. the same chipped mug you always used to make your objectively terrible morning coffee sitting by the sink. the same magnet on the fridge from that trip you took together last year. the same candle scent sitting on the counter. everything looked the same and yet somehow nothing was the same at all.

jake watches the way you lean against the counter next to him, the way you keep your eyes on the glass in your hands like it was safer than looking at him. he thinks about how many times he's stood in this exact spot while you made tea in the morning, or while you ranted about your day after work, or while you kissed him against the same counter because you couldn't wait until you made it to the bedroom.

you don't look at him when you finally break the silence. instead, your eyes stay fixed on the half-empty glass in your hands.

"it's late," you say quietly. a beat passes. "you probably shouldn't drive home right now."

and there it is, his out, his second chance. his opportunity to be the responsible one for once. because despite everything that's happened tonight, despite the alcohol and the tension and the backseat, there was still a chance to stop this before it became something neither of you could pretend wasn't happening. but of course, since we all know by now that jake doesn't know the difference between knowing something and then doing something about it, we all know what happens next.

"yeah," he says, his eyes trained on the leaking faucet for a second, watching the slow, steady familiar drip before they finally land back on you. "i probably shouldn't."

and then the rest of night kind of falls into place in the exact way that it really, really shouldn't, given your circumstances. jake just kind of finds his body moving on its own, the same way it always used to when the two of you headed to bed after a long night. he knew the path by heart by now—the way that one specific floorboard near your bedroom door creaks, the way the hallway feels narrower in the dark.

in your room, the small lamp on the nightstand is already on. jake remembers all too well the nights he would accidentally turn on the overhead light and how you'd immediately scold him because you had a thing against using the 'big light'. now, the warm glow just reminds him of the version of his life out there where he still belonged here, where walking into this room doesn't hurt as much as it does now. jake stands in the doorway for second, watching as you move toward your dresser and open the bottom drawer to pull out one of your sleep shirts. his eyes drift to the drawer beside it without meaning to, the one that used to be his.

he walks over quietly and opens it. a few of his old hoodies and shirt were still folded inside, exactly where he left them months ago and never bothered to ask for them back. one of them, the black one that you used to steal constantly, sits right on top, smelling more like your detergent than his own. he pulls it out without thinking too hard about what that meant.

you don't say anything when he changes into it, just turning your back slightly while you slip into your own shirt, like you were giving him space even though there was nothing left to hide between you.

when he turns around, you're already climbing into your side of the bed, not that it used to really matter anyways. by morning, you'd usually end up sprawled halfway across his side already. jakes stands there for second, heart pounding.

he knows this is stupid. he knows you both know it. but he walks around to his side of the bed anyways and slides under the covers like he's done a hundred times before. he settles onto his back for a moment, staring up at the ceiling before finally turning on his side to face you.

you're already facing him. and it just takes that one small look from you for him to move automatically. he reaches for you without thinking, and you meet him halfway—your leg sliding between his, your body pressing close like it needed this as much as he did. his arm wraps around your shoulder and his hand finds its way into your hair, the other one going around your waist and slipping just under the hem of your shirt. your face finds its way into the crook of his neck, and his chin rests on top of your head. everything about it feels so painfully normal that it hurt.

jake could feel your heartbeat against his chest, the way your breath is warm against the skin of his neck and the way it eventually evens out. but most of all, he could feel how perfectly you still fit against him, like the two of you had been put into this world as missing halves meant to find one another.

jake never really believed in soulmates before he met you. the entire concept always felt too neat, too convenient, like something people told themselves to make sense of why certain connections felt different. but one night, a night so similar to this one, where you were tucked into him and his hand was mindlessly going up and down your spine because it helped you sleep, a night that felt so far from now, he remembers something you had mumbled to him in the haze of being half asleep and in bliss.

"you know i'd choose you in every lifetime, right?"

and jake had gone still for a second, his fingers pausing between your shoulder blades. then he chuckled quietly, the sound low and fond and full of warmth.

"yeah?"

you then nodded lazily against his neck, a small, content sound slipping out of you. "mmhm."

and jake remembers exactly what he said next. every single time. he could still hear the way the words had left his mouth, so steady and so sure, like they were the easiest truth he'd ever spoken.

"good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "because i'm never letting you go."

the memory sits too heavy in his chest, even now. but the worst part wasn't that he had lied. it wasn't even that he had let you go. the worst part was that it took losing you for jake to finally understand that maybe he did believe in soulmates after all.

not because the idea of soulmates was romantic or comforting, but because losing you felt like losing something fundamental. something that felt like losing a piece of himself he didn't know how to function without until after the fact. it took letting you go to realize that so much of who he had become wasn't separate from you at all. a large part of the person he grown into had been quietly shaped by loving you—by the way you softened him, challenged him, and made space for parts of himself he didn't know how to hold on his own. he didn't just lose you. he lost a part of him that only existed because of you in the first place.

jake barely slept. which, to be fair, would be asking a lot from him when your literal body stayed curled against his all night in a way he hasn't let himself remember in eight long months.

he wakes up before you, still tangled in your sheets, your leg thrown over his like it had been eight months ago, and ten months ago, and a year ago, and every ordinary morning before everything became something different. your face still stays buried in his chest like you barely moved an inch in your sleep, and for a few minutes jake just lies there, staring at your ceiling, and let himself have it. let himself press his nose into your hair and breathe you in. let himself trace the slow, barely there patterns on your back with his fingers. let himself remember how some time ago in the past he got used to this, to waking up with your hair in his mouth and leg thrown over his hip and the way you somehow took up too much of the bed despite being smaller than him and feel like the luckiest guy alive.

then jake reluctantly yet carefully untangles himself from you, kisses the top of your head while you're still half-asleep, and slips out before either of you have to say anything real.

walking out of your apartment and driving to his own felt like he was doing something wrong, so when he steps through his front door, and three pairs of eyes immediately land on him, he feels even worse.

heeseung is sprawled across the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his stomach. sunghoon sits at the kitchen island scrolling through his phone, and jay, who very much does not live here yet acts like he does, stands at the stove flipping something in a pan.

the apartment goes quiet for half a second. then, heeseung grins, slow and knowing.

"ah," the word drags out. "there he is."

jake freezes in the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob. he's still wearing the same clothes he slept in, his hair's a mess, and he knew he probably smelled like your laundry detergent and something else he really didn't want to think about right now.

sunghoon doesn't even look up from his phone. "you were supposed to drive us home last night, asshole."

jay turns around with the spatula in hand, eyebrows raised. "yeah, what the hell, man? we had to uber. heeseung almost threw up in some guy's backseat."

jake rubs the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. "sorry," he mutters, kicking his shoes off by the door. "change of plans."

he then tries to walk past them to his room, but then heeseung suddenly sits up straighter, eyes narrowing at jake's figure.

"wait," he tilts his head, studying him. "you didn't come home last night."

jake keeps walking, eyes focused on his door and very much not on the other three pairs of eyes following him. "i stayed at the party longer."

"no you didn't," sunghoon says pointedly. "one, you hate parties, and two, we would've seen you."

jay's eyes dart slowly from jake to the guys then to the guys back to jake, still holding the spatula but not flipping anything anymore. then, as if everyone in the room put the pieces together with absolutely no other context needed, heeseung's face split into a wide, open gasp.

"oh my god," he says. "you slept with y/n, didn't you?"

jake freezes mid-step.

the apartment goes dead silent for two solid business seconds. then all three of them explode at once.

"i knew it!" heeseung shouts, pointing at him with his cereal spoon. "i fucking knew it the second you disappeared at the party last night."

sunghoon lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, "no way. you actually went home with her?"

and jay, still holding the spatula, just shakes his head slowly, but there's a small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth that somehow felt worse than heeseung's yelling. "dude."

jake turns around suddenly, face hot and burning and not at all helping his case. "okay, first of all, it could've literally been anyone else—"

"—okay well that's bullshit because you're, like, deeply so downbadly in love with y/n—" heeseung interrupts before jake shoots a pointed look at him.

"—and second of all," jake adds quickly, holding his hands up in defense, "it's not a big deal, okay? i literally just slept over. that's it."

the three of them stare back at him. the clear, very obvious kind of stare that says they don't believe a single word coming out of his mouth. then, with one eyebrow raised and his voice dry, sunghoon asks, "so you didn't hook up with her?"

jake opens his mouth. then closes it. and the three seconds of silence that follows pretty much tells them all they need to know.

heeseung's grin grows. "oh my god—"

"okay, fine," jake snaps, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "yes. we hooked up in the car. happy now?"

the apartment erupts again all at once. jay actually drops the spatula this time, heeseung lets outs a loud, delighted whoop and falls back against the couch, completely disregarding his cereal nearly spilling, and sunghoon just stares at jake with that specific look on his face that says he's watching a disaster happen in real time.

jake groans and drags a hand down his face. "you guys aren't supposed to know. and you definitely can't make it weird. please."

"make it weird?" heeseung repeats, sitting back up. "bro, you slept with your ex, who is, mind you, our friend, in your car after you broke up with her and then went home with her. it's already weird."

jay picks the spatula back up, but still watches jake carefully, "so…are you guys getting back together or what?"

jake's stomach twists. it twists violently and harshly and most of all, confusingly because he didn't know. he didn't have an answer. he didn't even know what he wanted the answer to be. the best way he could describe it is like standing in the middle of a road with no idea which direction he was supposed to go, or even worse, which direction he even wanted in the first place.

"i don't know," he admits quietly, dropping his hands helplessly. "neither of us tried to talk about it, i don't…i just don't know."

there's a brief moment of silence shared for another moment. heeseung exchanges a look with sunghoon. jay turns the stove off completely and leans back against the counter, arms crossed.

"you know this is gonna blow up in your face, right?" sunghoon says, not unkindly. just in that honest way friends do when they're genuinely concerned and know both of the parties involved too well to ignore the inevitable outcome. "you can't just do that and expect it to not hurt both of you."

and jake knew that. he knew it last night when he came over to you talking to jungwon. he knew it when he followed you out of the party and into the backseat of his car. he knew it when he woke up in your bed this morning and he knew it now.

but unfortunately for him, the truth is a little harder to face when all jake can remember is how you looked last night when you were asleep in his arms and your hand stayed holding the front of his hoodie like you didn't want him to leave, or how you had given him that quiet, knowing look in the kitchen when you asked if he wanted to stay over, like you already knew he would say yes.

he kept replaying those moments. the softness in your voice, the way you didn't pull away when he reached for you. the way it felt so easy to fall back into something that you both knew was supposed to be over.

and the cruel thing about the universe, jake was actively learning, was that it rarely cared about what he needed. and he wasn't asking for much, really. just some time or space to sit with what happened last night and figure out why he was still carrying pieces of you with him when he had been the one to walk away. he just needed a moment to sort through the mess in his chest—the guilt, the want, the quiet confusion of still reaching for someone he's supposed to have let go of, especially before having to see you again.

so yeah. he would've liked maybe at least a full business day, if anything. just one.

the universe did not give him a day.

and jake learns that the hard way later that night. because, instead, the universe gives him game night.

now, game night is one of those things that has always existed in the friend group, one of those little traditions that started so casually no one actually remembers who started it. it predates you and jake. predates the relationship. predates the breakup.

back then, game night looked a little different.

sometimes it was mario kart in heeseung's, sunghoon's, and jake's shared apartment with three controllers that worked and one that drifted aggressively to the left. sometimes it was monopoly, which eventually got permanently banned after jay accused sunghoon of cheating and refused to speak to him for forty seven minutes. sometimes it was card games, board games, drinking games, stupid phone games, or even just watching a movie because everyone was too tired to commit to anything that involved actual thinking.

but the point was never really the game. the point was the showing up, the collapsing onto the couch, the passing around the take-out boxes, the arguing over rules no body fully understood. the same five people ending up in the same room again and again because somewhere along the way, routine had started to feel like family. and for a while, game night had been one of jake's favorite things for reasons he never admitted, mostly because admitting them would mean admitting how much of it had always been about you.

game night was one of the first nights jake saw you differently. it was one of those nights that came and went and really meant absolutely nothing in the moment until suddenly jake was sitting there thinking about the way you laughed and then he realized that nothing was actually the beginning of everything.

it was before your first kiss, before the late-night calls, before the car rides. before your toothbrush lived by his sink and his hoodies found their way into that one specific drawer in your room on their own.

back then, you were just you. someone in the friend group, someone jay met in lecture one day and started bringing around to the lunch table. someone who started showing up to game night with snacks nobody asked for but everyone ate anyway. someone who got weirdly competitive over games you swore you didn't care about, which was funny because you absolutely did care and jake absolutely knew it.

and one night, somehow and somewhere in that stretch of time, it ended up being just you and jake on the couch. you were sitting on the opposite end with your knees pulled up under a blanket, picking through a bag of jolly ranchers and making a face every time you found a blue raspberry one, which apparently you had very strong feelings against.

"blue raspberry is too blue," you had said, looking at jake with a completely serious expression on your face.

jake remembered laughing because, at the time, he thought that was just a ridiculous thing to say. then he remembered watching you hand him every blue raspberry jolly rancher after that without even thinking about it.

and jake thinks he's pretty good at noticing people. he notices when jay gets quiet before admitting he was stressed. notices when heeseung pretended not to care about something he very obviously cared about. notices when sunghoon was hungry because he got meaner in a very specific, low effort way.

but you noticed things too. the smaller and hidden things, the things most people missed because they were too busy waiting for their turn to talk. you noticed that he always picked the blue controller if nobody else took it first. noticed that he drank the last sip of soda even when it went flat because he hated wasting things. noticed he laughed louder when he was tired, like he had to try a little harder to make up for his social battery giving up.

and then, you noticed that jake almost always only ate the blue raspberry jolly ranchers.

that night, sometime around two in the morning, when jay had already left and heeseung and sunghoon went into their rooms, you had looked over at him and said, "you're quieter than people think."

and jake had just blinked, because that was not the kind of sentence people usually say to him. people usually told him he was funny, charming, easy to talk to. occasionally annoying, depending on whether if jay just lost a game of mario kart to him.

"am i?" he asked, trying to sound casual about it.

you then shrugged, picking another blue raspberry jolly rancher out of the bag and sliding it across the couch to him. "yeah. not in a bad way. i feel like you just observe more than you talk sometimes."

"that's creepy."

"it's only creepy if you're bad at it."

"am i bad at it?"

you looked at him then, going quiet for a moment, with this small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"no," you said. "i think you're actually kind of good."

and jake, who had done a pretty decent job of being a pretty normal human being around you up until that point, suddenly forgot how. because at some point in the middle of that night, between the abandoned games, the jolly ranchers, and a conversation that somehow became about everything and nothing all at once, jake had the same, one persistent thought sitting in the back of his mind: he wanted to know you better.

and not just the version of you everyone knew. he wanted the small things you noticed that he didn't. the things you didn't think were interesting enough to tell people. your worst habit. your favorite childhood movie. the song you played whenever you were sad but didn't want to admit that you were sad. what you looked like first thing in the morning, which, at the time, was a wildly inappropriate and unearned thought considering he had strictly just been your friend for about a year by then.

tonight, however, game night looks like heeseung and sunghoon yelling at a basketball video game, jay sitting on the couch with half a takeout container balancing on his knee while offering extremely aggressive coaching no one asked for, and jake holding a controller he stopped meaningfully using about fifteen minutes ago.

"pass, pass, pass—are you actually blind?" jay snaps, leaning forward on the couch.

"i know how to play," heeseung says, immediately running his player directly into sunghoon's.

sunghoon doesn't even blink, "do you?"

and jake, meanwhile, is kind of just…there. physically present, yes, but mentally and most definitely emotionally, somewhere stuck between the events that took place in between his backseat and then waking up in your bed this morning. his thumbs move over the controller on autopilot, his character doing something clearly unhelpful and sunghoon swears under his breath.

"jake," sunghoon deadpans without looking away from the screen, "are you even playing or having some religious experience right now?"

jake gives him a look. "i'm playing."

"you're standing out of bounds."

jake looks at the screen. and he is, indeed, standing out of bounds.

"whatever," he mutters.

jay then gives him a sideways look, the kind of look that says i know exactly what your problem is and i am choosing not to say it out loud yet, which is somehow worse than if he had just said it. and then heeseung, because he's heeseung and therefore constitutionally incapable of letting anything breathe, glances over with a knowing look.

"you're doing it again," he drags the words out before looking back at the screen. "you're thinking about it."

jake's grip tightens around the controller. "i'm not."

"mm."

"don't do that."

"do what?"

"that."

heeseung's brow lifts. "i literally just said mm."

"you said it weird," jake says pointedly.

"well maybe you're hearing it weird because you're feeling guilty."

jake opens his mouth, already prepared to say something defensive, when the front door swings open.

"i swear to god," you announce, stepping inside with a plastic container of cookies tucked under your arm, "if someone ate the leftovers i left here last time, i'm fighting someone—"

you stop mid-sentence. because once you kick the door shut behind you, the whole room does that horrible, subtle thing rooms do when everyone knows something they're not supposed to and try very hard to act like they don't.

you stare back at the four pairs of eyes on you all at once, and not one of them is doing a particularly convincing job of looking normal. your gaze flicks across the room before finally landing on jake. you stare at him for another long second and then all at once, jake sees your expression shift in real time—from confusion, to understanding, to something much, much sharper.

"are you serious right now?" you let out a disbelieving laugh but terrifying enough, with no humor in it. heeseung and sunghoon suddenly become very interested in the paused game on the tv and jay, meanwhile, looks down at his phone like the conversation about to take place is absolutely none of his business.

"you told them?" you ask, eyes still fixed on jake, brows furrowed. "i thought we weren't going to make this a thing."

jake winces. "i know, i know. i'm sorry. they were just—they asked and it just…slipped out."

"slipped out," you repeated flatly, clearly unimpressed.

heeseung is the first to crack, letting out a small snort before immediately, and unsuccessfully, failing to cover it with a cough, "in his defense, he did try to lie at first. it was actually kind of impressive how bad he was at it."

"shut up," jake mutters, face burning now.

you drag a hand down your face, then fully step into the living room, looking between all of them. "okay, fine," you say finally, letting out a long sigh. "yes. jake and i hooked up last night."

the room goes painfully, awkwardly silent.

"that's it. end of story." you point towards the tv, then cross the room and drop into the empty spot beside jake like it was nothing. "and we're not going to be weird about it so unpause the game before i regret coming over."

and just like that, game night continues.

well, continues is a generous way to put it. it moreso limps forward with the very, very fragile determination of a group of people pretending to ignore what just happened. heeseung misses two open shots because he keeps glancing at you and jake sitting next to each other like he's afraid something might happen if he looks away for too long. sunghoon tells jake to lock in, even though he himself has clearly given up on focusing on the game. and jay keeps pretending he isn't very obviously tracking the situation out of the corner of his eye, because jay has always had the subtlety of a man pretending not to eavesdrop while standing directly outside a closed glass door.

meanwhile, jake…jake is doing his best. which historically has not always meant good things. but it's not particularly easy when the one person you're actively trying to move on from is still right next to you and the gap between your thigh and theirs is getting increasingly smaller and smaller with each sudden and small movement.

at some point much later in the night, sometime between jay suggesting they switch games and sunghoon nearly falling asleep on the floor against the couch, you stand, heading for the kitchen, "gonna get some water."

jake lasts maybe twelve seconds. because then he sets his controller down and stands too.

"i'm gonna—" he starts before realizing there is not a single convincing end to that sentence.

all three of them look up at him.

jake points vaguely to the kitchen. "…water."

 "right," jay says, already shaking his head as he goes back to flip through the game options.

"very important," heeseung adds with amusement in his tone and jake takes that as a sign to leave before anyone can make it worse.

you're standing near the fridge when he enters, holding your glass under the dispenser. you don't look at him right away.

"very subtle," you say.

jake stops a few feet behind you. "what?"

"that," you nod towards the living room. "that was literally, like, twelve seconds after i got up."

jake opens his mouth then closes it. then tries again. "i wanted water."

you finally turn around then, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand.

"you have never once voluntarily wanted water in your life, jake. you're chronically dehydrated."

and that is fair. annoying, but fair, given he can't exactly argue against the only person in the world, other than his mom, who has ever taken it upon themselves to remind him that he needed to drink more water on a daily basis.

"i'm not—," jake starts, then stops. he takes a small breath before he continues.

"i just…" he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and hesitates, glancing back toward the living room to make sure no one was paying attention. "i'm sorry. for leaving this morning without saying anything."

and you just go still. for a second, you just look at him, like you're actively trying to figure out what he wanted from this conversation. the fridge hums quietly beside you and from the living room, heeseung yells something at the tv, but it all sounds far away now. then you set your glass down and cross your arms over your chest.

"there's nothing to be sorry about, jake," you say, quietly but steady. "you don't owe me anything. it was a one time thing and we both knew that."

and there it is. clean, controlled, and merciful, maybe, given jake thinks he has plenty to be sorry about.

"right," jake says, and it comes out wrong, the kind of right where actually nothing feels right at all and too much is on his mind.

you sense it immediately. "jake."

"no, yeah. i know." he nods, looking down at the floor because looking at you right now felt too much like that night eight months ago. "one time thing."

you push off the counter and take a small step towards him, and jake tries his best to breathe normally with how much the distance closed in just that one step.

you stop in front of him. "i mean it," your voice is softer now. "i'm not mad."

"you looked mad."

"because you told them."

"technically, they guessed."

"yun."

"right. sorry."

the corner of your mouth twitches like you don't want to smile and hate that he almost made you. then your hand lifts, and it's slow enough that jake has the time to move away if he wants to, but of course because he's jake, he doesn't.

your fingers then wrap gently around his wrist, thumb brushing once over the inside of it in a small, absent motion that feels so painfully familiar he almost has to close his eyes.

"we're okay," you say, and your voice is now so gentle that it's almost too soft for the way you're trying to make this casual. "okay?"

jake looks down at your hand around his wrist. the way it's too casual, too warm, and how his pulse is probably hammering beneath your thumb, and he knows you can feel it because your gaze drops too. for another long second, neither of you say anything else. then, your thumb moves again, in that small, comforting stroke that breaks him just a little more. because you say things like we're okay and one time thing and then touch him like you never forgot how to comfort him when he needed it the most.

jake swallows. "yeah," he nods, even though he knows it's a lie. "okay."

you hold his gaze for another moment, then give his wrist one last gentle squeeze before letting go.

"good," you murmur, then jake watches you walk back into the living room and join the game like nothing had just happened.

by the time the night finally starts to wind down, jay is the first to leave, muttering something about having an early morning and heeseung disappears into his room shortly after, clearly already half asleep. sunghoon lingers just long enough to give jake one long, dry, and pointed look before saying goodnight to you and disappearing down the hall too.

"okay," you say mostly to yourself. "i'm gonna head out."

jake looks up too fast, which is embarrassing and he knows it so he tries to play it off by standing, but even that feels suspiciously urgent, so now he's just a guy standing in the middle of his living room for no reason.

"it's late," he suddenly blurts out with no logic or plan behind it. you pause with your keys already in your hand. then slowly, you look up at him and jake can tell immediately from your face you know exactly where this is going.

you lift a brow. "if you're about to tell me to stay over, i'm going to laugh in your face," you say with a small smile tugging at your lips. "we both know how that ended last time."

he doesn't argue right away. because, yes, last time was literally only twenty four hours ago and it ended up with him falling asleep holding you in your own bed, his entire dignity in shambles, and then waking up with the horrible realization that sometimes, some mistakes do not feel like mistakes while they're happening.

this is one of those times.

he just shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and walks over slowly, stopping just a few feet away from you.

"i know," he says quietly. and your expression shifts just a little at the sound of it. "but just stay," he adds, and the please is already there in his expression before he says it. "please."

you give him a certain look after, and jake hates that he knows that look. hates that he can read it before you can even say anything. because it's the same look you always get when you know he's asking for something he shouldn't, and you know you probably shouldn't give it to him, and somehow both of you already know how this is going to end.

he exhales, dragging a hand through his hair like that might somehow make this sound less like begging. "you can take the couch," he says quickly. "nothing weird. i promise."

your mouth twitches. "you promising nothing weird is not as reassuring as you think it is."

"yeah, that's fair."

"you are, honestly, historically awful at nothing weird."

jake just blinks.

"like impressively bad."

"okay, are we done?"

"i don't know, i'm kind of enjoying myself," and now you're actually smiling and jake huffs out a small laugh, the sound slipping out tired and fond.

"i just don't want you driving this late," he says, voice dropping down lower as he looks at you. "that's all."

and technically, he isn't lying. he doesn't want you driving this late. he also doesn't want you walking out the door yet. both things can be true.

you look down at your keys, thumb brushing over the small metal keychain hanging from the ring. it's the one he bought you forever ago from some random gas station during a road trip because you said it was ugly in a way that made you want it. he hates that he remembers that and he hates that it's still there and he hates that he's wondering what that meant.

then you let out a quiet sigh, and drop your keys back into your bag and set your bag down on the table next to the door.

"fine."

the relief hits him embarrassingly fast. "yeah?"

"yeah," you say, walking back into the living room and giving the couch a small pat as you sit back down. "couch it is."

jake presses his lips together, trying and failing to force his face into something neutral as he stops near the hall, "i'll grab you something to change into."

and jake didn't really fully have a solid plan when he says it, he just says it because that's what you do when your ex is about to sleep on your couch and you don't want her falling asleep uncomfortably in jeans. because technically, yes, there's probably other clothes in the apartment. heeseung's and sunghoon's maybe, if jake suddenly developed a sense of humor strong enough for that. he has not. the thought alone of giving you someone else's shirt makes something ugly and childish twist in his stomach, which is exactly the kind of thing he will be taking to the grave.

so he settles on grabbing one of his own hoodies from the back of his closet, an oversized one that already hangs too big on him, which, by your logic, makes it perfect for you. he remembers you telling him that once, standing in front of his mirror with the sleeves covering half your hands like your word was his new law.

if it's too big on you, it's mine. if it fits you, it's also mine.

and jake didn't argue against that because it was you, so naturally, he automatically doesn't need any other excuse.

when he returns to the living room, hoodie in hand, you take it without a word, but your eyes linger on it half a second longer than necessary, and jakes knows you're thinking the same thing he is. because most of the time, in normal situations, clothes are just clothes. this one isn't.

you disappear down the hall and jake stands there for a second after the bathroom door clicks shut, staring at the empty space you just left behind like a person who has learned absolutely nothing from the last twenty-four hours. then he exhales, and turns toward his room.

jake does not sleep well. actually, he doesn't sleep at all, for that matter. he spends the first twenty minutes lying on his back, scrolling through his phone, then putting his phone down, staring at the ceiling, then going back on this phone. he's trying very, very hard to be normal about this. he turns onto his side. then his other side. then his back again. at some point, he flips his pillow over like the cooler side of it might do the trick. it does not.

he can hear the faint hum of the air conditioner, the occasional honk of a car outside, the neighbor's footsteps from upstairs. and he can especially hear the sounds coming from the living room. there's the soft rustle of the blanket, the tiny creak of the couch when you shift, the barely there noises of you trying to get comfortable somewhere you clearly do not belong.

and jake knows. he knows the couch is fine. objectively, it's a perfectly acceptable couch. people have slept on it before. sunghoon once took a four hour nap on it after claiming he was only resting his eyes, which was a lie because no one rests their eyes with a blanket pulled over their head and ends up snoring twenty minutes in.

so jake knows the couch is not the problem, but you. the problem is that jake knows exactly how you sleep. he knows you hate being cold but will kick the blanket off an hour into sleeping anyways. knows you always sleep better on your side. knows that if you're not comfortable, you'll pretend you are anyways because you hate making things inconvenient.

and suddenly, the thought of you lying out there on his couch, in his hoodie, trying to sleep like anything from this arrangement makes sense, feels so stupid he physically can't stand it.

the hallway is dark when he steps out of his room, the living room only lit by the small light glowing from your phone, held loosely in your hand as you're curled on your side, one arm tucked under your head.

your eyes lift when you see him.

"can't sleep?" you ask quietly.

jake leans one shoulder against the wall, hands already in the pockets of his sweat pants. "no."

you exhale through your nose, "me neither."

jake looks at you for a second, at the way his hoodie slips off one shoulder, at the bare skin of your legs folded beneath you, and something in his chest pulls a little tighter.

"this is dumb," he eventually says. "you're not sleeping out here."

"jake—"

"come here," he exhales, cutting you off. it wasn't demanding, it wasn't loud, just something sure and a little tired, like he's already given in to whatever this is. he rubs a hand over his face before looking back at you. "just…come sleep in my room. the bed's bigger anyways."

your expression softens, and for a moment, jake sees the same quiet resignation in your eyes that he feels settling in his own chest. then you sigh, set your phone on the coffee table, and push yourself up from the couch. "okay."

jake doesn't say anything else, just turns and walks back down the hall into his room. you follow him a few seconds later, stopping in the doorway for a moment, one hand still on the handle like you were deciding whether to step inside.

it felt strange—walking into a room that used to feel like yours. the same plant sat on his windowsill, somehow still miraculously alive. the same string lights hang across the wall, though more bulbs have gone out since the last time you'd been here. his bed was unmade, sheets crinkled from where he'd been tossing and turning.

and then there was jake. sitting on the edge of his bed, looking warm and comfortable and hair messy and eyes sleepy and like everything you missed.

this time, when you look at him, there's something different. like seeing you walk in here and close the door behind you and stand there with his hoodie swallowing your figure shifted something in the air. jake's gaze stayed on you, heavier now, thicker and in a way that made it very, very clear that you both knew exactly why you were in here.

you walk over slowly until you're standing right in front of him, close enough that if you took one small step forward, you'd be in between his knees, close enough that if either of you leaned in even slightly, it would turn into something else entirely.

jake looks up at you. your hands move first, resting lightly on his shoulders, like you're still testing whether you're allowed to touch him. his hands answer before his brain does, moving up to settle on the back of your thighs beneath the hem of the hoodie, his palms large and warm against your skin.

your gaze drops to his hands before going back up to his face. "so much for not making it weird," you whisper quietly.

jake lets out a small breath that almost becomes a laugh. his thumbs start moving up and down on their own, and your breath hitches immediately. "you were out there sleeping in my clothes," he murmurs. "it was already weird."

your mouth twitches into a small smile, your fingers shifting against his shoulders, sliding slightly towards the back of his neck, and jake has to look down for a second and take a breath because there's only so many things a person can survive at once.

"plus," he adds, "you let me sleep in your bed last night. i'd be kind of a jerk to make you sleep on the couch."

he then spreads his knees slightly and tugs you just an inch closer, and you let him, stepping into the already small space between the two of you in between his legs. you look down at him, eyes soft but guarded.

"we said it was a one time thing," you murmur softly.

jake's thumbs kept moving in that slow, comforting motion, and you feel his grip tighten just slightly, like he was afraid you would step back.

"well," he says, voice low and a little rough, "technically we didn't break that yet."

jake knew what he was doing. he knew that you knew it too. that he was toeing the line, that he was giving in, and the dangerous part was that you weren't stopping him. you weren't stepping back. you were still standing there, letting him touch you, letting the space between you disappear like some unspoken part of you has been waiting for this as much as he has.

his eyes drag over you slowly, the way you look small in his hoodie, the way it fell just past the middle of your thighs. something flickered across his face, something raw and dark and a lot like he was trying very hard not to feel what he was feeling.

"this is still a bad idea," and you try to sound steady, but your voice cracks at the end.

"i know," jake answers, hands sliding a little higher up the back of your thighs. "i know it is."

he gently tugs you forward, slow, careful like he was giving you every chance to stop him, eyes watching your expression the entire time. your knees bump against the edge of the bed as he guides you closer, until you're standing right against him. then his hands move up higher and settle on your waist, and with one gentle pull, he brings you down into his lap.

you go willingly, a small sound escaping you as your knees settle on either side of his hips, your hands find his shoulders and grip them tighter, like you were trying to ground yourself. neither of you speak for a moment, the silence stretching and growing heavier with every slow second that passes between you.

jake's eyes drop to your mouth, then flick back up to meet yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

"tell me to stop."

you don't. instead, you lean in first.

the second your lips touch his, jake feels something inside him give way, like a silent, inevitable unraveling.

he knew he shouldn't be doing this, knew this was exactly what you both said you wouldn't do. but the moment your hand slides into his hair, he stops thinking altogether. he kisses you back like he was trying to be careful, trying to keep it soft, but the second you sigh against his mouth, the cautious thing inside him cracks open, and his hands are already sliding higher, pulling you closer like his body had been waiting for permission.

he missed the way you used to kiss him like this, like you still knew exactly how he liked it. he missed the way your body fit against his, the quiet and familiar weight of you in his lap, the way your fingers always found their way into his hair. and the longer it goes on, the less jake can pretend he's trying to be careful.

he suddenly deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding slowly against yours that makes you tug slightly at his hair. his hands slide down to grip the back of your thighs as he lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively before he turns and lowers you onto the bed without breaking the kiss. you let out a small giggle against his lips at the sudden movement, and he smiles into the kiss before settling between your legs, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as he follows you down. his hips roll down against yours on instinct, and the friction pulls a small gasp from your breath.

jake pulls back just enough to look at you, both of you catching your breath. your eyes were dark, lips swollen, the hoodie bunched up around your waist. his hand moves again, sliding higher until his palm covered your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in light, teasing strokes, making you arch into his touch with a soft, desperate sound that goes straight to his core. he breaks the kiss to press his forehead against yours. 

"missed you," he admits, the words slipping out before he can stop them. "missed the way you sound when i—" his thumb circles again, slower this time, and the way you shiver under his hand makes something hot and helpless twist in his stomach. "fuck. so sensitive still."

your hands slide down from his hair to his shoulders, gripping him like you needed something to hold on to. "more," you whisper against his lips, your hips rolling up to meet him in that needy way he always loved. his hand leaves your breast and slides down your stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your underwear, pausing there, breathing hard, giving you one last chance to stop him.

you look down at where his hand sits, then back up at him, and your hand then comes up to cover his, gently pushing it lower. jake lets out a shaky exhale against your neck as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding you already warm and wet. he groans quietly, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"fuck, baby…" the pet name slips out before he can catch it. his fingers move instantly but carefully, like he's savoring every reaction coming out of you. two fingers slide through your folds, gathering the wetness there before he slowly pushes them inside you, curling them upward in a slow, firm stroke that made your walls flutter around him. the wet sound of it is obscene in the quiet room, and jake groans at how easily you take him. "you're already—shit. you feel so good."

you let out a small moan, hips shifting against his hand. one of your hands fisted in his shirt while the other stayed in his hair, tugging slightly every time his fingers found the right spot inside you again.

jake lifts his head to look at you again, eyes dark, pupils blown wide as he watches you, his fingers still moving inside you, curling on every pull back, thumb pressing circles on your clit at the same time.

"you're so fucking pretty like this," his voice comes out hoarse, his breathing getting heavier. he kisses you harder this time, swallowing the moan that escapes you as he worked his fingers faster, his own hips rocking against your thigh now, seeking friction. when he pulls back, his eyes stay on yours.

"wanna taste you," he says quietly. it wasn't a question, but there was something almost hesitant in his voice, like he was asking for permission to cross another line. you then nod, eyes half-lidded and dark and trusting, and that was all jake needed.

he moves down your body slowly, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw then your throat then your stomach as he pushes the hoodie up higher. his hands slide under your thighs, gently spreading you open as he settles between your legs. then he looks up at you for a moment, his voice low and sincere, "tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

you just nod, already breathless as you tug his head closer. 

the first drag of his tongue over you is agonizingly slow, your back arching hard off the bed as a broken whimper tears from your throat before you can catch it. jake groans against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core like he’d been waiting for that sound.

"fuck," he breathed, voice muffled. "always taste so good."

your eyes roll back as he starts taking his time. long, unhurried licks that make your thighs start to tremble, gentle sucks that pull desperate little sounds from your throat. every so often he glances up, watching your face like he wanted to memorize every reaction. one of his hands stayed firm on your thigh, holding you open while the other slid up to rest over your stomach, grounding you there.

"you're being so quiet," he murmurs between his strokes that were getting quicker and quicker. "you used to be louder for me."

you gasp right as you feel his tongue dip right into you, "jaeyun—"

"there we go," he whispers, almost to himself. he slides two fingers back inside you, curling in that same way that made your vision blur while his tongue circles your clit again. "say it again."

your voice cracks on his name, hips jerking, "jaeyun—fuck—"

jake groans again, the sound going through you as he works you harder, fingers moving in tandem with his mouth. he pulls back just enough to look at you again, lips shiny.

"god, love it when you say it like that," he admits, eyes glassy. "like i'm still yours."

you look down at him, chest heaving, "you're not supposed to—fuck—not supposed to say shit like that."

"yeah," he breathes, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "i know."

jake doesn't stop though, still keeping his mouth on you, still sliding his fingers deep inside you until your legs were shaking and until you were getting louder. not that jake minded, if anything, it made him more determined, like every sound you made was something he wanted to earn.

when he finally pulls away, his mouth is wet and eyes wild as he goes back up and kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. one of his hands stays between your legs, still moving slowly inside you.

"need to feel you, yun," your voice strained now against his mouth. "please."

you're already reaching for the waistband of his sweats when he answers, "yeah. yeah, okay."

jake helps you shove his pants down just enough, then pauses, breathing uneven as he looks down at you. one hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip. "look at me."

your eyes lift up to meet his and for a moment, jake forgets everything else. forgets the circumstances, forgets the careful distance he's supposed to be keeping. in that exact second, jake forgets that this isn't supposed to mean anything, that you weren't his anymore. none of it existed in the space between your bodies, all he can feel is the way you're looking at him, open, vulnerable, and so painfully familiar.

his eyes stay locked on yours as he lines himself up and pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully buried inside you. the stretch makes your mouth drop open slightly, and jake has to stop and stay there for a second, like he needed a moment to feel it. 

"fuck," he groans, forehead dropping to yours, eyes squeezing shut like he was trying to keep it together. "you feel so good. so fucking good, baby."

jake starts thrusting deeper, slower at first—long, deliberate strokes that make you feel every inch of him, his hips rolling forward until the slick sound kept growing louder with every movement. one hand stays wrapped around your jaw while the other grips your thigh around his waist, pushing it higher and wider as he fucks into you with steady, heavy rolls of his hips.

"missed this," he murmurs between thrusts, the words low and honest. "missed the way you look at me when i’m inside you like this."

your hands then slide under his shirt, nails dragging lightly down his back as you meet his every thrust.

"yun—" your voice cracks again, more breathless now. "harder. please."

he lets out another low groan like he’d been waiting for permission this entire time. he shifts his weight and snaps his hips harder on the next thrust, going a little faster, a little rougher. the new force pulls a sharp sound from you. 

“yeah?” he pants, eyes locked on you. "like that?"

you nod quickly, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers dig harder into his back. “more, yun, please—” 

that was all it took. he gives it to you, gripping your waist hard enough to leave marks, fucking into you properly now, hips driving into you with deep, forceful thrusts that make the bed creak loudly beneath you. the wet, filthy sound of skin meeting skin fills the room with every thrust, each snap of his hips sharper, rougher, like he was finally letting himself take what he’d been aching for all night. every thrust, every time he bottoms out, knocks another helpless whimper out of you, and jake drinks it in like it's his air. his hands tighten where they hold you, fingers pressing into your skin as he kept you exactly where he wanted you, fucking into you harder, faster, the rhythm turning relentless, like he was trying to fuck the memory of the last eight months out of both of you.

"you're so beautiful," he breathes out, the words coming out like muscle memory, his mouth curving into a small smile against yours. "especially when you're trying to stay quiet."

you let out a shaky laugh that turns into a moan right when he hits that spot inside you just right. you can feel the shift in him, the way his control starts to slip as his thrusts grow faster, rougher, the bed frame now hitting the wall in a steady rhythm. he shifts slightly, changing the angle, and you can’t stop the sounds suddenly slipping out of your mouth. 

"there it is," he pants against your month. "right there, baby. let me hear you." 

you moan again, louder this time, and jake's rhythm stutters for a second. 

"fuck—yeah, keep making those sounds," he murmurs. "not gonna last if you keep doing that."

you arch up into him even more, your back curving off the bed as you chase the new angle, the shift making him sink even deeper, the stretch and pressure pulling a choked moan from your throat. your hands slide up the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you pull him down into a desperate kiss, all tongue and heavy breaths, the low sound he makes against your mouth vibrating straight through you. 

"hate how good you feel," you breathe against his mouth, the words coming out strained. 

jake lets out a breathless laugh, retaliating by thrusting into you with more purpose. "yeah?" he mumbles, voice rough. "then why are you squeezing me so tight?"

one of his hands move to pin yours down next to your head, fingers threading with yours. "come on," he whispers, eyes never leaving yours. "wanna feel you come. let me feel it."

you were so close, jake could feel it in the way you clenched around him, in the sharp, stuttering rhythm of your breath against his neck, in how your thighs start to shake where they stayed locked around his waist. he feels your walls flutter again and his hand immediately slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing faster, tighter circles as he kept the same deep, relentless angle. 

"yun—" your eyes squeeze shut and your free hand grabs onto his shoulder, your jaw falling open, the words stumbling out on their own. "i'm—keep going, i'm gonna—"

"that's it," his voice muffled against the side of your neck. "let go, baby. i've got you."

your back arches hard as it hits you, a moan tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clamping down around him in tight, pulsing waves. 

"fuck—fuck—yun," the words spill out of you in a rush, half a moan and a sob all a once as your free hand flies to his shoulder, nails digging in until jake could feel every tremor running through you. jake groans loudly at the feeling of you clenching around him, his rhythm now faltering in a way he can't recover from.

"shit—fuck, that's it," his voice wrecked as his hips keep thrusting you through your orgasm, chasing his own release now, hips stuttering as he loses the last of his control. "just like that." his forehead then drops back against yours, his eyes shut, short gasps spilling from his mouth. "fuck—fuck, baby—gonna come—tell me it's okay, please—"

“do it,” you manage to gasp, body still shaking underneath him as your legs pull him in even more. “please—i want it—”

jake buries his face in your neck with a low, wrecked sound as he finally comes, hips jerking as you feel the hot spill of him deep inside you. his whole body tenses above you, the noises leaving him raw and desperate and just purely him.

"fuck—baby—" his voice is muffled against your neck. "oh my god—" he keeps moving through it, his thrusts getting shallower and shallower through out both your highs, until he finally stilled, breathing hard against your skin.

for a long moment, neither of you move. jake stays buried inside you, chest heaving, one hand gently stroking slow and soothing lines down your thigh now while the other stays tangled with yours beside your head. his lips press soft, shaky kisses against your neck as he tries to catch his breath, and yours stay in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp the way you knew he liked. 

eventually, jake lifts his head just enough to look at you, his eyes glassy, a little overwhelmed and a little dazed, like he still hasn't fully come back to himself yet. the sharp loss of contact draws involuntary sounds from the both of you as he shifts carefully onto his side, automatically reaching for you as he went. his arm slides under your neck as he gently pulls you into his chest, drawing you in until your body presses flush against his.

the room falls quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly settling and the faint rustle of sheets as he adjusts his hold on you, tucking you closer into him. his fingers trace slow, absent patterns along your spine, his touch careful and tender. it all felt too easy, too natural, like slipping back into something that was never supposed to become a habit again.

"yun…" you break the quiet first, your voice low against his chest. he hums softly in response, hand still moving along your back. you swallow, fingers curling slightly into the front of his hoodie. "i'm serious. this was the last time."

jake's hand pauses for a second against you, his movements faltering. then, he just nods, his arm tightening around your waist as he presses one more kiss to the top of you head, your breathing already evening out and your eyes fluttering closed.

"yeah," he whispers against your hair as his hand starts moving again, slower this time. "last time."

and so, obviously, it was not the last time.

the next time is only two days later. your car decided to break down in the parking lot of your work office, and you sent a panicked SOS text to the group chat. and it’s almost impressive how thoroughly the universe particularly set you up that night, because heeseung’s phone is on do not disturb, jay stuck in a late meeting, and sunghoon, based on absolutely no evidence whatsoever but strong historical precedent, is probably ‘resting his eyes’ on the couch. 

which, by process of elimination, leaves jake.

so the next thing jake knows, he’s pulling into a mostly empty parking lot and you’re getting into his car and he’s looking at you with a small smile and you’re looking back at him like you were hoping it’d be him. 

you complained about your car, jake complained about how you ignored the check engine light for three weeks. you tell him not to victim blame you in your time of need. he says your car literally gave you a warning in bright orange. you say cars are depreciating assets and capitalist by design. he says that doesn’t mean they’re wrong. 

you laugh and then he laughs and just like that, the two of you fall back into that gray area where the line blurs a little more every time you cross it until jake isn’t sure which side he’s supposed to be standing on. what he is sure about is that when he gets to your building, he parks and then looks at you and you look at him and then he finds himself turning his car off and waking up in your bed the next morning. 

the time after that happens after dinner with everyone. it’s you sitting across from him at the restaurant, laughing at something jay says, your chin resting in your hand, the sleeve of your sweater slipping over your fingers. it’s jake trying very hard not to look at you too much and failing horribly. it’s your foot bumping his once beneath the table and both of you pretending it was accidental. then twice. then not accidental at all. and then it’s jake later finding himself underneath you in the backseat of his car with his mouth on your neck and your hands under his shirt. 

then it’s a week before it happens again, which is pretty impressive given you two see each other twice in between and manage not to cave. one of those times is coffee with heeseung and sunghoon where jake mentally curses heeseung for taking the seat next to you before jake gets there. the second time is game night again but this time with too much beer involved, and you all pass out in the living room before midnight.

the next evening, however, you show up at their door with a large tote bag in your arms and two containers of hangover soup balancing on top. jake answers the door, and you're just standing there, hair a little messy, face bare, and looking at him in that very specific way that doesn't even make jake think twice before he mentions that neither heeseung or sunghoon were home at the moment. and so by now, we all probably know how this ends, and it looks a lot like you on the kitchen counter, tote bag abandoned on the floor, soup containers left unopened near the sink, and jake standing between your legs, mouth hot against your neck like he was making up for every second of the past week he spent pretending he didn't want this.

sometimes the excuse was simple. sometimes it was you needing a ride and turns into you under him in his passenger seat with the windows fogging up and his hand braced against the center console. sometimes it was because you had a bad day, and jake would show up with takeout in his hands, and then somewhere between opening the orange chicken and act two of the movie you put on, he ended up in your bed.

sometimes, there was no real reason at all, and it just simply happened, whether in his car or yours, in your bed or his, and that one time in your shower when he was supposed to be getting ready to leave and very much did not leave for another forty minutes. sometimes it was you pressed up against your front door before it even fully clicked shut and most of the time, it was on your couch because neither of you could wait to go down the hall.

jake can't really tell you exactly how long this goes on for, and that's the thing he's starting to learn about bad habits. one day something happens once, and it's a mistake. then it happens again, and it's a coincidence. then a third time, then a fourth, and suddenly there's a rhythm to it neither of you say anything about because labeling it would mean admitting you both know it exists. so jake doesn't say anything and neither do you, and if any of the guys noticed it, they don't say anything either.

it goes on long enough for the green leaves on the trees to start fading at the edges into an early stage of orange, long enough for the nights to get cooler, long enough for you to start taking his hoodies back home again without asking, and if jake notices, he pretends he doesn't. because noticing means he would having to confront this entire situation, and he knows better than to ask what this is, because is answer is probably nothing good, but also because some selfish part of him is terrified that asking will make you stop.

so he takes what he can get; he takes the late nights, the borrowed clothes, the half-finished takeout and abandoned movies, the mornings where you wake up and kiss a smile into his lips but then can't quite look at him in the eyes when he leaves. the brief, stupid moments where it almost feels like having you again.

one particular night, it had been less than twelve hours since jake last saw you. the last time being earlier that morning, when he was leaving your apartment with his hair still damp from your shower and his shirt wrinkled in a way that made him feel very obvious walking late into work. he was running on maybe three hours of sleep, which was pretty generous, honestly, because not much sleeping had actually happened with you. 

so by the time midnight rolls around, jake is exhausted. he’s already in bed when his phone buzzes next to him on the nightstand. 

y/n: hi

jake stares at his screen for half a second, his heartbeat doing that annoying thing it still, and always has, does whenever he thinks of you. then he types back.

jake: hey jake: everything okay?

he watches as the typing bubble appears, disappears, appear again, then disappears one more time. then, finally—

y/n: remember how we used to go on late night drives whenever i couldn’t fall asleep?

jake’s thumb stills over the screen. he blinks hard, because of course he remembers. you in the passenger seat with your knees tucked up, shoes kicked off, his phone in your hand because you had the important responsibility of choosing the music. the two of you driving nowhere with the windows cracked open, city lights dragging soft lines across your face, you feeding him snacks as he drove. he remembers the nights you talked about everything. the nights you said nothing at all. the nights he drove until your voice got quieter and your head finally tipped against the window.

jake swallows.

jake: of course jake: pretty sure you’re personally responsible for half the miles on my car

a few seconds pass. then your reply comes through.

y/n: what are you up to rn?

and jake knows what the correct answer is.

he could say he’s tired, which is true. he could say it’s late, which is also true. he could say he has work in the morning, which would be most definitely true and responsible and deeply unlike anything he has done lately when it comes to you.

and so, about eleven minutes later, jake finds himself parked outside your building with you climbing into his passenger seat in your pajamas. 

“hi,” you say softly.

jake looks over at you, one hand still resting on the gear shift.

“hi.”

for a second, neither of you move. then you glance down at his phone connected to the charger and raise an eyebrow.

“you still have my night drive playlist saved?"

jake’s fingers tighten slightly against the wheel, “you mean the one you named ‘insomnia is a bitch.'”

“yeah,” you say. “and?”

“kind of hard to delete something with that much artistic integrity.”

then you let out a laugh and jake decides that alone makes the whole stupid night worth it before it has even started.

jake puts the car in drive.

“where to?”

you lean your head back against the seat, eyes drifting back to meet his.

“nowhere.”

jake nods, because he knows that place. he’s taken you there before.

so he drives, with no destination, no real route. just the familiar pattern of roads the two of you used to take when sleep felt far away and the apartment felt too small and you needed to breathe for a moment.

the streets are almost empty at this hour, which helps in jake's case, because it means he can look over at you more than he probably should. you're turned toward the window, cheek resting against the seat, one sleeve covering your hand tucked under your chin. the surrounding city passes you in pieces—gold from a streetlamp, blue from a store sign, red from a traffic light that catches in your eyes when you blink.

jake keeps one hand on the wheel and the other low on the console, fingers drumming like he needs something to do with them when reaching for you isn't an option. and for the first part of it, neither of you say much, it's just the sound of your playlist in the background and the engine running and your low humming to a song you added because you knew jake liked it.

late night drives with you were never really about conversation, at least not always. sometimes they were about the silence. about knowing someone well enough that you didn't have to fill every second just to prove you still belong there. about the soft kind of company that didn't ask anything from you except presence. jake used to love that. and frankly, he still does.

eventually at some point, you shift in the passenger seat, pulling one knee up slightly as you turn towards him. jake feels the sudden attention, the way you're just quietly and carefully studying the side of his face as he tries his best to stay focused on the road ahead of him.

"did you figure it out?"

the question comes out softly. so softly in fact, that jake almost convinces himself he heard you wrong. his eyes flick to you, then back to the road.

"…figure it out?"

you don't answer right away. the car moves through a green light, an empty crosswalk. a closed bakery. a laundromat still glowing at the corner.

then you say, "you."

jake's hold tightens around the steering wheel, not looking away from the street quite yet. you keep looking at him.

"when we broke up," you say, voice almost too calm, too accepting, "you said you needed to figure out who you were outside of us. outside of me."

jake feels his stomach drop, and he can't will himself to look at you yet. because your voice isn't even sharp, isn't accusing, but moreso gentle, like you're not trying to cause a scene or hurt him with it, which somehow makes it hurt worse.

he doesn't say anything. for one ridiculous second, all he can remember is the way he said it back then, how reasonable he tried to make it sound. how carefully he chose his words, like if he stacked them neatly enough, you wouldn't see that he built something to hide behind because he was scared and tired and overwhelmed by the size of a future that started to feel more like something he could ruin if he held it wrong.

"jaeyun."

your voice pulls him back, and jake realizes he's been quiet for too long, the car slowing down like his body is trying to buy more time.

"i don't know," he says finally.

your expression doesn't change much, but your fingers curl slightly into the sleeve of your sweatshirt. "you don't know?"

he breathes out a humorless laugh. "i thought i would."

and then jake can feel it on the side of his face—the way you're looking at him, caught somewhere between hurt and frustration and like part of you understands what he means and another part of you hates that you do.

"i thought—" he starts, then stops, because the sentence already sounds stupid in his head. "i thought if i had enough space, it would make sense eventually."

"did it?"

jake swallows. because the honest answer is no. but the more honest answer is that nothing made sense, at least not in the way he wanted it to.

because, yes, he learned things. he learned how to sleep alone again, technically. granted, much, much worse, but technically. he learned which takeout places delivered late enough so he didn't have to stand in the kitchen and remember all the meals you used to make together. he learned that grocery shopping for one person is depressing in a way nobody warns you about. he learned that some silences are peaceful and some silences are just rooms missing the person who used to laugh in them.

he learned that he could live without you.

he could wake up, make his coffee, go to work, show up to game nights, make small talk, fold laundry. he continued, in the most basic and humiliating sense of the world. he learned that life did not stop without you. it just got worse.

"not really," he exhales and he feels his chest tighten when your gaze drops to your lap. "i mean, i figured out some stuff," he adds, his voice smaller now. "just not…not what i thought i would."

you're quiet for a moment. then, "like what?"

jake should keep driving. he should keep his eyes on the road and his hands where they are and answer carefully, if he answers at all. but suddenly what was supposed to be a simple night turned into this, and the thought feels instantly dumb because nothing about nights with you has ever been simple. so instead, he pulls into an empty parking lot close to the river and parks under a flickering lamp. he lets his hand fall from the wheel, rubbing once over his mouth before he finally looks over at you.

"i figured out that being without you didn't make me feel more like myself," he says. your eyes lift to his and his stomach twists. "it just made me realize how much of myself i built around loving you."

the words land and they stay there. they're out there, in that undefined space between you and him and that's when jake almost wishes he could take them back. and not because they aren't true, but because they're too true and he knows it and he can tell by the way you go still that you know it too. and now he's looking at you and how your lips part slightly but don't say anything. so he keeps going, because he thinks stopping now would somehow make everything worse.

"and i know that's not fair," he says quickly, looking down at his hands for a second before forcing himself to look back at you. "i know that sounds like i'm making it your responsibility, and i'm not trying to. i'm not. i just—" he lets out an frustrated exhale. "i thought space would teach me who i was without you. but it just taught me what everything felt like without you in it."

and then your face changes. and it's barely there, barely noticeable to the average human being. but this is jake we're talking about and jake knows you, so he knows the tiny things. he sees the way your throat moves when you swallow. he watches the way your eyes go shiny before you decide whether or not you're going to let yourself cry. he recognizes the way you look away when something hits too close because you hate giving people the satisfaction of knowing they reached you.

"hey—"

"it's fine," your words come out too quickly, too automatic, and jake hates it.

"y/n."

"it's fine," you say again, but this time when you lift your eyes to his, the expression on your face doesn't match the sentence at all. "i asked, you answered."

and jake hates that word by now. he hates it because he's spent the last eight months trying to convince himself he's fine and so by that logic, he knows you're objectively not fine.

"don't do that, y/n," he lets out quietly, eyes steady on you.

your brows then pull together and you let out a small breath through your nose, something almost like a laugh with no humor in it. "what do you want me to say, yun?"

jake feels his throat tighten, he feels his answer die on this tongue because it's selfish, and he knows it. that he wants you to say that you missed him too. that this meant something to you and that you still want him even though he doesn't deserve it or even knows what he wants himself.

you shake your head faintly, eyes dropping back to your hands. "you can't just say something like that and then look at me like i'm supposed to know what to do with it."

jake's chest caves in a little. "you don't have to do anything with it."

you turn your head slightly then, and jake sees the sad smile on your face and the way yours eyes are shining and he immediately has to look away because he doesn't think he can survive that right now.

"that's not how this works."

jake pauses for moment, his heart hammering and brain screaming yet failing to find the right thing to say when the moment actually matters.

"i'm sorry," he eventually says, because he doesn't know what else to do with the ache in his chest. and he even doesn't know which part he's apologizing for—for everything he said? or everything he didn't? or maybe the breakup, then the late nights, and the last times that kept turning into next times.

your eyes close at his words, your head leaning back against the seat as a small, unsteady breath slips out of you.

"i know."

not forgiveness, not closure, but just two soft words sitting quietly between you, like you don't have the energy to be angry at him right now. like anger would require too much from you, and this conversation has already taken enough.

jake stays still. he watches you carefully, fighting back every instinct in his body telling him to reach for you when he notices the way your lashes are damp and the way your mouth presses into a thin line like you're holding so much back.

then, quietly, you whisper, "drive?"

jake nods, even though your eyes are still closed.

"yeah," he says softly, and then he puts the car into drive and backs out of the parking lot and that was it.

the next few days after that go terribly slow, because they feel terribly normal, which doesn't help jake's case at all because he just feels plain terrible. your name still shows up in his texts, because you're still laughing at sunghoon's jokes and liking messages and sending random tiktok posts. but you stop texting him separately, you stop showing up randomly at the apartment with takeout because you were bored. you don't complain about your car or tell him your day in that casual, thoughtless way you had started doing again. and jake spends three long, terrible days pretending he is normal about it.

by the third night, he gives in.

jake: hey jake: are we okay

he stares at the message after he hits send and mentally smacks himself in the head. what a stupid question. what does okay even mean between two people who broke up almost ten months ago, hooked up more times than considered healthy, had a deeply unsettling conversation in an empty parking lot, and then ended the night with you asking him to drive you home because sitting still in silence with him became unbearable?

still, he waits. one minute. three. seven. then your reply comes through.

y/n: yeah y/n: why wouldn't we be

jake exhales. then that exhale turns into a groan which then turns into him pressing his face into his pillow and screaming into it for a full three seconds, because that is both an answer and not helpful whatsoever.

why wouldn't we be?

jake could think of at least twelve reasons off the top of his head right now, and that was him being generous, because the two of you have been operating under a very loose definition of okay for months now.

okay meant broken up but still friends. okay meant friends but sleeping together. okay meant sleeping together but not talking about it. okay meant not talking about it then everything exploding in jake's face all at once.

so, really, the range of what okay meant here was alarmingly broad.

jake: idk jake: just checking

your typing bubble appears, disappears. appears again.

y/n: we're fine yun

jake lies back against his pillow and stares at the ceiling and pretends he didn't just see that word. fine. his least favorite word in the entire english language, currently beating last time, mature, and okay, which says something because he feels very strongly about those words in this phase of his life right now.

still, he takes it and runs with it.

jake: okay jake: can i see you?

and then he shuts his phone off. because he doesn't really know how else to word can we fix whatever happened in the car and, the more private one in his head, can you please stop sounding like you're already halfway gone?

you take longer to answer this time. long enough that jake picks his phone back up, locks it, unlocks it, puts it back down, then considers throwing himself directly into traffic.

y/n: early morning tmrw, sorry y/n: another time?

it's not a no. but it's not a yes either. and that's pretty much how the next two weeks pass.

you don't show up to game night that week, telling the group you're feeling under the weather. heeseung sends three sad face emojis. jay tells you to drink water. sunghoon says, okay yea sureee, and then follows up with a but get better <3. jake waits exactly nine minutes before texting you privately.

jake: are you feeling okay? y/n: yeah just tired jake: need anything? i'll can get the soup you like y/n: no im ok y/n: thank you though

jake stares at it until the screen dims.

by the end of the third week, jake found himself getting better at finding distractions to keep his mind elsewhere. errands help a little, long showers help sometimes. work helps because he's busy enough to forget he has a phone. and soccer, as it turns out, is one of them.

the day is going objectively well, which really means something because it has been some time since jake has had a day he could honestly call good. the sun is out, the sky is clear. he remembered to eat breakfast before noon and his coffee tasted just right. his favorite hoodie came out of the wash without shrinking, and for a few hours, his chest doesn't feel like it has something heavy sitting inside it.

so when sunghoon suggests they play at the park nearby, jake actually says yes before anyone can guilt him into it. and it feels good. he scores once against jay, then again, then a third time which jay insists doesn't count because he was not ready but jake counts it anyways. by the end of it, jake is sweaty and out of breath and lying dramatically on the grass with one arm thrown over his eyes while heeseung complains about his lungs from next to him.

"i think i'm dying," heeseung says.

sunghoon, sitting besides him with his knees pulled up, barely looks over. "i think you're being dramatic."

heeseung then shoots him a pointed look and jay snorts and takes the water bottle from jake's hand.

the four of them end up in a scattered circle at the edge of the field, passing around the same water bottle because everyone except jake forgot to pack theirs, naturally. they talk about nothing for a while. about how lucky they got that the highschoolers in the area didn't claim the field before they did. about the new burger king opening down the block even though jake is pretty sure no one has willingly gone to a burger king since 2014. about how jay thinks he can beat them all in a footrace if properly motivated, which immediately turns into a ten minute argument because sunghoon says jay runs like the character that dies first in a horror movie.

jake lets himself enjoy it for a little while, which was a mistake from the start and he should've known it. because eventually a short silence settles over the group, the kind that only happens after everyone runs out of nonsense to contribute and is too tired to invent more.

sunghoon is the first one to break it. he clears his throat, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers before looking over at jake.

"you look like you're doing okay," he says, carefully enough that the carefulness becomes suspicious. "considering everything."

jake stills. the water bottle pauses halfway to his mouth. then he lowers it slowly.

"considering everything?"

he looks at sunghoon, but sunghoon is looking at jay, who's already staring at him with a death stare, and then heeseung, still lying flat on his back, suddenly starts coughing on absolutely nothing.

jake looks between the three of them, eyes narrowing. "why wouldn't i be?"

and then no one says anything, which is impressive, honestly, because between the three of them, silence has never been a skill they possess collectively. jake turns his head to jay, who is now looking at a patch of grass in front of him.

"jay," jake says slowly. "why wouldn't i be okay?"

jay looks up. his mouth opens, then closes. then opens again, but with much, much less confidence than before.

"i—we—okay, look," he drags a hand over his face, eyes darting from jake to sunghoon to heeseung, then back to the grass. "she didn't want to make it a big deal."

jake's stomach drops. he thinks he stops breathing but he can't stop the next word when it slips out of him anyways. "who?"

which is stupid, because he knows who, we all know who. 

sunghoon groans quietly, heeseung sits up slowly, and jay genuinely looks pained.

"y/n," jay says finally. and just like that, jake's objectively good day has taken a turn because just hearing your name gives his nervous system the absurd power to malfunction. he has to force himself to breathe.

"what about her?"

jay hesitates. then, "it was just something she told me in passing the other day," he adds quickly. "and i didn't really think much about it at first."

"think much about what?"

sunghoon closes his eyes like bracing himself, and from next to him, heeseung mutters, "oh god."

jay exhales. "she went on a date."

for a second, jake doesn't move, doesn't breathe, and he's pretty sure his heart stops for a moment there.

and the world keeps existing around him. somewhere across the grass, a kid laughs loudly and someone's dog barks at absolutely nothing and a car honks in the distance. but inside him, everything goes very, very still. his face feels strange, too blank, too calm for having just heard five words that could have very well just changed the trajectory of his life.

"who?" is the first word that comes out of him and he regrets it immediately. because he doesn't want to know. because he does. no, he doesn't and he really, really shouldn't.

jay's expression shifts to something more gentle. "i don't know."

jake gives him a look. "you don't know?"

"she didn't say."

"you didn't ask?"

"no, jake," jay sighs in between. " and even if i did, you probably shouldn't know that information anyways."

"right," jake lets out, the expression on his face blank then shakes his head to himself. "right, yeah. of course."

and then all at once, it all made sense. the quiet, the distance. the way you've been slowly pulling back these past few weeks ever since the night in the car. the way that another time texted turned into nothing. the way jake stopped texting first because he told himself he was giving you space, because he didn't want to look too desperate, which was stupid, because he is, but also because some stupid, fragile part of him wanted you to be the one to reach for him this time. but you never did. and maybe that night had been it.

maybe that night had been the thing that made you decide you couldn’t keep waiting for him to become brave enough to want you properly. that you needed to try something else, someone else. the thought of that twists something in jake so hard it almost feels physical.

sunghoon lean back on his hands, "you knew this could happen one day."

jake laughs once, short and humorless. he knew you could date. he knew you should date, probably. he knew you were allowed to move on because he was the one who let you go. actually no, that sounds too generous. he was the one who pushed you there, handed you back to the world, and is now sitting here, shocked as if he wasn't the one who did it himself.

"i mean," heeseung then clears his throat, and pauses for a moment to rethink his next words. "you could also…go on one. a date."

jake turns his head slowly, and heeseung lifts both hands a little, already defensive. "i'm just saying."

"don't," sunghoon mutters.

"look," heeseung ignores him and then looks back at jake. "i know some people, and i think it'd be good for you."

and somehow, out of everything said so far, that is the sentence that makes jake's brain stop fully working. because the idea is so foreign to him that, for one second, he genuinely doesn't understand it. it's like a formula jake has never once ever thought he would need to solve: a date + him + someone else that isn't you.

some girl sitting across from him at a table, asking what he does for work, laughing politely at something he says, maybe touching his arm if the conversation goes well. some girl he would have to learn from the beginning. favorite drink. favorite movie. whether she likes cilantro. if she runs cold or warm. what makes her laugh too hard, what she looks like when she's tired.

the thought feels less like moving on and more like being asked to speak a language he never learned. or worse, one he only used to know because of you.

"he has a point. it's not the craziest idea," jay says. "not right away, maybe. but eventually."

eventually.

eventually almost beats fine on jake's list of hated words. because eventually implies a future where this is normal. where you date someone else and he dates someone else and the two of you become a story told in past tense. three and a half years turned into a story time. something that happened before whatever comes next. and maybe that's healthy, maybe that's the entire point of this entire thing.

but eventually is not now, and right now, the sheer thought of moving on feels impossible in a way he doesn't know how to explain without sounding pathetic.

"i'm not really interested," he then says.

heeseung nods quickly. "yeah. no. totally fair."

"like, at all." "yep. got it." "not even a little." "heard you the first time."

jake rubs a hand through his hair as he exhales. "sorry. thank you, though."

heeseung softens a little. "don't be."

"look," jay speaks up again, with something that sounds genuine laced in his tone, which just makes it worse. "you don't have to be ready to fall in love with someone else, nobody's saying that. but maybe you should at least find out whether the idea of moving on is impossible because you're actually not ready, or because you've never let yourself try."

jake's mouth closes. because that, unfortunately for him, is a very valid sentence. a sentence with full structure and complete sense and a point that lands somewhere jake doesn't particularly want to confront right now. because he can't even imagine it without feeling like he's doing something wrong. which is stupid, because he has been single for almost ten months now. you went on a date. and you are allowed to go on dates. he is allowed to go on dates. everyone involved is technically allowed to do everything they are doing and that just makes it ten times more complicated because nothing ruins a good spiral more than the fact that no one is actually breaking any rules.

"i don't know," he mutters eventually, and jay just nods back, like he was expecting that.

"you don't have to know. just think about it." "i don't really want to think about it." "then think about why you don't want to think about it." jake lets out a small laugh, but it comes out wrong. "jay." "yeah?" "you're being deeply irritating." "i know," jay shrugs. "but i'm right."

jake hates that no one immediately disagrees.

heeseung just nods, not really saying anything else and sunghoon is just staring at the blade of grass in between his fingers.

after another minute, jake stands too quickly, brushing dirt off his shorts. "i'm gonna head home."

sunghoon looks up. "jake."

"i'm good," he says, already reaching for his bag. "seriously. i just need to shower."

the three of them give him a long look.

"don't disappear. you'll be okay."

jake pauses. then shrugs. "i'm not disappearing. i live with you."

then he swings his bag over one shoulder and starts walking before anyone can say anything else helpful, which is really just another word for unbearable at this point. and on his walk back home, jake thinks about it. not willingly, of course, but because now the idea is in his head and it refuses to leave.

he tries to picture it practically first, as if maybe it will make it less awful. heeseung gives him a number. he texts some girl. they agree on dinner. he picks a place that isn't too romantic but not too casual either. he shows up, she shows up. they sit down. they talk. all simple, normal things that normal people do every day. so maybe the idea isn't all too impossible.

maybe he could do it. and maybe that was the terrifying part. maybe he goes and maybe he survives it, or maybe he genuinely enjoys it.

or maybe, and this is the uglier truth he doesn't want to examine too closely, something deep inside him is scared and bitter and hurt that you are clearly trying to be okay without him. that you sat across from someone else and gave the world proof that your life could move on, even after him.

and so maybe jake is not mature enough to sit with that. maybe he needs to prove to you, to himself, to whatever higher power there is out there that he too can move on, even if he has to force it.

so by the time he enters the apartment, drops his bag by the door, and stares at his phone in his hand, the decision is already there. he unlocks it before he can talk himself out of it and texts heeseung.

jake: what's your friend's name?

her name is mina.

and she is nice. that's the first thing jake learns about her. she's nice in that easy, uncomplicated way that makes people comfortable. nice in the way she laughs at his jokes even when they're only kind of funny, which jake appreciates but also immediately distrusts because he knows, objectively, that he is not that funny.

the first date is at a cafe heeseung recommends. mina asks about his job, his roommates, soccer, what kind of movies he likes. she tells him about her own work, about her older sister, about how she hates olives but keeps trying them every year just to confirm she still hates them. she’s easy to talk to, the conversation doesn’t drag.

jake walks away thinking it could have been worse.

the second date is dinner. nothing too fancy, just some small place downtown with warm lights and a menu that takes jake too long to read because he keeps thinking about what you would’ve ordered.

which is unfair, he knows. unfair to mina, mostly, and also to him, maybe. but the thought appears anyways and sticks until the appetizers come out. 

mina then tells a story about getting locked out of her apartment once while holding a bag of frozen dumplings, and jake genuinely laughs that time, and it surprises him enough that he feels guilty for it immediately after.

and then he feels guilty for feeling guilty for having a moderately pleasant time with a nice girl who has done absolutely nothing wrong except not be you.

the third time, mina asks him if he's ever been to the park near the river at the edge of town. jake says yes before he thinks too hard about it, but unfortunately, he is already thinking hard about it.

she doesn't know it's where jake kissed you for the first time ever. where the two of you stood underneath a streetlamp in the middle of october, both pretending you weren't cold because neither of you wanted to be the first one to suggest going home. where you laughed against his mouth afterwards because he was so nervous.

she doesn't know any of that. she just says, "it's pretty this time of year," and jake just agrees like his entire chest didn't just cave in and goes anyways.

it's cooler out by now, the trees either fully orange or already shedding around them. jake buys them hot chocolate from a cart nearby because he doesn't know what else to do with his hands. she laughs when he burns his tongue, and he laughs too. and again, it's simple at first.

but every few steps, the park starts to become something else. a bench becomes you sitting cross-legged next to him with fries balanced in your lap. the river railing becomes where jake first grabbed your hand and held it inside his jacket pocket because you forgot gloves one winter.

that one streetlamp they pass becomes three and a half years ago, with you looking up at him, cheeks pink from the cold, your hair slightly messy from the wind, looking up at him with your eyes bright and teasing, saying, "are you going to kiss me or are you just going to keep staring?"

jake laughed nervously, caught off guard, looking down,"i'm not staring."

"you are. it's okay though."

"i'm…trying to be respectful."

"you've been staring at my mouth for ten minutes."

"that's not—"

"jaeyun."

and that had done it. you said it quietly and carefully, like you knew exactly where to touch the sentence to make him stop running from it. his smile softened.

"i just really want to do this right," he admitted, voice lower now.

then you stepped closer, tilting your head as you looked up at him.

"you've been doing everything right," you said with the softest smile on your face. then your hand came up just enough to catch the front of his jacket and he leaned it first.

and the first kiss was not perfect, by all means. he bumped your nose and then you laughed against his mouth. he whispered "sorry" even though he was smiling so hard the word barely came out and you whispered, "don't ruin it."

so he kissed you again, this time with your hand curled into his jacket and his fingers brushing your cheek like he can't believe he was allowed to finally have you like that. and when you pulled away, you had that kind of smile on your face made him feel, stupidly and immediately, like the whole world had narrowed down to one streetlamp, one cold night, one girl looking at him like she chose him on purpose.

"okay," you exhaled afterwards.

jake just blinked back. "okay?"

"yeah." you smiled wider. "you should do that again."

"you okay?"

mina's voice cuts through so suddenly, making jake blink hard.

"yeah," he says, looking away from the streetlamp before forcing a small smile. "just cold."

and still, after that night, jake keeps going. that's kind of how his life moves on for the next month. he wakes up, goes to work. comes home from work, plays video games with the guys until someone falls asleep. plays soccer on the weekends when the weather is decent. sees mina every now and then when their schedules line up and tries very, very hard not to spend the entire time wondering what you're doing on your end.

because mina is nice. and mina is funny. and jake likes her, in the general sense. in the she is a good person and this is objectively pleasant sense. in the sense that makes jake feel like if he was a decent guy, he would know what to do with that. instead, he finds himself sitting there, waiting for that ache. that shift, that terrifying, inevitable feeling of wanting so badly to know someone better and realizing it might ruin him.

but jake keeps trying anyways, because he convinces himself that maybe this is what moving on looks like—it's messy, it's nonlinear, it's effort.

by the seventh or eighth time they see each other (jake stopped counting because counting makes it feel like something), sunghoon casually brings up one night, "so are we ever meeting her or are you embarrassed by your friends?"

jake looks up from his phone. "i'm always embarrassed by my friends."

and that is how he ends up at the bar that weekend with mina tucked into the corner booth beside him. heeseung sits across from her, smiling too polite, sunghoon beside him, looking calm but observant in a mildly intimidating way, and jay at the end of the booth, already looking like he's pretending not to judge.

and jake sits there, hand wrapped around his glass, watching mina laugh at something heeseung says, trying to feel normal about the fact that maybe this is what his life looks like now—and then trying even harder not to think about the one person missing from the table.

it's around an hour into the night when jake wishes he didn't think about it too hard though, because he's pretty sure he manifested you. because then the bar door opens, letting in a breeze of cold air rush in, followed by a burst of laughter from a small group near the entrance that makes everyone at the table look over, and suddenly, there you are.

jake doesn't know how to really describe the emotions that rush through him all at once in that moment. fear first, maybe. then guilt. then shock, even though he really shouldn't be surprised, because this is your usual bar too, your usual people, your usual seat tucked under jake's arm before everything got complicated and then more complicated and then quietly disappeared.

he sees the exact moment you spot them, sees the way your expression pause, but not drop exactly, because you're too good for that. he just sees something in your face still, just for half a second, your eyes moving from heeseung to jay to sunghoon before landing on mina beside him. and then finally, him. and that's when jake adds a new emotion onto the list—nauseous.

but because you've already seen them and they've already seen you, you come over anyways and jake can see the equally subtle and deeply terrified looks the guys are giving him from the corner of his eyes as he chooses to stare directly at his empty glass instead.

by the time you reach the table, mina, bless her heart, is the first to speak, bright and excited and entirely unaware of the scene she just wandered into. "oh my gosh, you must be y/n!"

and jake feels everything in him still. of course she knows your name, of course. not in the way you probably know hers, by force and bad luck and most likely from the guys mentioning her to you before anyone thought to warn him this night might someday exist, but in a normal way. in that casual way someone learns the names of their boyfriend's friends.

boyfriend.

jake doesn't know if that word belongs there. he doesn't know if mina thinks it does. he doesn't know if you do. he hopes you don't and he hates that he hopes that.

you smile back immediately and it's polite and smooth and sweet and jake wants to crawl out of his own skin.

"hi," you say. "mina right?"

"yeah," mina says warmly. "it's nice to finally meet you. i heard you're, like, the glue of this group."

jake looks down at the table. you glance at him for one second before looking away and back at her with a small smile, "i try my best."

sunghoon then immediately shifts over, pressing closer against heeseung to make a small space at the end of the booth. "sit," he says, too loudly and too stiff. "unless you're meeting someone. are you meeting someone? you can still sit. or not. no pressure."

jay closes his eyes immediately.

heeseung mutters under his breath, "wow."

you let out a small laugh, and jake hates how fast his body reacts to it.

"i came with some people," you say, glancing vaguely over your shoulder at a small group standing near the bar, "but i can stay for a little."

so that's how you end up here, squeezed next to sunghoon and heeseung, and across from jake in that complicated way where it makes it impossible for him to not look at you.

the next thirty minutes go painfully slow for jake. mina talks about work, heeseung asks too many questions because silence makes him nervous, sunghoon makes one of his dry jokes and everyone laughs.

and you are perfect.

you smile when you talk, you ask mina about herself, you nod when she talks and you act like this is normal. like sitting across from the girl jake has been seeing doesn't make your throat tight.

jake, meanwhile, barely says anything all night. which you, of course, notice immediately. but mina also notices. mina notices and then everything proceeds to blow up in flames right afterwards. because after a while, she turns towards him, nudging his arm gently with hers.

"you're quiet tonight," she says, smiling softly, voice low but still clear enough for everyone at the table to hear. "tired, jaeyunie?"

and the best way to describe the mutual, shared reaction the table has at the sound of her saying those words, that name—that name no one else calls him because they've tried and he would shoot them down with something like "only y/n calls me that"—is like watching a house catch fire, explode, and then burn down into ashes in real time.

jake freezes. jay stops mid-sip. heeseung's eyes flick to jake so, so fast. sunghoon's face goes completely blank like he knew shit was about to go down and you—you don't move. you just look down at the drink in front of you and blink a few times and suddenly jake can't breathe.

mina doesn't pick up on it fully, of course, because she doesn't know. she doesn't know, which is the problem. it's soft, affectionate, and harmless to her. to her, it's probably just a cute nickname, something she tried once and he didn't correct because he had been too startled, too tired, too cowardly to explain that the name already belonged somewhere, to someone else.

your eyes stay down, and your hand around the glass is shaking now, and of course jake notices. he notices everything when it comes to you, apparently, except how not to hurt you. jake stays quiet, his heart pounding too quickly now, swallowing hard because there's now a lump sitting in his throat and he might actually be sick.

mina's smile falters a little. "what?"

"nothing," jake says too quickly. too quickly, because jay looks at him. too quickly, because you finally lift your eyes and you finally look right at him. and you're not angry, not even hurt in a way jake could apologize for. but it was like something small and private had been taken right out of your hands in front of everyone, and you're trying very hard not to make anyone feel bad for noticing you lost it.

you suddenly sit up a little straighter. "i'm gonna get some fresh air," you say, your voice too light.

sunghoon shifts immediately, "do you want me to—"

"no," you say quickly, already sliding out of the booth. then, softer, with a smile that doesn't fully reach, "i'm fine."

and there it is again. that word again. fine. the most useless lie any of you have ever told.

you grab your bag and step away from the table before anyone can stop you. everyone watches you go in a terribly awkward silence, and mina's brows pull together, turning back to jake.

"did i say something?"

jake's throat tightens.

"no," he says too quickly and too automatic before he feels an instant wave of guilt and pain and regret because now mina is there, kind and oblivious and confused, while jake feels like the cruelest person in the room for letting her borrow a name he never should have let anyone else touch.

"i'll be right back," he then says, already moving.

jay's head snaps up. "jake."

sunghoon says his name too, quieter. like a warning, or a plea, or both.

mina looks up at him, confusion still written all over her, "is everything okay?"

jake looks at her, then toward the bar's doors where you left, then back at her and realized, with something incredibly heavy in his chest, that there is no good answer.

"yeah," he says, because apparently lying badly is the only thing he knows how to do anymore. "i just need a second."

mina nods slowly as jake steps out of the booth. and as he walks towards the exit and through the doors, he can feel all three of the guys watching him like they already know this is either the first right thing he's done in weeks or another terrible mistake he's going to regret.

the cold air hits jake the second he steps outside and for one disoriented second, he just stands there under the weak glow of the bar sign, the sound of music and laughter muffled behind the door as it swings shut behind him. he looks both directions down the sidewalk before he finally sees you near the end of the block, head down, walking fast with your arms wrapped around yourself like you're trying to keep yourself together.

"wait—y/n—" his voice cuts through the quiet, rougher than he means it to be. you don't turn around, still walking away.

"i'm good, jake. seriously," you sound small as you call out behind you.

he jogs a little to catch up. "no, please," he says, voice heavy. "can we just talk?"

you turn in your steps so sharply that jake has to stop short, his shoes skidding slightly against the pavement. jake halts in his step, brows furrowed, chest rising up and down.

"why?"

jake blinks back at you, shaking his head slightly in confusion. "w-what?"

"why," you repeat, and your voice is already trembling, already angry, your eyes already shining with the kind of tears you've been holding back for too long. "that night in your car, when you told me you didn’t know if you’d figured—" you gesture vaguely between the two of you, around the street, at the space where your lives used to fit together cleanly. "if you’d figured all this shit out. our breakup, who you are, what you wanted, all of it. you said you didn’t know."

jake doesn’t say anything. he just stands there, breathing too hard, watching the tears gather along your lashes.

"so why did you do it?" you ask.

his throat tightens.

"why did you—" your voice cracks, and you press your lips together like you hate yourself for it. "why did you break us?"

and that was the real question from that night in the car. the one you were too scared to ask because the answer terrified you. not did you figure it out? but was it worth it? did losing you give him whatever he thought he needed? did ruining the best thing in his life at least mean something?

jake looks away first. he looks away and he knows he's a coward and that he always has been a coward in the moments that matter most.

"y/n—" he says, barely above a whisper.

"no." you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks now. "no, don’t do that. don’t say my name like that, like you’re hurt because i’m finally asking.

he goes quiet, his arms hanging uselessly by his side. because maybe that’s what he should have done the first time. maybe he should've listened, and stayed, and let you be angry without trying to turn it into something easier for him to handle.

"you made that decision alone," you say, voice cracking hard now as you spoke louder, faster, "you stood there and told me it was for the best, and i believed you because i loved you, and because you looked so sad saying it that i thought…" you swallow, wiping angrily under one eye. "i don’t know. i thought maybe loving you meant trusting that you knew what you needed."

jake can’t breathe right. he blinks hard, one of his own tears now running down his face.

“i trusted you more than i trusted myself,” you whisper. “like loving you made me stupid.”

his head snaps up. “i never thought that.”

“but you acted like it.”

jake shakes his head, looking down at the ground, silently begging the universe that this is all some sick, cruel dream. he has no defense, nothing he can say that can reverse this entire night, this entire past year that's been haunting his every waking moment of every day. so he just stands there and takes it.

"you acted like you could decide what hurt less for both of us," you continue. "like you could walk away and call it mercy. like—" you stop, letting out a broken exhale to ground yourself for a moment.

jake’s eyes burn.

"it wasn’t like that."

"then help me understand," you say, words coming out more like a plea, "because i have been trying to understand you for eleven months, jake. eleven months. i have replayed every conversation, every look, every stupid quiet moment before you left, trying to figure out what i missed."

his jaw trembles and he hates that it does. he hates that he has no right to look hurt and ruined when you're the one he left, you're the one who he broke.

"and then you pull me back into this fucked up mess," you say, voice rising. "you act jealous, you tell people we're together, you text me. you ask me to come over. you look at me like that. you touch me like you—"

you stop. then he watches as your face crumples for half a second before you force it back.

"like you just want the easy parts of me without actually choosing me."

and that one goes straight through him. that one makes jake feel like he just got punched right in the gut and he wants to vomit everything inside him right then and there because no other words said could be untrue.

"you know that's not what i was doing," he says, stepping forward, and it's the first thing he's said steady enough. "you know that's not true, y/n."

your eyes flash. "then what were you doing?"

jake doesn't answer fast enough, not because he doesn't know, but because he's terrified that he does. because you’re standing there with tears streaming down your face, close enough for him to reach for and too far for him to deserve, and every possible version of the truth makes him sound exactly like the person he never wanted to be to you.

you just nod, crying harder now, almost laughing like you can't believe you expected anything else from him. "exactly."

there's a beat of silence.

"i'm sorry," the words fall out of him uselessly. too small, too minor for what they're standing in. his voice breaks again. "i'm so sorry."

"i know," you whisper, and that somehow makes it hurt worse. "i know you are. i know you're sorry. i know you didn't mean to hurt me. i know you're confused and scared and whatever else you are, and i keep letting that matter more than the fact that you hurt me anyways."

jake forces himself to look at you, and you look so small in front of him, so broken, because of him.

"and i know i’m part of it," you say, voice softer now. "i know i keep letting it happen. the first night in your car, in your apartment, every time after that. i keep answering and showing up and asking you to, and i know that’s on me too. i’m not pretending i’m innocent here."

"don’t," jake lets out quietly. "don’t blame yourself for me being selfish."

for a second, you just stare at him. then your face twists into something sad, angry, tired, all of the above. 

“then stop being selfish.”

he flinches and you see it, but you keep going anyway.

"because i don’t know what you want from me anymore." your voice breaks completely into a sob there, and you press a hand to your chest like the words physically hurt coming out. “i don’t know if you want me to wait. i don’t know if you want me to move on, and trust me, i tried so, so hard to. and i don’t know if you want to be my friend or my ex or whatever the fuck this is supposed to be when you look at me like you still want me and then bring your new girlfriend to places we share with our friends.”

"she's not—"

you shake your head, forcing out a bitter laugh. "don't correct me on the technicality, yun. please. not right now."

his mouth closes.

"maybe she's not your girlfriend," you say, tears still falling. "maybe you don't know what she is either. apparently that's kind of your thing now." you gesture back to the bar behind him. "but she's in there right now, thinking she's something in your life enough to call you that name, and i was supposed to just sit there and smile like you weren't texting me to come over a month ago like it would actually mean something."

jake's eyes squeeze shut for a second. his face immediately feels hot.

"it did," he forces out through a choked breath. "every single time, it meant something."

you go still. then, quieter, "did it?"

and that one hurt, because he wants to say yes immediately. he wants to say of course it did, are you insane, it meant everything, it has meant everything since the second you walked out of his apartment eleven months ago and took every version of his future with you.

"to me," he says, voice shaking. "yes."

"then say it," your expression shifts. "say what this is."

jake's mouth opens but nothing comes out. because the truth is too ugly and too honest for him to just hand to you. that he regretted leaving almost immediately, but his pride was too fragile to admit it and his fear too loud to undo it. that he broke your heart trying to save himself, then came crawling back to you in pieces because he still missed you, wanted you, loved you but couldn't bring himself to say it.

that he has spent the last year making decisions too big for him and then acting surprised when he finds out he can't carry them.

you nod once, like his silence confirms something you were already afraid of.

"yeah," you whisper.

"y/n—"

"i love you, jaeyun."

everything in him stops. everything physically hurts immediately.

it’s been nearly a year since he last heard you say those words, and after all that time, this is what they sound like now. not warm, not sleepy, not mumbled against his shoulder in the morning. they sound ruined. they sound like something you wish you could take back from your own heart, like you wish it wasn't true. like the words have been sitting in your throat for months, cutting you open every time you swallow them back.

"i love you," you say again, crying openly now. "and that is the worst part, because i don’t know what to do with it anymore. i don’t know where to put it."

jake's vision blurs.

"i love you too," he says, and it comes out broken. "i never stopped."

your face crumples and for one awfully slow second, he thinks you might step towards him. but instead, you step back, shaking your head.

"then you need to figure your shit out," you say, voice shaking. "because i can’t keep doing it for you."

he takes a step forward, and you immediately shake your head even harder. "no."

he freezes, his hands trembling like they're instinctively trying to reach you and comfort you and tell you that the two you are going to be okay. "please," he whispers.

"i can’t keep doing this." you wipe at your cheeks with both hands now, angry at the tears, angry at him, angry at yourself. "as friends. as exes. as whatever the fuck this is. i can’t keep being around you and pretending like we’re okay when we haven’t been okay for a long time."

jake has never hated himself more. not when he broke up with you. not when he woke up next to you in your bed a few months ago and left without saying anything. not even inside the bar, when you watched mina fit into his life and he did nothing fast enough to stop it. this is worse. this is you finally telling him what his pride, his fear, his confusion—what it all cost, and he has to stand here and hear every word.

"i need to go," you say. "i really hope you find what you need, yun. genuinely."

and that is the final blow to what's left of jake's heart. because after all of it, after ten minutes of standing in the cold and crying through every way he hurt you, after finally letting out what you've been carrying with you for nearly the past year, the last thing you give him isn't anger. it's still kindness, the tired, broken, honest fragments of it you have left. the kindness that still wants the best for him even if you can no longer be the person who helps him find it.

jake doesn’t follow when you finally turn and walk away. he stands there on the sidewalk, under the distant bar light, with the door somewhere behind him full of warmth and music and people who have no idea his whole life just split open in the middle of the street.

and for a long time, he doesn’t move. because jake had spent the last eleven months convincing himself he was fine.

he wasn’t fine. he hasn't been fine in a long, long time.

jake has felt heartbreak before. heartbreak was the first morning after the breakup, waking up on his side of the bed and reaching for a body that wasn't there anymore. he's felt sadness too. sadness was seeing you laughing in the same room as his friends and realizing he was missing his best friend, even though she was only five feet away. anger, definitely. anger was seeing red at that party all those months ago when jungwon stood too close to you, when jake realized the world didn't stopped wanting you just because he had been stupid enough to let you go.

but this? this is new. this is numbness. jake feels numb and hollow and empty because he thinks he really, truly lost you this time. which is exactly what he had been so afraid of in the first place, and somehow, impossibly, the place every one of his decisions had been leading him towards.

because at least during those first eight months after the breakup, he still had you in some way. you, as his friend. you, as the girl who still texted the groupchat and showed up to game night and smiled at him sometimes, even if the smile was forced or polite.

then you, as the girl he kept finding his way back to in the worst possible way. one night that became another. one mistake both of you swore wouldn't happen again until it did. one almost, then another, then another, all of them close enough to feel like love and far enough that neither of you had to say what it really was.

but now, you are just y/n. someone who used to everywhere, but now nowhere. someone who is suddenly trying very, very hard to make it seem like you were never in his life at all.

the texts stop completely. the guys stop mentioning you whenever jake is in the room, which just makes everything obviously ten times worse. conversations bend around your name, jokes cut off too early. heeseung starts saying "someone" when he means you, and jay starts glaring at him every time he does.

you unfollow jake on everything too. which is a stupid and small thing for jake to overthink, except he sits there anyways staring at his phone for ten full minutes when he notices, feeling like someone reached into his life and took one more ordinary thing he didn't know he was still counting on.

game nights still happen, just not the same, for obvious reasons. your usual spot on the couch stays empty the first time, and everyone pretends not to notice. the second time, sunghoon sits there by accident and then looks so uncomfortable about it that he gets up halfway through the night and says the angle is bad for his neck. jake doesn't say anything.

figuring his shit out, jake learns very quickly, is not nearly as poetic as it sounded when you said it. it's mostly quiet. ugly, sometimes, and then boring, often. it's waking up and trying not to check his phone. then it's opening your contact anyways, staring at your name until his chest hurts, then locking his phone and putting it facedown because missing you is not the same thing as respecting you.

figuring it out is telling mina the truth.

not all of it, because some of it is not hers to carry anyways, but enough. that she's nice, that she did nothing wrong, that he's sorry for trying to turn her into proof that he was ready when he wasn't.

mina listens quietly, then she nods and says, "i hope you figure it out."

and jake almost laughs, because of how ironic that is.

but he tries and frankly, badly, at first. but then a little less badly.

he plays soccer even when he doesn't feel like moving, he lets sunghoon drag him to the grocery store and he tries to cook a new recipe which he inevitably butchers, but at least he tried.

one night, they're all sitting around in the living room when heeseung starts telling a story. and being heeseung is heeseung, he gets too invested and realizes halfway through that the story involves you. your name catches before it leaves his mouth and he tries to clear his throat just as quickly but there's an awkward pause anyways.

that's when jake says, "you guys can say her name."

the room goes quiet. he keeps his eyes on the tv in front of him.

"i mean it," he says. "you don't have to keep acting like she died."

sunghoon is the first to answer. "good," he says, too quickly. "i was running out of fake names to use in my stories."

heeseung lets out a laugh that sounds mostly relieved. jay doesn't say anything, but later, when they're cleaning up, he squeezes jake's shoulder and leaves it there for half a second and jake understands.

winter starts to slowly settle in, enough for the windows to fog in the morning, that the bar puts festive lights up. enough that jake starts seeing his breath in the air and starts wearing jackets over his hoodies. enough that the park near the river turns gray and bare, all the leaves gone now.

jake goes there alone one night. he tells himself he's just on a walk, because he read somewhere that they're good for you and he's trying to be better at whatever “good for him” looks like, so he puts on a jacket over his hoodie, shoves his hands into its pockets, and walks.

he walks until he gets to the spot. until he gets to the streetlamp where he kissed you for the first time and he stands there and waits for the memory to swallow him whole.

he stands there and closes his eyes and it hurts. it really, really hurts. but then he opens his eyes and realizes it doesn't destroy him, that he's still standing and that he's, relatively, more or less, okay. so he stays there for a minute, then for two more. then he breathes in, breathes out, and for the first time, he lets himself remember you without turning the memory into a reason or an excuse to want something from you.

he just lets himself miss you.

because maybe healing is not forgetting. maybe healing is learning how to hold the memories even if it cuts him, even if it hurts. maybe healing is letting himself fully feel every emotion, everything he ignored, pretended didn't exist, everything he thought would disappear if he kept moving.

so jake keeps trying.

he fixes the plant on his window sill, he takes down the broken string light instead of leaving it slowly dying, blinking above his bed. he washes the hoodie you used to steal the most and folds it into the back of his drawer.

he starts making decisions. small ones, but his own ones. what to eat, where to go. what to do with a free afternoon when there is no you to ask, no you to orbit, no you to think about. and then slowly, so, so slowly, jake starts to understand.

maybe he had been right about one thing.

he did need to know who he was without you.

not because loving you made him less himself, but because he had loved you so much, so completely, that somewhere along the way he had started using love as a place to hide. a safe place to hide from fear, from change, from the possibility of becoming someone you might not need.

so he lets you stay gone. and everyday, it feels impossible. but every day, he does it anyway. and somewhere in the middle of the cold, ordinary winter, jake feels the difference.

he can live without you, he is living without you. bad on some days, better on others, but he can, regardless. and that is what makes the truth clearer to him, because wanting you is not the same as needing you to hold him together, loving you is not the same as being unable to stand alone.

because you are a part of him in a way that he can still learn to survive without, but like a language he learned so deeply he still thinks in it sometimes, or like a song he knows by heart even without hearing it for years. like a home, not because he has nowhere else to go, but because even after he finally learns how to leave, some part of him still chooses to return one day.

and jake knows, if he ever gets the chance to tell you this, he knows he can't come back with just regret, because regret is not enough. missing you is not enough. even love, by itself, it not enough if all it does is ask you to carry the weight again.

so that's why jake keeps trying. not so you'll come back, even though a large part of him wakes up every day still wishing you could, but because if you ever do, he wants to be your someone who knows how to love you without making you responsible for holding him up. and even if you don't—

jake closes his eyes again. breathes through the ache.

even if you don't, then he still has to become that person anyways.

the holidays come eventually, which makes everything sting in a little more specific way, because this is the time of year jake usually takes you home. for three years in a row, you had been there. in his parents' kitchen, stealing pieces of food before dinner and pretending you weren't. on the couch with his cousins, arguing over a kid's movie, beside him at the dinner table, your knee pressed against his under the tablecloth, laughing at something his aunt said while jake sat there feeling stupidly proud that you fit into his life so easily.

this year, he goes home alone. his mom opens the door first, pulls him into a hug, and looks over his shoulder, still expecting you to be standing behind him with a bag in one hand and that polite, nervous smile you always had for the first five minutes before remembering everyone already loved you, already made space for you like you were always going to be there.

"just you?" she asks him gently.

jake holds the strap of his bag a little tighter, and for a second, he almost lies, because it would be too easy. too easy to say something like, oh she's busy this year, or visiting her family, or work stuff. something simple and normal. something that lets the idea of the two of you keep existing together in someone else's version of reality out there for just a little longer. but even he knows that wouldn't be fair and it definitely wouldn't be the healing he has been trying, miserably and imperfectly, to do. so instead, he swallows hard and looks at his mom with a sad smile.

"we're not together anymore," he says.

his mom's face changes and he doesn't try to ignore it this time. "oh, sweetheart," she says softly.

one by one, the rest of his family finds out too.

his aunt asks where you are while setting plates down. his cousins says your name too casually from the living room. his dad pauses for half a second before patting a hand gently on jake's shoulder and saying he's sorry in that quiet, steady way that makes jake want to be eight years old and cry to him again.

but regardless, each time, jake tells the truth. he doesn't tell the whole story, not every ugly detail, but just enough. yes, you guys broke up. yes, it's hard. yes, he misses her. he lets everyone look at him sadly, he lets everyone see his sadness, too. he lets the loss be real instead of hiding it behind some convenient lie, and he has to live in rooms where people know it now.

everything else happens anyways, like christmas dinner where he argues with his brother over who gets the corner piece of dessert. he opens gifts the next morning and laughs when his uncle gives him socks with his own face printed on it. he watches movies on the couch while the house gets warm and loud around him.

he doesn't pretend it doesn't hurt. he doesn't pretend he isn't aware of the empty space next to him where you used to sit with a blanket pulled up to your chin, whispering commentary into his ear until he almost choked trying not to laugh. he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t look in the mug cabinet and remember the ugly holiday mug you loved for no reason.

but he also doesn't shut down, because life is still happening. because his family is still there and his cousins are still annoying and his mom is still asking him if he wants more hot chocolate. because love, jake is starting to learn, does not become less real just because one version of it is gone.

jake goes back to the city in time for new year's, mostly because jay rents out the same rooftop every year for the countdown party, and jake has gone every year. before he met you, after he met you, while he dated you. and now, it'll be after he lost you. he goes anyways, because he knows that avoiding every place that might still have your finger print on it won't do anything good for him.

the city is freezing by the time he gets there, all sharp wind and wet pavement and people spilling out of restaurants in glittery dresses and jackets that are too thin, but laughing anyways because that's just how these things go.

jay meets him by the elevator with a drink in one hand and a look on his face that is trying very hard to not look surprised.

"you came," jay says, smiling.

jake gives him a look. "you invited me."

then jay's expression softens just a little, enough that jake knows what he's really asking. if he's okay, if he's ready, if this isn't going to be too much for much.

jake looks past him, toward the rooftop door where music and laughter is already spilling out into the hallway.

"i'm good," he says, nodding like it'll make his statement more convincing.

jay's brow lifts. jake exhales, then corrects himself.

"i'm not good," he says quietly. "but i'm okay enough."

jay then studies him for a second before nodding. "okay enough is solid."

"thanks."

"low bar," jay gives him a smile, "but we celebrate growth. i'm proud of you."

and jake gives him a genuine smile back.

the rooftop is exactly the same as it always is—string lights wrapped along the railing, heaters glowing red in the corners, a dj booth in the center and an open bar with far too many people tucked into the side. heeseung is already arguing with sunghoon near the speakers, and sunghoon is already wearing a party hat against his will.

jake takes a drink jay hands him, talks when people talk to him, laughs when sunghoon says something funny, lets heeseung drag him into a conversation with someone from work whose name jake immediately forgets and feels only mildly guilty about.

he doesn't scan the party for you right away. he notices the lights first, the skyline, the little plastic champagne glasses stacked too close to the edge of one of the tables. he notices the cold air biting at his knuckles and the loud music and the way midnight feels close.

but, eventually, he notices you.

he wasn't looking, but it's that part of him that still knows when you enter a room. you're standing near the far side of the rooftop, close to the railing, talking to jay's cousin with a drink held loosely in one hand. your coat is buttoned up against the cold, your hair moving slightly in the wind, your face turned toward the city lights.

jake goes still, because even after everything, even after all his trying, his body can't help but react that way. but this time isn't like before. this time isn't like the bar, when seeing you walk in felt like a punishment he earned. not like the party months ago, when jealously made him stupid. this was different.

it still hurt, of course. the sight of you still finds the softest place in him and presses down hard, but alongside that feeling is something else too, something close to relief. the kind of relief that isn't selfish, not the kind that thinks you being here means anything profound for him. just relief that you are here, that you are laughing at something and look less tense and that the world has held you and taken care of you even when he wasn't allowed to.

jake breathes in slowly. he just looks at you for one honest second from the distance and lets himself have it.

he misses you. he loves you. and for once, neither of those things has to become a demand. then, like you feel it too because of course you would, your eyes shift across the rooftop and land on him.

the noise around him dulls just slightly, and your expression changes, just barely. a flicker of surprise, then softening into something he can't name quite yet. but he just stays where he is anyways, and after a second, he gives you the smallest nod.

you look at him for a long moment. then, you give him the smallest smile back.

somewhere close to midnight, the rooftop starts to shift in that slow and natural way new year's eve parties tend to do. people shift toward the railing with their champagne in hand, someone turns the music down just enough for the dj's voice to cut through the cold air, announcing the ten-minute warning with too much enthusiasm and then people start pairing off without meaning to.

jay gets pulled into a conversation near the bar, heeseung disappears with two champagne glasses and jake just gives him a thumbs up of good luck, and sunghoon is arguing with someone about fireworks, someone who is most likely going to be the unfortunate individual who is going to kiss him in ten minutes.

and somehow, in the middle of all of it, jake's eyes find yours across the rooftop. but this time, he doesn't look away. you're standing near the far side of the crowd, one hand tucked into your coat sleeve, your face lit softly by the lights overhead. you look beautiful.

he loves how simple and true the thought is. how it doesn't arrive with panic this time, but just tenderness. just the ache of knowing, even after all this time, even after everything he ruined and everything he learned, his heart still knows exactly where to look.

so jake crosses the rooftop slowly.

he just walks towards you with his pulse beating hard and loud in this throat, weaving past laughing friends and drunk strangers and half-empty glasses and people holding up their phones towards the skyline.

you see him coming, and your shoulders tense slightly, but you don't leave, which he takes as a good sign. when he stops in front of you, the music is loud enough that he has to lean in just a little, close enough for you to see the exhaustion in his eyes, the faint redness there, the months he spent missing you without asking you to do anything about it.

"hey," he says quietly.

your throat moves. "hey."

for a second, neither of you says anything. then, because jake is still jake, and because his heart is currently trying to crawl out of his chest, he says the first honest thing he can manage.

“you look good.”

you pause for a moment, then give him a soft smile.  “you do too.”

he lets out a breath that nearly becomes a laugh. “i really don’t.”

and then the tension almost breaks right there, with that small flicker of something comforting and familiar falling in between the two of you.  your mouth trembles like you’re trying not to smile too much but also trying not to cry at the same time.

the music goes quiet again for a moment while the dj announces five minutes until midnight and the rooftop cheers.

jake glances toward the crowd, then back at you.

“can we go somewhere quieter?” he asks. then, quickly, softer, “only if you want to.”

you look at him for a moment and your eyes flicker to the skyline before back to him, and then you finally nod. 

jake leads you inside to the lounge just past the rooftop's glass doors, where it's empty now and the lights are dim and warm. through the large windows, the party continues outside in a blur of coats and gold lights and people waiting for the year to end. he closes the door behind you and all the noise goes muffled immediately. 

you stand a few feet apart in silence, arms wrapped around yourselves against the chill still clinging to your clothes, both of you reflected faintly in the glass.

then jake looks at you, and he really, really looks. and then for the first time in a long, long time, he lets himself be brave.

"i figured it out, by the way."

your eyes flick up to his as if in a quick second of shock before looking away just as quickly.

he swallows hard. "not everything. i don’t think anyone ever figures out everything. but what you asked me that night. what i wanted, why i left, why i kept coming back. all of it."

you don't say anything, your eyes now trained on something past him just so you don't have to look at him quite yet. he keeps going.

"i left you because i was scared," he says, voice low. "not because i stopped loving you or because you were holding me back, or because we were wrong. but because i loved you so much that i couldn't admit it and i turned it into something i thought i had to save both of us from." his voice cracks. "but i didn't."

you look up at him now, and your eyes shine immediately.

jake’s hands curl at his sides, like his body still wants to reach for you before he has earned the right.

"i was trying to control the ending," he stops, letting the words sit for a moment. "because some awful part of me was terrified that one day you would wake up and realize you didn't need me when i still needed you. that maybe you had become my whole life, but i was only part of yours and if you left first, i wouldn't know how to survive it. so i left first, i hurt you first, and then i convinced myself it was love because the truth sounded uglier."

a tear slips down your cheek, and jake sees it immediately and he almost stops. he almost stops, but he doesn't. he can't, not now, not after he spent a year missing you, hurting you, hurting himself, and hiding.

not when stopping would be easier for him, and the whole point is that he is done choosing what is easy for him.

"and then i kept doing it," he whispers. "i kept coming back to you in pieces i could get because being near you was the only time i didn't feel like i had ruined my own life completely. but it wasn't fair, i know it wasn't. i wanted the comfort of you without giving you the certainty you deserved."

somewhere beyond the glass, the dj's voice cuts through the music, muffled but clear enough, one minute left.

your lips part slightly, like you might say something, but jake shakes his head, eyes burning now.

"i’m not saying this because i expect you to forgive me tonight. i’m not saying it because it’s new year’s and everyone outside is about to kiss someone and i’m lonely. i’m not asking you to fix me. i’m not asking you to come back because i finally got hurt enough to say the right thing."

he takes a breath. then another. then he holds your gaze carefully.

"i'm saying it because you deserve to hear the truth from me. because i figured it out, and i couldn't let you go thinking my confusion meant you were ever easy to lose."

thirty seconds and people outside start gathering loudly, but neither of you move.

"i know how to be without you now," jake says, voice breaking around it, eyes glassy. "and i hate it. i really, really hate it, but i know how. i can wake up and live my life and stand in rooms where you’re missing and not make that your responsibility."

fifteen seconds.

his eyes search yours.

"but i look at you," he whispers, taking one small step closer, "and i still see my future."

your face crumples and jake wants to reach for you so badly his fingers twitch at his sides.

ten.

"not because i don’t have one without you," his voice breaks again, and he has to swallow hard, "but because every version of me that is honest, every version that isn’t scared and running and pretending, still chooses you. and not as a place to hide, not as someone to hold me together. just you."

five.

jake finally lifts his hand, slowly, carefully, letting it hover just beside yours, giving you every chance to step away.

four.

"i love you," he says, the words spilling out now in that quick way they do when it’s just the truth and he can’t stop it anymore. "i love you in a way i should’ve been brave enough to choose the first time. and if you can’t choose me back anymore, i’ll understand. i’ll hate it, but i’ll understand."

three.

your eyes drop to his hand, then back up to his face. and then finally, you reach for him, your fingers slipping into his, cold and trembling, and jake lets out a breath that sounds broken.

two.

“i love you,” you breathe, voice shaking, face wet. “and i never stopped choosing you. i just needed you to choose me back.”

one.

the rooftop erupts outside in loud cheers, fireworks bursting over the city, gold and red and blue spilling across the glass, lighting your face in flashes.

jake hesitates for one heartbreaking second, his forehead nearly touching yours now, his breath trembling against your mouth, like even now he's asking. even now, he's waiting. because after everything, after all the hurt and healing and polite smiles and quiet looks, after all the late night drives and one more times he had no right to ask for, he needs this part to be yours.

not taken, not assumed by him, but yours to choose.

and so you do.

you tilt your face up, and you kiss him. and it's barely anything at first, it's soft and a trembling press of your mouth to his, so light it almost feels like both of you are afraid to ask for more. but then jake kisses you back, just as gentle, and just as disbelieving. but then your fingers tighten in his and your other hand finds the front of his jacket and you lean closer, pressing yourself into his hold and then it's desperate in the quietest way. the kind that comes from two people choosing, after the long, long road behind them, to find their way back to one another.

he kisses you like this is something he should have been more careful with from the start, one hand holding you at the waist, the other rising to your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear he caused and is finally trying to deserve the chance to heal.

you kiss him back like you’ve been holding your breath for months. like anger and love and grief and relief all have nowhere else to go except the small, fragile space between you.

outside, people are screaming happy new year. people are kissing and hugging and spilling champagne onto the rooftop floor and laughing into the cold. 

inside, jake pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing unevenly, eyes wet. neither of your move, his thumb staying against your cheek, your fingers staying twisted in his jacket. 

and the year begins quietly between you. it’s not perfect, it’s not untouched, but it’s yours. 

"happy new year," he whispers.

you let out a tiny broken laugh, your fingers tightening like you’re still making sure he’s there. then you look up at him. 

"happy new year, jaeyun."

and this time, when you say his name, it sounds like coming back home. not because the long and complicated road behind you disappeared. it hasn’t, it will always be there.

but because, finally, he knows the way back.

꩜｡⊹ ࣪ ˖ as always,,,,ty for reading if you made it all the way here <3 MWAH

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[hoonkitti]

      NOT HIS BRIDE ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖺𝗋, 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖾𝖽𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽.

      𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 my head is spinning and my stomach is sick. say i'm in love, so it's hard to admit. i can't eat, i can't sleep. i think you're what's wrong with me. i think you're what's wrong with me.

  ⤫ 5730 ⤫ ― heavy infidelity, cheating, emotional manipulation, toxic dynamic, heavy angst, sunghoon smokes, pussy eating, kissing, missionary, creampie, asshole characters, two-timing, non proofread

  ⊹ 𐙚⋆˙˚ new layout . . . who is this? ++ also towards the ending is the second ending of what happened after the smut haha . . . and featuring hwang intak my baby <3

“are you for real..?” jay asked, voice low as he scrolled through the guest list on his phone. the groomsmen were in the waiting room, fixing cufflinks and hair. 

heeseung glanced back at jay through the reflection, swiping his hair back through his fingers. “what?” 

“you invited yn?” jay’s tone was disbelieving, he kept glazing between his phone and heeseung.

the older one turned around, shrugging. “well, yeah. she helped him a lot during his uni days—it’s just a polite gesture.”

jay stared at him, eyebrows pinched slightly. “a gesture? hee… she’s not just some friend. you know what they were.”

heeseung sighed, adjusting his tie. “they’re long over it, though. sunghoon’s moved on—he’s literally getting married later. inviting her shows there’s no bad blood. it’s just mature.”

jay hesitated for a long second.

“...man, i don’t know….” he muttered, shaking his head. his thumb scrolled through the other names on the list.

“dude, it’s okay,” heeesung said firmly, patting jay’s shoulder. “let it go.”

——

“shit—i’m nervous as hell.” sunghoon muttered, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. “this… fuck, this is really happening.”

the waiting room felt too small. the groom paced back and forth near the window, tugging at his collar even though it was perfectly fitted. the ceremony was starting in fourty minutes—his heart wouldn’t stop racing. 

jake watched him from the couch, eyebrow raised. “you good?”

“yeah—just—just nervous,” he sighed, putting his hands on his hips. 

jake stood up and walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder. “hey, it’s okay—big day and all. you’ve been through a lot, but you’re here now! you’re doing it, man!”

sunghoon let out a shaky breath, staring at the floor.

jake studied him for a second, then lowered his voice. his eyebrows furrowed in concern, jake was the best man, after all. “alright, look… do you need a hit? cig or something? just to take the edge off real quick.”

damn it—sunghoon was supposed to stop. but it’s so fucking hard. 

he didn’t even hesitate. “fuck, sure.”

they slipped out a side door that led to a quiet courtyard behind the venue. the evening air was cool, and the distant sound of guests and crews chatting inside felt muffled. jake handed him a cigarette and lighter, then clapped his shoulder.

“don’t take too long, yeah? i’ll cover for you.”

jake disappeared back inside.

he closed the glass doors.

sunghoon sighed before lighting the cigarette with unsteady fingers, taking a long drag. the smoke burned his lungs, but it didn’t calm the storm in his chest. he closed his eyes, leaning against the stone wall.

damn.

he’s really getting married today. 

in less than an hour, he would stand in front of everyone and make things official—vows, rings, signatures, the whole forever shit. a few minutes that would last the rest of his life. 

the thought made his stomach twist. every inhale of smoke felt heavier, like it was stuffing and pressing down on the weight already crushing him. 

sunghoon took another drag, longer this time, holding it longer than usual. the tip of the cigarette glowed bright orange in the dim courtyard light as he exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl up and disappear into the night air.

this was supposed to be the happiest day of his life.

so why did it feel like he was standing at the edge of something… irreversible?

there’s no way he was getting cold feet on his wedding day. no, no—this was a normal feeling, wasn’t it? people get nervous all the time. sooha and him had planned this for months—almost a year. 

it’s fine.

he ran a hand through his hair, messing up the styled strands. his mind wouldn’t stop spinning. 

would things be different if it was with—

“sunghoon?”

he opened his eyes.

you were standing there, frozen a few meters away, holding a small gift bag. the silk, rose champagne dress hugged you nicely, in all the way he remembered. you froze the second your eyes met. 

sunghoon’s heart dropped to his tummy.

“...yn?”

your lips parted in surprise. “what are you doing here?” your voice came out quiet, almost hesitant. the wind almost took it away from him. 

he let out a weak, breathless laugh, smoke slipping past his lips. “i needed some air. couldn’t stay in there anymore.”

the silence that followed was heavy and awkward. you shifted on your pretty heels, glancing back toward the venue door like you wanted to escape. sunghoon couldn’t stop staring at you.

you’ve gotten prettier since the last time he saw you—almost 5 years ago. you looked beautiful, still the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. and your eyes—behind those glittery eyelids, your eyes were glassier. 

he hated how familiar this felt. 

right, you thought.

“...i should go back insid—” you started softly. 

“wait.”

sunghoon stepped forward without thinking and gently grabbed your wrist. the moment his fingers touched your skin, something electric shot through both of you. he pulled you aside quickly without thinking twice, around the corner behind a tall flowering hedge where the lights didn’t quite reach.

just like all those secret nights before.

his eyes wouldn’t leave your face.

“why did you—? sunghoon,” your eyebrows pinched slightly, but you didn’t pull away your hand. “you’re smoking again.” 

a low, bitter chuckle slipped out of him, smoke curling between the two of you. he looked down at the glowing cigarette between his fingers, then back at you with heavy, longing eyes.

“it’s hard,” he admitted quietly. “if i don’t smoke… i think about you instead. and that’s a much worse habit.”

the words hung in the cool night. your breath caught, and for a second, neither of you spoke. sunghoon took another slow drag, but his gaze never left yours. 

it’s a lie, really. it didn’t matter if sunghoon smoked or not—because you were always on his mind. nonetheless. 

you averted your gaze, bringing your arms up to hug yourself. the champagne dress suddenly felt too thin under his stare.

“what are you talking about…” you whispered, voice shaky. “don’t be ridiculous, sunghoon. you’re getting married… you’re—you’re getting married.”

the cigarette burned between his fingers as he flicked the ash away, stepping just a little closer—not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel the warmth from his body.

“yeah, i am.” he said lowly, his fingers itching to cup your face. “doesn’t stop me from standing here wishing i wasn’t, though.”

your eyes flicked back up to his. there it was—that quiet pull. that look in your eyes was the same one you had five years ago when you were tucked underneath him, begging him to please give you a second chance.

you shouldn’t have come—but it still wouldn’t stop sunghoon from wishing he was married to somebody else today.

“sunghoon—just,” your voice cracked. you took a shaky breath, hugging yourself tighter. “just stop it. i’m here today because heeseung invited me, okay? i wasn’t even going to come at first—but i… i just wanted to see you off. properly. that’s all.”

sunghoon frowned, his expression darkened. the cigarette was long forgotten on the ground. he stepped even closer until the space between you felt almost nonexistent. 

“really?” he breathed, voice low and edging with something painful. “really, yn? you’ll just watch and let me get married to another woman that’s not you?”

the words hit hard. your lips parted, but nothing came out. before you could find your voice and the words to say, sunghoon’s hand moved—cuppung your face with a gentleness that didn’t match the look in his eyes. his thumb brushed your cheek once, then he backed you up until your shoulders met the cool stone wall behind.

your breath hitched. his other hand pressed flat against the wall beside your head, caging you in. he was so close you could smell the cigarette smoke, mixed with his cologne and his nervous sweat under his expensive tux.

“is that it, yn?” he whispered, forehead nearly resting against yours. his eyes dropped to your lips, fingers brushing your skin. “tell me right now that you’re fine watching me marry her—that we didn’t spend years loving and giving each other our firsts—and i’ll go.”

but you didn’t say anything. your hands trembled at your sides, fingers brushing against the front of his tux like you wanted to push him away, but couldn’t do it.

sunghoon leaned in slowly. so slowly. his nose brushed yours. his lips hovered just a breath away from your own, close enough that you could almost taste him. close enough that one tiny movement would close the gap and ruin everything. 

your eyes fluttered shut. his grip on your face tightened just a fraction.

“hm, yn? tell me you don’t love me anymore.”

the silence stretched for two heartbeats. 

then your fingers curled into his tie. you gripped the silk tightly, and slowly pulled him down. your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper, but shattered what was left of his control.

“... what are you going to do if i still do?”

that was all it took.

sunghoon crashed his lips into yours with a wrecked sound, kissing like a man who was drowning and you were the only air left in his lungs. there was nothing gentle about it—it wasn’t a gentle, romantic, reunion kiss, it was years of guilt, longing, and frustration poured out as he tilted your head back against the stone wall and deepened the kiss instantly.  

his tongue slid against yours, hungry and familiar, while one hand slid down to grip your waist, pulling your body flush against his.

you kissed him back just as desperately, tugging harder on his tie like you could keep him here. a soft, broken whimper escaped your throat and he swallowed it whole, pressing you harder into the wall.

the taste of smoke and mint on his tongue was making your head spin. his body was burning against yours, the crisp tux doing nothing to hide how badly he wanted you.

after a few heated seconds, sunghoon suddenly pulled back just enough to speak, breathing ragged against your lips.

“not here,”

before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and pulled you along with him. he moved fast, leading you through a different back door further down the courtyard. it was a room used for wedding preparations—folded chairs stacked against the wall, extra table linens, vases, and a wooden table in the centre.

the door clicked shut.

the second it closed, sunghoon was on you again.

he pushed you up against the nearest wall, kissing even harder than before now that you both had your privacy. both of his hands were on your waist now, sliding down to grip your hips as he pressed his body into yours. 

you moaned softly into his mouth, hands flying up to his hair, ruining his wedding hair. he groaned at the feeling, the sound vibrating down your body.

“fuck, i missed you,” he muttered between kisses, barely pulling away long enough to speak. he wanted to make it up for all the time he couldn’t kiss you. “missed you s’much.”

with a low groan in his throat, sunghoon grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you effortlessly. you gasped and instantly wrapped your arms around his neck. he set you down on the edge of the wooden table, stepping between your legs and pulling you right to the edge so your bodies were flush again.

the champagne dress rode up your thighs as he pressed closer, hands roaming up your sides, mouth never leaving yours.

sunghoon pulled back from the kiss just enough to look at you—lips swollen, eyes glossy, chest heaving. the sight of you like this snapped the last thread of whatever nonexistent control he had left.

without a word, he pushed you down.

his hand pressed firmly against your chest, guiding you until your back met the white tablecloth. you gasped softly as you laid flat, the movement made your dress ride up higher on your thighs, and sunghoon didn’t waste a second.

he stayed standing between your legs, eyes dark and hungry as they raked over you. his hands slid up your thighs, pushing the dress higher until it bunched around your waist. 

“fuck… look at that,” he breathed, fingers hooked into the waistband of your white lace panties—much like his future wife’s dress—then slowly dragged them down your legs. sunghoon shoved it in his pocket. 

you were completely exposed to him now, laid out on the table like a feast. 

you’re so wet, it’s glistening. you’re so wet for him.

sunghoon’s hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider. your pussy twitched at the cool air hitting your soaked folds, and the sight made a guttural sound rumble in his chest.

“shit, yn…” he whispered, dripping with lust. “look how wet you are. and you’re telling me to stop?”

he didn’t wait for an answer. 

the groom leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, collecting and scooping every drop of your arousal with a hungry groan. the moment his warm tongue touched your clit, your back arched off the table. he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud and sucked, flicking it with the tip of his tongue at the same time.

“sunghoon!” 

one of your hands flew to his hair, gripping the dark strands tightly as he devoured you. he was relentless—licking, sucking, burying his face deeper between your thighs like he wanted to drown in your taste. the wet obscene sounds of his mouth against your pussy filled the small storage room, mixing with your broken moans.

sunghoon pulled back for just a second, lips shiny with your slick, and spat directly at your opening before diving back in messier. his tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it—thrusting his muscle back and forth like a dick as his nose rubbed against your clit like a dog. 

he looked up at you through his lashes, lips glistening. 

“you taste so fucking good,” he rasped, the vibration making you whimper. “missed eating you out like this all the time.” 

your legs started shaking around his head. sunghoon tightened his grip, forcing your thighs open wider as he ate you like a man who was unsure when else he’d have this.

he flattened his tongue and licked along, slow stripes up your entire cunt before focusing back on your clit, sucking and flicking until your hips were grinding against his face. your back arched on the table.

“s—sunghoon—! hoonie—fuck!”

your thighs clamped around his head but he forced them open again, groaning into your pussy as he felt you trembling. he inserted his two fingers and began thrusting them back and forth—curling his digits while sucking on your clit till your whole body seized up.

you came hard on his tongue with a broken cry, hips jerking against his face as pleasure crashed through you. sunghoon didn’t stop—he kept licking and fingering you through it, drawing out every last shake and whimper until you were gasping, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

he stood up straight between your legs, quickly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his tux pants. his cock sprang out, hard and leaking as he stoked himself, eyes locked on you. 

when was the last time he’s gotten this hard?

sunghoon swallowed the lump in his throat, positioning his cock right between your folds where he slid the head between them back and forth. but before he pushed in, he leaned in slightly, sucking the inside of his cheek.

“...why didn’t you reply to me?” he whispered, chest heaving. “five years. i texted you, emailed you—reached out so many fucking times… and you just disappeared. if you still love me, why didn’t you tell me?”

you were breathing heavily from your orgasm, dress bunched around your waist, legs wrapped loosely around him. you looked up at sunghoon with glassy eyes.

“because we can’t be together, hoonie,” you breathed, voice cracking. “we… this… it was doomed from the beginning. we both knew that.”

his jaw clenched. 

“i don’t wanna hear that shit right now,” he hissed, then pushed inside you in one deep thrust.

you both moaned aloud as he buried himself to the hilt, your walls still pulsing from your orgasm. he didn’t give you time to adjust—started fucking you hard, the wooden table creaking under every brutal snap of his hips. 

sunghoon was getting married today, but he was still stuck up on the girl who made him felt like the world was his five years ago.

the groom leaned to kiss his ex-lover messily as he pounded into you, one hand gripping your thigh, the other tangled in your hair. the sound of skin slapping skin filled the storage room. 

“ah—ngh—!” you moaned, all high pitch and lewd as he fucked you hard and deep. your arms extended to loosely wrap around his neck, kissing him back just as needy.

sunghoon pulled back to rest his forehead against yours. “it’s because of him, isn’t it?”

you whimpered when the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. sunghoon snapped his hips harder.

“intak. it’s because of that fuckass intak—because you were guilty you were cheating on intak the whole time you were with me?”

your eyes widened, a broken whimper escaped your lips when he kept hitting that soft, good spot inside you that made your toes curl. “w—wait, wait—hah!”

sunghoon didn’t stop. he fucked you with punishing, jealous, deep thrusts as he spoke through his gritted teeth.

“i knew, baby. i always fucking knew. i didn’t care—i told you i didn’t care. i wanted you so bad i was willing to share you if that’s what it took… i kept hoping you’d finally choose me and leave him—but you never did.”

he thrust particularly hard, making the table legs scrape against the floor. it was hard to reply. it was hard to form words—not when each time sunghoon railed you deep, the words in your brain scattered like dominos and your mouth could only form moans and his name.

“you loved us both, didn’t you?” his voice cracked with bitterness and lust. sunghoon loved you more—he knew that. he knew he loved you more than intak could ever. even after five years, he doubted intak ever knew he was being double two–timed. 

“you left me cause you were guilty you couldn’t pick. instead of saying anything… you just disappeared. i could’ve—i would’ve—”

a particularly rough snap of his hips made you cry out, your nails digging into his broad, toned shoulders through his shirt. tears were slipping down your temples now, from pleasure, pain, years of guilt, and the fact that he just called you out like that.

sunghoon’s rhythm faltered for a second as he watched a tear fall. he leaned in and licked it off your skin before kissing you messily. “—i would’ve waited.”

he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, making you cry out his name. 

“but tell me how the fuck we’re supposed to be done when your pussy is still squeezing me like this.” 

sunghoon kept fucking you deep, hips rolling into yours with long, possessive strokes. the anger in his voice was still there, but it was melting into something heavier. 

“i’m sorry…” you choked out between moans, clinging to him. “hoonie, i’m so sorry—i didn’t know what to do then. i hurt you… and i couldn’t face it anymore. i’m so fucking sorry—”

“shh,” he cut you off. 

he slowed his thrusts, turning them into deep, sensual, intimate rolls that made you feel every inch, every texture of him. he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes locked on you as he moved inside. 

“it doesn’t matter anymore,” he murmured against your lips. “i’ve missed you so much. you make up for everything that happened.”

sunghoon kissed you slowly, deeply, swallowing your whimpers as he rocked into you. one of his hands slid under your back to pull you closer so your chests were pressed together. the other cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing your tears. 

his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck where he sucked gentle marks into your skin like a proof he was here with you. he was here with you while waiting to be called up to the church. 

“i still love you,” the groom murmured against your throat, burying himself to the hilt, just feeling you pulse around him. “i never stopped.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck as you held him close.

“you were supposed to be my wife—you’re supposed to be wearing that wedding dress today.”

the words hit you like a knife. before you could even respond, he straightened up, pulling out of you almost completely before slamming back in with a brutal thrust. 

a sharp cry tore from your throat. 

he grabbed both your legs, folding them up and pressing them toward your chest. with one arm, he hooked them over his left shoulder, nearly bending you in half on the table. the new angle made him sink so much deeper that your eyes rolled back.

then sunghoon started fucking you hard again.

the sound of skin slapping skin echoed loudly in the small storage room as he railed into you, eyes locked on your face the entire time. 

“shit—” he groaned, sweat dripping down his temple, hair completely ruined. “you’re supposed to be my wife.”

every thrust was possessive and heartbroken. your mouth fell open in a silent scream of pleasure, hands scrambled—one gripping his arm, the other clawing at the white tablecloth. 

sunghoon reached into the inner pocket of his tux jacket with his free hand, pulling out a small velvet box—the ring he was supposed to give jake, the best man, to hold during the ceremony.

he didn’t even hesitate. 

while still fucking you mercilessly, he opened the box with his teeth, took out the beautiful diamond ring meant for his bride, sooha, and grabbed your left hand.

“hoonie—!” you gasped, eyes wide. you weren’t sure what to feel about it.

he slid the ring onto your finger, watched as it sat perfectly on your ring finger like it should have been.

“you’re mine,” he growled, pounding into you even harder, the ring glinting under the dim light with every thrust. you squeezed around his cock harder, the guilt turning into pleasure real quick. “—i’m yours too, baby. i’ve never stopped being.”

“this is your ring, this should’ve been your ring.”

your walls clenched hard around him at his words, a broken sob–moan ripping out of you as another orgasm started building dangerously fast. the sight of his fiance’s ring on your finger while he fucking you on his wedding day was so wrong it made your head spin.

but you also couldn’t deny the pleasure you were getting out of it. 

“i can’t—i can’t hold it, shit,” you groaned, gasping. sunghoon’s rhythm turned messy and desperate, losing all control. “oh my gosh, hoonie, ‘m cumming—!”

you moaned out loud, shaking as another orgasm crashed into you—your pussy clenched around him, pulsing and gushing as you came with a cry of his name.

sunghoon too, burying himself to the hilt with a wrecked moan, forehead pressed against your legs as he came hard. thick, hot spurts of his cum flooded deep inside you, filling you up as his hips jerked through every wave. he kept grinding into you slowly, pushing his release deeper. he needed you to keep every drop.

“take it… fuck, that all of me,” he panted, trembling slightly.

for a long moment, the only sounds in the room were both of you breathing heavily. sunghoon slowly lowered your legs, but he stayed buried inside, not wanting to pull out yet. he leaned down and kissed you—slow, deep, full of everything he couldn’t say. 

her ring on your finger glistened as you cupped his face. 

he finally pulled out carefully, watching as his cum leaked out of your swollen pussy onto the white tablecloth. sunghoon helped you sit up, fixing your dress with gentle hands—you too, tying his tie properly. 

his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed.

“...do you have to go back?”

——

“hey, is it true?” 

“hm?” you murmured sleepily, nuzzling closer to him.

the room was dark except for the light coming from his desk lamp. the two of you were naked underneath the blanket, tangled in his sheets. your head rested on his chest while his fingers traced hearts and his name up and down your bare arm.

sunghoon shifted slightly, looking down at you. 

“you’re dating intak?”

.

your eyes widened instantly. you say up so fast the blanket slipped down your chest and you had to quickly pull it up. “what?”

sunghoon didn’t move, he stayed laying on his back, one arm still loosely behind his head as he watched you. his voice stayed calm.

“i heard it from my friends. they said you two have been dating for a while… or at least that’s how it is.” he paused for a second, then added quietly, “well… i’m just asking. really.”

the silence that followed felt suffocating. you pulled the blanket up even more, wishing if it was visible, it would hide the way your heart was hammering against your ribcage. 

“um, hoonie, i—” your voice cracked. you didn’t know what to say. you’re not sure how to come clean. not sure how to react. the guilt was written all over your face. how were you supposed to say it?

yes. i’m dating hwang intak. 

“yn,” he said softly, cutting you off. sunghoon reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “just be honest with me.”

he wasn’t angry. no—sunghoon was never an angry person. there was no rage in his voice, no accusation; just quiet disappointment and raw curiosity. his eyes searched yours like he was trying to understand what you were doing. 

“i’m not mad,” he continued, almost reassuringly. “i just… i thought i was the only one. that’s all.”

he let out a small breath, the corner of his lips twitching into a sad, half–smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“so… are you dating him?”

this was embarrassing. you were sitting there, naked in his bed, while the boy you were secretly seeing asked you about the other boy you were seeing. 

you stared at him, lips slightly parted. the way sunghoon was looking at you made the guilt twist even deeper in your tummy. would it have been better if he was mad? that way, you could reply with anger too.

you swallowed hard, gripping the blanket.

“...yeah,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “i’m dating him.”

sunghoon’s jaw tightened just slightly, but he didn’t look away. he simply nodded, taking a deep breath.

“i’m sorry,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out. “sunghoon, i’m really sorry. i didn’t know how to tell you. it started before… before what we have got serious—and i know—i know it’s fucked up… i know.”

you hugged the blanket tighter to your chest, eyes starting to water. gosh, you sounded like a manipulator. 

“i’m not even happy with him anymore,” you admitted, voice cracking. “it just doesn’t feel real with him.”

sunghoon was quiet. he was processing your words before he slowly sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist as he faced you properly. his hand reached out to gently hold yours.

“then why don’t you break up with him?” he asked, direct. “i’m right here, yn. you know how i feel about you. this isn’t going to change anythig—i’m not going anywhere.”

you looked down at your intertwined fingers, thumb brushing nervously over his knuckles. the silence stretched. 

“...it’s, um… it’s hard,” you whispered. 

sunghoon tilted his head slightly, thick eyebrows furrowed.

“why?” he asked. “if you’re not happy… if you say you want this,” he gestures between the two of you, squeezing your hand. “then why stay with him?”

you bit your lip, averting your gaze elsewhere. 

“because i feel guilty,” you confessed, another jab to your chest. “he’s been good to me. he really loves me. and i…i care about him too. i don’t know how to end it without completely breaking him. i don’t know how to do this without hurting someone.”

sunghoon sighed, his free hand went up to scratch the back of his neck—a habit he does often. 

he stayed quiet for a few seconds, just staring at your intertwined hands. 

then he asked,

“what about me?”

he looked up, meeting your eyes. when did you find it in you to look at him? “what do you feel about me?”

you squeezed his hand tiger, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks.

“i love you,” you whispered, but full of certainty. “i really do, hoonie. it’s not the same as what i feel for him, trust me. it even scares me how much i feel for you. i keep coming back to you even when i know i shouldn’t—because i love you so much. i’m in love with you.”

you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his shoulder.

“i’m sorry i dragged you into this mess. i never meant to hurt you. i just… you’re the one i think about when i’m not with you.”

sunghoon let out a soft sigh, hand coming up to caress your hair. 

“i love you too.” he murmured, kissing the top of your head, then brought your face up to kiss your temple and cheek. he’d go for a smoke, but he promised you he’d stop. bad habits.

“way more than i should.”

——

“take it… fuck, that all of me,” he panted, trembling slightly.

for a long moment, the only sounds in the room were both of you breathing heavily. sunghoon slowly lowered your legs, but he stayed buried inside, not wanting to pull out yet. he leaned down and kissed you—slow, deep, full of everything he couldn’t say. 

her ring on your finger glistened as you cupped his face. 

he finally pulled out carefully, watching as his cum leaked out of your swollen pussy onto the white tablecloth. sunghoon helped you sit up, fixing your dress with gentle hands—you too, tying his tie properly. 

his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed.

the silence felt personal before his phone started ringing loudly on the floor where it had fallen out of his pocket earlier. the sharp sound shattered the moment.

both of you froze. 

before either of you could move, the door to the storage room swung open—

—jake, heeseung, and jay stood there with sooha right behind them.

time stopped.

sooha’s eyes widened like it was going to pop out of her sockets—her hand flying up to cover her mouth. the bouquet she was holding slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a thud. her gaze dropped to your disheveled dress, your flushed face, the cum still dripping down your thighs, the marks on your neck, the stained lipstick… 

and the diamond ring—her engagement ring—sitting on your finger.

“sunghoon…?” she murmured like she was still trying to process it, her voice coming out a broken whisper.

the boys’ eyes widened as well.

“fuck…” heeseung muttered first, hissing through his teeth before he looked down on his shoes, pressing on his nose bridge. he looked down at his shoes, clearly stressed. “shit… sunghoon, what the hell…”

jake looked completely stunned, mouth slightly open like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. jay immediately went tight–lipped, his eyebrows pinched together. the three of them weren’t exploding in anger—it was worse.

pure disappointment mixed with exhaustion, like they… they had almost expected something like this might happen but still hoped it wouldn’t.

heeseung genuinely thought sunghoon was over it when he decided to email you the invitation. 

sooha’s lips trembled—she wasn’t sure what to feel. she knew there was someone in sunghoon’s life before—one he never fully talked about. but it was years ago! years ago. it was an ancient shit history that went on.

“what the fuck—?!” 

her voice finally broke through the realisation. she pushed past the three boys, forcing her way to the front. 

the second she moved forward, you and sunghoon scrambled off the table. you turned your face immediately, unable to look at her with the shame burning through your entire body. sunghoon stood in front of you on instinct. 

“what the fuck, sunghoon?!” she screamed, all heartbreak and rage. she shoved his chest hard. he stumbled back slightly, but not hitting you. 

“on our wedding day?!”

she hit his chest again, and again—frantic hits fueled by pain. “why the fuck is she here—?! why are you fucking her on our wedding day?”

jay looked at heeseung, he looked away.

“stop—sooha, stop,” sunghoon spoke. he grabbed both of her shoulders to stop her from hitting him, but she struggled, sobbing. 

“fuck… sooha, please,” sunghoon sighed, holding her shoulders tighter to steady her. “listen to me.” he continued, grabbing her wrists firmly to stop her from hitting him again.

she was crying. “listen to you? what the fuck do you have to say to me?!”

sunghoon glanced at you for a split second, then back at her. his grip on her wrists loosened, but he didn’t let go completely.

“i’m sorry that it happened like this—i really am,” he swallowed the lump in his throat. you shifted on your heels, darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips. “i… i can’t marry you, sooha. i’m so fucked up over yn—i can’t.”

sooha’s breath hitched. your eyes widened, and you found yourself tugging on the back of his blazer to hint at him—what? 

sunghoon disregarded both. 

heeseung, jake, and jay stayed completely silent by the door, unsure if they should step in or disappear. 

the groom swallowed the lump in his throat before fully letting go of her wrists, biting down his bottom lip. 

“i’m sorry—i really tried.”

without another word, he reached back and grabbed your wrist firmly, pulling you out of the storage room and storming past his stunned friends and sooha. you barely had time to react as he dragged you down the hallway, away from the hall, away from the guests and the disaster he’d just detonated.

neither of you looked back.

ㅤ© ⌞hoonkitti⌝ ⁞ all rights reservedㅤ please don't share, copy, or translate my work.

[jongst4r]

practice makes perfect — park jongseong

in which jay gives you lessons on how to get (and fuck) jake sim.

synopsis: when your crush on jake sim turns into full-blown panic about your complete lack of experience, your best friend suggests the one person on campus who can help: jay park — the dangerously attractive, notoriously skilled senior with a reputation for being an incredible teacher.

what starts as innocent lessons in flirting, kissing, and confidence quickly spirals into something much hotter… and much more complicated. because the more jay teaches you how to drive jake crazy, the more you realize you only want him touching you.

pairing: jay x fem!reader (x jake)

wc: 34.6k

warnings: smut! light fluff and angst

cw: college au, love triangle, mutual pining, slow burn. themes of virginity, virginity loss, sexual inexperience, anxiety about intimacy. mentions of alcohol. explicit sexual content (kissing, making out, dry humping, handjob, blowjob, p in v, unprotected sex.) heavy flirting and sexual tension, playful teasing, use of petnames, strong language.

a/n: even though today is my birthday, i wanted to be the one giving you a gift. so... yeah, here you go, the longest fic i've ever written. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did while writing! <3

the bass hums low through the crowded living room, a warm pulse that vibrates under your skin as you lean against the kitchen counter, half-hidden behind a cluster of red plastic cups.

the party is the usual saturday chaos — too many people crammed into this frat house off campus, bodies swaying and bumping into each other under the dim string lights someone messily hung on the ceiling. laughter spills over the music, loud, while the faint smell of cheap beer, cheap vodka, and even cheaper perfume hangs thick in the air, mixing with the occasional scent of cigarette smoke drifting in from the backyard. red cups litter every surface, and the floor already feels sticky under your sneakers from whatever got spilled earlier.

but your eyes stay fixed across the room, unable to look anywhere else, like some invisible string keeps pulling your gaze back no matter how much you tell yourself to stop.

jake sim stands near the sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard, where the night air probably feels cooler and less suffocating than in here.

one hand is casually tucked into the pocket of his dark jeans, the fabric hugging his legs just right, while the other gestures animatedly as he talks to a girl you vaguely recognize from your literature class — maybe her name is karina or something close. she’s laughing at something he said, head tilted back in that carefree way, exposing the line of her throat, her fingers brushing his arm every few seconds like she can’t help touching him. the way she leans into his space screams interest, flirtiness, and he doesn’t pull away. if anything, he seems to welcome it, that charm radiating off him.

and jake — good god, jake looks perfect. the kind of perfect that makes your chest ache with a sharp, longing twist.

he’s wearing a simple black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing those toned forearms that flex subtly every time he moves his hand for emphasis. his hair falls softly over his forehead in that effortless, slightly tousled way, like he ran his fingers through it once and left it alone, knowing it would look devastating. the dim lighting catches on the sharp line of his jaw, the warm brown of his eyes, and when he smiles at her, it’s the same warm, dimpled smile he’s given you a dozen times in the hallway or during group project meetings. the kind of smile that feels like sunlight breaking through clouds, crinkling the corners of his eyes and making his whole face light up.

he leans in closer to hear her better over the music, nodding along with genuine interest, his full attention on her like she’s the only person in this entire crowded house.

that’s the thing about jake. when he focuses on someone, it feels like the rest of the world fades into background noise — no distractions, no half-measures. just him, fully present, making you feel seen in a way that’s dangerously addictive.

you swallow hard, fingers tightening around your barely-touched drink until the plastic creaks under your grip. the soda has gone warm and gass-less, but you don’t care. you haven’t taken more than a sip in the last twenty minutes anyway, too busy nursing this quiet ache while pretending to scroll on your phone every few seconds so no one notices you staring.

you’ve been crushing on him for four months now.

four long, torturous months of stolen glances across lecture halls, light flirting in the library where his knee would accidentally brush yours under the table, and random texts about class notes that somehow turned into conversations about favorite movies and late-night snacks and that one time he admitted he secretly loves cheesy romance dramas even though his friends would tease him endlessly for it.

and, the thing is, everybody knows jake doesn’t flirt casually. if he gives a girl that kind of attention — the lingering eye contact, the playful teasing texts at midnight, the way he remembers small details like how you take your coffee — it means he’s interested in something real. dating, commitment, the whole boyfriend package with hand-holding walks across campus and good morning messages that make your heart race.

he’s had two serious girlfriends in the past three years, one lasting several months where you’d see them together looking so effortlessly in sync, the other stretching a whole year where rumors said they were practically inseparable until things eventually ended on good terms. each one looking blissfully happy in his presence, glowing like they’d unlocked some secret level of connection and pleasure that you can only imagine.

and that’s exactly why your stomach twists into tight, anxious knots right now.

you’re a virgin. painfully, embarrassingly inexperienced.

you’ve kissed a couple guys before, sure — awkward fumbling in the dark during high school parties, all sloppy lips and unsure hands that never quite knew where to go or how to make it feel good. but nothing more. no one has ever touched you the way you know jake has touched his exes. you’ve overheard enough whispered conversations in the girls’ bathroom or seen the way those exes still look at him sometimes with fond, satisfied smiles.

jake is the type who probably knows exactly what he’s doing — patient, attentive, skilled in ways that leave girls breathless and glowing, satisfied down to their bones. the kind of guy who takes his time, learns what makes someone moan and shiver, who makes sex feel like an art form instead of a clumsy rush. and the thought of him finding out how clueless you are makes your cheeks burn even in the middle of this loud, overheated party, a flush creeping up your neck that has nothing to do with the alcohol you’re barely drinking.

what if you freeze up when things finally get intimate? what if your hands shake too much to touch him the right way, or you don’t know how to kiss him properly with that slow, deep confidence he probably expects? what if you can’t make him feel good, can’t match the energy of his past girlfriends who clearly knew how to please him back? what if he realizes you’re not on the same level — not experienced, not sexy, not adventurous enough — and the interest in his eyes dims? the flirting would stop. the texts would fade. he’d move on to someone who doesn’t need to google basic techniques in secret or lie awake at night worrying about being a disappointment in bed.

you bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste the faint metallic taste, forcing your gaze away just as the girl leans up to whisper something in jake’s ear. her lips brush close, too close, and he laughs softly — that low, charming sound carrying across the room like a sweet melody cut through the bass. it’s warm and genuine, the kind that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach even from this distance.

you turn toward the counter instead, pretending to refill your cup from the half-empty punch bowl, the liquid sloshing messily as your hand trembles slightly. the ice cubes clink loudly in your cup, a small distraction from the way your heart pounds against your ribs.

around you, the party pulses on without pause. someone bumps your shoulder accidentally, muttering a quick sorry before disappearing back into the crowd. a group of girls nearby bursts into giggles over some inside joke, their voices high and tipsy. the music shifts to a slower track, something with heavy bass and breathy vocals that only makes the atmosphere feel more charged, more intimate despite the chaos. you glance back once more, unable to resist, and catch jake’s eyes flicking in your direction for the briefest second. does he see you? does that dimpled smile flicker with recognition? your breath catches, but then he’s turning back to the girl, saying something that makes her touch his arm again, and the moment slips away like smoke.

you set the cup down untouched, wiping your damp palms on the sides of your jeans. the insecurity sits heavy in your chest, a constant whisper reminding you that jake sim deserves someone who can keep up. someone confident. someone who knows how to flirt without second-guessing every word, how to touch without hesitation, how to make a guy like him lose control in the best ways.

and right now, that someone feels impossibly far from who you are — standing here in the corner, heart racing over nothing more than a smile across a crowded room.

the party swirls around you, alive and indifferent, but your mind stays trapped in that loop of what-ifs and quiet longing, the bass still humming low like a reminder that time is moving forward whether you’re ready or not.

“you’re doing that thing again,” a familiar voice says beside you.

yunjin appears like magic, sliding an arm around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. her long hair tickles your neck, smelling like coconut shampoo and the strawberry lip gloss she always wears. she’s been your best friend since freshman orientation — loud where you’re quiet, confident where you overthink everything.

“what thing?” you mumble, even though you already know.

“the ‘staring at jake like he hung the moon but also might destroy my entire soul’ thing.” she steals a sip from your cup and grimaces. “ugh, you’re drinking the watered-down shit again. come on, let’s get you something stronger.”

you let her drag you toward the other end of the kitchen, but your mind stays stuck on jake. even through the hazy, crowded warmth of the party, your eyes keep drifting back to where he’s laughing with some guys from the club soccer team. yunjin notices, of course. she always does, her grip tightening on your arm in a silent show of support while she pours something sweet and dangerously strong into a fresh red cup for you.

later that night, after the party finally winds down and the bass stops rattling your teeth, you’re both back in your shared off-campus apartment. the contrast is jarring, the heavy silence of the night settling over everything. the real conversation happens when the rest of the world is asleep. you’re sprawled on your bed in oversized pajamas, hair still slightly damp and curling from a quick shower, while yunjin sits cross-legged on the floor painting her nails a deep, glossy burgundy. the lamp on your nightstand casts a soft, amber glow across the room, and the distant city hums faintly outside the window.

“okay, spill,” she says without looking up, carefully dragging the tiny brush over her thumbnail. “you’ve been weird about jake for weeks. what’s the hold-up? he literally flirted with you for twenty minutes last tuesday in the café. he doesn’t do that unless he’s serious. he was giving you that puppy-dog look the whole time.”

you pull your knees tightly to your chest, hugging them until your knuckles turn white. the weight of the secret has been crushing you for days, and the words finally tumble out before you can stop them.

“i’m scared, yunjin. really scared.”

she glances up instantly, the brush hovering inches above her index finger. the playful tease drops from her face. “scared of what? jake’s a sweetheart. he’s not some asshole who’s going to play games with you.”

“it’s not him. it’s… me.” your voice drops to a pathetic whisper, your cheeks instantly heating up with a fierce, burning blush. you bury your chin in your knees. “i’m a virgin. completely. i’ve barely even done anything beyond clumsy high school kissing. and jake’s had actual girlfriends. serious ones. he knows what he’s doing, yunjin. what if i’m bad at it? what if i disappoint him? he’ll realize i’m not… enough. not experienced enough. not sexy enough. not whatever his exes were.”

yunjin sets the nail polish bottle down on a stray magazine slowly, giving you her full, undivided attention. her expression softens, the fierce protectiveness she always has for you melting into something tender, though there’s still a sharp spark of determination in her eyes.

“babe… first of all, that’s so normal. lots of people are virgins in college, even if they don't advertise it. second, if jake likes you — and he clearly does — he’s not going to expect you to be some kind of porn star on day one. he'd probably think it was sweet, honestly.” she pauses, watching your miserable expression. “but i get it. you want to feel confident. you don't want to be overthinking every single touch when you're finally alone with him. you want to blow his mind when it happens.”

you nod miserably, burying your face completely in your knees for a second, your voice muffled. “i just want to feel like I know what I'm doing. just a little bit.”

yunjin taps her freshly painted fingers on the carpet, her mind visibly whirring. then she smiles — that mischievous, slightly dangerous, scheming smile you know all too well. it’s the smile that usually precedes a terrible, brilliant idea.

“if you really want to impress him… there’s someone who can help.”

you peek at her over the tops of your knees, skeptical. “what do you mean? like a book? a podcast?”

“sunghoon’s friend. jay. jay park.” she says it like the name should mean something immediately, dropping it into the quiet room like a bombshell. “he’s discreet as hell. experienced — like, really experienced. girls talk about him in hushed tones in the sorority houses, trust me. apparently he’s an incredible teacher. no strings attached, just pure skill-building. he’s actually done this before for a couple of people who were in your exact shoes. helps them get confident, learn what they need to know. everything from flirting, body language, touching, all the way down to… you know.”

your eyes widen to the size of saucers. “you’re joking. you want me to ask a random guy to tutor me in sex?”

“dead serious. he’s not a fuckboy in the messy, heartbroken-trail way. more like… selective. efficient.” yunjin leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her tone shifting into something more serious. “and look, here's the thing. jay is known for fucking the girls he hangs out with, yeah. he has that reputation for a reason. but… you don't have to do that. he's not some caveman. jay is actually the best one on this entire campus to go to for advice, even if you never lay a finger on him.”

she waves a hand to emphasize her point, careful not to smudge her polish. “he might make an exception for you. you can literally just have the option of not sleeping with him. you can just go to him, tell him the situation, and let him give you advice. he knows how guys think, he knows what jake’s vibe is since they run in similar circles, and he can literally just talk you through it. teach you how to read the room, how to touch without being awkward. but if you do decide you want hands-on practice? he's the guy. if you approach him the right way and you’re honest, he’ll probably say yes to whatever level you’re comfortable with. he’s good at keeping secrets too. sunghoon swears he's the most trustworthy guy he knows.”

you stare at her, your heart hammering a rapid rhythm against your ribs. jay. you’ve seen him around campus, of course. everyone has. he’s impossible to miss — tall, with that sharp jawline, dark hair usually styled flawlessly, always dressed like he just stepped out of a high-end fashion magazine. he has this quiet, heavy confidence mixed with a sharp, teasing look that makes people nervous to look him in the eye for too long. the mere idea of walking up to him and asking him for… lessons felt completely insane. humiliating. but beneath the embarrassment, a tiny, buried part of you felt a thrill that was absolutely terrifying.

“i couldn’t,” you whisper, your voice shaking slightly. “yunjin, that’s crazy. 'hey jay, can you teach me how to be good in bed so i can go sleep with your acquaintance?' he’ll laugh in my face.”

“is it crazier than stressing yourself sick over whether you’ll be good enough for jake? you're practically giving yourself an ulcer over a guy who hasn't even kissed you yet.” yunjin raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “look, you deserve to feel prepared. empowered. jay’s the guy for that, whether he's just talking to you over a drink or showing you what to do. no emotions, no drama, just practice and advice. think about it. just promise me you'll think about it.”

the conversation lingers long after yunjin finally packs up her nail polish and leaves your room, kissing your forehead goodnight and telling you to text her if you need to spiral more. you lie awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the name jay repeating in your head like a dare.

you lie there in the dark, the harsh blue glow of your phone illuminating your face in the otherwise pitch-black room. your thumb hovers precariously over the message bar, trembling slightly.

you had found jay’s contact info through a mutual friend's group chat earlier that night, your heart racing so fast you could hear it in your ears the entire time you were saving his number. now, at exactly 2:17 a.m., the sheer absurdity of the hour matches the sheer absurdity of what you're about to do. you type a sentence, delete it. type another, delete that too. you rewrite the message five times, your palms sweating against the glass screen, before you finally force your thumb to stay still and craft something that sounds at least semi-coherent.

you: hi… this is awkward but um. yunjin mentioned you might be able to help with some… lessons? about confidence and stuff. with guys. i’m really new to all of it and there’s this guy i like and i don’t want to mess it up. if you’re not interested that’s totally fine, sorry for bothering you this late.

you hit send.

the instant the little outgoing chime sounds, a wave of pure, instant regret crashes over you. you toss the phone away like it’s physically burning you, letting it land somewhere in the tangled blankets at the foot of your bed. you cover your face with both hands, groaning softly into the quiet room. this is ridiculous. it's humiliating. who even asks for something like this? jay park is going to think you're an absolute freak, or worse, he's going to screenshot it and show sunghoon.

a minute passes. then two. the silence in your room feels heavy, suffocating. you're just about to reach down and turn the phone completely off to save yourself further agony when the mattress vibrates.

buzz.

your heart leaps into your throat. you scramble through the covers, fishing for the device and unlocking it with shaking fingers.

jay: well this is a new way to get my attention. lessons, huh? for a specific guy? bold.

before you can even process the dry, teasing tone of his text, another message bubbles up right underneath it.

jay: meet me tomorrow at the café near the east library. 4pm. we can talk details. don’t overthink it too much, newbie.

your stomach flips hard, dropping into a dizzying freefall. he said yes. kind of. it’s incredibly teasing, dripping with the exact kind of effortless confidence that usually intimidates you, but it’s still a yes. he didn't laugh you off. he didn't tell you to lose his number.

you roll onto your back, dropping the phone onto your chest and staring up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above you. the shadows from the blades cut rhythmic patterns across the ceiling, but they do nothing to soothe your mind, which is currently racing at a thousand miles an hour.

what the hell are you actually doing?

asking jay park — the campus mystery, the guy who walks through hallways like he owns them, the one with that intense, piercing stare that makes people look away first — to teach you how to flirt, how to touch, how to… god, how to do everything. and you're doing it all just so you can feel like you're enough for jake sim. the contrast between the two boys couldn't be wider: jake, with his warm, sweet, golden-retriever energy and easy smiles, and jay, who feels like a sharp knife, dark leather jackets, and expensive cologne.

but underneath the suffocating layers of panic and embarrassment, a tiny, unfamiliar spark begins to take hold. it’s a spark of excitement. of real hope. yunjin was right; you've been putting yourself through misery over your lack of experience. maybe this is exactly what you need to break out of your own head. maybe jay really can turn you into someone confident, someone desirable — someone who won’t freeze up or panic when jake finally makes a real move.

you pull the heavy blanket higher up over your shoulders, curling onto your side as your phone screen finally times out and dims, plunging the room back into total darkness.

tomorrow at 4 p.m. there's no backing out now. you're really doing this.

and as exhaustion finally starts to get to you, a nervous, slightly hysterical laugh escapes your lips into the quiet apartment.

what have you gotten yourself into?

-------

the next afternoon, 4:00 p.m. arrives far too quickly.

the café near the east library is tucked away in a quieter corner of the campus, mostly populated by grad students typing furiously on laptops and the heavy smell of roasted coffee beans. you change your outfit three times before leaving the apartment, finally settling on something casual but not too casual, your hands sweating the entire walk over.

when you push the glass door open, the little bell chiming above you feels like a death threat. you look around the dimly lit space, and there he is.

jay is sitting at a small corner table near the back window, looking entirely too calm and entirely too hot for a thursday afternoon. he’s wearing a simple black sweater, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms, and his dark hair is perfectly styled, just like always. he has a half-empty iced americano in front of him, his thumb casually scrolling through his phone. there’s a quiet, effortless aura of arrogance around him, but as he catches movement and looks up, his sharp features soften into a playful, lazy smirk.

“you’re exactly on time,” he says, his voice a low, smooth rumble that instantly makes your stomach do a flip. he slides the empty chair opposite him out with his foot. “sit. you look like you’re about to faint.”

you sink into the chair, gripping your tote bag tightly against your chest like a shield. “hi. thank you for coming.”

“relax, newbie. i don’t bite,” he teases, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. he studies your burning, red face for a second before a soft chuckle escapes him. “you know, you could have just told me the whole story in the text. saved yourself some typing.”

you blink, confused. “what do you mean?”

jay leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a dangerous amount of amusement. “yunjin told sunghoon. sunghoon told me. so, i already know the full context.” his smirk widens, making him look devastatingly handsome. “so you want to learn how to fuck properly for jake sim? bold.”

your entire face explodes in a fierce, blinding heat. you literally feel the blood rushing to your cheeks, and for a terrifying, very long second, you consider hiding under the table or running away as fast as you can. you bury your face in your hands, your voice muffled and laced with pure mortification. “oh my god. i am going to kill yunjin. i am actually going to murder her.”

jay lets out a genuine, low laugh at your reaction, the sound rich and surprisingly warm. “don’t kill her yet. she’s just looking out for you. and honestly? it’s refreshing. most girls try a lot harder to play it cool around me.”

you slowly drop your hands, your cheeks still burning a bright pink. “i don't even know what i'm doing here. this is insane.”

“it’s only insane if you make it insane,” jay says calmly, his playful tone softening just a fraction into something a bit more business-like. he pushes a clean napkin and a pen toward you, though he keeps his eyes on your face. “let’s treat this like an introduction. an assessment. before we can fix anything, i need to know what we’re working with. list all the things you think you’re bad at. everything you're worried about. so i know what to focus on.”

you stare at the blank napkin, swallowing hard. the vulnerability of it feels immense, but you’re already here, and you’re already completely humiliated. you take a deep breath and start listing them off, your voice dropping to a quiet whisper so the barista won’t hear.

“flirting,” you start, counting on your fingers instead of writing it down. “i freeze up. and… kissing. i’ve only ever done clumsy high school kissing, nothing serious. touching… like, knowing where to put my hands without being awkward. sex, obviously, since i’ve never done it. and… just confidence in general. i overthink everything until i ruin the mood.”

jay listens quietly, his sharp eyes tracking the movement of your fingers. he doesn't laugh, and he doesn't tease you this time. he just nods slowly, absorbing the information.

“okay. that’s a solid list,” he says. then, his gaze drops to how tightly you’re still clutching your bag, your knuckles white, your shoulders tense and pulled high. his eyes lift back to yours, perceptive and sharp. “you’re terrified i’m going to try to jump you, aren’t you?”

your breath hitches. you open your mouth to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. you are skeptical about getting physical with him. the idea of practicing on jay park feels like playing with fire, and you’re fully aware you might get burned.

jay sighs softly, leaning back again, his posture completely relaxed to contrast your tension. “look at me.”

you look up, meeting his intense stare.

“yunjin told you i have a reputation, and she’s right. i’m not going to sit here and pretend i’m a saint,” jay says, his tone completely direct, peer-to-peer, without a shred of judgment. “but i don’t do anything without absolute consent. i can see you’re stressed out of your mind right now. so, let’s take the pressure off. we are not getting physical. the ‘lessons’ will be entirely theoretical. just talking, advice, breaking down how guys think, and giving you the blueprint. unless you explicitly ask to change that later down the line, we keep our hands to ourselves. deal?”

the relief that washes over you is so sudden and heavy that your shoulders visibly drop. “deal. thank you. seriously.”

“don’t thank me yet, newbie. you’re still going to have to work on that confidence,” jay says, that familiar, teasing grin creeping back onto his face. he stands up, grabbing his iced coffee and sliding his phone into his pocket. “we’re done for today. meet me at my dorm tomorrow afternoon. third floor of the west quad, room 314. we’ll start the actual work then.”

he gives you one last, lingering look — a mix of amusement and something else you can’t quite read — before turning and walking out of the café, leaving you alone at the table with a racing heart and the sudden realization that you’re actually going through with this.

-------

the next afternoon, you find yourself standing outside room 314 in the west quad, your heart doing gymnastics against your ribs. you take three deep, stabilizing breaths before finally raising a shaking hand to knock.

the door swings open almost immediately, and jay stands there looking effortlessly put-together in a gray hoodie and sweatpants. his hair is slightly messy today, falling over his forehead, which somehow makes him look even more intimidatingly handsome.

“you’re on time again. i like that,” he says, stepping back to let you in.

his dorm is surprisingly clean and smells faintly of sandalwood and expensive laundry detergent. there’s a vinyl player in the corner, a desk stacked with textbooks, and a neatly made bed. jay walks over to his desk chair, spins it around to face the bed, and motions for you to sit on the mattress.

“alright, newbie. welcome to lesson one,” jay says, his tone shifting into something surprisingly focused. he sits down, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. “today is all about the fundamentals. eye contact, body language, and light teasing. if you can't master the tension before you even touch a guy, everything else falls flat. so, we start here.”

you nod, swallowing hard, trying to look like a good student. “okay. what do i do?”

“first thing: eye contact,” jay says, leaning forward slightly. his dark eyes lock onto yours, intense and unblinking. “when you’re talking to jake, you have a habit of looking down at your shoes or glancing away every three seconds. it makes you look like you’re guilty of a crime. i want you to hold my gaze. don’t look away until i do.”

you brace yourself and look straight into his eyes. one second passes. then two. the sheer intensity of his stare feels like a physical weight in the room. by second four, your heart is pounding, your throat feels dry, and your eyes instinctively dart toward the window.

jay lets out a soft, amused scoff. “four seconds. tragic. again.”

you lock eyes with him again, biting the inside of your cheek. this time, you manage to hold it, but you can feel your face flushing a bright, furious pink.

jay watches the blush spread across your cheeks, a slow, lazy half-smile spreading across his face. he’s clearly enjoying how easily he can fluster you, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “you’re cute when you’re panicking, you know that? but you need to relax your shoulders. you look like a statue.”

“it’s hard,” you complain, your voice a little high. “you’re staring at me like a hawk.”

“jake is going to stare at you too, newbie. you need to get used to it,” jay teases, leaning back in his chair with a playful grin. “alright, let’s move on to flirting and light teasing. pretend i’m jake. we’re at a party, i just walked up to you, and i say, ‘hey, i like your outfit.’ how do you respond?”

you clear your throat, trying to channel every romantic comedy you’ve ever watched. you try to mimic the slow, confident smirk jay always uses, but your lips twitch awkwardly.

“oh, this old thing?” you say, your voice dripping with a completely unnatural, overly dramatic theatricality. you even throw in a bizarre little hair flip that feels entirely forced. “thanks. i guess you don’t look too bad yourself.”

the room goes completely silent.

jay just stares at you for three long seconds, his expression an unbelievable mix of utter disbelief and pure, unadulterated amusement. then, he buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as a deep, breathless laugh escapes him.

“oh my god,” jay groans, looking up at you with tears of laughter in his eyes. “that was… easily the worst thing i have ever heard in my entire life.”

“hey!” you yell, grabbing a stray pillow from his bed and throwing it at his chest. your face is practically purple with embarrassment. “i told you i was bad at this!”

jay catches the pillow effortlessly, still laughing. “bad? newbie, that wasn’t just bad. that was completely goofy. you sounded like a cartoon villain trying to seduce a detective. and what was that hair flip? did you have a muscle spasm?”

“stop laughing at me!” you hide your face in your hands, completely mortified. “this was a mistake. i’m leaving.”

“no, stay, sit down,” jay says, his laughter finally dying down into a wide, bright grin. he tosses the pillow back onto the bed and leans in closer, his voice dropping into a softer, playful murmur. “i'm sorry, i shouldn't laugh. it was honestly kind of endearing. but we definitely have our work cut out for us.”

you peek through your fingers at him, pouty and defensive. “fine. how am i supposed to say it, mr. expert?”

jay shifts in his chair, his entire demeanor changing in a split second. the laughter vanishes, replaced by a smooth, magnetic confidence that makes your breath hitch. he looks at you, his eyes dropping to your lips for a microsecond before rising back to your eyes. a small, knowing grin plays at the corner of his mouth.

“if i say ‘i like your outfit,’ you don’t act like a theater kid,” jay says softly, his voice a low, teasing purr that makes goosebumps break out on your arms. “you look him right in the eye, hold it for a second, smile just a little bit, and say… ‘thanks. i wore it hoping you’d notice.’”

you stare at him, your mouth slightly open, completely paralyzed by how smoothly he delivered the line. the air in the dorm suddenly feels incredibly thick, the playful atmosphere from a second ago completely evaporating into something heavy and charged.

jay holds your gaze for a beat longer, making sure the lesson lands, before breaking the tension with a quiet chuckle. he taps his fingers against his knee, leaning back in his chair. “see the difference? subtle. playful. now, let’s try it again. and this time, keep your hair exactly where it is.”

you swallow the lump in your throat, trying desperately to shake off the weird shiver that just ran down your spine. he’s just demonstrating, you remind yourself. he does this for fun.

“okay,” you mutter, pulling your knees up to your chest on his bed and trying to center yourself. “subtle. no theater-kid energy. got it.”

“alright. take two,” jay says, his expression shifting back into that smooth, predatory calm. he locks his eyes onto yours. “hey. i like your outfit.”

you force yourself not to look away. you look at his dark eyes, then let your gaze drop slightly to his lips — just like he did — before looking back up. you attempt a small, knowing smile, though your heart is hammering against your ribs.

“thanks,” you say, your voice a little softer than usual, a little more genuine. “i wore it hoping you’d notice.”

jay doesn't laugh this time. he stays perfectly still, his eyes tracking the slight tremor in your bottom lip. for a second, his grin falters, replaced by a sharp, intense curiosity that makes your stomach do a violent flip. then, the lazy crooked smile creeps back onto his face, and he nods approvingly.

“better,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “way better. see? you don’t need to put on a performance. guys like jake — and guys like me — we can tell when a girl is trying too hard. authenticity is hotter than any script you could write. you just have to let yourself feel the tension instead of running away from it.”

the rest of the hour goes by in a blur of intense eye contact and brutal, playful critiques. jay puts you through a dozen different scenarios. he teaches you how to respond to a compliment without deflecting it, how to use a quiet pause in conversation to your advantage, and how a simple change in posture can make you look completely magnetic.

he doesn't miss a single chance to tease you, though. every time you stumble over your words or give a goofy response, he boops your nose with his pen or groans dramatically into his hands. but by the time the alarm on his phone buzzes to signal the end of the hour, you realize something shocking: you aren’t so uncomfortable anymore. you’re actually laughing with him.

“alright, session one complete,” jay says, standing up and stretching his arms over his head, pulling his hoodie up just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his toned stomach. you quickly look away, your face heating up again. he catches you, of course, and just smirks. “homework for tonight: practice looking people in the eye. the cashier at the dining hall, your professors, yunjin. don’t look down.”

“fine, professor park,” you roll your eyes, sliding off his bed and grabbing your bag. “thanks. for not totally giving up on me.”

“i don't give up on my projects, newbie,” he says, walking you to the door. he opens it, leaning against the frame and looking down at you with a soft, surprisingly warm expression. “see you in two days. don't overthink it.”

“i'll try,” you murmur, giving him a small wave before turning and walking down the hallway.

the walk back to your apartment is a long one, and the cool evening air does nothing to calm the frantic state of your brain. you wrap your cardigan tighter around yourself, your sneakers clicking rhythmically against the pavement as you re-read every single moment of the last hour in your head.

your mind is a chaotic mess of conflicting thoughts.

first of all, jay was right. the theoretical approach did help. just understanding the mechanics of how to hold a gaze and how to drop your voice made you feel like a secret weapon was being built inside you. you find yourself imagining using those exact tricks on jake next tuesday at the café. you imagine looking jake in the eye, holding his gaze, and saying something subtle and confident. the thought makes your stomach flutter with a nervous, happy anticipation. it’s exactly what you wanted.

but as you cross the street near the campus green, another thought creeps in, unbidden and entirely unwelcome.

jay.

you pull a breath into your lungs, a strange, tight feeling in your chest. you had gone into that room completely terrified of him, expecting a cold, arrogant guy who would judge your total lack of experience. instead, he had been… patient. incredibly observant. and so frustratingly attractive that it felt like a safety hazard.

when he had delivered that line — i wore it hoping you’d notice — the look in his eyes hadn't felt like a lesson at all. it had felt entirely too real. the way his voice had dropped, the way he had effortlessly controlled the energy in the room… it was terrifying how easily he could manipulate your feelings with just a shift in his posture.

he’s a professional, you remind yourself sternly, walking up the steps to your apartment building. he has a reputation for a reason. he’s doing this to help you with jake. do not confuse the lines.

yet, as you unlock your front door and hear yunjin yelling something from the kitchen, you can’t shake the memory of jay’s lazy, knowing smirk from your mind. you had spent weeks stressing yourself sick over jake sim, but as you step into your apartment, you realize with a sudden wave of panic that learning how to play the game with jay park might be a hundred times more dangerous.

-------

two days later, you find yourself back outside room 314. you don't even need to take three deep breaths this time — only two.

when jay opens the door, he’s wearing a faded vintage band tee and dark jeans, looking like he just rolled out of bed but somehow still managed to look effortlessly attractive. he takes one look at your face, steps back to let you in, and closes the door with a quiet click.

“welcome back, newbie,” he says, a lazy grin already spreading across his face. “did you do your homework? did you look the dining hall lady in the eye, or did you stare at your tater tots again?”

“i looked her straight in the eye,” you say proudly, tossing your tote bag onto his desk chair. “she looked confused, but i didn’t look down once.”

“proud of you,” jay chuckles, walking over to his mini-fridge to grab a bottle of water. he takes a sip before turning his full attention to you, his eyes sweeping over your outfit before locking onto yours. “alright, today is lesson two. we’re graduating from eye contact. today is all about compliments, voice tone, and what i like to call ‘innocent’ touching. leaning in, brushing an arm, breaking the physical barrier without making it a big deal. ready?”

you nod, though your stomach does a familiar little nervous flip. “ready.”

“good. sit on the bed,” jay commands smoothly, pulling his desk chair over so he’s sitting directly across from you again, only this time, he hitches the chair closer. his knees are barely a few inches from yours. the proximity alone makes the air feel instantly thick. “let’s start with compliments and tone. a lot of girls think giving a compliment means squealing and saying ‘oh my god your hair looks so good today!’ that’s friend-zone energy. jake doesn't need another cheerleader. he needs to know you see him as a man. understand?”

“yeah,” you murmur, swallowing hard.

“so, voice tone is everything. drop your volume. speak from your chest, not your throat. make him lean in to hear you,” jay instructs, his own voice dropping into that low, gravelly pitch that makes your ears tingle. “let’s try it. i walk up to you. i’m jake. i’m wearing a nice cologne. compliment me.”

you take a second to clear your throat, trying to channel your inner siren. you lean forward slightly, look him in the eye, and speak in what you think is a sultry whisper. “wow, jay. you smell really… nice. like a tree.”

jay blinks. the room is dead silent for three seconds.

then, he lets out a sharp, breathless laugh, burying his face in his hands. “like a tree? like a tree? oh my god, newbie, please tell me you’re joking.”

“it’s sandalwood!” you protest, your face instantly turning a furious shade of crimson as you grab his pillow again, though this time he anticipates it and firmly plants a hand on it before you can throw it. “you literally smell like sandalwood and cedar! that’s a tree!”

“you sound like a park ranger,” jay groans, his shoulders shaking with laughter as he pulls the pillow out of your hands. “and your voice went all breathy and weird at the end, like you were running out of oxygen. i said drop your pitch, not sound like you have asthma.”

“i told you i’m bad at this!” you whine, burying your burning face in your hands. “this is why i’m a virgin, jay. i have negative game.”

“hey, look at me,” jay says, his voice softening, though the vibrant amusement is still dancing in his dark eyes. he gently reaches out and taps your wrist until you drop your hands from your face. “it’s fine. that’s why you’re here. let’s try it again, but don’t think about the specific words. don’t describe the scent. just focus on how it makes you feel. and keep the voice steady. smooth. try it.”

you take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. you wait a beat, letting the silence stretch just like he taught you in lesson one. then, keeping your voice low and stable, you say, “you smell really good today. it’s distracting.”

jay pauses. his smirk falters for a fraction of a second, his eyes darkening just a tiny bit as he processes the delivery. a slow, appreciative smile replaces his laughter. “there we go. that’s the tone. smooth, grounded, a little bit dangerous. jake would literally lose his mind if you said that to him.”

a rush of pride swells in your chest. you actually did it.

“alright, now let’s add the physical element,” jay says, leaning back slightly but keeping his eyes locked onto yours. “innocent touching is all about making it look accidental. it has to look accidental, but feel intentional. a brush of the shoulder when you laugh, a lingering touch on the arm when you’re emphasizing a point. it makes the moments stick, you know? let’s combine them. give me that same compliment, but this time, i want you to break the physical barrier.”

your heart restarts its frantic rhythm. touching him wasn’t part of the original plan, but this is entirely safe — just an arm, just a shoulder. theoretical practice in action.

“okay,” you whisper.

you look at him. you focus on your breathing, trying to get rid of the tension in your shoulders. you lean in slightly, your eyes dropping to his lips before rising back to his eyes. you reach your hand out, your fingers trembling just a fraction, and gently brush your fingertips against his forearm, letting them linger on the soft fabric of his sleeve.

“you smell really good today,” you say softly, your voice perfectly steady this time. “it’s distracting.”

you expect jay to pull back, or to laugh, or to give you another critique. instead, jay doesn't even flinch. he doesn't get nervous at all; if anything, the touch seems to ground him. his eyes track your hand on his arm, and then slowly, deliberately, he tilts his head, a devastatingly handsome, wicked grin pulling at his lips.

he doesn't break your touch. instead, he leans forward, bringing his face so close to yours that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.

“is it?” jay murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, completely turning the tables on you. “if you think my cologne is distracting, newbie… you’re never going to survive the rest of these lessons.”

your breath hitches completely. your heart thumps so hard against your ribs you’re certain he can hear it. he’s completely unbothered, completely in control, flirting back with an effortless grace that leaves you completely breathless.

“you… you cheated,” you squeak out, frantically pulling your hand back and sitting straight up, your face hot enough to fry an egg. “you’re not supposed to flirt back! you’re supposed to be jake!”

jay lets out a low, rich chuckle, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, looking immensely pleased with himself. “jake is going to flirt back, newbie. if a girl touched him like that and gave him that compliment, he wouldn't just sit there like a log. he’s going to lean in. you need to learn how to handle the counter-attack.”

you pout, crossing your arms defensively. “you’re just showing off.”

“maybe a little,” he admits, his eyes crinkling with that playful, arrogant charm. “but you did great. seriously. the touch was perfect — light, lingering, just enough to make a guy notice. let’s try another one. this time, let’s practice the ‘laugh and lean.’ when i say something funny, you lean in, laugh naturally, and let your shoulder brush mine. let’s see if you can handle it without panicking.”

for the next hour, the room feels like a battlefield of tension and laughter. you practice over and over again. you try leaning in to whisper something “secretive” in his ear, your breath brushing against his neck, which makes jay’s jaw tighten for a brief second before he recovers with a smooth, teasing remark. you practice brushing a stray piece of lint off his shoulder, letting your fingers drag slowly down his chest.

every time you do it well, jay praises you, his voice warm and encouraging, but he never lets you get too comfortable. he always pushes back — catching your wrist gently, leaning into your space, or dropping a low, dangerous compliment right back to test your boundaries. he doesn't get flustered, but you notice that as the lesson goes on, his jokes get a little quieter, his smirks a little softer, and his dark eyes stay locked onto yours with an intensity that makes it harder and harder to remember that this is just a game.

“alright,” jay finally says, his voice a bit rough as he checks his phone. “that’s enough torturing you for one day.”

you sink back against his pillows, completely exhausted but tingling with a weird, electric energy. “i think i actually did okay today.”

“you did better than okay,” jay says, standing up and looking down at you. he reaches out, and for a second, you think he’s going to tease you again, but instead, he gently runs his thumb over the side of your cheek, a surprisingly tender gesture that makes your heart stop. “you’re a quick learner, newbie. jake won’t know what hit him.”

he pulls his hand back smoothly, leaving your skin tingling where his thumb had just been. he walks to the door, opening it with that signature, lazy smirk.

“go home, get some rest. next lesson, we’re talking about kissing mechanics. try not to lose sleep over it.”

you scramble off the bed, grabbing your bag and practically running past him into the hallway, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm as his quiet laughter follows you down the corridor.

the next monday, you’re sitting in the back row of your lecture hall, pretending to take notes on a PowerPoint about microeconomics. in reality, you’ve just been drawing mindless spirals in the margin of your notebook, your brain completely occupied by the memory of jay’s thumb brushing against your cheek.

“next lesson, we’re talking about kissing mechanics.”

the memory of his low, rough voice echoes in your head, making you shiver despite the aggressive air conditioning in the auditorium.

suddenly, a sharp elbow digs into your ribs.

“you’re doing a new thing,” yunjin whispers loudly, leaning over the shared desk. she has her laptop open, but instead of notes, she has a blank word document filled with a massive, stylized question mark. “the ‘staring into the abyss like you’re trying to decode the matrix’ thing. spill. now.”

“shh,” you hiss, keeping your eyes glued to the professor. “we’re in the middle of class.”

“the professor is seventy-five and doesn’t have his hearing aids turned up, babe. talk,” yunjin demands, sliding her chair a microscopic inch closer to yours. her eyes narrow, her strawberry lip gloss catching the fluorescent lights as she tilts her head. “it’s been days. you’ve been acting weirdly quiet, you didn’t spiral once this weekend, and you’ve been practicing weirdly intense eye contact with the barista at the campus cafe. which means… the lessons started. how is jay park?”

your face immediately flares up, the heat rising rapidly from your neck to your cheeks. you grab your highlighter and aggressively color over a random definition on your paper. “it’s fine. it’s going fine.”

“‘it’s fine’ does not make a girl turn the color of a fire hydrant,” yunjin points out, a massive, predatory grin spreading across her face. she leans in so close her coconut-scented hair brushes your shoulder. “oh my god. did you guys do it? did he break his rule? did you break the no-fucking clause already? details, give me details!”

“no! oh my god, no!” you whisper-yell, frantically looking around to see if any of the athletes in the row ahead of you heard. luckily, they’re all asleep. you drop your voice to a desperate, tiny whisper. “we didn’t do anything. i told you, it’s completely theoretical. he promised.”

“okay, okay, keeping it professional. i respect it,” yunjin says, waving a dismissive hand, though her eyes are still dancing with intense curiosity. “so what exactly happens in a ‘theoretical’ sex lesson with jay park? does he use a whiteboard? powerpoint slides?”

“no,” you mumble, hiding the lower half of your face behind your hand. “he… we just sit in his dorm. he makes me practice scenarios. the first lesson was just eye contact and light teasing. he basically told me i have the flirting skills of a cartoon villain.”

yunjin bursts out into a short, choked laugh, quickly covering her mouth with her sleeve when the professor coughs. “i mean, he’s not wrong, babe. remember freshman year when you tried to wink at that guy on the club team and looked like you were having a neurological event?”

“i’m better now!” you defend yourself, your voice tight. “jay fixed it. well, he’s fixing it. we had lesson two a couple days ago.”

yunjin leans in even closer, her notebook completely forgotten. “and? what was lesson two?”

“compliments. voice tone. and… innocent touching,” you whisper, your chest tightening just thinking about it. “like, leaning in and brushing his arm. or laughing and letting our shoulders touch.”

yunjin’s jaw literally drops. she stares at you, her eyes wide. “wait. you touched jay park? the guy who usually looks like he’ll have you legally removed from his presence if you breathe his oxygen? how did he react? did he flinch?”

“no, that’s the thing,” you groan, burying your face in your notebook for a second before looking back at her miserably. “he didn't flinch at all. yunjin, he’s completely immune to me. when i gave him the compliment and touched his arm, i thought i did a really good job. i dropped my voice, i held his gaze, all of it. but then he just… he didn't even blink. he just leaned all the way into my face and flirted back. he said something like, ‘if you think my cologne is distracting, newbie, you’re never going to survive the rest of these lessons.’”

yunjin lets out a low, silent gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. “oh my god. newbie? he calls you newbie? that is so disgustingly hot, i think i’m going to throw up.”

“it’s not hot, it’s terrifying!” you whined, chewing on the cap of your pen. “he is so effortlessly in control of the room. every time i think i’m getting the hang of it, he just raises the stakes to test if i’ll panic. he spent the whole hour praising me when i did it right, but then he'd immediately counter-attack to show me how a guy would react. by the end of it, my heart was beating so hard i thought i was going to pass out.”

yunjin studies your face, her playful demeanor shifting into something a bit more analytical, a small, knowing grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “and what about jake? are you thinking about jake when you’re doing all this?”

the question catches you completely off guard. you pause, your pen hovering over the paper.

“i… yeah,” you say, though the answer feels a little delayed, a little less certain than it should be. “of course i am. the whole point of this is so i don’t ruin things with jake. i keep imagining using the tricks on him.”

“right. of course,” yunjin says softly, though the look she gives you is incredibly perceptive. she taps her chin. “so, what’s next on the syllabus, student of the year?”

you swallow hard, the bell suddenly ringing to signal the end of the lecture. you pack your laptop into your bag with slightly trembling hands, refusing to look yunjin in the eye as you mutter the final detail.

“kissing mechanics. we’re doing kissing next.”

yunjin pauses mid-stride as you both walk out into the crowded hallway, a massive, thrilled grin spreading across her face. “oh, babe. you are playing with actual fireworks. good luck surviving that one.”

-------

the next afternoon, you find yourself walking back up the stairs of the west quad. your nerves are completely fried, mostly because yunjin’s warning about "playing with fireworks" has been looping in your brain for the last twenty-four hours. kissing mechanics. the words alone make your pulse skyrocket.

when jay opens the door to room 314, he’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt and charcoal grey cargo pants. he looks you up and down, a faint, amused smile lingering on his lips. "come on in, newbie."

you step into the familiar, sandalwood-scented space and immediately drop your bag by his desk, hopping onto the edge of his bed. before he can even sit down in his usual chair, the words start spilling out of your mouth in an anxious rush.

"okay, so something happened," you blurts out, waving your hands around. "jake came up to me yesterday at the student union. he was wearing his soccer jersey and he literally leaned against my locker and told me my hair looked pretty."

jay pauses, capping his water bottle and looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "and? did you use the eye contact?"

"yes! i held his gaze for like, five whole seconds," you say proudly, leaning forward. "and then i tried to do the subtle, playful voice thing you taught me. i looked at his jersey and said, 'thanks, you don't look too bad yourself.' but jay, the second the words left my mouth, i panicked. i got so incredibly awkward. i think my shoulders went up to my ears, and i literally backed into the locker door so hard it made a loud clanging sound."

jay stares at you for a beat, and then he breaks. he covers his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking as a deep, breathless laugh escapes him. "you backed into a locker? newbie, please tell me you didn't."

"i did!" you groan, burying your face in his pillows. "it was terrible. but… the weird part is, it might not have ruined everything? he’s been texting me literally all day today. look."

you scramble to pull out your phone, unlocking it and flashing the screen at him. there’s a string of text messages from jake, filled with emojis and casual questions about your week.

jay steps closer, leaning down slightly to look at the screen. his eyes scan the notifications, and a low, thoughtful hum hums in his throat. he straightens back up, crossing his arms over his chest, his playful smirk turning into a highly analytical expression.

"okay, first of all, the text volume is good. he's definitely hooked," jay says, tilting his head. "but based on your little locker incident, i'm officially changing the syllabus for today."

you peek up from the pillow. "wait, what? aren't we doing kissing mechanics today?"

"absolutely not," jay says smoothly, a wicked, completely teasing grin spreading across his sharp features. "no offense, newbie, but if you're still crashing into structural steel because a guy complimented your hair, you are legally not ready for the kissing lesson. you'd probably faint on him."

"hey!" you protest, sitting straight up and kicking your legs out, though you can't help the blush spreading across your face. "i was just caught off guard!"

"exactly. which is why we need to build your confidence up through texts and pictures first," jay says, walking over to his closet and leaning his shoulder against the frame. "given how much he's texting you right now, it’s the perfect opportunity. so, lesson three: how to dress sexier, body language upkeep, and sending suggestive texts and photos."

your jaw drops. "photos? like… selfies?"

"relax, i don't mean nudes," jay scoffs playfully, rolling his eyes. "i mean the kind of photos that make a guy stare at his phone for ten minutes straight. subtle hints. showing off your collarbone, an arched back, a casual half-smile. the kind of stuff that says 'i'm not trying,' even though you absolutely are."

he walks over to your bag and picks it up, tossing it onto the bed next to you. "dump it out. let’s see what clothes you brought today, and then we're going to fix your text game."

for the next hour, jay takes his role entirely too seriously. he makes you stand up to practice your posture — forcing your shoulders down, teaching you how to subtly arch your back when you're sitting so your silhouette looks sharper, and showing you how to cross your legs to elongate your frame.

then comes the text interrogation. he sits right next to you on the bed, his shoulder pressing against yours, looking over your screen as you type.

"no, delete that exclamation point. it makes you sound too eager," jay commands, his thumb reaching over to tap your screen. "type this instead: 'busy right now, but i might have time for you later.' it creates mystery. it makes him want to compete for your attention."

"isn't that a little mean?" you ask, looking up at him.

"it's not mean, it's a hook," jay murmurs, his dark eyes fixed on yours from mere inches away. "trust me. watch how fast he replies."

you hit send. less than thirty seconds later, jake replies: 'what are you up to? let me know when you're free x'.

you stare at the screen in absolute shock. "oh my god. you're a wizard."

"i'm a guy. i know how our brains work," jay smirks, entirely pleased with himself. "now, let's seal the deal. we're sending a photo. stand up."

you get up, your heart doing a nervous dance as jay picks up your phone. he walks you over to the full-length mirror hanging on the back of his door, positioning you just right where the warm afternoon light hits your face.

"your sweater is too high. pull it slightly off one shoulder," jay instructs, his voice dropping into that focused, professional tone.

you hesitantly tug the knit fabric down, exposing your collarbone. jay steps behind you, looking at your reflection in the mirror. he frowns slightly, stepping closer until his chest is almost pressed against your back. he reaches out, his warm, large hands gently gripping your waist to adjust your posture, tilting your hips just a fraction.

"don't look directly at the camera like a deer in headlights," jay murmurs near your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "look slightly down, tilt your chin up. think about something that makes you feel good."

your whole body feels like it's on fire from his touch. your reflection in the mirror shows your cheeks flushed a deep pink, your eyes dark and wide. jay raises your phone, snapping a few photos. he pulls away smoothly, scrolling through the gallery before handing the phone back to you.

you look at the screen and literally gasp. the photo doesn't even look like you. it looks incredibly soft, effortless, and undeniably sexy. your collarbone stands out, your lips are slightly parted, and the flush on your cheeks looks intentional.

"send him that one," jay says, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms, watching your reaction with an intensely satisfied smirk. "and don't add a caption. just let him suffer."

you hit send, your hands shaking. almost instantly, the typing bubbles appear from jake's contact.

they bounce up and down, then disappear, then start up again. jake is clearly panicking on the other end, deleting and rewriting his response just like you had done nights ago.

jay steps closer, leaning over your shoulder to look down at the screen. his chest gently brushes your back, the warm, clean scent of his sandalwood cologne enveloping you completely. “look at that,” he murmurs, his voice a low, vibrating rumble right next to your ear. “he’s losing his mind. i told you.”

finally, the text comes through.

jake: oh wow. you look really pretty. where are you?

you automatically start typing a reply, your fingers flying across the keyboard. i’m just hanging out at a friend’s dorm.

“stop, stop, stop,” jay says, his hand suddenly coming down over yours to physically halt your thumbs. his palms are warm and broad, completely wrapping around your hands. a jolt of electricity zaps straight up your arms. he doesn't pull away immediately; instead, he slowly guides your hands down, forcing you to lower the phone. “what did i say about theater-kid energy? you’re giving away too much information, newbie. you’re killing the mystery.”

“but he asked where i am!” you protest, looking up at him over your shoulder. your faces are incredibly close, so close you can count the dark lashes framing his piercing eyes.

jay just smiles, that slow, devastatingly confident grin that makes him look entirely too in control. he reaches out and smoothly takes the phone right out of your fingers. “he doesn’t get to know where you are. he didn't earn that yet. right now, he’s sitting in his room staring at a photo of your bare shoulder. we need to lean into that.”

he taps the screen, typing out a message with one hand while keeping his eyes locked on yours. “if he asks where you are, you don’t give him a location. you give him a tease.”

he turns the phone around to show you what he wrote.

you: somewhere you’re not. 😉

your jaw drops. “jay! that is so forward! i can't say that!”

“you didn't say it, i did. now watch,” he says, tapping send before you can grab the device back.

you watch the screen in an agony of suspense. the response from jake is almost instantaneous this time.

jake: that’s not fair. maybe i want to be there.

your breath hitches. jake has never talked to you like this before. usually, his texts are sweet, casual, and safe. jay’s little formula is completely shifting the dynamic, turning a simple crush into a high-stakes game of cat and mouse.

“see?” jay says, his tone dripping with playful smugness as he slides the phone back into your hands. he leans his hip against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms and looking down at you. “he’s chasing now. when a guy says ‘maybe i want to be there,’ he’s testing the waters. he wants to see if the door is open. so, what do you do?”

“i… i tell him he can come over?” you guess, completely out of your depth.

jay groans, tossing his head back dramatically. “no! god, newbie, you’re trying to speed-run this. if you invite him over now, you’re giving up all your power. you have to make him work for it. keep him on his toes.”

he steps back into your personal space, the playful arrogance in his eyes shifting into something focused and instructional. he grabs your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up so you’re forced to look directly into his dark eyes.

“this is the suggestive texting masterclass,” jay explains softly, his thumb lightly brushing the sensitive skin of your jawline. “you always want to imply a double meaning. you want him to read your texts and wonder if you’re being totally innocent or incredibly dirty. it keeps his mind completely occupied with thoughts of you.”

he lets go of your chin, but the ghost of his touch leaves a burning trail on your skin. he points at your phone. “type this: ‘i don’t know, jake. i’m kind of a handful. not sure you could handle it.’”

your fingers are practically sweating as you type out the words exactly as he dictated. you hit send.

the typing bubbles appear immediately.

jake: try me. i’m pretty good at handling things.

you let out a soft, choked gasp, completely floored by the sheer boldness of jake's reply. your face is burning hot, your heart hammering against your ribs. you look up at jay, wide-eyed and completely breathless. “oh my god. it worked. it actually worked.”

jay doesn't look surprised at all. if anything, he’s studying your reaction with an intense, quiet curiosity. his eyes drop to your flushed cheeks, then down to your parted lips, before slowly rising back to meet your gaze. the playful, teasing smirk slowly fades from his face, replaced by a heavy, unreadable expression.

“of course it worked,” jay murmurs, his voice suddenly dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrates straight through your chest. he steps a fraction closer, completely erasing the distance between you until your clothes are almost brushing. “you’re a beautiful girl, newbie. when you actually give a guy a green light, he’s going to run straight through it.”

the air in the dorm room becomes completely stagnant, thick with a sudden, suffocating wave of tension. jay is looking at you with an intensity that has absolutely nothing to do with jake sim. his gaze feels heavy, physical, like a hand tracing the curve of your neck. for a terrifying, thrilling second, you forget all about your phone, all about jake’s texts, and all about the rules of these lessons.

you stare up at him, your heart in your throat, completely paralyzed by how easily he can shift the gravity in the room.

jay holds your gaze for one more lingering, breathless second. then, just as quickly as it appeared, the heavy tension snaps. a lazy, familiar smirk creeps back onto his sharp features, and he steps back, breaking the spell.

“alright, lock your phone,” jay says, tapping the top of your head playfully. “that’s enough digital damage for today. leave him on read for a few hours. let him stew in his own thoughts while he waits for you to reply.”

you quickly lock your screen, nodding dumbly as you try to force your lungs to remember how to breathe normally.

“lesson three concluded,” jay says, walking over to the door and swinging it open, looking entirely unbothered by the emotional hurricane he just caused in your chest. he gives you a sharp, teasing wink. “next time, newbie… we’re finally doing kissing mechanics. don’t forget to practice your posture before then.”

-------

four days pass, and your life feels like it has been completely split into two entirely different realities.

on one side of the screen, there’s the jake sim reality. and to your absolute shock, jay’s blueprint is working flawlessly. jake has been pursuing you with a fervor that leaves you dizzy. when you see him on campus now, he doesn't just give you a sweet, friendly wave from across the quad. he actively detours to walk with you to class. when you talk, his eyes don't wander; they stay locked onto your face, and he looks at you with this intense, focused hunger that makes your stomach do backflips.

last night, he texted you out of nowhere at 11:00 p.m. just to say he saw a sweater in a store window that reminded him of the photo you sent, adding a little tongue-in-cheek comment about how he's still waiting to find out where "somewhere you're not" is.

it's everything you wanted. you're finally getting the boy you’ve been pining over since freshman orientation. you should be ecstatic. you should be texting yunjin in a flurry of capital letters and celebratory emojis.

but instead, you find yourself staring at your bedroom ceiling in the dead of night, feeling completely untethered.

the truth is a terrifying, heavy weight in your chest, and admitting it to yourself feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. because every time jake texts you, a tiny, dark voice in the back of your mind whispers that it isn’t actually your game he’s falling for. it’s jay’s. you’re just the actress reciting lines written by a boy who understands the mechanics of desire like the back of his hand.

and then there's the next lesson.

kissing mechanics.

your stomach drops into a cold abyss every time you think about it. you’re terrified. actual, physical kissing is a universe away from just holding eye contact or letting your shoulders brush during a laugh. it means jay’s hands on you. it means his face inches from yours, his lips touching yours, his sharp jawline, his heavy, low breathing. even if it’s entirely "theoretical" — even if he's just using his fingers to map out where to press or demonstrating the pacing on a pillow or explaining the biology of how a guy reacts — the mere thought of being that close to him makes your chest tighten until it hurts.

but beneath the suffocating layers of panic, there is an even darker, more humiliating truth that you barely have the courage to acknowledge in the privacy of your own head.

you were disappointed.

when you walked into room 314 a few days ago, fully braced for the kissing lesson, your heart had been pounding because you thought you were finally going to cross that terrifying physical threshold with him. and when jay had laughed, called you a newbie, and casually pushed the lesson back because you "weren't ready," a sudden, sharp pang of rejection had sliced right through you.

you had spent the rest of that afternoon acting annoyed and pouty, but deep down, your skin had been practically begging for the exact thing you claimed to be afraid of. you had wanted him to look at you and decide you were ready. you had wanted to know what his lips felt like, even if it was just a clinical demonstration.

it's a dangerous, toxic thought. jay is your tutor. he’s sunghoon’s best friend, a guy known for his selective, zero-strings-attached reputation, and he is actively helping you construct a trap to catch jake. confusing your feelings now would be absolute social suicide. it would ruin everything.

you roll onto your side, pulling your blanket tightly around your shoulders as you look at your phone. tomorrow afternoon is the day. there are no more text modules left to practice. no more posture corrections or wardrobe updates.

tomorrow, you have to look jay park in the eye and let him teach you how to kiss.

and as you close your eyes, trying to force yourself to sleep, you realize with a jolt of pure panic that you aren't sure which reality you're more afraid of anymore: the one where you finally kiss jake sim, or the one where you have to watch jay pull away from you when the lesson is over.

-------

the rain is drumming a steady rhythm against the glass of room 314 when you walk in. the afternoon light is weak, casting the dorm in a hazy, intimate shadow that immediately makes your throat feel dry. jay is sitting on the edge of his bed, his legs spread, hands loosely clasped between his knees. he’s wearing a soft, oversized gray crewneck sweater, looking entirely relaxed, while your nerves are stretched so tight they’re practically screaming.

“welcome back, newbie,” jay says, his voice softer than usual, matching the quiet hum of the rain. he tracks your movement as you set your bag down, his eyes lingering on your tense shoulders. “you look like you’re walking to the gallows.”

“i’m just… anticipating,” you mumble, sitting on the opposite end of the bed, pulling your knees to your chest.

jay watches you for a beat, a faint, understanding smile touching his lips. “right. lesson four. kissing mechanics.” he shifts, leaning back against his headboard, his expression turning professional, though his dark eyes retain that sharp, observant glint. “before we start, a reminder of the rules. we agreed on a strict blueprint. entirely theoretical. no physical interaction. i’m here to give you the breakdown so you can take it to jake. clear?”

“clear,” you say. you try to sound relieved. you try to make your voice bright and cooperative. but a small, involuntary drop in your tone betrays you, a tiny hesitation that doesn’t escape his notice. a sudden, heavy wave of disappointment washes through you, sharp and humiliating, and you hate yourself for feeling it. you should be grateful for the boundary, but your skin feels suddenly cold.

jay’s eyes narrow slightly, analyzing the split-second change in your expression, but he doesn't comment on it. instead, he clears his throat and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“alright. let’s break down the mechanics,” jay begins, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always makes your pulse spike. “kissing isn’t just about the lips, newbie. if you just dive in, it’s clumsy. it starts with the pacing. when jake leans in, you don’t rush to meet him halfway. you let him do the work. you tilt your chin up, keep your lips slightly parted — just a fraction — and breathe out softly. it signals invitation.”

you nod, trying to memorize the words, but your brain is panicking because jay is demonstrating the head tilt himself, his sharp jawline defining itself in the dim amber light of his desk lamp.

“when the actual contact happens, you start slow,” jay continues, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels almost physical. “it’s a gentle pressure. one lip tucked between his. you hold it for a beat, let the warmth build, and then you shift. it’s a rhythm. you use your hands — remember lesson two? — you let your fingers rest right on the side of his neck, just below the jaw. your thumb rests on his cheekstone. it stabilizes the movement, and it drives a guy absolutely crazy because it feels grounding.”

as he speaks, jay mimics the hand placement in the air, his long, elegant fingers moving with a slow grace that makes you track them like a hawk. the air in the room is growing increasingly thick, the space between you on the mattress suddenly feeling incredibly small.

“now,” jay murmurs, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heavy, unhurried second before rising back to your eyes. “let’s practice the approach. the build-up of tension right before the lips touch is fifty percent of the kiss. if you panic there, the whole thing is ruined.”

he slides down the mattress, closing the distance between you until he’s sitting cross-legged directly in front of you. your knees are practically brushing.

“i’m going to act as if i’m going to kiss you,” jay instructs softly, his playful arrogance completely gone, replaced by a quiet, suffocating gravity. “i’m going to get close. your job is to hold eye contact, keep your breathing steady, and do not pull away. understand?”

“yes,” you whisper, your heart hammering so loudly against your ribs you’re certain he can hear it.

“look at me,” he commands gently.

you look up. jay leans in slowly.

the world outside the window completely ceases to exist. his movements are deliberate, agonizingly drawn out, giving your brain time to register every single detail. you see the dark depth of his eyes, the slight curve of his nose, the perfect, soft shape of his lips. he tilts his head to the side, a fraction of an inch, mapping out the angle perfectly.

closer. you can smell the rich, intoxicating scent of his sandalwood cologne mixed with the clean scent of his skin.

closer. his chest is almost touching yours, the warmth radiating off his body enveloping you in a heat wave. your breath catches in your throat, your lips parting automatically, exactly the way he taught you. your eyes flutter, desperately wanting to close, but you force them to stay open, locked onto his.

he stops.

his lips are barely half an inch from yours. you can feel the literal heat of his breath brushing against your skin, hovering right over your mouth. the tension in the microscopic space between you is a physical, electric current, pulling at you, begging you to lean forward just a millimeter to erase the agony of the distance. your heart is in your throat. you are completely paralyzed, drowning in the proximity of him.

jay stays perfectly still for three agonizing, breathless seconds, his gaze raking over your eyes, your nose, your trembling mouth. his jaw tightens, a sudden, fierce flash of hunger crossing his features before he forces it down.

slowly, deliberately, jay pulls back. the sudden rush of cool air between you feels like a physical shock. he sits straight up, clearing his throat, though his breathing is visibly shallower than it was five minutes ago.

“just like that,” jay says, his voice a little rough, a little strained. “you held the gaze. you didn't panic. do that with jake, and he’ll—”

the mention of jake’s name feels like a bucket of ice water, snapping something inside you. you look at jay — at his parted lips, his flushed neck, the sheer, unbothered control he’s trying to fake — and a sudden, reckless wave of desperation overrides every single rule, every single boundary, and every shred of your common sense.

and then something you would've never expected comes out of your mouth:

“jay, can you give me a practical example?”

the words hang in the air. jay freezes, his usual smirk vanishing. and for the first time since you walked into room 314, jay park looks completely caught off guard. his dark eyes widen just a fraction, his posture locking up as he stares at you in absolute silence. he stares at your face like he’s waiting for you to say you’re joking. the only sound in the room is the sound of the rain against the windowpane.

“what?” he asks, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. he tilts his head, blinking down at you like he’s entirely convinced his ears are playing tricks on him. “what did you just say, newbie?”

the sudden realization of what just tumbled out of your mouth hits you like a physical blow. your stomach plummets, and a fierce, blinding heat instantly erupts across your cheeks, burning all the way down to your neck. you instinctively try to pull your knees tighter to your chest, wanting nothing more than to shrink into a microscopic atom and disappear into the mattress.

“i… um,” you squeak out, your voice dropping to a mortified, breathless whisper. you look down at your hands, your fingers frantically twisting the fabric of your pajama pants. “i said… can you give me a practical example? like… a real one.”

jay doesn't move. he just stays cross-legged in front of you, absorbing your words. then, slowly, the shock on his face melts away. a brilliant, wicked, and entirely amused grin spreads across his sharp features. he lets out a low, rich chuckle that vibrates deep in his chest, leaning back slightly on his hands as he studies your purple face.

“wow,” jay murmurs, his tone dripping with pure, unadulterated amusement. “the quiet girl strikes again. you really are full of surprises, aren't you?”

“stop laughing at me!” you whine, hiding your face in your hands. your heart is beating so hard you can feel it in your teeth. “i’m being serious! i’m trying to be logical about this!”

“logical?” jay teases, his voice filled with a quiet, shaking laughter. he reaches out and gently, but firmly, tugs your wrists away from your face so you’re forced to look at him. he doesn't let go of your hands, keeping his fingers loosely looped around your wrists. “okay, professor. please, explain the logic to me. i’m dying to hear this.”

you swallow hard, your eyes darting everywhere but his lips. you try to summon every ounce of justification your panicked brain can manufacture.

“well… because!” you stammer, your voice incredibly shy, filled with an embarrassed pitch. “you said it yourself! you said kissing is all about the rhythm and the pacing. and— and you said if i panic during the approach, the whole thing is ruined! how am i supposed to know if i’m going to panic with jake if i haven't actually practiced the real thing? what if my timing is completely off? what if i accidentally bump teeth with him, jay? that would be traumatizing!”

jay listens to your anxious, stuttering speech, his eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. he looks incredibly smug, entirely enjoying how completely flustered you are.

“so,” jay says slowly, a lazy, teasing purr in his voice as he lightly squeezes your wrists. “let me get this straight. purely for educational purposes… for my duties as your instructor… you think we should break the non-physical clause. for the sake of science.”

“yes!” you whisper-yell, your face burning hotter, if that was even physically possible. “it’s just… a hands-on lab! like chemistry class! it makes perfect sense!”

“chemistry, huh?” jay echoes, his voice dropping an octave, the vibrant laughter in his eyes shifting into something much darker, much more intense.

he slowly releases your wrists, but he doesn't move back. instead, he slides even closer on the mattress, completely invading your personal space until the heat radiating from his body wraps around you like a blanket. the playful, mocking expression of his face softens into something dangerous.

“you’re a terrible liar, newbie,” jay murmurs, his eyes dropping to your parted lips, staring at them for a long, unhurried second before rising back to yours. “you’re not thinking about jake sim’s teeth right now. and you’re definitely not thinking about science.”

your breath hitches completely, your voice trapped in your throat.

“but…” jay whispers, his hand slowly rising to cup the side of your face, his broad palm warm against your burning cheek, his thumb gently resting right on your cheekbone — exactly where he had just described a minute ago. “if you’re really that worried about failing your practical exam… i guess your teacher is just going to have to show you how it’s done.”

jay doesn't give you a chance to think, to backtrack, or to let the embarrassment completely swallow you whole.

his fingers anchor themselves gently behind your neck, his thumb still resting right on your cheekbone, stabilizing you exactly the way he had mapped out verbally just moments before. he leans in, but there is no hesitation this time. the agonizing half-inch of space between your lips vanishes in a split second.

when his lips first touch yours, a gasp catches in your throat, and jay uses that exact fraction of a second to deepen the pressure. his lips are incredibly soft but firm, moving against yours with a practiced, devastating slow rhythm. a full-body shiver ripples through you, your hands automatically reaching out to clutch at the fabric of his soft gray sweater just to keep yourself grounded.

“breathe, newbie,” jay whispers against your mouth, his voice a low, rough vibration that sends a jolt of pure electricity straight down your spine. “don't hold your breath. follow me, don't overthink it.”

he pulls back just a millimeter, letting the cool air hit your wet lips before tilting his head to a slightly different angle and sliding right back in. it's a gentle, heavy pressure. he tucks your lower lip between his, sucking on it so softly it makes a quiet, embarrassing sound echo in the quiet dorm room. you try to copy the movement, your lips parting a little more as you attempt to match his pace.

“there you go,” jay murmurs, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he praises you mid-kiss. his hand slides from your neck down to your shoulder, his broad palm squeezing gently through your clothes. “keep your hands right there. stay relaxed. you’re doing perfect.”

he leads you flawlessly, controlling the entire gravity of the moment. every time you feel like you're about to lose your mind from the sheer intensity of it, jay slows things down, lingering in a soft, pressing rhythm that lets you catch up. your eyes have completely fluttered shut now, the darkness making the sensation of his lips, his warm hands, and the intoxicating scent of his sandalwood cologne a thousand times more overwhelming. you lose all track of time, completely drowning in the heat of his mouth, forgetting about the rain outside, forgetting about the syllabus, forgetting about everything.

when jay finally draws back, he does it slowly, his lips brushing against yours one last time before he fully breaks the contact.

the sudden loss of warmth leaves you feeling completely dazed. you slowly blink your eyes open, your chest heaving as you try to force air back into your lungs. jay is still hovering inches away from your face. his dark hair is slightly messy, his own breathing is visibly shallower, and his usually perfectly composed lips are a dark, flushed red. he’s staring down at you with a heavy, unreadable gaze that is entirely devoid of his usual playful arrogance.

for three long seconds, neither of you says a word.

then, reality comes crashing back down on you with the force of a tidal wave.

oh my god. you just kissed jay park. you practically begged him to do it. you used a fake excuse about "science" and "chemistry class" just to get him to put his hands on you.

a massive, blinding wave of mortification slaps you across the face. your cheeks explode into a furious, bright purple flush. you instantly let go of his sweater as if it had turned into white-hot iron, scrambling backward on the mattress until your back hits his headboard. you pull your knees all the way to your chest, burying your face completely in your arms, a small, choked groan escaping your throat.

“hey,” jay’s smooth voice breaks the silence, a soft, familiar chuckle bubbling up in his chest. you hear the mattress shift as he slides closer to you. “what are you hiding for? you’re the one who demanded a practical exam, professor.”

“please don’t look at me,” you whine into your knees, your voice incredibly muffled and strained with pure embarrassment. “i am going to jump out of that window. i am actually going to die right here on your bed.”

“don’t die yet, we still have to grade you,” jay teases, his tone dropping into that lazy, effortless purr. you feel his long fingers gently tap the top of your head. “come on, look up. i promise i won’t tease you too bad.”

you slowly, hesitantly lift your chin just enough to peek at him through the gap in your arms. jay is sitting right there, leaning his elbow on his knee with his chin resting in his palm, watching you with an incredibly amused, knowing grin.

“so,” jay murmurs, his dark eyes locking onto your wide, panicked ones. “how was the lesson? did it help clarify the mechanics for you?”

“i… yes,” you squeak out, your face still burning hot.

you pull your arms tighter around your legs, your heart still hammering a rushed rhythm against your ribs. you are completely, thoroughly embarrassed — more humiliated than you have ever been in your entire life. but beneath the suffocating layers of shyness, as you look at jay's slightly curved lips, you feel a terrifyingly honest truth settling deep in your chest.

you liked it. you liked it a lot. in fact, you liked it so much that the mere thought of taking these newly learned "mechanics" and using them on jake sim suddenly felt entirely, completely impossible.

-------

you keep your mouth shut. you don’t tell yunjin. in fact, you don’t tell a single living soul.

when you get back to your shared apartment that evening, yunjin is sitting on the kitchen counter eating dry cereal straight from the box, her eyes instantly narrowing into little laser beams the second the front door clicks shut. you quickly mutter something about having a massive headache from the library lights, sprint into your bedroom, and lock the door behind you. if you open your mouth, even just to breathe, you’re terrified the taste of jay’s strawberry-and-mint lip balm will somehow manifest in the air and give you away.

you spend the next two days in a state of absolute, localized hysteria.

the embarrassment is a physical weight, pressing down on your chest until you feel lightheaded. you can't stop replaying the feeling of his broad palm cradling your jaw, the specific, gravelly pitch of his voice when he whispered “breathe, newbie,” and the agonizingly soft, rhythmic pull of his lips against yours. you had loved it. you had loved it so much that just thinking about it while sitting in a Tuesday morning lecture makes your stomach do a violent, hot flip.

and that’s not even the worst part. the worst part — the thing that is currently keeping you awake at 3:00 a.m. staring at your ceiling fan — is how the lesson had actually ended.

right before you had practically bolted out of his dorm room, your face still a catastrophic shade of purple, jay had stood by the door with his hands shoved casually into his cargo pants. he had looked down at you, that slow, devastatingly handsome smirk firmly back in place, and murmured: “since you passed your practical exam with such high marks, newbie… i’ll let you call the shots for lesson five. it can be anything you want. think about it.”

anything you want.

how are you supposed to walk back into room 314 on thursday afternoon, look jay park in his incredibly symmetrical, aristocratic face, and say: 'oh, yeah, hi, remember how i said i wanted to learn for science? well, the science was great, can we please just make out for another hour?'

you can’t. you literally cannot do that. it would destroy the flimsy, pathetic shield of "educational purposes" you’ve been hiding behind. it would mean admitting that you aren't a student trying to impress jake sim anymore; it would mean admitting that jay has completely, effortlessly rewired your brain in the span of three weeks.

speaking of jake, his reality is becoming increasingly harder to navigate. he texts you a picture of a coffee cup on Wednesday morning: 'at the café near the library. wish you were somewhere i am today.'

you stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. a week ago, a text like that would have made you scream into your pillow. it’s exactly what you wanted. it’s a direct reference to the tease jay helped you send him. but now, looking at the letters, all you can think about is jay’s chest pressed against your back, his warm hands adjusting your waist in front of the mirror, and his low voice telling you to let him suffer.

when you reply with a simple, sweet 'awkward timing, i'm stuck in a study group! next time x', it feels like you’re writing a script for a play you’ve completely lost interest in starring in.

by thursday afternoon, your anxiety has reached a fever pitch. you change your sweater twice, eventually settling on a high-necked, oversized crewneck that offers absolutely zero skin-to-air vulnerability. you walk up the stairs of the west quad like a prisoner marching to the electric chair, your knees feeling strangely hollow.

when you reach room 314, you stand outside the heavy wooden door for a full sixty seconds, your hand raised to knock, your heart hammering a rushed rhythm against your ribs.

just be normal, you tell yourself, closing your eyes tightly. ask him to practice advanced flirting. ask him to break down how to read body language across a crowded room. do not look at his mouth. do not think about his hands.

you take one final, deep breath, brace your shoulders, and knock.

the door swings open, and jay is standing there looking entirely too comfortable in a soft cream-colored knit sweater and dark trousers. his eyes immediately lock onto yours, his gaze dropping to your high-necked crewneck before rising back to your face with a slow, knowing amusement.

“well, look who it is,” jay says, stepping back to let you into the room. the door closes behind you with a quiet, solid click that feels incredibly final. “come on in, newbie. i was starting to think you’d skipped town.”

“i wouldn’t skip town,” you mumble, keeping your eyes trained firmly on his desk as you walk past him. you sit on the very edge of his bed, your posture rigid and stiff, your hands tightly clasped in your lap.

jay doesn't sit in his desk chair this time. instead, he walks over and leans his hip against the edge of the mattress, just a couple of feet away from you. he crosses his arms, tilting his head as his sharp, observant eyes trace the tense line of your shoulders, the frantic way your fingers are twitching, and the obvious blush already coloring your cheeks.

“alright,” jay murmurs, his voice low and conversational. “lesson five. you’re calling the shots today. what’s on the agenda, professor? more chemistry labs, or are we pivoting?”

you clear your throat aggressively, trying to sound as clinical and professional as possible. “i think… i think we should practice advanced flirting. like, body language across a crowded room, or how to subtly command attention in a group conversation. i think that’s a really logical next step for jake.”

jay doesn't say anything for a long, agonizing beat. he just stands there, watching you stumble over your words. then, a slow, dangerous smile spreads across his lips, his eyes glinting with pure, unadulterated mischief. he knows you're lying. he can see right through your pathetic little shield, and he is clearly planning on playing dirty.

“advanced flirting in a crowd,” jay repeats smoothly, nodding his head as if he’s taking you completely seriously. “okay. sure. let’s practice that. but you know, advanced flirting isn’t just about looking across a room, newbie. it’s about what you do when you finally get close to someone in a crowded, loud space. when the music is too loud and you have to make them listen to only you.”

before you can even process his words, jay moves.

he slides onto the bed, shifting his weight until he is sitting directly beside you. his thigh presses flush against yours, the heavy, intoxicating warmth of his body immediately enveloping you. your breath hitches, your entire body going completely rigid as you stare straight ahead, terrified to look at him.

“let’s set the scene,” jay whispers, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrates straight through the mattress. he leans in closer, his chest brushing against your arm. “we’re at a busy bar. the music is throwing heavy bass. jake is standing right next to you, but there are people everywhere, pushing into your space. if you just talk normally, he won't hear you. you have to close the distance.”

he leans over, his face entering your peripheral vision. you bite your lip, staring straight ahead at his closet door, your heart hammering so violently against your ribs it feels painful.

then, jay eliminates the space entirely.

he leans over your shoulder, his chest pressing firmly against your back. he tilts his head, burying his face right in the crook of your neck, just an inch away from your sensitive skin. his hot, heavy breath fans out across your jawline and the side of your neck, sending a violent, electric shiver straight down your spine. you let out a soft, helpless gasp, your fingers tightly gripping the fabric of your own sweater.

“if you want him to notice you,” jay murmurs, his lips brushing against the tiny hairs on your neck as he speaks, his voice a devastatingly hot, quiet rumble right against your ear, “you don’t shout over the noise. you lean in. right here. where it’s quiet.”

you can feel the warmth of his lips moving, the heat of his skin radiating into yours. the air in the room is completely gone, replaced by the suffocating, heavy scent of his sandalwood cologne. your mind is a chaotic, blurred mess; you can’t think about jake, you can’t think about advanced flirting, you can’t think about anything other than the agonizing friction of jay’s body pressed against yours.

“and then,” jay continues softly, his hand slowly rising to rest on the curve of your waist, his large palm squeezing gently through your thick sweater, anchoring you to him, “you tell him something confidential. something that makes him forget the entire room exists.”

he lingers there for an agonizing, breathless three seconds, his breath hot against your ear, letting the agonizing tension build until you’re practically trembling under his touch. you’re completely paralyzed, your lips parted, waiting, secretly begging for him to just turn your face and kiss you again.

instead, jay slowly draws his head back just a fraction. he doesn't move his body away, keeping his chest pressed to your back and his hand firmly on your waist, but he tilts his head so he can look at the side of your face. his eyes are dark, intense.

“but we aren't at a crowded bar, newbie,” jay whispers, his voice dropping even lower, turning into something raw and fiercely honest. his thumb rubs a slow circle into your waist. “it’s just you and me in a quiet room. and your shoulders are up to your ears because you’re lying to me.”

you swallow hard, a shaky breath escaping your lips.

jay leans in just a millimeter closer, his lips almost brushing your earlobe. “so stop playing games with me. look at me and tell me what you really want to do for lesson five.”

you swallow hard, the feel of his thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles through the fabric of your sweater making it completely impossible to form a coherent thought. your gaze is frozen on the wrinkled blankets of his bed, your pulse hammering a rapid rhythm in your ears. jay doesn't move. he stays right there, his chest warm against your back, his breath a steady, intoxicating heat against the side of your neck, patiently waiting you out.

"i'm waiting, newbie," he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing purr that completely undoes the last shred of your resolve.

"i... i want to practice kissing again," you blurts out, the words rushing out of you in a desperate, breathless squeak.

the hand on your waist pauses for a fraction of a second. jay doesn't immediately pull back, but you can feel the slight shift in his posture, the way his jaw tightens against your hair. you quickly scramble to cover your track, the sheer embarrassment forcing your brain into overdrive as you try to construct a pathetic safety net of logic.

"because— because of the mechanics!" you stammer quickly, your voice dropping to a mortified whisper as you twist your fingers together. "the last time... i was entirely caught off guard, jay. and i felt like i was completely awful at it. i didn't know where to put my hands, and my timing was definitely off, and... and if i'm going to be ready for jake, i need to actually make sure i can do the rhythm properly without freezing up. it’s just for the lesson. for practice."

the silence that follows is thick enough to cut with a knife. for three agonizing seconds, you’re entirely convinced you’ve gone too far, that he’s going to laugh at your transparent excuse and tell you the lesson is over.

then, slowly, jay draws back.

you force yourself to turn your head, your cheeks burning a bright, furious pink as you look at him. jay is studying your face, his dark eyes incredibly heavy and focused. the playful, arrogant smirk you expected isn't there; instead, his lips are parted slightly, his gaze dropping to your mouth before rising back to meet your eyes with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"for practice," he echoes, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates straight to your core.

"yes," you whisper.

"alright," jay murmurs, his tone shifting into something thick and serious. he slides closer, crossing his legs so he’s sitting directly in front of you, completely erasing the distance. "if we’re going to fix your rhythm, we need to do it right. look at me."

you lift your chin, your eyes locking onto his. jay doesn't hesitate this time. his large, warm hand rises, his long fingers sliding effortlessly into the hair at the back of your neck, his thumb anchoring right on your jawline to tilt your face up. he leans in, and before your brain can even register the proximity, his lips are pressing firmly against yours.

the contact is an immediate shock of heat. unlike the brief practical exam from days ago, jay doesn't start with a gentle question. he slides his lips over yours with a slow, heavy confidence, guiding your mouth to open slightly with a soft, persistent pressure.

"put your hands on my shoulders," jay whispers directly against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged as he pulls back just a millimeter to give the instruction. "don't just let them hang there. hold onto me."

your hands shake as you lift them, your fingers clutching tightly at the soft cream fabric of his knit sweater. the moment your palms make contact with his broad shoulders, jay lets out a low, approving hum deep in his throat. he tilts his head to the opposite angle, his lips sealing over yours again, deepening the kiss with a slow, agonizingly deliberate pace.

he teaches you through the movement itself. when your movements get too rushed or frantic from the sheer panic of how good it feels, jay uses the firm grip on the back of your neck to slow you down, lingering in a heavy, pressing rhythm that forces you to match his breath. his tongue lightly brushes against your bottom lip, a subtle, electrifying hint that makes a quiet, helpless sound escape your throat. jay catches the sound, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of your jawline, pulling you closer until your chest is completely pressed against his.

the "practice kiss" begins to stretch, the boundaries of the lesson blurring until the air in the dorm room feels thick and heavy with a sudden, suffocating wave of genuine friction. it isn't just a clinical demonstration anymore. his lips are moving against yours with a raw, unhurried hunger, his breathing turning shallow and rough against your cheek. your fingers tangle deeper into the knit of his sweater, your body leaning entirely into his warmth, completely lost in the intoxicating taste of him. it’s a full-on makeout, a lingering, breathless collision that has absolutely nothing to do with jake sim.

suddenly, as if realizing exactly how far the line has been crossed, jay stiffens.

he pulls away, his hand sliding out of your hair as he abruptly breaks the contact.

the sudden loss of his warmth leaves you gasping for air, your lips tingling and flushed a deep red. you scramble back a few inches, your heart thumping violently against your ribs as reality comes crashing down on you like ice water.

the silence in the room is deafening, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. jay is sitting right in front of you, his dark hair completely messy from your fingers, his chest heaving under his sweater. he looks completely ungrounded, his eyes staring down at his own hands for a long, heavy beat before he finally forces himself to look up at you.

the atmosphere is thick with a sharp, suffocating awkwardness. both of you are completely aware that that wasn't on the syllabus.

jay clears his throat, his hand rising to rub the back of his neck as he shifts slightly on the mattress, trying desperately to summon his usual composed, unbothered demeanor.

“that was… good,” jay says, his voice rough, strained, and completely lacking its usual playful smugness. he avoids looking directly at your lips, his dark eyes focusing on your forehead instead as he slides off the bed and stands up. “your timing is… it’s fine. we’ll work on it.”

the minute those words leave jay’s mouth, the spell breaks entirely. you don't even wait for him to officially dismiss you. you practically scramble off the edge of his bed, your sneakers skidding slightly on the hardwood floor of his dorm as you snatch your tote bag from his desk chair with trembling hands.

“i— i have to go,” you stammer, your voice a high, frantic squeak that you barely recognize. you can't even look him in the eye; your gaze is glued to the door handle as you sprint toward it. “i have… a study group. and a paper. thank you for the lesson!”

you yank the door open and fling yourself out into the hallway, slamming it shut behind you before jay can even utter a response.

the walk — or rather, the hyperventilating run — back to your apartment is a blur of pure, unadulterated panic. your chest feels incredibly tight, your lungs burning as the cool evening air hits your face, but it does absolutely nothing to cool the raging fire still burning on your lips. your lips are tingling, slightly swollen, and heavy with the undeniable taste of him.

it’s for jake, you tell yourself, your fingers gripping the straps of your tote bag so tightly your knuckles turn a stark, ghostly white. it’s entirely for jake.

you turn the corner past the campus library, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you mentally repeat the words like a sacred mantra. the only reason i asked him to do that is because jake is going to kiss me soon. yunjin said jay is the best teacher. i just needed hands-on experience so i don’t humiliate myself when jake finally makes a move. it’s an educational baseline. that’s all it is.

but the anxious pacing of your thoughts only gets faster, louder, and more desperate.

if i didn't practice with jay, i would have frozen up with jake. jay was just correcting my rhythm. he said my timing was fine. so now, when jake kisses me, it’s going to be perfect. i’m doing this to save my future with jake. jay is just an instrument. a tutor. a textbook.

you push open the heavy glass door to your apartment building, practically taking the stairs two at a time because the elevator feels too slow, too claustrophobic for the storm currently raging inside your head.

it doesn't matter that my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. it doesn't matter that i forgot how to breathe. it doesn't matter that i wanted him to keep going. you reach your front door, fumbling blindly with your keys, your hands shaking so violently that the metal clicks loudly against the lock. it’s for jake. it’s all for jake sim. it has to be.

you unlock the door and burst inside, instantly slamming it behind you and leaning your back against the wood, letting out a long, shaky exhale. the apartment is dark and quiet — yunjin isn't home yet — which is a blessing, because if she took one look at your wild eyes and bitten lips, she would know instantly that you didn't just practice advanced flirting.

you drop your bag on the floor and walk straight into the bathroom, flicking on the harsh overhead light. you lean over the sink and stare at your reflection in the mirror.

your cheeks are still flushed a deep, telltale crimson. your hair is slightly unruly where jay's fingers had tangled into it, and your lips are undeniably darker, stung red from the heavy, lingering pressure of his mouth. you look completely undone. you look like a girl who just got thoroughly made out with by jay park.

your phone suddenly buzzes in your pocket, the sharp vibration making you jump.

with a racing heart, you pull it out. a notification blocks the screen.

jake: hey! just finished soccer practice. totally random, but are you free to grab dinner tomorrow night? just the two of us? 😊

you stare at the glowing text, the emojis, the sweet, easy invitation from the boy you’ve been dreaming about for months. it’s the exact moment you’ve been working toward. the ultimate goal. the reason you embarrassed yourself, the reason you sent the photos, the reason you walked into room 314 in the first place.

you lift your eyes back to your reflection in the mirror, your thumb hovering over the screen to type out a reply.

see? you think, your mind screaming at you to believe the lie as a cold sweat breaks out across your palms. it worked. the lessons worked. everything i did today… it was all just so i could be ready for tomorrow night. with jake.

but as you finally press your thumb to the glass to type 'i'd love to', your eyes automatically drift down to your own lips, and the phantom sensation of jay's heavy, rough breathing against your skin returns with a fierce, suffocating intensity that leaves you completely breathless.

-------

the afternoon sun is hitting the windows of room 314 when you walk in, casting long, warm bars of light across the hardwood floor. it’s a sharp contrast to the stormy darkness of your last lesson, but the familiar scent of sandalwood and clean laundry still hits you the second the door opens.

jay is sitting at his desk, casually typing something on his laptop, but he looks up the moment you step inside. his dark eyes immediately track your movement as you set your tote bag down by the door. he looks entirely composed, the previous lesson's awkwardness seemingly evaporated from his demeanor, replaced by his usual calm, lazy aura.

“welcome back, newbie,” jay says smoothly, closing his laptop with a quiet click. he stands up, stretching his arms slightly before walking over to his mini-fridge. “how was the big date?”

you sit down on the edge of his mattress, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. just the mention of yesterday makes a strange swirl of emotions tighten in your stomach.

“it was… really nice,” you say softly, staring down at the pattern of his blanket. “jake was amazing. he took me to that little Italian place downtown, the one with the string lights. he paid for everything, even when i tried to argue with him. and he was just so sweet, jay. he listened to me talk about my classes, he laughed at my jokes, and he walked me all the way back to my apartment building.”

jay leans against the edge of his desk, taking a sip of water, his eyes locked onto your face. “sounds like a textbook perfect date. so why do you look like someone just kicked your puppy?”

you swallow the lump in your throat, your voice dropping to a shy, embarrassed whisper. “because… he didn't kiss me.”

jay pauses, his water bottle halfway down from his lips. a sudden, sharp curiosity flashes in his eyes. “he didn't?”

“no,” you groan, burying your face in your knees for a second before looking back up at him, completely miserable. “we stood on the porch of my building for like three whole minutes. i did the eye contact. i did the posture thing you taught me. i held his gaze, my lips were parted, i did everything right! but he just… he smiled, ruffled my hair, told me he had an amazing time, and said goodnight. i don’t get it. did i do something wrong? did he see right through me?”

jay stares at you for a beat, and then, a slow, incredibly wicked smirk begins to crawl onto his face. the intense seriousness from the end of your last lesson is gone, replaced by a wave of pure, triumphant amusement. he sets his water bottle down on the desk and steps closer to the bed.

“newbie, you didn't do anything wrong,” jay says, his voice a low, deeply satisfied rumble. “you’re just dealing with jake sim. the guy is a traditionalist. he’s old-school. he’s not going to lunges at a girl on the very first dinner date, especially not a girl he actually respects and likes as much as he clearly likes you.”

he hitches his usual desk chair over, spinning it around to sit directly in front of you, his knees inches from yours. “honestly? this is perfect for us. it means we’re officially two steps ahead of him.”

you blink, confused. “two steps ahead? what do you mean?”

“i mean,” jay says, leaning forward, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a suffocating amount of focus, “by the time he finally gets the nerve to make a real move on you, you’re not just going to know how to handle a basic kiss. you’re going to be a master. which brings us to today's actual syllabus.”

he rests his elbows on his knees, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that instantly sets your pulse racing. “today, we’re moving past the initial contact. we’re talking about a full-on makeout. the pacing, the breathing, how to build the physical escalation without getting overwhelmed. how to take control of the rhythm so he’s the one losing his mind, not you.”

your breath hitches completely. the memory of how your last "practice kiss" had spiraled into a lingering, breathless fog flashes through your brain, making your lips tingle instantly.

jay studies the sudden, bright pink flush spreading across your cheeks. his smile softens just a fraction, a quiet, intense gravity taking over his features. he leans in a microscopic inch closer, his eyes dropping to your mouth before rising back to yours.

“so,” jay murmurs, his voice a heavy, dangerous purr. “do you want today's lesson to be purely theoretical… or do you want a practical example, newbie?”

your heart is thumping so hard against your ribs you’re certain he can hear it. you know you should say theoretical. you know you should protect your sanity, preserve the lie that this is all just an educational game for jake. but as you look at jay — at his sharp jawline, his messy dark hair, his perfect, parted lips — the desperation from days ago takes over completely.

you don’t say a word. you just look him straight in the eye and nod your head, a tiny, submissive gesture.

“good girl,” jay whispers, the words vibrating straight down your spine.

he doesn't waste a single second. jay slides out of the chair and onto the mattress, crossing his legs right in front of you. his large, warm hand rises instantly, his long fingers sliding effortlessly into the hair at the back of your neck, his thumb anchoring firmly against your jawline to tilt your face up.

“remember the pacing,” jay murmurs right before his lips touch yours. “let me lead first.”

the instant his mouth seals over yours, the entire world outside room 314 completely vanishes. his lips are incredibly soft but heavy with a firm, demanding pressure that immediately makes a soft, helpless sigh escape your throat. jay catches the sound, his thumb gently stroking the sensitive skin of your jaw, guiding your mouth to open just a fraction more.

“breathe through your nose, newbie,” he whispers against your lips, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he shifts the angle of his head, deepening the kiss with a slow, agonizingly deliberate rhythm. “don’t rush it. follow my pace.”

you lift your hands, your fingers shaking as you clutch tightly at the soft fabric of his knit sweater, pulling yourself closer until your chest is flush against his. jay lets out a low, rough hum of approval deep in his throat at the touch, his grip on the back of your neck tightening just enough to anchor you completely.

the kiss quickly deepens, the boundaries of a simple "lesson" shattering instantly into a heavy, intoxicating fog. jay shows you how to escalate the tension; his lips move against yours with a raw, unhurried hunger, his tongue lightly tracing your bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth in a soft, agonizing tug that leaves you completely breathless.

“when the energy shifts,” jay murmurs, his voice raspy as he briefly parts from your lips to trace a line of burning kisses along your jawline, his lips hovering right over the sensitive skin beneath your ear, “you use your hands to change the dynamic. don’t just hold my sweater. slide your hands up. touch his neck.”

as if under a spell, you follow his whispered instructions. you let your hands slide up his broad chest, your fingers wrapping around the warm skin of his neck, your thumbs resting just below his sharp jawline. the physical contact makes jay let out a sharp, ragged exhale against your skin.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes clouded with a fierce, heavy intensity that has absolutely nothing to do with jake sim. his chest is heaving under his sweater, his lips dark and swollen.

“just like that,” jay whispers, his large hand sliding down from your neck to firmly grip your waist, pulling your hips a fraction closer to his on the mattress. “you control the distance. if he gets too frantic, you hold him right there. if you want more… you pull him back in.”

he doesn't wait for you to pull him. jay leans back down, his mouth crashing back onto yours with a sudden, overwhelming wave of passion that makes your head spin. it’s a full-on, breathless makeout, his lips parting yours completely, his thumb rubbing a slow, heavy circle into your waist through your shirt. you lose all track of time, completely drowning in the intoxicating taste of him, your fingers tangling into his dark hair as you match his pace, completely forgetting who this lesson was supposed to be for.

when jay finally draws back, it is agonizingly slow, his lips lingering against yours in three short, pressing kisses before he completely breaks the contact.

the sudden loss of his warmth leaves you shivering, your chest heaving as you desperately try to force air back into your lungs. jay stays hovering inches away, his forehead resting lightly against yours for a brief, breathless second before he slowly straightens up. his breathing is completely ungrounded, his eyes dark as he stares down at your thoroughly kissed, flushed face.

the silence in the room is suffocating, heavy with the weight of what just happened.

jay clears his throat, his hand rising to rub the back of his neck as he shifts back on the mattress, trying to force his usual lazy, unbothered smirk back onto his face — though his trembling fingers completely give him away.

“that was… the baseline,” jay says, his voice rough, strained, and entirely devoid of his usual arrogance. he looks away from your lips, his gaze tracking a stray shadow on the wall instead. “we’ll… we’ll stop there for today. your pacing is fine, newbie. jake won’t know what hit him.”

he stands up quickly, walking over to the door to open it for you, but as you scramble off the bed with a racing heart, you realize with a sudden wave of absolute panic that you don't care about jake sim's reaction at all anymore.

-------

you would be lying to yourself if you had said you hadn't been eager for more after that. you were. in fact, you started meeting jay almost every day so you could "practice" making out.

it became an unspoken, addictive routine. you didn't even wait for a scheduled thursday afternoon anymore. a quick, vague text from jay — ‘my room’s free if you want to study’ — and you would find yourself walking toward room 314 with your heart already doing double-flips inside your chest. you didn't even bring your notebooks anymore. what was the point of pretending?

with every single day that passed, the lessons started escalating little by little, the boundaries of "basic mechanics" crumbling into dust.

one afternoon, the air in his dorm room felt so suffocatingly hot that your hands grew bold. jay was guiding you through a deeper rhythm, his lips heavy and possessive against yours, when your fingers strayed from the hem of his sweater and slid up, slipping underneath the fabric. your bare palms pressed flat against the warm, solid skin of his lower back. you remember the exact way his entire body had rigidified for a split second, a low, ragged growl catching in his throat before he completely lost his composure, his lips turning frantic against yours.

another day, the lesson wasn't about the mouth at all. jay had backed you up against his closed closet door, his large hands anchoring your wrists gently against the wood above your head. “advanced escalation,” he had whispered against your skin, his voice a dangerous, gravelly rasp right before he buried his face in your neck. he had kissed his way down your jawline, his lips warm and demanding as he sucked softly on the sensitive skin right above your collarbone, leaving a faint, stinging heat that made your knees turn to literal water.

but the most shocking shift — the one that still makes your face burn a furious purple when you think about it during lectures — happened just two days ago.

jay had been sitting in the middle of his unmade bed, watching you pace around his room as you anxiously rambled on about your nerves. without a word, he had reached out, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you down. before your brain could even process the movement, jay's hands were on your waist, lifting you up and guiding you until you were completely straddling his lap, your knees resting on either side of his thighs.

your whole body had gone into a state of absolute shock, your face inches from his. but jay hadn't teased you. he had just looked up at you with those dark, fiercely intense eyes, his thumbs rubbing slow, heavy circles into your hips. “this is how you handle the proximity,” he had murmured. and then he had pulled you down by your neck.

you had kissed for a whole hour. a full, breathless, uninterrupted sixty minutes where your hands were tangled in his hair, his broad chest was crushed against yours, and his mouth was relentlessly teaching you a rhythm that made your entire soul ache. your body had fit perfectly against his, the heat between you completely consuming the small room. and you had enjoyed every single, agonizing second of it.

still, despite the bare skin, the bruised lips, and the sheer intimacy of sitting on his lap, you kept trying to convince yourself it was all because of jake.

every night, when you lay awake in your own bed staring at the ceiling, you forced yourself to repeat the old script. it’s not because of jay. jay park has absolutely nothing to do with it. he’s just an instructor. he’s just incredibly good at what he does because he’s experienced, and i am just a good student taking advantage of a resource.

you told yourself that the violent butterflies in your stomach, the way your hands shook whenever you touched his skin, and the desperate hunger you felt every time he leaned in were all just a biological reaction. you were just enjoying the physical sensation of making out because, in the back of your mind, you were projecting. you were simply thinking about doing all of these things with jake sim. jay was just the proxy, the placeholder, the mannequin you were using to perfect your technique so that when the time finally came, you would drive jake absolutely crazy.

or at least… that’s what you said to yourself.

-------

you keep your mouth shut, maintaining the absolute lockdown on your secret. whenever yunjin asks how the lessons are going, you look her straight in the eye and lie through your teeth, insisting it’s all strictly theoretical. you tell her jay is just drawing diagrams and explaining body language, all while your lips are still practically stinging from being thoroughly devoured by him just an hour prior.

in the meantime, you keep hanging out with jake. he takes you to get ice cream, he walks you to class, and he remains the perfect, sweet gentleman. but whenever he holds your hand or leans in to give you a polite, fleeting peck on the cheek, a bizarre, hollow sensation settles in your chest. you keep expecting the earth to move, expecting to feel that white-hot, electric current that roars through your veins every time you walk into room 314. but it never comes. you’re just building up to it, you tell yourself desperately. the real spark will happen later. jay is just priming you.

and then comes today's lesson.

the afternoon sun is completely blocked out by the heavy curtains jay drew across his window, plunging the dorm room into a dark, suffocatingly intimate haze. you’re sitting directly on his lap, your legs straddling his thighs. the friction between your bodies is a living, breathing thing. you've grown bold over the past week; your hands are slipped entirely beneath his oversized tee, your palms pressed flat against the hot, defined muscles of his chest. your hips shift instinctively, a slow, heavy grind against his lap as you chase the friction, your mouth moving against his in a deep, wet rhythm that leaves you both completely breathledd.

jay lets out a sharp, ragged groan directly into your mouth. his hands, which had been anchoring your hips, suddenly tighten with a bruising force. he abruptly pulls his head back, his breathing incredibly shallow and heavy as he forces you to stop moving.

his dark hair is completely unruly, his lips a dark, swollen crimson. he looks up at you, his eyes clouded with a raw, fierce hunger that makes your stomach do a violent flip.

“jesus, newbie,” jay rasps, his chest heaving under his shirt as his hands steady your trembling waist. he takes a long, ragged breath, his voice dropping into an incredibly low, gravelly register. “hold on. stop moving for a second.”

you blink down at him, dazed, your heart hammering against your ribs. “what? did i… did i do it wrong?”

jay lets out a low, breathless chuckle, though his jaw remains incredibly tight. “no. you didn't do it wrong. that’s the problem. the way you move…” he pauses, his intense gaze raking over your flushed face, tracking the absolute innocence in your wide eyes. a sudden, heavy curiosity settles over his features. “have you actually ever done anything sexual before this? like, at all?”

the question hits you like a bucket of ice water. a fierce, blinding wave of mortification instantly erupts across your cheeks. you instinctively try to shift off his lap, but his grip on your waist tightens, keeping you anchored right there against his heat.

“no,” you squeak out, your voice dropping to an incredibly shy, embarrassed whisper. you look down at his collarbone, unable to hold his gaze. “i haven't. i’ve never… i’ve never done anything. i told you, i'm a total newbie.”

jay stares at you, a complex flash of emotion crossing his face — surprise, a sudden wave of protectiveness, and a trace of possessiveness that he quickly tries to mask. he clears his throat, his thumb rubbing a slow, grounding circle into your hip.

“right,” jay murmurs, his voice softening just a fraction. “okay. well. you’re doing great for a beginner.”

you swallow hard, the frantic script in your head screaming at you to take control, to justify why you're enjoying this so much, why you’re pushing the boundaries. you look at his perfectly parted lips, then back up to his dark eyes, and a reckless, desperate thought tumbles right out of your mouth.

“jay… can you teach me about the rest of it?”

jay freezes, his hand instantly stopping its movement on your hip. “the rest of it?”

“yes,” you stammer, your voice incredibly small but filled with a panicked, stubborn determination. you force the lie out, hiding behind your golden shield. “i mean… for jake! what if things escalate on our next date? what if he wants to go further? i don’t want to be completely clueless. i want to know how to make him feel good. i need to learn how sex works. the mechanics.”

jay studies your face for a long, agonizingly silent beat. the air in the room feels impossibly thick. you can feel the sudden, intense heat radiating from his lap, a physical reminder of exactly what your grinding had done to him. but jay is a professional, and more than that, he refuses to pressure you or take advantage of the ridiculous web of lies you've spun.

slowly, deliberately, jay lifts his hands and gently guides you off his lap. the sudden loss of his warmth makes you shiver. he sits back against his headboard, pulling one knee up to his chest, his expression shifting into something clinical, serious, and entirely focused.

“alright, newbie,” jay says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that commands your absolute attention. “if you want to talk about how to make a guy feel good, we’re keeping this strictly theoretical. understand? no hands-on for this part.”

you nod quickly, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, your hands tightly clasped in your lap as your face burns hot.

“good. then let’s start with manual stimulation. handjobs,” jay begins, his tone conversational but his words dripping with a raw, explicit honesty that makes your jaw drop. “it’s not just about gripping and sliding. the anatomy is sensitive. a guy's nerves are concentrated right at the head, especially underneath, on the frenulum. if you just pull the skin up and down dry, it’s uncomfortable. you need friction control. you use lubrication, or even just saliva, and you start with a firm but gentle grip at the base.”

you feel your eyes widening, your brain frantically trying to take mental notes as he speaks. jay doesn't break eye contact; he looks straight at you, using clinical but undeniably dirty language that makes your heart thump in your throat.

“the rhythm is everything,” jay continues smoothly, his voice dropping an octave, turning into a heavy, suffocating purr. “you match his breathing. a slow, steady stroke all the way from the base to the top, and when you reach the head, you twist your thumb gently over the top. it builds the pressure. you don’t speed up until his breath catches. you pay attention to his sounds.”

“o-oh,” you squeak, your hands twisting together. “i… okay. slow rhythm. twist at the top.”

“exactly,” jay says, a faint, amused half-smile touching his lips at your absolute mortification, though his eyes remain heavy and intense. “now, if things go further… oral. blowjobs. this is where most girls panic because they think about their teeth. your teeth should never touch his skin, newbie. you keep your lips curled completely over them. like an anchor.”

you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust. your cheeks are a catastrophic shade of purple, but you are hanging on every single syllable.

“the technique isn’t just about depth,” jay murmurs, his gaze dropping to your mouth for a heavy, unhurried second before rising back to your eyes. “it’s about suction and warmth. you use the roof of your mouth and your tongue to create a vacuum. you start slow, swirling your tongue around the head before taking him in. and the most important part? the pacing. you don’t just stay at the top; you move down to the base, using one hand to stroke the shaft while your mouth handles the rest. dual stimulation.”

he pauses, leaning forward just a fraction, his voice dropping into a whisper that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine.

“and you never, ever break eye contact,” jay whispers, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying amount of gravity. “when you’re down there, you look up at him. through your lashes. you let him see exactly what you’re doing to him. it drives a guy absolutely insane, newbie. it completely breaks his control.”

you sit there, completely paralyzed, your chest heaving as you absorb the intense, explicit breakdown. you are utterly mortified, entirely overwhelmed, and your brain is screaming at you that you are supposed to be picturing jake sim during this entire lecture.

but as you look at jay — at the way his jaw tightens, the way his low, gravelly voice sounds saying those explicit words, and the dark, possessive heat hidden deep in his eyes — you realize with a sudden wave of pure terror that jake’s face hasn't crossed your mind even once.

you sit there at the foot of his bed, your heart hammering against your ribs so violently you can hear it in your ears. the explicit details of his words are still hanging heavy in the dim, warm air of the dorm room. your hands are knotted tightly in the fabric of your sweater, your palms slick with a nervous sweat.

you look down at his lap, then back up to his dark, unhurried eyes. the golden shield of your excuse — the lie that this is all a clinical preparation for a future with jake sim — feels incredibly heavy, but it’s the only armor you have left.

"jay," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. you swallow hard, your face burning a catastrophic shade of crimson as you force the words out. "if... if the rhythm and the grip are that specific... what if i mess it up? what if i'm too rough, or too loose? can you... can you give me another practical example?"

jay’s entire body tenses. the casual, leaning posture against his headboard locks up instantly. his eyes widen just a fraction, his gaze dropping to your trembling hands before snapping back up to look at your face. the heavy, silent tension in room 314 returns with the force of a physical blow.

"newbie," jay rasps, his voice rougher and deeper than before. he clears his throat, his knuckles whitening as his hands grip the mattress. "we said strictly theoretical for this. i'm not trying to rush you into anything."

"i'm not rushed," you lie desperately, leaning forward just a fraction, your heart in your throat. "i just... i need to know if i'm doing it right. for the baseline. please, jay."

jay stares at you for three agonizing, breathless seconds. his jaw tightens so hard you can see the muscle tick under his sharp skin. he lets out a long, slow, ragged exhale through his teeth, the restraint he’s been maintaining for weeks visibly fracturing.

"alright," jay murmurs, his tone shifting into a low, gravelly register that vibrates straight through your chest. "come here."

you move on your knees, sliding across the mattress until you're sitting right beside his thigh. your knees are trembling. jay reaches down, his fingers hooking under the hem of his dark trousers, and with a low rustle of fabric, he frees himself.

your breath catches completely. he is already thick, fully erect, and a dark, heavy flush is painting his skin. the pure, raw reality of it makes your mind go entirely blank.

"don't look away," jay commands softly, his voice remarkably steady despite the shallow rise and fall of his chest. "wrap your fingers like this."

he reaches out, his broad, warm hand wrapping around yours to guide it. he positions your fingers at the very base of his shaft, curling them in a firm, even cylinder. his skin feels smooth, white-hot, and pulsing beneath your touch.

"now, look at me," jay whispers, his face inches from yours. "stroke up. slow. all the way to the top."

you slowly move your hand upward, the physical friction sending a jolt of pure electricity straight up your arm. your heart is beating in an erratic rhythm against your ribs.

"good. just like that, newbie," jay praises you, a low, breathy rumble in his throat. his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, a soft, encouraging look melting his usual sharp features. "now, when you hit the head... slower at the top. twist your thumb over the frenulum. exactly like i explained."

you follow his instructions perfectly, slowing the motion, your thumb dragging gently over the ultra-sensitive rim.

"oh— fuck," jay lets out a sudden, ragged groan, his eyes instantly fluttering shut as his head thumps back against the headboard. the sound is deep, unvarnished, and completely intoxicating. "yes. right there. that's perfect, sweetheart. keep that exact pace."

hearing the pet name slip past his lips makes your stomach do a violent, hot flip. you keep going, your movements becoming smoother, more confident as you fall into the heavy, dragging rhythm. you watch his face, completely fascinated by the raw power you suddenly hold over him.

but as the seconds tick by, the clinical baseline completely disintegrates. the touch is too hot, the friction too intense, and jay’s carefully constructed control begins to dangerously slip.

his breathing turns shallow and frantic, his chest heaving under his shirt. his sharp, dark brows furrow in a look that almost resembles pain. he lets out another heavy, broken groan, a sudden, involuntary jerk rippling through his lower half as his hips instinctively thrust upward against the firm pressure of your hand.

"jay," you whisper, completely captivated by the sight of him losing his mind beneath your touch.

"keep going... shit, don't stop," he swears under his breath, his voice rough and completely ungrounded. his hand flies to your wrist, not to pull you away, but to physically lock your hand in place, his fingers squeezing tightly as he takes over the pace, forcing your hand to move faster, harder against him. another ragged, breathy moan escapes his lips, his jaw clenching so tightly his veins stand out against his neck. "you're too good at this... fuck, newbie..."

the sheer, overwhelming heat of the moment fills the quiet room, the sound of his ragged breathing and the soft, slick friction of your hand filling the space between you. you are utterly drowning in him, your thumb tracing the wetness at the tip, your own breathing turning heavy as you lean into his space.

you look up through your lashes, his dark eyes snapping open to look down at you, clouded with a fierce, possessive hunger. and that’s when the old, desperate script in your head panics, trying one last time to pull you back to safety.

"is this… how i should do it for jake?" you whisper, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

jay freezes.

the pleasure on his face vanishes instantly. his hand snaps down, gripping your wrist hard enough to still you completely. his eyes open, sharp and raw.

jay stares down at you, his chest heaving, his lips parted as he absorbs the name. for a second, something painful flashes across his face — hurt, anger, and something deeper. he exhales shakily, then gently but firmly removes your hand from him. the silence that crashes into the room is suffocating.

he reaches down, gently but firmly removing your hand from his skin, and quietly covers himself back up, shifting his weight to sit back against the wall.

the sudden loss of contact leaves your hand feeling cold, your fingers tingling. the blinding wave of embarrassment returns, your cheeks exploding into a furious red flush as you realize what you just said.

“newbie…” he says quietly, voice rough. “don’t do that.”

you feel sick with embarrassment. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—”

but jay doesn't lash out. he doesn't tease you, and he doesn't bring up the name. instead, he just looks down at your flustered, wide-eyed face, a soft, incredibly gentle expression taking over his sharp features.

"hey," jay murmurs, his voice still low and beautifully rough from the aftereffects of the pleasure. he reaches out, his large, warm hand gently patting the top of your head, his fingers lightly smoothing down your messy hair. "don't look at me like that. you didn't do anything wrong."

you look up at him through your bangs, your heart still thumping softly. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have..."

"it's fine," jay interrupts softly, a faint, tired but genuinely warm smile touching his lips. his hand slides down from your head to rest gently on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "you're a fast learner, newbie. really fast. you passed the lesson."

he sits there, his hand warm and heavy on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing a slow, comforting circle into your shirt. it’s a soft, lingering moment of aftercare that feels entirely too domestic, entirely too real for a simple tutoring session. and as you look at his gentle smile, your hand still warm from his skin, the lie about jake feels smaller and more pathetic than it ever has before.

-------

when thursday afternoon rolls around, the tension inside your chest is so thick you can barely swallow. the walk to the west quad feels different today; the golden armor of your excuses is getting heavier, cracking, but the raw curiosity burning in your veins is too loud to ignore.

when you knock on the door to room 314, jay opens it almost instantly. he’s wearing a loose, dark gray t-shirt and light gray sweatpants, his dark hair falling messy across his forehead. his eyes immediately lock onto yours, a quiet, intense gravity in his gaze that lets you know he hasn't forgotten a single second of tuesday's handjob lesson either.

"come in, newbie," jay murmurs, stepping aside.

you walk in and immediately sit cross-legged in the center of his unmade bed, your hands tucked between your knees to hide how much they’re shaking. jay closes the door, the heavy click sealing the two of you in the quiet, sandalwood-scented dimness of his room.

he doesn't sit in his desk chair. he walks straight to the edge of the mattress, standing right in front of you, looking down with his hands shoved casually into his sweatpants pockets. "alright. lesson seven. what are we breaking down today?"

you look up at him, your cheeks instantly exploding into a fierce, burning crimson. you swallow hard, your fingers twisting together as you force the words out. "i... i want to learn how to give a blowjob. you explained the theory on tuesday, but... i’ve always been curious about how the actual tongue work and depth feel. i want the practical example, jay."

jay’s entire posture locks up. his eyes darken significantly, a sudden, heavy wave of heat rolling off his body as he stares down at your flushed, determined face. he takes a slow, ragged breath through his nose, his jaw clenching tightly.

"newbie," jay rasps, his voice incredibly deep and rough. "are you absolutely sure about this? once we cross this line, there’s no turning back."

"i'm sure," you whisper, looking him straight in the eye.

jay doesn't say another word. he slowly pulls his hands out of his pockets and sits down on the edge of the bed, right in front of you. with a low, deliberate rustle of fabric, he pushes his sweatpants down, freeing his thick, fully erect length. he is already pulsing, a heavy, dark flush painting his white-hot skin.

"get down on your knees between my legs," jay commands softly, his voice remarkably patient, completely ridden of his usual mocking tone

you slide off the mattress, sinking onto your knees on the hardwood floor right between his thighs. your face is level with his lap, the raw heat of his arousal radiating against your cheeks.

"now, look at me," jay whispers, his large, warm hand rising to gently cup the back of your head, his long fingers tangling into your hair to steady you. "remember what i said. keep your lips curled completely over your teeth. let me feel your tongue first. swirl it right around the head."

you lean in, your hands hesitantly resting on the top of his firm thighs for balance. you slowly extend your tongue, dragging the wet, warm tip in a slow circle around the sensitive rim of his crown.

"oh— fuck," jay lets out a sharp, ragged gasp, his head immediately tossing back, his eyes fluttering shut as a deep shiver ripples through his lower half. his fingers tighten gently in your hair. "yes. just like that, baby. you're so warm, you feel so good."

"now, open up a little more," jay murmurs, his dark eyes snapping open to look down at you, clouded with an intense, suffocating pleasure. "take the top half in. use the roof of your mouth to create a gentle suction. don't rush the depth yet."

you part your lips, curling them firmly over your teeth as he instructed, and slowly slide your mouth over the thick, smooth head of his shaft. the sudden warmth and tightness of your mouth makes jay let out a low, broken moan deep in his chest. you pull back slightly, then slide forward again, your tongue swirling against him with every movement.

"you're doing so good, newbie," jay praises you, his voice a low, breathy rumble right above your head. his hand in your hair is incredibly sweet, gently guiding your rhythm, pacing your movements so you don’t choke. "you're so pretty looking up at me like that. god, you're perfect."

hearing him call you pretty makes a violent, hot flash of adrenaline surge through you. you grow bolder, sliding your mouth a little further down, letting your throat adapt to the thickness. you manage your breathing, taking steady, short inhales through your nose as your mouth works rhythmically against him.

the clinical nature of the lesson completely shatters. jay’s control begins to dangerously fracture under the wet, tight heat of your mouth. his breathing turns shallow and frantic, his chest heaving under his t-shirt as his hips instinctively lift, thrusting a fraction deeper into your mouth with a heavy, unvarnished desperation.

"shit, look at you," jay groans out, a ragged, completely ungrounded swear escaping his lips as his grip on your hair tightens just enough to hold you in place. his eyes are locked onto yours, blazing with a raw, possessive hunger as you look up at him through your lashes. "look at you, sucking me off so good... fuck, sweetheart, you're driving me insane."

the explicit praise sends a jolt of pure electricity straight down your spine. you wrap your right hand around the base of his shaft, sliding it up and down in sync with the heavy suction of your mouth, creating a flawless, dual stimulation that completely breaks his remaining restraint.

jay let out a deep, guttural cry, his jaw clenching so hard the veins stand out against his neck, his hips moving faster, more rapidly against your mouth as he inches closer and closer to the edge.

"hold on— hold on, baby, stop," jay suddenly rasps, his breathing completely shattered. he gently but firmly pulls your head back by your hair, his chest heaving as he draws a long, shaky breath.

you blink up at him, your lips wet and flushed a deep red, your heart thumping violently. jay stares down at your face, his eyes incredibly heavy, full of a fierce, protective softness that completely melts his sharp features.

slowly, he reaches down, his thumb gently wiping away a drop of moisture from the corner of your mouth. a faint, breathless, and incredibly tender smile on his lips.

"you're a genius, newbie," jay whispers, his voice beautifully rough as he lightly taps your cheek. "lesson concluded. you're officially too good for this campus."

-------

when you arrive for the next lesson, the atmospheric pressure inside room 314 feels entirely different. the standard conversational buffer — the casual banter about classes, the lingering ghost of a mention of jake — is completely gone. when jay opens the door, he doesn’t say his usual witty greeting. he just looks at you, his dark eyes heavy and remarkably soft, and reaches down to gently take your bag from your hand, setting it by the desk.

"hey," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly timbre that instantly makes your pulse flutter.

"hey," you whisper back.

he closes the door with a quiet, deliberate click, locking it before turning back to you. he’s wearing a simple black t-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders, and his hair is a little messy, falling perfectly over his forehead. he doesn't wait for you to sit on the edge of the mattress; instead, he takes your hand, his long, warm fingers sliding effortlessly between yours, and guides you to the middle of the bed.

"we've spent a lot of time breaking down what makes a guy lose his mind," jay says softly, sitting down right in front of you, his knees brushing against your thighs. his free hand reaches up, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw, tilting your face up so you're forced to look directly into his eyes. "but that's only half the mechanics, newbie. you need to know what feels good for you, too. you need to know how your body reacts when someone is completely focused on you."

your breath catches, a fierce, sudden heat blooming across your chest. "jay..."

"i'm going to go slow, okay?" he interrupts gently, his eyes crinkling warmly at the corners with a reassuring, incredibly tender smile. "no rushing. i'm going to teach you exactly how you're supposed to be touched."

he leans forward, his lips pressing softly against your forehead, then your temple, before trailing down to the sensitive column of your neck. a violent, delicious shiver ripples through your entire body as he kisses his way back up to your jawline, his lips warm and unhurried.

"lay down for me, sweetheart," jay whispers against your skin, his hands moving to your waist to gently guide you back onto the pillows.

you slide down, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs as jay shifts, hovering over you, supported by his elbows on either side of your head. his gaze rakes over your flushed face, his expression so fiercely loving and sweet it makes your chest ache. he reaches down, his large, warm hand sliding under the hem of your top, his palm resting flat against the bare skin of your stomach. you let out a soft, sharp inhale at the sudden friction.

"just breathe," jay praises you, his voice a soft, comforting rumble as his fingers trail lower, gently nudging the waistband of your shorts. "let me do the work."

slowly, deliberately, he eases your clothes down, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs to the dim, warm air of the room. you instinctively try to pull your knees together, a sudden wave of shyness hitting you, but jay gently presses them apart, sliding his body between your legs to anchor you. he doesn't look away; his eyes stay locked onto yours as his fingers softly brush against the inner skin of your thigh, moving upward with agonizingly slow, light strokes.

"you are so beautiful, newbie," he murmurs, leaning down to press a deep, lingering kiss to your lips, tasting you fully before trailing his mouth down to your collarbone. "so pretty for me."

when his hand finally reaches the center of your heat, you let out a breathless, broken gasp, your fingers instantly clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt. his fingers are warm, incredibly gentle as they find the small, sensitive bundle of nerves. he starts with light, circular motions, his thumb sliding over the slick skin with a practiced, effortless rhythm.

"there you go," jay whispers against your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he tracks the sudden, erratic hitch in your breathing. "feel that? that's the baseline. you just stay relaxed, let the heat build."

he introduces a single finger, sliding it slowly into your tight, wet heat. a soft, helpless moan escapes your throat, your hips instinctively lifting against his hand. jay lets out a low, rough hum of absolute approval deep in his chest, his finger moving in a slow, curling motion that targets a deep, heavy ache you didn't even know was there.

"look at me, sweetheart," he commands softly. you blink your eyes open, your vision slightly blurry from the sheer intensity of it, to find him staring down at you with an unvarnished, consuming intensity. "you're doing so good. you're so wet for me."

he continues the rhythm, his fingers moving inside you with a steady, heavy pace while his thumb keeps a relentless, agonizingly perfect pressure on your core. you feel the tension building rapidly, a hot, tight knot coiling tightly in your lower stomach. your hands tangle deep into his dark hair, pulling him closer as your breathing turns shallow and desperate.

"jay... jay," you whimpered, completely ungrounded by the overwhelming sensation.

"i've got you," he murmurs sweetly, kissing away the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. he pulls his hand away for just a fraction of a second, making you let out a needy whine, before he shifts his body lower on the mattress.

he presses your knees open wider, his hands firmly gripping the undersides of your thighs to steady you. you look down through your lashes, your face burning a furious purple as jay leans his head down, his mouth replacing his fingers.

the first touch of his wet, warm tongue against your sensitive core makes your entire body arch off the mattress, a loud, unvarnished cry echoing through the quiet room. jay's hands tighten on your thighs, anchoring you completely as his tongue sweeps upward in long, firm strokes, applying a heavy, steady suction that sends a violent, electric current straight down your spine.

"oh my god," you sob out, your fingers desperately clutching at the bedsheets as the coiling tension inside you completely snaps.

jay doesn't stop. he works through your release, his tongue moving in a relentless, beautifully deep rhythm, drinking you in as your body trembles and shakes beneath him. he holds you steady through the intense waves, his mouth warm and unbelievably patient against your sensitive skin until the final tremors slowly begin to fade.

when he finally slides back up the mattress, his face is flushed, his dark eyes shining with a deep, triumphant softness. he pulls the blankets up over your shivering shoulders, immediately wrapping his broad arms around you and pulling your back flush against his chest in a tight, protective embrace.

he leans down, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your warm neck.

"you did so perfect, newbie," jay whispers into your hair, his voice rough and beautifully thick as his large hand rests over your heart, feeling it hammer a frantic pace against his palm. "absolutely perfect."

the cool night air hits your face the moment you step out of the west quad, but it does absolutely nothing to cool the raging, white-hot fire burning beneath your skin. your limbs feel heavy, almost liquid, and every step you take on the concrete sidewalk feels strangely disconnected from reality.

the guilt catches up to you by the time you reach the campus quad. it settles into your stomach like a block of lead, heavy and suffocating.

you just had sex with jay park.

well, not full intercourse, but it was sexual. it was intimate. he touched you, he put his mouth on you, he held you through the most intense physical release of your life, and he wrapped his arms around you like you belonged to him. the raw, unvarnished memory of his wet tongue, his whispers of "sweetheart," and the protective warmth of his chest pressed against your back makes a violent shudder get to your core.

it's for jake, your brain screams, a frantic, high-pitched panic echoing in your head as you grip the straps of your tote bag until your knuckles turn white. the reason why you're doing this is for improving for jake. you're a newbie. you needed to know what a release felt like so you don't panic or freeze up when jake finally takes you to his bed. jay is just the instructor. he's a textbook. he has nothing to do with this.

but deep inside, in a dark, quiet corner of your soul that you are desperately trying to block out, you know it's a lie. you know text modules and posture corrections don't involve a guy worshiping your body until you're sobbing his name into his pillows.

still, you really try to convince yourself. you force the golden shield back into place, cementing the lie with sheer, stubborn willpower as you unlock the door to your apartment. yunjin's bedroom door is closed, the apartment blissfully dark. you tip-toe straight into your room, lock the door behind you, and collapse onto your bed without even changing out of your clothes.

the bed feels too big, too cold, and your skin is still tingling, practically begging for the touch that was just stripped away from it.

fine, you think desperately, staring up at the shadows on your ceiling. if it's for jake, prove it. fantasize about him.

your hands shake as you slide them down the denim of your shorts, slipping past the waistband to touch the lingering, hypersensitive heat between your thighs. you close your eyes tightly, forcing jake's face into your mind's eye. you picture the sweet way he ruffles your hair, the little Italian restaurant with the string lights, the gentle way he holds your hand across the table.

you start to move your fingers, replicating the exact circular rhythm jay had used on you just an hour ago. a soft, needy gasp escapes your lips into the quiet room. the heat builds rapidly, your body already primed and ready to boil over.

it's jake, you tell yourself, your breathing turning hurried as you pick up the pace. imagine jake doing this to you. imagine jake hovering over you in the dark.

you lean into the fantasy, letting the tight, coiling knot in your stomach take over. you bite your lip hard, letting your brain go insane — imagining the pretty sounds he’d make, mouth open in a slight “o” as his brows furrow, hair falling down, almost reaching that pretty nose adorned with the scar you love to feel between your—

wait.

jake doesn’t have a nose scar.

that’s jay.

your fingers freeze.

the world inside your bedroom completely grinds to a halt. you stare blankly at the dark ceiling, your hand slipping out from your shorts as if your skin had suddenly turned to ice. your heart is hammering, but it’s not from the pleasure anymore; it’s from pure, unadulterated terror.

you just pictured jay.

you were touching yourself, trying to build a future with the boy you’ve liked for months, and your brain completely bypassed him to conjure the exact, devastating image of jay park’s sharp jaw, his furrowed brows, and that tiny, pale scar cutting right across the bridge of his aristocratic nose.

a suffocating wave of reality hits you. it isn't jake. it has never been jake. not since you walked into room 314.

the next morning, the guilt is a physical sickness in your throat. you can’t look at your phone. when jake texts you a picture of a golden retriever he saw on his walk, you reply with a short, polite emoji, your stomach twisting into knots. you are entirely, completely compromised.

by monday afternoon, you know what you have to do. you can't keep going to room 314. if you walk back into that room, if you let him put his hands on your waist one more time, you will never be able to look jake sim in the eye again. you will lose the entire script.

with shaking thumbs, you open your chat with jay.

you: hey jay. i think we should stop the lessons. i think i have everything i need now. thank you for everything.

you hit send and immediately flip your phone face-down on your duvet, burying your face in your hands. you expect him to reply with his usual lazy, arrogant ‘sure thing, newbie’. you expect him to be relieved that his tutoring duties are officially over.

but three minutes later, your phone buzzes. then it buzzes again. and again.

jay: what do you mean? jay: did something happen? jay: newbie answer your phone. if i did something on thursday to make you uncomfortable you need to tell me. i told you we could go at your pace. did i pressure you?

the sheer, frantic panic in his messages makes your throat tighten. the cool, unbothered, perfectly composed jay park is completely gone, replaced by someone who sounds genuinely, deeply terrified that he hurt you.

you bite your lip, a stray tear slipping down your cheek as you type back.

you: no! no, jay, you didn't do anything wrong at all. you were perfect. it's just... things are getting serious with jake. he asked me out again this weekend. and since jake was the original purpose of the whole thing... i need to focus on him now. i have to be fair to him.

you watch the screen. the three little typing dots appear almost instantly. then they disappear. then they appear again. the silence stretching between your apartments feels agonizing.

finally, the phone buzzes one last time.

jay: right. the original purpose. jay: i get it. good luck this weekend, newbie. drive him crazy.

the text is so clinical, so brief, it feels like a physical slap. he doesn't fight it. he doesn't tease you. he just steps back into the box of the "instructor," closing the lid firmly behind him.

-------

the rest of the week passes in a gray, heavy blur. you don't go to the west quad. you take the long way around the library just so you don't have to risk seeing his tall silhouette walking past the glass windows.

friday night arrives, and you're sitting at the vanity in your bedroom, curling your hair for your second official date with jake. yunjin is leaning against your doorframe, watching you with a slight, curious frown.

"you're quiet today," yunjin notes, crossing her arms. "usually before a jake date you're bouncing off the walls. didn't your theoretical lessons with jay give you a confidence boost?"

"they did," you lie softly, your eyes fixed on your reflection. "i'm just... focused."

"well, jay's been acting weird too," yunjin shrugs, turning back toward the living room. "saw him at the student union yesterday. he looked like he hadn't slept in four days. completely tuned out."

your grip on the curling iron tightens so hard your palm aches. he's fine, you tell yourself desperately. he's jay park. he's glad to have his bed back to himself.

an hour later, you're sitting across from jake at a trendy, low-lit taco place downtown. the restaurant is loud, music bouncing off the brick walls. jake is looking at you with that sweet, boyish grin, talking animatedly about his soccer coach's ridiculous training schedule.

he's perfect. he's everything you wanted.

but as the noise of the restaurant swells, jake leans across the small wooden table, his face closing the distance to say something over the music. your brain immediately fires a memory — the heavy weight of jay's chest pressed against your back, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his low voice whispering 'we're in a quiet room, stop playing games with me.'

"hey," jake says, his hand reaching out to lightly tap your wrist. "you there? you looked like you were a million miles away."

"i'm here," you say, forcing a bright, sweet smile onto your face. "sorry, just listening."

when the date ends, jake walks you all the way back to your apartment building. the air on the porch is cool, the dim amber light of the streetlamp casting long shadows over the brick steps. it's the exact setup from a week ago. the final act.

jake stands close, his dark eyes looking down at you with a soft, undeniable affection. he reaches out, his fingers gently tucking a stray curl behind your ear. his hand is nice. it's sweet.

"i had a really great time tonight," jake whispers, leaning in slowly.

your heart spikes, your body automatically going rigid as you realize it’s happening. this is it. the practical application. jake tilts his head, his eyes dropping to your mouth before closing as he bridges the final inch.

his lips press against yours.

it is a perfectly nice kiss. it's gentle, polite, and safe. but as jake's mouth moves against yours, your brain does absolutely nothing. there is no white-hot rush of electricity. there is no heavy, suffocating gravity pulling at your soul. your hands stay flat against your sides, entirely lacking the desperate urge to slide beneath his shirt, to grip his broad shoulders, to tangle into his hair.

jake pulls back after a few seconds, a sweet, satisfied smile on his face. "goodnight," he murmurs, ruffling your hair gently before turning to walk down the steps.

you stand on the porch in the quiet night air, staring at his retreating back. your lips feel completely cold. your skin feels entirely empty. and as you turn the key in your apartment lock, a crushing, definitive truth finally breaks through the last of your defenses.

the lessons didn't prepare you for jake sim. they ruined you for anyone who isn't jay park.

-------

you keep trying.

you really, truly do. you go on a third date with jake to an indie movie theater, and a fourth date where he cooks dinner for you at his apartment. he is everything a boyfriend should be — attentive, sweet, incredibly handsome, and completely respectful. but every time he holds your hand, your fingers feel numb. every time he leans down to kiss you goodnight on your porch, your mind is a completely flat, silent room.

there are no shivers. there is no gravelly voice whispering “breathe, newbie” against your skin. there is no heavy, intoxicating scent of sandalwood.

you are physically with jake sim, but you are entirely haunted by jay park.

you miss him. you miss him so much it feels like a physical ache in the center of your chest. you miss the arrogant, lazy smirks that you eventually learned how to kiss right off his face. you miss the way his large, warm hands felt sliding underneath your sweater. you miss the breathless, quiet aftercare where he would just stroke your hair and tell you you did perfect.

you haven't received a single text from him in two weeks. your chat history sits at the bottom of your messages, a cold, clinical reminder of "the original purpose."

then comes tuesday afternoon.

you’re sitting on the living room rug of your apartment, your knees pulled to your chest as you stare blankly at a textbook you haven't actually read a page of in thirty minutes. yunjin is sitting on the couch right behind you, painting her toenails a vibrant shade of cherry red.

the apartment is completely quiet except for the rhythmic swipe, swipe of her nail brush.

"hey," yunjin speaks up suddenly, not looking up from her pinky toe. "so, i ran into jake at the gym earlier today."

your shoulders instantly tighten. "oh. yeah?"

"yeah. he was glowing, honestly," yunjin says, finally capping the nail polish and leaning back against the cushions. she looks down at the top of your head, her sharp eyes narrowing in a familiar, hyper-observant squint. "he said things are going amazingly with you. he literally told me you're the most perfect, sweet girl he’s ever met."

you let out a tiny, hollow sound that is supposed to be a laugh, but it sounds incredibly sad. "that's... nice."

"so..." yunjin trails off, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. her voice drops into a lighter, teasing tone. "come on. spill. how are the advanced lessons going? did jay's theoretical tutoring actually work? did he give you the magic playbook or what?"

at the mention of his name, something inside you completely snaps.

the two weeks of suffocating guilt, the crushing weight of the lies, the phantom feeling of jay's mouth on yours, and the sheer, exhausting misery of pretending to be happy with jake all come crashing down at once. your eyes suddenly sting with hot, angry tears, and a shaky, broken sob escapes your throat before you can even think to mask it.

yunjin freezes. her jaw practically drops to the floor as she watches your shoulders violently shake, your face burying themselves into your knees.

"wait— oh my god, hey," yunjin stammers, instantly sliding off the couch and dropping to the rug beside you. she wraps a panicked arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "what's wrong? did jake do something? did he hurt you? i will literally fight him right now—"

"no!" you sob out, your voice muffled and thick with tears as you shake your head against your knees. "no, jake didn't do anything! jake is perfect! he's so sweet!"

"then why are you crying like someone died?" yunjin asks, completely bewildered, her hand rubbing your back in a comforting motion. "if jake is perfect, what's wrong?"

you lift your head, your face a catastrophic, tear-stained shade of purple, your chest heaving as you look at your best friend.

"it's jay," you choke out, the truth finally tearing its way out of your chest.

yunjin blinks, her eyebrows furrowing in deep confusion. "jay? jay park? what does he have to do with you crying about jake?"

"the lessons," you whisper, a fresh wave of tears spilling over your lashes. "they... they weren't theoretical, yunjin. i lied to you. i lied to everyone."

yunjin’s entire body goes completely still. her grip on your shoulder tightens as she stares at you, the dots in her highly perceptive brain suddenly trying to connect a picture she never expected to see. "what do you mean they weren't theoretical?"

"we... we did a practical lesson, a lot of them, actually," you confess, your voice cracking with pure, unadulterated embarrassment, but the relief of finally saying it out loud is a physical weight lifting off your lungs. "the first few weeks were just talking, but then... when he was telling me how to kiss someone correctly, i panicked because i thought i'd be bad at kissing jake. so i asked jay for a real example. and he kissed me."

yunjin’s eyes widen to the size of literal dinner saucers. "jay kissed you?"

"yes," you whine, covering your face with your hands. "and then it happened again. and again. and then we started meeting almost every single day. we weren't even studying anymore, yunjin. i would sit on his lap for a whole hour and we just made out on and on. and then last week... we... we did some more things, and he showed me what felt good for me, too. with his hands, and his— his mouth."

yunjin lets out a sharp, breathless gasp, her hand flying over her mouth. she looks completely, utterly flabbergasted, her jaw practically unhinged. "oh my god. oh my god. you and jay... you guys were sleeping together?"

"not all the way! but yes!" you cry out, pulling your hands away from your face, looking at her desperately. "and the whole time, i kept telling myself it was for jake. i kept saying 'oh, i'm just a newbie getting hands-on experience so i can be good for jake'. i even tried to touch myself thinking about jake afterwards, but yunjin... when i closed my eyes, all i could see was jay. i saw his face, and his hair, and his nose scar."

yunjin is staring at you like you’ve just spoken to her in a foreign language. she is completely speechless, processing the absolute bombshell you just dropped into her living room.

"so... so i stopped the lessons, everything," you whisper, your voice dropping to a broken, miserable murmur as you look down at your lap. "i texted him and told him i had to focus on jake. and he just said okay. and now i'm going on these dates with jake, and he's so nice, yunjin, he really is... but i… don't feel anything. when jake kisses me, it's just... cold. i don't want jake to touch me. i just want jay. i miss him so much it hurts, and i'm a horrible person because i used him as a textbook and now i've completely ruined everything."

you bury your face back in your hands, your shoulders shaking as you let the final wave of tears take over, waiting for yunjin to lecture you, to tell you how reckless you were, or to tell you how completely messy this entire situation is.

instead, yunjin lets out a long, slow, and incredibly deep exhale. she reaches out, gently pulling your hands away from your face, forcing you to look at her. the initial shock on her face has melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, unbelievable realization.

"my love," yunjin says slowly, her voice completely serious. "are you actually an idiot?"

you blink through your tears, sniffing. "what?"

"you think you used jay park?" yunjin asks, letting out a wild, disbelieving laugh. "are we talking about the same jay park? the guy who has half the girls on the humanities campus begging for a text back? the guy who doesn't let anyone into his personal space, let alone his dorm room?"

you wipe your eyes with the back of your sleeve, confused. "but... it was a casual thing. he was just being a good instructor..."

"oh my god, you are a literal child," yunjin groans, throwing her hands up in the air. "listen to me. jay fucking park did not give you a 'practical lesson' because he cares about your future with jake sim. he did not spend an hour letting you straddle his lap and eat his face because he’s a dedicated tutor. he did those things because he is completely, utterly obsessed with you, you absolute moron!"

the conversation with yunjin stays ringing in your ears for the rest of the week, a loud, echoing truth that makes your chest feel completely hollow. he is completely, utterly obsessed with you. you want to believe it. god, you want to believe it so bad, but the memory of his final text — ‘good luck this weekend, newbie. drive him crazy.’ — stands like a massive brick wall between you and room 314.

and then, jake texts you.

it’s not a casual, low-effort ‘grab coffee?’ or a late-night invite to watch him play soccer. he sends a long, beautifully constructed message, asking you on a proper, official date to a high-end jazz lounge downtown that requires a reservation weeks in advance. he tells you he’s been noticing your new confidence lately — the way you hold yourself, the lingering eye contact, the ease in your posture — and that he likes you. a lot. he wants to make things official.

a month ago, a text like that would have made you collapse onto your bedroom floor in pure, unadulterated ecstasy. it was the ultimate finish line. the exact gold medal you had been sweating and crying for under jay's brutal, meticulous guidance.

so, you say yes. you force yourself to put on your prettiest dress, you spend an hour doing your makeup, and you walk down the steps of your building to meet jake’s car.

the jazz lounge is beautiful. the dim, amber lighting reflects off the polished mahogany tables, the music is soft and smooth, and jake looks incredibly handsome in a dark blazer. he handles the evening perfectly. he pulls out your chair, he orders the best wine on the menu, and he looks at you with a heavy, sweet admiration that makes your cheeks warm.

"you look absolutely stunning tonight," jake murmurs, reaching across the white tablecloth to gently squeeze your fingers. "honestly, i feel like a different girl walked down the steps today. you've always been gorgeous, but lately... there's just something about you. you're so captivating."

you force a soft smile, nodding your head. "thank you, jake. that's... really sweet."

but as his fingers linger on yours, the crushing reality of the evening finally settles over you.

it’s nice. it’s objectively perfect. but it feels completely, utterly empty.

you sit there, listening to the saxophone player on the stage, and you find yourself looking at the way jake laughs. it’s a nice laugh, but it doesn't make your stomach do a violent, hot flip. you look at his hands, and you realize you don't have the slightest urge to slip your fingers beneath his cuffs. you look at his lips, and the thought of his mouth on yours doesn't make your breath catch.

and in that exact, agonizing moment, the grand illusion you've been clinging to for weeks finally shatters into a million jagged pieces.

you aren't projecting. you aren't using jay as a proxy.

you are deeply, completely, and irrevocably in love with park jay.

the realization hits you with the force of a physical blow, making your breath leave your lungs in a sharp, silent gasp. it isn't just about the mechanics or the white-hot heat of his mattress. it’s the way his dark eyes soften into a fierce, protective warmth whenever you look up at him through your lashes. it’s the patient, steady way he guides you when you panic, never pushing, always making sure you feel safe. it’s the quiet, breathless aftercare where he brushes the hair from your forehead, calling you sweetheart in a voice so thick and honest it makes your soul ache. it’s the easy, effortless way you laugh together between the heavy tension, the real, undeniable connection that you built brick by brick in that small, sandalwood-scented dorm room.

jay didn't teach you how to love jake sim. jay taught you how to love him.

"hey," jake's voice breaks through your thoughts, his brow furrowing with genuine concern as he leans in closer. "are you okay? you're really pale suddenly."

you look at jake — at his kind, sweet face — and you realize that staying here, pretending to be the girl he wants, is the cruelest thing you could possibly do to him. you can't live a lie anymore. the script is over.

"jake," you whisper, your voice trembling as you gently pull your hand back from his grip. "i'm... i'm so sorry. i can't do this."

jake blinks, completely caught off guard. "what? did i say something wrong?"

"no, you're perfect," you say, a tear finally spilling over your lashes as you grab your purse from the back of the chair. "you are absolutely wonderful, jake, i swear. but... my heart is somewhere else. it’s been somewhere else for a long time, and it’s not fair to keep dragging you into it. i’m so, so sorry."

before he can even process the words, you stand up from the table and walk — almost run — straight out of the jazz lounge, leaving the music behind you.

the moment you hit the cool night air of the sidewalk, you don't call a cab. you don't go back to your apartment to cry to yunjin. you sprint.

your heels click loudly against the concrete as you rush toward the west quad, your lungs burning, your heart hammering a desperate, terrifying rhythm against your ribs. the wind completely ruins your curled hair, and your breath comes in short, ragged gasps, but you don't care. the only thing that matters is the distance between you and room 314, and you need to eliminate it right now.

you burst through the heavy glass doors of his building, practically flying up the stairs three at a time because the elevator is too slow, too claustrophobic for the sudden, desperate panic roaring through your veins.

you reach the third floor, your chest heaving as you run down the carpeted hallway until you're standing directly in front of his heavy wooden door.

you don't wait to compose yourself. you don't brace your shoulders or try to be normal. you lift your shaking hand and knock against the wood, loudly, your whole body trembling in the quiet corridor.

the heavy wooden door swings open almost immediately, the sudden movement revealing jay standing in the entryway. he’s wearing an oversized black hoodie and matching sweatpants, his dark hair messy as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly.

the second his dark eyes lock onto you, he freezes. his gaze sweeps over your ruined curls, the formal dress you’re wearing, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, and the fresh tears spilling over your cheeks.

"newbie?" jay rasps, his voice completely stripping of its usual calm, unbothered composure. he steps forward, his hands instantly coming up to hover near your shoulders, completely shocked. "what— what are you doing here? why are you crying? did something happen with jake? did he hurt you? i swear to god i'll kill—"

"i'm in love with you," you blurts out, the words tearing out of your throat in a shaky, breathless sob before he can even finish his sentence.

jay stops dead in his tracks. his hands freeze in mid-air, his jaw dropping open just a fraction as his entire body goes completely rigid. the quiet corridor feels extremely silent, the heavy weight of your words hanging in the space between you.

"i'm in love with you," you repeat, a fresh wave of hot tears blurring your vision as you look up at his face. you feel incredibly shy, completely stripped of your armor, your voice dropping to a small, trembling whisper. "i went on the date with jake. he was perfect, jay. he took me to that jazz lounge, and he held my hand, and he told me i was beautiful... but it felt completely empty. i didn't want him to touch me. i didn't want him to kiss me. because the whole time, the only person i could think about was you. i thought about how you look at me, and how safe i feel when you hold me, and... and i realized i've been lying to myself for weeks. i don't want jake. i want you. i've always wanted you."

jay stares down at you, his expression completely blank for three long, agonizing seconds. you feel a sudden, terrifying wave of panic hit your stomach, convinced you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.

then, jay’s shoulders start to shake.

he drops his head back, a sudden, sharp bark of laughter escaping his lips. he keeps laughing, a breathless, rough sound that makes your heart sink into your shoes. he’s laughing at me, you think completely mortified, stepping back a fraction. yunjin was wrong, he thinks i'm pathetic—

before you can even take a full step away, jay moves.

his large hands shoot forward, wrapping securely around your waist, and with one heavy, desperate pull, he yanks you forward into his dorm room. the door slams shut behind you with a loud, final click, and suddenly, you are crushed completely against his broad chest.

jay wraps his strong arms around you, burying his face deep into the crook of your neck, holding you so tight it’s almost bruising. you can feel the heavy, erratic thumping of his heart against your ribs, his whole body trembling slightly as he holds you like you’re about to disappear.

"jay?" you squeak out, your hands hesitantly coming up to clutch at the thick fabric of his black hoodie.

"i'm not laughing at you, newbie," jay murmurs against your skin, his voice thick, ragged, and completely devoid of his usual arrogance. he lets out another low, disbelieving chuckle right into your hair, his grip tightening. "i'm just... i'm in complete disbelief. i can't believe you're actually standing here saying this to me."

he slowly draws his head back, keeping his large hands firmly anchored on your waist so you can't move away. his dark eyes are incredibly heavy, looking down at your tear-stained face with a raw, consuming tenderness that completely melts your heart.

"you are such a moron," jay whispers, a soft, beautiful smile finally breaking across his sharp features. "you really thought this was all just a clinical lesson for me? you think i let you straddle my lap for a whole hour because i'm a dedicated tutor?"

you sniff, looking up at him through your lashes. "yunjin said..."

"yunjin was right," jay interrupts softly, his thumb rising to gently wipe away a stray tear from your cheek, his touch unbelievably sweet. "i’ve liked you for weeks, sweetheart. even a month, probably. do you have any idea what it was like for me to sit in that chair and listen to you ramble on about jake sim every single week? i hated it. i hated every single time his name left your mouth. i wanted to throw him across the campus every time you showed me a text from him."

you blink, your heart spiking. "then why didn't you say anything?"

"because i was terrified," jay admits honestly, his jaw clenching slightly as his dark eyes lock onto yours. "you came to me so innocent, so focused on this dream you had of being with him. i was so scared that if i told you how i felt, i would pressure you. i was scared i'd ruin your confidence, or make you feel trapped in the lessons. i didn't want to hurt your feelings. so when you texted me on monday saying you were done..."

he pauses, his breathing turning shallow as he leans his forehead lightly against yours, his hot breath fanning across your lips.

"i was resigned," he whispers, his voice dropping to a gravelly, vulnerable register. "i decided to just let you go to him. i thought, if jake makes her happy, i'll just step back and let her have her perfect boyfriend. it almost killed me, newbie. i haven't slept a full hour since monday."

hearing his confession makes your chest ache with a sudden, overwhelming wave of love. you lift your hands, your fingers tangling deep into the soft, dark hair at the back of his neck, pulling him that final, microscopic inch closer.

"you don't have to let me go," you whisper directly against his lips. "i'm right here."

"yeah," jay murmurs, his dark eyes flashing with that familiar, possessive heat right before his mouth crashes onto yours. "you're right here."

the weight of his confession still hangs in the air of his room, but the heavy emotional armor you’ve both been wearing for weeks has completely shattered. your fingers are knotted so tightly in the dark hair at the back of his neck that your knuckles ache, your body pulling flush against his broad chest until there is absolutely no space left between you.

jay doesn't give you a single second to breathe. the moment your lips touch, the familiar, intoxicating taste of him rushes over you, but this time, the desperate restraint he had been clinging to during the "lessons" is completely gone. his mouth crashes into yours with a raw, possessive hunger that makes your knees instantly turn to water. it isn't a demonstration. it isn't a baseline. it is a fierce, consuming claim that leaves you both dizzy.

"jay," you gasp against his lips, a soft, helpless sound escaping your throat as his mouth slides hungrily down your jawline, his teeth gently nipping at the sensitive skin right beneath your ear.

"i've got you," jay rasps, his voice an incredibly deep, gravelly vibration against your neck. "i've got you, sweetheart. you're not going anywhere."

his large hands slide down from your waist, his broad palms gripping the undersides of your thighs with a sudden, bruising force. with one effortless, powerful lift, jay hoists you completely off the ground. you let out a sharp gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries you the three short steps over to his bed, collapsing both of you onto the unmade blankets.

the impact is soft, but the physical heat between you is instantly blinding. jay hovers directly over you, his heavy frame anchoring you to the mattress, his dark hair falling messy across his forehead as he looks down at your flushed, breathless face. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, blazing with a fierce, protective intensity that makes your heart thump wildly against your ribs.

"look at you," jay whispers, his chest heaving under his black hoodie as his thumb traces the swollen, red curve of your bottom lip. "you're actually here. in my bed. telling me you want me."

"i do," you breathe out, your hands sliding beneath the hem of his hoodie to press your bare palms flat against the warm, defined muscles of his lower back. "i want you so bad, jay."

a low, ragged growl catches in his throat at the touch of your bare skin. he leans back down, his mouth devouring yours in a deep, wet, frantic rhythm that completely shatters the last of your control. his tongue slides possessively over yours, guiding your mouth to open wider, drinking in every single soft, broken moan you make.

the physical friction escalates instantly. jay shifts his weight, his heavy hips settling right between your thighs, the thick, rigid length of his arousal pressing hard through his sweatpants directly against your core. your dress is hiked up around your waist, leaving only the thin fabric of your underwear between your bodies. instinctively, a desperate, white-hot hunger takes over your body, and your hips tilt upward, a slow, heavy grind against his lap as you chase the unbearable pressure.

"fuck," jay groans directly into your mouth, his eyes flying shut as his entire body goes completely rigid at the sudden friction. his hands move to your hips, his long fingers digging into your skin to hold you still, but the desperate, needy roll of your pelvis makes a rough, unvarnished swear escape his lips. "newbie... shit, hold on. you're going to break me."

"no," you whine, your hands slipping out from his hoodie to clutch tightly at his broad shoulders, your eyes fluttering open to look up at him through your lashes. "don't stop, jay. please. i've been thinking about this for weeks."

the admission completely breaks his remaining restraint. jay lets out a sharp, ragged exhale and lets his hips move, matching your upward tilts with a heavy, rhythmic grind of his own. the dry humping is agonizingly perfect, the thick, hard pressure of his length rubbing relentlessly against your hyper-sensitive core through the fabric of his clothes. every single slide makes your head spin, your fingers digging deep into the soft cotton of his hoodie as you arch your back off the mattress, a loud, unvarnished cry echoing through the quiet room.

"yes, just like that," jay murmurs, his voice a ragged, breathless rasp as he buries his face back in your neck, his lips pressing a trail of burning, wet kisses along your collarbone. "let me feel you. god, you're so hot, sweetheart. you feel so fucking good."

he shifts the angle of his hips, grinding harder, deeper, targeting the exact spot that makes your whole body tremble. you lose all track of time, completely drowning in the suffocating heat of his body, the rough friction between your thighs, and the intoxicating, raw intimacy of hearing him lose his mind beneath your touch. his chest is heaving violently against yours, his breathing shallow and rough as his hips thrust down in a fast, desperate rhythm that brings you both dangerously close to the edge.

"jay," you sob out, your head tossing back against the pillows, your core weeping with a desperate, heavy ache that dry humping can no longer satisfy. "jay, please. i don't want the clothes anymore. i want to feel you. really feel you."

jay stops his movement instantly. he draws back, his chest rising and falling in deep, ragged gasps as he looks down at you. his face is flushed, his eyes clouded with a fierce, overwhelming hunger, but beneath the passion, that deep, protective tenderness returns with a beautiful clarity.

"newbie," he whispers, his hands gently framing your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears from your cheeks. "are you sure? your first time... i want it to be perfect for you. i don't want to rush this."

"i'm sure," you say, your voice remarkably steady despite the anxious beating of your heart. you look straight into his dark eyes, your fingers rising to gently trace the tiny pale scar on his nose that had given the lie away. "i love you, jay. i want it to be you. teach me the rest."

a profound, heavy silence settles over the room, the raw emotion of your words melting away the last remnants of the old "lessons." this isn't an educational baseline anymore. this is a confession, a complete surrender, and jay handles it with a reverence that makes your eyes sting with happy tears.

"okay," jay whispers, his voice dropping into a soft, beautifully thick register. "okay, sweetheart."

slowly, deliberately, he sits back on his heels. his large, warm hands move to the hem of your dress, gently and carefully sliding the fabric up over your hips, your waist, and over your head, tossing it onto the floor. his eyes track the movement, his gaze raking over your exposed skin with an unvarnished, breathless admiration that makes you feel completely worshiped. he reaches down, his long fingers hooking into the sides of your underwear, easing them down your legs until you are completely bare beneath him.

"you are so beautiful," jay murmurs, his voice shaking slightly as he leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your bare stomach. "absolutely perfect."

he stands up briefly, pulling the black hoodie over his head and kicking his sweatpants away, revealing his broad, heavily defined chest and the thick, white-hot length of his arousal. when he slides back onto the mattress, the sheer, raw heat of his naked skin making contact with yours sends a violent shock of adrenaline through your veins.

he hovers over you again, but this time, he doesn't immediately move to progress things. he takes his time. his large, warm hand slides down your side, his palm resting flat against your hip as he gently coaxes your knees apart, sliding his body between your thighs. he leans down, his mouth sealing over yours in a slow, agonizingly sweet kiss that tastes of absolute devotion. his fingers slide down, finding the slick, dripping heat between your legs, and he uses two fingers to slowly stroke your core, priming you, making sure you are completely prepared for him.

"relax for me," jay whispers against your lips, his thumb applying a steady, heavy pressure that makes your hips instinctively lift. "i'm going to go so slow, sweetheart. if it hurts, you tell me to stop. understand?"

"i understand," you whimper, your fingers tangling into his dark hair, pulling his face down so you can kiss him again.

jay pulls his hand away, the sudden loss of contact making you let out a needy whine, but then you feel the heavy, smooth head of his shaft aligning directly against your tight, wet opening. the sheer thickness of him makes your breath hitch, your hands instantly clutching at the firm muscles of his shoulders.

"look at me," jay commands softly, his voice a low, gravelly purr.

you blink your eyes open, your vision slightly blurry from the sheer intensity of the moment, to find him staring down at you with a consuming, fierce possessiveness. his dark eyes are entirely focused on yours, locking you in place.

slowly, with an agonizingly careful, steady pressure, jay sinks his hips down.

the initial stretch is tight, a sharp, white-hot pinch of discomfort making your eyes widen as a soft, broken gasp escapes your parted lips. your body automatically tenses beneath him, your fingers digging deep into the skin of his shoulders.

instantly, jay stops. he freezes in place, only a fraction of his length inside you, his jaw clenching hard as he battles his own primal urge to thrust. a thin layer of sweat glistening on his skin, but his entire focus remains totally on your comfort.

"i know, i know," jay murmurs sweetly, his face dipping down to press a series of soft, comforting kisses to your eyelids, your burning cheeks, and the tip of your nose. "breathe through your nose, newbie. just like i taught you. let your body adapt to me."

he reaches down, his large hand finding your core again, his thumb rubbing slow, heavy circles against your sensitive skin while he stays perfectly still inside you. the steady, masterful friction slowly melts away the sharp pinch, replacing the discomfort with a deep, heavy wave of slick, throbbing heat. your muscles slowly relax, opening up around him, practically begging for the rest of his weight.

"jay," you whisper, your hips giving a tiny, tentative upward nudge. "more. please."

"good girl," jay rasps, a low, broken hum of absolute approval escaping his chest.

he shifts his hands, wrapping his long fingers securely around your waist, anchoring you to the mattress. slowly, smoothly, he pushes his hips down the rest of the way, burying his entire length deep inside your tight, wet heat. a loud, unvarnished cry tears out of your throat, your legs instinctively wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him even closer as the sheer, overwhelming fullness of him completely consumes your senses.

jay lets out a deep, guttural groan, his head burying themselves into the crook of your neck as he stays completely buried inside you for three long, breathless seconds, letting you adjust to the magnificent weight of him.

"you're so tight, sweetheart," jay whispers, his voice completely ungrounded, shaking with a raw emotion that has absolutely nothing to do with a lesson. "you feel so perfect around me. fuck. you're mine. you know that, right? you're completely mine now."

"i'm yours," you sob out, your hands sliding up his back, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heart beneath your fingers. "i'm yours, jay."

when he finally begins to move, it is the furthest thing from the clinical, calculated pacing of before. it is slow, incredibly deep, and heavy with a fierce, possessive passion. jay draws his hips back until he is almost entirely out, making you let out a needy, panicked gasp, before sliding back in with a long, smooth stroke that drives straight to the center of your ache.

“ah— jay!” you cry out, your head tossing back against the pillows as the relentless, deep rhythm takes over the small room.

he guides you through every single movement. when your breathing gets too frantic, jay uses his grip on your waist to lift your hips slightly, slowing the pace down, lingering deep inside you until your breath catches in sync with his. his mouth is everywhere — kissing your lips, your jaw, biting softly on your neck, leaving dark, faint marks on your skin that say louder than words exactly who you belong to.

"you're doing so good for me, baby," jay praises you, his voice a heavy rumble right against your ear. his breathing is completely shattered, his chest slick with sweat as it crushes against yours with every single deep, driving thrust. "look at you. you're taking all of me so perfectly. so pretty for me, sweetheart."

the explicit, loving praises send jolts of pure electricity straight down your spine. you grow bolder, your fingers digging into his hips as you match his pace, lifting your pelvis to meet his downward thrusts, creating a flawless, sharp friction that completely breaks his remaining restraint.

the pacing quickly turns heated, the slow tenderness fracturing beneath a sudden, overwhelming wave of raw, unadulterated passion. jay's dark brows furrow in a look of pure agony, swears escaping his lips with every single heavy, pounding thrust. he moves faster, deeper, his hips crashing against yours with a bruising, desperate force that makes the entire bed shake.

"jay... jay, i'm close," you sob out, the tight, hot knot in your lower stomach coiling so tightly you can barely breathe. your fingers tangle desperately into his damp hair, pulling him down, needing his mouth on yours as your climax approaches.

jay snaps his eyes open, his dark gaze locking onto yours with a terrifying, beautiful amount of gravity. "look at me," he rasps, his hips thrusting deep, holding you completely still beneath him. "look at me when you break, sweetheart. let me see you."

you look up through your lashes, staring straight into his cloudless, fierce eyes as he delivers three fast, incredibly deep thrusts. the coiling tension inside you completely snaps, a blinding wave of pure, white-hot release crashing over your entire body. you let out a loud, broken cry, your inner muscles clamping tightly around his length in violent, pulsing spasms.

the sudden, tight friction completely breaks jay's remaining control. he lets out a deep, guttural cry against your mouth, his jaw clenching so hard the veins stand out against his neck as his hips give one final, breathless thrust, burying himself as deep as physically possible inside you as his own release hits him.

jay stays buried deep inside you for a long moment, his chest pressed flush against your back as both of you come down from the high. his lips brush lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, like he can’t stop touching you even now.

“are you okay, pretty?” he murmurs, voice rough and low against your skin.

you nod, still catching your breath, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “more than okay.”

he hums in satisfaction and carefully pulls out, immediately rolling you over so you’re facing him. his large hand slides up your side, gentle and possessive at the same time, as he tucks you against his chest. for a while, neither of you speaks. the only sounds are your slowing heartbeats and the distant hum of campus life outside his window.

jay’s fingers trace slow circles on your bare back.

“so,” he says after a long beat, that familiar lazy grin creeping into his voice, “how do you feel now that you’ve graduated from my lessons?”

you let out a soft laugh, hiding your burning face in the crook of his neck. “i feel like an idiot.”

“yeah?” he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “took you long enough to figure it out.”

you pull back just enough to look at him, your fingers brushing the tiny scar on his nose. “why didn’t you say anything sooner? all those weeks… you just kept teaching me like it didn’t kill you every time i mentioned jake.”

jay’s expression softens. he cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin with surprising tenderness.

“because you came to me wanting help to get another guy,” he says quietly. “i wasn’t going to be the asshole who messed with your head while you were vulnerable. even if it sucked. even if i wanted to throw my laptop across the room every time you showed me his texts.”

he leans in and kisses you slowly, deeply — nothing like the heated frenzy from earlier. this one feels like a promise.

when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“for the record,” he murmurs, smiling again, “you were never going to end up with jake. not after the first time you asked me for a ‘practical example.’ i knew it then. you were already mine.”

you groan, embarrassed but smiling. “you’re so cocky.”

“and you love it.”

you do.

jay pulls the blanket higher over your shoulders and wraps both arms around you, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. his lips brush your temple.

“no more lessons,” he whispers. “no more pretending. just this. just us.”

you press a soft kiss to his collarbone, already drifting off in the warmth of his embrace.

“just us,” you echo.

as sleep starts to pull you under, you feel jay smile against your hair.

“goodnight, newbie.”

you smile sleepily.

“goodnight, professor park.”

© jongst4r, 2026

taglist: @solonenova, @neabrownn, @drowsypanther, @redessertired, @pinkdazed, @enhypenlvrsstuff, @strwberrylhs, @insignificantlillady, @vanillakirstein, @jaeynslutt, @d2iose, @gchirpy, @k13endall, @phjayyy, @unnatrual, @kookiesnkim, @kpopishgirlie, @kaejua, @ineedjaeyun, @moonchild-31, @cortised, @borderdaytwo, @wonrlls, @heartsski, @dollhoonki, @kristynaaah, @d1m-cataclysm, @bitemhoon, @wh0re4deonnu, @cutehoons02, @missoxy, @ahgasedaddz, @hoonie-luvr, @fixonfairy, @letwiiparkjay, @celeyy7

[jongst4r]

curious eyes (s. jake & p. sunghoon)

your best friend wants to watch you and jake fuck

pairing: bi!sunghoon x sub!reader x bi!jake || wc: 2.6k || cw: smut! best friends!sunghoon and jake, voyeurism, masturbation, threesome, kissing, making out, oral (f and m rec.), handjobs, fingering, breast/nipple play, p in v, unprotected sex (don't.), cum play, mxm, dirty talk, strong language, use of petnames, mentions of alcohol  || warnings: +18 content, mdni! || a/n: this was all thanks to this request and i'm unwell haha.

the three of you have always been close — too close, some people say. jake, sunghoon, and you. best friends since the beginning of college, the kind who share late-night snacks, inside jokes that make no sense to outsiders, and secrets that could ruin reputations if they ever got out. but this particular secret is new, and it’s deliciously dangerous.

you’re in jake’s apartment tonight, the one with the big couch and the soft lighting he always leaves on because he knows you like it. you’re dating jake — sort of. it started as hooking up after one too many drunk nights, but it’s evolved into something warmer, more consistent. it feels exclusive, even if you haven’t put a label on it yet. sunghoon knows everything. he always does. he’s seen the hickeys on your neck, heard the muffled sounds through the walls when he crashes on the couch, and never once made it weird.

until tonight.

“i’ve been thinking,” sunghoon says casually from his spot on the armchair, long legs stretched out. he’s nursing a beer, eyes flicking between you and jake on the couch. you’re curled into jake’s side, his arm draped around your shoulders, fingers playing lazily with the strap of your tank top.

jake raises an eyebrow, teeth flashing as he smiles. “dangerous words coming from you, hoon.”

sunghoon’s gaze lingers on you a second too long, then shifts to jake. there’s something darker in his eyes tonight, a curiosity that’s been building for weeks. “i want to watch.”

the words drop like a stone into still water. you freeze, heat flooding your face. jake’s hand stills on your shoulder.

“watch,” jake repeats slowly, voice low. “what? us?”

sunghoon nods, not backing down. his cheeks are faintly pink but his jaw is set. “yeah. you two. i know you’re fucking. i’ve known for a while. and i… i’m curious. about how it looks. how you are with her.”

you swallow hard, glancing at jake. he’s watching sunghoon carefully, but there’s no anger there — just intrigue, and maybe a spark of something hotter. jake has always been open, playful in bed. this wouldn’t be the first boundary you two have pushed.

“you sure?” you ask sunghoon softly. “it might… change things, or make them weird.”

“i’m sure,” he says, voice steady. “if you’re both okay with it.”

jake looks at you, searching your face. you bite your lip, then nod. the idea sends a thrill through you — sunghoon’s intense stare on you while jake touches you. you’ve always found sunghoon attractive, tall and sharp-featured with that quiet intensity. knowing he wants to see you like this… it’s intoxicating, to say the least.

“okay,” jake says, grinning that charming grin. “but you stay in the chair unless we say otherwise.”

sunghoon settles back, legs spreading a little wider, beer forgotten on the side table.

jake turns to you first, cupping your jaw and pulling you into a slow kiss. it’s familiar, warm, the kind that always makes your stomach flutter. his tongue slides against yours lazily, deepening it as his hand trails down your neck, thumb brushing your collarbone. you sigh into his mouth, already melting.

sunghoon’s breathing is audible across the room.

jake peels your tank top off slowly, exposing your bra. he kisses down your neck, sucking lightly at the spot he knows drives you crazy. you arch into him, fingers threading through his soft hair. when he reaches behind you to unhook your bra, letting it fall away, you hear sunghoon shift in his seat.

“fuck,” sunghoon breathes. his voice is rough already. “she’s gorgeous.”

jake smiles against your skin. “isn’t she?” he palms one of your breasts, thumb circling your nipple until it hardens. you moan softly, eyes fluttering open to look at sunghoon.

he’s watching intently, lips parted, one hand gripping the arm of the chair. his eyes are dark, fixed on every movement.

jake lays you back on the couch, stripping your shorts and panties down your legs. you’re completely bare now, and sunghoon’s gaze drags over you like he's physically touching you — your breasts, the curve of your waist, the wetness already glistening between your thighs.

“touch her,” sunghoon says quietly. it’s not a demand, but there’s hunger in it.

jake chuckles softly and spreads your legs, settling between them. he kisses down your stomach, then lower, tongue flicking out to taste you. you gasp, back arching as he licks broad stripes over your clit, sucking gently. your hand flies to his hair, hips rolling against his mouth.

sunghoon leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. his eyes are glued to where jake’s tongue is working you open. “does she taste good?” he asks, voice strained.

“so fucking good,” jake murmurs against you, the vibrations making you whimper. he pushes two fingers inside you slowly, curling them just right while his mouth stays on your clit.

you’re moaning louder now, eyes locked with sunghoon’s. the way he’s watching you — like he’s starving — pushes you closer to the edge faster than usual.

but then jake pulls back, stripping his own shirt off. sunghoon’s gaze shifts immediately to jake’s toned chest, the way his abs flex as he moves. jake catches it and smirks, but doesn’t comment. he sheds his pants and boxers, cock hard and leaking as he strokes himself once.

sunghoon’s breath catches audibly. his eyes widen a fraction, pupils blown as he stares at jake’s length, then at the way jake lines himself up with your entrance.

“ready, baby?” jake asks you, but his eyes flick to sunghoon too.

you nod desperately. jake pushes in slowly, stretching you open with that perfect burn. you moan loudly, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out. he starts thrusting, deep and steady, the wet sounds of your bodies filling the room.

sunghoon is breathing harder. his hand presses against the front of his jeans, palming himself openly now. but it’s not just you he’s staring at. his eyes keep darting to jake — the flex of his back muscles, the way his hips snap forward, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the low groans he makes every time you clench around him.

something shifts in sunghoon’s expression. realization. heat. confusion and want all at once.

“jake…” he whispers, almost to himself. his hand slips inside his jeans, wrapping around his own cock as he watches his best friend fuck you. the sight of jake’s cock disappearing into you over and over, glistening with your arousal, combined with your breathy moans — it’s too much.

he’s hard as steel, throbbing in his own grip, and the arousal hitting him while watching jake is undeniable. he always knew he liked you. the little attractions, the lingering hugs, the way he’d get jealous when jake touched you. but this — the way his stomach tightens seeing jake’s flushed chest, the veins on his forearms, the way his jaw clenches in pleasure — it’s new. overwhelming. bi awakening crashing over him like a wave.

“hoon,” you gasp, reaching a hand toward him. “come closer.”

sunghoon hesitates only a second before standing, jeans open, cock heavy in his hand as he moves to the edge of the couch. up close, he can see everything — the way jake’s cock stretches you, the slick sounds, your face twisted in ecstasy.

jake slows his thrusts, looking up at sunghoon with dark eyes. “you like watching me fuck her?”

sunghoon swallows hard, nodding. his voice is wrecked. “yeah. fuck, i do. both of you… i didn’t expect—”

“it’s okay,” you whisper, cupping his cheek. your thumb brushes his lower lip. “touch yourself while he fucks me. or… touch us.”

that breaks the last of his restraint.

sunghoon leans down and kisses you first — hesitant, then hungry, tongue sliding against yours as jake starts thrusting again. you moan into sunghoon’s mouth, one hand on his chest, the other reaching down to wrap around his cock. he’s big, hot, leaking precum as you stroke him in time with jake’s movements.

“shit,” sunghoon groans against your lips. “your hand feels so good.”

jake watches the two of you, hips snapping harder. “he’s pretty when he’s desperate, isn’t he, baby?”

you nod, dazed, squeezing sunghoon’s cock a little tighter. sunghoon’s free hand finds your breast, pinching your nipple while he kisses you deeper. then, almost shyly at first, his other hand reaches out to touch jake’s shoulder, sliding down his back, feeling the muscles move as jake fucks you.

jake shivers under the touch but doesn’t pull away. if anything, he leans into it.

then, the dynamic shifts. jake pulls out suddenly, flipping you onto your hands and knees so you’re facing sunghoon. “suck him while i fuck you from behind.”

you don’t hesitate. you take sunghoon into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head as he groans loudly, hand gently guiding your head. jake thrusts back into you, deeper in this position, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. every thrust pushes you further onto sunghoon’s cock, and the sounds are obscene — wet gagging, skin slapping, broken moans from all three of you.

sunghoon’s eyes are fixed on jake now too, watching his best friend pound into you, hands gripping your hips. “jake… you look so fucking hot like this,” he admits breathlessly, the words spilling out in the heat of it. “both of you. i can’t— i didn’t know i wanted this too.”

jake reaches over your back, grabbing sunghoon’s free hand and pulling it to your hip, then lower, guiding sunghoon’s fingers to where his cock is sliding in and out of you. sunghoon groans at the feeling — the stretch, the wetness, the way you flutter around jake.

“touch me too,” jake says roughly.

sunghoon does, hesitant at first, then bolder — palming jake’s balls, then wrapping fingers around the base of jake’s cock as it moves. jake moans loudly, hips stuttering.

the three of you move together like that for what feels like hours — a messy, perfect rhythm that blurs time and leaves the room thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

you’re on your hands and knees on the couch, mouth full of sunghoon’s cock as you suck him sloppily, spit dripping down your chin while your tongue swirls around the head and takes him deeper with every forward rock of your body.

jake is behind you, fucking you in steady, deep thrusts that punch the breath out of your lungs every time he bottoms out. the wet, obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass mixes with your muffled moans and sunghoon’s low, broken groans.

sunghoon’s hand is gentle in your hair, not forcing but guiding, his thumb stroking your cheek almost reverently even as his cock twitches on your tongue. his other hand keeps wandering — brushing over your back, then reaching further to touch jake wherever he can reach. fingers tracing the flexing muscles of jake’s shoulder, sliding down the sweat-slick line of his spine, then lower, palming jake’s ass as he thrusts into you. every new touch makes sunghoon’s breath hitch harder, like he’s still shocked by how much he wants this.

“fuck… look at you,” sunghoon murmurs, voice wrecked and awed. “taking both of us so well.”

jake groans in agreement, one hand gripping your hip tightly while the other reaches around to rub your clit in tight circles. “she’s perfect. so fucking wet for us. you feel how tight she gets when you touch me, hoon? she loves it.”

sunghoon nods shakily, eyes locked on where jake’s cock disappears inside you over and over, glistening with your arousal. the sight combined with the heat of your mouth around him is driving him insane. his hips start twitching forward more desperately, fucking your throat a little deeper as his usual cool composure completely unravels.

eventually jake slows his thrusts, pulling out with a wet sound that makes you whine around sunghoon’s cock. he flips you gently onto your back, spreading your legs wide. “your turn, hoon. fuck her while she strokes me.”

sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice. he moves between your thighs, eyes dark and hungry as he lines himself up. he pushes in slowly at first, savoring every inch, jaw dropping at the tight, wet heat enveloping him. “oh my god… baby,” he breathes, the pet name slipping out naturally. he bottoms out with a shudder, staying still for a moment just to feel you clench around him.

you reach for jake, wrapping your hand around his slick cock and stroking him steadily. jake leans down to kiss you messily, tongue sliding against yours while sunghoon starts moving — gentle, rolling thrusts at first, like he’s memorizing the feeling. but it doesn’t stay gentle for long. his control snaps, hips speeding up until he’s thrusting deep and hard, the couch creaking beneath you. every snap of his hips forces broken moans from your throat.

sunghoon pants, moaning both your name and jake’s in the same breath like he can’t separate the pleasure anymore. “feels so good… both of you.”

jake kisses you harder, then pulls back just enough to lean over and capture sunghoon’s mouth in a kiss — tentative at first, testing, lips brushing softly. sunghoon freezes for half a second, then surges forward into it, turning the kiss deep and filthy, tongues tangling as he keeps fucking you harder. the sight alone makes you clench around him.

it’s overwhelming. it's fucking perfect. the air is thick with moans and gasps and the wet sounds of bodies moving together. sunghoon’s hand finds one of your breasts, pinching your nipple while jake’s fingers return to your clit, rubbing fast. you’re caught between them, pleasure building impossibly high until it crashes over you.

you come first with a sharp cry, back arching clean off the couch as your walls flutter and squeeze around sunghoon’s cock. the intensity triggers his own orgasm almost immediately — he buries himself deep, hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a loud, broken moan of your name mixed with jake’s. his whole body trembles through it, face buried against your neck.

jake follows seconds later, stroking himself furiously over your bodies. thick ropes of cum paint your stomach, your breasts, and sunghoon’s chest where he’s still leaning over you. jake groans deeply, milking every last drop as he watches the mess he’s made on both of you.

after that, the three of you collapse in a tangled, sweaty pile on the couch. limbs are everywhere — sunghoon’s head resting heavily on your stomach, breathing hard against your skin, while jake sprawls half on top of both of you, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist and the other draped over sunghoon’s back. the room feels warm and hazy, hearts still racing as the high slowly ebbs.

sunghoon’s breathing is still shaky as he processes everything, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip. after a long silence, he lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

“that was… my bi awakening, i think,” he admits quietly, voice hoarse. “i knew i liked her. i’ve liked her for a while. the way she laughs, the way she fits between us… but watching you, jake — fuck. the way you moved, the sounds you made, how you looked fucking her… i didn’t expect to want that too. want you too.”

jake presses a gentle kiss to sunghoon’s temple, then leans over to kiss your forehead, his dimples soft and warm. “good. because we’re not done tonight. not even close. we’ve got all night to figure this out… together.”

you smile sleepily, contentment settling deep in your chest as your fingers card gently through sunghoon’s damp hair. the three of you — best friends who have always been a little too close, a little too intertwined — finally feel like something more. lovers. a unit. whatever this is now, it fits perfectly, like it was always meant to be this way.

and there are many more nights ahead where curious eyes turn into wandering hands, shared pleasure, and something that feels a lot like love.

© jongst4r, 2026

taglist: @solonenova, @neabrownn, @drowsypanther, @redessertired, @pinkdazed, @enhypenlvrsstuff, @strwberrylhs, @insignificantlillady,  @vanillakirstein, @jaeynslutt, @d2iose, @gchirpy, @k13endall, @phjayyy, @unnatrual, @kookiesnkim, @kpopishgirlie, @kaejua, @ineedjaeyun, @moonchild-31, @cortised, @borderdaytwo, @wonrlls, @heartsski, @dollhoonki, @kristynaaah, @d1m-cataclysm, @bitemhoon, @wh0re4deonnu, @heesno1gooner

[heetaki]

⋆. ̊ — DOUBLE TAKE

synopsis: lee heeseung has been your self-proclaimed nemesis since you were in grade school. from academic rivalries to petty fights, he is in every way the person you can’t stand the most in this world. but when the boy you’ve been pining after for months pops out with a girlfriend, you’re forced to turn to your nemesis for help. a fake relationship. no real feelings. and if things go well, you’ll have the love of your life and he’ll have a finished portfolio. simple, right? except nothing is ever simple when it comes to lee heeseung.

wc: 20k

warnings: photography student!lee heeseung x fem!reader, fake dating trope, rivals to lovers, he fell first and harder, slow burn (reader takes a second to realize she’s in love with hee, but she gets there), kind of love triangle but not really, sunghoon is in here because who would i be without my heehoon agenda, also ft jake and yunjin and chaewon (le sserafim), fluff, alcohol consumption, college!au, cussing, romcom vibes (obviously. this is me writing this) // smut, p in v, oral f!receiving, fingering, soft sex, praise kink, pet names (baby, princess), body worship (? i think), begging, spitting, multiple orgasms, cream pie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

rose thinks… for those who don’t know, fake dating is my absolute all time favorite trope, so of course i had to write it with my favorite guy. i also watched off campus so yk… it’s been a while since i’ve uploaded, so i hope this lives up to any expectations you might have had for it. a special thanks to my lovely @sjynlvr , because you unknowingly gave me the motivation i needed to write this. your kindness in enhablr is felt by this entire community, and it seriously would be so much scarier here without you. as always, reblogs are always appreciated <3

playlist: double take - dhruv // the way i loved you - taylor swift // just a little bit - enhypen // roommates - malcolm todd // boyfriend - ariana grande & social house // pov - ariana grande

You don’t hate Lee Heeseung, mostly because your mom always said that hate was just another word for love (which—absolutely not), but you do find him extremely infuriating.

It’s in the way he’s always just had to be a step ahead of you. Like that time in the fifth grade when your teacher held a mock election for your government lesson, and he’d deliberately ran against you with the sole intention of annoying you. And when he won, he didn’t even do any of the things he’d promised! All he did was pass out whiteboards, and he always made sure to give you the one with the annoying black scribbles on them.

You went through high school like that, with him constantly one upping you in everything you did. He’d even almost beaten you for valedictorian, but you scored two and a half points higher than him on your AP Physics final and the spot was rightfully given to you. 

He didn't even seem mad about it, which made the entire thing even more infuriating. He’d spent years trying to prove he was better than you and didn't even flinch when it all amounted to nothing? What a tool.

University was supposed to be an escape. Not just from the mean high school girls and the boring small town you came from, but from him as well. You’d finally be able to breathe without him constantly hovering, you’d finally be able to relax without the constant worry that he was going to do something to ruin it.

So when you walked into your first day of classes at Decalis University, fully expecting to see no one familiar, you can imagine your absolute horror to see him sitting front and center like he owned the place.

He was already making good conversation with your professor, you could tell by how the older man was talking so admittedly with his hands and smiling like he couldn’t get enough of whatever it was Heeseung was talking about. 

That’s the thing about Heeseung, everyone around you always seems to think he’s this perfect, charming guy. They don’t see what he really is, not like you do. You seem to be the only person he decides to be his actual evil self with. Why he chose you, you aren’t entirely sure. You don’t think you ever will be.

But that was six months ago, and despite the giant Heeseung shaped stain on your university experience, the entire thing has been significantly better than high school. You don’t see him as much for starters, and when you do he seems too busy to actually try and annoy you. Not for a lack of trying though—those first few months were torture.

You’ve got an eight am class today, which means you have an excuse to make a stop at the coffee shop on campus. It’s right next to your dorm which is insanely convenient and definitely bad for your health, but you're a freshman in college. You don’t think you could name a single person who isn’t surviving off of cheap coffee and gas station noodles.

The line is long, which wouldn’t normally be an issue, but you’re running late and your professors decided he'll dock a letter grade for every tardy. You haven’t had to go through that pain yet, and you really don’t want to change that now.

You rock back and forth on your feet uncomfortably, the line seeming to move slower and slower. You almost consider saying fuck it and just going to class, but then you remember that you’re running off of two hours of sleep and decide you’d rather not fall asleep during your lesson.

It takes another ten minutes before you place your order, and then you’re solemnly waiting off to the side and trying to act like your nerves aren’t tangling up in your stomach.

“Long line, huh?”

You tense. You recognize that voice, and when you look up, the face that accompanies it is enough to ruin your entire morning more than it already has been. So much for not bothering you.

Sharp cheekbones, messy dirty blonde hair, big, beautiful shit brown eyes.

Your eyes narrow, lips curling downwards. At this point, you’re starting to believe your body's natural reaction to Lee Heeseung is immediate disdain. “Why are you talking to me?” You ask bluntly. No point in small talk with him, especially when you know he’s just trying to get under your skin by speaking to you.

He laughs, teeth on display as he does. “Are you this hostile with everyone when you first wake up?”

“Only people who annoy me.”

“I just made an observation, why would that annoy you?”

You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms over your chest. He knows exactly what he’s doing–he always has. His innocent act may work on every other person in this university, but not you. You know Heeseung, you know that getting under people's skin is his favorite pastime. You just wish you understood why he loves to do it to you specifically.

“Can you just…not? You know what you’re doing.”

“I promise I don’t.” The smirk threatening to break onto his lips says otherwise.

You take a deep breath and choose not to play into his game anymore. It’s pretty easy actually, because the barista calls out your name and you practically trip over your feet to grab it. You’ve got ten minutes to make it halfway across campus and into your lecture hall before you’re docked an entire letter grade. You’ve made it there with less.

You don’t bother saying goodbye to Heeseung, but you feel his gaze on you as you leave. Your skin prickles from the weight of it, but you don’t have the mental capacity to dwell on that right now. It’s too early for that.

Tonight’s the last game of the football season, which means practically the entire university showed up to the stadium to show their support, if support meant getting drunk off their asses.

You hadn’t planned to go, mostly because sports had never really been your thing, but Yunjin insists you have to come.

“It’ll be fun!” She pleads, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. She grabs your wrist and pulls on it, but you don’t budge from your spot at your desk. You told her that you had a big test to study for and that’s why you couldn’t go. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but you didn’t really need to study, you already knew the material like the back of your hand.

You sigh and pull your arm from her grip, “I can’t do bad on this test, Yunjin. You know what’ll happen if I do.”

“Yes, yes, the big bad Heeseung will score higher than you and your entire life will be ruined. Believe me, I know.” She clicks her tongue and walks behind you so her hands can rest on your shoulders. “But I think Sunghoon would be so sad to see that you didn’t come to support him for his last game.”

You immediately tense, your face going hot and stomach flipping in ways you didn’t know were possible. Even just the mere mention of Park Sunghoon forces a physical reaction out of you. It’s honestly a little embarrassing.

Sunghoon is the kind of boy you read about in romance novels or watch romcoms about. He’s sweet, smart, and the kind of handsome you weren’t aware a person can actually be. And he does it all effortlessly, like being perfect is something he was just born with. It probably was.

It doesn’t help that he’s always going out of his way to talk to you. Study dates, coffee runs after class, texts about nothing in the middle of the night, all things that feel like a relationship but actually aren’t.

Yunjin keeps insisting that you go for it, and you know that it’s probably not going to be as scary as you’re thinking it will be. After all, all it would do is put a title on whatever song and dance it is that the two of you’ve been putting on for the past couple months.

“I doubt he’d notice if I was there or not.” You shrug, doing your best to seem casual and not like the thought of him has hearts forming in your eyes.

Yunjin squeezes your shoulder and spins your chair around so you’re forced to face her. Her red hair is pulled back into a ponytail, her brows furrowed in determination. She looks a little bit like some kind of strange love coach who takes their job way too seriously. “You’re going to this game.” She says firmly.

“I’m not.”

“That’s what you think.”

The stadium is loud, people talking over each other in the hopes their friends will be able to hear them. They don’t, which means people just talk louder. The lights are bright and overwhelming, and you almost feel claustrophobic with how close the seats are to each other, like whoever designed the place did it without any regard for personal space at all.

Yunjin and Jake are on either side of you, both of them way too invested in the game. You are too, but not for the same reasons as them.

Sunghoon got into Decalis on a football scholarship and is the school's best starting quarterback in fifteen years. Even though he has every right to have a big head about it, he’s so humble you don’t think the thoughts ever even crossed his mind. Someone always approaches him about it when you’re out together on campus, and every time without fail his cheeks go bright pink and he gets this bashful smile on his face. It’s one of the reasons you’ve fallen for him as hard as you have, because unlike most guys you’ve interacted with, he doesn’t seem to have much of an ego at all.

It’s a very welcome contrast to Heeseung.

You can see him on the field too, walking behind the players sitting on the bench and getting candid shots of them. Even though you hate admitting it, he’s always been a gifted photographer. His photos were always hanging up in local art shows or featured in your high school yearbooks. Strangely, it’s the only thing he doesn’t brag about, despite it being the only thing he deserves to. 

“Oh, that’s bullshit!” Jake yells, popcorn spilling from his lap as he gestures wildly. “That was our play!”

You give him a side-eye and sink further into your seat. You honestly couldn’t care less about this whole thing; you're just excited to see Sunghoon in his post-game glow as you like to call it. Damp hair, face glowing with a sheen of sweat, his chest still heaving from running up and down the field. The entire thing is admittedly your guilty pleasure.

Yunjin elbows your ribs gently, her chin poking out to the field. You follow her gaze and find Sunghoon with his helmet in hand, drinking out of a green gatorade bottle and laughing at something one of his teammates says. He looks perfect. He is perfect.

And if things go right, he’ll be yours.

By the time the game ends, you’re more than ecstatic to finally get out of your seat and see Sunghoon. Yunjin teases you the entire way down, but you barely notice her. Not when your heart is nearly fluttering out of your chest.

But when you get down there, it’s not Sunghoon you see. No, it’s something much worse.

Heeseung.

He doesn’t notice you at first, and you almost think you’ll be able to sneak around him, but then Jake decides it’s a good idea to open his big mouth and alert the enemy to your presence.

“Heeseung!” He calls, raising his hand in a wave. “What’s good, man?”

Heeseung looks up then, sharp eyes falling onto Jake, and slowly trailing over to you. He grins, all teeth and something akin to mischief, and casually makes his way over to your small group.

“Hey Jake,” he greets, jutting his chin out swiftly. “Yunjin.”

Yunjin returns the greeting politely. “Heeseung.”

She has no reason to be mean to him, but as your closest friend, she understands that she must, by international girl-code law, dislike anyone you dislike, which includes him.

He turns to you then, and you swear you see something flash in his eyes. He keeps the same smile on his face despite the way you glare at him. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi.” You respond shortly. You don’t know why he even bothers trying to be nice to you in public, especially when he knows you're not going to return whatever sentiment it is he has.

He smirks like you’ve just said the funniest thing in the world. “Would it hurt you to be nicer?”

“Yes,” you respond easily. “It would, actually.”

He frowns and grabs at his shirt dramatically, right over where his heart is. “Always so mean.”

“You’ll live.”

He chuckles, reaching out and roughing up your hair. You smack his hands away and rush to fix it, palms smoothing down the parts he frizzed up. “Don’t do that!”

He ignores you and turns to talk to Jake about the game, and you can hear them say something about how the referees almost cost the team that last quarter, but you aren’t paying attention to that anymore.

Because behind Heeseung you can see a familiar head of damp black hair, thick eyebrows, and a perfect smile.

“Hey guys,” Sunghoon grins as he approaches. He’s ditched his football uniform and is instead wearing a black long sleeved compression shirt, and you swear your brain short circuits at the sight.

His attention falls to you first, just like it always does, and his smile widens just a fraction. Not enough for it to seem like anything else but a friendly gesture, but it doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering out of control or your cheeks from heating to near impossible levels.

“Hey!” You chirp a bit too loudly, hand shooting up in a wave.

“Nice game tonight, man!” Jake gushes, his hands moving animatedly. “The way you got that goal right at the beginning was insane! I swear, Penn didn't even know what hit them.”

Sunghoon grins and brings a hand up to his neck, the way he always does when somebody praises him, like he still can’t quite process the amount of attention on him. “Thanks, Jake. Seriously.”

“Those refs were awful though,” Yunjin throws in. 

The three of them end up in conversation about the game, all of them spewing out football lingo that you couldn’t be bothered to understand. Heeseung's still here too, just…lingering.

He’s friends with Jake and Sunghoon, yes, but he’s always on the sidelines. He’s been like that since high school. He’s friends with everyone, but he never lets them in. Doesn’t make any attempts to know them outside of a surface level friendship. 

It’s a little sad, honestly. But you stopped questioning the way his brain worked a long time ago. If he wanted to keep to himself, then that was perfectly fine by you. 

You don’t notice her approach, not until she’s sliding into the spot next to Sunghoon like she belongs there. Short black hair, bangs that frame her face like she was born with them, big brown eyes. Kim Chaewon is as beautiful as she is smart, and unbelievably kind. Not to mention she’d made cheer captain as a sophomore, and has kept the title all the way into her junior year.

“Hey, Hoon,” she says, voice sweet like honey. You know it shouldn’t, but something twists low and deep in your chest at the way she looks at him. Like she knows him. Like he belongs to her.

You expect him to greet her like he does everyone else. Always polite, but without the extra tenderness he saves for you. Without the small quirk of his lips or the subtle softening of his eyes, because that had always been yours. Your look.

Instead, when he looks at her, his lips quirk up, his eyes soften, and he snags a hand around her waist like he can’t imagine it being anywhere else.

You think this must be a joke. Not a very funny one, but a joke nonetheless. A tasteless prank. Because there is no way Park Sunghoon—the same Park Sunghoon that calls you in the middle of the night and insists he walk you home from class—has his arm around Kim Chaewon and is giving her the same look he gives you.

Yunjin looks just as shocked as you feel, but she’s never been as good at having a poker face as you. Her jaw drops, eyes going wide as she stares at the pair of them. “Um,” she laughs uncomfortably, “Sunghoon do you mind maybe… informing us as to who this is?”

Yunjin knows who Chaewon is, you know that. She's doing that thing she does where she tries to indirectly ask someone something without coming off as rude. For once, you're thankful for her weird methods.

Sunghoon clears his throat, his eyes flickering to yours for a split second before they return to Chaewon. “Right, uh,” he swallows, and you watch as his fingers flex at his side. A nervous habit. “This is Chaewon. We’ve been…seeing each other.”

You blink, your mind going a million miles a minute as you try to make sense of what he’s saying. The words are coming out of his mouth, and yet they still feel fake. Like a figment of your worst nightmare where the boy you’re in love with tells you he’s seeing someone.

“Seeing each other?” You repeat, voice raising in pitch. 

Chaewon nods, her lips curling up into a shy smile as she places a hand on Sunghoon's chest. “It was a recent development,” she chuckles.

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Sunghoon smiles at her before removing his arm from her waist so he can gesture at the three of you. “How do you feel about dinner so Chae can get to know you guys? My treat.”

Chae. How long has this been going on for them to already have cute little nicknames for each other?

The thought of sitting at dinner with them sounds like torture. Having to sit there and watch him touch her? Smile at her? You don’t want to sound jealous (you are), but that’s supposed to be you. You’re the one he should be smiling at—you were the one! You can’t wrap your head around how he could suddenly be seeing someone when just last week he was smiling at you like you meant something to him?

Had you imagined it? Convinced yourself there was something there when he was just being friendly? But even Yunjin said he looked at you differently. Was she just feeding into your delusions?

Heeseung's voice pulls you out of your frenzy, and when you look up, he’s looking straight at you like he can read your mind. “Sorry, man,” he says, eyes staying on you for a moment longer before they shift to Sunghoon. “I’ve gotta get these pictures developed before they close the red room.”

Sunghoon waves him off, “don’t worry about it.” He says, “I’ll see you when we get home tonight. What about you guys?”

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to dinner with them. You can’t, like, physically can’t. You think you’ll die if you do.

Instead of saying that, or coming up with some kind of excuse, what comes out is, “I’m free.”

Yunjin's head snaps to you in shock, and then she blurts out a sudden, “same!”

Jake shrugs, “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Great!” Sunghoon grins, “let’s meet at that diner off of fifth? They’re usually open late.”

He walks away after that, hand in hand with Chaewon, and you watch them go while your heart sinks deep into your chest. She’s laughing at something he says, her free hand slapping his arm lightly, and he smiles down at her like she’s the only girl in his universe. The same way you thought he was doing to you.

“Well,” Heeseungs starts, his eyes finding you’d once again, like he can feel the hurt radiating off your body. He probably can. “Since when was that a thing?”

Jake shrugs the way most clueless men do. “No idea.”

The two of them walk away after that, and you’re thankful to be left alone with Yunjin.

“What the fuck?” She says, hands resting on her hips. “That’s gotta be a joke. Or maybe some kind of dare. I don’t fucking know, but there’s no way they’re actually seeing each other! He was literally blowing up your phone two days ago!” She snaps her fingers like she’s made some kind of profound discovery. "It must be some kind of spell. You know, I’ve always thought witches and magic were real–”

“Yunjin,” you interrupt, eyes already glassy and throat closing up with an onslaught of tears. You aren’t going to cry over him–that would be ridiculous, especially since you weren’t even dating, but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t hurt. If you’re being completely honest, it hurts like hell.

Yunjin notices immediately, and before you can process it, she’s throwing her arms around you and pulling you into her chest in the middle of the field. “I’m sorry, babe,” she sighs, “I really thought he was going to ask you out tonight.”

She’s not the only one. 

You just shrug, doing your best to mask your hurt, even though you know there’s no point when it comes to Yunjin. You’ve only known her for six months, yet she’s the only person who can read you like an open book. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” she mumbles, pulling away from you and placing her hands on your shoulders. “But it will be. Because we’re going to show Sunghoon exactly what he missed out on.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and shrugging her off of you so you can make the trek back to your shared dorm. “What are you talking about?”

She shrugs, “you’ll see.”

You should question her. Should refuse to go anywhere with her until she tells you what her plan is, but you don’t do any of that. You trust Yunjin, and you know that while her methods may be strange, she does everything with good intentions. Besides, you doubt you won’t be able to handle whatever it is she’s cooking up.

The diner off of 5th is the only place that stays open after ten pm and still serves edible food. It’s a campus staple, which means it’s nearly always packed—especially after games. So, you aren’t too surprised that you have to weave through multiple bodies just to find the table Sunghoon had managed to snag for the five of you, and nobody comments when it takes you nearly five minutes just to make it from the front door to your seats.

“I’m starving,” Yunjin groans, her tongue swiping over her lips as she flips through the menu. The both of you know she’s just going to get the same thing she does every time, but she says she finds joy in looking unpredictable.

“Me too,” Sunghoon agrees. 

He looks good. Tired, but good. His hair is falling over his eyes in that dorky kind of way and he’s wearing his glasses—a rare sight. Normally, you’d be the only one doing this much analysis into his look, but when you glance over at Chaewon, she’s staring at him with a dopey grin on her face.

You frown and look down at your menu. You still don’t understand how this could’ve happened. It just didn’t make any sense. When you take out the part where you’re totally in love with Sunghoon, it still makes no sense for him to hide his apparent relationship with Chaewon. Was it a relationship? Are they even dating? Or are they just in that weird space between where you both know it’s going to happen, but they’re still choosing to dance around it?

You’d thought you were there with Sunghoon. You thought it was only a matter of time before he swept you off of your feet and confessed his love for you with some kind of grand, dramatic gesture.

But your life is clearly not a movie, because Park Sunghoon is reaching for Chaewon's hand under the table. His thumb is rubbing small, comforting circles into her skin, and she’s doing a very bad job at hiding her smile.

You shouldn’t have agreed to come.

Jake, for all his strange qualities, has always been observant (except when it comes to possible romantic partners), and he watches the entire exchange with narrowed eyes and bated breath. You’d never talked to him about your relationship with Sunghoon, but he (along with your nemesis) was the guy's roommate, so you assume he must've known that there was something going on between you. Unless you really are just delusional and everything had been entirely friendly.

“So,” Jake starts, wagging his finger towards the couple. “We’re so glad you’re here, Chaewon. Seriously. But I just can’t believe this is the first I’m hearing about…this. I mean, not to sound like a douche or anything, but I live with Sunghoon and he hasn’t brought you up once. He’s talked about–” his eyes find yours for a fleeting moment, before he clears his throat and tries to pretend it never happened. “It’s just kind of unexpected.”

Chaewon giggles, reaching a hand up and swiping her bangs over her forehead. They fall right back into place. “It was a recent development.”

Yunjin snorts, taking a sip from her cup with the kind of casual confidence you wish you had. “Clearly.”

If anybody catches the irritation in her tone, they don’t comment on it. 

“He actually hit me with a football during practice,” Chaewon laughs, bringing her arm up to rest casually behind Sunghoon. You can nearly make out her fingers playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “It was the total opposite of a meet-cute. But it still worked out anyway, because he invited me to coffee as an apology and things just went from there.”

Coffee? He always takes you to coffee. Did they go to the same place you go to? Did he show her the secret menu that’s not really a secret? Did he joke around with your favorite barista like he does when he’s with you?

Your throat feels tight again, but you suck down a gulp from your drink and try to act like you aren’t on the brink of emotional collapse.

Yunjin smiles, but it looks forced. She taps your thigh once, like she’s warning you, but before you can question it, she’s already opening her mouth. “You know, that’s honestly kind of crazy. Two of my friends are getting into relationships at the same time. You’d think I’d get some of that luck too considering I seem to be the common denominator here, but nope!”

You blink. You love Yunjin, you really do, but outside of you the only other person you saw her consistently speak to is her pet gerbil. And even that was leaning into more of a casual situation lately.

Sunghoon’s eyebrows raise briefly, but he’s quick to lower them. “Really?” He mumbles. You can practically feel the curiosity radiating off of him. He’s always been way too nosy. “Who?”

The next few moments are still a bit of a blur in your mind. You remember feeling like someone had spilled a bucket of cold water on you, but when you ran a hand through your hair, it was completely dry.

Yunjin smiles, and she looks so innocent you almost believe the lie that rolls off of her tongue like honey. You probably would’ve if it didn't have to do with you. “[Y/N], you’ve been seeing someone recently as well, haven’t you?”

You nearly choke, eyes widening into saucers. You splutter for an answer, blinking rapidly as you do. “What? A relationship? I don’t–well, I mean–maybe–?” It’s not until Yunjin sends a swift heel to your shin do you manage to get out a full sentence. “Yes,” you squeak. “I have been…seeing someone. It’s very recent. Very new. Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are that it happened so quickly.”

The table goes silent for a moment, and you suddenly feel very, very exposed. You know Yunjin knows you’re a terrible liar, she witnessed it firsthand when you tried to lie about eating her leftover cheesecake, and yet she thought making you lie in a group setting would make your skills any better? If anything, it just made them ten times worse!

You’re waiting for the inevitable–for someone to give an uncomfortable laugh before attempting to move the conversation forward. Meanwhile, you’re going to pray to whatever is listening up in the sky for the floor to swallow you whole and for this day to have never happened.

But that doesn’t happen. Instead, the next few moments are probably the most confusing of your life. 

“That’s good, [Y/N],” Sunghoon says, smiling at you the way he does with everyone else. It’s not the smile you’re used to. Not the curl of his lips that would send butterflies fluttering around in your stomach and make your cheeks burst with color. This one is practiced, easy. Entirely wrong. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You pale, parting your lips to give some shitty excuse. Maybe your delivery man? You met when he was dropping off your amazon vibrator and he complimented you on the brand. A very plausible start to any college relationship, and it’d be easy to hide considering he’s not real. 

But before you can tell your made-up story, Yunjin beats you to the punch.

“Oh, you’re going to lose your mind. I know I did when she told me.” She laughs aloud, and when her eyes find yours, you suddenly wish you’d never even gotten out of bed this morning. Maybe finishing the course with a B wouldn’t have been so bad if it meant you got to avoid this terrible fate.

She leans forward on the table, lowering her voice into that soft teasing tilt she’s perfected. “She’s been seeing your other roommate. The one she apparently can’t stand.”

Jake’s eyes widen, his hands slamming on the table so he can lean against them and get a better look at you. He practically screams when he asks, “you’ve been seeing Heeseung?”

You should’ve just taken the dock off of your grade.

“Yunjin, do not come near me right now or I swear to God you’re going to be missing chunks of hair.”

She winces, hands immediately tugging on the red strands. “Anything but the hair! You know it’s my best feature.” She attempts to joke, but you’re having absolutely none of it.

“You realize they live with him, right? What happens when they ask him about his apparent relationship with me?” You snap, slamming the door to your dorm behind you. The walk here had been completely silent—or, at least, it had been from your end. Yunjin spent the entire time trying to act like she hadn’t just lied to all of your friends that you were dating Lee Heeseung. The one person in this world everyone knows you cannot stand.

She flops onto her bed and stretches her arms over her head. “They’re guys! They don’t talk about that kind of stuff. Jake didn’t even know Sunghoon was seeing Chaewon! Which, can we talk about that, actually? I mean, seriously, what the fuck? One second he’s taking you on these cute little dates and the next—”

“Yunjin,” you groan, rubbing the heels of your palm into your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can talk about Sunghoon without your head wanting to explode. “As much as I’d love to talk about Sunghoon's sparkling love life and my lack of one, I’ve got a nine am tomorrow that I’d rather not have to sleep through because I stayed up all night talking about my nonexistent love life.”

She nods, a small smile on her lips. "No, yeah, of course. But, before you become dead to the world, you’re actually kind of wrong about something.”

“What?”

“Your love life isn’t nonexistent,” she says thoughtfully. “You’re seeing Heeseung, remember?”

You throw the pillow at her so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t mold to her face.

You’ve always enjoyed your nine am literacy analysis lecture. After all, you’re an English major. Literacy analysis is kind of your whole thing.

The only part of the class that is mildly annoying is the fact that you share it with Heeseung. But, surprisingly, he rarely ever bothers you. You aren’t sure if it’s because he’s finally matured and realized it’s stupid to bother you during lecture, or if he’d just gotten bored of the entire thing. Either way, you’d be perfectly fine with whatever the answer was as long as it kept him away from you.

Today though, your nerves are practically fried. Does he know? Did he expose you? You don’t know why he would lie for you, and honestly, you don’t expect him to. He probably laughed out loud before Sunghoon and Jake even asked him about it.

God, you love Yunjin, you really do, but right now you wish she’d stayed home with her gerbil last night. Maybe that way she wouldn’t have been able to open her big mouth.

You don’t look at Heeseung when you enter. You don’t even look in his general direction. You just keep your head down and try to look as normal as possible through the lecture, which is exceptionally difficult when your mind is buzzing with so much nervous energy it could power the entire university.

The usual hour seems to pass by in a blur, and when your professor releases you for dismissal, you’re quick to pack your bags and make a swift exit. You're practically out of breath by the time you make it outside, but you’re relieved you managed to get out without having to make any contact with Heeseung. You aren’t sure you would’ve been able to survive the embarrassment.

You pull the strap of your bag further up your shoulder and pull out your phone, fully ready to call Yunjin and complain to her about the mess she’s gotten you into, but a call of your name forces your head up.

Heeseung makes his way over to you casually, a backwards baseball cap covering up his dirty blonde hair and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He isn’t giving you that usual teasing smile he always wears when he sees you, instead he looks unusually serious. 

You tense, pulse pounding in your ears and alarm bells ringing in your head. You have half the mind to turn and make a run for it, but he reaches you before your feet can move.

“Hi,” he says simply. Casually. Like he’s talking to a friend and asking about the weather.

You hesitate, but return the greeting nonetheless. “...Hi.”

He cracks a smile, but scrunches his nose before it reaches his eyes and his lips fall back down into a straight line. “We need to talk.”

Your blood turns to ice, skin paling before you can stop it. He knows. And if he knows that means he told everyone the truth, and he’s probably already told the entire campus about your stupid lie as well. You’re going to be known as the girl who lied about being in a relationship because she couldn't accept that the boy she likes has a girlfriend, and then you're going to have to transfer somewhere else and start going by a new name. 

God, you are going to kill Yunjin. It’ll be like a final goodbye before you’re forced to move across the country.

You shake your head immediately. “No, uh, we don’t actually. I already know what you’re going to say, so I’ll just start packing my things now. No need for this awkward rejection or whatever–not that I’m being rejected by you. God, I’d rather die before I go out with you. But, Yunjin has a big mouth and I never know how to stop her before she says something stupid, so now my social life is totally dead and–”

You’re rambling so fast it takes a moment for you to register that Heeseung's laughing, and even longer to realize that he’s laughing at you. His shoulders shake from the force of it, and the back of his hand comes up to cover his mouth. If this was anyone else, you might even think he looked cute.

You swallow, unable to help the pout that forms on your lips. “And now you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, taking in a deep breath and trying to find some composure. “It’s just…you’ve always been really good at jumping to conclusions.”

Your brows furrow, mouth parting as you try to process his words. What does he mean you’re good at jumping to conclusions? Why does he always talk like he knows anything about you? You know they shouldn’t, but the words tick you off. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugs, lips curving up into that smile you’ve unfortunately become way too familiar with. The one that screams trouble and always means he’s up to no good. “I have to admit, I was pretty surprised when Jake grilled me for half an hour last night on our apparent relationship–” you visibly wince, but he ignores it and continues– “but, I thought to myself, why on earth would [Y/N] [L/N] tell our friends we were in a relationship? I figured you had to have a reason, so I went along with it.”

Your jaw drops, eyes blinking a mile a minute like maybe that’ll help everything make sense. Newsflash, it doesn’t–if anything it just makes everything feel ten times more confusing. “You what?”

He shrugs, “you have a reason, right? Otherwise, we just became a couple for no reason. Unless that’s what you wanted? Was this whole thing just an elaborate scheme to get with me?” His voice drops an octave, and he takes a step closer, until suddenly he’s in your space and you can smell the fresh linen from his detergent and his cedarwood cologne. “You know, princess, if you wanted to be with me, all you had to do was ask.”

You might be extremely confused right now, but you’ve got enough sense to know that the last thing you want in your life is to be in a real relationship with him. And you definitely don’t want him calling you princess. 

You take a step back, your arms coming up to put space between the two of you. “Ew, no, absolutely not. Like I said, I’d rather die before I dated you.”

He hums, shoving his hands back in his pockets and beginning to walk away. “Okay. I’ll just go tell Jake and Sunghoon that you lied then–”

Your hand shoots out and wraps around his arm before you can stop yourself, and you feel the muscle tense up beneath your fingertips. He stills, his head tilting as he looks back at you.

You swallow, taking your pride down with the saliva. “I’m sorry,” you sigh out, “I just don't know how to go about this without sounding like a total loser.”

His lips curve up and he turns so he’s facing you fully. “You’re going to sound like a loser to me no matter what, so just tell me.”

You glower, your hand dropping back to your side. You try to ignore the warmth lingering in your palm as it balls up at your side. “I’ve had a thing for this guy–”

He nods. “Sunghoon, right?”

Is it really that obvious? You narrow your eyes, “How’d you know? Did he say something about me?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I’ve seen the way you follow each other like lost puppies. I’ve gotta admit, I was surprised when he popped out with Chaewon and not you.”

You don’t know if that makes you feel better or worse. If even Heeseung, the one person you absolutely cannot stand, could see that there was something between you and Sunghoon, then that must mean you aren’t delusional. But, on the other hand, it makes you wonder what made Sunghoon change his mind so quickly.

Were you trying to take things too slow? Did he get bored of the waiting? You thought the dancing around each other was sweet, but maybe he was looking at it differently. Maybe he just got sick of waiting around for you.

Heeseung must notice how your thoughts have wandered, because he waves a hand in front of your face and raises his brows. “You still with me?”

Your eyes snap to him and your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry, um, as I was saying, I’ve had a thing for him for a while. So, when he took us to dinner with Chaewon last night, Yunjin had this bright idea to say that I was also in a relationship with…you. And the whole thing just kind of spiraled from there.”

He’s silent for a moment, like he’s processing your words. “She said we were dating to make Sunghoon jealous? How does that work?”

You groan and run a hand over your face. “I don’t know! I don’t know what she was thinking! I’ve already yelled at her over it!” You feel your frustration building again, but you take a deep breath and force it down. “It was stupid. And now you’re dragged into this entire mess and I don’t know how I’m going to tell everyone the truth.”

There are a lot of things you dislike about Heeseung. He’s rude in that passive aggressive kind of way, and he only ever does it to you. He always forgets a pen and never gives yours back when you lend one to him. He’s wildly selfish and thinks that the entire world revolves around him. He also always manages to catch you by surprise, and you absolutely loathe surprises.

Today is no exception.

His lips part in thought, and for the first time you can actually see him thinking about what he’s going to say before he says it. Usually, he just blurts out whatever's on his mind and deals with the consequences later.

“What if…” he hesitates for a moment. “What if you didn’t tell them?”

“What?”

He splutters for a moment, a nervous laugh bubbling from his lips. “I just mean, what if we let everyone think we’re dating? Not that we actually date. That would be…awful.”

“Why would we do that, though?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not like me having a boyfriend is going to change Sunghoon's mind. And what would you even get out of it aside from undeniable blackmail material?”

He shrugs, “actually Sunghoon looked pretty distraught last night. He kept asking me about you and our budding relationship.”

Your heart skips a beat at that. He was asking about you? It shouldn't affect you like it does, especially when he’s got a girlfriend, but the thought of him thinking about you has butterflies flying around your stomach.

Still, it doesn’t explain why Heeseung would want to help you. He’s never gone out of his way to do it before, so you don’t see why he would now. 

“But, what do you get out of this?” You ask, pointing a wary finger at him. “You’ve never been nice enough to actually help me before.”

He scoffs, “first off, that's not true. What about that science project we did Junior year? The one with the ant colony? I partnered up with you after Stella got that weird illness.”

“You mean the ant colony you released into Mrs. Hong's room? She made us deep clean the room every day for, like, two weeks. And Stella had pneumonia.”

“Yeah, but that was after we’d already gotten an A.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

He sighs and pulls out a creme folder from his bag. He taps it once and hands it to you. You accept it questioningly, looking up at him through your lashes with suspicion. “What is this?”

“My portfolio,” he explains. Just as he said, when you open it there's what you think must be hundreds of photos. Some of nature, some of the people on campus, some of just random mundane things. They’re all breathtaking shots, and it's then that you remember he’s here on a full scholarship after winning some national photography contest. It’d been the only thing he talked about for weeks.

You knew he was going to win the moment it was announced.

“Wow,” you mumble, continuing to flip through the photos. “These are amazing.”

He brings a hand up to his neck and scratches at it nervously. “Thanks.”

One picture captures your attention. It’s a candid shot of Sunghoon in class, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, eyebrows tucked in that adorable way they always are when he’s frustrated. The people around him are blurry, and you assume they’re getting their stuff for dismissal.

“The photography committee on campus is holding a competition,” he continues, “$100,000 and your pictures are featured in international art shows. But, in order to enter, I need a muse. Someone I can get consistent pictures of. If we’re “dating”, no one will question why I’m constantly taking pictures of you, and it saves me the hassle of having to ask anyone else.”

You raise a brow. He wants to be in a fake couple so that he can take pictures of you for a contest? It doesn’t feel like a fair trade to you at all. “Why don’t you ask Jake or Sunghoon? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

He gives you a fixed look. “I already did, but they both claimed they were too busy. You’re my last resort before I start asking random people on campus.”

The explanation still feels weird to you, but you aren’t going to fight him anymore on it. Besides, you’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’re now in a fake relationship with public enemy number one.

“So…what now?” You ask, closing the folder and handing it back to him. He takes it with steady hands, and when his fingers brush yours, there’s a solid five seconds where your breath catches in your throat and you almost forget about everything you dislike about Heeseung.

“Jay Park’s having a party tomorrow night,” he breathes, lips turning up into that awful smile. “Beer. Dancing. Maybe some weed. Sunghoon and Chaewon will definitely be there, which means you and I will also be there.”

Your nose scrunches at the thought. You’d only gone to one party so far, and the entire experience had been so awful you’d sworn them off completely.

“I don’t really do parties,” you mumble.

Heeseung snorts like that’s the understatement of the century. “We won't stay for long. Just long enough for Sunghoon to see us, and then we’ll go.”

You nod, and the air between the two of you suddenly feels heavy. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and your eyes fall to the floor. “Thank you,” you say sincerely. “For helping me.”

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Just nods casually like fake dating people is something he does daily. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, princess.”

You really need to tell him to stop calling you that.

When you tell Yunjin, she doesn’t even try to act surprised. “I knew it would work out,” she says confidently, staring at a pimple in her reflection. “That's why I said it in the first place.”

You roll your eyes, fingers moving over your keyboard rapidly. You need to finish up your analysis paper before the deadline next week, but every time you sit down to write your brain wanders to dirty blonde hair and that annoyingly perfect smile.

“Whatever.” You mumble, “he’s expecting me to go to some party with him tomorrow night, but I don’t know. I really need to finish this paper, and the last time we went to a party I got so drunk I collided with the wall.”

Yunjin snorts at the memory, and then she’s standing and making her way over to you. She sits crisscrossed on your bed and ever-so-gently forces your laptop closed. You don’t argue with her, it’s not like you were getting anything done anyway.

“So, your fake boyfriend–who by the way, is super hot–is asking you to go to a party with him, and you don’t want to because you’d rather stay at home and analyze Edgar Allen Poe?” She asks, drawing out the sentence so you feel completely and utterly stupid.

“It’s not Edgar Allen Poe,” you mutter, “and, I don’t know, this entire thing just feels so insane! Like, what am I hoping happens? Sunghoon realizes he’s actually in love with me and breaks up with Chaewon?”

“Exactly that, yes.” Yunjin nods, like it’s obvious.

You shoot her a glare. “That’s not fair to either of them. If they’re happy, why should I try to ruin that?”

Yunjin sighs, her hands reaching out to grab yours. She brings them into her lap and squeezes them comfortingly. “If they’re happy, then you being in a relationship with Heeseung isn’t going to matter. But you said he asked about you, right? That means he still cares at least a little bit, and if that’s the case, then it’s not fair to Chaewon for him to stay with her.” She smiles softly, her shoulders bobbing as she shrugs them. “I don’t know what he’s doing right now, but I know that there was something going on between the two of you. And if you care about him, you shouldn’t let that go without a fight.”

When she wanted to, Yunjin could give some seriously killer advice. Your lips curve up, chest feeling lighter and mind not so hazy. “Thanks, Yunjin. Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Die, probably.”

You laugh loudly, throwing your head back with it. “Yeah,” you agree, “probably.”

The next night, your nerves are absolutely shot. Heeseung texted you that he’d pick you and Yunjin up from your dorm at seven, which meant you’d spent the entire day stressed out of your mind.

Sunghoon was going to be there, that much was obvious, but the thought of parading yourself around with Heeseung in front of him makes you feel sick. For one, he knows you. He’s always been able to see right through you, and you have half the mind to think he’ll make your little lie before you even step through the door.

You suck in a breath, your hands smoothing out the sides of your skirt. The dress Yunjin lent you is a lot shorter than anything you’re used to wearing, and the black cloth hugs your curves in a way you’re not entirely used to seeing on yourself. Your heels force your back to arch, highlighting the curve of your spine and the plump of your ass.

You give yourself a once-over in the mirror, hands coming down to tug the fabric further down your thighs. “Are you sure this isn’t too much?” You ask.

Yunjin clicks her tongue, and you can see her fighting with the straps of her own dress through the mirror. “Absolutely not. You look amazing. The guys are going to lose their minds when they see you in that.”

You raise a brow and turn around to face her. “Guys? Like, plural?”

“Well, yeah,” she shrugs, “Sunghoon and Heeseung.”

Sunghoon, yes. You’d love for him to notice you. But Heeseung? Absolutely not. You could seriously care less about what he thinks about you. He was there when you didn’t understand how to get rid of your acne and when makeup was more of a suggestion then something you actually did everyday.

“Ew, no,” you gag, “I don’t care what Lee Heeseung thinks about me. The only reason he’s even helping me is for his portfolio or whatever. He’s not doing it out of the kindness of his heart.”

Yunjin hums, smoothing out her dress and giving herself one final look over in the vanity mirror. She looks amazing–she always does. You aren’t jealous of Yunjin, but sometimes you wonder what it’d be like to have her confidence. “You seriously think he’s doing this just for his portfolio?”

“Um, yeah. That’s what he said.”

She walks over to you then, her chin resting on your shoulder. “I think–and don’t go nuclear on me for this–but I think he likes you. Like, like-likes you.”

A laugh bursts from your chest. That is the single most absurd thing you’ve ever heard in your life. Heeseung can barely stand being in the same room as you without having to get under your skin. He doesn’t like you, he just enjoys pissing you off. 

“You’re funny,” you snort, “and so insanely wrong.”

She shrugs and takes a step back from you. “I don’t know, [Y/N]. I don’t know many guys who get into fake relationships with people they dislike just so they can finish their portfolio.”

Your phone buzzes from your bed, and when you pick it up you’ve got a text message from Heeseung saying he’s here. 

“You don’t know many guys in general, Yunjin.” You retort. You quickly grab your purse and stuff your phone inside. “He’s here. Don’t say anything weird in the car, please. I think you’ve embarrassed me enough in the last two days to last a lifetime.”

“No promises,” she winks.

Heeseung's car isn’t super nice. It’s pretty typical for any college student, actually. There’s a scratch on the passenger side door and a dent on the hood, and it looks like it could definitely use a round through the car wash. But, despite that, the sight of it makes you nostalgic.

You remember when he pulled into your first day of Junior year with this thing. He bragged about it to anyone who would listen. He’d saved up the entire summer to buy it, and he treated the run down thing like it was his pride and joy. You wonder if that’s still the case today.

He’s leaning against your door when you step outside. Dirty blonde hair, backwards baseball cap, that same fucking smile. The sight alone is enough to irritate you.

But there’s a brief moment where the smile falters. His eyes trail over you, all the way from your heels to your eyes, and you swear you see his ears go the lightest shade of pink.

You raise a brow, but before you can comment on it the smile is back and he’s acting like nothing happened. “Nice dress,” he clicks his tongue, “I didn’t think you owned anything that didn’t look like it came from a librarian's closet.”

You hate him. You hate him so much it hurts your soul. It envelops your being like an ugly monster.

You want to tell him that, but you don’t, because at the end of the day he’s helping you for whatever reason, and your mother told you that hating people was inherently wrong. So, you swallow down your annoyance and make your way to his car. “Can we try and go one night without you being a dick?”

“I don’t know,” he smirks, “you’re the one dating this dick, princess.”

You frown and try not to think about the double meaning behind his words. “Fake dating,” you correct.

“Right. Fake dating.”

The tension between you is thick, and not in the way you’re used to. Instead, this feels like some sort of gravitational pull towards him. Something you’d kept buried that is trying to dig its way back from the grave.

Yunjin groans behind you. You’d nearly forgotten she was here. “God, can you guys just fuck already and get it over with? Your sexual tension is starting to make me jealous.”

“Yunjin!” You practically screech. Your hands gesture wildly as you attempt to defend yourself. “This is not–there is no sexual tension! That’s not what this is!”

She gives you a look that says: don’t make me call bullshit.

You sigh and run a hand over your eyes. “Just get in the car.”

The party is just outside of campus, in Jay Park's two-story home that he mysteriously pays for by himself. (Everyone knows he’s a trust fund baby.) There’s some stragglers outside, all holding red solo cups and trying to act drunker than they really are. You’ve never understood the appeal for parties. To you, they just look like sweat fests that people gaslight themselves into thinking are fun.

Yunjin gets out of the car as soon as you pull up and quickly makes her way over to some guy by the front door. You watch as she tries to talk to him, and for once he doesn’t look intimidated by her outgoing nature. It’s kind of cute, actually.

You, on the other hand, feel a bit sick. For one, you don’t know what you’re going to do when you see Sunghoon. Is he even going to care? Probably not. He literally has a fucking girlfriend, and here you are trying to show off for him like that’ll change anything.

“Hey,” Heeseung murmurs from beside you, his eyebrows knitted together in what you think might be concern. “You good?”

You blink. “I don’t know.” It’s the most honest thing you’ve said all night.

He’s silent for a moment, before he’s letting out a breath and turning to you. “You look good, [Y/N]. Really fucking good. Don’t let a dress like that go to waste because you’re in your head.” He emphasizes his point with a gentle tap to your forehead. “Let’s go in there and show Sunghoon exactly what he lost, yeah?”

You feel your cheeks heat at the compliment, but you force the words to the back of your mind to be dwelled on later. Right now, you just need to get out of this car and get through tonight without wanting to explode. And, honestly, you do want to show Sunghoon what he’s missing out on. 

“Okay,” you nod.

He grins. “Okay.” 

Inside, the party is practically buzzing with people. There’s a few people you recognize, but it’s mostly randoms that you didn’t even realize you went to school with. That’s the thing about college; you’re always meeting someone new. Your high school was the complete opposite of that–you knew everyone in your graduating class on a personal level.

Heeseung keeps a hand on your lower back the entire time, and for some reason, you’re grateful for the subtle comfort it gives you. Like it’s a reminder that he’s here and that you aren’t going into this mess alone.

You eventually make your way over to the drinks, and Heeseung grabs a can of alcohol for himself and water for you. You raise a brow as he hands it to you. You hadn’t planned to drink, but him handing you water makes you feel like he’s treating you like some little kid.

“Actually,” you clear your throat, pointing towards the other beer can on top of the ice, “I’ll have that.”

He looks caught off guard for a moment, but then he shrugs and hands the can over to you. You open it with a pop and immediately take a swig. It goes down like tar against your tongue, and your nose scrunches in disgust.

He chuckles, “sure you don’t want the water?”

You really do. “I’m sure.”

Your eyes search the crowd for Sunghoon, and sure enough he’s here. He’s playing beer pong with some of his friends from the football team, and Chaewon is at his side cheering every time he scores. They look perfect for each other, and your heart squeezes painfully at the sight. Your hands shake as you take another gulp of your beer.

Heeseung taps your waist once, before he’s tugging you into his side and pulling you towards the dance floor. Alarm bells ring in your head as you weave through the crowd. You can’t dance, anytime you’ve tried you’ve embarrassed yourself so bad you’ve debated never showing your face in public again.

“Heeseung,” you attempt, “I can’t dance!”

“Neither can anyone else here. Besides, we can’t just sit in the corner and expect Sunghoon to care. If he’s having a good time, you need to be having an even better one.” He says easily.

You scoff as he comes to a stop in the middle of the floor, directly in Sunghoon's line of sight. Heeseung has always been able to make confidence look easy–like it’s something he was born with. You, on the other hand, are not like that. Your movements are awkward and you fumble to find a rhythm that doesn’t make you look like you’re on the verge of collapse.

“Wow,” he laughs, whistling lowly when you nearly trip over your own feet. “You weren’t kidding.”

Your eyes narrow as embarrassment flushes your cheeks. “I told you! God, I’m going back to the drinks–”

Before you can walk away, he catches your wrist with his hand and pulls you back towards him. Your chest nearly collides with his, and his face is suddenly so close you can practically taste his breath on yours.

“I’m not making fun of you, princess.” He murmurs, his hands sliding up to rest on your hips, “just…observing.”

His voice is right beside your ear, and the proximity makes your body feel like it’s on fire. Suddenly, the room is too small and all you can think about is him. Sunghoon is a thought so distant in your mind you nearly forget you’d ever been thinking about him in the first place.

He brings his lips to your ear, his grip on your hips tightening the smallest bit. You wonder if he’s able to hear your heartbeat. If he can, does he know it’s beating so rapidly because of him?

“He’s looking,” he murmurs into your hair.

The call back to reality feels like a bucket of ice water against your spine. If Heeseung notices the way you tense, he doesn’t comment on it.

You clear your throat and try to ignore the way your voice shakes. “He is?”

“He was,” he grumbles with a click of his tongue. He pulls back so you can see his eyes, and for a moment you think he almost looks as wrecked as you feel. “I’m going to kiss you.”

Your eyes widen and you nearly choke on your own spit. “What?”

You barely have time to process before he’s bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, the other sliding to your spine and pulling you impossibly closer. You’re so close your noses are nearly touching, and his cedarwood cologne feels like it’s enveloping all of your senses.

“Trust me, okay?” He murmurs.

Later, you’ll say you don’t know how it happened. You’ll tell Yunjin that it all happened so fast and that it really wasn’t that big of a deal. He was just helping you get Sunghoon's attention.

But the truth–the truth is that you want him to kiss you. You want him to take your breath away and for his hands to hold you like he’s afraid he’ll die without you.

And that scares you.

All you can manage is one simple word. “Okay.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is awkward at first, more a peck than anything else, but he slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you closer and suddenly his tongue is in your mouth and he’s kissing you like you’re something precious.

Your hands slide to his chest instinctively, fists balling up the fabric of his shirt between your fingers. His breath mingles with yours, and his tongue licks into your mouth like you’re the best thing he’s tasted in years.

You can’t help the whine that slides from his lips when he pulls away, your own lips chasing his without your permission. It’s like your body's an addict and he’s your drug of choice. 

Heeseung's lips are swollen and his pupils are completely blown, but you doubt you look much better. His tongue darts out to swipe at his lower lip, and then he’s smiling at you. But it’s not the teasing smile you’re used to or the one he gives everyone else. It’s softer. Real. 

Your lips part to say something, anything, but then your thoughts go back to Sunghoon and what comes out instead is a soft, “did he see?”

Heeseungs smile immediately drops, and something akin to disappointment flashes over his face. You don’t know why the sight makes you cringe internally. 

He glances up and nods his head. “Yeah,” he says, using his grip on your hips to turn you around, “he definitely saw.”

When you look, Sunghoon’s cheeks are pink and he’s staring directly at you. When he sees you looking, he’s quick to avert his gaze and try to act casually, but you know Sunghoon. He’s jealous.

This is a complete win.

So, why don’t you care as much as you should?

You should be ecstatic that Sunghoon’s feeling a certain way towards you. That’s the whole point of this stupid deal–to get Sunghoon back.

But when you turn back around and look at Heeseung, all you can think about is the way he smiled at you like you meant something to him. And how you hope he does it again.

It’s been a week since the kiss. A full week of acting like a couple. Holding hands on campus, cheek kisses in class, coffee dates at the cafe you used to frequent with Sunghoon. 

It’s…weird. Somewhere along the way, you stopped hating Heeseung's general presence. Instead of a nemesis, he’s managed to turn himself into someone you don’t really mind having around. A frenemy, maybe. He’s funny, something you never cared enough to notice before, and he’s got this soft side to him that makes your heart melt the smallest bit.

“So,” Yunjin grins, taking a bite of her ramen. “Any word from Sunghoon?”

Your mouth goes dry at the mention of your apparent crush. In truth, you hadn't really thought about him at all. You used to go to sleep imagining it was Sunghoon next to you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and holding you like you were something fragile.

Now when you close your eyes at night, all you can think about is the way Heeseung's mouth felt against yours. The way his hands gripped your hips and held you close to him.

It takes everything in you to remember that Sunghoon is the goal. You’re just feeling this way because Heeseung kissed you. Once you have Sunghoon, you’ll get over it completely.

“Um,” you mumble, sinking further into your blankets, “not yet. But Heeseung said he saw him looking at us in the coffee shop the other day. That’s good, right?”

She turns to you, her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “It is. So why don’t you sound more excited?”

You immediately go on the defensive. “I am excited! I’m just…tired right now. It’s late, and I’ve been up since seven.”

“Whatever you say.”

In truth, you aren’t that excited. It’s nice that he’s thinking about you. It’s the entire reason you and Heeseung are doing this anyway. So why can you not bring yourself to care more?

Your phone buzzes next to you, and you have to dig through your sheets to find it. When you do, the screen is lit up with a message from Heeseung.

Hey, it reads, got time to take some photos tomorrow? There’s this park just a little off campus that I think would be a good spot.

Right. The portfolio. You’d been so busy with yourself you nearly forgot you were supposed to be helping him as well.

Sure, you reply, what time?

It doesn’t take long for him to respond. I’ll pick you up at eleven. Wear something nice, please.

You heart the message and set your phone down. You aren’t sure what something nice is supposed to entail, but you’ll do your best.

The next morning, you’re waiting outside your dorm in an outfit that you deemed appropriate for the park while also being cute. It isn’t something you usually wear–the long skirt feels restricting and the jean vest is more form-fitting then you thought it would be, but Yunjin swore up and down that you looked great, so you’re choosing to believe her.

You rock back and forth on your feet while you wait, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. Heeseung is never late, but today seems to be an exception to that.

You sigh, ready to turn around and go wait in your dorm, but the sound of your name catches you off guard.

When you look over, Sunghoon is walking over to you. He must’ve been on a run, because his arms are on full display in his sleeveless tank top. Usually, the sight would send your mind reeling. But now you barely even glance towards them.

“Hi, Sunghoon.”

He nods, coming to a stop a few feet in front of you. He’s close enough for you to see the moles on his face, but far enough that you can’t smell his usual expensive cologne. A complete opposite of Heeseungs soft cedarwood and linen.

Why the fuck are you thinking about Heeseungs cologne right now?

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says shyly, eyebrows knit together. “I’ve…missed hanging out with you.”

Your heart skips a beat, but for all the wrong reasons.

“Sorry,” you murmur with a shrug. “I’ve just been super busy lately. You know how it gets.” It’s not a lie, you have been busy. Just…busy with Heeseung.

He pauses, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips. He looks like he’s contemplating his next words, which is something you’ve never seen him do. It hurts a bit that your relationship has turned into this. Just a month ago the thought of ignoring Sunghoon would’ve seemed unfathomable. Both of you being in separate relationships (given yours is fake) would’ve been a complete joke. And yet here you are, talking like complete strangers.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, the words quiet and hesitant. “I’ve seen you and Heeseung around campus. I was a little surprised, honestly.”

Your response is dry. Bordering on the edge of annoyance. “Yeah. So was I.”

You both know you’re not talking about Heeseung. For a moment, he almost looks regretful.

“[Y/N]-”

“Hey.” 

You didn’t even notice Heeseung's beat up Honda pull onto your street, nor notice him walk out of it. He’s dressed casually in a Decalis University sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. His camera hangs off his neck and rests against his stomach, and his hand instinctively hovers over it as he approaches.

Relief floods your chest at the sight of him. You don’t know why. It must be some kind of hormonal thing.

Sunghoon takes a step back like he’s trying to put up an invisible wall between you. The two live together, and yet the tension radiating off of them makes you wonder what their living situation must be like right now. Jake must be in a constant state of stress.

“You’re late,” you murmur.

Heeseung smiles, his hand reaching for yours and pulling your wrist to his mouth. He leaves a soft kiss on your inner wrist, and your cheeks flare at the gesture. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your skin. “Traffic.”

You fold immediately. “It’s fine. I was just worried.”

Sunghoon must sense that he’s no longer wanted, because he murmurs a soft goodbye and makes a swift exit. You watch as he jogs away, his forming growing smaller and smaller, and it doesn’t hurt like it used to. It just feels like…nothing. You look back to Heeseung, and any tension you had melts.

“What was that about?” He asks.

You shrug. “Was just saying hello.”

“And?”

You raise a brow. “And what?”

“Did he say anything about me? About our relationship?”

Oh. Right. You’re in love with Sunghoon.

“Oh,” you clear your throat and attempt to act like you hadn’t completely forgotten your deal. “Yeah, he did. I think he’s jealous, but he’s still with Chaewon, so does it even really matter?”

“Trust me, it does.” He snorts, leading you over to his car. “He was talking to Jake last night about how he apparently isn’t feeling any sparks with Chaewon. He wants to break up with her.”

That’s good. That’s what you wanted. You should be ecstatic and your heart should be fluttering in your chest. Instead, all you feel is a cold pang of disappointment.

“Good! That's great. Amazing, even.” You say, attempting to sound the littlest bit excited, but it just comes off flat and dull. Like you’re talking about an assignment and not the boy you’ve been in love with for months.

He gives you a side-eye as he opens the passenger door for you, and you slip in like it’s second nature. At this point, it is. “You don’t sound too excited,” he observes.

You’re not, but you can’t say that. “I’m just shocked, I guess. I don’t understand why he even got with Chaewon in the first place if he didn’t feel anything for her. It’s kind of…mean.”

Heeseung takes a second to respond as he climbs into the driver's seat. He wordlessly hands you his phone and lets you put on your playlist–something you hadn’t even realized was an option. You play Ariana Grande and watch as Heeseung tries to act like he doesn’t enjoy it.

“Sunghoons always been like that,” he says eventually. “He’s impulsive. Doesn’t think about what he’s doing until he’s regretting it and trying to act like he’s not.”

“Why?”

Heeseung shrugs, glancing at you from the corner of his eye for a split second before going back to the road. “Don’t know. It’s just how he is.”

You chew at the inside of your cheek and look out the window. The campus passes by in a blur, people walking to class together, pigeons scavenging for any scraps they can get, the lecture hall you walk to every morning. It’s familiar. Comfortable.

You look back to Heeseung, and instead of annoyance, you get the same feeling you do when you’re looking at campus. Familiarity. Comfort. And it scares you so much your throat nearly constricts.

“Well,” you croak, running a hand through your hair, “that’s stupid. And all it does is hurt the people around him.”

“Yeah,” he agrees softly, “it does.”

You don’t talk the rest of the car ride, and you’re thankful for it. Your mind is too alert for conversation right now. You can smell his cologne, can hear him humming along to Needy by Ariana Grande, can feel his presence consuming your very soul. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

You don’t hate Lee Heeseung. Because your mother used to say that hate was just another word for love, and that is the last thing you feel for the boy you grew up with.

When you arrive at the park, you’re entirely too eager to get out of the car. You barely wait for him to park before you’re practically stumbling out of your seat with the ordinance of a baby giraffe. 

Heeseung gives you a look, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Just directs you to where he wants to go with confidence. His hand hovers at your lower back–never touching–just there. Like he’s unsure of what to do with himself when you’re not around your friends and having to keep up your act.

You don’t comment on it.

Eventually, he takes you to a small pond in the middle of the park. There’s white lilies around the water, each of them dancing in the wind while the water flows around them. The sun is bright, shining in your eyes and making you squint slightly. It’s pretty beautiful, actually. You had no idea this place was so close to your campus.

Heeseung directs you on how to pose. How to smile like you have no idea you’re being watched. It’s awkward at first, mostly because the only time you’ve ever had someone take pictures of you like this was during your high school graduation, but it doesn’t take long for the tension to ease into something softer. Easier. 

He tells you to sit on the grass and tilt your head towards the pond–but each shot he gets just doesn’t feel right.

“Maybe lean more towards the left?” He mumbles, hand flying out to gesture at you. You do as he says, but apparently, he’s still not getting the shot he wants. 

He clicks his tongue in frustration, “no–that’s not–just–let me fix you.”

You furrow your brows. What does that even mean? “You don’t need to fix me, Heeseung–”

He interrupts you with a laugh. “Not like that, idiot. God, you’re always so defensive.”

You part your lips to retort, but before the words can get out, he’s walking towards you and your chin is in his hand, and you suddenly forget how to communicate entirely.

He tilts your head where he wants it, the pink of his tongue poking out the tiniest bit. His face is so close that it takes everything in you to not remember how he’d tasted when his tongue was in your mouth.

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you let him do what he needs to.

“There, that’s the angle.”

“You couldn’t have just told me to tilt my chin up?”

He smiles and goes back to his camera. “I did, princess. You just don’t listen.”

God, he’s so annoying.

But still, your lips curve up and your heart gets that same feeling it did at the party. The one that you’re not quite ready to name.

“Do we really have to go to this brunch?” You groan, flopping down onto your bed. “Sunghoon and Chaewon are going to be there, and I really don’t feel like watching them be all over each other.”

Yunjin shakes her head, “that’s exactly why we have to go. So that you and Heeseung can do it right back to them.”

“They already saw us kiss! What more do we have to do? Feed each other and do that weird baby talk bullshit couples do?”

Yunjin gags and rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what couples you’re talking to, but please tell them I said to stop doing that immediately. But, no, that’s not what I meant. How is it going to look if everyone's there except for you and Heeseung?”

“Um, fine? No one’s going to care.”

“It’s going to look suspicious. Everyone knows you had a thing for Sunghoon before he popped out with Chaewon. You and Heeseung need to prove to everyone–not just Sunghoon–that you’re actually in love.”

You sigh. You know she’s right, you just hate it. Why do you need to prove your fake relationship to your friends? It feels wrong. It feels like lying.

Actually, it is lying. 

“I hate lying to everyone,” you sigh, hugging your pillow to your chest. “Makes me feel like a bad friend.”

“You’re not a bad friend,” Yunjin reassures, rolling her chair over to you. It gets caught on the rug for a moment, but she’s quick to force the wheels to move again. “Besides, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

You give her a look. “That’s like, the worst advice you’ve ever given me.”

She chuckles, “sorry I’m not well versed in the art of therapy for fake dating. I’ll make sure to switch my degree to better accommodate you.”

“That would actually be great, thank you.”

She takes in a breath, her hand reaching for yours. “Just…don’t think of it as lying. Think about it like two friends helping each other out.”

“He’s not my friend.” You scoff, but the words don’t hold any bite behind them. Not like they used to, at least.

Yunjin grins knowingly. “Yeah, he is.”

You don’t bother correcting her again.

Brunch is at noon at that diner off of fifth. The same one you’d gone to when this entire mess started. The same one you’d started falling in love with Sunghoon at. It’s weird now, seeing how much your life has changed in the short amount of time since you were last here.

You have a fake boyfriend now. You don’t talk to Sunghoon. Your life feels like it’s falling apart and coming back together all at once.

You and Heeseung sit next to each other wordlessly, both of you more cautious about touching. It feels like there’s enough space between your leg and his to fill out the Grand Canyon. It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

Sunghoon holds Chaewon's hand under the table, and their shoulders brush every time they move. It’s irritating and annoying and you strangely enough couldn’t care less about it. That sense of jealousy you’d felt the last time you were here no longer spills over your guts like acid, instead you feel nothing.

You try to force yourself to remember what you’d liked about Sunghoon. He’s kind. Smart. Dedicated. Absolutely fucking gorgeous.

But he’s not…

“Honestly,” Jake says between spoonfuls of biscuits and gravy, “when Yunjin told us you guys were seeing each other, I thought she was lying. I mean, you guys couldn’t even be in the same room without having some kind of argument.”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear nervously, “yeah. I was pretty surprised too.”

You don’t miss the way Heeseung cracks a smile at that. “It was kind of sudden, but I'm glad it happened.” He says easily, “means I finally get to stop pretending I can’t stand her.”

You can tell he hadn’t meant to say that last part, because his eyes go wide and he tenses for a second. Not long enough for anyone to catch it, but you do. You see the way fear flashes behind his irises for a moment, the way his breath catches before filling out his chest once again.

Sunghoons throat bobs as he swallows, dark eyes darting between the two of you slowly. “Pretending?” He asks cautiously, like he’s testing the words on his tongue.

But you don’t care about Sunghoon. All you can think about is what Heeseung said. I finally get to stop pretending I can’t stand her. Is he being honest? Or is this all just a part of your act? You hate that you can’t tell.

“Uh,” he laughs nervously, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. “When we were in school, I didn't know how to get her attention. She was smart and kind and friends with everyone, and I was just…there. She used to do this thing in kindergarten where she’d wait for everyone else to fall asleep during naptime before she did because she didn’t want anyone to have to sit there alone, and I remember thinking she must’ve been sent by some kind of angel.” He laughs then, a genuine one. The kind that lights up his entire face.

You hadn’t even remembered you did that, but it’s true. You did. It always just felt like the right thing to do, but the fact that he remembers it all these years later makes you feel almost dizzy. 

“I think it was in third grade when I figured the best way to get her attention was to piss her off,” he continues. “I don’t know why. But I spent the next ten or more years making sure I annoyed her to the best of my ability. I think I just decided that I’d rather have her hate me than not have her in my life at all.”

The table is silent aside from the people talking around you. They’re all having normal conversations while you're going through the biggest existential crisis of your life. You understand that this is supposed to be fake–but that didn’t feel like something he made up on the spot. It felt like he was finally coming clean about something that’d been sitting on his chest for years. And if that’s true, where does that leave you?

“Heeseung…” You attempt, eyes searching the side of his face. When he turns to you, he looks more sincere than you’ve ever seen him. His hand reaches for yours under the table and he intertwines his fingers with yours. The hold is gentle, soft, right. It feels like you’re exactly where you were always supposed to be.

“Sorry,” he laughs, turning back to the group. “That was kind of sappy.”

“Nah, man, that was beautiful.” Jake murmurs, bringing a hand up to his chest. “I’m happy for you guys, seriously.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods, “you guys are good for each other.” He looks resigned. Like he’s accepting defeat. It makes something click in your brain.

For the first time in your life, you think you’re starting to see Heeseung exactly for who he is.

You don’t notice the way he looks at Sunghoon. Or how he swallows back his pride and comes to terms with what he knows he has to do.

You don't comment when he pulls his hand away from you, you just assume it's because he wants to be able to properly eat his food.

When brunch is over, you say your goodbyes to everyone with a pep in your step. You know that telling Heeseung how you’re feeling might complicate things, but he basically just confessed that he remembered things you did in kindergarten. You don’t remember that kind of stuff unless it means something, right?

“I’ll walk you back to your dorm?” He murmurs next to you, and you nod.

“I’d like that.”

There’s tension in the air as you walk, one that you’re practically dying to address. But Heeseung doesn’t look like he did in the diner. He looks conflicted, scared–he keeps his eyes ahead and his hands shoved into his pockets. Nothing like the bright boy you’d been sitting next to barely an hour ago.

“Are you okay?” You ask, voice soft.

He doesn’t even glance at you. “I’m fine.”

“Then why do you look like a kicked puppy?” You attempt to joke, but he doesn't laugh. Instead, he pauses on the sidewalk, and you barely get a few feet in front of him when you notice he’s stopped.

“What’s going on, Heeseung?” You attempt again, reaching for his hand. He pulls it back so sharply you nearly flinch.

“I think…I think we need to stop.” He says finally.

Your heart drops. “What? Why? Did I–Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?"

“No, no, it’s not–” He runs a shaky hand through his hair, “fuck, it’s not you.”

You raise a brow. He’s not making any sense. He wants to stop now? After what he said in the diner? “Then what is it?” You snap.

He shakes his head like the words are too painful to speak. “You like Sunghoon, [Y/N], and he’s going to break up with Chaewon soon. I got the pictures I needed for the competition. There’s no reason to drag this on any longer than we already have.”

His words shouldn’t feel like a breakup, but they do. God, they do.  They feel like he’s pulling away from you after you’ve finally come to terms with what you feel for him. “What about what you said in the diner?” You ask finally, voice breaking. “I can’t just act like that didn’t happen, Heeseung. Not when I’m finally–I’m finally…” The words get caught in your throat, but you both know exactly what you mean by them.

His hands squeeze into fists at his side. “That didn’t mean anything, [Y/N].” he says lowly, like breaking your heart is something he does daily. Maybe it was and you just never noticed before. “It was just helping the act. Keeping up the lie. That’s all.”

Tears come to your waterline, the back of your throat beginning to ache from the force of it. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he says firmly, but you can see the way his eyes are beginning to turn glassy. “I really do.”

He turns on his heel then, leaving you alone on the sidewalk and turning his back onto whatever fucked up thing it is you’ve built together. 

Your mother used to say that hate and love were synonymous. You know now that she was wrong.

Because what you feel for Lee Heeseung has nothing to do with love, and everything to do with pure, unadulterated hate.

Your phone chimes, and when you check the notification, what you see doesn't make you feel good. It doesn't bring joy to your heart or make you want to skip down the street. Instead, it makes your heart break a little bit more.

Yunjin: Sunghoon just broke up with Chaewon. We’re so in

You should be happy. This is exactly what you wanted, right?

So why do you feel like you just lost the one thing that mattered the most?

You haven’t talked to Heeseung in three weeks. He transferred out of your shared class–something you didn’t even know was possible this late into the semester–and stopped showing up to any group hangouts. Not that you care, obviously. 

The both of you said your breakup was mutual. That the stress of school and work just didn’t make a relationship possible, but there weren’t any hard feelings. Jake had raised a brow at the entire thing, but ultimately accepted it without a word.

But, Sunghoon seeing the both of you being single at the same time again, decided that meant he could shoot his shot. Which is good–it was the entire point of this entire thing, right?

Sunghoon is nice. He holds the door open for you and he pays for your meals and he takes you back to that coffee shop the both of you loved so much.

He is perfect for you in every sense.

But when he sits next to you, you don’t feel that same spark low in your belly. When he makes a joke, you don’t laugh until you swear you’re going to run out of oxygen. He doesn’t look at you like you mean something to him.

Yunjin's not dumb, she knows something's wrong. Just a few months ago you would’ve been ecstatic at the idea of going on dates with Sunghoon, so why do you seem like you couldn’t care less about him now?

“Are you okay?” She asks, voice filled with concern. “You’ve been…distant.”

“I’m fine,” you answer a bit too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don't know, why don’t you tell me?”

You blink, turning to look at her in your mirror. You’re in the middle of getting ready for you and Sunghoons third date. He told you to dress nicely for dinner, but all you can think about is the fact that Heeseung would be presenting his pictures for the contest tonight. You didn’t even get to see them, which is more annoying than anything else.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Yunjin.” You lie.

She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and making her way over to you. She smooths down the hem of your skirt without a second thought. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me but, if it’s because of Heeseung–”

“It’s not.”

“–If it’s because of Heeseung, then I’d understand.”

You freeze, eyes snapping to hers. You never told her about the last conversation you’d had with Heeseung, because you figured there wasn’t really any point. He’d “broken up” with you, and that was that. It doesn't mean anything else.

You want Sunghoon. You know you do. It’s the entire reason you and Heeseung came up with that stupid plan in the first place. You aren’t going to throw away a good guy because you’d gotten confused.

“It’s not,” you lie again, “I’m just stressed with finals and stuff. That’s all.”

Yunjin obviously doesn’t believe you. You don’t blame her, of course. You’ve always been an awful liar.

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you’re already dreading what she’s going to say. Every time Yunjin goes silent, it always means she’s going to say something that you probably don’t want to hear. 

“You know,” she starts, voice soft and low, “I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at him.”

You freeze, a shiver rushing down your spine like ice cold water. “What?”

“I just mean–” She backtracks for a moment before deciding to just say it, “you never look at Sunghoon the way you looked at Heeseung. You looked…happy with him. Like, actually happy. Not just because you thought you were supposed to be, but because you actually felt it.”

You go silent at that. You were happy. Even if you hadn’t wanted to admit it–even if you were fighting it for whatever reason. “I’m happy with Sunghoon.” You say with finality, but you both hear how your voice shakes.

“If you say so,” she sighs, turning back and sitting at her desk. “What’re you guys doing tonight?”

You’re grateful for the change in topic. “He’s taking me to dinner,” you shrug, clipping on your earrings. “Somewhere fancy, I guess.”

She hums. “Do you think he’s going to kiss you tonight?”

God, I really, really hope not.

“I hope so,” you answer instead. Maybe kissing Sunghoon will be exactly what you need to get your mind off of him. “I think I’ve waited long enough.” You laugh, but it’s weak. Dishonest.

Yunjin frowns at the sound of it, but she doesn’t push. “Yeah,” she mumbles, “me too.”

Sunghoon arrives at five on the dot. Just like he said he would. You should’ve been watching the clock because you were excited for him to get here, but instead all you could think about every time you glanced at it was how nervous Heeseung must be right now. The contest starts at seven, which means he finds out in the next two hours if he wins the money. Your hand twitches at your side. You want to text him and say good luck, but you don’t. 

“You look beautiful,” Sunghoon says. He’s all dark hair and dark eyes, not a single hair out of place. His suit looks expensive, and you wonder if he bought it just for the occasion. That definitely feels like something he would do.

“Thank you,” you respond, hoping he doesn’t see how fake your smile is. “You clean up pretty nicely as well.”

“I try,” he jokes, outstretching his arm for you. You take it easily, but it doesn’t feel right in your palm. It’s sturdy, easy. But, it doesn’t have any of that fire that you think it should.

Sunghoon is a gentleman the entire night. He takes you to eat, makes corny jokes, kisses your knuckles with pink cheeks. And it’s good. It’s so, so good. It’s exactly what you’ve always wanted.

But when you close your eyes, it’s not Sunghoon you see.

It’s dirty blonde hair covered by some ratty baseball cap. It’s that fucking teasing smile that you used to hate seeing. It’s watching him grow up and having him remember things about you that you’d completely forgotten about.

It’s him. Heeseung.

Sunghoon leads you to your front door nervously, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to get some kind of read on you. You wonder if he can see that your heart isn’t here–that it never was.

“I had a good time tonight,” he says, lips curling up into a soft smile. “I hope it was the same for you.”

“I…” Your words catch in your throat. You know what the logical thing would be to do right now. Accept his compliments, kiss him sweetly, go into your room giddy and wait for him to text you. But it’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong.

“Sunghoon,” you start, eyes filling with tears. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He’s silent for a split second, like he’s trying to process your words. “Why?” He asks, “Did something happen? Did I–Did I do something?”

God, you wish he had. That would make this entire thing so much easier. 

“No,” you laugh wetly, “It’s not you. It’s–it’s me.” You know it’s cliche, but it's true. Because while you should’ve been enjoying him tonight, all you could think about was Heeseung. About the way he’d kissed you at the party. About how he always looked at you like there was more he wanted to say but he just never knew how.

Sunghoon blinks, his eyebrows knitting together and creasing his forehead. “What?”

“You’re perfect, Sunghoon.” you start, the words flowing out of you like you’re finally admitting them to yourself. “And for a long time, you were everything I ever wanted. You went to the cafe with me. You invited me to your games. I thought–I thought that I’d finally found the person I was meant to be with.”

“I–I don’t understand,” he murmurs, “Is that not how you feel anymore?”

Your heart constricts as you shake your head. “I wanted to. I really, really tried to remind myself of how I felt for you before. But…”

It takes him a second, but you see the exact moment recognition flashes across his face. He takes a step back from you, lips falling into a straight line. “But I’m not him.”

You can’t help the sob that rips from your throat. “I’m so sorry, Sunghoon.”

You half expect him to yell, maybe flip you off and drive off in his Porsche while he gets Chaewon on speed dial. But he doesn’t. He stands there for a long moment, breathing slowly, tongue poking the inside of his cheek every now and then.

And then he looks up at you, at the tears staining your cheeks, at how the honesty ripped out of you like a force of nature. He checks his watch–6:50 pm. Ten minutes before the contest starts.

“Come on,” he says, already jogging to the driver's seat.

You’re frozen, watching him with wide eyes. Did he not hear what you just said? “Sunghoon–”

He gives you a look so sharp it nearly steals the breath from your lungs. “We’ve got ten minutes to make it to that contest, and unfortunately, I’m not very big on breaking traffic laws. So, hurry up and get in!”

You gawk at him, a smile curling onto your lips, but you run into his car, nevertheless.

He was right, he’s not big on breaking traffic laws. But you see he’s going five over the speed limit compared to his usual three, and that feels like it counts for something. Even though you’d been leading him on for the past three weeks, he’s still trying to make sure you’re happy. He’s still looking out for you. 

“Thank you,” you sniffle. And you truly mean it.

His gaze stays glued to the road. "Don't mention it.”

You arrive at the photography center with two minutes to spare. Sunghoon doesn't even let you say bye, just rushes you out of the car and wishes you good luck. You don’t look back as you run inside.

You’re thankful you at least dressed nicely for the date, because everyone in here looks like they come from money. Women in floorlength gowns, men in suits you’re sure cost more than your entire tuition. These must be the donors.

The hall is filled with pictures, some simple–some you think you have to be involved in the community to understand. But even as you practically sprint down the hallway, Heeseung is nowhere to be found.

“Please make your way to the dining hall as the photography committee prepares to announce the winner of this year's $100,000 grant!” A voice rings from the intercom, and you blindly follow the crowd into the large room parallel to the hall.

It’s filled with tables, and there’s a stage right at the front of the room with a podium and a giant projector. There’s nothing on it yet, but you’re assuming that’s where they’ll show the winning portfolio.

The tables all have name cards, so you do your best to conspicuously make your way to the back where nobody will notice you standing awkwardly. Plus, from back here it’ll be easier to try and find Heeseung.

You study the crowd, looking for the familiar head of blonde hair, but you come up empty. For a second, you wonder if he’s even here. He has to be here, you think. This is everything to him.

But every time someone new walks in, it’s never him.

You rock back and forth on your feet, a nervous habit. Pretty soon all the chairs are filled out and Heeseung is still nowhere to be seen. You wonder if he’d dropped out of the contest, but that still wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he drop out when photography was so important to him?

You reach for your phone, half tempted to call him and ask where the hell he was, but the lights dim and the president of the photography committee walks up the podium. She’s an older woman, with pin straight grey hair and huge glasses. She has to pull down the microphone to match her height. Heeseung used to joke that even though she looked like she belonged in a Disney movie, she was the toughest mentor he’d ever had. 

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” she starts, voice light. “We had many great admissions this year. All of which I personally took the time to look through, and let me tell you, there was some tough competition. I almost threw up my hands and gave the money to everyone!” 

The crowd laughs at that, but you can tell it’s just them being polite. “But, unfortunately, we can’t do that. So, after many sleepless nights and lots of talks with the committee, I was able to come to a decision. This year's winner is someone I think has put in more effort into his photos than anyone else I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. He’s not naturally talented, no, but he’s dedicated. He takes risks. He tries new things and doesn’t shy away when they don’t work.”

The projector begins to come to life. “As you know, this year's theme was muse. The participants were meant to find a singular person and put together a portfolio of said person.”

The first photo flashes against the screen–and your breath catches in your throat. It's you. But it’s not the ones from the park, no, it’s you in class. Your pencil is in between your lips; brows scrunched together the way they always are when you get frustrated. You’re not wearing any makeup–hell, you look like you just rolled out of bed!

Your breath catches as the photos continue. Some of you in class, in the diner, at that God forsaken party. All pictures that look old and new at the same time. You can tell some are from after this entire mess started, when you and Heeseung started to actually enjoy each other's presence. You look happier in those ones.

But there’s some from before too–when the only times you ever thought about Heeseung were when you were thinking about how much you can’t stand him. Those ones are mostly you in class, all of them shot from the same angle. There’s a few of you from group hangouts, and you wonder how you never noticed him taking them. Maybe it’s because you’re just so used to seeing him with his camera that you stopped noticing it entirely.

It’s the last photo that really gets you though. It’s from the park, you’re sitting in the grass, head tilted to the side, lips curling up into a soft smile. You’re looking into the camera–or, behind it actually–directly at Heeseung, and the look in your eyes is enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

You look like you’re in love.

“This year's winner–though I doubt anyone's surprised–Is Lee Heeseung!”

You barely register her words, because all you can see is Heeseung walking up onto the stage. So that’s where he was, you think.

He’s wearing a suit, though it doesn’t look nearly as nice as everyone else's here. His dirty blonde hair is actually styled for once, and his lips are curled up into a small smile. But it’s not the one you’re used to seeing. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, doesn’t make his face light up like it usually does. Despite winning, he looks almost sad.

He gives a small bow at the podium, shaking hands with the Committee President. He looks nervous as he comes up to the mic, and you squeeze your hands together. Does he want you here? Should you try and make your presence known?

You are the girl in his photos, after all.

“Wow,” he starts, voice shaking slightly. “This is…an honor. Really. I didn’t go into this contest thinking I would win. In fact, I wasn’t going to enter at all. Not until I realized I’d already accidentally found my muse.” He laughs then, but it’s short. “I entered for selfish reasons. Not for the money. Not so that I could get my photos in international shows. But, because I wanted an excuse to get closer to her.”

His eyes scan the crowd, until finally, they land on you. His eyes widen for a moment, lips parting in shock. For a moment, you think he wants you to leave. You wouldn’t blame him if he did.

But he smiles. Really smiles. “None of this would’ve been possible without her.” He continues now, voice more confident. “These photos would’ve sat tucked away in my camera forever. But she made me confident. She reminded me of why I love photography in the first place. So, I’m dedicating this grant to her. To my muse.” His eyes find yours again. “My [Y/N].”

You don’t get a chance to go up to Heeseung until after all of the sponsors have congratulated him, which admittedly takes a lot longer than you think either of you would like.

You can see him on stage, shaking hands with people who you assume must be important. He never keeps his eyes on them for too long. Instead, they trail over to you, like he’s hoping he’ll be able to communicate with you through eye contact.

By the time you can actually speak to him, the hall is mostly empty aside from a few stragglers. He approaches you with caution, like he’s scared of getting too close.

“Hi,” he breathes, stopping a few feet in front of you.

“Hi,” you say back.

The air is softer than it had been the last time you’d seen him. Then, it was harsh. Like smoke filling into your lungs. Now, it feels like a breath of fresh air.

You’re both silent for a moment, like you’re unsure of what to say to each other.

“I broke it off with Sunghoon,” you say eventually, eyes falling to the floor. 

He blinks. “You did?”

“I did.”

“Okay.”

More silence.

“You took pictures of me,” you observe.

“I did.”

“Why?”

He laughs, a full hearty sound, like he’s caught off guard by the question. You don’t know why he would be. You think it’s a perfectly fair thing to ask.

He shrugs, “I felt inspired by you.”

You raise a brow at that. “Inspired? By what—me chewing my pencil like a child?”

He grins, shoving his hands into his pockets. “No. I was inspired by how I felt when I looked at you.”

That makes you pause. “What?”

He fiddles with the corner of his pocket, thumb grazing it once before darting away. He sucks in a deep breath, and then finally, he says everything you know he’s been holding back.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were six years old,” he starts. “Ever since I watched you stay up the entire nap time because Jungwon couldn’t fall asleep. I knew right then and there that I loved you and that I was going to continue to love you for as long as I knew you.”

You can’t help the way your eyes go glassy, heart thumping a million miles an hour in your chest. “Heeseung…”

He doesn’t let you finish. “But I was shy—well, scared is more like it—I was scared that you weren’t going to want to be my friend and I would never be able to be around you.”

“Why would you think that?” 

He shrugs, “why does a third grader think anything?”

You don’t have a reply for that.

He sighs before continuing. “After that it just…became a thing. Our thing. I annoyed you and therefore I got to keep being in your life. Even if it wasn't what I wanted, I figured it was better than not being around you at all.” He swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “But then we got to university and you met Sunghoon and I felt you slipping away from me, and I didn’t know what to do with that. I thought that maybe…maybe it was time for me to let you go.”

Your heart cracks at the strain in his voice, like he’s recalling a bad memory.

“So, I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when Jake came home and started asking me a million questions about our apparent relationship.” 

“Oh, God,” you laugh, shaking your head at the memory. At the time, it’d genuinely felt like the end of the world. Now, you really can’t imagine where your life would be without Yunjin's lie.

For starters, he probably would’ve never told you this, and you would’ve gone your entire life chopping up your relationship to nothing but a high school rivalry that didn’t have any deeper meaning. You would’ve never found out he felt this way—or that you feel the way you do.

“It was good,” he starts again, “pretending. Even though it wasn’t really pretending for me. And then we went to that diner and I just…I got scared. I didn’t want to hold you back from what you really wanted. I thought, she’s hated me for years, at least now she’ll have an actual reason. And I wanted to be okay with that. I really did.” He takes a step closer. “But now you’re here. And I think I know why, but I’m getting tired of assuming things, princess. So, I think you’ll have to tell me.”

You suck in a shaky breath, your own hands fiddling with the hem of your dress nervously. “I…tried. With Sunghoon. I thought it was what I wanted, the easiness of it all. He was kind and he made bad jokes and I thought I was content with that.” 

You roll your eyes, “But then you happened.” You say it like it’s an insult, but you both know it’s not. “And every time I was with him all I could think was how his car didn’t have that mysterious dent in the front. How he didn’t let me play pop music and pretend he wasn’t singing along when we both knew he was. How he didn't make me feel like I actually meant something to him.” 

Your eyes find his for the first time since he approached you tonight. “All I could think about was how he wasn’t you.”

For a brief second, the only noise between the two of you is your breathing and the faint hum of people around you. Heeseung's lips part, his Adam's apple bobbing as he takes in your confession. He’s silent for so long you nearly think you overstepped.

But then he’s taking a step towards you and cradling your jaw with his hand. You don’t move away.

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” He says, and the familiarity of his words brings a smile to your face.

“Okay. I trust you.”

And then his lips are on yours.

This kiss is different from the first one. It’s not hungry, not a performance for anyone else. This kiss is solely for you, for the love you’ve found and never plan on losing. It tastes like him and feels exactly like coming home.

His thumb rubs the apple of your cheek, his lips moving against yours slowly. He doesn’t use tongue, but you don’t need him to.

When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours and brings his hands down to your waist. They feel heavy against you, like a claim you never knew you needed.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmurs.

You giggle, bringing your own arms up to wrap around his neck. “Have you?”

“Yeah,” he responds, “along with…other things.”

You raise a brow at that, “yeah? Like what?”

That’s exactly how you end up back at his apartment, his lips moving against yours like he’s trying to memorize your body with them. Jake and Sunghoon are out thankfully, which means you’ve got the entire apartment to yourself. 

Heeseung leads you blindly to his room, never once turning away from you or attempting to look where he’s going. You laugh as he trips over the carpet, but he swallows it with his mouth on yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says against you. You don’t even notice you’ve made it into your bedroom before your legs hit the mattress and suddenly, he’s pulling you down onto it. “Been waiting so long to have you like this.”

“Yeah?” You manage to say, your voice airy. “Show me, then.”

He pulls back for a moment, eyes looking directly into yours, and then he’s moving his lips to your neck. He leaves wet kisses down the column of your throat, your shoulder, sucking marks into the delicate skin of your collarbone. 

His teeth graze a particular spot at your neck that makes you gasp, and he processes the noise with a slight groan of his own. He bites down on the spot–not hard, just enough for your back to arch and your fingers to find purchase in his hair. Your legs wrap around his waist as his tongue shoots out to soothe the bite.

Slowly, he brings a hand up to the strap of your dress, his fingers slipping under it but never pulling down.

“Hee,” you practically whine, “please.”

He grins, and then he pulls the strap down ever so slowly. You know he’s teasing you, and the thought makes heat pool between your legs.

Once the dress is off, he throws it to the side and sits back on his heels so he can stare at you. You still have your underwear and bra on, but the sight of your bare stomach and legs is enough for him to let out a low whistle.

“You’re so beautiful, princess,” he murmurs. The sincerity in his voice makes your cheeks hot. “So fucking perfect.”

Your lips part to respond, but he leans down and kisses you again. This kiss is different from all the others. It’s messy and deep and pulls noises out of you that you weren’t even aware you could make.

He sucks on your bottom lip once, and then he pulls away and leaves kisses all down your body. Down your neck, your cloth-covered breasts, your stomach, all the way down until he leaves one final kiss at your ankle. 

He seats himself at the edge of the bed and ever-so-gently pulls you down so your legs hang over the edge of the bed and your cunt is level with his face. He stares at it for a long moment, at the wet patch growing on the lace. At your pretty white panties.

Your hands fist the sheets, legs nearly closing on instinct, but he just pushes them over his shoulders and keeps you open for him. “Don’t hide from me,” he mumbles. His hand slowly trails up your thigh until it finds the edge of your underwear.

He keeps it there for what feels like forever. Never touching. Just looking. 

“Please,” you whimper, “please touch me.”

He grins, “yeah? Want my mouth on you, baby?”

You nod, hips rolling against nothing. “Yes, fuck, please.”

That seems to finally break him, because he licks one large stripe up your cunt through your underwear. You gasp at the feeling, your back arching slightly.

He continues licking small kitten-licks over your panties, and the mixture of his saliva and your arousal begins to turn the cloth nearly translucent.

He groans like the taste of you is his favorite meal. “You taste so good,” he murmurs against you, “like heaven.”

You bite your lower lip to keep yourself from crying out when his tongue catches your clit, and then he brings his hands up to your waist and pulls your underwear down your legs. You don’t miss the way he stares at them for a second before letting them drop to the floor.

He spits on your cunt, watching the way his saliva drips down your slit before he sucks your clit into his mouth.

You cry out at the feeling, your toes curling at his back. He groans at the taste and brings his hands up to your hips, gripping them and keeping them still.

“Fuck,” you moan when he brings his tongue down to your hole, collecting the arousal there like it's his own personal ambrosia.

“All this is for me, right?” He questions, trailing a hand down and rubbing his thumb against your clit. The feeling has your head spinning. “Not for Sunghoon, all for me, isn’t that right, princess?”

You nod feverishly, his possessiveness nearly enough to make you finish right there and then. “Yours! ‘S all yours.”

He smirks, “that’s a good girl.” 

And then he brings a finger to your entrance, circling over it once before letting it slip inside the ring of muscle. The air punches from your lungs at the feeling, but then he sucks your clit into his mouth again while his finger thrusts into you and you really think you’re going to start seeing stars.

“Hee–Heeseung,” you cry, “fuck!”

He hums but doesn’t stop. Instead, he pushes a second finger inside and begins to curl them upwards. You feel him hit that spongey spot inside of you and you know you’re done for.

“I’m close–fuck,”

He doesn’t work you harder, just keeps going at the pace so he can drag out your orgasm for as long as possible. “Come on, baby, cum for me. Show me just how bad you want it.”

That’s all it takes for you to release all over his face and hand. Your muscles tighten and relax over and over again, back arching and vision going white. He groans and licks up every drop, working you through it without a complaint.

You expect him to stop now that you’ve finished, but he doesn’t. If anything, he goes harder. The overstimulation begins to border on the edge of too much, and your hips buck up without your permission.

“Fuck, too much, I cant–”

He doesn’t let up. “Yeah, you can. Come on, wanna see you fall apart for me all over again.”

It doesn’t take long for your second orgasm to crash over you, and this one nearly leaves your body feeling limp and your pulse to blare against your ears.

Your body is still twitching from aftershocks when he climbs up next to you, and you watch with blurry vision as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks them clean. He hums at the taste and then brings his hands to the hem of his shirt and slips it off.

Your eyes trail over the sight of his bare chest, noting every ridge of muscle and mole, watching the way his chest heaves slightly. He’s absolutely beautiful, like a painting you’d find at some stupidly expensive art show.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur.

Now it’s his turn to blush. His ears and cheeks turn a slight shade of pink, but he brings his lips down to yours before you can tease him for it.

Before you know it, his underwear is off and he’s lining himself up with your entrance. He looks up to you for permission, and you nod at him.

Pressure blooms between your legs as he pushes in, but it isn’t exactly painful. It just feels like something you never knew you needed. Like he was made exactly for you.

You keen, back bowing off the bed and eyebrows knitting together. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and rests his forehead against yours as he finally bottoms out.

You can feel him kissing your g-spot, and he experimentally rolls his hips against yours once. You both groan at the feeling of you tightening around him, and then he pulls out slightly and snaps back in.

You cry out, your nails raking down his back. He hisses slightly at the sting but doesn’t make any moves to stop you. Instead, he begins to rock onto you like his life depends on it. You can feel every ridge of his cock; can feel the way it curves at just the right angle. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he gasps, “so perfect. Always knew you would.”

He buries his face into your neck, his hips snapping against yours like his life depends on it. 

You feel yourself getting close, but before you can warn him your back is arching and you're finishing against him.

He cries out, his thrusts beginning to turn sloppy. “Fuck, fuck, I’m–” He finishes inside you without another word, painting your insides with his cum. 

You both lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath. He pulls out of you with a low breath and then reaches over for something at his nightstand to clean you up silently.

You watch him as he does, noting the way he cleans up your thighs with so much care. He doesn’t rush the aftercare process either, he kisses your skin gently and murmurs sweet words against you.

By the time your thighs stop shaking and you actually feel like you can breathe without your chest caving in, he’s laying down beside you and pulling you against his chest.

You lay there for a moment, feeling the way his chest rises and falls against your back. The warmth from his skin.

“Heeseung?” You mumble.

“Hm?”

You blink, a smile curling onto your lips. “I love you.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “I love you, too.”

And for once, you know that you both mean it.

Your mother used to say that hate was just another word for love. And right now, you know that she was right. Because what you feel for Lee Heeseung used to have everything to do with hate, but now you know it was really just another word for love.

taglist: @wonscrchy @kristynaaah @kiikiisblog @lovepjy @shawnyle @wonnieswife @hyuckzcult

[tmtxtf-library]

A MASTERPIECE

[sunishake]

FORGET me not – lhs

" 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.

[ SEQUEL: REMEMBER ME NOT ]

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.

THE END

©sunishake

[hazeheart12]

A LITTLE TO CLOSE THIS TIME [¯◉°] 이희승/EVAN

film features…….bsf!Heeseung & bsf!freader

film contains…….You are doing skin care for your best friend by sitting on his lap as usual, while he is gaming, but accidentally grind on him, ending up with his cock inside you

film caution …….MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Unprotected sex(don’t do it) dry humping, making out/ kissing, grinding, fingering, edging, nipple play, talking abt fem!reader body parts, neck kisses, nipping the neck, spanking, usage of the word ass, clit play?, mentions of nick names like baby and etc, riding, tell me if anything more should be mentioned.

film length………5.2min(5.2k)

film keeper whispers ……….This is my first ever time publishing fic, I’m learning to write since I imagine a lot, I want to get it into words and now I got an idea for this with the help of Pinterest 😪. I tried my best, and slowly I’m gonna start my oneshot, idk how long it’s gonna be 🤷‍♀️. If any mistakes, let me know. Please request if u want anything. I will try my best to write butI’m a slow writer 😢. Would love moots, reblogs and likes ♥️

film melody playing……….. into you- ariana grande

˚ ༘ 🎞️ ｡𖦹 ° 🎥 ⁀જ⁀➴ film starting……..

The chaotic bursts of neon light from the monitors washes over the room, casting long, jagged shadows against the walls of Heeseung’s room.

The room smells of expensive cologne, ozone from the humming PC, carrying the faint and sterile scent of rosewater and gentle soap in the air. 

You are seated on Heeseung’s lap, straddling his hips, knees around them, on his chair, facing him in a position that the friction of your thighs against his jogger’s can’t be ignored.

Heeseung is fully concentrating on his game for now. 

His eyes are sharp, darting to every move in the game, playing it very carefully though you are quite a distraction to him. 

The headset he has on is filled with sounds of  explosions and gunshots, and he  pushes one piece of the headset aside so he can hear you.

You hold a small glass jar aloe vera gel, the product cool and smooth between your fingertips.

You’ve been massaging it on his face for the past ten minutes or maybe you just use it as an excuse to stay on his lap longer. 

But then still, you don’t care about the game he was playing, you just wanted to end the ‘washing face with whatever soap is there in the shower’ routine for him, so he can get good and fresh skin.

“Stop moving idiot” you murmur, voice soft but firm and commanding him a little because he keeps on moving.

You can feel the heat radiating from him as you blend the cream on his face in small upwards circles.

His jaw is clenched, trying his best not to feel you and your stupid tactics as a distraction, which you are sitting innocently on his lap like you don't understand what’s wrong in doing this.

“I’m in an important fight, Y/N” he grunts, though there’s no real anger behind his voice.

“If I lose this round, I’m gonna blame you and your so-called skincare routine” he adds, mocking lightly.

“Uhh, my skincare routine is obviously way better than whatever you do in the stupid shower,” you retort, sliding your fingers on his temple now.

“No soap is gonna clean your face like my skincare does, your skin feel shit, and it’s screaming for help, so think of this as an upgrade for your face”

He lets out a laugh, his eyes fixed towards the screen. “Sure,” he says as if it’s nothing, “My skin has a mouth and it’s screaming”. 

You roll your eyes at that, moving a little back so you can look at him even though he doesn’t.

“Just because it doesn’t have a loud, cocky mouth like you, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” you shoot back. 

“And for your kind information,” you continue, leaning closer to his face again, to spread the gel on his face, “You’re skin is so dehydrated, maybe it looks fine, but it really isn’t, so be grateful”

“I should be— What? grateful? Why? And what? I have a cocky mouth?” he splutters, turning towards you showing an exaggerated, horrified expression which was totally just acting.

"First place, I don’t even care about my skin, Second, you should be grateful that I’m letting you do this while I’m literally in the middle of a serious fight, Third—”

“Hey, dont move!,” you interrupt, pushing back his face towards the screen.

“I can’t do it properly, if you keep moving” you add and he becomes quiet and goes back to playing his game very seriously.

You slowly get even more closer to his face. 

For real, you’ve done this almost a hundred times before, sitting on his lap touching his face and all stuff, but today something in the air feels different.

For the first time the closeness doesn’t feel normal.

It feels dangerous, surreal and maybe something new.

Every time he breathes near you, every time his chest brushes against yours, you feel your pulse raise. 

You try to ignore it, focusing your attention back to what you are doing, but it only makes it worse, because now, you’re actually looking at him. 

The sharp line of his nose, the long lashes that fall against his skin, the bambi-like looking eyes, and then your gaze drops down— unintentionally. 

You blink, realizing you are staring at him, you shake your head slightly to clear it, pushing those sudden, distracting thoughts away as quickly as they come. 

You don't want to be caught by him, which will only make it more embarrassing.

You quickly turn back to your work— properly this time. 

So, you shift your weight, moving closer to him, trying to adjust the position so reaching the bridge of his nose would be easier.

As you move, your thighs slide against his joggers, hips very slightly against each other, the friction sending a sudden spark through your body, but you push it away. 

It was just a small moment for you, which you just want to ignore, but it sent a shudder through Heeseung’s body which you didn’t know.

“Fuck—” Heeseung groans, throwing his head back against the chair, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down, suddenly gripping your hip with one hand so tightly as you freeze at the pressure.

“Don’t—Don’t fucking do that, I’m trying my best to concentrate, baby” he forces out softly, the words tight as he grits his teeth.

You don’t understand what happened.

One second, you’re applying the gel on his face, moving closer to reach his nose—and the next, he throws his head against the chair and it’s pissing you since you already told him to not move.

“I said to not move, Heeseung!!  And seriously, it’s not my mistake that you can’t concentrate on your game” you say, a hint of irritation slipping through your voice.

You don’t understand what is wrong or what is his problem, even though it was quite obvious you couldn’t figure it out, so you just get back to working on his face. 

You shift your weight again, trying to adjust your position to get a better angle on his face, slightly moving left. 

This movement causes your leggings to unintentionally rub your thigh against his growing hardness.

“Baby, fuck—“ he rasps, as his other hand also leaves keyboard to grab the other side of your hip and holds you so tightly with both of the hands that you were sure it will leave few bruises by tomorrow. 

His head abruptly falls on your shoulder as the room fills with the loud harsh blares from the monitor which indicates he lost the game but you didn’t know it.

“Heeseung what the—” before you could even scold him, you gasp from him pulling you down, pressing you against him in a way that you can feel his big bulge on your core. 

“Heeseung….” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Don’t—fucking don’t,” he starts, speaking as his head is still on your shoulder, you hear it in his voice, how he is trying his all best to control himself. 

“Don’t tell me stop when all I was doing was sitting here….trying my all best to control myself, while here you are sitting on my fucking lap, moving how ever you want……. God! Y/N you’ve been killing me here, I can’t stop anymore—”

He stops talking, lifting his head from your shoulder before capturing your lips in a searing, aching, desperate kiss, hands moving from your hips to your waist, gripping it so tightly it knocks the air out of your lungs.

He kisses you rough, like gentleness isn’t even an option right now, like he’s done holding back, done pretending this doesn’t mean anything as the gel smears on your face from his face.

All the years of your friendship, when he did his best to hold back, but now he’s done.

For a second you forget how to breathe, the intensity, the desperation and the desire from his mouth against yours, knocking the thoughts out of your brain.

You don’t even process the fact that HE, HE, your best friend is kissing you right now. Never in a million years did you think this out of all would happen—a lie you had a lot of sex dreams with him cuz he was too hot, and……..never mind.

You are still trying to process this when the grip on your waist tightens to pull you out of your thoughts.

The jar slips from your hand, shattering into pieces, and gel spreads everywhere on the floor, but you don’t even notice it. 

You melt against him, your hand slowly moving from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers curling tightly in the hair as you pull him closer and kiss him back with the same desire, desperation and intensity.

He lets out a low deep growl, something filled with satisfaction like he knew you would kiss him without holding back.

It vibrates through your whole body, slowly heat starts coiling up in your lower belly more than what you felt a while ago.

You start feeling needy and want him more than you ever did.

But then he pulls back, forehead against yours, his breath hot, and his lips swollen from the hard rough kiss.

“Tell me to stop—” he whispers against your mouth in a low hoarse, octave voice which sends a shiver through your body.

You shake your head instantly before he can even finish.

“No,” you whisper, the word barely leaving your throat. “Don’t. Please don’t ” 

You roll your hips against his voluntarily. 

You need more.

You need the friction to not be a tease and start being the truth. The reality.

“Fuck—“ Heeseung hisses the moment he hears the deny and feels the roll of your hips directly against his bulge.

This time you’ve done it on purpose, you need more and you are clearly showing it.

He roughly grabs your jaw,tilting your head back, and crashing his lips on to yours again.

This time it’s all tongue and teeth, he doesn’t ask for permission, he claims it like it’s his.

You gasp into the kiss, this was more aggressive and desperate han before.

He takes his chance to enter his tongue into your mouth when you gasp.

His tongue plunges into your mouth, taking in your whispers and every inch of your mouth, he doesn’t waste a single single second.

His palm is hot.

He moves his hand from your waist to your hips as they slowly slip under your long hoodie or probably his which you wear all the time.

His hands move on your lower back, pulling you closer that there isn’t a millimetre also left between you both.

He breaks the kiss to move lower, his lips dragging along your jaw, sucking gently, before moving down to the column of your throat.

You tilt your head back without thinking, giving him more, your fingers going to his shoulders to hold tightly as his kisses grow firmer, more lingering.

“Hee….mm….Hee…” your breath stutters, his name coming from your mouth like a chant, unsteady whispers, which you can’t hold back anymore. 

His hand moves down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before delivering a spank.

His palm against your ass made you leave out a loud gasp, your back arching slightly.

He doesn’t pull away, he soothes it down slowly, in a way it makes your toe curl. 

The literal sensation sends sparks right over to your core, making you clench a round nothing.

He starts placing open mouthed kisses near your collarbone and neck, his breath hot and damp, leaving the warmth of his mouth behind.

He moves below your ear, instantly financing your sweet spot and nips your skin lightly.

You let out a sharp cry, breathing unsteadily.

The moment you let it out, he leans in again, nipping it harder than before, sucking a dark, purple mark, visibly claiming you.

He follows down to your collarbone, nipping wherever he finds your sweet spots to let out those sweet little sounds that feel like music to his ears.

You don’t stop, you keep whimpering his name, gasping when his tongue darts out to lick gently after nipping on your sweet spots.

You are drenched. 

Your panties are suffocatingly tight because of the silk clinging to your folds as you leak for him.

You need him.

You need to feel full.

You were sure it is making it hard to even take in air properly just because of his hot kisses on your body.

One of his hands tugs the hem of your hoodie, asking you permission if he was allowed to remove it while he was still busy marking you up.

“Yes! Please—remove it” you please, your voice cracking a little bit.

He doesn’t even take a second to tug it off, the moment you accept it, in one fluid motion he pulls it off you.

For a second he freezes.

You aren’t wearing a bra, the cool air hitting your bare skin, making your nipples harden and maybe you weren’t even sure if it was air or his gaze all over your body making you turn again and again and again…..

You aren’t wearing anything else except the black lace of your panties peeking out of your tiny shorts you wore.

“Fuck baby—” he growls, his eye’s darkening, pupils expanding until his hazel is almost entirely black.

He looks at you like you’re both sin and miracle given to him at once.

“This is what you have been gatekeeping from me, huh?” he asks, his hands moving to cup the underside of your breast, lifting them up slightly, as his thumb slightly grazes over the peck.

 You whimper, throwing your head back at that little touch surge of pleasure shoots to your core.

“This tiny waist,” his hands moving to the mid section, squeezing the softness there, devouring your body with his eyes.

“These wide, beautiful hips,” his finger moving on the waistband, pulling the elastic tight.

He bends a little, pressing a hot, lingering kiss right above the fabric of your panties, his lips grazing the skin of your hip.

The sensation sends a jolt through your body, sending shivers as your legs shake.

“Including the ass you’ve been teasing me with for years,” he said his voice filled with lust and love, and then he looks at you, how you look wrecked just for his touch.

He spanks you again, harder and more firm this time.

You cry out, a sound filled with shock, pleasure and pain, but please wins it all for now.

You thought he would probably soothe it again but no, it was paining harder but he made no movement to touch or soothe it, just casually leans back on to the chair.

He just lets it linger there, making it a reminder for you.

To remind you, who you actually belong to though he hasn’t fucked the shit out you yet.

Now his gaze isn’t on your face, it moves lower.

Your neck. No

Your collarbone. No

Your Shoulders. No

Just shamelessly, directly looking at your breasts with a hungry gaze, something you wanted to see all along.

“And finally……these beautiful, big boobs” he whispers.

He bends down, his lips hovering right over your breast, his hot breath teasing your nipples.

And then he pecks it…..to just tease you more.

The moment his hot breath was on your nipple.

Just his hot breath. 

Hot.

Breath.

You found yourself getting hungrier for him, you didn’t want him to tease you, you needed him, right then and there.

He knew it, he knew how you felt, how you are breathing, how you need him, but won’t give you what you want right now.

“Hee please—” you grind on him again but he holds back your hips making you stop, before you please again or tell him how badly you need him.

Then he starts sucking it, like he can’t hold back anymore, like this was the last thing left on the earth, maybe even like he was thirsty for them.

He wants to tease you, but couldn't hold himself back from you either, that grinding, those pleas from your mouth, made him rethink his decision from teasing you.

You could hear his sucking sounds, wet and vulgar, because of the wetness of his saliva spreading on to your nipples.

Your back arches, your hands instinctively find his hair, gripping it tightly.

He groans at the tight pull of his hair, making him harder underneath.

He sucks on your nipples, tongue circling around the peck, and tugging it slightly before sucking it again, doing the same thing over and over again, while his other hand finds your breast, squeezing, kneading it and rolling your nipple in between his fingers.

You moan, loud, honest, no stopping.

The pleasure was too good.

Your hips start bucking instantly against his bulge again, rolling your hips harder than before, grinding more.

He notices it as he pulls back from sucking with a wet plop.

“Eager now baby?” He teases, his voice dropping low.

You nod, hips moving harder, searching for friction.

For a second he thought to let you do something at least for yourself or not stopping you like he was before but no, straight away his hands move to your hips stopping you right when you thought it was getting better.

Then he bends down and moves to the other breast without a word to you, giving it the same attention as before, while his other hand was on the breast which was wet from his saliva, but still playing with it, satisfying you with his hand.

It was good, undeniably you like you, but the fact that your pussy was throbbing to be filled was not ignorable. 

You didn't want to wait. 

“Hee….please…please..I need you so bad—ahh” you let out a sharp cry as he bites down your nipples, his hands lowering, across your thighs and rids your shorts from your legs without asking you.

“Needy baby?” He asks as he pulls back, like knew nothing.

“Hee—ahhh” you moan when his fingers touch the wetness of your pussy just through the lace black panties.

“So wet for me baby” he coos as he feels the moisture soaking through the lace.

He finally strips them away also, leaving you bare on his lap, pressing against him.

The contact is sharp, as now you are directly pressing against the rough fabric over his bulge.

He finds his way to your clit, pressing on the swollen bud right away, rubbing it in circles with no patience, but with punishing pressure that makes your vision blur.

Your mouth opens, letting out sharp breaths, eyes shut, finally getting whatever you’ve been longing for, you instinctively bite down on your lips as choked sobs and moans come out of your throat.

“No baby, don’t bite your lip, don’t stop, moan for me, darling” he says softly, before pushing 2 fingers into your soaking warmth at once.

You scream from the sudden push, it wasn’t warned, it was too sudden.

He starts pushing deeper into your spongy walls, as your walls clench around his fingers, he groans in your neck, his fingers curling in spots making you moan and vision blur from the pleasure.

“Fuck baby, thats it, take my fingers like a good girl” he finally adds the third finger, stretching you apart as you wail, and then heeseung leans to kiss you again, tongue entering your mouth directly, taking in all your sounds while pumping his fingers in and out, while his thumb presses and circles on your bud.

He moves faster, pulling away from the kiss, gripping your hips tightly while pumping his fingers faster, your hands move to his shoulders tightening as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, while whimpering and gasping, leaving out breathy huffs.

As you feel your orgasm building, tightening low in your belly, just the tension in your thighs becomes unbearable.

“Hee— I’m—” before could even finish your sentence, he pulled out his fingers, just only the pad of his thumb pressing over your swollen clit, trapping the pleasure before it could explode.

Your eyes open wide, blown in shock as a moan of frustration screeches from your throat at the literal loss of his fingers inside.

“Hee, why–” you gasp, hips bucking instinctively towards his hand wanting more.

“Mmm” he just hums, looking down at your pussy while circling your clit, rubbing it in small circles but never quite providing the friction you need to tip over the edge.

“Hee, please!” you whine, trying to grind his hand, but he holds your hip tight enough to not let you move, he is still looking at your pussy, but then finally looks up.

Eyes dark with lust, his smoldering gaze at you making you pause for a second before he says “please, what?” in a low octave, his voice sounding husky.

“I-I need to come,” you wail, grinding on his bulge over his rough fabric making you want more, in fact you’ve never felt this needy.

Him edging you just made it worse, you couldn't take the teasing now, you need him and you won't stop asking for it.

“please hee please I need you, I want you so badly. I can’t take it anymore!!” you beg. 

He chuckles, a dark, hungry sound.

He doesn't put his fingers back in you or do anything you asked for.

Instead, he starts to kiss you, deep, demanding kisses that taste of mint and desperation.

The intensity of the kiss swallows you while leaving you breathless and your hands move to his head, running your hands through his long, lustrous black hair.

His tongue slides against yours, sucking and swirling desperately while sliding down his joggers and boxer to pull his cock out.

He pulls away from the kiss, pulling your head back away from his.

You look down into his hands and the moment you saw it, you were starstuck.

He is big.

Not big like you think, very big in a way you weren't sure if you could even take him.

It was shocking.

You knew this was coming, when you guys crossed your lines today but god he is just so big.

His cock is big, fucking standing straight, curling a little but still so so straight in way you never stood in your whole life, wow, it is hot and swollen, throbbing as the tip is in a beautifully pink color, glistening with precum as he held the shaft in his hand.

You are staring at it shamelessly, because who wouldn't look at something so beautiful and gorgeous. 

“Like what you see baby?” he asks, when he caught you staring at his cock.

You snap out of your thoughts, raising your head up, eyes locking on to his eyes, as your cheeks burn from embarrassment.

“Want it inside you baby?” he questions as he feels your arousal just by looking at you face.

You nod slightly and that's what it takes before he jerks it on your pussy once, slapping his cock against it a few times, spreading his precum all over.

An unfiltered screech comes out of your throat, showing how needy you are when he slaps the tip on your pussy.

You move a little, rubbing it a little on his cock, whimpering a little.

“You want it so bad right? You’ll get it baby” he doesn't wait another second.

 He grips your waist and heaves you upward and then slams you down on to his cock.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders as you scream into the crook of his neck when he buries himself, all the way to the hilt inside you in one fluid, powerful motion.

The fullness is overwhelming, a blunt pressure that hits your cervix and sends ripples of pleasure radiating through your entire lower body. 

The sensation is overwhelming, the feeling of being completely filled, the stretch of your pussy, the sudden, intense heat of him deep within your pussy.

You feel your internal muscles spasm around him, clamping down tight, clenching it so tight which makes Heeseung leave a raw guttural growl out feeling you all around him.

His cock twitches inside you, showing how badly he needed this.

“Baby–fuck, so tight…you feel so good baby” he says, his hands sliding down to your ass gripping. 

You stay still for a moment, both of you catching your breath, the only sound the heavy thrum of the PC fans and your synchronized gasping.

The gaming chair creaks as you begin to move, tentatively at first, lifting your hips a few inches and then sliding back down.

You only lift an inch before slamming back down, the impact making the gaming chair rock precariously. 

The feeling of him filling inside you was so so good, that you didn't care about anyone hearing your moans, as your moans echo all through the room. 

Your grip on his shoulder tightens as the pleasure of him being inside you, stretching you apart with his cock was the best feeling you ever felt.

The squelching and wet sounds of your pussy moving on his cock, taking him all the way down to his shaft, then moving back halfway, and falling back down, with your moans and Heeseung’s groans fill you the room.

The sounds are lewd, obscene or even pornographic, it didn't feel real.

You riding your best friend's cock feels like a dreaming true. 

You slowly find your rhythm, more confident, more desperate.

Your mouth falls agape, moaning loudly every time you ride him, head falls back as the tip hits that spot that makes you see stars, your breasts bounce with every downward thrust, your hardened nipples scrape against his shirt every time.

“Yes, just like that baby” he groans as his head hits the chair, while he grips your ass and starts lifting you higher so he can move deeper. 

You are desperate now, the need for release overriding everything.

The friction against your clit is intense, a searing heat that builds with every slide.

You lean forward, your hair falling over your face, your mouth finding his again.

The kiss is sloppy, desperate, the sound of your tongues clashing mixing with the wet slaps of your bodies. 

Tentatively, Heeseung also starts moving his hips up, thrusting upward slowly, testing the waters to see how it would be.

And fuck it, it was so so so good.

“Ahh” you moan as the tip of his cock hits deeper in your pussy, as your walls clench around him in pleasure.

You scream into his mouth, it is so intense, your pussy takes him all the way on to his shaft.

You keep riding him until you feel that low tingling feeling in your lower stomach.

You are about to come, you needed it any minute now.

You are moving faster, breath uneven, shamelessly moaning so loudly, you are sure your neighbours could hear it but you couldn't care less.

“Ngh heee” you wail, you dont know if its pain or pleasure or all together but it was good and stretching you apart and finally you are about to come.

“Hee–hee i-m im coming!!” you choke out, the orgasm is about to come as he moves his hips faster, thrusting harder.

“Yes baby, yes, come for me, come on my cock baby” he says, holding your hips, gripping it so hard, it could leave red marks on it and speeding up the movements, slamming you down onto his cock, taking control.

“Ahh–mm yess, yess im coming!!” you throw your head back, a loud, uncontrolled cry escaping your lips as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

Heeseung doesnt stop, he fucks you through it, chasing his orgasm. 

“Hee—” you scream so loudly, it was too much, you are overstimulating, you coat his cok, milking it all the way.

“I-i cant..too much–”

“Yess, you can, you can for me baby” his movements becoming faster, more erratic. He's grunting now, the sounds guttural and raw.

He lifts you slightly and then slams you down, the leather of the chair creaking loudly under the strain.

The sound of your pussy engulfing him is a wet, rhythmic squelch, the air being pushed out of your orifice in small, needy puffs. 

“Im-im coming baby” he moves faster again and again.

“Im gonna fill you up, you’re gonna take me like a good girl and fill you up right?” he says as he looks at you and captures your lips into kiss again.

You feel him tense, his entire body turning to stone beneath you.

With one final, deep thrust that feels like it reaches your very soul, he lets out a loud, guttural roar, his entire body tensing.

He gives one final, massive thrust, burying himself as deep as possible as you feel the hot, pulsing jets of his cum hitting your cervix, filling you up, the liquid warmth spreading through your internals.

“Fuck–take it baby” 

You moan as he fills you up, while he grunts and finally comes undone inside you which felt so so so good.

As the intensity fades, he doesn't move.

He keeps you pressed against him, his heart hammering against your ribs.

You can feel his cock slowly softening inside you, though he remains deep within. A small amount of semen and lubricant leaks from the junction of your bodies, dripping onto the black leather of the chair with a soft patter. 

“That was–soo good” you whisper to him.

He smiles, that goddamn smile that melts you right away, probably even your bones.

He pushes a wet hair stand behind your hair as he finally speaks.

“Very good. Are you happy?” he asks and that genuinely made you feel happy that he was asking your opinion. 

You nod, you look wrecked so did he, both of you breathing heavily, faces flushed.

“Are you ok?” he asks you sweetly after showing his dark side which you loved and so did you like that gentleness in his which made your heart filp and beat faster.

You blush as you nod and hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“Dont hide baby” he pulls you back cupping your face. 

“Mm” you whine sweetly.

He kisses your forehead gently.

"So," he says, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. "I think I lost that match."

You let out a soft laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"Worth it?"

"The best loss of my life," he whispers, kissing your temple. 

Heeseug twitches inside you, making you whimper.

“You’re still inside me hee” you say to him as it hurts a little but don't bother but it's still sticky and messy altogether. 

But then he shrugs it off as if it's nothing, you frown and ask him “what?” and try to pull away.

He doesn't let you, he slams you back down as you scream and squeal from shock.

“Hee–” then while you are still inside him, he abruptly stands up, while still holding you tightly around your waist and still inside you.

“Ready for round 2 baby?” he asks as you widen your eyes in shock while his cock gets stiff all the way till his shaft again.

“Hee~” he crashes his lips on to yours slamming you onto the wall and starts moving inside you.

˚ ༘ 🎞️ ｡𖦹 ° 🎥 ⁀જ⁀➴ film ending.......

taglist- @prettygirlthings-world @strawberrywonnie @heeqluv @isagistar @hoonieslove

tqsm for being in my taglist anyone wanna be in perm and it would be good if you like and reblog

[sweetfwr]

ROSES & RETRIBUTION |8| ˒˒ enha series

sypnosis. when you are accepted into an elite academy on a scholarship, you seek revenge on the illustrious park family, the very people that took away the life of your best friend. park sunghoon, an attendee of said academy, is sloppy, unaware of his surroundings, and completely out of touch— the perfect target for a clean assassination. the only problem? his irritatingly loyal best friend jake, who happens to be student council president, the son of one of the 7 families pulling strings in the academy, and the man you would later refer to as your greatest love.

chapter sypnosis. an awkward encounter and a new onslaught of council duties leave you reeling away from both jake and sunoo, and your new ta isn’t making things any better. when your eccentric classmate lee heeseung proposes a clever solution to end your problems, you find yourselves out past curfew, uncovering dirty affairs — though not before jake and sunoo catch you alone first. 

prev. | masterlist | next

pairing. heir!jake x scholarship student!reader x heir!sunoo

tags. revenge story, drama, old money themes, enemies to lovers, academy au, angst, love triangle

wc. 6.7k ……….

before you read. heeseung cameooo as a little shit stirrer LOL. i had to cut this arc into two parts because it was way too long and this is also very much not proofread. enjoy!

PARK SUNGHOON IS, by all means, an enigma of his own. you decide you wouldn’t be here if he weren’t, thrust into the world of private jets and shimmery exteriors for just a shred of light at the end of the tunnel: information.

yet, all you’ve come to learn about him since your arrival at solstice academy are his extreme aversion to campus life and his very loyal, very irritating best friend.

so when you close your eyes, you can almost feel it: the slight sheen of sweat that clung to your neck inside that clammy photobooth, the faint sound of jazz seeping in from beyond the curtains, and the incessant thrum of your beating heart. and most important of all –

the wrong that had settled into your gut as jake’s eyes bore into your own, searching you up and down for any semblance of mercy for his own actions.

it had been desperate. almost reverent. just enough to keep you awake most nights like you hadn’t already been tossing and turning in your sheets upon your enrollment to this cursed institution. and so when the clock hits four in the morning, you’re on your feet and out of the dorm, careful not to make so much as a peep as you slip past the oak doors and into the morning air. your mug is gone and so is your bookbag, yet your weighty presence lingers on inside like a stubborn perfume anyway.

you like to think your intentional absence doesn’t matter anyhow. at least, not to jake.

but if the bags under your eyes and way you and your roommate have returned to avoiding each other entirely are anything to go by, your little impromptu outing last weekend has left quite the stain on you instead.

and to think that it’s jake sim who has you lying awake in bed at night makes you want to curl into a ball of self loathing and —

“hey,” sunoo whispers evenly, long lashes fluttering at you as he blinks on from across the mahogany table of one of the many, many libraries that litter campus. “what’s wrong with you?”

you blink back, just as confused and twice as exhausted, scrambling to cook up an excuse that doesn’t involve your new living arrangement.

“nothing,” you say, a little too quickly this time as your fingers tighten around your mechanical pencil as though it might steady you. another hand comes up to rub at your heavy lids, pressing hard enough to itch away the sting. “there’s this new ta on everyone’s ass.”

a harmless half-truth. one that sounds flimsier the moment it leaves you.

still, with finals coming up like a slow and inevitable storm, you let yourself bear the slightest of hopes that sunoo won’t see past your lame fib.

“alright,” he hums, and it’s too measured; too careful.

“must be an awful guy,” the blonde drawls, leaning back in his chair like he’s got all the time in the world for you alone, eyes fixed on your own like you’re the most interesting thing in the room.

and god, you loathe the way heat starts to curl up your neck.

somewhere along the way, upon forming your strange and precarious alliance with kim sunoo, you convinced yourself that lying would come easy. that it would slip naturally off the tongue like something justified. necessary, even.

and it had been, until now. because as his eyes drift from your vice grip on your beat-up pencil, to the way your jaw ticks, then to your own shaky orbs, you can’t find it in yourself to look back in defiance.

when you finally snap away from his gaze, you know you’ve been caught in a lie. and for a moment, the room lulls.

“should i get rid of him?” he asks, smiling. almost teasing. it’s soft, sweet, and entirely wrong, because you know he’d do it in a heartbeat if you did so much as nod yes.

your stomach drops, and for half a second, you’re back in that photobooth.

“you mean,“ you guffaw, but the words catch in your mouth as the realization settles. “the ta?”

sunoo tilts his head, blinking innocently. “who else?”

you huff, shaking your head like it’ll brush it off, but your grip on the pencil doesn’t loosen. to think of it, when was the last time you’d actually written anything? your head practically burns when you try to recall a time where you’d been unoccupied by the constant reminder of finals, council duties, and —

“oh fuck,” you gasp, standing so abruptly that your chair screeches as you stand. when the heads of poor, unsuspecting students whose only desires are to study for finals in peace snap towards you, you’re too frazzled to pay them any mind. “i gotta go.”

“what?” sunoo blinks, a flicker of genuine surprise dancing in his eyes for the first time this morning. ”so soon?”

“yeah, i forgot all about this meeting with yoon,” you heave, messily gathering your things and shoving them in your book back without sparing much attention to the way your papers fold and crinkle. “i better run over there before he lectures me about how hierarchy is maintained by conduct again.”

“but —“

you barely managed a rushed “i’ll see you!” before you’re scrambling on your feet and out the door, the irritated eyes of caffeinated students following you until you disappear into the hallways.

and sunoo, as always, would stay exactly where he was — composed, untouched, and above it all. because if you knew anything about him at all, you’d think he reveled in the pressure that yoon and the higher-ups liked to weigh upon your shoulders.

except you can practically feel his eyes burning into the curve of your back, and the hairs on your neck have basically begun to stand on their own.

you’re not sure what to make of it. in fact, you’re not sure what to make of anything anymore.

.

.

.

upon your return from your little excursion, jake has come to realize two things:

the first being that he’s gained an unusual partiality to taking photobooth pictures. if the feel of the smooth, glossy film in between his fingers and the way the sheen catches the light are anything to go by, you might as well have considered him hooked.

second, and quite frankly the most troubling for reasons he can’t quite place, is that you are clearly, most definitely avoiding him.

which shouldn’t be much of an issue at all, really, for two individuals who have been at each other’s throats since day one. it shouldn’t matter, not when one night shouldn’t be enough to shift into anything real.

except it is — and he cannot, for the life of him, seem to understand why.

the council room stretches around him, all tall windows and heavy chandeliers coating polished floors in their warmth. the long oak table lined woth high-backed chairs stretches across the center like a declaration of power, and jake finds that this place is quiet.

too quiet.

that is, until you’re bursting through the doors and yoon (read: who jake forgot was even present,) is jolting up furiously from across his wooden seat.

you, who’s slightly out of breath, hair disheveled just enough to tell him how much the day has weighed on you.

you, whose bag is practically sliding off your shoulders by the time you rush to take your seat beside him.

your chest rises and falls with every passing second, eyes sweeping across the room before they land on him for a moment too long before they're gone like they’d never been on him in the first place.

jake straightens in his seat, practically instinctive from the way his fingers curl around the arm rest. yoon tuts.

“late,” the older man scowls, and the words cut through the air like a fencing blade. you almost flinch, and jake winces when he’s granted the displeasure of noticing.

dorm master yoon stands imposingly at the head of the table, pocketing a silver pocket watch and expression carved from something cold and awfully cruel by the way he looks at you. or more specifically, the silver pin that gleams above your heart.

“i do hope your morning was productive enough to justify your absence from council duties,” he continues, voice clipped.

“it was, sir,” you say immediately, spine turning rigid when your dorm master snaps his head towards you. “i — i lost track of time.”

“time?” yoon repeats after you, steam practically coming from his head at how furious you’ve managed to make him. “i’ll have you know that hierarchy in this academy is maintained by — !“

“i sent her,” jake cuts in, and the words are clean. measured. they echo throughout the vastness of the council room like a simple truth, even when they are anything but. jake doesn’t even look at you when he says it, and for a second, the entire place stills.

your dorm master, still equally as enraged, turns to look at you with a disbelieving frown. “is this true?”

with your heart still pounding from the run, you can barely even open your mouth to speak when jake beats you to it.

“i needed documents from the archives,” he continues calmly, fingers lacing together on the table. “they weren’t where i needed them to be.”

a blatant lie.

you can hardly keep your jaw from dropping as yoon studies him for a long moment, expression tight as if he’s weighing whether or not to press further. and then –

“very well,” the bitter old man grunts. “see to it that your tasks are accounted for next time.”

“yes, sir,” you reply stiffly, and your words come out quieter this time around.

one beat passes, then another, before yoon is exhaling through his nose and adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. you think the movement alone is enough to feel dismissive. but then again, everything about the man does.

you find yourself wondering for a moment whether he gives other members of the council like yang jungwon half as much shit. altough the thought subsides when you realize that in complete fairness, it’s not as if you have a political dynasty for a bloodline like your classmate does.

“founder’s week is not simply another one of this academy’s self-indulgent traditions,” yoon begins sharply, shoes clacking on the polished floors before he comes to a stop beside a tall window. “it is tradition.”

you resist the urge to roll your eyes, and if jake feels the same, he certainly doesn’t show it.

“to commemorate the establishment of solstice academy through the graciousness of its generous donors, the students of your year and a select few talents from the lower pool are given a week to mingle amongst the country’s most elite,” yoon continues, and the morning light cuts at the sharp lines of his face. “meaning investors are present. politicians. alumni from the four corners of the world. founder’s week is where futures are decided, and this council oversees every aspect of it.”

jake’s fingers, which previously came down to tap at the arm rests have come to a halt.

you on the other hand, feel your exhaustion deepen tenfold.

when yoon approaches the mahogany table to set a thick folder down hard enough to make you jump in your seat, you pray your roommate doesn’t notice.

“sim,” he tuts, “you will oversee sponsorships and that security coordination with the parks go smoothly.”

“understood,” jake hums, nodding once like he’s already grown bored of the conversation.

“and you,” yoon sighs, craning his head to stare down at you like you’re scum on the floor. “you will manage logistics, media preparation, and see to it that our guests are tended to at every moment.”

your eye twitches. “of course.”

just when you think this new onslaught of council duties can’t possibly, get any worse, they do.

“as for the two of you jointly,” yoon drawls on, completely indifferent to the visible despair that creeps over your features. “you will supervise ballroom preparation and the opening ceremony.”

the room stills.

“. . . the opening ceremony?” jake frowns, and yoon sends him a look like the message should’ve been obvious.

“the first dance, of course,” he continues coolly, like you two were the crazy ones for not wanting to believe that such a silly tradition could’ve found itself nestled in this year’s festivities. “tradition states that the student council representatives open up the floor before the rest of the guests are permitted to partake.”

“pardon?” you choke, and you don’t miss the way jake’s hands ball into fists next to you. “will all due respect, i don’t think that’s –”

“you, of course, would need dance lessons,” yoon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a neatly gloved hand. “talk to miss lee down at reception by the end of this week. she should have accommodations for the two of you then.”

jake blinks. “the two of us?”

“the two of you,” old man yoon reaffirms, sterner this time. jake looks like he’s swallowed a rag whole. “can i trust that you will conduct yourselves in a manner that suits the best interests of our proud institution?”

for one slow and agonizing second, silence reigns over your resolve — not that you have much of that left.

rain taps softly against the tall glass of the windows, and the chapel bells toll distantly from somewhere far away from the north wing where you sit. the sound is haunting enough to sink beneath your skin and echo in your head, and from beside you, jake clears his throat.

“of course,” he replies, voice clipped. “you have my word.”

you swear you could groan in exasperation when yoon’s gaze drifts towards you expectedly.

“mine as well, sir.”

and in that moment, you decide that you detest it all; the strange heat that seems to climb up your neck as of late. the way that jake sim always seems so close despite standing a few feet away at all times. the fact the somewhere in between shameless bribery and arguments beneath stairwells and atop wooden docks, jake has become infuriatingly easy to exist beside.

you hate it all, and most of all, you hate him. so much so, that when you look up next you realize you hadn’t noticed that the council room had already emptied entirely until only you and jake remained at the helm.

chandeliers hum overhead, and somewhere outside, wind rattles against stained windows and ivy-covered walls.

your mouth begins to run before you can stop yourself.

“you didn’t have to lie for me,” you begin defeatedly, standing up to shovel papers into your satchel more aggressively than necessary.

“i didn’t lie,” jake retorts, glancing up slowly from where he’s adjusting his tie like he’s suddenly found it hard to breathe. “i improvised.”

was it always so hot in here?

your eye twitches. “that’s literally lying.”

now it’s jake’s turn to eye you wordlessly, and unexplainable fury reignites in your chest when the corners of his mouth twitch.

“you’re welcome, by the way.”

despite yourself, the memory of the jazz bar flashes embarrassingly fast through your head — red lights, vintage vinyl, and jake’s laugh vibrating low enough to settle in your chest. you push the thought away as fast as it came to you

your grip tightens around your bag strap, and without another word, your roommate is headed off to god-knows where.

though, not before he makes one final stop by the doorway.

“sleep more,” he says quietly, though his words come out more like a plea than a command from the way his shoulders square like he’s embarrassed to even be saying this. “i can hear you shuffle around in the common room at night, you know.”

you stand there long after he’s gone.

after the incident in the council room, you wish you could say that was the end of it.

or at least, it should've been — neatly tucked away into the growing box of shared secrets you’ve racked up with jake sim. except afterwards, he and his infuriating actions begin to grow on you like fungus.

it starts small: with a cup of coffee that materializes at the common room’s dining table when you snap awake from a particularly rigorous study session. no note, and still warm by the time you take notice. you spend ten whole minutes glowering at it before deciding to drink it anyway.

then came the incident in the courtyard.

he’d caught you cutting through the quad once, all tired eyes and heavy frowns that run so deep you’re sure it’s laid the foundation to a wrinkle or two.

jake, who remained all cool composure and perfect posture, grabbed at your elbow just as you were about to successfully make your exit without the weight of any whispers.

“you’re going the wrong way,” he’d said as a matter of factly, as you blinked up at him with heavy lids and a death grip on your skirt hem.

“what?”

“the archives are east wing. you always cut through the courtyard after meetings,” he said simply. “you’ll get there faster through chapel halls.”

oh. right.

“thanks,” you swallowed thickly, pinching at your thigh in an attempt to get your head out the gutter. with a stiff nod from you and an awkward wave goodbye on his end, you were off.

your breaking point comes during the wretched dance lessons, on a wednesday evening where finals loom closer and your logistics duties seem never-ending. oh, how you detest the dance lessons — and jake by association.

it starts out like so: your hand in his, rain tapping against the windows, and your dance instructor trying her absolute best not to lose her mind. she barks orders and sighs like you two have managed to deplete her lifespan by half, yet you find yourself entirely consumed by the uncomfortable way your hand fits in jake’s.

“you’re both too stubborn to follow each other,” mrs. cho rubs at her temples. “start again.”

over the past 30 minutes, you’ve stepped on jake’ foot at least twelve times. thirteen if the sharp inhale that left him moments ago is anything to go by. yet every time you pull away, his rough hands tighten around your own as if to tell you to bear the rest of the session.

when you and the sim heir return to your starting positions, shoulders slumped and hands reluctantly entwined, the music stops and the shrill voice of your dance instructor echoes throughout the studio once more.

“shoulders straight!”

it’s safe to say that mrs. cho leaves the session 15 minutes early, claiming a bad headache.

your waltz lessons are a complete and utter disaster, to say the least.

.

.

.

during night patrols, the academy feels less like a place of learning and more like a mausoleum, because if the way shadows spill over the floors are anything to go by, the founders buried beneath the chapel crypts might as well have been wandering the halls themselves.

with every step you make, the vintage portraits that line the walls seem to watch you in suffocating silence. your leather shoes click against polished marble, and your flashlight flickers in your hands like all it wants to do is just give out.

jake, of course, scans over the ghostly hallways with practiced indifference, his own light shining bright enough to make you wince when he turns your way.

“the west wing is clear,” he murmurs absentmindedly, pursing his lips when your light decides to flicker shut for the final time. “. . . you need help with that?”

the moment his arms twitch like he’s about to reach out for you, you take a sharp step backwards, jamming the light into your palm multiple times before it flickers open once more. “i’ve got it – thanks.”

jake’s arms snap back to his sides, but you’re too preoccupied to notice the way he clears his throat and begins to fiddle with the cuff on his sleeves. your mind is somewhere else entirely, nestled within the the confines of the north tower that you’ve been unable to access since your move to the north wing.

you wonder, albeit aimlessly, if jiwoo’s final moments sit behind those walls waiting for you. wanting to finally tell the truth.

“we still need to check the chapel halls and –”

“i’ll cover the east,” you say quickly, remaining resolute when jake stops in his tracks a couple steps ahead of you. “we’d be finished in half the time it would take the two of us to patrol those areas together.”

usually, this is where he’d feel compelled to argue. he’d throw some sarcastic remark your way and insist on sticking together as per bitter old yoon’s orders, and you’d glare right back but proceed together anyway.

except, this time is different. some sort of distance lingers between you two that can’t quite attribute to coldness, just the quiet hesitance that comes over two people that have come to realize there are certain lines neither of you can uncross.

he stares at you for a beat too long, before he tears his eyes away from you and unto the winding hall that lies ahead of him.

“alright.”

that’s it.

your chest tightens unexpectedly.

“meet me back here in 20?” you offer, and jake is already walking away by the time the words leave you.

“sure.” he says, and with that, you’re off before he can even begin to witness the guilt that creeps beneath your skin.

with your pulse hammering in your ears, you let your feet take you as far as they can up endless staircases and endless corridors. the higher you climb, the colder the air becomes, and you find yourself wondering about the sick turns of fate that led jiwoo up there on a winter night in the first place.

was she as cold as you are now, if not worse?

god, you hope not.

you carry on anyways, past the dust that gathered between old stone railings and the sharp howl of the wind that shake the windows lining the landings. solstice groans around you like a living beast settling into a deep slumber, and yet you cannot find it in you to stop moving. 

not now, not when you’ve come so far.

when you reach the top floor absolutely winded, the big wooden entrance to the tower materializes in front of you as if daring you to make a move. you take one step, then two, before your shaky fingers finally come to curl around the knob and twist.

with a sharp click! and the approaching sound of footsteps from behind you, you come to realize two things:

the door is locked. of course it’s locked. why wouldn’t it be, when this place was a crime scene a little less than a year ago? since jiwoo’s murder, the tower has been subsequently closed to students and faculty alike, and you were a fool to ever believe this door would be open for you upon arrival.

second, and most urgently, is that you’re about to get yourself caught. now. without a second to spare, your hands snap back to your sides and you’re bracing yourself for the worst. your pulse sounds heavily as the footsteps come to a halt behind you, and then –

“you students really enjoy making my life difficult,” a gruff voice echoes from behind you, and you whip your head around to come face to face with your new company.

your knees almost buckle in relief, because whoever stood in front of you now was no student, nor were they security. you have half the mind to thank the stars that you weren’t cursed with a repeat of your first encounter with sunoo outside the library archives, because instead, an elderly janitor stands just head of you with his hands on his hips.

“i was just patrolling, sir,” you explain cooly, and the elder’s eyes come to rest on the silver brooch pinned to your chest – a symbol of your seat within the council.

“this area has been closed for months,” he says slowly, glancing between you and the locked door to the tower. “this is a restricted area.”

“i got lost,” you chuckle insincerely, a hand coming up to rub at your neck when the older man’s frown deepens. “i moved here just this year.”

a beat passes, then another, and the wind rattles violently against the stained glass overhead. the old janitor studies you for a long moment before he groans, rubbing at his face with a tired hand.

“you council students are all the same,” he grumbles, but you find yourself preoccupied by a glint from the corner of your eyes. “too much curiosity.”

your eyes flick downward instinctively, and it’s as if a wildfire has begun in your chest when you catch sight of the ring of rusty metal keys hung on his belt. there are dozens of them, and one sits noticeably larger than the others.

you apologize quietly, but your mind has been elsewhere since the moment the glint of the metal caught your eye. after all, you’re willing to bet that key is your ticket into the north tower and any secrets you may find within.

you need to get that key.

.

.

.

the next morning arrives all grey and miserable, and you let yourself hope, albeit for one measly second, that your new ta will forego coming to class today.

not that your prayers come to fruition, because lo and behold, the man strides in the moment you let your shoulders sag by just a fraction. sharp-faced and imposing, professor jung is every bit of the terror teacher that elites and scholarship students alike make him out to be.

if there was one thing you hadn’t lied about during your last conversation with the kim group heir, it was that your substitute professor personally went out of his way to make all of your lives a whole lot more difficult. not out of some noble yet slightly twisted desire to push students towards excellence, either — jung liked to humiliate. to bruise.

and as if advanced calculus at eight in the morning wasn’t enough psychological warfare, the little man is downright irritating.

“phones in the bin,” he says flatly, setting his leather briefcase down with a dull thud. “if i see one, you can all kiss your participation grades goodbye.”

your eye twitches. collective outrage fills the room, and your deskmate physically recoils from beside you.

speaking of your deskmate, lee heeseung hasn’t strolled in late to this class since professor jung walked in and announced himself in charge as replacement for your previous professor’s maternity leave. which, to be frank, should be enough to terrify anybody who knows your deskmate.

including you.

you glance sideways one, then twice, but you’re met with the same miserable sight every time. because from the way dark circles pool at the skin beneath heeseung’s eyes, and the pristine uniform collar he usually has neatly pressed and folded has since fallen into a half-folded mess of wrinkled cotton, it’s pretty darn obvious that professor jung has been making his life a living hell too.

when your desk mate’s half-lidded gaze meets yours as if having sensed the intrusion on your end, you snap your head away towards the front of the room where jung has begun to write a plethora of symbols and numbers you aren’t quite sure you can keep up with.

from then on, your 45 minute lecture goes by like a prison sentence carved out in chalk dust and misery. between your substitute professor confiscating three burner phones within the next fifteen minutes and stopping mid-equation to stare down an athlete who’d fallen asleep in the third row, you’d mentally checked out whatever he’d been trying to explain.

nobody escapes him. not the elites, and definitely not scholarship. and for the first time in solstice history, a class has seemingly united under the heat of one, singular teaching assistant from the depths of hell.

“you,” he says suddenly, pointing at heeseung who suddenly straightens in his seat beside you. “finish the proof.”

a quiet murmur spreads throughout the room, because unfortunately for jung’s sadistic tendencies, lee heeseung is brilliant.

he’s briliant in the loud, showy way that most solstice students are, but heeseung sits at the very top at the hierarchy with the rest of his glamorous friend group simply because he shines brighter than all else without trying. he rises from his seat without complaint, cutting across the room towards the board as he rolls the sleeves of his uniform shirt higher up his forearms.

the proof that unravels beneath the chalk in his hands is beautiful. your classmates seem to have been enveloped in a sort of collective awe, and even you sit up straighter in your seat as line after line of a perfectly executed solution fills the board in quick succession.

“sexy,” you hear a girl whisper to her friend from behind you, and you chew your lip to keep yourself from snorting.

when heeseung finally sets the chalk down, a heavy silence falls under the classroom. jung steps up to study the proof for a long moment, and then –

“sloppy.”

heeseung blinks once, then twice, like he genuinely misheard. even you have to bite your tongue lest you let your jaw drop to the ground, because objectively speaking, his solution had been perfect. “pardon?”

“you skipped the intermediary steps,” jung tuts, already reaching for the eraser. “take your seat, boy.”

something flashes behind heeseung’s eyes then, and it’s annoyance nor humiliation, but pride. professor jung had challenged him publicly, and you deign to think about a rich heir’s opinion on being made to look small.

you almost cringe, and the real estate heir takes his seat beside you stiffly.

the rest of your first period goes by in an exhausting haze of terror and hopelessness, and your clasesmates practically flee the lecture hall by the end of it. you shove your things into your book bag with a little less gracefulness than your dance instructor would’ve hoped, and then you’re on your way too.

that is, until a hand comes to clamp around your wrist and you’re tugged backwards into a narrow alcove tucked between two towering bookcases . . . and pushed up against lee heeseung’s built chest.

the movement leaves you forcefully trapped between cold stone and warm uniform fabric, and unfortunately for your throbbing headache, heeseung is entirely too close.

you open your mouth to argue, but his hand comes up to clamp lightly over your mouth while another snakes over your form in an effort to keep you still.

“heeseung –” you hiss, but your voice is muffled by the flesh of his palm. he only holds you even tighter against him like that’ll put a stop to your incessant squirming. “what are you –”

“will you shut up for a sec?” he whispers harshly against the shell of your ear, and your glare sharpens against his palm. heeseung ignores you entirely like you arent pulled flush against his own body.

and you think, just for a moment, about where in god’s name could he have gotten all this natural strength from. competitive fencing can only do so much.

“listen,” he says, quieter this time. and as much as you want to kick him in the shin and go about your day, your wretched curiosity takes the reigns and you do. outside the alcove, footsteps echo throughout the corridor and render the two of you silent.

your breath catches, and then, you hear it: the echo of profesor jung’s flat voice floats towards you and the two of you go still.

“. . . tonight. eleven o’ clock.”

through the narrow gap between shelves, you’re almost abe to catch sight of your ta standing just outside the faculty office with his phone pressed up against his ear. his expression, usually all clipped irritation and pursed lips, has gone eerily tense. suspiciously so.

another voice crackles over the speaker, but it’s too weak and too muffled for you to make out.

“no,” jung answers sharply, and you can feel heesueng’s grip instinctively tighten around you more than you thought possible. “nobody can know about us.”

a pause follows, and rain drums harder against the stained-glass window overhead. you can practically feel heeseung’s heart beating louder in his chest with every passing second, and it’s both a shock and a passing amusement to you, who hadn’t even been aware he possessed one.

he must really despise jung.

your ta lets out a hefty sigh. “meet me tonight by the outdoor chapel. we’ll talk then.”

the line disconnects, and for the longest minute of your life, neither you or heeseung dare to move. his hands are still hot and heavy on your person, and they only loosen and fall to his sides when professor jung retreats into the office with a sharp click.

when you whip your head around to face him, his own bulging eyes are already crashing into your own as a wild grin spreads across his face so quickly that it startles you.

“holy shit,” you say, and the words leave you before you can even begin to stop them. your desk mate laughs in response, and the sound is warm against the cold stone and the rain-kissed windows.

“you,” he starts, leaning in towards you in a manner that’s entirely way too close. even for you. “are going to help me get rid of jung.”

you frown. “why would i do that?”

you, in all your excruciating months at this academy, have cared much for the genius of a trainwreck that is lee heeseung. he is arrogant in the way most solstice heirs are. predictable in the way that shouldn’t have even made you look twice. and yet, heeseung becomes increasingly difficult to ignore.

he’s charming – too charming for his own good and entirely too talented at making sure everything he desires bends completely to his will. including you.

when you stare up at him flatly, pressing a hand to his chest to slowly shove him away, heeseung lets himself be moved with surprising ease. you take the opportunity to move past him without a word, and you're already a few steps away from him and on your merry way out of the alcove when heeseung says something that makes you stop in your tracks.

“because you want him gone as much as i do?” he offers, tilting his head in that innocent, downright mocking way that makes you want to hurl.

and the worst part is, he’s right. because after weeks of yoon’s brutal torment, your fight for evidence, and your council duties (with your mortal enemy) alone, you’re well aware that professor jung is another liability you are unable to shovel onto your plate.

but to rid him from this school and his job just because he’d proven to be annoying is new territory to you entirely. to ruin a professor – even one as irritating as jung – toes dangerously close to a line you dare not cross.

besides, you’ve learned from your dealings with sunoo that striking an agreement with an elite is basically making a deal with the devil. you’ve seen it happen. you’ve survived it yourself.

but this? ths would be cruel.

you tell yourself, with as much conviction as you are able to muster, that a professor with as big of a secret as jung is apparently hiding shouldn’t be anywhere near a teaching license, anyway. that someone willing to risk their position so recklessly must have something fundamentally wrong with them.

it should have been enough to make you walk away.

but within moments, you’re thrust back into the night you’d last attempted a break-in at the north tower and the way the keys jingled along that elderly janitor’s belt loop. you tell yourself thiis must be providence, because after all, sneaking around with lee heeseung after curfew meant another chance to snag that key.

and so you wrench your eyes shut, then exhale.

“. . . fine,”

slowly but surely, a wretched smile comes to bloom accross heeseung’s face.

“i knew you loved me.”

when you insult him and he laughs outright, the sound echoing throughout the alcove and down the crowded halls, you carefully step out of it together and back into the flow of the winding corridors. rain patters against the stained glass windows and trails down in silver rivulets as students travel in clusters of navy uniforms and polished shoes, voices hushed beneath vaulted ceilings like the academy itself demanded reverence.

you barely make it three steps into bickering with your desk mate when you feel a chill travel down the curve of your back, and you turn your head instinctively.

and right there, standing beneath the curve of an opposite archway, is kim sunoo, and the expression on his face is so subtle that most people would miss it entirely. except you aren’t most people, especially not to sunoo.

he’s aways been beautiful in a deliberate sort of way – every smile and intentional bat of his eyes specifically crafted to wound like a weapon draped in silk. but now, something quiet looms over his delicate features as his eyes flick between the distance between you and his friend . . . or lack thereof.

and for once, sunoo does not smile.

.

.

.

when lunch arrives, the awful weather does not give way. if anything, the stormclouds hang lower and streak the windows with even more breathtaking silvers of rain, but none of it does anything at all to silence the usual hum of the dining hall.

all polished chaos and porcelain clinking against cutlery, students laugh a little too loudly beneath vaulted ceilings and portraits of school founders that remain immortalized in oil in a manner that resembles the saints.

at the center table, however, the atmosphere shifts the moment lee heeseung drops into his seat with his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up high, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

seated diagonal to him is jake sim, diligently working through founder’s week documents with a silent precision. his coffee sits as cold and untouched as the rain that envelopes campus, and sunghoon sits next to him quietly flipping through fencing notes as ni-ki complains about an economics test that nobody believes he studied for.

sunoo looks over at the new arrival through the rim of his glass, slowly and carefully like he’s trying to appear as if he isn’t watching at all. unfortunately, everyone seated at the table knows each other too well to write him off.

jungwon is the first to collapse under the weight of unspoken tension, setting his fork down and sighing. “oh, brother.”

“did you have a productive morning?” sunoo drawls, leaning back in his seat across from heeseung and catching the attention of a few of the other friends seated at the table. even jay looks up from his workbook, brows raised as his gaze flickers between sunoo and heeseung.

heeseung’s lips twitch upwards into the ghost of a smile.

“productive enough,” he retorts, shoveling a portion of sea bass into his mouth. “jung’s classes hit you pretty hard.”

“mm, it didn’t look pretty academic to me,” the blonde jeers, twirling an expensive pen in his fingers as he tilts his head mockingly.

“did i miss something?” ni-ki mumbles.

“you know, usually when most people are jealous, they say it outright.” heeseung.

“i just think,” sunoo starts slowly, reaching down with his fork to stab at a potato on his lunch tray. “that sneaking around closed corridors is a pretty funny way to start the morning.”

“i’m sorry?” jake blinks from his seat, and sunghoon has already put his notes down in exchange for a front row seat to this untoward encounter.

“why thank you,” the oldest boy grins, leaning back in his seat with a lazy stretch of his long arms. “if it makes you feel better, she agreed to see me again tonight.”

riki chokes into his drink. jake stills, barely noticeable, but just enough for the paper in his hand to stop moving all together. after all, he’s well aware that there is only one woman in the entirety of this academy that could make sunoo act out in such a way.

and as for sunoo — his smile remains perfectly intact.

except this time, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

it’s finally here! feel free to lmk what you think about this chapter through comments or asks <3

taglist: @cutehoons02 @fancypeacepersona @deluluscenarios @letwiiparkjay @ikeugirly @stormy1408 @rairaiblog @kristynaaah @xoenhalover @nodoubtily @cyb3rto4st @simpikeu @tmtxtf @leaderwons @bvbblyjasmine @blooqz @keilaeszz @rikis-wifey910 @elviransworld @paigexoxo1660 @en-stellar @zoe1love @angelagarvi @lunac01 @lunaryoongie @daisydolphinn @nowayhomeboo @kyunlov @fuckthinking @jellymiki

taglist is open! © SWEETFWR

[heejamas]

─── JUST MY LUCK; yang jungwon

when your impossibly good luck vanishes overnight after kissing a stranger at a masquerade ball, a fortune teller confirms what sounds impossible: you transferred it to someone who needed it more. now you have to find jungwon who accidentally stole your fortune, except you start to think that maybe meeting him was the luckiest thing that ever happened to you.

⭑ pairing: jungwon x fem!reader | ⭑ genre: luck swap au, romcom, fluff, crack, strangers to lovers, slowburn, roommates to lovers; smut (mdni) | ⭑ playlist: just my luck - mcfly; no control - one direction; t-shirt weather - circa waves; whisper for the choir - the fratellis; just like a movie - wallows | ⭑ word count: 33k

⭑ warnings: smut (mdni!!!!), unemployment lollll; soft down jungwon, switch jungwon, mutual pining, power play, praise kink, oral m&f receiving, piv, light spanking, protected sex

⭑ ronnie's notes: guys i’ve been keeping this plot hostage for like six months at least i actually started writing it as a smau but then i gave up because i got lazy just like with every smau i’ve ever made (except nicest guy i miss my child then i sat there and thought wait this would work way better as a written fic right??? idk it just made sense in my head!!! so anyway she is finally here 🫶 my second jungwon fic!!! i really hope you guys like it because i’m lowkey attached to this one 🥹 it’s inspired by the movie just my luck btw!! and if you’ve never seen it i SWEAR it’s sooo cute you need to watch it. mcfly was one of my favorite bands growing up so that movie has a special place in my heart and i basically wrote mcfly as enhypen LMAOO anyway that’s it i hope you enjoy the story 💌

YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN LUCKY. Every morning you wake up exactly one minute before your alarm goes off. The coffee shop always has your order ready when you walk in even though you never call ahead. You find money in jacket pockets you forgot about. Traffic lights turn green right as you approach them. When it rains, it starts the moment you step inside. Your friends joke that you were born under a lucky star, but it's more than that. It's like the universe decided you were its favorite, and it's been making sure you know it ever since.

And this morning is no different. You're running late for work — or you would be, if the subway train hadn't been delayed by exactly the amount of time you needed to make it to the platform. You slip through the closing doors with seconds to spare, and someone immediately stands up offering you their seat. At work, your boss announces that the company's landing a huge new client, and they want you on the project. You find a twenty dollar bill on the ground during your lunch break.

It's not magic, it's just how your life works. And across the city, Yang Jungwon is having the worst day of his life.

Actually, that's not quite right. He's having the worst day of his life so far, which is saying something, because yesterday was pretty bad too. And the day before that. And the day before that too.

Jungwon is a band manager, which sounds cooler than it actually is. He represents ENHYPEN: Jay, Sunghoon, Heeseung, and Jake; four guys with genuine talent and absolutely zero luck in the industry. They've been trying to get a record deal for two years now, and every single opportunity has somehow slipped through their fingers at the last possible second. Like today, he was supposed to have a meeting with a major label. Supposed to, because Jungwon woke up to a dead phone battery (he'd definitely plugged it in), missed his alarm, and then got stuck in traffic caused by a water main break that, according to the news, had a "one in a million chance of happening there." By the time he arrived at the venue, drenched from the sudden downpour that started the second he left his apartment, the label executives were already gone. "They waited thirty minutes," the venue manager told him, not unkindly. "I'm sorry, man."

Now Jungwon sits in a coffee shop, dripping rainwater onto the floor and staring at his laptop screen. His email inbox is full of rejections. His coffee tastes burnt, the cafe's wifi keeps cutting out. And when his phone buzzes with a text from Jay: Howd it go? Jungwon doesn't have the heart to respond yet. He runs a hand through his wet hair and closes his eyes. Somewhere out there, he thinks, someone must be using up all the good luck in the world. Somewhere out there, someone has to be.

And as you arrive at the office, the elevator dings right as you approach it and doors slide open like it was waiting just for you. You step inside and you continue up to the fifth floor, where the marketing agency you work for occupies the entire level. The glass doors swing open and you're immediately hit with the chaos that comes with planning high profile events in the city. Your desk is right by the window, which you'd worried about when you first started because of the glare, but somehow the sun never hits your screen and you have a fire view of the city skylines.

You drop your bag on your chair and head to the break room for water. Sunoo is already there, fighting with the coffee machine. "This thing hates me," he says while smacking the side of it. "I swear it only works for you."

"Want me to try?"

"Please." You press the same buttons he was pressing and the machine immediately whirs to life, dispensing espresso into his cup. Sunoo stares at it. "I don't understand your life."

"Maybe you just have to ask nicely."

"I literally said please three times." He takes his coffee anyway shaking his head. "Did you see the email? We have a meeting with Director Kim in twenty minutes."

You hadn't seen it, but when you check your phone the notification is right there, sent ten minutes ago. Back at your desk, you pull up the project files you'd been working on yesterday. Yunjin rolls her chair over from the adjacent desk, holding out a glazed donut. "They were giving these out in the lobby. Grabbed you one."

"Thanks, Yunjin." You take it and it's still warm. "You're the best."

"I know." She grins. "So, any idea what the meeting's about?"

"No clue."

"I heard it's something big," Riki says, appearing behind you both. The intern is holding a stack of folders that looks about two seconds from toppling over. "Like, really big."

"Everything's big to you," Sunoo says. "You've been here for three weeks."

"Three weeks and two days," Riki corrects. "And I'm just saying, Director Kim only calls meetings like this when it's important."

He's not wrong. Director Kim usually communicates through email or quick desk drop bys. Formal meetings mean something significant is happening. So you make your way to the conference room, it has floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. Director Kim is already there, sitting at the head of the table with her tablet and a cup of tea. "Good, you're all here," she says as you file in. "Sit down. We need to talk about HYBE." You exchange glances with Sunoo. HYBE is huge — one of the biggest music labels in the industry. Your agency has worked with them before, but only on smaller projects. Director Kim pulls up something on the screen at the front of the room. It's a preliminary event outline, and the budget number at the bottom makes your eyes widen.

"HYBE is launching a new initiative," she continues. "They're hosting a masquerade ball to introduce upcoming artists, network with industry professionals, and make a statement about their brand direction. They want it elegant, exclusive, and flawless. The event is in six weeks." Six weeks is tight for something this scale, but not impossible. "If we get this, it'll be the biggest project we have handled all year." Director Kim looks directly at you. "I want you to lead this."

The words hang in the air for a moment. "Me?" you ask.

"You." She sets down her tablet. "You've been here for two years, and every event you've touched has gone off without a single issue. I don't know how you do it, but clients love you, vendors love you, and somehow everything just works when you're in charge. Sunoo, you'll be second lead. Yunjin, you're on creative direction and vendor coordination. Riki, you'll support where needed and learn as much as possible. But this is her project. She makes the final calls."

You feel Yunjin nudge your foot under the table, a silent congratulations. "The masquerade theme is non negotiable," Director Kim continues, pulling up mood boards on the screen. "HYBE wants sophisticated, mysterious and high end. Think Venetian carnival meets modern luxury. There will be approximately three hundred guests, including artists, executives, press, and investors. The venue needs to be secured by end of this week," she says. "Catering, entertainment, decor, security, invitations — all of it has to be perfect. HYBE's reputation is on the line, which means ours is too." She looks at each of you in turn. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this. It's going to be intense. But if anyone can pull this off, it's this team." Her eyes land on you again. "Especially you. I've seen you make impossible things happen. So, what do you say?"

What do you say? This is the kind of opportunity people wait years for. The kind that could define your entire career. "I'm in," you say obviously.

Back at your desk, you open your email, and sure enough, there's already a message waiting from Director Kim with all the project files. You start scrolling through, taking in venue options and budget breakdowns. Sunoo grins next to you. "What do you think the odds are that everything goes smoothly?"

You laugh. "Pretty good, probably." And you mean it, because things always do. And that was the exact opposite of how things usually happened to Jungwon.

The cafe kicked him out after the wifi died for the third time — apparently, his presence was "disrupting the router," which doesn't even make sense but also sounds exactly like something that would happen to him. Now he's standing outside the 7 Eleven near his apartment, trying to figure out how to tell the guys that they've officially lost their best shot at a record deal. His phone rings and it's Jay. "Tell me something good," Jay says immediately.

"I'm alive?"

"Jungwon."

"They left before I got there." Jungwon pinches the bridge of his nose. "Water main break, traffic, rain — the use."

There's a long silence on the other end. Then: "The use? I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, and you're going to come to the bowling alley so we can all yell at you."

"I have a shift in an hour anyway."

"Perfect. Bring food. The vending machine ate Heeseung's money again." And the line goes dead.

Jungwon buys four bags of chips and a pack of energy drinks with the last cash in his wallet, and the cashier gives him the wrong change and he doesn't bother correcting her. At this point, it's expected. The bowling alley is not the worst place Jungwon's ever worked but it's close. The carpet is a geometric nightmare from the eighties, half the lanes have technical issues, and the sound system shorts out every other week. But the owner lets them use the back room for band practice as long as Jungwon keeps everything running, so he fixes bowling shoes, unjams pin setters, and pretends he knows what he's doing with electrical wiring. When he arrives, Jake is trying to kick open the storage room door. "It's stuck again," Jake announces, slamming his shoulder against it.

"Stop, you're going to break it." Jungwon drops the snacks on the front counter and heads over. He jiggles the handle, pulls instead of pushes and the door swings open easily.

Jake stares at him. "I tried that."

"Sure you did."

Inside, Sunghoon and Heeseung are setting up their equipment in the cramped space between old bowling balls and stacks of rental shoes. There's barely enough room for the drum kit, two guitars, and the microphone stand, but they make it work. "Oh good, you brought food," Heeseung says, immediately abandoning his guitar to grab a bag of chips. "The vending machine robbed me."

"So I've been told."

"Did he also tell you that Sunghoon broke a drumstick on the second song yesterday?"

"I didn't break it," Sunghoon protests from behind the kit. "It broke itself."

"Sticks don't just break themselves, Sunghoon," Jake says.

"This one did. It was defective."

"You hit the cymbal too hard."

"That's literally my job! I'm the drummer!"

Jungwon collapses into a folding chair that wobbles dangerously under his weight. Jay emerges from the tiny bathroom drying his hands on his jeans. "So," Jay says, sitting on an overturned bucket. "We're back to square one."

"Square zero," Jake corrects. "Square one implies we made progress at some point."

"We've made progress," Heeseung argues. "We're way better than we were a year ago."

"Cool. Still broke and unknown, though."

"Thanks for that, Sunghoon. Really motivating." Jungwon says.

Jake cracks open an energy drink. "What about that other label? The one Jungwon emailed last month?"

"Rejected us two weeks ago," Jungwon says flatly. "I didn't want to bring it up."

"How many is that now?" Sunghoon asks.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Not really, no."

Heeseung tears open his chip bag with too much force and half the contents spill onto the floor. "This is fine. Everything is fine."

"Nothing about this is fine," Jake says, but he's grinning. "We're a struggling band practicing in a bowling alley that smells like feet."

"It's character building," Jay offers.

"I have enough character. I want a record deal."

Jungwon leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. This is his life now. Working a dead end job at a bowling alley, managing a band that can't catch a break and somehow always being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then his phone buzzes. He checks it, hoping for something good, literally anything good. It's an email from his landlord. Rent is going up next month. "You good?" Jay asks.

"Rent increase."

"Of course it is." Jay tosses him an energy drink. "Drink that. You look dead."

"I feel dead."

Sunghoon taps his drumsticks together. "Okay, pity party's over. We practicing or what?"

"What's the point?" Jake asks. "Not like anyone's going to hear us."

"The point," Heeseung says, picking up his guitar, "is that we're good, and eventually someone's going to notice. Right, Jungwon?"

Jungwon opens his eyes. All four of them are looking at him like he has answers. He doesn't. He really, really doesn't. "Right," he says anyway, because that's what managers do. "Someone's going to notice."

"There we go. Inspirational leadership." Jay picks up his bass. "Let's run through the new song. The one Heeseung wrote."

"It's not done yet," Heeseung protests.

"Then we'll workshop it."

They launch into the song, and it actually sounds good. For a few minutes, Jungwon lets himself believe that maybe, possibly, things could work out. Then the power cuts out. The music dies instantly. The lights flicker and stay off. "Are you kidding me right now?" Sunghoon's voice comes from the darkness.

Jungwon pulls out his phone flashlight and sighs. "I'll check the breaker."

"This place is cursed," Jake says.

"No," Jungwon mutters, heading toward the electrical panel in the hallway. "I'm cursed. The place is just old."

He finds the breaker box and flips the switches. Nothing happens. He tries again. Still nothing. From inside the storage room, he hears Heeseung say, "How much do you want to bet that Jungwon's phone dies right now?" On cue, Jungwon's phone screen goes black. He stands in the dark hallway of a broken down bowling alley, his phone dead in his hand, his band waiting for him to fix something he has no idea how to fix, and he thinks, not for the first time today, that whoever's hoarding all the good luck in the world needs to share. Just a little bit.

The cafe is packed on some Thursday afternoon which makes sense because it's the only decent coffee place within walking distance of your office. You and Sunoo have been coming here at least twice a week for the past six months. "I'm getting the lavender latte," Sunoo announces, studying the menu board like he doesn't get the same thing every time. "What about you?"

"Regular iced coffee. I need to be functional for the rest of the day."

"Boring." He steps aside to let you order first. You shake your head and approach the counter.

The barista smiles at you. "Hi, what can I get you?"

"Just an iced coffee, please. Medium."

She rings it up, and then her eyes widen slightly as she looks at the computer screen. "Oh, wait. Hold on." She turns to call over her shoulder. "Manager? Can you come here for a second?" A guy with a name tag reading "Mark" appears from the back. "What's up?"

"She's the one thousandth customer this month."

Mark breaks into a grin and looks at you. "Congratulations! You get your order for free today, plus a gift card for next time."

You blink. "Really?"

"Really. It's this thing corporate makes us do for customer appreciation." He's already pulling out a gift card from behind the register. "Here you go. Twenty dollars."

"Thank you," you say, taking it. This is objectively ridiculous, but you've learned to just accept these things when they happen. Sunoo appears at your elbow, looking betrayed. "Are you serious right now?"

"What?"

"Didn't you win this same thing last month?"

"That was two months ago."

"That doesn't make it better!" Sunoo turns to the barista. "She's literally the luckiest person alive. It's unfair."

The barista laughs. "Lucky day, I guess."

"Lucky life," Sunoo mutters, but he's smiling. "Okay, I'll have the lavender latte. Medium. Which I will be paying for, apparently."

You step to the side to wait for your drink and Sunoo moves up to the counter. Behind him, the line has grown longer. There's a guy standing there now, hands shoved in his jacket pockets and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. He's cute, you notice. Dark hair, big cat looking but tired eyes, nice face, a really nice face. He's staring at the menu board with intensity.

The door to the cafe swings open, and a woman with a huge purse barrels in, not looking where she's going. Her bag clips the side of a display stand near the entrance, and everything happens in slow motion. The stand wobbles. Jungwon is standing right next to it, completely unaware. The stand tips forward, and bags of coffee beans slide off the shelves, tumbling directly toward him. He turns just in time to see them coming. "Oh, come on—"

Three bags hit the floor around his feet, one of them splitting open on impact. Coffee beans scatter everywhere, rolling across the tile like marbles. "I'm so sorry!" the woman with the purse says, horrified.

"It's fine," Jungwon says, but his voice suggests it is very much not fine. He crouches down and starts trying to gather the beans, but they keep rolling away from him. One escapes under a table and another somehow rolls behind the counter. Mark rushes over with a broom. "Don't worry about it, man. We've got it."

"I can help —"

"Seriously, it's okay. Happens all the time." Jungwon knows it doesn't.

He stands up, and there are coffee beans stuck to his jeans. He brushes them off, looking exhausted in a way that seems deeper than just this one incident. Your eyes meet for a second. He's definitely cute. Even covered in coffee beans and looking like the universe personally inconvenienced him, there's something about him. He looks at you for just a moment longer, and you think maybe he's about to smile, or say something, but then the barista calls out, "Iced coffee for Y/N?"

"That's me," you say, breaking eye contact. You grab your drink from the counter and Sunoo gets his latte a moment later, and you both move toward the table. Jungwon is still standing near the wreckage of the coffee bean display waiting for the line to move forward.

"So," Sunoo says as you find a small table near the window, "did you secure the venue for the HYBE event?"

"Yeah, that gallery space in Midtown."

"Oh, the fancy one. Very masquerade ball-ish."

"Exactly. And we finalized the catering this morning. The guest list is almost done. HYBE's sending over the final names tomorrow."

"How many people?"

"Three hundred and twelve, last count."

Sunoo whistles. "That's huge. When's the event again?"

"Two weeks from Saturday. It's tight, but everything's been going smoothly so far."

"Of course it has. Because you're involved."

You laugh. "I don't think it works like that."

Behind you, you hear the cute guy finally reach the counter. His voice carries slightly. "Just a black coffee. Small."

"That'll be three fifty."

There's a pause. Then: "Uh, the reader's not working."

"Oh, sorry, yeah — it does this sometimes. Try again?"

Another pause. "Still nothing."

"Hmm. Let me reboot it real quick."

You glance over your shoulder without meaning to. Jungwon is standing there, card in hand, looking like he expected this exact scenario. "Give it a sec. It should work now."

After a while, Jungwon takes his coffee, looking stunned, and heads toward the door. As he passes your table, you catch a fragment of his muttered words: "...fuck my stupid baka life..."

"Okay, that guy had the worst luck I've ever seen," Sunoo says, watching him go. "Like, the exact opposite of you."

"Maybe he's just having a bad day."

You smile and finish your coffee. Outside, Jungwon has finally walked away, disappearing around the corner. You wonder, briefly, if you'll ever see him again. And Jungwon walks six blocks before he realizes he's going the wrong direction. He turns around, coffee in hand and tries to retrace his steps. His shoe squelches with every step. The puddle outside the cafe had been deeper than it looked. But he's not thinking about his wet shoe, or the card reader, or the coffee beans. He's thinking about the conversation he overheard.

His brain is already working through possibilities. If HYBE is hosting an event to showcase new artists, that means they're looking. That means there's an opportunity. He just has to figure out how to get ENHYPEN in front of them. You had said something about a meeting with HYBE's events team, which means you're involved somehow, probably with the event planning company. Jungwon pulls out his phone and types out a text to the group chat.

[jungwon:] emergency practice tonight smth came up and i have an idea [jay:] Is it a good idea or a Jungwon idea? [jungwon:] does it matter baka [heeseung:] kinda but yeah [jake:] i'm in but if i lose 20 bucks again ur dead [jungwon:] dude i already told u ill pay u back damn [sunghoon:] Do I have a choice? [jungwon:] no [sunghoon:] Then I'm in I guess

He'd gone home that day and done what he does best: research. He found out everything he could about HYBE's event. The date, two weeks away now. The location — some gallery in Midtown with a name he couldn't pronounce. The purpose — networking and showcasing new talent. And most importantly, the person in charge of casting decisions: Yoon Jeonghan, HYBE's A&R director. So the plan is: Get a demo to Jeonghan, get ENHYPEN noticed. Simple. Except nothing in Jungwon's life is ever simple.

The band spent the last two weeks practicing like their lives depended on it because maybe they did. They ran through their setlist so many times that the bowling alley's owner asked if they were training for Coachella. Jungwon recorded sample tracks; three of their best songs, mixed and mastered as well as he could manage with the equipment they had. He burned them onto a CD, wrote "ENHYPEN" in his neatest handwriting on the disc, and put it in a case that didn't look too cheap.

Now he just needed to get it into Jeonghan's hands. The masquerade ball was invitation only. Black tie. Three hundred of the most important people in the music industry. Security would be tight and Jungwon needed a way in. His first thought was to show up in a suit and try to blend in with the guests, but that plan died when he pulled his only decent suit out of the closet and found a cigarette burn hole right on the lapel. He still doesn't know how that happened, he doesn't even smoke. So the suit was out.

Plan B: get in as staff. Catering companies always needed extra help for big events, and Jungwon had waited tables before. He found the company handling the HYBE event; some place called Élite Affairs and called asking about a day of work. They were desperate and they hired him over the phone. The mask was easier. He found a plain black one at a costume shop for fifteen dollars, it wasn't fancy but it would do. The catering uniform would cover most of him anyway. Everything was set: three days from now he'd walk into that gallery as a waiter, find Yoon Jeonghan, and hand him the CD. Maybe strike up a conversation, maybe get the guy to actually listen to ENHYPEN's music. It wasn't a great plan, but it was a plan. And right now, that was more than Jungwon usually had.

And for you, the last two weeks have been perfect. The invitations went out on time, HYBE's events team approved the design immediately with no revisions needed. The decor came together exactly as you had envisioned. The gallery place looked like something out of a drama, and Yunjin locked down the entertainment, a string quartet for the beginning of the night, a DJ for later and live performances from three of HYBE's upcoming artists. Riki organized the seating chart without a single complaint from any of the guests, which might be the the most impressive accomplishment of all. Sunoo coordinated with the catering company, and you did a tasting last week, needless to say everything was perfect. Director Kim stopped by your desk yesterday and said, "I don't know how you do it, but keep doing it." And you'd just smiled, because this was what you do. Things work out, they always have.

Saturday arrives with not a single cloud in the sky, which surprises absolutely no one who knows you. You were up at seven, even though the event doesn't start until seven pm. You make coffee, go over the timeline one more time and confirm with the team via group text that everyone's on schedule.

Your dress had been a last minute find, you'd gone shopping three days ago, fully expecting to spend hours searching and found it in the first store. Black, floor length with delicate beading along the neckline that catches the light when you move. It fits perfectly with no alterations needed. And the mask was even easier, you'd walked past a boutique on your way home from work yesterday and saw it in the window: black lace with gold accents and which matched your dress perfectly.

Meanwhile, Jungwon wakes up at noon in a cold sweat from a nightmare where he tripped and spilled an entire tray of champagne on Yoon Jeonghan. He lies there for a moment, staring at the water stain on his ceiling and thinks: Don't. Mess. This. Up. Please, for once in your life.

The catering uniform is hanging on the back of his door, they'd given it to him yesterday during the brief orientation, and it's slightly too big but he'd expected that. He tried on last night to make sure nothing was egregiously wrong. The shirt had a small stain on the cuff but he could scrub it out, probably. The mask sits on his dresser plain black and simple and forgettable, perfect for blending in. He showers and shaves and tries to make himself look presentable. His hair won't cooperate though, which is standard. He gives up after ten minutes and just runs his hands through it.

The CD is in a thin envelope on his desk. He'd checked it approximately fifty times to make sure it actually works and it does; all three tracks, clear audio, no skips. He slips it into the inside pocket of his vest. And by three pm, he's dressed and standing in front of his bathroom mirror, giving himself a pep talk. "You're going to walk in, do your job, find Jeonghan and give him the CD. Have a normal, pleasant and professional conversation with him. Don't spill anything, don't break anything. Don't. Mess. This. Up."

You arrive at four for the final walkthrough, and even though you've seen the space decorated before, it still takes your breath away. Sunoo walks over, adjusting his tie. "Catering's almost done setting up. They brought extra staff, so we're covered if it gets busy."

"Guest check in?"

"Ready. Riki's handling the mask distribution for anyone who forgets theirs."

You exhale. "Okay. Okay, we're ready."

Director Kim — Chaewon, she'd insisted last week ("We're friends, please, call me Chaewon") appears in a stunning black gown with her mask already in place. "This is beautiful," she says, surveying the room. "You've outdone yourself. Enjoy tonight. You've earned it."

Jungwon arrives at the gallery at 4:50 PM, which he considers a miracle. The catering manager briefs the staff in the gallery's kitchen. "This is a high profile event," she says, pacing in front of them. "HYBE's reputation is on the line, which means ours is too. You will be polite, efficient and invisible. If a guest needs something, you get it. If something goes wrong you find me. Do not — I repeat, do not — draw attention to yourselves." Jungwon nods along with everyone else. "Masks stay on at all times while you're in the event space. You'll be serving passed appetizers during the cocktail hour, then transitioning to table service for dinner. Questions?" No one has questions. "Good, masks on. Let's go."

They assign him to pass champagne during cocktail hour. Jungwon adjusts his mask and follows the group into the main gallery. And okay, he has to admit it looks incredible. By seven PM, the gallery is already full. You're standing near the entrance with Chaewon, greeting guests as they arrive. HYBE's executives arrived twenty minutes ago, you recognize a few faces from meetings, though the masks make it harder. Sunoo appears, grinning. "Okay, I have to show you something, come on." He leads you toward the back corner of the gallery, where a small booth has been set up. There's a sign: Madame Clarrisse - Fortune Teller. "HYBE requested this last minute," Sunoo explains. "Apparently one of their executives is really into this stuff. She's been reading palms for the last half hour."

You peer into the booth. A woman in an eleborate purple gown and a jeweled mask sits at a small table, holding a guest's hand. "You want to get your fortune read?"Sunoo asks.

"Why not? Could be fun."

"You already know your fortune, bitch. You're lucky as fuck." Sunoo says with a grin, teasing you, and you laugh along with him.

You wait until the current guest finishes, then slip into the chair across from Madame Clarisse. She's older, maybe sixties. "Give me your hand, dear," she says. You extend your right hand, and she takes it, turning it over, tracing the lines on your palm with one finger and her expression shift. "Interesting," she murmurs. "Your luck line is very strong, remarkably so." She pauses, studying it closer. "But there's a break here, right at the end."

"A break?"

"Yes. Your luck is about to run out."

You laugh through your nose. "Yeah, okay."

"I'm serious, dear. Whatever fortune you've had, it's ending. Soon." Sunoo, standing behind you, snorts. Madame Clarisse looks up, her eyes meeting yours. "Be careful tonight."

"Right. Thanks." You pull your hand back, still smiling.

You and Sunoo walk away, and he is still laughing. "That was the worst fortune telling I've ever seen. 'Your luck is ending.' What kind of scam is that? The fuck does she want you to do?"

"At least she committed to the bit."

"She's probably telling everyone the same thing, so you can come back or whatever and give her more money." You sip your champagne and scan the room. Everything is perfect — guests are mingling, the music is beautiful and the food is being served. Your luck isn't going anywhere.

Jungwon has been circling the gallery for forty minutes and he still hasn't found Jeonghan. He's served champagne to at least sixty people. He's narrowly avoided colliding with another waiter twice. He's successfully kept his tray balanced despite someone bumping into him. So far, nothing terrible has happened, which is almost suspicious.

He's starting to think Jeonghan isn't there when he finally spots him near the bar, talking to a girl in a black dress and lace mask and Jungwon's heart jumps. That's him, that's definitely him. Jungwon's seen enough photos to recognize him even with the mask. So he moves closer, trying to look casual, waiting for an opening. You laugh at something Jeonghan says, you're gesturing animatedly, clearly comfortable. Jungwon wonders if you're someone important or just a guest. After a few minutes, Jeonghan excuses himself and walks toward the restrooms. This is Jungwon's chance. But he needs a better approach than just ambushing the guy in a hallway. He needs context and information.

You're still standing by the bar, alone now, watching the room with the satisfied feeling of seeing everything go exactly according to plan. Then, Jungwon makes a decision. He walks over, tray balanced in one hand, and stops just close enough that you notice him. "Champagne?"

You turn, and there's something about the way he's looking at you, even through the mask. You can see his smiling, but not the polite server smile, almost a grin, more genuine, maybe. "Sure, thank you."

You take the glass and your fingers brush his for a second, and he should walk away now. That's what waiters do, right? Serve and move on. Instead, he stays. "You seem like you're having a good time."

There's a lightness to his voice, almost playful, and you find yourself smiling back. "I am. It's a beautiful event."

"Yeah, it really is." He glances around the room and then back at you. "Someone clearly knows what they're doing."

You smile at that. "Thank you," you say, taking a sip.

His eyebrows raise slightly behind the mask. "So you're the one running this whole thing?"

"Not alone, obviously. But I'm helping, yeah."

"That's impressive." He leans in just a little, enough that you catch a hint of cologne. "Must've been a lot of work."

"It was. But it's worth it when everything comes together like this." You tilt your head studying him. "What about you? You're not supposed to be chatting with guests, are you?"

He grins, and it's disarming. "Probably not. But you looked interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Friendly," he corrects quickly. "You looked friendly."

"Friendly. Right." You take a sip of champagne, hiding your smile. "That's one way to put it."

There's something easy about him. The way he stands there, relaxed but also attentive, like he's got nowhere else to be even though you both know he does. You're not sure why you're still talking to him, but you don't exactly want to stop. "So do you work for HYBE?" he asks, like he's genuinely curious.

"No. I'm with the event company. We're the ones who put all this together."

"Ah." He nods and you swear you see something shift in his expression — relief, maybe? Interest? "That explains the whole 'owning the place' vibe."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Definitely a compliment."

You laugh again, and he seems pleased by that. "What about you? Do you usually work at events like this or is this a one time thing?"

"Sometimes," he says a little too casually. "It's good money. Plus, you know, I get to see how the other half lives." He glances down at his tray and then back at you. "Though I have to say, this is probably the nicest one I've ever worked."

"Well, we tried."

"You succeeded."

There's a beat of silence, and you realize you've been looking at him for longer than it's probably normal. Even with the mask covering half of his face, there's something about him. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the easy confidence in the way he talks. He seems to realize it too because he straightens up slightly. "Well, I should probably get back to work before my boss notices I've been standing here flirting with a guest."

The word hangs in the air. Flirting. "Is that what you're doing?" you ask, smirking, and your voice comes out more playful than you intended.

He doesn't miss a beat. "Maybe. Was it working?"

You bite back a smile. "I don't know, were you trying?"

"Not at first," he admits. "But now I kind of am."

You heart does something stupid in your chest, and you take another nervous sip of champagne to cover it. "Well, you should probably go before you get in trouble."

"Probably." But he doesn't move. "Thanks for letting me talk your ear off."

"Anytime."

He takes a step back and then pauses. "What's your name?"

You hesitate. There's something fun about the anonymity of the masks, the idea that you're both strangers at a party. "Does it matter? We're all wearing masks."

He considers this and then grins. "Fair point — mystery makes it more interesting anyway."

"Exactly."

"So what do I call you then?"

"Hot and mysterious event planner?" you offer, smirking.

"I like it." He smirks back. "What about me?"

"Hmm…" You pretend to think about it. "Hot and mysterious waiter who's definitely breaking the rules right now?"

He laughs and it's genuine, the kind of laugh that makes you want to hear again. "That's a mouthful."

"You asked, though."

"I did." He's still smiling as he starts to back away. "Guess I'll see you around, hot and mysterious event planner."

"Maybe," you say. "If you're lucky."

Jungwon laughs at that. Well, he's never lucky, but maybe tonight's different. And then he's gone, slipping back into the crowd and you're left standing there with an empty champagne glass and the strangest feeling that you just met someone you weren't really supposed to. You don't even know his name, but you're smiling anyway.

An hour later, you've had three glasses of champagne, and the room has taken on a pleasantly soft glow. Everything is still going perfectly, the guests are happy, nobody's complained about anything. Chaewon even pulled you aside twenty minutes ago to tell you that HYBE's CEO personally complimented the event. You're riding high on success and champagne when Sunoo finds you near the dessert table. "Okay, so I've been thinking about that fortune teller," he says, already giggling. "What if your luck does run out tonight?"

"Then I guess I'll have to live like a normal person," you say, popping a chocolate covered strawberry into your mouth.

"Terrifying. Truly." He leans against the table, scanning the room. "Although, the way you're going, you'll probably find a sugar daddy at this party and never have to work again."

You snort. "Please. I want to be my own sugar daddy."

"Okay, boss. Independent woman. I respect it." He takes a sip of his drink. "But seriously, with your luck, you could probably kiss someone random tonight and they'd turn out to be the love of your life or something."

"Sunoo."

"I'm just saying! It's how your life works."

You roll your eyes. "You know me. I don't just go around kissing people."

"Maybe you should start. Live a little." He gestures broadly at the masked crowd. "Everyone's anonymous anyway. It's very romantic."

You're about to respond when you catch sight of Jungwon across the room. He's standing near one of the tall windows but he's not really working. He's just there, and the mask obscures most of his face but you'd recognize the way he stands anywhere. "Oh my god," you say. "You've seen that waiter? The one by the window."

Sunoo follows your gaze and nearly chokes on his drink. "Are you serious right now?"

"What?"

"You — of all the people at this party, all the rich executives and hot industry people — you're looking at a waiter?"

"He's cute!"

"He's working!"

"So? What's your point?" Sunoo stares at you like you've lost your mind. "My point is there are literal celebrities here, and you want to flirt with the helper," he says.

"Don't be snobby, Sunoo. It doesn't suit you."

"I'm not being snobby, I'm being logical." But he's grinning now. "Oh god. You have that look."

"What look?"

"The I'm about to do something impulsive look." Sunoo sets his glass down on the table. "Okay, this I have to see."

"See what?"

"You, flirting with a waiter at the most important event of your career."

You cross your arms. "I can flirt with whoever I want."

"I'm not saying you can't. I'm just saying it's very on brand for you to ignore everyone in favor of—"

"He seems nice and he's very charming."

"And you've talked to him for like, what? Five minutes?!"

"And?! So what! You've dated people you talked for less."

Sunoo gasps, hand over his chest. "Rude. But fair." He looks at the waiter again then back at you. " But you did say you don't just kiss random people."

"Maybe I'm feeling spontaneous tonight."

"Because of the fortune teller?"

"Because of the champagne."

Sunoo laughs. "Okay. Okay, I dare you to go over there and shoot your shot with the cute waiter, since you're so confident."

You look at him, then at the waiter, then back at Sunoo. "Fine."

"Wait, seriously?"

"You literally just dared me."

"I didn't think you'd actually—" But you're already walking away, and Sunoo's laughter follows you across the room. Meanwhile, Jungwon has given up on finding Yoon Jeonghan. Not permanently but just for the next ten minutes, because he's been nursing a cocktail he swiped from a tray, and the room is spinning just slightly, and honestly? He's tired of stressing. He's leaning against the window just watching the party, and somehow thinking about the girl in the black dress, you. He hasn't seen you in a while, which was probably for the best because he was supposed to be working and not flirting with guests who are way out of his league. And then, as if summoned by his thoughts, you appear in front of him. "Hi again."

Jungwon straightens up immediately. "Oh. Hey."

"You looked lonely over here."

"Did I?"

"A little." You're smiling, and there's something loser about you now, more relaxed. "What happened to working?"

"Taking a break," he says, and you notice the way his mouth curves, not quite a smirk but close.

"Good. Breaks are important."

You lean against the window next to him, close enough that your bare arm almost brushes his sleeve. Close enough to notice things you didn't before, like the way his dark hair falls just slightly into his eyes or the way his mask doesn't quite hide the sharp line of his jaw. "So. Hot and mysterious waiter."

"Hot and mysterious event planner," he counters, and now he's definitely smirking.

"Are you having fun?"

"More fun than I expected," he admits, and his eyes — god, his eyes are so focused on you it makes your stomach flip. "You?"

"It's been a good night." You tilt your head studying him openly now. "You know, I never got to ask — do you always flirt with guests, or am I special?"

He laughs, and it's lower than you expected. "Definitely not always. You're a special case."

"Special how?"

"I don't know yet." He shifts his weight, angling toward you. "Still figuring it out."

You bite your lip without thinking and you watch his gaze drop to your mouth for just a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. "Well, let me know when you do."

"I will."

The air between you feels different now, more charged. The masks aren't even hiding you from each other anymore, it's more like they're giving you permission. "Can I ask you something?" You ask.

"Sure."

"Why did you come over to talk to me earlier? Really."

He considers for a moment and you notice the way he runs his tongue briefly over his bottom lip, a tell that he's thinking. "Because you looked interesting. And I wanted an excuse to talk to you."

"That's it?"

"That's it." He shifts closer. "Is that okay?"

"It's more than okay." You're looking at him, really looking, trying to memorize the details the mask doesn't hide.

"You know what," his voice drops a little lower. "You don't seem like someone who spends all their time planning fancy parties."

"What do I seem like, then?"

He takes his time answering, and his eyes moving over your face like he's reading you. You notice things about him too like the way he's tall enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to hold his gaze or the way his shoulders are broader than you initially thought. "Like someone I'd want to know," he says finally. "If we weren't both wearing masks at a party where we were both supposed to be working."

Your smile widens, and your heart is doing something stupid in your chest. "That's a good answer."

"Thanks. I try."

"Do you, though?"

"Not usually, no." He grins and it's devastating. "Tonight's an exception."

You laugh, because there's something about him that makes you want to be bold, want to push boundaries you normally wouldn't. "Okay, you're trouble," you say, but it comes out almost affectionate.

"Me?" He raises an eyebrow. "You're the one who came over here, love."

The petname makes you shiver. "Fair point."

You're standing even closer now. You're not sure when that happened but there's barely any space left between you. You can feel your pulse in your throat and you're aware of everything — the warmth of his body, the way he's looking at you. You should step back, you should remember that you're at the most important event of your career, that he's working, and that you don't even know his name. But you don't want to. Instead, you say, "What if I told you," and you take a step closer, "that I'm not very good at making decisions?"

His lips curve into a smile. "Then I'd say that's hard to believe."

"Why?"

"Because you seem like someone who knows exactly what she wants."

Your heart skips. "Do I?"

"Yeah." He reaches up, and his fingers brush a strand of hair away from your face. "You do."

The contact sends a shiver through you. His hand lingers near your cheek and you can't tell if he's being deliberate or if he's just as caught up in this as you are. "And what if," you breathe, "what I want is a bad idea?"

"Then maybe," he says and his thumb grazing your jaw now, "you should stop thinking so much."

"Is that your professional advice?"

"Definitely not professional." His eyes are locked on yours. "Nothing about this is professional."

"No," you agree. "It's really not."

The space between you has narrowed to almost nothing. You can feel the heat radiating off him, see the way his chest rises and falls just a little faster than normal. His hand is still at your face, and yours has somehow found its way to his chest, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his vest. His eyes search yours for a long moment, and then, "Come here," he murmurs.

You close the distance. The kiss starts soft, like he's giving you a chance to change your mind. His lips are warm and gentle against yours, his hand cradling your face. But then you press closer, your hand sliding up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and something shifts. He makes a sound low in his throat and the gentleness evaporates. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and his mouth moves against yours with an urgency that steals your breath.

And oh god, he can kiss. It's all consuming, like the way his tongue traces the seam of your mouth before slipping inside. He tastes like champagne, even though he probably shouldn't be drinking during work hours and that somehow makes him even hotter. His hand tightens at your waist while the other cups your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss even further. You press closer, and he responds immediately, his fingers sliding into your hair, careful not to dislodge your mask but possessive. You feel something shift inside you — something fundamental and terrifying and exhilarating, like a lock clicking into place. It feels like the ground beneath your feet just tilted, and it feels significant in a way you can't explain. Like the before and after of your life just split into two distinct halves, and this moment, this kiss, this person is the dividing line.

When you finally break apart it's only because you need air. His forehead rests against yours, and you're both breathing hard, your fingers still tangled in his hair, his hands still holding tight. "Jesus," he breathes.

You laugh, breathless. "Yeah."

"That was—"

"I know."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and even through the mask you can see the way his pupils are blown wide and his lips are slightly swollen from kissing you. He looks wrecked in the best way. His thumb traces your bottom lip. "We should probably—" You don't finish the sentence because you don't actually know what you should do. Stop? Keep going? Pretend this didn't feel like it just shifted something fundamental in your universe?

"Yeah," he agrees, even though neither of you moves.

You're still pressed against each other, his hand still in your hair, yours still on his chest. "This is crazy," you say. "I just kissed a waiter at my own event."

"I just kissed a guest when I'm supposed to be working." He grins. "Should we stop?"

You consider this for approximately half a second. "No."

"Good answer, love." He's leaning in again, his hand coming back up to cup your face, and you're already closing your eyes when you hear a loud crash. The kind of sound that makes an entire party go silent, and you both freeze. "What was that?" he asks.

You turn toward the main floor and your stomach drops. Director Kim, Chaewon, is standing in the middle of the dance floor, her mask askew, pointing an accusatory finger at a woman in a red dress. The woman is pointing right back and even from here you can tell they're both several drinks past professional. "Oh no," you breathe. "My boss. Oh my god."

Chaewon's voice carries across the gallery. "You have some NERVE showing up here!"

The woman in red gets right in her face. "I was INVITED!"

"By WHO?" Security is already moving toward them, and you're moving too, I mean you're already running or trying to, in heels and a floor length dress. You reach the stairs leading down to the main floor and you're halfway down when your heel catches on the hem of your dress. The snap is audible. Your shoe — your perfect, expensive, matched to the dress shoe — breaks clean off. You stumble, barely catching yourself on the railing, and hobble the rest of the way down with one heel and one bare foot.

By the time you reach the dance floor, Chaewon has grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing tray and looks like she's considering throwing it. "Chaewon," you say, breathless, trying to step between them. "Hey. Let's just—"

"She's sleeping with my husband!" the woman in red shrieks.

The entire gallery is watching now. All three hundred guests. HYBE executives. Press. Everyone. "I am NOT —" Chaewon starts.

"You absolutely ARE—"

A security guard finally reaches them, gently but firmly taking Chaewon by the arm. "Don't touch me!" She yanks her arm away and nearly loses her balance. Her mask falls off completely, and you try again. "Chaewon, please, let's just go outside and—"

"Where were you?" Chaewon whirls on you and her eyes are unfocused. "You're supposed to be MANAGING this event!"

"I was — I am—"

"Mrs. Choi was NOT supposed to be on the guest list!" She gestures wildly at the woman in red. "I specifically told you to make sure her name wasn't on there!"

Your blood runs cold. "What?"

"I sent you an email! Two weeks ago!"

You remember it now, an email buried in your inbox, unread, flagged as low priority by your email filter: Please remove Mrs. Choi from the final guest list. Personal reasons. "I didn't see it," you whisper.

"You DIDN'T SEE IT?" Chaewon's voice echoes. "This is YOUR job! This whole night was YOUR responsibility, and you —" Mrs. Choi interrupts, her voice icy. "My husband is Director Choi from HYBE. And I will be making sure he knows exactly how this event was run."

Your stomach plummets to your feet. The head of security appears. "I'm going to have to ask both of you to leave."

"This is ridiculous," Chaewon slurs but she's already being guided toward the door. You follow with one shoe on, one shoe off, your dress torn at the hem, your mask crooked, and your entire career presumably in ruins. He escorts you and Chaewon out through the main entrance and the cool night air hits you. "This is your fault," Chaewon says. "This whole thing is your fault."

"I didn't see the email —"

"That's not an excuse! You were supposed to be on top of everything!" She laughs bitterly. "God, I actually thought you were good at this. Director Han kept saying you were so lucky, so perfect, nothing ever goes wrong for you —"

"Chaewon—"

"Director Kim. Well, congratulations. Something finally went wrong." She flags down a taxi and stumbles into it, and disappears into the night without another word. You stand there on the sidewalk, your dress ruined, your career probably over, and you think about the fortune teller: Your luck is about to run out. Maybe she wasn't kidding after all.

Inside, Jungwon watches the whole thing unfold with a mixture of horror and disbelief. He should find you and make sure you're okay, do something. But then he sees Yoon Jeonghan, walking toward the exit with his phone pressed to his ear, looking slightly irritated. This is it. This is Jungwon's chance. He hesitates for only a second — thinking about you, about the kiss, about how wrong it feels to just let you leave like that — but then reality crashes back in. He came here for a reason. He has a band counting on him, he has a CD in his pocket that represents two years of work. He can find you later, maybe, somehow.

Jungwon follows Jeonghan, keeping enough distance to not look suspicious. Jeonghan stops at the curb still on his phone, waiting for his car. Jungwon's hand goes to his pocket, feeling for the CD. He takes a step forward and a car comes around the corner fast and Jeonghan, distracted by his phone call, steps off the curb without looking. Jungwon doesn't think, he just lunges forward, grabbing Jeonghan's arm and yanking him back onto the sidewalk. The car blares past, missing them by inches. Jeonghan drops his phone. "What the—"

"You almost got hit," Jungwon says, breathing hard.

Jeonghan stares at him, then at the street, then back at him. "I — you just—"

"You weren't looking."

"I wasn't—" Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair, visibly shaken. "Jesus. Thank you. That car would've—" They stand there for a moment, both processing what almost happened. Jeonghan bends down to pick up his phone, miraculously uncracked, and looks at Jungwon properly for the first time. "You work for the catering company?"

"Uh, yeah. Tonight, anyway."

"Well, you just saved my life, so." Jeonghan laughs shaky. "Thank you. Seriously."

"No problem."

Jeonghan's car pulls up and he opens the door, then pauses. "What's your name?"

"Jungwon. Yang Jungwon."

"Well, Jungwon. I owe you one." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a business card. "If you ever need anything, just call me."

Jungwon takes the card and his heart is pounding. "Actually," he says, pulling the CD from his pocket before he can lose his nerve, "I have something. If you have a second."

Jeonghan looks at the CD then at Jungwon, curious. "What is it?"

"A demo. For my band. It's called ENHYPEN. I'm their manager, and they're — they're really good, and I know everyone says that, but they are. They've been trying to get signed for two years, and I just —" He takes a breath. "I just want someone to listen. That's all."

Jeonghan studies him for a long moment and then takes the CD. "You just saved my life," he says. "The least I can do is listen to your band."

"Really?"

"Really." Jeonghan slides into his car. "I'll call you next week. We'll talk." Jungwon stands on the sidewalk watching him leave, his business card in one hand, the ghost of the CD in the other, and he can't quite believe what just happened. He almost got Yoon Jeonghan killed. Then he saved Yoon Jeonghan's life. And now Yoon Jeonghan has his demo. He looks up at the night sky and thinks, for the first time in his entire life — maybe his luck is finally changing.

The week after the masquerade ball is, without exaggeration, the worst week of your life.

Monday morning, you're fired. Director Han doesn't even look at you when she says it. Just slides a severance packet across her desk and tells you that "given the circumstances," it's best if you "pursue other opportunities." The circumstances being: HYBE terminated their contract with the company. Effective immediately, no future projects, no referrals, nothing. All because Mrs. Choi told her husband what happened, and Director Choi told HYBE's CEO, and suddenly the company that organized the event where the director got publicly accused of having an affair is no longer a company HYBE wants to be associated with. Chaewon hasn't responded to any of your texts. You're pretty sure she's blocked your number.

Tuesday, you spill coffee all over yourself on the subway. Your white shirt is completely ruined, and you have a job interview in twenty minutes. You show up looking like a disaster. You don't get the job. Your landlord calls on wednesday. "I'm so sorry," He says, and he actually sounds sorry. "But the building's been sold. New owners want everyone out by the end of the week for renovations."

"End of the week? That's in two days!"

"I know. I'm really sorry. It's out of my hands."

You spend wednesday night frantically searching for apartments you can afford, which turns out to be zero apartments, because you no longer have a job and your savings are pathetic. Friday, you move into Sunoo's apartment with two suitcases and a dying plant you've somehow managed to keep alive for three years. "It's temporary," you tell him, setting your stuff down in his tiny living room.

"Stay as long as you need," Sunoo says. He's being incredibly nice about this, considering his apartment is barely big enough for one person. "The couch pulls out into a bed. Kind of."

You test it. It does not pull out into a bed, it pulls out into a medieval torture device. "It's perfect," you lie. Saturday, you go to three more job interviews and none of them go well. One of them ends with the interviewer asking if you're feeling okay because you "seem stressed." You are stressed. You're very stressed. Sunday, you're sitting on Sunoo's couch (your new bed) eating cereal and staring at nothing, when Sunoo comes out of his room. "Okay," he says. "I've been thinking. Remember the fortune teller? At the party?"

You look at him. "How could I forget."

"Yeah." Sunoo sits down next to you. "I think she was right."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Like, everything went wrong in your life. Literally everything all at once in one week."

"I got it Sunoo. What's your point?"

"My point is what if she actually did something? Like what if it wasn't just a prediction? What if she cursed you or something?"

You stare at him. "Sunoo. She's a party entertainer, not a witch."

"You don't know that!"

"I'm pretty sure—"

"All I'm saying is, your entire life fell apart the night she touched your hand. That's suspicious."

You want to argue, but honestly? You're desperate enough to consider it. "Fine," you say. "I'll go find her and ask her to uncurse me. Happy?"

"Very." Sunoo grins. "See? This is why we're friends. You're willing to entertain my insane theories."

"I don't have a choice. My life is already upside down."

And across town, Jungwon is having the best week of his life. He finds twenty dollars in the pocket of a jacket on monday, a jacket he hasn't worn in months. Not life changing, but nice. Tuesday, he buys a lottery scratch off ticket on a whim and wins fifty bucks. The subway is delayed on wednesday, and he's annoyed until he realizes the delay meant he avoided a massive service outage on the line he would've transferred to. He would've been stuck underground for two hours but instead, he gets home early. Thursday, his landlord calls to say they're lowering rent for all tenants because of some tax credit thing Jungwon doesn't understand. Friday, his phone rings, an unknown number. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Yang Jungwon?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"Yoon Jeonghan. From HYBE. We met last weekend."

Jungwon's heart stops. "Oh. Yeah, Jeonghan! Hi."

"Listen, I listened to your demo. And I have to say — I'm impressed. Your band is really good."

Jungwon sits down before his knees give out. "Thank you. That — thank you."

"I'd like to bring you and the guys in for a studio session. See how you sound live, meet the team. Would next week work?"

"Yes. Absolutely, yes."

"Great. I'll have my assistant send over the details. Looking forward to it, Jungwon."

The studio session is scheduled for the following Thursday. Jungwon spends the days leading up to it in a state of controlled panic and the guys practice until the bowling alley owner threatens to charge them extra. But Thursday arrives and nothing goes wrong. Actually, everything goes perfectly. They arrive at HYBE's building with twenty minutes to spare and the studio is incredible, huge, with equipment that probably costs more than Jungwon's entire life.

They play three songs, their best three songs and they're perfect. Heeseung's vocals are flawless, Jake's guitar work is clean and emotional, Jay's bass anchors everything, Sunghoon's drumming is powerful. When they finish, there's a moment of silence and then Jeonghan starts actually clapping. "That is exactly what we've been looking for." The other executives are nodding, talking amongst themselves. Jeonghan turns to Jungwon. "Can we talk in my office?" Jungwon follows him down a hallway. Jeonghan's office is sleek with a view of the city. He gestures for Jungwon to sit. "I'm going to be direct," Jeonghan says. "We want to sign ENHYPEN. Full contract. Album deal, marketing budget, tour support. Everything."

Jungwon's brain short circuits. "You — what?"

"We think you guys have something special. You guys have potential, it's all there. We want to invest in it."

"How much are we talking?"

Jeonghan slides a paper across the desk. Jungwon looks at the number and nearly passes out. "That's just the signing bonus," Jeonghan says. "The full contract is much more comprehensive. But I think this is a partnership that could really work."

Jungwon stares at the number. It's more money than he's ever seen in his life. More money than he thought was possible. They say yes, obviously they say yes. The contract is signed the following week and the signing bonus hits their accounts two days later. Suddenly, Jungwon can pay rent for a year in advance. Suddenly, the guys can quit their day jobs. Suddenly, they're not a struggling band anymore. They're HYBE artists.

On Saturday night, they celebrate at the bowling alley, the place where it all started. They're loud and drunk and happy in a way Jungwon hasn't felt in years. "I can't believe this is real," Jake says, staring at his phone like he's checking his bank account for the hundredth time. Jungwon leans back in his chair, looking at his best friends, his band, and thinks about how one decision — one stupid, desperate decision to sneak into a party — changed everything.

On next Monday, you and Sunoo stand outside a shop in a part of town you've never been to before. The sign above the door says Madame Clarisse - Spiritual Advisor in peeling gold letters. There's a neon palm reader sign in the window that flickers every few seconds. The whole place looks like it hasn't been updated since the 90s. "This is humiliating," you say.

Sunoo pushes the door open and a bell chimes overhead. The interior smells like incense and there are crystals everywhere and velvet tablecloths. It's definitely mystical. Madame Clarisse emerges from behind a curtain. She's not wearing her party costume anymore — just regular clothes, jeans and a sweater, but she's still got the jewelry. Rings on every finger, about six necklaces. She takes one look at you and smiles. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"You were?" You ask, surprised.

"Of course. You're the girl from the party. The one whose luck ran out." She gestures to a chair. "Sit." You do and Sunoo hovers behind you like moral support. "So," She says, settling into the chair across from you. "What can I do for you?"

"You can uncurse me."

"Un— I'm sorry, uncurse you?"

"Yes. Whatever you did to me at that party, I need you to undo it."

She laughs. It's not a polite laugh, it's the kind of laugh that says she thinks you're an idiot. "Sweetheart, I didn't curse you."

"Then why did you say my luck was running out?"

"Because it was. I read palms. I see things." She leans back, arms crossed. "You think I have the power to just take away someone's luck? That's not how it works."

"Then how does it work?"

She tilts her head, studying you. "You kissed someone that night, didn't you?"

Your face goes hot. "That's none of your—"

"You did. I can tell." She's smiling now. "That's what did it. You transferred your luck to the person you kissed."

Sunoo leans forward. "She what?"

"It's rare, but it happens. When someone with an extraordinary amount of luck kisses someone with an extraordinary amount of bad luck —" She makes a gesture like she's balancing scales. "The universe likes balance."

You stare at her. "You're telling me I kissed someone and gave them my luck and they gave me bad luck?"

"More or less. The person you kissed needed it more than you did. The universe decided to redistribute."

"The universe can't just —"

"The universe does what it wants. You had more than your fair share of good luck for your entire life. Someone else was drowning in bad luck. You kissed them, and it balanced out. Simple. But this is just temporary."

"Temporary?"

"Well. Probably." She waves a hand. "Unless you want your luck back. Then you'd have to kiss them again."

You stand there, staring at this woman in her crystal covered shop, and your brain is trying to process what she just told you. That you kissed someone and that the kiss stole your luck. That the universe decided you'd had enough good fortune for one lifetime and redistributed it to some random person at a party. Your eye twitches. "So let me get this straight," you say slowly. "I have to find someone I kissed at a masquerade ball — where everyone was masked — and kiss them again."

"If you want your luck back."

"And if I don't find them?"

Madame Clarisse shrugs. "Then you live like a normal person. It's not the end of the world."

"My landlord kicked me out. I got fired. I—"

"Yes, yes, very tragic." She's still smiling. "But you're young, healthy, and you have a friend who clearly cares about you." She nods at Sunoo. "You'll survive."

You want to argue, but the words get stuck somewhere in your throat. Instead, you just stand there making a noise that's half laugh, half scream. Sunoo puts a hand on your shoulder. "Okay. We're leaving now. Thank you for your time."

"Anytime," Madame Clarisse calls after you as Sunoo guides you toward the door. "And really — good luck!"

The door slams behind you. Outside, rain is coming down in sheets, soaking through your clothes in seconds. You and Sunoo are standing under a tiny awning that's doing absolutely nothing to keep you dry. "I'm going to kill her," you say.

"She's a fortune teller. She probably saw that coming."

"Sunoo."

"Sorry." He's already scrolling through his phone, squinting at the screen. "Okay. Okay, I'm texting Riki right now. He can get us the staff list from the catering company."

You turn to look at him. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"Sunoo, I am not — I'm not going to just —" You gesture wildly, and a car drives by too close to the curb, sending up a spray of water that drenches your legs. "Oh, come ON!" Sunoo jumps back just in time, completely dry. You stare down at your jeans, now soaked and clinging to your shins and something inside you snaps. "This is what I'm talking about!" you shout, throwing your hands up. "This is my life now! I get hit by puddles! My phone is in a storm drain! I'm living on a couch!"

"I know—"

"No, you don't know! You still have your job! Your apartment! Your normal, boring, non cursed life!"

"You're not cursed —"

"I kissed someone and lost my luck, Sunoo! That's a curse!"

He's quiet for a second, and then he says, very calmly, "So let's find him."

"Find him?"

"Yeah. The guy you kissed. We find him, you kiss him again, problem solved."

You laugh and it comes out a little unhinged. "Oh, sure. Let me just — let me just go through the entire city kissing every man who worked that event until one of them magically gives me my luck back. Great plan."

"Do you have a better one?"

"I—" You stop, open your mouth then close it because he's right and you hate it. Your life is a disaster, everything you touch breaks. You have no job, no apartment, no luck. And somewhere out there, some guy you kissed at a party is probably living his best life with your good fortune. "Fine," you say through gritted teeth. "Get the list."

He's already typing on his phone, texting Riki, pulling up something that looks like an event database. You stand there in the pouring rain soaked to the bone, watching him work, and you think about that guy. Like the way he smiled and the way he kissed you. You don't even know his name, but apparently, he has everything you used to have. And you're going to get it back.

And Jungwon was living like a king with the amount of luck you gave him. He moved out of his cramped studio apartment into a real place with two bedrooms and actual sunlight, a kitchen where he could fit more than one person at a time. The landlord had called him personally to offer a unit that just became available, said something about how Jungwon seemed like "good energy." He signed the lease the same day.

And now he has a driver, an actual driver who picks him up every morning and takes him to HYBE. Jungwon still isn't used to it, he sits in the back of the car and feels like he's playing pretend. The guys are living their dream, though. They're in a real studio now, not the bowling alley storage room, but an actual professional space with soundproofing and expensive equipment. Jake bought new guitars, plural. Heeseung got vocal coaching from someone who's worked with actual famous people. Sunghoon upgraded his drum kit and nearly cried when it was delivered. Jay keeps texting photos of expensive bass pedals to the group chat like a kid in a candy store. Everything is working out.

Jungwon knows it's the luck, he's not stupid. Things don't just fall into place like this. Not for him, not naturally. But he doesn't take it for granted. He remembers what it was like before, when every single thing was going wrong at the worst possible moment. He remembers being tired all the time, not from work, but from fighting against the universe. So yeah, he's grateful. He tips the driver well, he brings coffee for the studio staff. He says thank you for things people don't usually say thank you for. And he actually thinks about you sometimes. He wonders if you're okay. And, well, you are not okay.

The list Riki got from the catering company has forty three names on it. Forty three men who worked the HYBE event that night. You've been through twelve of them so far. The first guy you eliminated immediately because his Instagram showed he was engaged. The second one was eliminated because he posted a photo from that night and you could see his hands and they were different. You don't know how you remember his hands, but you do. The third guy you actually went on a date with. He seemed nice enough over text, and when you met him at a cafe, he was polite, average looking, completely fine. You kissed him in the parking lot after. Just went for it, quick and experimental. But, nothing. You pulled the scratch off lottery ticket from your purse — one of ten you bought specifically for this purpose — and scratched it right there under a streetlight while he watched confused. You obviously lost. "Thanks," you'd said, already walking away. "This was great."

"Wait, are we—"

"Nope!"

The eighth guy was easier to eliminate. He posted a photo of himself and the mask he wore that night was completely different. The eleventh guy also agreed to meet you for drinks. You kissed him outside the bar and then scratched a ticket, nothing again. By guy number twenty, Sunoo started coming with you for moral support. "This is the saddest thing I've ever witnessed," he said, watching you scratch another losing ticket outside a restaurant.

Forty three names. You went through all forty three names on that list. Not all of them required dates — some you could eliminate from their social media alone, others from a quick coffee meetup where you could tell within five minutes it wasn't him. But you were thorough. Methodical, even. You checked every single person who worked that event and cross referenced their schedules and their photos or the way they carried themselves. You kissed enough of them to feel ridiculous, scratched enough lottery tickets to fund someone's gambling addiction, and came up with absolutely nothing. None of them were him.

By the time you crossed off the last name, you were sitting on Sunoo's couch at two in the morning and staring at the list. Your phone was on three percent battery — you'd forgotten to charge it, naturally — and your back hurt from the terrible angle of the pull out bed that wasn't actually a bed. You'd checked everyone, like literally every single person who worked that party and the waiter you kissed wasn't on the list. Which meant either the catering company's records were incomplete, or he wasn't actually staff, or the universe was playing some kind of cosmic joke on you that you didn't have the energy to appreciate. Which, to be fair, it kind of was.

The next day, you end up at the cafe near your old office without really planning to. It's a Wednesday afternoon, and you're unemployed so technically you could go anywhere, but your feet just carried you here out of habit. The place where you used to grab coffee every morning before work, back when your life made sense. And well, getting there is its own disaster because the subway stopped between stations for fifteen minutes because of "signal problems," and when you finally got off, it started drizzling, not enough to justify an umbrella, just enough to make your hair frizz and your shirt stick to your skin. You stepped in a puddle that was deeper than it looked. A cyclist nearly hit you and yelled at you like it was your fault. By the time you push open the cafe door, you're already exhausted and it's only two PM. The place is busy and there's a line at the counter, and you join it, and you pull out your card and tap it against the reader. Declined. You stare at the screen. "That's weird. Can I try again?"

"Of course."

You try again. Declined again and your stomach sinks. You know you have money in your account, not a lot, but enough for a coffee. You checked this morning. "Um, hold on." You pull out your phone to check your bank app, but the wifi isn't connecting and your data is throttled because you haven't paid this month's phone bill yet. The barista is still smiling, but it's getting strained. There are people behind you in line. You can feel them staring.

"Do you have another card?" The barista asks gently.

"I — yeah, let me just—"

You're digging through your wallet which is a mess of receipts and lottery tickets just in case and old gift cards that probably don't have anything on them, when a voice behind you says, "I've got it."

You turn around. Jungwon is standing there, tall, dark hair pushed back from his face, wearing a nice jacket that looks expensive and he's smiling at you like this is the most normal thing in the world. "You don't have to—" you say.

"It's fine. Really." He's already holding out his card to the barista. "Just the coffee, right?"

"Yeah, but —"

"Consider it a good deed for the day." He taps his card and it goes through immediately, because of course it does.

The barista looks relieved. "Thanks. I'll have that right out."

You step aside to let him order and your face is burning. This is humiliating, because you used to be the person who got free coffee for being the thousandth customer. Now you're the person who can't afford a four dollar drink and needs a stranger to bail you out. He orders something and then moves to stand next to you while you both wait. "Thank you," you say, because you have to say something. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know. But you looked like you were having a rough day."

"Is it that obvious?" You smile, kind of embarrassed.

"Little bit." He's still smiling and it's such a cute apologetic smile. "I'm Jungwon, by the way."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Y/N."

There's a pause, and you should probably just take your coffee and leave when it's ready, but something about him makes you stay. Maybe it's the way he's looking at you — not like he's hitting on you but like he's actually seeing you. Or maybe it's just that he bought you coffee and it feels rude to run. "Do you come here a lot?" he asks.

"Yeah, erm — I used to. I worked nearby."

"Worked?"

"Past tense."

"Ah." He doesn't pry, which you appreciate. "Well, it's a good cafe. Best coffee in the area."

"Yeah, it is."

The barista calls out your order and you grab it, and this is the part where you should say thanks again and leave. But he's still standing there and there's something about the energy between you that feels familiar in a way you can't place. Like you've met before, but you know you haven't because you would remember. "Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Sure."

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

Your heart does a weird little skip. "I don't think so. Why?"

"I don't know. You just seem familiar." You study his face trying to figure out if this is a line or if he actually means it. His eyes are dark and focused, and there's a small mole on his neck that you notice because you're staring now, which is weird. The barista calls his order, and he grabs his latte, and you both stand there for another second, neither of you moving. "Well," he says finally. "I hope your day gets better."

"Thanks. And thanks for the coffee."

"Anytime." He heads toward the door and you watch him go, and there's something tugging at the back of your mind, something you can't quite name. You pull out your phone and check your bank account — finally connected to the cafe wifi — and you see the Spotify fee. Because apparently your card declined not because you didn't have money, but because the bank decided to process a charge from three days ago that you'd forgotten about, and it pushed you into the negative. You close your eyes and take a long sip of your coffee. Of course. Of course that's what happened.

That night, lying on Sunoo's terrible excuse for a pull out couch, you stare at the ceiling and think about him. There was something about him that felt familiar, like you'd seen him before or heard his voice somewhere, and your brain keeps trying to make connections that don't quite fit. For a second you wonder if he could've been the waiter from the party, but that doesn't make sense. The guy who bought you coffee today was wearing a jacket that probably cost more than your rent used to cost, and he had this air about him like someone who's doing well, someone whose credit card doesn't get declined at cafes. The waiter from the party was working a catering gig and picking up shifts for extra cash, they can't be the same person. It's just your brain trying to find patterns where there aren't any because you're desperate and tired and running out of options.

The next week is a special kind of terrible. You go to four job interviews, and each one is worse than the last. The first company looks at your resume amd sees that you were fired and the interview is over before it really starts. The second place seems promising until the hiring manager asks why you left your last position, and you have to lie and you watch their face change in real time from interested to we'll-call-you-but-we-won't. The third interview goes fine until you spill coffee on yourself in the waiting room and walk into the meeting with a massive brown stain on your white shirt. The fourth place doesn't even bother to reject you in person, just sends an automated email two hours later.

By Friday, you're done. You've applied to thirty two jobs in the past weeks and heard back from eleven and been interviewed by seven, received absolute zero offers. Your savings account is running on fumes and even though Sunoo has been amazing, but you can tell he's getting tired of you sleeping on his couch even if he won't say it. You leave another failed interview on friday afternoon — they said they would keep your resume on file which is corporate speak for never contact us again — and you're walking down the street trying to decide what to do next when the sky opens up. A full downpour drenches you in seconds, you pull out the umbrella you bought at a dollar store last week and pop it open, and immediately one of the spokes snaps and the whole thing inverts itself. You stand there holding your broke umbrella with the rain pouring down on you and you legitimately cannot remember the last time something went right in your life.

That's when a car pulls up next to the curb, a black expensive looking car, and the window rolls down. "Hey!" You look over, and it's him — Jungwon. "You need a ride?" he asks, and he's leaning over from the driver's seat, looking at you with a look that might be concern or amusement but you can't tell.

You should say no and tell him you're fine, that you don't need hhelp from a stranger, but you're really soaking wet and your umbrella is destroyed, you have absolutely nowhere else to go. So you don't even hesitate, you yank open the passenger door and collapse into the seat, pulling the door shut behind you. The interior of the car is warm and dry, unlike you. Jungwon is staring at you. "You just got in my car."

"You told me to get in your car."

"I know, but—" He laughs surprised. "You didn't even think about it. What if I was going to kidnap you or something?"

"Are you going to kidnap me?"

"No, but —" He's still staring at you like he can't quite figure you out, and then he shakes his head smiling. "You're either very trusting or having a really bad day."

"Definitely the second one."

"That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea." You wipe rain off your face with your sleeve which doesn't help because your sleeve is soaked too. "I got kicked out of my apartment — well, it's not my apartment, it's my friend's apartment, but he's out of town and I lost the spare key he gave me, so now I'm locked out. I tried calling him but he's not answering, probably because he's on a plane or something. I tried calling my mom but she's not picking up either. I had a job interview earlier that went terribly, and before that I applied to like six places and haven't heard back from any of them, and I'm starting to think I'm unemployable. And now it's pouring rain and my umbrella broke, obviously, because why wouldn't it, and I was just walking around trying to find a hotel that doesn't cost a hundred bucks a night because that's literally all I have left in my bank account." You take a breath. "So yeah. Bad day." Jungwon is quiet for a moment. His hand are still on the steering wheel and you realize you just unloaded your entire life story on a gay you've met once. "Sorry," you say. "That was a lot."

"No, it's—" He glances at you. "That's really rough. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It's not your problem."

"Where were you headed?"

"I don't know. Nowhere. Anywhere. I was just walking."

He's quiet again and you can see him thinking, weighing something. "Okay, this is going to sound weird," he says finally. "But I have a guest room in my apartment. It's just sitting there, and you clearly need a place to stay, and —" He stops and runs a hand through his hair. "No pressure. Seriously. I know I'm basically a stranger. But the offer's there if you want it."

You turn to look at him properly. You can tell he is nervous because his grip on the steering wheel is a little too tight, and he's not quite meeting your eyes. "You're offering to let me stay at your apartment," you say slowly.

"Just for the night. Or however long you need. I don't know. I'm not trying to be creepy, I swear. It's just — you seem like you're having the worst day ever, and I have space, so." He shrugs. "If you want to find a hotel instead, that's totally fine. I can drop you off wherever."

You should say no. Every true crime documentary you've ever watched is screaming at you to say no. But there's something about the way he's looking at you, like a little genuine and a little awkward like if he is not sure he's overstepping it, and that makes you think he's not a serial killer at all. Or at least probably not. Either way, you don't have a better option. "Okay," you finally say.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. Thank you very much, I hope you really don’t mind."

He blinks surprised. "You're sure?"

"Well I don't have anything to lose at this point. My life is already a disaster so… if you murder me at least I won't have to deal with being unemployed anymore."

He laughs, startled. "Okay, that's dark." He puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb. "For the record, I'm not going to murder you."

"Good to know."

"I'm a musician, by the way. I manage a band. And we just signed with a label so I've been real busy with that, and the apartment I'm in now is way too big for just me, so the guest room is just sitting there empty." He's talking fast now like he's trying to justify the offer to himself as much as to you. "It has its own bathroom and everything so you'd have privacy."

"Oh, you manage a band?"

"Yeah, they're called ENHYPEN and we just signed with HYBE actually, you know? The label?"

Your stomach drops. "HYBE?"

"Yeah. You know them?"

"I — yeah, kinda." You don't know what to say. I mean, what were you supposed to say? Yes I've worked for them before and I got fired and now I'm banned from HYBE events for life?

"Oh, that's cool. Small world." He says.

"Yeah," you say faintly. "Small world." You're staring at the windshield now and watching the rain while your brain is trying to process this. Okay, so he works with HYBE, which means he wasn't working at the party as a waiter — he would've been there as industry or maybe not there at all. So Jungwon is definitely not the guy you kissed, which is good. That would've been too complicated. But there's still that nagging feeling of familiarity, sort of, like you've seen him before. Like there's something you're missing.

He pulls into an underground parking garage and parks in a spot marked with his unit number, and you follow him to the elevator and up to his floor, and the whole time you're expecting this to be a terrible decision. But when he unlocks the door and lets you in, his apartment is just normal. Obviously very nice, but normal, it looks like someone actually lives here. There are shoes by the door and a jacket thrown over the back of a chair, and a coffee mug on the counter. "Guest room is this way," he says as he leads you down a short hallway. Jungwon opens a door to reveal a small bedroom with a double bed, a dresser and window overlooking the street. "Bathroom's through there, there should be towels and stuff. Help yourself to whatever you need."

"Thank you," you say and you mean it. "Seriously, this is — thank you."

"It's no problem, really." He lingers in the doorway for a second. "I'll be in the living room if you need anything, okay? And, uh, just so you know — I'm not going to like, bother you or anything. You can lock the door if you want."

"Okay."

"Okay." He smiles, a little awkward. "Well. Goodnight, I guess."

"Goodnight, Jungwon." You smile, fondly and grateful. He closes the door then, and you can hear his footsteps retreating down the hall. You stand there in the middle of the room, basically dripping water onto the floor, thinking about how bizarre your life has become. A month ago you were at the top of your game and running a high profile event and everything was going perfectly. Now? Now you're staying in a stranger's apartment because you literally have nowhere else to go. So you peel off your wet clothes, find a towel in the bathroom and take the hottest shower you've had in weeks. When you get out, wrapped in a towel, you realize you don't have any clothes to change into — everything you own is locked in Sunoo's apartment.

You hear a knock on the door. "I left some clothes outside the door," Jungwon's voice comes through. "In case you need them. They'll probably be big but I swear they're clean."

So you open the door a crack, and there's a folded t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants sitting on the floor. "Thank you!" you call out.

"No problem." He calls back.

You change into his clothes — he's right, they're huge on you — and you climb into the bed, which is the most comfortable thing you've laid on in a month. You just lie there for minutes staring at the ceiling and trying to sleep. But your stomach is growling because you haven't eaten since this morning, and that was just a granola bar. You can smell something cooking from the living room. You could just stay there and avoid being awkward and try to sleep on an empty stomach — or, you could actually go out there and face the guy who's letting you stay in his apartment for free. So you get up and go out there. Jungwon is standing at the stove stirring something in a pan. He's changed out of his nice jacket into a hoodie and sweatpants. He looks comfortable, at ease. He glances over when he hears you come in. "Hey. Can't sleep?"

"Yeah, not really."

"Come in, I'm making fried rice. There's plenty if you need some."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course. Sit." He gestures to the small table near the kitchen. "It'll be ready in like two minutes."

So you sit and watch him cook. He moves around the kitchen with the kind of ease that suggests he does this a lot. He is tossing vegetables and rice in the pan, and adding sauce, adjusting the heat, and it smells incredible. "You cook a lot?" you ask.

"When I have time, yeah. It's cheaper than ordering out and I got used to it when I was broke." He grins over his shoulder. "You know, old habits."

"You were broke? Really?"

"Very broke actually. Like living off instant ramen and hoping the subway fare didn't go up kind of broke."

"What changed?"

"Well, lots of things, honestly." He plates the food and brings two bowls over to the table, sitting across from you. "And a lot of work, but mostly — luck, I think."

The word hangs in the air. Luck. You stare at your bowl of rice, your fork halfway to your moth and something twists in your chest. He said his life turned around recently because of luck — good luck that came out of nowhere. And yours fell apart at the exact same way. It's a coincidence, it has to be. You take a bite of rice and try to focus on the fact that it's delicious and not on the strange timing of everything.

When you look up, he's watching you with this easy smile and his chin was resting of his hand. You notice details you didn't catch before: like how his eyes are bigger than you realized, round and expressive in a way that makes him look younger than he probably is, and they have this slight upward tilt at the corned that reminds of you a cat. When he smiles, dimples appear, and there's something about the combination of his sharp jawline and soft features that's unfairly attractive. And well, you can't stop staring. Maybe being homeless and unemployed has made you forget how to act normal around people.

"So," he says breaking the silence. "What's your deal? Like before everything went wrong, what were you doing?"

"Uh — I was doing event stuff, you know? Planning and coordinating events, managing logistics. It was good, I mean I was good at it." You don't elaborate because you don't wanna talk about HYBE or the masquerade ball or how spectacularly everything fell apart. "What about you? How'd you get into managing a band?"

"I've known the guys for years. We all went to the same college and they were just messing around at first like playing at parties and open mics. But they were really good, and no one was taking them seriously so I just figured I'd help them out, you know? Book some shows and handle the boring stuff so they could focus on the music." He shrugs but there's pride in his voice. "And then it turned into a real thing, and we've been grinding for two years, like terrible — real terrible gigs and empty venues and labels telling me they're not marketable enough. It was rough."

"Well, but it seems that it worked out, right?"

"Eventually, yeah." He leans back in his chair and there's something vulnerable in the way he's looking at you now. "For a long time though I thought maybe we were just unlucky. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Like — I'd book a showcase and the venue would double book us. Or we'd record a demo and the file would corrupt. One time Sunghoon, our drummer, broke his wrist the day before a big audition because he went night rafting. Can you believe this guy? Yeah, anyways, it was like the universe didn't want us to succeed."

"That sounds awful, I'm sorry," you said even though you were smiling at how resilient he was.

"It was, but it also made us tougher, I think. Made us appreciate it more when things finally started working, you know?" He grins and there's that cute dimple again. "Although I'm not gonna lie it's nice not having to worry about whether my card's gonna decline every time I buy coffee." You laugh, but it's hollow because that's your life right now. He must notice because his expression softens. "Sorry, huh, that was — insensitive."

"No, really, it's fine. I'm glad things are working our for you." You smile at him because you mean it.

"They will for you too. I mean it." He says it with so much conviction that you almost believe him. "You seem like someone who's got their shit together, you know? Or had it together — you'll figure it out. I know it."

"You don't know that." You laugh small through your nose.

"Well, I have a good feeling." There's a pause and he's looking at you with this intensity that makes your stomach so something weird. You're very aware of the fact that you're sitting in his apartment and wearing his clothes and eating his food — and he's being so nice about all of it that it feels almost suspicious. Except it doesn't feel suspicious at all, it just feels genuine instead. "Why'd you get in my car though? Like you didn't even hesitate." He was being serious but he was also smiling, playfully even.

You think about it. "Honestly? I don't even know, I'm not usually like that, like I don't trust people that easily, is what I'm saying. But you seemed —" You pause, trying to find the right word. "Safe? I don't know. You just did."

"Safe," he repeats, something amused in his tone. "Well that's not usually the vibe I fo for but I'll take it."

"Really? What vibe do you usually go for?"

"Mhm, I don't know. Cool and mysterious?" Jungwon's grinning now, clearly joking. "Dangerously charming?"

"Dangerously charming?" You grin back.

"Too much?" You nod, but still smiling. "Okay, okay. I'll dial it back." But he doesn't, not really. There's this playful energy to him that feels effortless, like he's not trying to impress you but somehow he is anyway. "So," he says leaning forward slightly. "Since you're staying here, we should probably establish some ground rules."

"Oh! Ground rules?"

"Yeah, like, you can use the kitchen whenever. Help yourself to anything in the fridge — the wifi password is on a sticky note there, by the way. And if you need space, just let me know, okay? I won't be weird about it."

"Yeah, okay." You smile and nod.

"And —" He pauses, his smile turning a little softer. "If you need to talk or vent or whatever, I'm around. No judgment."

You laugh at that, but it's fondly. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He doesn't answer right away. He just looks at you and there's something in his expression you can't quite read. "Because I've been where you are right now and I remember how much it sucked. And I wish someone had helped me out back then. So…" He shrugs. "Now I'm helping you."

You don't know what to say to that, because you're not used to people being king without expecting something in return and it's throwing you off balance. "Thank you, Jungwon. Really. I don't know what I would've done tonight if you hadn't shown up."

"Probably found a terrible hotel." You smile and he smiles back, and for a moment you just sit there, and it feels like the first good thing that's happened to you in weeks.

After dinner, Jungwon suggests watching TV and you both end up on the couch with a random cooking competition show playing in the background. He's leaning into the corner of the couch with one leg tucket under him, while you're on the other side holding a bowl of ice cream he gave you, and it's ridiculously domestic in a way that makes you feel both comfortable and slightly off kilter. He makes commentary about the contestant like "there's no way that souffle is going to hold, look at it," and you find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks.

The exhaustion hits you slowly though, and before you realize it, your head is tilting sideways and your eyes are getting heavier with each blink. The last thing you're aware of is the warmth of his shoulder under your cheek and the sound of his voice, but quieter now, saying something you don't quite catch.

The next morning you wake up in the guest bed. For a second you're disoriented, staring at the ceiling and trying to piece together how you got here. You sit up and realize you're tucked under the blanket, your phone plugged in on the nightstand, the screen showing it's fully charged. He must have carried you in here or woken you up and guided you, and either way he covered you with the blanket and made sure your phone was charging. The thoughtfulness of it makes you chest feel tight.

The smell of coffee drifts in from the kitchen so you get up, still waring his oversized shirt and sweatpants, and pad down the hallway. Jungwon's at the stove, flipping pancakes, and he's already dressed for the day with dark jeans and a sweater that looks soft but expensive, his hair styled in a way that suggests he actually tried this morning. He glances over when he hears you. "Morning. Sleep okay?"

"Yeah, really well actually." You lean against the doorway. "Did you carry me to bed?"

He stiffens. "You fell asleep on the couch and I didn't want to wake you up. I hope that's not weird." He says while he flips another pancake onto a plate.

"No, it's not — thank you."

"No problem." He sets the plate on the table along with a mug of coffee that's already poured. "I made pancakes. Wasn't sure if you were a breakfast person but I figured it was better safe than sorry."

You sat down, and the coffee is perfect and the pancakes are fluffy and golden. "You didn't have to do all this, Jungwon."

"I know but I wanted to." He leans against the counter with his own mug in hand, and he's watching you with that easy smile again. "I have to head out in a bit but make yourself at home, seriously. There's food in the fridge and the Tv remote is on the coffee table. And maybe text your friends? Let them know where you are. I don't want anyone thinking I kidnapped you."

You laugh. "Okay, yeah, I'll do that."

He finishes his coffee and sets the mug in the sink, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair. As he passes behind you on his way to the door, he pauses, and you feel his hand on your shoulder — just a brief respectful squeeze, reassuring. "Good luck today, okay?" He says, his voice soft. "I mean it." And then he's gone and you're left sitting at his kitchen table with a plate of pancakes me made and the lingering warmth of his hand on your shoulder.

You wander around the apartment eventually. It's not spooning exactly, but more like observing. There are photos on the shelves in the living room, candid shots of Jungwon with four other guys who you assume are the band. They're laughing in most of them, arms slung around each other, and they're clearly close. You study Jungwon's face in the photos and he looks genuinely happy, in a way that makes you smile without meaning to.

Your phone buzzes and it's Sunoo. "Hey!" you answer.

"Oh my god you're alive. I tried calling you last night and you didn't answer and I thought you died in a ditch somewhere."

"I'm fine, I just — It's a long story." So you tell him everything about the rain, the broken umbrella and Jungwon pulling up in his car and offering you to stay at his apartment and everything you talked about. Sunoo is silent for most of it, which is unusual for him, and when you finish, there's a long pause. "So let me get this straight," he starts slowly. "A hot stranger offered you a place to stay, made you dinner, let you sleep in his room and then made you pancakes this morning?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure he's not a serial killer?"

"Pretty sure."

"Okay. Okay, this is insane. But also — wait. What's his name again?"

"Jungwon."

"And he works with HYBE?"

"Yeah. He manages a band."

There's another pause, and then Sunoo says very carefully, "Do you think he could be the guy you kissed?"

Your stomach flips. "What? No. He's a band manager. He wasn't working the party as a waiter."

"Because think about it — he said his luck changed recently, right? Around the same time yours went to shit. And he's being weirdly nice to you. And you said there was something familiar about him."

"Sunoo, that's insane."

"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, the timing is very suspicious."

"No, he's not the waiter dude, he can't be. He has money and a nice apartment, he's managing a signed band. The waiter was working a catering gig, it doesn't even make any sense."

"Well, people can have two jobs."

You're quiet staring at the photos on the shelf. Jungwon smiling at the camera. Jungwon with his arm around one of his friends. Jungwon looking genuinely and effortlessly happy. "He's not the waiter," you say finally.

"Okay. If you say so."

"I do say so."

"Cool. But like —"

"Drop it Sunoo."

"Dropped." A pause. "Okay. But just so you know—" You hang up.

You meant to leave Jungwon's place that same day, you really did. The plan was simple: thank Jungwon for his hospitality and grab your things which was basically nothing, since everything you owned was locked in Sunoo's apartment, and find a hotel or a shelter, a bench, whatever. But then Jungwon came home that evening with takeout for two, and said "I figured you'd like it," in that casual way of his like it was obvious. So you stayed.

The next morning, he made coffee again and placed two cups without asking. You sat at his kitchen table in his clothes and it felt so easy that you almost forgot you were supposed to be leaving. Sunoo dropped your stuff on wednesday, what was left of it, anyway. And then you and Jungwon already had a routine by then. You'd wake up to the smell of coffee — he was always up before you and already dressed. You'd sit at the table scrolling through your phone while he ate standing up by the counter, checking messages, answering emails, muttering things like "Jake, please don't do that" into his phone without any context.

You felt guilty the first few days. You were literally a stranger living in his space and eating his food and taking up his bathroom. I mean, his guest bathroom, but still. But Jungwon didn't seem to mind at all, or if he did he just didn't care to say it. He just adjusted around you, making room for you, even. On Thursday, you tried bringing it up. "I should probably go back to Sunoo's," you said over dinner, he'd made pasta and it was somehow better than any pasta you'd ever had. "I don't want to impose."

He looked at you like you'd just said something genuinely confusing. "Why?"

"Because I'm living in your apartment? For free?"

"Yeah, and?"

"And that's weird and you don't really know me."

"Is it?" He twirled his fork. "I have an extra room. You needed a place, it's not that complicated."

"Jungwon —"

"Look, I get it. I'm saying I don't mind having a roommate. Specifically you." He pointed his fork at you. "You're quiet, you don't make a mess, and you actually watch good shows on TV. Those are the only three things I care about."

"Those are your criteria?"

"Yeah. High standards."

You laughed, he grinned, and that was the end of the conversation. So you stayed. But the bad luck didn't stop, obviously. Monday of the second week, you tried to cook breakfast while Jungwon was still in the shower. You burned the toast so badly that the smoke alarm went off, and it took you a few minutes trying to figure out how to turn it off, and by the time Jungwon came out of the bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a towel and dripping water down his chest. You were standing on a chair waving a fish towel at the ceiling, and nothing happened.

"What happened?" he asked, his hair sticking up, and droplet sliding from his collarbone straight over the defined lines of his abdomen — eight perfect ridges, still glistening from the shower. Not that you were staring, anyway. (You were definitely staring.)

"I'm having toast problems." And that was all you managed to say.

He stared at the blackened bread on the counter, lips curving. "That's… a way to say it."

"Please don't laugh."

"I'm not laughing." Jungwon was absolutely laughing, low. He stepped closer and took the dish towel from your hand and reached up from the floor — didn't even need the chair, he was tall enough — fanning the alarm until it stopped. The movement made the towel slip just a dangerous inch lower on his hips and your eyes betrayed you again, dropping straight to the deep V line that disappeared beneath the fabric before you snapped them back up to his face.

But it was too late, because he noticed. "There you go," he murmured, his voice softer now like almost a tease, his eyes locked on yours for a beat too long.

Your face was burning, and you couldn't decide if you wanted to jump off the chair or melt into the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He tilted his head. "I'll make breakfast, okay?" He made breakfast every morning after that. You didn't ask him to, he just did it.

Wednesday night, you were on the couch with your laptop pretending to look at job listings but actually watching Jungwon play guitar in the corner of the living room. He didn't know you were watching — he had his eyes closed and his head tilted back slightly, fingers sliding over the strings with this slow precision that made your throat go dry. The soft melody he was picking out wasn't anything you recognized; it was just intimate and unfiltered.

His shirt was loose, the collar slipping just enough to show the sharp line of his collarbone and the faint shadow of definition along his chest every time he shifted. His long fingers moved with precision in a way that had your mind wandering to places it had no business going. You watched him for a while longer than you should have. Way longer, actually. Long enough that your pulse was thudding in your ears and you had to actually press your thighs together under the blanket, for some reason. When he opened his eyes, he caught you staring, but he didn't flinch or look away. He just held your gaze, and the corner of his mouth lifted in the tiniest knowing smile. He tilted his head a little, his hair falling into his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing." Your voice came out quieter than you meant, almost breathless. "That was nice." He smiled at that with the deep dimples, and went back to playing, but slower now, like he was performing just for you.

And oh boy — you were so screwed. Down bad and didn't even cover it. You were lying there pretending to scroll when you really were memorizing the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed of the soft exhale he let out between notes, or even the way his fingers looked wrapped around the neck of the guitar like they could wrap around anything else just as easily— Idiot. Absolute idiot.

The thing is: you knew you should leave. You knew it every single morning when you woke up in his guest bed. The luck wasn't coming back — you'd checked obsessively scratching lottery tickets and checking your horoscope and watching any sign that the universe was done punishing you. But nothing — you were still broke and still unlucky, but you stayed anyway. And it took you an embarrassingly amount of time to figure out why.

It wasn't the apartment, comfortable as it was, and it wasn't the food either, or the stability. It was actually Jungwon. It was the way he made you laugh without trying, or the way he remembered small things like that you didn't like your coffee too hot, or that you got cold at night, that you got anxious when you had too much free time. It was the shoulder squeeze and the good luck whishes every morning. It was the way he looked at you sometimes like you were the most interesting person in the room, even when the room was just the two of you eating takeout on his couch.

So yeah, you'd developed a crush on him. A bad one, really, the kind that made you hyper aware of every little interaction or the kind that made you smile at your phone for no reason after he texted you something stupid. The kind that kept you up at night staring at the ceiling replaying conversations in your head and analyzing his tone. It was pathetic, yeah, and you knew it. And you did absolutely nothing about it.

And it was a Thursday night when everything shifted. You were on the couch watching something neither of you was really paying attention to. Jungwon was on the other end scrolling through his phone. "How did you actually get the HYBE deal?" You asked kind out of nowhere, just curious about the situation in general.

He put his phone down and leaned back, thinking about it for a second. "Honestly? It was the most chaotic night of my life." He sat up straight and continued. "So we'd been trying for two years to get in front of anyone at a major label and nothing was working. We'd email or like, show up at showcases, leave demos with anyone who'd take them. And every single time, something would go wrong. Like that one time we got a showcase slot and I literally got hit by a bike on the way there. It was constant." He laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that meant it wasn't exactly that funny. "So I figured, okay, clearly doing things the normal way isn't going to work. So I said: I actually need to get creative."

"Creative how?" you asked.

"Well, I found out that HYBE was hosting this big event — a masquerade ball. And it was very exclusive, like invitation only, and all the big names in the industry were going to be there." He paused and you felt something cold start to settle in your chest. "So I got a job with the catering company."

Your own breathing suddenly felt very loud. You didn't move. "You got a job with the catering company," you repeated and your voice came out steadier than it should have.

"Yeah, a side gig really, I worked the event as a waiter." You couldn't believe his words and he kept going. "The whole time I was trying to find a guy named Yoon Jeonghan — he's HYBE's A&R director — so I could hand him our demo." Jungwon shook his head smiling at the memory.

You couldn't breathe properly. You were pretty sure you'd stopped breathing entirely at one point. "And did you find him?" you asked because you had to say something, and the silence could give you away.

"Not at first, actually. I spent most of the night just walking around trying to spot him, and then—" He stopped and laughed again. "Okay, this is going to sound insane. But I almost got him killed." He held a hand up before you could react. "Not on purpose! He just stepped off the curb without looking and a car was coming, and I just — I grabbed him and pulled him back. And after that, he was so grateful he actually took the CD was listening to it."

"That's—" you swallowed. "That's actually crazy."

"Right? The one night I needed everything to go right and get real lucky — I almost witnessed a hit and run." He laughed. "Yeah, but it worked out, he loved the demo and brought us in for a studio session, and the best is history."

You were staring at him. You knew you were staring at him and you couldn't stop because your brain was running through every single thing at once — the cafe, the way he felt familiar, the way he said I don't know, you just seem familiar — and it all made sense now. All of it. Jungwon was him. He was the waiter from the party. Jungwon was the guy you kissed. Jungwon was the reason your luck was gone. And you had been living with him for two weeks. And, accidentally-not-so-accidentally, falling for the guy. "Hey." Jungwon tilted his head, studying you. "You okay? You look kind of pale."

"Yeah I'm fine," you said too fast. "Just tired, I'm sorry."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I think I'm going to head to bed, actually."

"Okay." He didn't push, which was one of the things you liked about Jungwon, except right now you kind of wished he could because at least then you'd have an excuse to keep talking and to process this out loud, to said, wait, I have something to tell you. But you didn't say anything. You just stood up and walked down the hallway to the guest room, closed the door, leaned against it and immediately called Sunoo.

"I knew it, I knew it I fucking knew it!" He said. “So? What are you going to do? You're going to kiss him?"

You opened your mouth then closed it. Because the thing was — yes. You wanted to kiss Jungwon. You wanted to kiss him so badly it was ridiculous. But the reason you wanted to kiss him had nothing to do with getting your luck back, and that was the part that was making your chest feel like someone was sitting on it. "It's not that simple," you said instead.

"Why not? Kiss him and get your luck back, everybody wins."

"Yeah, everybody wins but Jungwon! I don't want to kiss him for the luck." Silence on the other end. "What do you mean?" Sunoo asked slower.

"I mean—" You slid down until you were sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest. "I mean I want to kiss him because I want to kiss him because I like him, like embarrassingly much." You said that way too fast, and Sunoo kept silent. "Sunoo?"

"So you like him."

"Yes."

"The guy whose apartment you're living in."

"Yes."

"The guy you kissed at that party and took your luck away."

"Yes, Sunoo, that guy."

"Okay. Okay, that's —" He paused. "That's actually really cute."

"Fuck you mean cute?! It's a disaster, Sunoo! Because if I kiss him now, I don't know if it's because I actually want to or because I need my luck back, and he doesn't know any of this — he doesn't know about the fortune teller, he doesn't know I was the girl at the party, he doesn't know I've been living here partly because I'm trying to figure out how to get my luck back—"

"Okay, slow down. When did you start liking him? Like actually liking him?"

"I don't know. Gradually? I think it started when he made me fried rice the first night and then it just—" You made a vague gesture even though he couldn't see you. "Got worse."

"So you have a crush on him."

"I have more than a crush, dude, I think about him all the time and I memorize the way he laughs and I get excited when he comes home. Like yesterday he pushed my hair out of my face and I almost passed out, Sunoo! I almost passed out!"

"Okay so it's beyond a crush — it's a super crush."

"I know."

"Like, really down bad."

"I said I know, Sunoo!"

He was quiet for a moment, and you could practically hear him grinning through the phone. "So what's the problem, exactly? You like him and you need to kiss him. Seems like the universe is literally giving you an excuse to do the thing you already want to do."

"The problem is that it's not honest! I can't kiss him just because I want my luck back, that's using him."

"But you said you want to kiss him anyway."

"I do."

"So then it's not using him. It's just—multitasking."

"That's not —" You took a deep breath and laughed despite yourself. "That's not how that works. Plus, what if he doesn't feel the same way?"

"Well, you said he makes you breakfast, carries you to bed, he gets you groceries. I think he feels the same way." You leaned your head back against the door and stared at the ceiling. From somewhere in the living room, you could hear the faint sound of Jungwon's guitar again. You were quiet for a long time after that just listening to the guitar, thinking about his hands and his smile and the way he said good luck to you every morning like he actually meant it.

So, needless to say, the rest of the week was pure torture. Now that you knew that it was Jungwon who you had kissed at that party, you couldn't stop thinking about it — how his lips felt, and the memory lingered in your mind, and somehow the fact that he was the most charming and gentlest man you've ever met, made everything even more devastating. When he reached past your for the coffee mug in the morning, his arm brushed yours, and your skins burned for ten minutes after as if he'd dragged his fingers down your spine instead. Or when he stretched out on the couch and his shirt rode up just enough to show that tight strip of toned abdomen, the faint happy trail disappearing under his waistband, you had to physically look away before you did something stupid like trace it with your tongue. You tried to act normal you really did. But knowing what you knew now made everything feel different. Every interaction had this layer underneath it, like this secret weight that made your chest tight and your pulse throb whenever he got too close. And he kept getting close.

Like friday morning, he leaned over your shoulder to show you something on his phone, and his chest brushed your back, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, and you almost choked on your coffee. He patted your back laughing, and said "You okay?" and you said "fine, went down the wrong pipe," which was such a lie but he didn't question it, just let the hand rest there a beat too long, his thumb brushing the edge of your shoulder blade like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

He caught you staring at him on sunday, while he was playing the guitar again, and instead of looking away like a normal person, you just said "What?" and he smiled slowly, dimples carving deep, and said "Nothing, just glad you're here." His voice dropped on the last word, his eyes flicking down to your mouth for half a second before meeting yours again, and the air between you felt thick enough to taste.

And you almost said it right then, almost told him everything. But you didn't, because you were a coward, and because some part of you wasn't ready to lose this, whatever this was. On monday, he brought something up. "I have something to ask you. The showcase for ENHYPEN, it's this friday. I want you to come."

You blinked. "To the show?"

"Yeah, backstage, obviously. You'd be there with me the whole time." He said it casually like it was obvious, like there was no reason you wouldn't want to. "I think it'd be good to have you there."

"Me? Why?"

He shrugged but there was something in his eyes that said that he wasn't quite serious but wasn't entirely joking either. "Things have been going really well lately. And a lot of that started happening around the same time you showed up."

You laughed like you couldn't help it. "I'm not bringing you luck, Jungwon."

"Aren't you though?" He tilted his head, half smile pulling at his mouth. "Think about it. Before you, everything was falling apart."

You thought about it. You thought about it a lot, actually, because it wasn't much of a coincidence at all. It was literally your luck, living inside him, because you kissed him at a party and the universe decided to redistribute. "I seriously doubt I'm your good luck charm, Jungwon," you said, keeping your voice light.

"Well, I seriously doubt you're not." He pointed his fork at you. "So come, please? For me?" He was faking a pout now, and he was adorable.

"But what if I make everything worse?"

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

"I have a good feeling." He was smiling now, and it was devastating, and you hated how easy it was to say yes to him.

"Okay, fine. I'll come." You finally said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You smiled and took a sip of your coffee and didn't say that's because your good luck is literally my good luck that you stole when we kissed at that masquerade ball and you don't even know it. But you almost, almost did.

The venue was bigger than you expected — it wasn't a stadium or anything like that obviously, but it had real lightning and a real sound equipment and a proper stage. Jungwon walked you through the backstage area, nodding at crew member and checking in with the sound engineer, all while keeping one hand loosely on the small of your back in a way that was probably just him guiding you through the crowd but it felt like way more than that.

The dressing room was small and chaotic. When you walked in, all four of them were there: Jay was passing by the door, Sunghoon was sitting on a bench with his eyes closed, drumsticks tapping against his knee, Jake was lying on the floor, I mean literally on the floor, staring at the ceiling while Heeseung was looking at himself in the mirror, adjusting his jacket for what was clearly not the first time.

"Everyone," Jungwon said, gesturing to you. "This is—"

"Yeah, bro, we all know who she is," Jay interrupted without stopping his pacing. "Nice to meet you by the way, I'm Jay."

"It's not—"Jungwon ran a hand through his hair, while you nodded at Jay, smiling. Jungwon looked at Jake. "Jake? Why are you on the floor?"

"I'm focused," Jake said.

"You're lying down."

"Yeah, I focus better horizontally."

Heeseung turned from the mirror and looked at you properly for the first time, and he studied you for a second, smiling. "So you're the reason Jungwon's been in a good mood lately."

"I— What?" Jungwon says.

"You literally smile now, like, at things. It's weird."

"I smiled before," Jungwon said flatly.

You were grinning and you couldn't stop grinning. Jungwon caught your expression and shot you a look that was half embarrassed and half please help me, and you just shrugged enjoying this way too much. Jake finally got up from the floor and dusted himself off, walking over to you. "Nice to officially meet you. We've heard a lot."

"All good things," Jay added quickly, glancing at Jungwon.

"Mostly good things," Sunghoon corrected.

"Okay, everyone out," Jungwon said herding them toward the door. "Warm up. Sound check is in ten. Move."

They filled out one by one, Heeseung even winked at Jungwon in a way that made Jungwon pinch the bridge of his nose, and then it was just the two of you. The room was quieter than it had any right to be at this point, considering a few minutes ago it was full of chaos. Jungwon was leaning against the vanity counter with his arms crossed, and the tension in his shoulders had shifted from manager mode to something else. "So," he said. "They like you, apparently."

"They were just teasing you." You sat down in one of the chairs, calmly, still looking at him. "You okay? For tonight?"

"Nervous." He said it simply. "This is the biggest thing we've ever done, so if it does well… it could change everything for us. And if it doesn't—"

"It will."

He looked at you. "You don't know that."

"Well, I have a good feeling." You echoed his own words back at him, and he laughed, some of the tension in his jaw loosened. He pushed off the counter and walked toward you. You just stayed there watching him move easily and unhurried. He stopped right in front of your chair, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look up at him.

"Thank you for being here, I mean it." He said, his voice was quieter now and his thighs were bracketing yours.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it."

He held your gaze for a beat too long, and there was that thing, that charge that had been building between you for weeks. You could feel it in the air and in the way his eyes dropped just for a second to your mouth, lingering on your lips, before coming back up to meet your eyes again. You moved then. Not toward him, no, but away — because you were nervous. And then, of course, a disaster happened.

Your foot caught on the leg on the chair on your way up, the chair rolled backward and you stumbled, your arms pinwheeling, and you were about to hit the floor when his hands caught you; one at your waist, his fingers splaying wide over the curve of your hip, and the other one gripping your arm. Jungwon pulled you forward into him, hard enough that you slammed right into his chest, your breasts pressing flush against the hard planes of him.

Both of you froze. His hands were still on you, one at your waist digging in just enough to feel like a claim, and the other one on your arm was sliding up to your bicep, thumb stroking once and slow. Your palms were flat against his chest and you could feel his heartbeat under your fingers pounding like it wanted out. You looked up and his face was just inches from yours, his eyes were wide and his lips were slightly parted.

Neither of you moved, god, neither of you even breathed. And then, from somewhere outside the dressing room door, Jay's voice cut through the silence. "Jungwon! Sound check, let's go!" Jungwon closed his eyes, and you watched his jaw tighten, and he took a slow breath through his nose, like he was physically forcing himself to come back to reality, but he didn't even move his hands. "Jungwon," Jay called again. "Now man. We're running behind."

"Coming," Jungwon said, but his voice came out rougher than he probably intended, like the sound of a man on the edge, and he didn't take his eyes off you.

You should have stepped back or laughed it off, made some joke and let him do his job. But you kept your hands on his chest, fingers slightly curling into the fabric of his shirt, and his hands were still on you and you couldn't move. You couldn't do anything except stand there and look at him and want him so badly it physically hurt. He must have seen it on your face, the raw need, because something in his expression shifted like the restraint cracked just for a second — that's when he kissed you.

It was the kind of kiss that feels like something breaking open. His hand was sliding from your waist to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair and gripping hard, pulling you in, his mouth hard against yours and certain, like he'd been thinking about doing this for weeks now. Because well, he kind of was. And you were shocked, genuinely shocked, your eyes going wide for a second before your brain caught up with your body, and you kissed him back.

You kissed him back like you'd been starving for it because you have. Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt pulling him closer until there was no space left. His other hand came up to your jaw, tilting your head exactly how he wanted, and the kiss deepened in a way that made your knees week. His tongue was sliding against yours slow and deep, claiming every inch, and the sound he made low in his throat was quiet enough that only you could hear it, but it vibrated through your chest and straight between your legs, making you ache for him.

And then when he finally pulled back, not all the way but just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours, his thumb still tracing along your jaw, then slowly dragging down the column of your throat. You could feel him breathing hard, his chest rising and failing against your hands. "Jungwon!" Jay's voice again, closer now, and you could hear the footsteps in the hallway.

Jungwon squeezed his eyes shut for a second like he was in actual pain. Then he let go of you and stepped back. "I have to go now, okay?" he said. His voice was wrecked, hoarse. He looked at you one time time, his eyes ranking over your swollen lips like he was trying to memorize you and burn the image into his brain for later. He turned then and walked toward the door.

"Wait," you said, but he was already gone. The door swung shut behind him and you just stood there with your lips still tingling, your heart hammering so hard you could actually hear it in your ears, and you pressed your fingers to you mouth.

You kissed Jungwon. Jungwon kissed you. And somewhere in the back of your mind, buried under everything in an almost insignificant thought flickered through: Did it work?

You were about to check like pulling out you phone or find a scratch off app, anything, when you heard noise. Commotion behind the door — security guys sprinting down the hallway outside the dressing room, someone yelling something you didn't catch it and the sound of walkie talkies crackling. You then opened the door and stepped out into the corridor and the first person you saw was Jake, running full speed.

"Jake!" He almost ran right past you but you grabbed his arm. "What's going on?"

He stopped out of breath and his eyes were wide. "Sunghoon's gone."

"What do you mean gone? Gone where?"

"Bro, we don't know. He was right there one second and someone said he fell into some kind of pit behind the stage and now nobody can find him and the show starts in ten minutes and we're literally missing our drummer."

You just didn't know how to react. "He fell into a pit?! Like a hole? How?"

"I don't know! He said he was looking for the bathroom!"

A security guard jogged past you both, and the whole backstage area had descended into this not so controlled panic with people moving fast and everyone looking at everyone else. You let go of Jake's arm. "Go, help them look, I'll find Jungwon."

So you turned the corner toward the main backstage corridor, and that's when you spotted Yoon Jeonghan. He was standing near the production booth with his phone pressed to his ear — he did not look happy at all. He hung up and started pacing, muttering something that you were pretty sure included several words you wouldn't repeat in polite company. Then he saw you, blinked and stopped pacing. "Y/N? What are you doing here?"

"I'm — it's complicated. I'm here with Jungwon."

He looked at you then and it looked like something was flickering across his face, maybe amusement, but he probably didn't have the time for it because he was already shaking his head. "Look, I found out what happened at the ball, and what they did to you, kicking you out like that, was completely unfair." He pointed at you. "If you want a job, I can make it happen. We have an events division and frankly you're way more qualified than half the people we have."

Your mouth opened and then closed. "You serious?"

"I'm dead serious, but right now—" he gestured at the chaos around both of you. "Well, right now I have a band that's supposed to go on stage in fifteen minutes and one of their members apparently fell into a hole. And I just signed theses guys last month."

"Okay, I can fix this."

Jeonghan stared at you. "Fix what?"

"This situation. Give me ten minutes."

He looked at you trying to figure it out what you meant. "Ten minutes."

"Yeah. Just — just trust me on this one."

He held up his hands. "I literally have no other option right now, so, cure. Ten minutes. Go."

And finding Jungwon in the chaos of that venue was harder than it should have been. You checked the production booth; not there. The main dressing room, also empty. The corridor near the stage entrance and even security, but no Jungwon. You checked the bathroom, the catering area, even poked your head into a storage closet just in case but nothing.

And then you finally spotted him near the loading dock at the back of the venue, sitting on a concrete step with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. His hair was a mess, his jacket was halfway off one shoulder, and he looked like someone who had just watched his entire life fall apart in real time. "Hey," you said as you approached him.

He looked up. "Hey." You sat down next to him, and for a second, neither of you said anything. "Everything is falling apart," he said and his voice was flat and tired. "Sunghoon fell into some kind of maintenance shaft and nobody can find him. The lighting rig almost came loose during the pre show check. Jay's mic has been cutting in and out for the last hour. And the sound engineer just told me there's a feedback issue he can't figure out." He laughed, but it was hollow. "It's like it all started again. All at once." He dropped his head into his hands. "I thought it was over, I thought the bad luck was done."

You looked at him and your chest ached. Because you knew, you knew exactly why this was happening. Everything that could go wrong was going wrong, right on schedule because apparently that's how it works when the universe decides to rebalance.

And it was your fault. So you grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him toward you and kissed him again. You grabbed him hard enough that he stumbled forward, one hand instinctively coming up to catch himself against the step, and your other hand was shaking, and your eyes were burning in a way that had nothing to do with the dusty air. His hand came up to the back of your neck pulling you closer, responding almost immediately.

When you pulled back, you were breathing hard, and he was looking at you with this expression that was equal parts confused and completely wrecked. "What was that ab—"

And then the music started. Not the pre show stuff but the opening notes of their first song and the crowd erupted. You both turned toward the stage entrance, and that's when you saw through the side door, visible from where you were sitting and there, climbing up onto the drum platform from a maintenance ladder behind the kit, covered in dust grinning like an idiot, Sunghoon. He'd been in the maintenance shaft the entire time. The shaft that connected directly to the raised platform behind the drum kit.

Jake was already at the mic, laughing. Heeseung was strapping on his guitar, shaking his head. Jay caught Sunghoon's eye from across the stage and just mouthed something that made Sunghoon flip him off. The show was starting, so Jungwon stood up slowly, still staring at the stage and then he turned back to you. "How did—" he started.

"Go," you said. "They need you."

He looked at you, at the stage and then back at you. "But I really want to kiss you again right now," he said.

"Later." You pushed him gently toward the stage door. "Go. Work. Be amazing."

He took a step backward still looking at you and that half smile pulling at his mouth. "You know we're not done talking about this right?"

"I know."

He turned and jogged toward the stage, and you watched him disappear through the side door and then you sat back down on the concrete step, alone, and pressed your hands to your face. And somewhere in your chest, something was cracking open. You stayed there for a minute, maybe two, trying to breathe normally, trying to think. Then you got up, wiped your face with the back of your hand, and walked back inside. You could see the stage from here but not all of it, just a sliver through the gap in the curtain. The crowd was already on their feet, phones up, and Jungwon was standing at the side of the stage with his headset on, watching them.

This was everything they'd been working toward, everything he'd been working toward. And it was happening because you kissed him, because you gave him back his luck. Your vision blurred and you blinked but it didn't help, so you just turned and walked away before anyone could see.

The apartment was too quiet when you got back and you stood in the doorway for a second, staring at the living room. Two coffee mugs sat on the table, one of them yours, the handle chipped from when you'd knocked it against the sink last week. The blanket you used at night was folded on the chair. It looked lived in, it looked like two people lived here. Because it did.

You went to the guest room and started packing and since you didn't have much it took maybe ten minutes. When you were done, you sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the far wall. The apartment was so quiet you could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen, so you thought about Jungwon coming home later, late probably, after one of his best nights ever and finding you gone.

You thought about the look on his face and your throat got tight. You found a notepad and you stared at the blank page for a long time before you picked up the pen.

jungwon, i'm sorry. i know that's not enough, but i don't know what else to say. i can't stay. i thought i could figure this out, but i can't. every time i'm around you, things get complicated, and i don't know how to fix it without making everything worse. you're going to do incredible things. tonight proved that. you and the guys are going to be huge, and you deserve all of it. you worked so hard for this. thank you for everything. for letting me stay. for the coffee and the terrible toast that one time. for being kind when i didn't deserve it. i hope you understand.

You stopped and stared at what you'd written and thought about adding more — something about the masquerade ball, the fortune teller, the kiss — but what would that even do? He'd think you were losing it and honestly maybe you were. You signed it with just your name and left it on the kitchen counter, then you grabbed your bag, took one last look around, and left.

Sunoo opened the door before you could knock. "I saw you coming up the street," then he looked at your bag and at your face. "Oh no."

"Can I come in?"

"Obviously, come in." Sunoo sat down next to you and didn't say anything. "I kissed him, everything fell apart and then I kissed him again at the venue, right before the show. And then everything started going right again. Because I gave him the luck back." You looked up and your eyes were burning. "And if I stay, if I keep doing this, I'm going to ruin his life because every time I kiss him, it switches. I can't do that to him."

"Did you tell him any of this?"

"No."

"So you just left."

"I left a note."

"Are you serious right now?"

"What was I supposed to do Sunoo?!"

"I don't know, maybe talk to him? Like an adult?"

"And say what? Hey, by the way, I'm the reason your life fell apart and then got better and if we keep kissing it's going to keep yo-yoing forever?"

"Yes. Exactly that."

You looked at him. "He'd think I'm insane."

"He probably already thinks you're a little insane. You've been living in his apartment for weeks." Sunoo leaned back, arms crossed. "He's going to come looking for you, you know."

"Then I won't answer."

"You're going to hide in my apartment forever?"

"If I have to," you said. Sunoo made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "You're the dumbest smart person I know. This is genuinely the worst decision you've ever made." Your phone buzzed then and it was Jungwon, and you and Sunoo looked at it.

jungwon: show was amazing. where are you? want to grab food?

Your chest hurt and flipped the phone face down on your lap. You didn't answer, you just sat there on the world's worst couch and tried not to think about the way Jungwon's hand had felt on the back of your neck. The way he'd looked at you before he ran to the stage. The way he'd said you know we're not done talking about this, right? And then your phone buzzed again.

jungwon: you okay?

You turned it off. And you were absolutely miserable for the next few days. You kept your phone completely off shoved in the bottom of your bag where you wouldn't be tempted to turn it back on just to see if he'd texted again. You barely left Sunoo's apartment, you sat on the couch with the blanket pulled up to your chin and stared at the TV without actually watching anything. Sunoo would leave for work in the morning and come back in the evening with takeout, and you'd eat because he was looking at you like he was worried you'd forget to, and then you'd go back to staring at nothing.

One day you finally turned your phone on just for a minute, just to see. Fifteen missed calls and twenty three texts, most of them from Jungwon. A few from numbers you didn't recognize — probably the guys, or Jeonghan. But you didn't read any of them, you turned the phone off again and handed it to Sunoo and told him to hide it somewhere you wouldn't find it.

Eventually you started to feel like a person again. Not a good person, not a functional person, but a person. You showered and you changed out of the clothes you'd been wearing for days straight. You sat at Sunoo's tiny kitchen table and drank coffee and stared out the window at the street below and thought about what you were going to do next. You couldn't stay here forever, Sunoo's apartment was barely big enough for him, and you were taking up his couch and his space and his emotional energy and it wasn't fair. You needed to figure out a plan so you called your mom and told her you were staying there for a while, and she obviously said yes.

You packed what little you had and tried not to think about the apartment you'd left behind, tried not to think about Jungwon. You tried not to think about the way he'd kissed you in the dressing room, or the way his hand had felt on your neck or the way he'd looked at you like you were something worth keeping. But you thought about it anyway, you thought about it all the time, actually. It sat in your chest like a weight you couldn't shift heavy and constant and aching in a way that made it hard to breathe sometimes.

So when the day came, you sat on a bench in the park across from your old building with your bag at your feet, an hour before your train to your hometown was supposed to leave. Sunoo had offered to come with you to the station but you'd told him no, that you wanted to do this part alone, and he'd hugged you at the door and told you to text him when you got to your mom's and you'd promised you would. Now you were just sitting, watching people walk by — couples holding hands, someone walking a dog. Just people living their normal luck-curse-free lives.

You thought about everything you'd had a month ago. The job, the apartment. the confidence that came from being someone who had their life together, someone people looked at and thought had it figured out. Thought about how you'd lost all of that in one night. But none of it — none of the job or the apartment or your carefully constructed life — hurt as much as this. Losing Jungwon hurt more than all of it combined.

You were standing there staring at the pavement and trying to convince yourself that leaving him was the right then to do, when you heard your name. Quiet and almost hesitant like the person saying it wasn't sure it was really you. You looked up and Jungwon was standing ten feet away and he looked wrecked. His hair was a mess and he had dark circles under his eyes, looking like he hadn't a good night of sleep in days.

He looked at you and his expression did something complicated — relief, anger, hurt, all of it at once. "I've been looking for you everywhere," he said.

You stood up. "Jungwon—"

"You left." His voice cracked a little on the word. "You just — you left a note and disappeared, and I've been calling you for a week, and Sunoo wouldn't tell me where you were, and I thought—" He stopped and took a breath. "I thought something happened to you."

"I'm fine."

"Are you though? Because you're sitting on a bench with a suitcase looking like you're about to get on a train and never come back." You didn't say anything because he was right, so he took a step closer. "Can we talk? Please. Just five minutes, that's all I'm asking."

"Jungwon, I can't—"

"Five minutes."

You looked at him, at the way his jaw was tight and at the way he was looking at you like if you said no he might actually break. "Okay, five minutes."

He sat down on the bench. You sat next to him leaving space between you, and for a long moment neither of you said anything. "Why did you leave?" He asked eventually.

You stared at your hands. "It's complicated."

"So explain it to me." His eyes were pleading.

So you took a breath and let it out slowly. "Do you remember the masquerade ball? The one you worked as a waiter?"

He blinked. "Yeah?"

You turned to look at him. "Do you remember kissing someone that night?"

He went very still. "I—" He stopped. "Yeah. I do."

"That was me."

The silence that followed was so thick. "You," he said slowly. "You were the girl—"

"Yeah."

You watched him try to piece it together, watched his brain work through it. "So that's why you seemed familiar. That's why—" He stopped again. "Wait. If you knew it was me, why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it's not just that." You were talking faster now, in a rush because if you stopped you'd lose your nerve. "There was a fortune teller at the party. She told me my luck was about to run out and I thought she was full of it, but then we kissed, and everything in my life fell apart. I lost my job, my apartment, everything. And at the same time, your life got better. The band got signed, you moved into a nicer place, everything started going right for you."

He was staring at you. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying the kiss transferred my luck to you, Jungwon. I know how that sounds, I know I sound insane and I know you probably think I'm completely insane right now, but I swear I'm telling the truth. The fortune teller said it happens sometimes — when someone with a lot of good luck kisses someone with a lot of bad luck, it balances out apparently. And that's what happened to us I think." Jungwon didn't say anything, looking at you like he was trying to figure out if you were serious. "And then, when I kissed you again at the venue, before the show — I gave you the luck back. That's why everything went right that night. That's why the show was perfect. But it also means I took it away from myself again, and if I stay, if we keep doing this, it's just going to keep switching back and forth, and I can't—" Your voice broke. "I can't keep doing that to you. I can't ruin your life every time I want to be near you."

The silence stretched out. A car drove by. Someone laughed on the other side of the park. The world kept moving and you sat there waiting for him to say something, anything. "So you left because you thought you were protecting me. By disappearing without explaining any of this."

"I didn't think you'd believe me."

"You didn't even give me the chance, Y/N!"

You stood up and you looked down at your hands. "I know."

"Do you?" He stood up with you and his voice was sharper. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you made a decision for both of us without asking what I wanted. You decided I was better off without you and just left."

"You are better off—"

"Don't." He cut you off. "Don't tell me what I want. Don't tell me what's better for me."

"Jungwon—"

"I don't care about the luck." He was looking right at you now and his eyes bright and intense. "I don't care if it switches every time we're together. I don't care if everything falls apart again. I just want you to stay."

Your throat closed up. "You don't know what you're saying—"

"I know exactly what I'm saying." He reached out and took your hand. "I'm saying I don't care about any of it. Not even the band or the contract because it doesn't mean anything if you're not there with me."

You were crying now. You didn't know when it started, but your face was wet and your vision was blurred and you couldn't stop. "I'm going to ruin everything for you," you said.

"Then ruin it," he said simply. "I don't care."

"Jungwon—"

"Stay." His voice broke on the word. "Please. Just stay."

You looked at him, at how you were completely in love with this guy and you thought about the train ticket in your pocket — the plan to start over, the clean break you wanted. And then you thought about his laugh, about the way he looked at you like you were the best part of his day. You were completely in love with Jungwon.

"I'm scared, Won," you whispered.

"I'm scared too, love. But we will make it work. I promise you." His eyes were glassy and he was looking at you with that look — that down bad look he gave you countless times before.

You were so tired of running. "Okay."

He blinked. "Okay?"

"Okay. I'll stay."

For a second he didn't move like he was afraid he'd heard you wrong, like if he reacted too fast you'd take it back. And then his face broke into this smile, the one that made your chest ache because it was so openly, devastatingly happy. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He pulled you toward him and you went, and then his arms were around you and his face was buried in your hair and you could feel him breathing, could feel the way his hands gripped the back of your jacket like he was holding on for dear life. "Don't do that again," he said into your shoulder. "Don't just leave."

"I won't."

"Promise."

"I promise." He pulled back just enough to look at you and his hands came up to your face, thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn't realized were still falling. His eyes were searching yours like he was checking to make sure you meant it. "I'm sorry," you said. "I should've told you. I should've—"

"Stop," he said gently. "Don't apologize."

"But—"

"We'll figure it out. The luck thing, all of it. I don't care how complicated it is. We'll figure it out together."

And then, finally, he kissed you carefully like he was giving you a chance to change your mind, but when you leaned into him he kissed you deeper. His hand slid to the back of your neck and his fingers threading into your hair, and the other stayed on your face. When he pulled back, it was only for a second. "Hi," he said, and there was that smile again.

"Hi," you giggled.

And then he kissed you again, this time with more confidence and more certainty, his mouth moving against yours like he was making up for lost time. You kissed him back just as hard, hands sliding up to his shoulders, then to his neck. He pulled back again with his forehead resting against yours. "One more," he murmured.

"You're keeping count?"

"No. Definitely not keeping count."

He kissed you again, and again, and again, and you didn't care that you were in public, that people were probably staring, that your train was leaving in forty minutes and you weren't going to be on it. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathing hard, and he was grinning like an idiot. "I have no idea who has the luck right now."

You laughed and it felt like something breaking open in your chest, something that had been wound too tight for too long. "Me neither."

"Good. Let's keep it that way." He kissed you one more time and when he pulled away he kept his forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed, just breathing with you. "So," he said after a minute. "What do we do about the train ticket?"

"I don't know. Refund?"

"I vote for that option."

His hand sliding down to lace with yours and he looked at you like he was still trying to convince himself you were real. "Come home," he said. "Please. Come back to the apartment."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I've been sure since the day you showed up soaking wet with a broken umbrella." He squeezed your hand. "I want you there. I want you to stay."

You looked at him and you thought about the place that slowly started feeling like yours too. "Okay, let's go home."

His smile was so bright it could've powered the entire city. He grabbed your bag off the ground and you walked next to him with your hand still in his, and he didn't let go the entire way back. Not when you crossed the street, not when you got to his building, not even when he had to dig his keys out of his pocket with his free hand. When you got to the apartment, he dropped your bag by the door and turned to you. "For the record," he said, "I'm never letting you leave again."

"Is that a threat?"

"Yeah, and I'm definitely kidnapping you this time."

You laughed and then he kissed you again right there in the doorway, and you kissed him back, and he didn't break the kiss right away. Instead he backed you up slowly step by step until your back met the door with a soft thud. His hands slid up to frame your face and he pulled back just enough to look at you. "God, baby," he murmured and he pressed a finger to your lips, then replaced it with his mouth with a quick teasing kiss. "I'm gonna kiss you so many times tonight the universe is gonna run out of bad luck and just start handing us infinite good fortune." He laughed softly against your mouth. "Starting right now."

Before you could answer he kissed you again deeper, his tongue sliding slow against yours. His hands moved, one sliding down to grip your hip and the other tangling in your hair, and he pressed his body flush against yours pinning you gently but firmly to the door. You made a small needy sound into his mouth and he groaned in response, pulling back just enough to whisper against your lips. "You're so perfect, fuck—"

Your knees went weak and he must have felt it because his arm wrapped around your waist steadying you, and then he scooped you up like you weighed nothing. You gasped as your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips and your arms looped around his neck. "Easy," he said grinning as he carried you toward the kitchen. "I've got you."

He set you down on the counter but he didn't step back. Instead he stepped between your legs with his hands sliding up your thighs to rest at your hips. He leaned in close and said "look at me," softly, his voice dipping into that gentle command. You did and his eyes were locked on yours, intense, adoring, a little hungry, and he tilted his head. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmured. "My pretty girl." His thumb dragged along your bottom lip parting it slightly. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to have you like this."

He kissed you again while one hand slid up under your shirt, his palm flat against the bare skin of your back pulling you closer. You moaned softly and he rewarded you with a low hum, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth along your jaw down the side of your neck. He nipped lightly at your collarbone then soothed it with his tongue. "Tell me if it's too much," he said.

You nodded breathless. "I want you, Won."

His smile turned downright sinful. Jungwon kissed you again more possessively, his hands roaming freely now, one sliding up to cup the back of your neck and the other slipping under your shirt to trace the curve of your spine. You tugged at his hair pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth, hips rocking forward once, letting you feel exactly how much he wanted you. He broke the kiss just enough to breathe. "Fuck," he whispered. "Are you okay? We can slow down. Or stop, whatever you need."

You shook your head quickly and your fingers tightening in his hair. "Don’t stop, please"

His eyes searched yours for a long second. "Okay." He kissed you once more then pulled back just enough to look down between you, at where your thighs were still wrapped loosely around his hips on the counter. His hands settled on the tops of your legs, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over the denim. "Can I touch you?" he asked quietly, voice almost shy despite everything. "Please?"

Your heart stuttered at the way he asked earnest and almost pleading. "Yeah," you whispered. "Yeah, you can."

His smile was instant. "Thank you, baby." He kissed you one more time grateful, then slid his hands down to the button of your jeans. He popped it open slowly and his fingers hooked into the waistband tugging gently. "Lift up for me?" he murmured.

You braced your hands behind you on the counter and lifted your hips just enough. He peeled the jeans down your thighs carefully so as not to rush, then he dropped to his knees between your legs right there on the kitchen floor and your breath caught hard. He looked up at you with eyes wide and reverent, hands resting on the outside of your thighs. "You’re so beautiful," he said simply. "Look at you. All pretty just for me."

He leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to the inside of your knee, just a brush of lips, and then another a little higher, teasing the sensitive skin with feather light kisses, occasionally letting his tongue flick out just enough to make you shiver. "Jungwon…" Your voice came out small and needy.

"I know baby," he murmured against your thigh. "Just relax for me okay? Let me take care of you." He kissed higher open mouthed now, sucking lightly just below where your thigh met your hip. His hands slid up to hook under your knees spreading your legs wider so he could fit himself closer. You felt exposed and vulnerable, but the way he looked at you made it feel safe instead of scary. He nuzzled the damp cotton of your underwear, nose brushing the most sensitive part of you through the fabric and you gasped. "Already so wet f'me," he said, voice low and awed. "Fuck, that's perfect. You're perfect."

He hooked two fingers into the side of your panties and tugged them down agonizingly slowly until they were off and tossed somewhere behind him. Then he looked up at you again, eyes dark with want but still so gentle. You nodded breathlessly and that seemed to unravel something in him. He leaned in and kissed you there, not diving in, not yet, just a closed mouth press right over your clit. Then another and another tiny reverent kisses. "You taste so good baby," he murmured between kisses. "Just from this. My good girl..." Finally he flattened his tongue and licked one long, slow stripe up your center. You moaned, head falling back, and he groaned in response. "That's it, let me hear you baby."

He did it again slower circling your clit with the softest pressure before pulling back to kiss like it was your mouth, and your hips bucked involuntarily. Jungwon felt the way your hips jerked up and just pressed his palm firmer against your thigh, keeping you right where he wanted you. The sounds were filthy in the quiet kitchen: wet, soft, the occasional quiet suck when he sealed his lips around your clit again. Your fingers tightened in his hair and he let out this low, pleased hum that vibrated straight through you. "Fuck," you breathed, hips twitching.

You were getting louder without meaning to and he didn't shush you or tell you to be quiet. He just groaned against you like the sounds were turning him on more. When your breathing hitched hard and your whole body tensed, he didn't speed up, he just stayed exactly where he was. Your back arched off the counter, a choked "Jungwon—" slipping out as you came, thighs squeezing around his head, fingers yanking his hair hard.

He didn't flinch, he just kept licking you soft and slow through the aftershocks until you were whimpering and pushing weakly at his forehead. "Fuck that was so hot," he murmured, finally pulling back. His lips were shiny and his chin wet, then he stood up slowly leaning over you to kiss you, letting you taste yourself. You were still catching your breath when he broke the kiss. "You good?" he asked.

"Yeah," you managed, voice wrecked. "That was… yeah."

He smirked and kissed the corner of your mouth. "Good." Then he hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you off the counter and you wrapped your legs around him in reflex and he carried you down the hallway. He kicked his bedroom door shut with his heel and walked over to the bed, set you down in the middle, then he climbed over you shifting his weight, bracing on his forearms and looked down at your face for a second. "What do you want now, mhm?" he asked, then he leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth. "I'm down for whatever you want, baby. Just tell me."

You reached up, fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him closer to kiss him. He let you, melting into the kiss, and when you broke apart you were both breathing a little harder. "I want you, so much," you said simply. 

He exhaled through his nose a relieved sound, and kissed you again before trailing his lips down your jaw then your neck. He found the spot just under your ear and sucked lightly, humming when you shivered. "Me too, love. You're so fucking pretty, I can't get over it." Another kiss, lower, along your collarbone, then down to the center of your chest, right between your breasts, his lips brushing the fabric of your shirt. "This body… fuck, it's all mine tonight, yeah?"

You laughed softly and a little breathless, and he kept going, pushing your shirt up slowly, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered. Stomach, the dip of your waist, the curve under your ribs. "Gosh look at you," he breathed, lips grazing the underside of your breast. He kissed there, then higher, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he took it into his mouth while his hand cupped the other one. You arched a little, fingers tightening in his hair, and he groaned low against you. "Love the way you sound when I touch you," he said, switching sides, giving the same careful attention. "Makes me crazy."

He spent minutes like that and eventually he kissed his way back up, settling between your legs again, hard and obvious against you through his sweats. He rocked once slowly letting you feel him then dropped his forehead to yours. "Baby," he whispered. "I want to be inside you so bad."

You smiled and before he could say anything else you pushed at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back with a surprised little huff. Now you were the one hovering over him, straddling his hips with your hands braced on his chest. His eyes widened for a second, then softened while his lips curved intoa lazy smile. "Oh?" he said, voice teasing. "You taking over now?"

"Yeah," you murmured, leaning down to kiss him slowly and deep, letting your tongue slide against his until he groaned into your mouth. You pulled back just enough to speak against his lips. "My turn to make you feel good."

You kissed down his jaw, then his neck, mirroring what he'd done to you, smiling when his hips jerked up under you. "Fuck," he breathed, hands settling on your waist. "You're gonna kill me love."

You kept going down his chest, lips brushing over the cotton of his shirt first, and you could tell how much he liked it by the way his stomach flexed under every kiss. You slid your hands under the hem pushing the fabric up and exposing the smooth toned plane of his stomach. He had that subtle definition, just lean and strong, a faint happy trail started just below his navel leading down. You followed it with your tongue with a deliberate stripe right up the center of his abs and Jungwon sucked in a sharp breath, his abs jumping under your mouth. "Fuck…" he exhaled, voice wrecked. His hand found your hair again, fingers threading through gently.

You kissed lower, lips tracing the sharp cut of his hipbone then the other side and every time you got close to the waistband of his sweats you'd pull back just enough to kiss the skin right above it. "Baby," he murmured, half laugh and half plea. "You're killing me here."

You looked up at him through your lashes, smirking. "Good." He was breathing harder now, and you palmed him over the fabric with a slow drag of your hand from base to tip, feeling how thick and hard he already was. The outline was obscene and long enough that the head pushed against the waistband, thick enough that your fingers didn't quite meet when you wrapped around him. "So pretty," you said softly with your eyes locked on his. 

He let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan when you squeezed just a little. "You have no fucking idea what you do to me," he rasped biting his bottom lip hard enough to leave a mark.

You tugged the waistband down finally letting the elastic catch on the head for a second before you pulled it past. He sprang free and heavy against his stomach, flushed dark at the tip, already glistening with precum that beaded at the slit and slid down the underside in a thin line. You wrapped your fingers around him then you stroked once, slow from root to tip, thumb swiping over the head to spread the precum. Jungwon's head fell back against the pillow with a thud. "Shit — fuck, baby…"

You did it again slowly and watched every reaction. "Feels good?" you asked teasingly.

"So fucking good," he groaned and his hips lifting into your hand before he caught himself. "Don't — don't tease too much, please. I'm already losing it." But you did tease just a little more. You leaned down and kissed the inside of his thigh then higher, right at the crease where leg met hip, letting your breath ghost over him without touching. He whined low and needy. "Baby, please…" His voice cracked on the word and his fingers in your hair tightened. "Please put your mouth on me. I need it. Need you." You smiled against his skin, then finally gave in and you licked a slow flat stripe from base to tip and his whole body jerked. "Oh god — fuck yes," he gasped and his voice breaking. "Just like that. Fuck, your tongue…"

You swirled around the head with slow circles, then flicked the underside and he cursed under his breath, hips stuttering up. "Baby — shit, you're so good at this, fuck I love your mouth." You took him in properly then, sucking his length while your tongue pressed flat against the slit. He moaned loud and unrestrained. "Yes — yes, fuck, suck it like that," he babbled, voice wrecked and so, so vocal. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

You bobbed down further until he hit the back of your throat and you hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder on the pull up, hand stroking what your mouth couldn't reach. His breathing turned ragged, moans spilling out nonstop. "Fuck baby, you're gonna make me come so fast," he groaned, fingers flexing in your hair. You hummed around him and he practically sobbed. "Baby fuck, do that again. Please. I'm —shit, I'm so close already."

You picked up the pace just enough and your hand twisting at the base while your tongue worked the head on every upstroke. His hips were jerking in helpless thrusts and his voice cracking on every word. "Gonna come baby, I'm gonna come," he warned, desperate. "Where — fuck, where do you want it?"

You pulled off just long enough to whisper, "In my mouth." Then you took him deep again sucking hard, and he broke. "Fuck yes— fuck baby—" His whole body locked up and his hips snapped forward once as he came with a loud moan, spilling hot and thick down your throat. You swallowed around him working him through every pulse until he was whimpering from overstimulation, hand gently tugging you off.

He collapsed back and his eyes were glassy as he looked down at you. "Holy shit," he breathed. "Come here." He pulled you up immediately with his strong arms wrapping around you, rolling so you were half on top of him. He kissed you messy and deep, tasting himself on your tongue then softer hands stroking your back like he was grounding himself. "You're insane," he murmured against your lips, still catching his breath. You laughed quietly, pressing your face into his neck. "Still want inside you," he added. "Soon as I can breathe again."

You laughed a breathless giggle and leaned in to kiss his face everywhere. Soft pecks on his forehead and his eyelids then the tip of his nose, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth. He closed his eyes, smiling lazily, letting you do whatever you wanted while his hands rubbed slow circles on your back. "The universe must be confused as hell right now with all the kisses we've been throwing around," he murmured, voice still a little rough, his eyes opening n to meet yours with that playful glint.

You grinned, pressing one more kiss to his jaw. "I have no idea who's got the luck right now."

"Well I don't know," he said, smirking, "but I'm feeling pretty damn lucky."

Before you could respond, he shifted and his arms wrapped around your waist as he rolled you onto your back in one smooth motion, settling over you. He caught your hands and lacing his fingers through yours and pinning them gently above your head. Then he kissed your face just like you'd done to him: forehead, cheeks, nose, eyelids. "I'm so crazy about you," he whispered against your temple. "Like stupid crazy."

He released your hands but kept his fingers tangled with yours on one side, using the free one to slide under your shirt again. He tugged it up slowly and kissing the skin as it appeared until he could pull it over your head and toss it aside. His mouth was everywhere then and he took his time sucking lightly on one nipple while his thumb brushed the other, humming low in his throat when you arched into him. "Fuck you're gorgeous," he murmured between kisses.

He settled between your legs again, hard against you, and rocked slowly with his tip teasing your clit with the blunt pressure then dipping just barely against your entrance. Back and forth, slow drags that made you gasp, hips lifting to chase more. "Feel that? How bad I want you?" But then he paused as a small self deprecating laugh escaping him. "Shit, wait. I don't wanna push my luck here. Need a condom before I... yeah."

You laughed too, nodding. "Yeah, good call."

He kissed you quick then rolled off to grab one from his nightstand drawer. He tore the wrapper with his teeth, rolling it on with quick, his yes flicking back to you the whole time like he couldn't look away. Then he was back over you settling between your thighs, one hand bracing beside your head while the other guided himself. He teased again with just the tip circling your entrance pressing in barely an inch before pulling back, watching your face. "Ready baby?" he asked.

You nodded. "Please, Won."

He pushed in slow stretching you inch by inch, the burn intense as your body adjusted to him. He was thick, filling you up so completely that you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned low against your neck, "Fuck," he rasped. "You feel... so good. So tight around me. You okay?"

"Yeah," you whispered, rolling your hips experimentally making you both moan. "Move. Please move."

He did, slowly pulled out then deep thrusting back in, building a rhythm that had the bed creaking quietly under you. He kept that slow, deep rhythm at first pulling almost all the way out just to slide back in with a deliberate grind. The stretch was perfect bordering on too much, his thickness filling you so completely that you could feel every ridge. Sweat slicked between your bodies, and you could hear the quiet creak of the bed mixed with the wet obscene sounds of him moving inside you.

"Fuck baby, you feel so good," Jungwon whined, voice high. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut for a second before they fluttered open, locking on you with this desperate look. "So tight... God, I can't— I can't. You're driving me insane."

You whimpered back, hands clawing at his back. "Jungwon — please, harder... need you deeper," you begged, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. It felt so good it almost hurt, that sweet ache building low in your belly, but you wanted more, wanted him to ruin you.

He groaned loud, a shaky, obsessed sound, and picked up the pace with his thrusts turning sharper, hips snapping forward with a wet slap each time. "Like that? Fuck yes — tell me, baby." His mouth crashed against your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. One hand slid down to grip your thigh, hitching it higher around his waist so he could angle deeper, hitting that spot that made you see white.

"Oh god — right there," you cried out. "You're so big..."

"Fuck I love this pussy..." He was babbling now completely unfiltered, hips stuttering as he chased the feeling, his free hand roaming everywhere, squeezing your breast, thumb flicking your nipple hard. You pulled him down for a messy kiss, both of you whining into each other's mouths. "Want on top, let me ride you — please, Won," you whined.

He let out a broken moan at that. "Yeah? Fuck — yes, baby." He rolled you both over and settled on his back with you straddling his hips, his cock still buried deep inside you and the new angle made you gasp. You braced your hands on his chest and started moving with slow rolls at first, grinding your clit against his pelvis. He looked up at you like you were a goddess, hands gripping your hips hard. "Holy shit — you look so hot like this," he whined with his hips bucking up weakly to meet you. "Bouncing on my cock... fuck, your tits — play with them for me? Please baby, wanna see."

You did, cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples, moaning whiny and loud as you picked up speed, lifting and dropping harder now. "Like this?"

He threw his head back, throat exposed and bobbing with a swallow, a needy whine escaping him. "Yes fuck, just like that." You leaned down sinking your teeth into his shoulder enough to make him hiss and buck wildly under you, his hands sliding to your ass to squeeze and guide your movements. "Fuck yes, like that, gonna come if you keep, shit, baby."

You tightened around him on purpose as you rode him. "Oh god baby, fuck, do it again," so you did and he gasped and his voice was cracking, hips jerking up hard enough to make you bounce. His hands flew to your ass, gripping tight and then on instinct, he lifted one palm and brought it down in a sharp smack right across your cheek. You moaned loud and shameless. Jungwon froze for half a second, eyes widening like he'd just discovered something dangerous, then he saw the way your back arched, the way you clenched even tighter around him, and his expression shifted. "You liked that yeah?" he rasped while his palm was rubbing over the warm spot he'd just hit. "Fuck… you really liked that huh?"

You nodded fast, biting your lip. "Yeah, fuck, do it again. Please."

He groaned like the word alone almost finished him off. Another smack harder this time and you cried out, grinding down harder on his cock. "Goddamn, love, such a good girl for me… taking it so well." He squeezed your ass possessively then delivered one more controlled slap. "Turn around," he said suddenly, voice firm. "On your hands and knees. Now."

You scrambled off him and got into position with your ass up and your back arched. You looked back over your shoulder, while Jungwon sat up behind you, hands roaming over your hips, your waist, your back like he couldn't decide where to touch first. "Fuck princess, you're dripping down your thighs. Fuck, I'm obsessed."

He lined himself up again with his tip nudging your entrance, teasing for just a second then he pushed in slowly at first, and you both moaned at the same time, filthy. "So deep," you whined, pushing back against him. "Jungwon — please… fuck me hard."

His grip tightened on your hips and he started thrusting fast, really fast, slapping against your ass with every stroke, the bedframe rattled against the wall. "Fuck fuck, baby, listen to that," he panted. "You love it rough, don't you? Love when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes yes, oh gosh yes," you cried, pushing back to meet every thrust, hands fisting the sheets. "Harder please, Jungwon, don't stop—"

He leaned over you with his chest pressing to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other slid between your legs. His fingers found your clit rubbing fast circles that matched the brutal rhythm of his hips. "Come for me again," he begged, voice whiny and commanding at the same time. "Please, baby milk me, I need it around my cock."

You were already close, the angle hitting that spot over and over and his fingers relentless while your moans turned into broken sobs. "Jungwon, I'm — fuck, I'm gonna—"

"Do it," he growled against your ear. "Be a good girl and come for me, yeah?" You shattered with your back arching hard, walls clamping down around him in fluttering pulses as you came with a wrecked cry of his name. Your whole body shook, vision blurring. He fucked you through it fast and sloppy now, chasing his own high. "Fuck baby, that's it, milk me, shit, I'm so close — gonna come —"

"Come for me, Won, please —" you whined, pushing back weakly.

That sent him over. He slammed in one last time deeply, his hips flush against your ass and came with a long, broken moan that sounded almost pained, his cock pulsing hard inside you as he spilled into the condom. His whole body shuddered, arms wrapping tight around you from behind, holding you close while he rode out the aftershocks.

He stayed buried inside you for a good minute after he came, bath of you breathing hard while his chest was plastered to you back and his arms locked around your middle. His face was tucked into the side of your neck and every few seconds he would press a lazy kiss there. Eventually he pulled out slowly and carefully, hissing a little through his teeth when the cool air hit him. "Fuck that was intense," he muttered as he rolled the condom off and tied it quick, chucking it toward the trash can by the desk.

You laughed, still face down on the mattress. "Yeah, it really was…"

He flopped down beside you, one arm slinging over your waist pulling you sideways so you were kind of snooping, as his fingers started tracing lazy patterns on your hip.  "You okay my love? I kinda went feral at the end there."

You turned your head enough to look at him. His hair was a disaster, sticking up everywhere and his cheeks were super flushed, but he was smiling and it was disarming. "More than okay. My legs are jelly, though. And my ass is gonna remind me of you tomorrow."

He grinned with that boyish grin. "That's good, a souvenir." Then he leaned in and kissed your shoulder right over one of the little red marks he'd left earlier. "Sorry if I got too carried away. You just… you really make me lose my mind, you know?"

"Same here," you admitted, reaching back to thread your fingers through his hair.

He hummed pleased and pulled you closer. "So," he said, as his thumb was circling sweet circles on your ribs. "Do you think we switched again?"

You laughed. "Honestly I have no idea. I wasn't exactly keeping track."

"Yeah, me neither." He nuzzled into your neck. "I was a little distracted."

"Just a little?"

"Okay, extremely. You're very distracting, baby."

You smiled, turning in his arms so you were facing him properly. His eyes were half closed and there was this softness to his expression that made your chest feel tight in the best way. "I don't think I care," you said quietly.

"About the luck?"

"Yeah, I mean I thought I did. I thought it was this whole big thing we had to figure out, but now I'm just like..." You trailed off not sure how to explain it.

"You're like what?" He was really looking at you now and his hand came down to reach yours and give a light hearted kiss on your palm.

"I don't know. I think maybe I had it backwards. I thought losing my luck was the worst thing that could happen to me, but then I met you and —" You stopped feeling your face heat up. "That sounds so cheesy."

"No, keep going. I wanna hear this." He was grinning now, that charming asshole grin.

"I'm not gonna keep going if you're gonna be smug about it."

"Smug? I'm not being smug," he smirked, teasing you.

"You're absolutely being smug."

"Okay, maybe a little." He kissed the tip of your nose. "But seriously. Keep going."

You sighed but you were smiling too. "I just mean... meeting you was lucky. Even if everything else fell apart. Meeting you made all of it worth it."

His expression did something vulnerable and a little overwhelmed like he wasn't expecting you to say that. His hand was on your face and his thumb was brushing over your cheek. "Yeah?" he said quietly.

"Yeah."

"You mean that?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

He was quiet for a second, just looking at you, and then he pulled you closer and kissed you. It was different from before, just sweet and slow. "I'm in love with you," he said when he pulled back. "Just so you know."

Your breath caught. "What?"

"I'm in love with you." He said it again. "I think I have been for a while. Since before the showcase, probably. Maybe since you showed up soaking wet with that broken umbrella and got in my car without even thinking about it. Hell I fell in love with you at that ball even though you were wearing a mask and I didn't know your name."

"Jungwon—"

"I know everything is messy," he continued talking faster now like he was worried you'd interrupt. "And I know everything's been kinda insane with the luck thing and you leaving and me being a mess about it, but I don't care. I'm in love with you. And I just, I wanted you to know that." You stared at him. Your heart was doing something cartwheels and your eyes were getting hot, and you didn't know what to say. "You don't have to say it back by the way," he added quickly. "I'm not — this isn't me trying to pressure you or anything. I just wanted to tell you because it's true."

"You're an idiot," you said and your voice was shaking.

He blinked. "That's not usually the response —"

"I'm in love with you too, you idiot."

His face broke into the biggest smile you'd ever seen. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Obviously. Why do you think I came back?"

"I don't know, I thought maybe you just really liked my pancakes." You laughed, and it came out wet because apparently you were crying now, and he kissed you again, still grinning against your mouth. "God, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he mumbled between kisses. "Luck or no luck, I don't care. You're it for me, you know that?"

"Stop, don't say that..."

"I'm serious, baby. You're it."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, you're it for me too." He made this sound like a laugh but still a sigh and pulled you on top of him so you were straddling his hips, his hands settling on your waist. You could feel him already starting to get hard again beneath you, which was honestly impressive considering you'd literally just finished. "Again?" you said, raising an eyebrow.

"What? You're naked and sitting on me and you just said you're in love with me. What did you expect?"

"Yeah, okay, fair." You giggled.

"Mhm. So what do you say, my love? Round two?"

"You're insatiable."

"Only for you, baby."

And, well, turns out the universe has a sense of humor after all.

The band blew up, like actually blew up. ENHYPEN's live album hit streaming platforms and within a month they were getting requests for festival appearances and opening slots for bigger acts. Jeonghan called it the fastest trajectory I've ever seen for a new signing which Jungwon pretended to be cool about but you caught him grinning at his phone for like twenty minutes after that call. They did a small tour but sold out every show. Sunghoon broke another drumstick on stage and the fan video went viral. Jake started getting recognized at coffee shops. Heeseung got approached about a solo EP. Jay bought a car, which he immediately regretted because parking in the city is a nightmare but he was too proud to admit it.

And Jungwon? Jungwon was in his element. Managing them and keeping them on schedule, negotiating with venues and doing all the behind the scenes stuff that nobody sees but makes everything actually work. He was really good at it and watching him do his thing, watching him be confident and competent and completely in control, was honestly kind of hot.  As for you, Jeonghan kept his word. He got you an interview with HYBE's events division and you walked in with a portfolio of every event you'd ever planned, including the disastrous masquerade ball, because fuck it, you organized that thing and it looked incredible even if it ended badly. They hired you on the spot with a decent salary and actual benefits. You were so back.

The apartment became both of yours pretty quickly. You'd officially moved in as a girlfriend about a month after and it was kind of seamless in a way that would've freaked you out before but now just felt right. Your plant claimed the windowsill in the living room and your books took over half the shelf. Your toothbrush lived next to his in the bathroom. He cleared out two drawers for you without asking and you bought matching Pokémon mugs as a joke except now you both used them every morning.

Sunoo came over at least twice a week usually to raid your fridge and complain about his dating life. He and the band got along great, which you should've predicted because Sunoo gets along with everyone. Sometimes you'd come home to find him and Sunghoon arguing about anything on the couch while Jungwon made dinner. It felt like family, the kind of family you choose.

But here's the weird part and you noticed it first, though Jungwon figured it out around the same time — the luck thing evened out completely. You weren't absurdly lucky anymore and he wasn't cosmically cursed. You were both just... average. The kind of normal where sometimes you'd find a twenty in your coat pocket and sometimes your card would decline at the grocery store for no reason. Sometimes Jungwon would hit every green light on the way to the studio and sometimes the subway would break down and make him late. One time you were running to catch the train and you tripped on the platform and Jungwon caught your arm at the exact same second. You both stopped and looked at each other and started laughing because what were the odds? Bad luck canceled out by good luck, or maybe good luck canceled out by bad luck, or maybe it was just two people in the same place at the same time and that was enough.

You were both at the amusement park on the edge of the city one saturday, those amusement parks with rides that were just rickety enough to be fun and overpriced carnival games that nobody ever wins. Jungwon showed up at noon with tickets already purchased and this grin on his face like he was about to surprise you with something amazing. And, well, it was a good day. You went on the ferris wheel first because he insisted, and at the top he kissed you with the whole city spread out below and it was corny as hell but you didn't care. You played one of those rigged basketball games and he missed every single shot and the guy running the booth felt so bad he gave you a stuffed bear anyway. You got soft pretzels that were too salty and lemonade that was too sweet and wandered around just talking about nothing, his hand in yours the whole time.

Later, when the sun was starting to set and the park lights were coming on, you were walking past the games and food stalls when you saw Madame Clarisse. She was set up at a small table near the back of the park with the same jeweled mask, same rings on every finger, same sign that said Palm Reading - $10. There was no line, though. She was just sitting there shuffling a deck of tarot cards and when you walked past she looked up and your eyes met. She smiled like she'd known all along how this would turn out.

You stopped walking and Jungwon noticed after a second and turned back. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you said, still looking at her. "I just — do you remember the fortune teller? From the ball?"

"The one who said your luck was running out?"

"Yeah. That's her."

He followed your gaze and when he saw her his eyebrows went up. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Madame Clarisse gave a little wave. You couldn't help it so you waved back. "Should we—" Jungwon started.

"No," you said already pulling him away. "I think we're good."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I don't need her to tell me anything. I already know."

"Know what?"

You looked at him, at his ridiculous windswept hair and his easy smile and the way he was looking at you like you were the best part of his entire day. "That I got lucky," you said.

He laughed. "That's terrible."

"I know."

"I love you, you know?"

"Yeah, I know that too."

He kissed you then, right there in the middle of the amusement park. "Come on," he said. "I want to win you something at one of these rigged games."

"You're going to lose all your money."

"Not if I get lucky."

You walked away hand in hand, and behind you Madame Clarisse went back to her cards still smiling. You thought about all of it: the ball, that first kiss, the broken umbrella, the month you spent convinced the universe hated you, the moment you almost got on a train and left everything behind. You thought about luck and cosmic balance and fortune tellers who saw things coming before you did. But mostly you just thought about the way Jungwon's hand felt in yours, the way he looked at you like you were the best thing that ever happened to him. The way you'd kissed a stranger in a mask and somehow ended up here, with him, exactly where you were supposed to be.

Maybe the universe had a sense of humor after all. Or maybe some things were always meant to happen, luck or no luck. Either way, you weren't complaining. Just my luck, you thought. Just my luck.

taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova @izzyy-stuff  @gh9sty @xoenhalover @bambiens @hoonsocks @jaeyunflix 

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

[heejamas]

AW SHIT, HERE WE GO AGAIN; ‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤsim jaeyun

IN WHICH jake keeps telling himself he’s fine with whatever this thing between you is, so he decides that a friends with benefits situation with his best friend's girlfriend's best friend, who also happens to be his other best friend's older sister, is a completely reasonable idea. until he wakes up alone for the nth time and realizes that this friends with benefits situation is not benefiting him at all.

⤷ pairing: jake × fem!reader | ⤷ genre: friends with benefits; college au; romcom; slow burn; situationship dynamics; mutual pining; smut (mdni) | ⤷ playlist: sally, when the wine runs out - role model | casual - chappell roan | calling after me - wallows | whistle for the choir - the fratellis | ⤷ word count: 32k

!! smut warnings: power play / switching; sub jake, switch jake, brat taming, fingering, oral (m receiving), handjob, creampie, cum eating, anal play, spanking, spit kink, praise kink

⤷ ronnie's notes: this fic was originally a birthday gift i wrote for my girl addie @jakesimfromstatefarm <3 even tho her birthday was over a month ago already but a few things happened in between that kept me from finishing it earlier aka i deactivated this blog and also managed to break my thumb lolll but now it’s finally done and i’m posting it here. i know i deactivated my blog and i’m not really active here anymore and this doesn’t mean i’m coming back or anything, i just really wanted to post this as a little love letter to one of my best friends ever !!! addie i love you so much pls come back already, i miss u like crazy and i really hope you like your present 🫶

YOU ALWAYS THINK YOU'RE SMARTER THAN YOU REALLY ARE AT 21, AND THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT JAKE SIM THOUGHT HE WAS. Jake was the kind of guy who had everything figured out before anyone else even realized there was something to figure out. And honestly, for the most part, he was right, even though that was annoying, because Jake had this easy kind of confidence, which made it infinitely worse for everyone around him, because you can't even be mad at someone who's not even aware of how charming they are. Or maybe he was aware and just pretended not to be. Either way, same result.

Jake was doing well, Jake was having fun. He was, by every reasonable metric, absolutely fine. I mean, he was fine – until he decided to be on this friends-with-benefits situationship with you.

Here's the thing about friends with benefits, and you know how this goes, don't you? You've been there, or you know someone who has, or you've watched enough movies to understand the basic architecture of the disaster. It feels logical at the beginning, it feels like two adults making a mature, reasonable decision with full awareness of the consequences, which is almost always a sign that neither person has the faintest idea what they're actually getting into. You tell yourself you can keep things clean, you tell yourself you're not the kind of person who catches feelings over something casual. You tell yourself a lot of things at 21, and most of them are bullshit, but the thing is: you can see all of that coming, you can name every single red flag while it's happening in real time, and you still can't keep it in your pants. That's just the human condition, babe. And obviously, Jake Sim was not immune.

You were a year ahead of him, which at 21 felt like a significant and meaningful gap in the same way that six dollars feels like a lot of money when you're eight years old and then completely irrelevant the moment you grow up. But at the time it meant something, or at least, Jake told himself it did, because he needed a reason to keep things simple, and "she's older and she's got her life more together than I do" was a convenient enough excuse to file away in the back of his head and never really look at again. That should've been his first warning sign. Jake ignored it, because he was 21 and smart, remember?

He knew, on some level, that this was not going to be uncomplicated. And maybe that was the most honest thing about Jake – he didn't pretend he didn't know. He just decided he didn't care. Which, to be fair, is a very 21 year old thing to do, and also, if we're being honest, a very Jake thing to do.

But Jake is not 21 anymore. He is 24 now, which sounds like it's not that different, and in the grand scheme of things, it really isn't – three years is nothing. But the frat parties had lost their charm somewhere around year three of college, when he realized he'd been to enough of them to recognize the exact same playlist and the exact same drama playing out with slightly different people every single time. His liver had filed a formal complaint sometime in junior year and he'd actually listened to it, which was personal growth, honestly. He cared less about being in every room, cared less about showing up to every event, and less about performing the version of himself that he thought a 21 year old was supposed to be. He is a little bit more settled. Jake is still charming (still annoyingly so) but in a way that felt more like his actual personality and less like a habit.

The only thing that hadn't changed – and this is the part where Jake would probably prefer we didn't talk about, but we're going to anyway – was you. Specifically, this weird, comfortable, elastic thing that existed between the two of you that neither of you had ever sat down and properly defined, because defining it would require a conversation, and having that conversation would require one of you to be brave enough to go first, and neither of you had managed that yet. The dynamic was still the same: friends, technically, with all the benefits and none of the labels, which worked great on paper and was actively insane in practice.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Let's go back to the beginning.

Because the beginning is important and also kind of embarrassing, and Jake would tell you himself if he wasn't so committed to maintaining a certain image. The beginning starts when he was nineteen, maybe twenty, fresh enough into college that everything still felt enormous and consequential in a way that it really, objectively, wasn't. You ran in the same friend group, which sounds like it should make things easier except it didn't, because you had this presence about you that was not intimidating exactly, but more like the kind of person that everyone in the room was a little bit aware of without quite being able to explain why. Jake would later come to understand that this was just because you were genuinely funny and kind and the sort of person who remembered small details about people and asked about them later, honestly you just had a good personality, but when you're nineteen everything gets mystified beyond reason. 

But, there was also the small, significant detail: you had a boyfriend. 

His name was Yoongi, and he was older – a senior, maybe already graduated, the timeline was fuzzy – and at the time Jake had constructed an entire mythology around this guy based on approximately four interactions and one very intimidating eye contact across a crowded hallway. In reality, Yoongi was probably fine. In Jake's 19 year old brain, Yoongi was the final boss of a video game. You know how it is when you're that age, everything is heightened, everyone seems more powerful and more permanent than they actually are, and a slightly older guy dating the girl you've been trying not to stare at in group hangs becomes this enormous, immovable fact of the universe. Jake was not going to be weird about it. Jake was totally normal about it, actually.

The first time you two actually talked was at a party, of course. A proper college party, and Yoongi was there doing his whole thing (being mysteriously cool or whatever) and somehow he had ended up near Jake with a shot glass in hand and the very specific energy of someone who finds it entertaining to watch freshmen suffer. It was a hazing thing, one of those dumb tradition adjacent rituals that everyone knows is stupid and participates in anyway because the social pressure of a crowded room is genuinely one of the most powerful forces known to man. Yoongi handed Jake the shot with this completely unreadable expression, and Jake, because he was an idiot and also because you were somewhere nearby and nineteen-year-old boys will do genuinely unhinged things when they're trying to seem cool, took it without even asking what was in it.

Big mistake. Historic mistake. The kind of mistake that becomes a bit in the retelling. Because whatever was in that glass was absolutely not meant for human consumption at that volume, and Jake knew it approximately four seconds after swallowing, when the room did a thing rooms aren't supposed to do. He found a wall. He became one with the wall. And then suddenly there was a hand on his arm and a cup of water appearing in front of his face and a voice saying, "you need to drink this right now and also sit down, oh my god, are you okay?"

It was you. You stayed with him for a while, you got him water, you made him eat something, you were practical and a little exasperated in a way that felt weirdly maternal except not weird at all, and Jake sat there feeling like absolute garbage physically while also, somehow, feeling like the luckiest idiot at the party. You left when he was clearly going to survive the night and you gave him this look on the way out, the kind of look that says I saw this coming and I will not be elaborating further – and that was it. That was the whole interaction.

And Jake, because he was a disaster wrapped in a very appealing exterior, developed a crush immediately. Which, great, great news! Really excellent timing, since you were dating someone and that someone had just handed Jake the drink that nearly killed him, so the whole situation was already a little Shakespearean without adding unrequited feelings into the mix. 

Having a crush on someone who's taken is its own specific kind of hell. You see them in group settings and you have to be normal about it. You hear their name and your brain does this annoying little thing. You watch them laugh at someone else's joke and you think, I could've said something funnier, which is insane and also definitely not the point. It's not heartbreak, it's more like a splinter small enough to ignore most of the time, present enough to be really fucking annoying. So Jake ignored it, mostly. He was good at that for a while, at least.

And when I say you think you're smarter than you really are at 21, I mean it in the most specific way possible, because Jake genuinely believed he was smart enough to just decide not to have a crush on you anymore. Like it was a setting he could toggle off or like feelings operated on some kind of rational opt-in system where you could just look at the situation, assess that it was inconvenient and counterproductive, and choose to feel something else instead. He told himself he'd gotten it out of his system, he told himself it was just a moment, just the water and the kindness and the fact that you'd looked at him like he was simultaneously the most pitiful and most entertaining thing you'd seen all week, and that was just a normal human response to someone being nice to you when you felt like death. Totally understandable and completely manageable. 

Jake thought he was over it. Well, no, Jake was not over it. But he was, to his credit, respectful about it, which deserves acknowledgment, because being respectful about a crush you're pretending not to have while the person is in a relationship is genuinely harder than it sounds. 

He didn't do anything weird or didn't hover. He was just Jake, friendly and easy and exactly the right amount of present, and the friendship between you two grew slowly and naturally in the way that friendships do when you share enough people and enough spaces that proximity eventually just becomes familiarity. Part of it was architecture, honestly – you were Jay's older sister, and Jay was close with Heeseung, and Heeseung was one of Jake's closest friends and his roommate and was also dating one of your closest friends, which is the kind of social tangle that somehow becomes the entire foundation of your social life for three years because that's just how friend groups work when you're in college and everyone is always in the same five locations.

So, yeah, Jake saw you around a lot. He got to know you better, the actual you, not the mythologized untouchable version he'd invented in his head in freshman year. And Jake liked you, genuinely, actually liked you, which was its own separate problem from the crush because it made the crush worse in a way that simple attraction never would have. He also, occasionally, saw you with Yoongi, which, well, he didn't love that. He wasn't going to make it a whole thing, but he didn't love it. Yoongi was fine, probably, Jake just thought he was deeply, profoundly wrong for you in ways he couldn't fully articulate and definitely wasn't going to examine too closely.

But Jake didn't spend those two years pining into the void. He had a life. He went out, he met people, he kissed girls at parties and went on dates that were sometimes good and sometimes awkward and sometimes both in quick succession. He even dated someone for four months and she was lovely, and it ended badly in the way that things end badly when two people are both doing their best but ultimately want completely different things and wait too long to admit it. He learned some things about himself and moved on with his life, which is what you're supposed to do, and he did it. He was genuinely actually doing it.

And then, on a completely unremarkable thursday afternoon when Jake was sitting on his couch doing nothing, something miraculous happened. You posted a photo. It was, and he means this with full awareness of how he sounds, a thirst trap of the highest order. 

Jake saw it, sat with it for approximately three seconds, and then his brain did the thing brains do when they've been quietly keeping a file on something for two years – it connected the dots immediately and instinctively. Because you and Yoongi had been very much a unit for a long time, and this photo had a very specific energy that did not read as "person in a happy relationship," and Jake noticed, because he was paying attention in the way that people pay attention when they've been pretending not to pay attention for so long that the pretending has become its own full time job.

He went to your profile just to check out of curiosity. Because he was a normal person doing a normal thing. And every single photo with Yoongi was completely gone, which meant it wasn't an accident and it wasn't recent, it was deliberate. Jake put his phone down. He picked it up again. He put it down. He texted Heeseung.

The conversation that followed was, in Jake's own words, purely informational. He was just asking questions because he was curious, in a totally casual way. Heeseung, who had been friends with Jake long enough to see directly through every single layer of that framing, answered anyway, because he was a good friend and also because watching Jake try to be chill about something he was extremely not chill about was genuinely one of his favorite pastimes. Yes, you and Yoongi had broken up. No, Heeseung didn't know all the details. It had happened a few weeks ago, apparently. It was a quiet breakup, you know when long relationships sometimes end, in a mutual understanding that it had run its course, and then one day it's just over and you're taking photos off your instagram and posting thirst traps? Yeah, in that way.

Jake absorbed this information calmly and maturely. But then he also texted Jay, which was insane because Jay was your brother and therefore the least neutral possible source, but Jake had entered a particular mode of information gathering that had suspended his better judgement. Jay's response was approximately four words long and communicated very clearly that this was not a conversation he was interested in having with Jake specifically, which honestly is fair enough. Sunghoon was more helpful, he gave Jake exactly the information he asked for: yeah, you broke up because Yoongi was being a dick. And then Sunghoon looked at Jake for a long moment and said, "so what are you going to do about it," and Jake said, "nothing, I'm just asking," and Sunghoon made a face that communicated profound disbelief without saying another word.

But then, Jake realized something terrible but also incredibly awesome happened: You were single now. And you know what happens when a pretty girl is single, right? The radius expands overnight. Guys who had been perfectly respectful and well behaved for two years suddenly remembered that they had personalities and things to say, and they started saying them, loudly, in your direction, with this very specific energy of people who had been waiting for their window and were not going to waste it now that it had opened. 

And you – and this is the part that was making Jake's life genuinely difficult – you were nice about it. You were nice about everything, that was the problem, you had this way of making people feel like they had a shot without ever actually saying anything that confirmed they had a shot, which is both an art form and a form of psychological warfare and you deployed it completely unconsciously, which somehow made it worse.

The conclusion Jake was slowly, painfully arriving at was that everyone had suddenly decided you were interesting, and he had been here, he had been here respectfully for two years, watching from a completely appropriate distance, and now all of a sudden it was fashionable. It felt deeply unfair in a way he couldn't logically justify and felt anyway. He'd been paying attention since before it was the thing to do, and now half the people he knew were acting like they'd just discovered something he'd been sitting with for ages, and it made him irrationally, disproportionately annoyed in a way that he expressed by being slightly quieter than usual and, also, going to the gym more.

So he watched, from his very appropriate and not-at-all-pathetic distance, as you went about your newly single life with the energy of someone who was doing genuinely great and wanted everyone to know it. And he didn't do anything about it, because what was he going to do? Walk up to you and say hey, so I've had a crush on you since you gave me water at a party two years ago while I was actively dying, want to grab coffee? No, obviously not. Jake Sim had many qualities and complete emotional recklessness was not traditionally one of them. So he did nothing, he just observed and he did nothing, and he told himself this was wisdom and not cowardice, and maybe it was a little of both.

He even ran into Yoongi once in the corridor, and the guy looked – well, not bad exactly, but he had that specific kind of distracted, slightly hollow look that people get when something ended and they haven't fully metabolized it yet. Jake recognized it because he'd had it himself after that one girl, and he felt a brief, involuntary flash of something that might have been sympathy before his brain reminded him of the context and he moved on. He did think, privately, that if he had somehow managed to have you and then let that go, he would probably also look like that in a university corridor on a wednesday. Honestly, Jake'd look worse, so he understood completely, he wasn't even mad at the guy. Well, actually, no – he was a little mad at the guy.

And then there was a party because of course there was a party, there's always a party. Nobody ever makes a monumentally stupid life decision at the campus library or over a quiet coffee place, because if they did this would be a romantic kind of story. And this story is about a lot of things but it is not a romance, and the fact that it consistently takes place in environments with bad lighting and worse decisions and 2000s pop hits should tell you everything you need to know about the choices being made here.

Jake was fine at this party. He was having a good time, talking to people, being his usual self, doing great. And then he saw you across the room talking to Sangwon, and something in his chest did something extremely inconvenient.

Sangwon was – okay, look, Jake could be objective about this. Sangwon was objectively attractive in this very specific way that Jake personally found annoying: the delicate, effortlessly pretty kind of attractive that read as completely unthreatening and therefore somehow more threatening than anything else. Tall-ish, soft looking, the kind of guy who probably had nice handwriting and remembered to water his plants. Girls today would call it twink energy – Jake wasn't entirely sure he was using that word right but he was about sixty percent confident it applied here, and the point was that Sangwon had it, and you were currently laughing at something Sangwon had said, and Jake was standing across a party watching this happen and feeling something he was not proud of feeling.

Jealousy is such a stupid emotion. It doesn't feel like the movies make it look! It's not this hot, dramatic surge of passion, it's more like a deeply irritating pressure behind your ribs that you can't breathe out properly. It makes you look across a room too many times and then feel embarrassed about looking and then look again anyway. It is, in summary, the worst, and Jake was full of it, and he was twenty-one years old and smart, so he made the extremely smart decision to do something about it.

He found the tequila.

If you have ever done tequila at a college party, you already know how this goes, I don't need to tell you. Tequila has this specific evil quality where it gives you confidence that feels completely real and is entirely fabricated, and the worst part is it feels indistinguishable from actual confidence until you're already three shots in and saying things out loud that were supposed to stay in your head. It's warm and it's fast and it makes you feel like the version of yourself that has everything figured out, which is exactly what Jake wanted to feel, and it worked, in the sense that he stopped feeling the jealousy quite so sharply and started feeling like a person with a plan. (Jake did not have a plan. Jake had tequila. These are not the same thing.)

He found you on the balcony, you were alone, leaning on the railing with your drink, looking out at nothing in particular. Jake walked over and stood next to you, and you glanced at him, and he opened his mouth and said:

"Do you think I'm a twink?"

You turned to look at him fully, almost choked on your drink. "I'm sorry," you said, "what?"

"A twink," he repeated, with the confidence of someone who had rehearsed this in his head and it had gone differently. "Do you think I am one."

"I heard you the first time, I just –" you stared at him for a second. "Where did that come from?"

"I'm just asking," he said. "I feel like it's a thing right now. Like girls are really into it."

You looked at him for a long moment with an expression that was doing several things at once. "Some girls," you said carefully, "are into that, yes."

"Are you?"

You tilted your head. "Why does that matter to you?"

"It doesn't," he said, very quickly, which was a terrible answer. "I'm just curious. About the demographic. Generally."

"About the demographic," you repeated.

"Yeah."

"Jake," you said, slowly, like you were choosing each word with intention, "you are the least twink person I have ever seen in my life."

"Okay but is that a bad thing."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing."

"You didn't say it was a good thing either."

You made a face that was fighting very hard not to become a smile. "What is happening right now? How much have you had to drink?"

"A normal amount," he said, which was a lie and you both knew it. "I'm just making conversation."

"You opened the conversation by asking me if you were a twink."

"It's a valid question."

"It's genuinely not," you said, and lost the fight with a smile, and there it was, that thing you did where your whole face shifted and Jake's brain momentarily stopped doing its job. You shook your head. "What are you actually trying to ask me, Jake?"

"I'm asking what you're into," he said, and it came out more direct than he intended, tequila smoothing over the part of his brain that normally installed a filter between what he thought and what he said. "Like. In general. What your type is."

You looked at him over the rim of your cup. There was something in your expression now that was different from the amusement, like more measured and more deliberate, like you were deciding something. "You're asking about my type," you said.

"Yeah."

"At a party."

"Yeah, we're at a party."

"After asking if you were a twink."

"I'm trying to get context," he said, with great dignity.

You laughed then, and looked away from him out in the dark, and Jake stood there next to you feeling like an idiot and also like things were going slightly better than he deserved given the circumstances. You were quiet for a second and then you said, without looking at him, "I don't really have a type."

"Come on, everyone has a type."

"Then maybe mine is just –" you paused, and glanced at him sideways, "– interesting."

Jake's brain was working on a response but the tequila had reorganized his priorities and for a second he just stood there looking at you looking at the city and thought, with extraordinary clarity: I am going to make so many bad decisions. "It's just," he started, and then stopped, and decided to just say it, because the tequila had apparently also reorganized his sense of self preservation. "You were talking to Sangwon in there and I kind of assumed you were into him. Like, into the whole twink thing he has going on."

You stared at him for a second then you laughed, and you tried to cover with your hand when it surprised you. "Jake," you said, "Sangwon is not only a twink. Sangwon is actually gay."

"Right," he said immediately. "Yeah. Obviously."

"Did you think he was hitting on me?!"

"I mean." He shifted his weight. "There's been a lot of that going around lately. It's not an insane assumption."

You turned toward him a little more, and there was something in your expression that was enjoying this more than was necessary. "You've been paying attention to who talks to me at parties?"

"No," he said, and then, because the tequila had completely destroyed his ability to maintain a coherent lie, "I mean. It's hard not to. You know, pay attention to you. Generally. That's – that's all I'm saying."

You were quiet for a second, looking at him with this expression he couldn't fully decode, and he became acutely aware that he had just said that out loud to your actual face with his actual mouth and there was no taking it back now. "Are you hitting on me?" you asked, and your voice was genuinely curious, not teasing, just asking.

"I think I might be," he said, "but I should be transparent that my execution is suffering because I've had a lot of tequila and I feel like I could've come at this with a much better angle sober."

You bit your lip and chuckled, and Jake watched you do it, and his brain said several things in quick succession that he chose not to act on. "You're cute, Jake," you said, and your voice had shifted into something more deliberate. "You're really cute."

And here's the thing – Jake had been called cute before. He had been called significantly more than cute before, by people who meant it and he had received it normally, like a human being. But something about you saying it, on this specific balcony, after this specific conversation, with that specific tone, completely short circuited whatever normal wiring he had for receiving compliments and he just stopped. Jake just stood there and just looked at you. His brain presented him with approximately three possible responses and then quietly took all of them off the table and left him with nothing, just this blank, slightly overwhelmed stillness, because he couldn't tell if you meant it or if this was just the thing you did, this friendly, warm, effortlessly charming thing that made everyone in your orbit feel special without any of them actually being special, and the possibility that he was just another guy on the list of guys you'd smiled at this month was enough to freeze every single instinct he had.

You watched him not respond for what was probably five seconds and felt like significantly longer. And then you laughed again and looked at him. "Okay," you said. "But you're clearly very drunk, so I genuinely can't tell if you're actually hitting on me or if this is just tequila being tequila."

"I'm trying to hit on you," he said, with more clarity than he'd managed in the last five minutes, because that part at least he was sure of. "I've been trying to for – that's a separate conversation. But I'm hitting on you. I'm just not being very good at it right now."

"No," you agreed pleasantly, "you're really not."

"Yeah I know."

You smiled at him, and then you looked down at your drink for a second, and when you looked back up there was something more open in your expression, like you'd made a small decision. "I've been posting on instagram for like three weeks," you said, very casually, "and I was kind of hoping you'd say something. Or do something. Or literally anything." You paused. "You never did."

Jake's brain processed this sentence. Then it processed it again. Then it took it apart and looked at each individual word to make sure he was understanding correctly. "Those photos were –"

"I mean, they were for me too," you said fairly. "But also a little bit for you to notice."

"I noticed," he said, immediately and with feeling.

"Well, I could see when you watched my stories." You said it without any particular accusation, just stating a fact, and Jake made a mental note to turn off his read receipts on instagram stories 30 seconds after they were posted. "I just thought you weren't interested. I figured you'd seen them and moved on."

There were so many things Jake could say to that, starting with the fact that he had absolutely not moved on, had not been moving on, had been doing the opposite of moving on for a frankly embarrassing amount of time, and also that he had literally asked Heeseung and Jay and Sunghoon for information about you like some kind of deranged private investigator, and none of that was going to come out of his mouth right now in a way that sounded good.

"Next time," you said, picking up your drink and pushing off the railing, "maybe drink a little less first and we can figure this out in a way that's slightly more coherent, yeah?"

You said it like it was simple, like it was already decided. Like the next time was a given, a scheduled thing, something that existed in the future that you were both just waiting to arrive at, and then you gave him one last look, the one he was starting to understand was specifically designed to make him lose his train of thought – and went back inside.

Jake stood on the balcony alone. He stood there for a while, by the way. She was posting for me, he thought, with the slow, dawning comprehension of someone receiving information his body couldn't immediately process. She was posting for me and I watched every single story and did absolutely nothing and she thought I wasn't interested. The tequila, which had felt like such a good idea two hours ago, was now sitting in his stomach like a personal insult. There had been a very clear, very explicit open door just now and he had stood in front of it and stared at it like an idiot while you held it open and eventually you'd gotten tired of waiting and closed it and gone back inside, and he had done nothing, nothing, chickened out completely, frozen up like someone had unplugged him.

The next morning, Jake was sitting on his kitchen floor with his back against the cabinet and a glass of water he'd been working on for forty minutes, trying to convince his body that survival was worth pursuing, when he told Heeseung and Sunghoon what happened. They laughed, hard.

"Wait, wait, wait," Heeseung said, holding up a hand, because he needed a second to process. "You opened with – you asked her if you were a twink."

"I was establishing context, dude," Jake said.

"What context? What context requires you to ask a girl if you're a twink?"

"I thought she was into Sangwon–"

"Bro, Sangwon is gay!"

"I know that now!"

Sunghoon had been quietly losing it since the twink part and had not fully recovered. He was sitting against the opposite cabinet with his legs stretched out, shaking his head slowly like a man confronting something he hadn't expected to encounter on a Saturday morning. "So you saw her talking to Sangwon," he said, walking through it, "got jealous, did tequila shots about it, went out to the balcony, and the first thing you said to her was do you think I'm a twink."

"When you say it like that–"

"How else is there to say it?"

"I was building up to something."

"To what? What was the twink question building up to?"

Jake drank his water and said nothing, which was answer enough. "And then," Heeseung continued, because apparently they weren't done, "she told you – she literally told you, with her mouth, using words – that she'd been posting on instagram for three weeks to get your attention. And you stood there."

"I was processing."

"Jake, what the hell is wrong with you, she handed you everything, she did everything except write it on a sign," Heeseung said.

"I panicked, dude, okay?" Jake said, with the quiet dignity of a man who had accepted his losses. "I didn't know if she meant it or if she was just being like that."

"Being like what?"

"You know how she is. She's like that with everyone. She makes everyone feel like–"

"She told you she was posting for you," Sunghoon said flatly. "That's not her being like that with everyone. That's her telling you specifically a thing about you specifically."

"I know."

Heeseung had migrated to the kitchen counter at some point and was sitting on it eating Jake's cereal, which he'd helped himself to without asking, which was normal, which was just what Heeseung did. He pointed the spoon at Jake. "Okay but what are you gonna do now."

"I don't know," Jake said. "Die, maybe."

"Tempting, but no," Sunghoon said. "You should text her."

"And say what?"

"Literally anything. Hey, sorry I malfunctioned, I like you, let's try this again."

"I can't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's–" Jake gestured vaguely at the air. "It's embarrassing."

"More embarrassing than asking a girl if you're a twink at a party?" Heeseung asked, genuinely curious.

Jake had no answer for that. Sunghoon stretched his arms above his head and said, in the tone of someone remembering something important, "also, unrelated, but I really hope she doesn't tell Jay about the twink thing. Or any of it, honestly. I don't know what he'd do with that information."

Oh, right. Yeah. That was also another thing entirely: your brother.

Look, Jay was one of Jake's closest friends. They had the kind of friendship that runs on shared history and the specific comfort of knowing someone well enough that you don't have to explain your references, and that is genuinely one of the most valuable things a person can have. Jake loved Jay. Jay was great. Jay was also, when it came to you, a little bit insane.

Jay wasn't the kind of brother who made issued warnings or anything that overt – he was too self aware for that, and also you were older than him, which he was fully cognizant of, and bringing up the age thing would've gotten him absolutely demolished and he knew it. But there was this thing Jay did, this very specific thing, where if someone made a comment about you – like if someone in the group said something offhand, like oh your sister's pretty funny or hey your sister was at that thing last night – Jay's face would do this extremely subtle shift, this microscopic recalibration, like running a quick background check on the speaker's intentions before deciding how to respond. He never said anything directly. He didn't have to, because the shift was enough.

Jake had witnessed this shift several times over the years and had been extremely careful to never be the cause of it, which meant he had spent a non-trivial amount of energy making sure that nothing he said about you, ever, in Jay's presence, could be interpreted as anything other than completely neutral. He had not said you were funny in a way that implied anything. He had not said your name with any particular emphasis. He had been, in this specific arena, disciplined in a way Jake was almost never disciplined about anything else.

The fact that he had been nursing a crush on you for two years was information that Jay did not have and that Jake had every intention of keeping that way, because the version of that conversation he played out in his head never ended in a way he liked. Jay wasn't irrational about it – he knew you were a grown woman who could do whatever you wanted – but there was a difference between knowing that intellectually and finding out that your close friend had been quietly down bad for your older sister since freshman year and had just drunkenly asked her if she found twinks attractive at a party. That was a specific combination of information that Jake did not feel ready to present to Jay at this time.

So when Jake saw Jay again later that evening, he was operating on two simultaneous hangovers: the physical one, which was tequila doing what it was supposed to, and the moral one, which was the specific psychic weight of having had an entire moment handed to him on a silver platter and having dropped the platter, the moment, and his dignity all at once. 

The reason he had to look Jay in the face that evening was because Heeseung – his best friend, his roommate, the person who knew everything and had spent the morning laughing at him – had invited everyone over to play NBA 2K, because Heeseung had the emotional intelligence to understand that the best thing for Jake right now was probably to be around people and not sitting alone in his room refreshing your instagram profile, and also because Heeseung just genuinely wanted to play NBA 2K and this was a convenient excuse. Both things were true. That was Heeseung.

Jay showed up at seven with beer and absolutely zero indication on his face that he knew anything about twinks or balconies or his sister telling Jake she'd been posting for him for three weeks. They played for a while and talked shit, the party came up because parties always come up the day after, there's always a debrief, always someone who saw something or heard something or made a decision that needs to be collectively processed.

"Honestly solid party," Sunghoon said, not looking up from his controller. "Better than the last one."

"The last one was terrible," Jay agreed. "Fucking Beomgyu didn't even mind opening the window before making his apartment feel like a hot sauna after smoking 3 tons of weed."

"There was a balcony at least," Heeseung said. "Too much tequila, but a balcony."

Jake said nothing. Sunghoon did not look at him. Heeseung did not look at him. They were both being very normal about this. "Oh, Jay, by the way," Heeseung said, with the casual tone of someone who had absolutely planned this segue, "my girlfriend told me your sister was excited to go, said she seemed like she was having a good time."

Jay made a sound that was half acknowledgment, half something more affectionate that he would've denied if you'd pointed it out. "Yeah, she needed it, honestly. She's been kind of in her own head since the Yoongi thing, I think it was good for her to just go out and not think about it."

"How's she doing with all that?" Heeseung asked, with the perfectly calibrated innocence of a man doing Jake an enormous favor and knowing it.

Jake kept his eyes on the screen. Jay shrugged, the loose kind of shrug that means I've thought about this enough to have an answer ready. "She's good, actually. Better than I expected," he paused. "As far as I know she hasn't hooked up with anyone or whatever, she told me she didn't want anything serious for a while and honestly, I'd be the same way."

"Totally makes sense," Heeseung said, nodding like this was a general philosophical point and not targeted intelligence.

"Mm," Jake said, contributing nothing, which was the correct amount. Sunghoon glanced at him for exactly half a second and then back at the screen. Jake felt it anyway.

Jake lay on his bed that night staring at the ceiling with the specific stillness of someone whose brain is moving very fast. Okay, you didn't want anything serious. And well, you'd said it yourself, to your own brother, which meant you meant it, as an actual position you'd taken on your own life after thinking it through. That's okay, that's valid, honestly. But you had also told him, on a balcony, twelve hours ago, that you'd been posting on instagram for three weeks hoping he'd notice. Which meant you'd noticed him, at some point, enough to want him to notice back, which meant something. He wasn't sure exactly what shape that something was, but it existed, it had been confirmed by your own mouth, and it sat alongside the other thing (the not wanting anything serious thing) in a way that felt less like a contradiction and more like information. Like two coordinates that, taken together, pointed somewhere specific.

Jake'd spent the whole weekend in this horrible intermediate state of wanting to text you and talking himself out of it on a loop, going back and forth, and eventually he'd landed on not texting you, which was a decision he'd made approximately eleven times and kept having to remake every hour or so. He would text you eventually but that was a problem for future Jake. Future Jake would handle it. He had no idea when future Jake was showing up exactly, but present Jake was not equipped and needed more time and also more water.

Future Jake, he thought, was going to have to get his shit together pretty soon. And future Jake saw you on Wednesday, which he had not planned and was not ready for in any capacity. He'd just come out of basketball practice, which, okay, look, Jake played recreationally with a group of guys and it was one of his favorite parts of the week, except for right now, because right now he was standing in the corridor outside the gym in a sweaty tank top with his hair doing something he couldn't see but could feel, smelling like a person who had just done significant physical activity in an enclosed space. He was, by every possible measure, not looking like someone who was prepared to have a conversation with a girl he'd almost-but-not-quite made a move on four days ago while drunk on tequila at a party.

You were coming from the other direction, you saw him before he had any real chance to do anything about how he looked, which was fine, it was totally fine, it was just – he would've liked a second, that's all. "Hey, Jake," you said like nothing was weird, like you were just two people who ran into each other in a corridor, which technically you were but also, come on.

"Hey," he said, and shifted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, which did nothing for the overall situation but gave his hands something to do.

You slowed down without fully stopping and your eyes did this thing where they went from his face down to – look, he was wearing a tank top, that's just context, that's just what he was wearing, but the way you looked at him was not nothing, and he clocked it immediately, and then he clocked that he'd clocked it, and he had to work very hard to keep his face doing something normal. "Basketball?" you asked.

"Yeah. Just finished."

"I can tell," you said, pleasantly.

"Is that a nice way of saying I smell."

"I didn't say that." You were smiling, just a little. "You look good though."

The thing about you was that you said things like that completely straight, not like a joke and not like a big deal, just as a casual, factual observation, and that was so much more effective than if you'd made it into a thing, and you probably knew that, and that was genuinely evil of you. Jake decided the only reasonable response was to match your energy and not make it weird. "I feel disgusting," he said.

"That's fine. You don't look like it."

"You're being very nice to me considering the last time we talked I asked you about twinks."

You laughed at that, a quick one, and stopped walking properly, which meant this was now a real conversation and not a corridor pass-by, and some part of Jake's brain quietly celebrated while the rest of him stayed focused on being a normal human person. "I've been thinking about that," you said, "and I've decided it's one of the best things anyone's ever opened with."

"That's a low bar."

"It really is," you agreed. "But you cleared it." He laughed despite himself, because that was the thing about talking to you – it was just easy, even when it shouldn't have been, even when there was all this other stuff underneath it. "So," you said, head tilting slightly, "you never texted me."

"Should I have texted you?"

"Well, I thought you were going to."

"I'm a thorough person. I was figuring some stuff out."

You looked at him for a second with that expression that meant you were deciding how far to push it, and then you said, "and did you figure it out?"

"Getting there," he said, which was true in the sense that he was standing here having this conversation instead of watching your stories from a safe distance, which was progress, technically. And look, Jake was not exactly proud of what he said next. I mean, he was proud of it, very much so, he just couldn't believe he actually had said it without thinking about it first, but he said it anyway: "Are you free tonight?"

You blinked at him in the way of someone who had been expecting the conversation to go one direction and watched it go another, and were recalibrating in real time. There was a second, just a beat, where you looked at him and then something in your face settled and you said, "yeah, I am."

"Okay, cool," he said, with a confidence he was mostly performing. "Give me like twenty minutes to shower and we can do something, if that's fine."

"Sure," you said, and the corner of your mouth did the thing. "I'll wait."

So you waited outside while Jake went back into the locker room, and yeah I know, the locker room situation was not ideal, because it was still mostly full of guys from his session who were in various stages of packing up and being loud about it, and Jake had to navigate all of that while also internally processing the fact that you were standing outside waiting for him, which was a sentence he hadn't expected to be true today when he woke up this morning. He found a free shower, turned it on, and stood under it trying to organize his thoughts into something resembling a plan.

Jake had no plan. He had asked you if you were free tonight with the energy of someone who had a plan and he absolutely did not. He didn't know where you were going, didn't know what doing something meant in this specific context, didn't know if this was a hang or a date or something in between that didn't have a clean name yet. He was showering at a speed that was not fully compatible with actually getting clean and he was also having what could generously be described as a mild internal crisis, which was a lot to do simultaneously.

He was out in eleven minutes, and that was a personal record and also probably not great for his hair but there was nothing to be done about that now. You were where he'd left you, on your phone leaning against the wall, and you looked up when he came out and you looked at him for just a second before saying anything. "There's a bar near the east exit," he said, because he'd spent eleven minutes in the shower and that was the one concrete thought he'd produced. "They have good beer and it's not too loud."

"Yeah, I know that place," you said, pushing off the wall. "Let's go."

That was the whole planning process, Jake had produced one idea and you'd accepted it and now you were walking side by side toward a bar on a wednesday evening and he still had no idea what this was.

Here's the thing about a first whatever-this-was with someone you've been down bad for – you spend the whole time doing two things at once, which is actually being there and having a good time, and also running this constant background process trying to figure out what category the evening falls into. Like, is this a date? It felt like a date in the sense that you were there and he wanted to be there and there was a thing between you that both of you were aware of. But it also felt like two people getting a beer after running into each other, which is just a normal human activity with no inherent romantic weight. The not knowing is its own specific kind of torture because you can't calibrate how to act. If it's a date you can be a certain way. If it's not a date you have to be a different way. If it's somewhere in between you just have to pick one and hope. Jake picked somewhere in between and hoped.

You talked, and it was good, it was easy in the way that talking to you was always easy even when it was also making him insane. You talked about the semester, about a class you were taking that you hated but couldn't drop for scheduling reasons, about something stupid that had happened in your friend group that week that he'd heard a partial version of from Heeseung and now got the full story on. He told you about basketball, about a guy on his team who took recreational sports way too personally and made everyone's day slightly worse for it. You laughed at that and added something from your own experience and the conversation just kept going the way good conversations do where you don't feel the time passing until you look up and realize it has.

The whole time, his brain was doing the background thing. Because on one hand you were sitting across from him at a bar table being funny and warm and looking like that, and on the other hand Jay had said clearly that you didn't want anything serious, and you'd said it yourself apparently, to your own brother, which was not a thing you say casually. And this was a beer on a Wednesday. Was a beer on a Wednesday serious? By most definitions, no. But you'd also posted thirst traps for him on instagram and told him about it to his face, which was not something you did with someone you thought of as just a friend getting a beer on a wednesday. So what was it then? What was the correct interpretation of all available data? Jake ran the numbers and kept getting different answers and at some point gave up and just looked at you instead, which was the better use of his time anyway.

You were on your second beer when you nudged his foot under the table with yours, just lightly, and said, "you know, you really did just completely ignore every single photo I posted."

"I was being respectful."

You looked at him with an expression that was somewhere between amused and genuinely baffled. "Respectful," you repeated.

"Yeah, you know, I didn't want to just slide into your stories two weeks after you broke up with someone, that feels weird, that's a weird thing to do."

"Okay but who told you I wanted respectful?"

Jake opened his mouth and then closed it because that was a very good question and he didn't have a great answer to it. You were looking at him with this expression that was patient in the way that people are patient when they've already made a decision and are just waiting for the other person to catch up to it, and Jake sat there for a second genuinely recalibrating, because there was a version of you he'd built in his head over two years and it was accurate in a lot of ways but apparently had been missing some information. Specifically this information. The who told you I wanted respectful information.

"I was trying to read the situation," he said finally.

"And what did the situation tell you?"

"That you'd just gotten out of something long and probably needed time."

"I'd had plenty of time," you said, easy as anything, taking a sip of your beer. "The last few months of that relationship were not exactly great, Jake, I wasn't as blindsided as everyone assumed."

Jake was doing a full system reboot. Because there was the version of this he'd been preparing for, and that involved being careful and measured and not pushing too fast because you'd just ended something serious and probably needed space, and then there was the version that was apparently actually happening, which was you sitting across from him telling him that you'd had plenty of time and nobody had asked him to be respectful about it. And those were two very different versions with very different implications and Jake was standing at the crossroads between them trying to figure out which road he was actually on.

What he landed on, quietly, in the back of his head, was that he'd maybe underestimated you a little. He'd been so busy being careful around the idea of you that he hadn't fully accounted for the actual you, who was sitting here being pretty straightforward about what she wanted and had been this whole time, and he'd been the one making it complicated. Which was funny, sort of. Kind of embarrassing, sort of. Did it make things better or worse, knowing that? He genuinely didn't know. Better, probably, in the sense that it clarified things. Worse, possibly, in the sense that he now had significantly less reason to stall and significantly more reason to do something about this, which meant the next move was on him and he was going to have to actually make it.

He looked at you across the table. You looked back at him, completely unbothered, like you had nowhere else to be and no particular investment in how long this took. And then Jake did something he genuinely hadn't planned, which was becoming a theme with you. He looked at the space next to you on the booth seat, looked at you, and said "can I sit there?" with the energy of someone who had made a decision approximately one second before the words came out.

You looked at the space, looked at him, and said "yeah, sure" like it was a stupid question.

So he sat down next to you, close enough that your arms were touching, and he put his arm along the back of the booth behind your shoulders in the way that is technically not putting your arm around someone but is absolutely putting your arm around someone, and you let him, and you turned your head to look at him with this expression that was patient and a little amused and something else underneath that that Jake was trying very hard not to read too much into. He looked at you for a second. Then he said, "what do you want, Y/N?"

You raised an eyebrow. "I thought I'd made that pretty clear."

"You have," he said. "I just want to hear it."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, please."

You looked at him for a moment with the expression of someone deciding whether to find this charming or annoying, and Jake held the eye contact and did the thing – he knew he was doing it, he was fully aware, this was a conscious deployment – where he looked at you like that, a little helpless, a little earnest, the face that had gotten him further in life than he was entirely proud of but that worked, consistently, empirically, and he was not above using it right now.

You saw it, and he could tell you saw it because something in your expression shifted. "Well," you said, and your voice had dropped just enough that he felt it, "I want you."

Jake's brain received that sentence and did several things with it at once, the main one being a kind of full-body recalibration that he had to keep off his face, and then it handed him back one clear thought which was: okay, do something, do it now, you have been waiting two years for a version of this moment and she just handed it to you on a plate so for the love of god do not stand there like an idiot again.

He didn't. Jake closed the distance and kissed you, and Jake had kissed people before, he had a functional amount of experience, this was not new territory, but the first second of kissing you was still enough to make his brain go briefly offline in a way that was embarrassing and also completely out of his control. And then your hand came up and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling slightly, like you knew exactly what you were doing and were in no particular hurry about it, and that was – yeah, okay, that was new information, that was the kind of thing that reorganized a person's entire understanding of a situation. You kissed him back like you'd thought about it, which apparently you had, which was a concept Jake was going to need some time to fully process.

Your lips parted against his and Jake felt the soft slide of your tongue just barely teasing the seam of his mouth. He made a low, helpless sound he didn't even mean to make and opened for you, and the second he did you took it, kissing him deeper, hotter, like you'd been waiting two years too and you were done being patient. The booth was small and the angle was awkward and none of it mattered because you were kissing him hard, harder than Jake thought you would. Jake's hand found your waist, sliding under the hem of your top without thinking, and you made this little approving hum against his mouth that short-circuited half his brain.

You smiled into the kiss, clearly pleased with yourself, and then one of your hands left his shirt and slid up the side of his neck with your fingers threading into the hair at the back of his head, nails scraping lightly. The shiver that ran through him was so obvious there was no hiding it. Jake pulled back after a moment, not far, just enough to look at you, because he'd waited long enough that he felt like he'd earned the right to look at you for a second. "Fuck," he said. "Okay."

You pulled back just enough to look at him. "What?"

"I wasn't expecting this today," he said. 

You looked at him for a second with that expression that was doing several things at once and then you said, "well, it's still better than the time you asked me if I thought you were a twink."

Jake laughed, and so did you, and then somehow you were kissing again and the twink conversation was the last thing either of you were thinking about.

You kissed a lot that night. And then, because apparently one night was just the beginning of a much longer pattern neither of you officially agreed to, you kissed a lot over the next three years. That's not a metaphor for anything, that's just literally what happened: you and Jake kissed in a lot of places over a lot of time and it never quite resolved into something clean and it never quite went away either, and that combination of things is basically the entire story, condensed.

But let me give you the highlights, because the highlights are worth it.

There was the time in the library, second floor, which should've been a terrible idea and was, but the terribleness of it didn't occur to either of you until after, which is usually how it goes. There was a rooftop at a party and it felt significant enough that Jake remembered what clothes you were wearing, there was also a cab home from somewhere, and you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder and he'd stayed completely still the entire time like an idiot so he wouldn't wake you up. There was his kitchen at seven in the morning, you in his hoodie, him making coffee badly, and the specific kind of easy that existed between you two in the mornings that he tried very hard not to think too much about because thinking about it led places he wasn't sure he was allowed to go.

And it wasn't just kissing, to be clear. This is a story about friends with benefits and we're all adults here, so, yeah. It was more than that, it was a lot more than that, and it was good, consistently, annoyingly good, the kind of good that makes it harder to keep things in the category you've agreed to keep them in. Jake was aware of this problem. He noted it. He filed it away and took it out occasionally and looked at it and put it back, because what else was he going to do with it?

Because here's where it got complicated, or more complicated, or a different flavor of complicated than it had already been: every time things got a little more real, a little more weight to them, a little more like something that had a name and a shape and a future – you disappeared. One day the texts would slow down, or you'd be busy, or you'd show up to the same group hang and be perfectly warm and perfectly normal and perfectly distant in a way that only he could tell was distance because he knew the other version of you, the close one, and the difference was noticeable if you were paying attention and he was always paying attention.

And every single time, without fail, Jake would feel it coming the way you feel a change in pressure before it rains, and he'd think, with the tired resignation of someone who has been through this enough times to recognize the opening notes: aw shit, here we go again.

Jake could not do this, and he knew it, but he did it anyway. There were moments where he'd lie there and wonder how long a person could exist in something undefined before it started to cost too much. He never landed on an answer. He'd fall asleep and wake up and you'd text him something funny and the question would go back in the drawer where it lived.

But that's all later. That's the three years of it, the accumulated weight of a thing that was never fully named and therefore never fully dealt with. That's twenty-four year old Jake's problem, and we'll get there.

Right now, tonight, it's still that bar, and you've just kissed him for the first time and none of the rest of it has happened yet. And he's not thinking about patterns yet, he just knows that you're here and he finally did something about it and your lip gloss is slightly smudged and you're pretending not to notice and honestly, for right now, that's good enough. It was good enough for a while, actually.

But you know what was really good? What happened between you two later that night.

After the bar closed out and the tab was paid and you were both a little buzzed and grinning like idiots, Jake finally got his shit together enough to say it out loud. He was like, "hey, Heeseung's not home tonight… you wanna come over?" and he said it so casual but his ears went bright red, which was hilarious because you could tell he'd been thinking about it the whole walk to the car. You just raised an eyebrow at him and said "yeah, obviously" and that was it. Heeseung could not find out, like, ever, so the empty apartment was basically a gift from the universe as far as Jake was concerned.

The second the door shut behind you guys he was already kissing you again, hands a little shaky on your waist, but you took over pretty quick. You pushed him back toward his room without even asking which one was his, and the whole time he was muttering stuff like "fuck, this feels good" under his breath. You laughed at him, soft and mean in the best way, and once you got him on the bed you climbed right on top and started peeling his shirt off.

And here's the part that still cracks Jake up when he thinks about it: Jake had always figured he was pretty normal in bed, you know? Take charge, make the girl feel good, the usual. But the second you pinned his wrists down and told him "don't move" he just… folded. Like instantly, eyes wide, breathing all shaky, looking up at you like you'd hung the moon and also maybe ruined him forever. He didn't even realize it was happening until you were grinding down on him slow and he let out this pathetic little whimper and you smiled like you'd won the lottery.

You kept teasing him, hands everywhere but never quite where he wanted, and every time he tried to touch you you'd just push his arms back down and go "uh-uh, ask nicely." He actually whined, and when you finally let him speak he was all cracked voice going "please… fuck, please touch me" and you made him say it again, louder, like he was begging for it. He did. He did it twice. Looked so embarrassed and so turned on at the same time it was actually kind of beautiful. You kept calling him good boy in that low voice and every time you did his brain just shorted out more. He was legit acting like a puppy, pressing up into your hand, following every little movement you made with his hips, mumbling "please, please, I'll be good" while you rode him slow enough to make him lose his mind.

When you finally let him come he buried his face in your neck and shook the whole time, arms wrapped around you so tight like he was scared you'd disappear if he let go. Afterward you just lay there on his chest, both of you sweaty and laughing a little because yeah, neither of you expected it to go down quite like that. Jake kept saying "fuck, that felt so fucking good–" and you'd just kiss him and tell him to shut up and enjoy it.

So the morning after, Jake woke up and reached over without thinking about it, the way you do when you fell asleep next to someone and your body just assumes they're still there, and they weren't. You were gone. The bed was cold on your side, which meant you hadn't just gotten up, you'd been gone for a while, and Jake lay there for a second staring at where you were supposed to be processing that information with the dawning comprehension of someone whose brain hadn't fully booted yet.

He looked for a note. There was no note. He checked his phone, there was no text. He got up and did a lap of the apartment like you might've just migrated to the living room, which you hadn't, and then he ended up in the kitchen where the only evidence that you'd ever been there at all was a glass in the drying rack next to the sink washed. You'd gotten up, gotten dressed, had a glass of water, washed the glass, and left, and Jake stood there in his kitchen at eight in the morning naked looking at a clean glass like it had personally wronged him.

He was, to be direct about it, a little pathetic that week. Not in a way that anyone else would've necessarily noticed, he kept it mostly internal, but he was going over the previous night on a loop with the specific energy of someone trying to figure out if they'd misread something, except he didn't think he'd misread it, he was pretty sure he hadn't misread it, but then why was there a clean glass in the drying rack and no text and no note and nothing. He waited two days, which felt like a reasonable amount of time to not seem insane, and then texted you: hey. had a really good time the other night.

You responded six hours and forty two minutes later. He was not counting, he just happened to notice. You said: me too, sorry been swamped with coursework this week, how are you?

How are you? Okay, normal, friendly, completely unreadable. He stared at that text for an embarrassing amount of time trying to extract information from it that probably wasn't there. You texted back and forth for a bit after that and it was fine, it was good actually, you were funny and easy to talk to like always, but it had this quality of a conversation between two friends catching up, and Jake kept waiting for some acknowledgment of the thing that had happened (you literally had called him a good boy and he came and he couldn't stop thinking about it) so he expected at least some small signal, but it never came. You were warm but you were also just normal, and Jake couldn't tell if that was you being cool about it or you genuinely treating it as a casual thing that didn't require any particular follow up, and not knowing which one it was made him feel insane.

He took a step back after that, more like a self preservation instinct kicking in before he did something embarrassing like double text you about your feelings. He told himself it was fine, casual was fine, he could do casual. He was a 21 year old guy, casual was supposed to be his native language. He was completely miserable about it, but quietly, which he felt was at least dignified.

Heeseung noticed, but Jake had made a decision to keep this one close to his chest for a while, at least until he understood what it was, so every time Heeseung gave him that look Jake just said he was tired or stressed about school and Heeseung let it go with the patience of someone who knew he'd find out eventually and was willing to wait.

Heeseung found out on tuesday. Jake was on the couch doing something on his laptop when he heard the front door open harder than necessary and Heeseung came in with the specific energy of someone who had just received information and had walked home with it at an elevated pace. He looked at Jake. Jake looked at him. "You absolute dick," Heeseung said. "Why didn't you tell me you hooked up with Y/N?"

Jake didn't know how Heeseung got that information. Jake was shocked. Jake closed his laptop. "How did you– I– I didn't know if I was supposed to."

"What does that even mean?!"

"It means I didn't know what it was yet and I didn't want to make it into a thing by telling people."

"I'm not people, I'm me," Heeseung said, dropping his bag on the floor with the energy of a man deeply personally offended. "Also you forgot that she's one of my girlfriend's best friends, so I was going to find out regardless, and instead I had to find out from her like an idiot keeping secrets."

"I wasn't keeping secrets, I was just–"

"You told me about the twink thing in real time," Heeseung said, pointing at him, "like I got a full play by play of the twink conversation the morning after, but then something actually happens and you go completely silent?"

Jake opened his mouth and then closed it because that was a fair point. "I didn't know what she wanted," he said, which was the honest answer. "She left in the morning without saying anything and then texted me like everything was normal and I couldn't figure out if it meant something or nothing and I didn't want to tell you and then have it be nothing."

Heeseung looked at him for a long moment and then came and sat down on the other end of the couch with slightly less aggression than he'd entered with. "Okay," he said. "That's actually a real reason."

"Thank you."

"Still should've told me."

"Yeah, okay, sorry."

Heeseung picked up Jake's abandoned throw pillow and held it for a second and then threw it at him anyway, not hard, more ceremonial. Jake caught it. They sat there for a second in the way that they did when a conversation had finished being an argument and was transitioning into something more useful. "For what it's worth," Heeseung said, in the tone he used when he was relaying information he'd been given permission to relay, "from what my girlfriend said, it sounds like she had a good time."

Jake looked at him. "What?"

"That's what I'm told."

"Did she say anything else?"

"I'm not a messenger service dude," Heeseung said, but he was almost smiling, which meant there probably was more and he was choosing not to give it up yet, which was an absolutely classic Heeseung move. Jake threw the pillow back at him. 

"You're useless," Jake said.

"I'm extremely useful actually," Heeseung said. "You're just impatient."

Which was true. Jake was very impatient, and also still confused, and also still thinking about you calling him a good boy, and also apparently you'd had a good time, which meant something, even if he wasn't sure yet what it meant or where it went from here. It was a start, Jake figured. A weird, inconclusive, slightly maddening start, but still.

The first time Jake saw you after that night was at Jay's place, which was, in terms of ideal settings for navigating whatever the hell was happening between you two, pretty much dead last on the list.

He'd gone over with Sunghoon and Heeseung on the weekend and Jake had shown up expecting a normal saturday, maybe some games, maybe they'd order food later, nothing that required him to be mentally prepared for anything. And then Jay opened the door and Jake walked in and saw you sitting on the couch next to Sunoo, and you were wearing this little top that kept riding up just a little every time you moved and those jeans that sat low on your hips and hugged your ass in a way that made his brain immediately supply very unhelpful memories and very difficult to immediately look somewhere else, which he did, eventually, after approximately two seconds too long.

You looked up at the same time he looked away, which meant you definitely caught him, which meant you knew exactly what those two seconds were, and you just smiled and looked back at whatever you and Sunoo were talking about like absolutely nothing had happened.

The thing was, you were subtle about it in a way that was actually not subtle at all, it was just subtle enough that no one else was catching it. You weren't doing anything obvious, you'd say something to the group and let your eyes land on him a beat longer than necessary. Or you'd laugh at something and angle yourself slightly in his direction. Or you'd reach across the coffee table for something so your top pulled tight across your chest, or cross your legs in a way that made the seam of those jeans shift against your thighs. Every little movement felt deliberate, like you were putting on a private show just for him in a room full of people who had no idea. He'd catch the movement in his peripheral vision and have to actively redirect his attention back to whatever conversation he was supposed to be in. It was a very specific, very targeted kind of casual, and Jake was losing his mind about it while maintaining a completely normal facial expression, which was one of the more athletically demanding things he'd done recently.

At one point Jay said something to him directly and Jake had to ask him to repeat it because he'd been looking at the TV but actually thinking about absolutely nothing related to the TV, and Jay gave him a mildly suspicious look and said "are you good?" and Jake said "yeah, sorry, tired" which was the same excuse he'd been using for weeks and was starting to wear thin. Sunghoon, from his spot on the floor, did not look at Jake. He was very pointedly not looking at Jake in the specific way that meant he was fully aware of everything that was happening and had chosen to be Switzerland about it, which Jake both appreciated and found slightly irritating.

Heeseung was on the other couch next to his girlfriend, who was next to you, and at one point his girlfriend said something to you quietly and you laughed and glanced over at Jake for just a second and he caught it and then had to pretend he hadn't caught it, and he looked at Heeseung with an expression that said please help me and Heeseung looked back with an expression that said you're on your own, buddy.

Eventually you got up to go to the kitchen and on your way back you stopped right next to his armchair, leaned down slowly to grab your phone from the side table, and your body was suddenly so close he could smell your perfume. You looked right at him for a second, lips curved like you were enjoying this way too much, and asked the room in the most innocent voice, "Has anyone decided what we're doing for food?" and Jake stared straight ahead at the TV like a man who had seen god and was not ready to discuss it.

"Pizza?" Sunoo offered.

"Pizza it is. Okay, I'm ordering right now. I'll go down and grab it when it gets here," you said, straightening up. "Jake, you can come with me so I'm not carrying it alone."

It was said so casually. Just a totally normal thing to say. Nobody in the room looked up. Jake said "yeah, sure" in a voice that was completely regular and betrayed nothing and then went back to looking at the TV.

The elevator ride down was eleven floors. Jake stood on one side and you stood on the other and it was fine for approximately four seconds and then you looked at him and smiled, not the group hang smile, the other one, the one that meant something specific, and he looked back at you and thought about the clean glass in the drying rack and the six hour forty two minute text response and how you'd spent the entire afternoon driving him insane in a room full of his friends and your brother.

The doors opened at the lobby and you both went and got the pizza and on the way back to the elevator you were walking close enough that your arms kept almost touching, and he held the elevator door open for you and you walked in and he let the doors close and before the elevator had even started moving he said, "what the hell are you doing?"

You turned to look at him with an expression of absolute, practiced innocence. "What?"

"You know what."

"I really don't," you said, which was a complete lie delivered with complete confidence, and you said sweetly, stepping a little closer even though there was plenty of space. Your eyes dropped to his mouth for a second, then back up and somehow you were still managing to seem like the most irritating and attractive person he'd ever encountered in his life. "I just asked you to help me carry pizza, Jake."

"That's not –" he stopped and looked at you. You looked back at him, waiting. "You've been doing that thing all afternoon."

"What thing?"

The elevator was moving, seven floors to go. "You know what thing."

"I genuinely don't know what you're talking about," you said.

Jake looked at the elevator doors then back at you. "You're going to get me killed by your brother," he said.

"Jay's not going to do anything to you."

"You don't know that."

"I know Jay," you said. "He'll be annoying about it for like two weeks and then he'll get over it."

Jake stared at you. "That implies there's something for him to get annoyed about."

"Isn't there?" you said, and the elevator doors opened on Jay's floor, and you walked out with the pizza like that sentence hadn't just happened, and Jake stood there for a second before the doors started to close and he had to stick his arm out to stop them. 

And what happened between you two that night was, in Jake's words, the best sex he'd ever had.

After everyone said their goodbyes at Jay's and the group started splitting up, you turned to him with the sweetest, most innocent little smile and asked, "Jake, can you give me a ride home? I don't feel like taking an Uber this late." He just nodded, trying to look normal, and said "yeah, sure" while Sunghoon and Heeseung gave him one last knowing side eye. The car ride was quiet at first, but the second you two pulled up in front of your building you looked over at him and said, "Come up for a bit?"

Jake didn't even pretend to hesitate. Your apartment was cute as hell, by the way. Soft lighting, a big comfortable looking puff in the corner that screamed "perfect for sitting and getting straddled," and a whole shelf full of those little Hirono figures lined up like a tiny army watching everything. He was still busy scanning the place, smiling at how it was so you, when you decided you'd waited long enough. The second the door clicked shut you were on him.

You grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and pulled him into a kiss that was anything but innocent, even a little bit desperate, tongue immediately sliding against his. Jake made a surprised sound into your mouth but kissed you back just as hard, hands finding your waist. "I couldn't stop thinking about you since last time," you breathed against his lips, biting his bottom one right after. "Kept remembering how pretty you sounded begging." Jake let out a low chuckle, the smugness creeping in now that he wasn't trapped in an elevator with you. He walked you backwards until your back hit the wall, pressing his body against yours.

"Oh really?" he murmured, voice dropping. His hand slid down to grip your ass, squeezing hard. "You spent all afternoon teasing the shit out of me in front of your brother and now you're admitting you were horny the whole time?"

You grinned, and rolled your hips against him. "Maybe. What are you gonna do about it?"

He kissed you again, slower this time but filthier, tongue licking into your mouth while he pinned you harder against the wall. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushed yours. "I think I'm gonna make you beg this time," he said. "Since you had so much fun with me the other night."

You laughed softly but there was a challenge in it. "Good luck with that, Jakey."

"Yeah?" He slipped his thigh between your legs, pressing up just right, and you couldn't stop the little gasp that escaped. "You've been acting like such a fucking brat all day. You wanted me worked up, didn't you?"

You rolled your hips against his thigh again and looked him straight in the eyes. "Yeah, I did," you said, voice already a little unsteady. "I kept thinking about how you'd look trying to hide it in front of everyone. It was hot."

Jake's expression shifted, something hungrier crossing his face and he didn't answer with words. Instead he grabbed your waist, turned you and pushed you back onto the bed in one quick motion. You landed on the mattress with a soft bounce, and before you could push yourself up he was already over you, knees bracketing your hips, one hand catching both your wrists and pinning them above your head against the pillow. He leaned down close, mouth right next to your ear, voice low. "You really like pushing me, yeah?" His free hand pushed your top up slowly, fingers dragging over your skin. 

You tugged at your wrists just to test him, but he held them firm. A shiver ran through you when he kissed down the side of your neck, open mouthed and wet, then sucked lightly under your jaw. "Jake…" you started, but he cut you off by pressing his thigh between your legs again, this time with more pressure.

"Tell me what you were thinking about," he murmured against your collarbone. "When you were teasing me in front of your brother. Be honest."

You bit your lip, trying to keep some control, but your breathing was already getting faster. "I was thinking about how you sounded last time…"

He let out a quiet laugh, almost surprised, and pulled your top the rest of the way off. His eyes moved over you for a second before he lowered his head and kissed between your breasts, then lower, across your stomach. He took his time undoing your jeans, sliding them down your legs along with your panties, leaving you completely bare under him. When he settled between your thighs he pushed them wider apart with his hands, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there. He looked up at you, hair falling into his eyes, and there was that smug little edge in his expression again. "You're already this wet," he said, running one finger slowly up your pussy and spreading the slickness. "Just from teasing me all night?"

You opened your mouth to answer but he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit. Your hips jerked and a moan slipped out before you could stop it. Jake hummed against you, the vibration making your thighs tense. "Fuck… Jake–" He did it again but slower, tasting you properly, then closed his lips around your clit and sucked gently. Your back arched off the bed and you pulled hard at the hand still pinning your wrists, but he didn't let go.

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny. "You taste so fucking good." Then he went back in, licking and sucking with more focus, and every time you tried to roll your hips up to get more he'd press you back down with the hand on your stomach, keeping you right where he wanted. You were breathing hard, little sounds escaping despite yourself.

"Shit– Jake, please…" you gasped.

He lifted his head with his lips wet, eyes dark as he looked up at you. "Please what?" His voice was low, almost sweet. "You gotta tell me, baby. I wanna hear it."

You glared at him even as your cheeks burned, still trying to hold onto that bratty attitude. "Don't stop… keep going."

Jake smiled, slow and knowing. "That's not very specific." He pressed a soft, teasing kiss right above your clit. "You made me beg last time, remember? Fair's fair."

He licked you again, deliberately slow, dragging the flat of his tongue over your clit before pulling away completely. You let out a frustrated sound and tried to move your hips toward his mouth, but he held you still. "Jake, come on–"

"Use your words like a big girl," he said, pressing another kiss to your inner thigh, then biting lightly. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."

"I wanna cum," you whispered. "Please, Jake… make me cum." The smug little smile he gave you was almost unbearable, but then he dipped his head again and there was no more teasing. He licked you like he was starving for it with hungry strokes of his tongue, then focusing on your clit with steady pressure, sucking gently and then harder when your moans got louder. He kept your wrists pinned with one hand and used the other to hold your hip down so you couldn't squirm away from the intensity. "Fuck– right there–" you gasped, head tipping back against the pillow.

The pressure built fast and sharp, and when it finally broke you came hard, thighs clamping around his head, a broken moan spilling out of you as your whole body tensed and then melted. Jake didn't stop right away, he kept licking you through it, slower and softer, until you were twitching and pushing at his shoulder. Only then did he kiss his way back up your body with open mouthed kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, up your neck, until he reached your mouth. He kissed you deep and you could feel how hard he was against your thigh.

"You sounded so fucking pretty," he murmured against your lips. "Love when you beg like that."

You let him enjoy his victory for about ten seconds. Then you smiled, sweet and dangerous, and in one quick move you pushed his shoulder and rolled, flipping him onto his back so you were straddling his hips. Jake's eyes widened in surprise, a startled laugh escaping him. You settled on top of him, your hands sliding up his chest, he was still fully dressed from the waist down and you could feel how hard he was under you. You rolled your hips slowly, grinding against his bulge, and watched his breath catch. "Think you can just get away with it?" you asked, leaning down to kiss along his jawline. You sucked lightly on the spot right under his ear, the one you already knew made him weak, and smiled when his hands gripped your thighs tighter.

"Baby–" he started, but you cut him off by palming him through his jeans, squeezing just enough to make his hips jerk up.

You kissed down his neck, biting softly, then whispered right against his skin, "You looked so good between my legs… but I like you like this too."

Jake let out a shaky breath, head tilting back against the pillow as you kept kissing and biting along his jaw and throat. His hands slid up your sides but didn't try to take over, he was letting you have this, and the way his breathing kept stuttering told you he was enjoying it more than he wanted to admit. You popped the button on his jeans and slid your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around him. He was hot and heavy in your palm, already leaking, and you stroked him slowly, thumb brushing over the head. "Fuck…" he groaned, eyes fluttering shut. His hips twitched up into your hand, chasing the touch.

You kept kissing his jaw, his neck, the corner of his mouth, while you worked him with your hand with slow, tight strokes that had him breathing through his mouth. "Look at you," you murmured, voice low and teasing. "You like it when I take over, don't you?"

Jake swallowed hard, cheeks flushed. He opened his eyes and looked up at you, that mix of smug and submissive that made your stomach flip. "Yeah… shit, I do," he admitted, his hands squeezed your thighs like he needed something to hold onto. "Keep going… please."

You smiled against his neck and stroked him a little faster, twisting your wrist just how you knew he liked from last time. He let out a broken sound that went straight between your legs. "Yeah," you whispered, nipping at his earlobe. "Be good for me again, Jakey."

And oh boy, he was good. Jake's head tipped back against the pillow, eyes half closed and his mouth open as every slow twist of your wrist pulled another broken little sound out of him raw and helpless. His hips kept twitching up into your fist, chasing the tight heat of your hand, and you could feel him throbbing, getting impossibly harder, the head of his cock slick and leaking over your fingers. "Fuck– baby, slow down," he gasped, but his body was saying the exact opposite, pushing up harder like he couldn't stop himself. You didn't slow down, you stroked him faster and watched his abs tense, his thighs shaking under you.

You leaned down, lips brushing his ear again. "You close already, Jakey? Gonna cum all over my hand like a good boy?"

He made a strangled noise, hips stuttering. "Shit yeah, I'm– fuck, I'm really close–"

You slowed your hand at the last second, squeezing the base just enough to edge him right there on the brink. Jake's eyes flew open, desperate and glassy. "Tell me," you whispered, still stroking him slowly and torturously. "You wanna cum like this or do you wanna cum inside me?"

"Inside you– fuck, please, inside you, I need it so bad," and it came out so fast and desperate it was almost funny. You laughed softly and kissed him once, quick and dirty, before you sat up and shoved his jeans the rest of the way down his thighs.

You didn't even bother taking them all the way off. You just swung your leg over him, lined him up, and sank down in one smooth motion. The stretch was perfect, it was thick and hot and so deep you both groaned at the same time. Jake's hands flew to your hips, fingers digging in hard as you bottomed out, your ass flush against his thighs. "Oh fuck, yes," he breathed, voice hoarse. "You feel so fucking good baby–"

You didn't give him time to adjust. You started moving right away, rolling your hips in slow, filthy circles at first, then lifting up and dropping back down harder, finding a rhythm that made the headboard knock softly against the wall. Every time you sank down he hit that spot inside you that made sparks shoot up your spine, and you let yourself moan loud and shameless, not caring who heard.

Jake looked wrecked underneath you with flushed cheeks, messy hair, lips parted, eyes locked on the way your tits bounced every time you rode him. But he wasn't completely gone, his hand cracked against your ass with a sharp smack, the sting blooming hot and perfect. "Fuck– yeah, just like that," he groaned, voice breaking. He slapped your ass again, harder this time, and you clenched around him so tight he cursed.

You leaned forward, hands braced on his chest, and started bouncing faster, thighs burning in the best way. "You like it when I ride you like this?" you panted, grinding down deep on every thrust. "Like being good to me?"

Jake whimpered and nodded frantically, hips snapping up to meet you. "Yes shit, yes, use me, I don't care– fuck–"

The switch was so easy between you two now, flipping back and forth without thinking. One second he was slapping your ass and thrusting up like he was trying to ruin you, the next he was looking up at you with those big, needy eyes, letting you pin him down and take whatever you wanted. You rode him harder, grinding your clit against him on every downstroke, the wet sound of skin on skin filling the room. Jake's hands were everywhere – squeezing your ass, sliding up to pinch your nipples, then back down to slap you again when you started slowing down just to tease him.

You felt another orgasm building fast and you didn't fight it. You leaned down close and grabbed his jaw with one hand, forcing him to look at you. "Open your mouth," you ordered, voice rough.

Jake's eyes widened but he obeyed instantly, lips parting, tongue just barely showing. You didn't even slow your hips, you just kept riding him deep and steady while you leaned in and spit right onto his tongue. He moaned like it was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him, eyes fluttering shut as he swallowed without being told. His hips jerked up hard, slamming into you, and the slap of skin got louder, messier. "Fuck, that's so hot," he gasped, voice completely shot.

You kept riding him like that for a few more seconds, hips grinding down deep while he swallowed and looked up at you like he was completely gone. But Jake had clearly reached his limit. "Enough," he said, voice low and rough. He grabbed your hips hard and flipped you over in one fast move, putting you on your stomach. "On your knees, baby. Ass up."

You didn't even think about arguing. You pushed yourself up, arching your back the way he wanted, and felt the mattress dip as he knelt behind you. His hands spread your cheeks almost immediately, thumbs digging into the soft flesh. "Fuck, look at you," he muttered. "All wet and messy from riding me. Such a good girl."

He rubbed the head of his cock up and down your pussy a couple times, teasing your entrance, then pushed in deep in one smooth thrust. You moaned loud into the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets. He felt even bigger from this angle, stretching you open perfectly. Jake gripped your hips and fucked you hard with deep strokes that made your whole body rock forward.

"That's it," he growled, one hand sliding up your back to press between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest down. "Take it just like that. Fuck, your pussy is squeezing me so tight." You were slipping fast into that softer, needier headspace, moaning every time he bottomed out. He leaned over you, chest against your back, and spoke right next to your ear. "You like it e when I fuck you from behind, don't you?" He gave you a particularly hard thrust that made you whimper. 

His hand moved down, and you felt his thumb circle your asshole, pressing lightly. You tensed for a second, then moaned louder when he pushed the tip of his thumb inside, just a little, while still fucking you deep. "Yeah? You like that?" he asked, as he worked his thumb in and out slowly, matching the rhythm of his cock. "Want me playing with your tight little ass while I fuck this pussy?"

You nodded frantically against the pillow, pushing back against him. "Yes– fuck, Jake–"

He groaned and gave you more, sliding his thumb deeper while he kept pounding into you. The double sensation was overwhelming, making your legs shake. Every thrust pushed you closer, and Jake could feel it. "You gonna cum again?" he asked, breathing hard, still fucking you deep.

"Yeah," you moaned into the pillow. "I'm so close, Jake. Don't stop– please don't stop."

He groaned at how desperate you sounded and picked up the pace, slamming into you harder. The wet slap of his hips against your ass mixed with the filthy sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy. His thumb pushed a little deeper, stretching you just right, and the overwhelming fullness made your eyes roll back. "Fuck, you're gripping me so tight," he growled. "This pussy is gonna make me cum if you keep squeezing like that."

You were right on the edge, every hard thrust pushed you closer until you couldn't hold it anymore. "Jake– I'm gonna cum," you gasped, voice breaking. "Please cum inside me. I want it. Fill me up please, please cum in me."

The words barely left your mouth before your orgasm hit you like a wave. You cried out, clenching hard around his cock and his thumb, whole body shaking as pleasure crashed through you. Jake cursed loudly, hips stuttering. "Shit– yeah, take it," he groaned, burying himself as deep as he could. "Gonna fill this pretty pussy up."

He came hard right after you, thick and hot, pulsing deep inside while he kept fucking you through both your orgasms. You could feel every twitch of his cock until you were dripping and messy between your thighs. For a moment the only sounds were both of you trying to catch your breath. Then Jake slowly pulled out, his cum already starting to leak from you. He grabbed your hips keeping your ass up and leaned down. "Stay just like that," he murmured.

He spread your cheeks with both hands and dragged his tongue all the way from your swollen clit up to both of your holes, licking up his own cum in one long stripe. You whimpered at how sensitive you were, but he didn't stop. "Fuck, Jake…" you moaned weakly, twitching every time his tongue passed over your clit.

He hummed against you, clearly enjoying himself way too much. "Taste so fucking good together, can't waste any of it."

He kept licking you lazily from behind until you were trembling and oversensitive, then finally kissed the curve of your ass and collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest.

And remember when Jake said that was the best sex he'd ever had? Well, he lied. I mean, he didn't, but the thing is he had the best sex of his life with you multiple times after that, so that meant the bar kept moving, which meant he kept revising the statement, which meant at some point the statement stopped being a useful metric for anything and he just had to accept that you had broken something in his brain that was not going back to its original position.

What that night did, more than anything else, was open a door. And once a door like that is open you don't really close it again, you just kind of agree to keep walking through it whenever it makes sense, and then it starts making sense more and more often, and before you know it you've been doing this for five months and nobody has said a single word about what it is. That's not a criticism, that's just what happens when two people are having a genuinely good time and neither of them wants to be the one to introduce paperwork into the situation.

The thing about having that kind of arrangement with someone in your twenties is that it's good in a way that's hard to explain to someone who hasn't been in it. It's casual in the best sense of the word, there's no pressure, no performance, no having to show up as anything other than exactly who you are on any given day. Jake could text you at eleven on a tuesday and you'd say come over or you wouldn't and either way it was fine, nobody's feelings got managed, nobody had to have a conversation about expectations. You'd show up, it would be great, one of you would leave, and then a few days later it would happen again. Transactional sounds like a bad word but it wasn't, it was clean and easy and it worked.

Except for the parts where it didn't.

Jake kept bumping what was the waking up alone situation, and that never fully stopped being a thing. He'd gotten better at it, in the sense that he'd stopped expecting otherwise, but there's a difference between not expecting something and being fine with it, and Jake was operating solidly in the first category while telling himself it was the second. Because, well, you always left. Sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes early morning, once while he was still technically in the shower, which he found out when he came back to an empty room and a text that said had fun, talk later with a little waving hand emoji that he chose not to analyze too deeply.

There were good stretches and weird stretches and stretches where you'd disappear for a couple weeks and he'd go about his life and not text you first because he'd learned by then that pushing got him nothing, and then you'd come back and it would be like the reset button had been pressed and everything was fine again. He'd had enough of those cycles by month three to recognize them as a pattern. Recognizing a pattern and doing something about it are different skills and Jake had only fully developed one of them.

The moments that got him, specifically, were the ones that didn't fit neatly into the casual box. Like that day you showed up at his and Heeseung's place with no particular agenda and that had never happened before, you'd always had a reason, a direction, somewhere to be after. But that day you just came over and sat on his couch and said put something on, and Jake put something on and you watched a movie and somewhere in the middle of it you ended up sideways with your legs over his and his arm around you and you fell asleep for twenty minutes on his shoulder, and he sat there not moving and watching the rest of the movie and thinking, okay, this is a different thing, this is a new category.

He made dinner after, just pasta because it was what he had and neither of you had eaten, and you sat at his kitchen counter and stole pieces of bread while he cooked and complained about your thesis advisor and he gave you genuinely useless advice that you told him was genuinely useless and you both laughed about it, and it was domestic in a way that nothing between you two had been before. It was easy in a different way than the other easy.

You two did have crazy monkey sex afterwards, obviously, a cozy evening apparently had a very natural endpoint when it was you two involved, but the point is the cozy evening happened first, and Jake went to sleep that night thinking maybe this was shifting into something with more weight to it. Jake woke up alone, of course.

By month six Heeseung had watched enough of this play out from a front row seat to have developed opinions about it, which was inevitable, and those opinions had been accumulating for long enough that they required a formal airing. "We need to talk about the Y/N thing," Heeseung said.

"There's no thing. It's casual." Jake said.

"It has been months of casual dude," Heeseung replied. "You haven't hooked up with anyone else in five months. You cancelled on that girl Jungwon introduced you to because you were, and I'm quoting you directly here, not really feeling it right now. You got quiet at that party two weeks ago when she was talking to that guy."

Jake put his hands down. "I wasn't —"

"You were," Heeseung interrupted, not unkindly. "I'm not saying this to give you a hard time, I'm saying it because you're my friend and I've watched you go through this loop enough times and you've gone there anyway and you need to either say something about it or accept that you're going to keep waking up alone and feeling like shit about it."

Jake looked at the table. Then at his cereal. Then at Heeseung, who was looking at him with the patient, slightly tired expression of someone who had been waiting for this conversation for a while and was just glad it was finally happening. "She doesn't want anything serious," Jake said, which was the thing he always came back to.

"Did she tell you that? Directly? To your face?"

"No but Jay said –"

"Jay said that months ago man," Heeseung said. "That's not the same as her telling you now, those are two different infos and you're using the old one because it's easier than asking about the current one."

Jake had nothing to say to that because it was correct and he knew it was correct and knowing something is correct and being ready to act on it are still two different things. So Jake did what he did best, which was absolutely nothing. He filed the whole thing under "will deal with later" and went about his life with the practiced ease of someone who had been avoiding his own feelings since approximately age nineteen and had gotten very good at it. The situation was what it was and he was an adult and adults could handle ambiguous situationships without imploding, that was just a thing adults did, he was doing it, everything was under control. He managed this for about three more weeks.

Then he saw you with Soobin. Now look, Soobin was – okay, there's no way to say this without it sounding insane but Soobin was objectively one of the most disarmingly attractive people Jake had ever met in his life, and he meant that in the most objective, non threatened way possible. Soobin had this face that looked like someone had put in a very specific request with the universe like big eyes, the guy was massive, tall as hell, and still he had this soft energy that made everyone around him feel immediately comfortable and also vaguely like they wanted to protect him, which was funny because Soobin was not a person who needed protecting, he was just built in a way that made people feel that instinct. 

And there you were standing way too close to each other and you were laughing at something he'd said with your hand on his arm and Soobin was smiling at you like you were the funniest person he'd encountered all semester. It was objectively innocent and it was probably completely innocent. Jake watched it from across the courtyard for about fifteen seconds and felt his entire chest do something unpleasant.

Jake at twenty two was marginally more self aware than he'd been at twenty one, and that meant he knew that what he was feeling was jealousy and that jealousy was his problem to manage and not a logical basis for any decisions. He knew this. He sat with this knowledge for approximately four days and then went and texted Minjeong, which was either proof that self awareness and self control are completely separate skills or just proof that knowing better and doing better have never been the same thing and probably never will be.

Jake dated Minjeong for a few weeks before, not actually dated but more like the kind of thing that had been easy and low stakes and had faded out naturally because neither of them had been particularly invested, which in retrospect made her a terrible choice for what Jake was trying to do, because Minjeong was smart and she knew him well enough to immediately clock that something was off. She responded to his first text warmly enough but when he tried to suggest hanging out she said, with the directness of someone who had no interest in being a supporting character in someone else's drama, "are you doing okay? you seem weird." He said he was fine. She said okay but you seem like you're in your head about something. He said he wasn't. She said she believed him and also that she was busy this week, and that was pretty much that.

Minjeong was not going to be a pawn in whatever this was and honestly, fair enough. Jake deleted the thread and lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling and thought about how even his attempt to be stupid about this had failed, which was a new low.

He'd been doing this for about two weeks, going back and forth and getting nowhere, and then, when he was heading to his car after his last class that week, thinking about nothing except that he hadn't eaten since noon and needed to fix that, he heard his name from behind him and turned around and it was you, slightly out of breath like you'd jogged a little to catch up.

"Hey," you said, falling into step next to him. "You walking to the lot?"

"Yeah," he said. "You need a ride?"

"No I'm good, I'm meeting someone." You paused. "I just wanted to ask you something."

"Okay."

You were quiet for a second in the way that meant you were deciding how to phrase something. "Are you seeing Minjeong again?" you asked, and your voice was totally casual, just a question, except it was not just a question and you both knew it.

Jake stopped walking. You stopped next to him. He looked at you. "Where did you hear that?"

"Around," you said, which was not an answer.

"Around meaning who."

"Does it matter?"

"Kind of, yeah."

You looked at him with this expression that was doing a lot of things at once. "So are you?" you asked again.

Jake looked at you for a second and then almost laughed, not because it was funny exactly but because of the specific absurdity of the situation, of you standing here asking him about Minjeong with that look on your face, after weeks of him watching you with Soobin and saying nothing about it, after months of him waking up alone and saying nothing about that either. "No," he said. "I'm not seeing Minjeong."

"Okay," you said.

"I texted her like twice and she was busy," he said, and he wasn't sure why he was giving you that level of detail except that something about your expression made him want to be honest about it. "It wasn't anything."

You nodded slowly. "How come you texted her then?"

"I don't know," he said, which was a lie, and by the way you looked at him he could tell you knew it was a lie, but you didn't push it, you just stood there with your arms crossed and your head tilted slightly like you were waiting to see if he'd say the rest of it on his own. He didn't, Jake e was not ready for the rest of it on his own.

"Okay," you said again, and there was something in your voice that sounded like it wanted to be more than okay but had decided against it, so Jake filed away to think about later when he was alone and could turn it over properly. You uncrossed your arms. "I'll see you around, Jake."

"Yeah," he said.

You walked off in the direction you'd come from and Jake stood next to his car with his keys in his hand watching you go and thinking, she asked. She came over here specifically to ask me about Minjeong, which means she noticed, which means she was paying attention, which means there is something here that is not nothing and we are both standing right next to it and pretending we can't see it.

Jake got in the car, drove home, and spent the entire ride being quietly, unreasonably annoyed at everything. Not at you specifically, or at least that's what he was telling himself, more at the general situation, at the specific cruelty of the universe for engineering something that felt this close to something real and then consistently making it impossible to get there. He was annoyed at Minjeong for being perceptive, at Soobin for existing and being objectively very pretty, at himself for texting Minjeong in the first place, which he knew was stupid while he was doing it and had done anyway because apparently knowing something is stupid is not sufficient protection against doing it. Twenty two years old. So much growth.

The Soobin thing, to be clear, had no evidence behind it. Jake knew this but he had convictions, not proof, which is the worst possible combination because convictions without proof live entirely in your head and your head is not an objective narrator. He'd seen you together twice and you were touchy with people you liked, that was just how you were, he knew that, he'd watched you do it with your friends a hundred times. The hand on the arm meant nothing, probably. The laughing meant nothing, probably. Soobin was in your friend group adjacent circle and it made complete sense that you'd have a normal friendship with him that involved proximity and laughter and absolutely nothing else and Jake had zero basis for any of the conclusions he'd been drawing for two weeks.

But he wasn't going to say any of that to you. He wasn't going to say anything to you because saying anything to you meant talking about why he'd texted Minjeong which meant talking about seeing you with Soobin which meant explaining why seeing you with Soobin had bothered him which meant having the exact conversation Heeseung had told him to have weeks ago, and Jake was not ready, had not been ready, kept moving the goalposts on when he would be ready, and in the meantime was going to deal with this the way he dealt with everything which was poorly and quietly.

So you two didn't talk, at all. You didn't fight or anything, just because neither of you reached out and the silence settled in the way silence does when two people are both waiting for the other one to go first. It was one of the worst months Jake had had in a while, which embarrassed him slightly to admit because (objectively) nothing had happened. Nothing had been lost that he'd technically had to begin with. You weren't his girlfriend, you didn't owe him texts, the silence was not a punishment and he had no logical claim to feel as bad as he felt about it. But feelings are not interested in your logical framework, they just do what they do, and what Jake's were doing was making him terrible company for approximately five consecutive weeks.

Week one he was mostly just annoyed and told himself he'd feel better eventually. Week two he did not feel better. Week three Sunghoon asked him at lunch why he looked like that and Jake said nothing's wrong I'm just tired, and Sunghoon nodded in the way that meant he did not believe a single word of that but had chosen to let it go.

Week four was genuinely bad. He saw you across the courtyard with a matcha latte and your headphones on, clearly going somewhere, clearly fine, and he had to make a very deliberate choice to keep walking in the other direction and then felt sorry for himself about it for the rest of the afternoon, which was pathetic and he knew it was pathetic and could not stop. He typed a text to you three times and deleted it three times and then put his phone face down on the table and watched TV for two hours without taking in a single thing that happened on screen.

Week five he was sitting in his morning class not paying attention to anything when his phone buzzed with a text from you that just said hey, you good? and Jake stared at it for long enough that the professor made a comment about phones and he had to put it away, and he spent the remaining forty minutes of class with the focus of someone who had something much more important to attend to the second he got out.

He texted back the second he was out the door. Yeah, I'm good. You? and what followed was the most aggressively normal conversation two people have ever had, you talked about nothing for about twenty minutes – something about a class, you mentioned a show you'd started watching and he said he'd heard of it, and that was genuinely it, that was the whole exchange.

The thing was Jake knew what the problem was. He wasn't confused about the problem. The problem was that every time he was actually talking to you his brain split into two tracks – the one that was present in the conversation and the one running in the background doing risk assessment, calculating how much of what he actually wanted to say was safe to say, how much would land okay and how much would make things weird, and by the time the background track finished its calculations the conversation had moved on and the moment was gone. He'd been doing it for years, it was not a new problem. He just couldn't figure out how to turn the background track off.

Jake looked at his phone then. He typed a few things and deleted them, which was a habit he'd developed since you two started hanging out. He typed I miss you mostly just to see how it looked, fully intending to delete it like everything else, and then sat there looking at it for a second too long, and then sent it before the part of his brain that managed his decisions could intervene. He put his phone face down on the cushion immediately after, like creating physical distance from it would somehow change what had just happened. 

You'd seen it – no response. So he put it face down again.

The thing about sending a text and watching it get read and then getting nothing back is that it's one of those experiences that is objectively minor and feels catastrophic for reasons that are hard to explain to anyone who didn't live it. The message just sits there read out in the open. And your brain, which is not your friend in these moments, starts generating explanations for the silence at a pace that is not useful and cannot be stopped. She's busy. She's thinking about what to say. She's showing it to someone. She's not going to respond. She thinks it's weird. She's fine with it. She hates it. She hates me. She saw it and put her phone down to do something else and forgot and she'll respond later. She's not going to respond. She wants me dead. I should never have asked her if she thinks I'm a twink.

Jake went to bed without a response and woke up the next day to nothing (he checked before he was fully awake) so that added its own specific layer of bad to the morning. And somewhere around mid afternoon, having run out of productive options, he made the executive decision to smoke a completely unreasonable amount of weed and play video games for the rest of the day, which was not a solution to anything but was at least a suspension of the problem, and that was good enough for right now. He was deep into it, and when his brain finally quieted, the doorbell rang. He paused the game and sat there for a second like maybe if he waited long enough it would sort itself out, and then it rang again and he got up, slow, and opened the door.

You were standing in the hallway with your bag on one shoulder and this expression on your face that he couldn't immediately read, and you looked at him and then did a quick scan of the general situation – the slightly glazed eyes, the very specific energy of someone who had been horizontal for hours – and said: "are you high?"

"A little bit," he said, which was generous. "What are you doing here?"

"You said you missed me," you said, just like that, straightforward, and Jake stood in the doorway and looked at you and felt his brain (which was not operating at full capacity) attempt to catch up to what was happening.

"I did," he said.

"I didn't know what to text back so I just didn't, and then I felt bad about not texting back, so." You gestured vaguely at the hallway, at yourself, at the general situation. 

Jake looked at you standing at his door at four in the afternoon because he'd said three words and you hadn't known what to say and had shown up instead, and he thought, not for the first time and probably not for the last, that you were the most confusing person he had ever met in his life and he was absolutely crazy about you and those two things were going to be true simultaneously for the foreseeable future. "Okay," he said, and stepped back to let you in.

You dropped your bag by the door and went and sat on the couch like you'd been there a hundred times, which you had, and Jake went to the kitchen and got two glasses of water on autopilot because he needed something to do with his hands and also because he was dehydrated and still a little high and the combination was making him feel like he was watching the situation from slightly outside himself.

He came back and handed you one and sat down on the other end of the couch, not too close, and for a second neither of you said anything. You were looking at your water glass. He was looking at the middle distance. Very cinematic, very unnecessary. "So," you said.

"So," he said.

You smiled a little at that, and then it faded and you went back to looking at the glass. "I've been kind of weird lately," you said. "I know that."

"It's fine," he said, automatic, and then caught himself. "I mean, it's not, like – I noticed. That's all."

You nodded slowly. "The Minjeong thing threw me off."

"There was no Minjeong thing."

"I know that now." You paused. "I didn't know it then. And I didn't really have a right to care about it either way, made it more annoying to care about it."

That was more than you usually gave him, more direct than you tended to be about anything that touched on the actual situation between you two, and he wasn't sure if it was an invitation to say more or just a thing you were putting down and moving past. He decided to treat it like an invitation. "Why didn't you have a right to care," he asked, and it came out more careful than accusatory.

You looked at him for a second. "Because we're not — this isn't a thing where I get to have opinions about who you talk to."

"I have opinions about who you talk to," he said. 

You were quiet, receiving information and sitting with it instead of deflecting immediately, which for you was actually something. "Soobin is one of my best friends, you know, since like sophomore year of high school."

"I didn't know that."

"Well, you didn't ask."

He picked up his water glass and put it down again without drinking from it. "I'm not – I'm not trying to make this into a fight. I just think we've been doing this thing where we're both aware something is going on and neither of us is saying it and I'm kind of tired of it."

You looked at your hands. "Yeah."

"So I'm saying it," he said. "I like you. I've liked you for a long time, like a stupid long time, and I know that's not what we agreed to and I'm not trying to pressure you into anything, I just, I think you should know, because I'm done pretending it's purely casual on my end because it's not, and hasn't been for a while."

The room was quiet. You weren't looking at him and he was looking at you and the weed had not prepared him for this level of conversation but here you were, doing it anyway. You took a breath. "I like you too," you said it plainly. "That's not – that's not the issue for me."

"Okay," he said carefully. "So what is it?"

You were quiet for long enough that he thought you might not answer, and then you said, "I don't know how to do it. Like, how to date someone, not anymore... I think." You said it to the middle distance, not to him, which he'd learned meant you were being more honest than comfortable. "I was in a relationship for a long time and it was fine for most of it and then it wasn't and when it ended I realized I'd spent like two years just, like, going along with something because it was already in motion and I didn't know how to stop it. And I don't want to do that again. And you're –" you paused. "You're someone I actually like being around. Like, outside of everything else. And I don't want to do the thing where we try to make it into something and it goes wrong and then that's gone."

"So it's easier to keep it as nothing."

"It's not nothing, Jake," you said, with a bit more edge, and looked at him properly for the first time since you'd sat down. "It's never been nothing, that's the whole problem."

Jake looked back at you and felt the specific exhaustion of two people who are on the same page about all the wrong things. You liked him and he liked you, but you were both scared of different versions of the same outcome and the overlap between those fears was exactly the space where nothing could grow. He understood it and he hated that he understood it. "So what do we do," he said.

You looked at him for a long moment and he could see you working through it. "I think maybe we should just be friends," you said. "I think we skipped a lot of steps and now everything is – tangled, and I don't know how to... untangle it."

It landed the way he'd expected it to land and it was not great, but not as bad as it could have been either. It wasn't a no, exactly. It was more like a not like this and not right now, so his brain tried to file as encouraging and his chest filed as disappointing regardless. "Okay," he said.

"Okay?"

"I mean, no, not okay, it kind of sucks," he said, and you laughed a little at that, surprised, and he felt the tension in the room drop half a degree. "But I get it. I don't love it but I get it."

So that being said, the whole just friends thing lasted for three days.

In retrospect, it was optimistic of both of you. The conversation had been mature and the intentions had been real and Jake had genuinely gone to bed that night thinking okay, this is the reset, this is the thing that changes the dynamic, we talked about it like adults and now it's going to be different. And then three days later there was a thing at Heeseung's girlfriend's place, just a small group and a few drinks, nothing that should've led anywhere, except you were there and Jake was there and at some point the evening got late enough and the drinks got sufficient enough that the careful distance you'd both agreed to maintain started feeling a little abstract and unnecessary, and then you were in the kitchen alone for five minutes while everyone else was in the living room and that was that.

The night ended the way it usually ended. His place, late, Jake came when you called him a good boy, you two had crazy monkey sex, Jake fell asleep next to you and woke up reaching for something that wasn't there anymore. The bed was cold, the glass in the drying rack was clean. Aw shit, he thought, here we go again.

The difference this time, the thing that made this loop slightly different from the one before, was that Jake had promised himself he wasn't going to pretend. He'd done enough pretending, enough filing things away and leaving them for future Jake and treating honesty like it was optional. So when you texted him two days later like nothing had happened he didn't just go along with it, he said can we talk and you said yeah and you did, and it was fine, it was actually fine, you were both adults about it and nobody cried or slammed doors or said anything they couldn't come back from.

You agreed, again, to be just friends, and that lasted about a week. And then it happened again, and you agreed again, and it lasted less time than that, and somewhere around the fourth or fifth cycle Jake stopped counting because the counting wasn't useful and the cycle was the cycle regardless of how many times it had completed. This was just the shape of the thing. You two were apparently constitutionally incapable of maintaining the resolution long enough for it to stick, which would've been funny if it weren't also slowly making him insane.

The loop went like this, roughly: something would happen, one of you would pull back, there'd be a stretch of weird distance, then a conversation, then just friends, then three to ten days of actually being just friends which was fine except for the part where it wasn't, and then something would shift (you were both horny and crazy for each other) and the whole thing would reset. Sometimes you'd disappear after. Sometimes he would, genuinely, just to see if it felt different from the receiving end, which it didn't, it just felt like he was being petty (he was). Occasionally one of you would get weird about something the other one had done and it would surface in a conversation that started about something else entirely.

Like the time Jake saw a guy dropping you off outside your building and spent two days being normal about it until you came over and he was so aggressively, transparently normal about it that you noticed immediately. "What's wrong with you," you said, not even five minutes in.

"Nothing," he said.

"It's clearly something, I know you."

He looked at you. "Who dropped you off on thursday?"

You blinked. "Yeonjun. He's in my thesis group." You looked at him for a second. "You saw that?"

"I was walking back from the gym."

"And you've been weird about it for two days."

"I haven't been weird?"

"Yes, you have?"

He stopped. "Yeah, okay, I've been a little weird about it."

You sat back and looked at him with an expression that was more tired than annoyed. "You can't do that," you said. "You can't be weird about that if this isn't a thing. That's not fair."

"I'm not saying it's fair. I'm saying it happened."

"So what do you want me to do with that?"

"Nothing," he said. "I'm not asking you to do anything with it. I'm just being honest about it because you asked."

Or the time you showed up at his place at eleven on a week day and you'd clearly had a bad day and you didn't really want to talk about it, you just wanted to exist somewhere that wasn't your apartment, and Jake let you in and didn't ask questions and you watched something on TV for two hours and it was easy and comfortable and at some point you fell asleep on the couch and he put a blanket over you and went to bed, and in the morning you made coffee and you both sat in the kitchen and it felt so much like something.

Or the time it turned into an actual argument. You'd gone quiet for two weeks after a particularly good night together that had felt like more than its usual self, and Jake had waited and waited and finally said something about it and it turned into the kind of conversation that starts about one thing and ends up being about everything underneath it. "You always do this," he said, and he hadn't meant it to come out with that much edge but it did. "You disappear every time it gets close to something real so you just check out. And then you come back and it's fine and we don't talk about it and then it happens again."

"I'm here right now," you said.

"You're here now because enough time passed that it felt okay to come back. That's not the same thing."

You looked at him and he could see the thing that happened when you felt cornered, this slight closing off, and he knew pressing wasn't going to get him anywhere but he was tired, genuinely tired in a way that had been building for months. "I told you from the beginning I wasn't good at this," you said.

"You told me you didn't want anyone to get hurt. Those aren't the same thing."

You were quiet for a long time, long enough that he thought the conversation might just end there unresolved like everything else. And then you said, "I don't know how to change it," and your voice was honest and Jake looked at you and felt the specific ache of two people who want the same thing and keep arriving at it from incompatible directions.

"Okay," he said, softer.

"I'm sorry," you said.

"Stop apologizing."

"I don't know what else to do."

"I know," he said. "Me neither."

You stayed that night. In the morning you were still there when he woke up, which was unusual enough that he lay still for a second just registering it, and when you woke up you didn't immediately reach for your phone or your bag, you just looked at him in the grey morning light and said "hi" and he said "hi" back.

And, well, that kept going for two years.

Two years is a long time when you're in your twenties. It doesn't sound like a long time but when you're twenty two and then you're twenty four it's actually enormous, it's the difference between who you were and who you're becoming, and you can feel it in the way you carry yourself, in the things that stop being funny and the things that start being, in the specific peace that comes from knowing yourself well enough to stop pretending you don't. Jake was not the same person he'd been at twenty one, or twenty two, or even twenty three. It wasn't a sad thing, it was just a true thing.

He didn't go to every party anymore, he'd gotten selective about where he put his energy, which is something nobody tells you happens in your twenties but it does. Jake was, by most measures, doing well. He had good friends (Heeseung), a job he didn't hate (Heeseung helped him get it), an apartment he and his roommate (also Heeseung) had quietly made into somewhere worth coming home to. The bones of a life, assembled slowly and without much ceremony, the way actual lives get built as opposed to the way you imagine they will be when you're nineteen and everything feels enormous and provisional.

The only thing that remained exactly as chaotic as it had always been, the one constant in three years of otherwise gradual maturation, was you. At some point over two years of this loop the loop started to look less like a loop and more like a life, and you both settled into it the way you settle into anything that's been around long enough. So you basically started acting like a couple.

He knew how you liked your matcha latte, you kept a charger at his place, and then a hoodie, and then a toothbrush. When something good happened, he texted you before he texted anyone else, even before Heeseung. You showed up to things together and left together and the space between you in a room had narrowed to something that everyone around you could read even when you were across from each other and not touching.

The arguments had quieted down too, which was maybe the most telling thing. Not because nothing was unresolved (plenty was still unresolved) but because the situation itself had worn down through sheer frequency of contact. Jake knew when you needed space before you asked for it. You knew when he was in his head about something before he said anything. That kind of knowledge doesn't come from a label, it comes from time, and you two had put in the time whether you'd meant to or not.

All of your friends knew, they'd known for a while, they'd probably known longer than Jake had known himself. Heeseung had stopped asking about it, which meant he'd accepted it as a permanent condition of Jake's life and had filed it accordingly. Sunghoon made exactly one comment once, which was just "you know this is kind of obvious, right," and Jake had said "thanks, Sunghoon" in a tone that closed the subject, and Sunghoon had let it stay closed but the look on his face had communicated volumes. Even Jay, who had made his peace with the situation through a combination of being a reasonable person and genuinely not wanting to know the details, had stopped doing the subtle check in thing he used to do, had stopped reading the room when Jake and his sister were in it together, because the room was always the same and he'd adjusted.

Everyone had adjusted and everyone could see it. Your friends, his friends, people who barely knew either of you, anyone who'd been in the same space as you two for more than forty minutes. Everyone except, apparently, you and Jake.

You both had an unspoken agreement to keep not naming it that had outlasted all reasonable explanations and was at this point less a decision and more a deeply ingrained habit that neither of you knew how to break without acknowledging that it existed. There's a specific kind of relationship that exists in the space between what it is and what it's called, and it's comfortable there, in that space, in a way that's hard to explain to someone on the outside because from the outside it looks like avoidance, and it is avoidance, but the reason nobody names it isn't always fear of losing it, sometimes it's just that the naming feels like the least important part when the thing itself is already so thoroughly present in your daily life that a word for it seems redundant. Well, that's what you told yourself, at least.

But accommodation isn't the same as acceptance, and acceptance isn't the same as being done with it, and Jake was twenty four now and not the same person he'd been at twenty one, and the things he was willing to keep accommodating indefinitely were getting fewer. He just hadn't done anything about it yet. Which was, if you'd been following along, extremely on brand. Somewhere in those two years a lot of small things accumulated that neither of you addressed directly because addressing them would've required acknowledging what they were, and you two had gotten very practiced at not doing that.

There was the running thing, which started because you had a route along the river near your apartment that you did a few times a week, and Jake had mentioned once that he'd been wanting to run more and you'd said come tomorrow then, casual, and he'd shown up the next morning and then the morning after that and then it just became a thing. He was faster than you over distance and slower than you on hills, and you'd figured out pretty quickly that the route worked better if you didn't try to talk for the first twenty minutes and just ran, and then the last stretch you'd slow down and talk about whatever, and it was one of the most genuinely easy things between you two, which was saying something. He started keeping a spare pair of running shoes at your place but neither of you mentioned it.

Every time he went home to visit his family he came back with food. Dumplings once, vacuum sealed, with a note from his mom that you were pretty sure was in part addressed to you even though Jake claimed it wasn't. He'd hand it over like he hadn't specifically told his mom what you liked, like his mom hadn't specifically made extra of it because her son had mentioned you enough times that she'd started cooking for two. You ate it and didn't say anything about the implications and neither did he.

Jay was around more, which was its own thing. Not because anything had been said between Jake and Jay about the situation – as far as you knew that conversation had never happened – but just because Jake and Jay had gotten closer over those two years in the natural way that happens when someone becomes a consistent presence in your life and you start to actually know them. Heeseung's girlfriend had started referring to the four of you as the four of you, which was something she'd done so naturally and so early that by the time anyone might've pushed back on it the window had passed. Movie nights at the apartment happened at least twice a month, board games that got competitive enough that Heeseung's girlfriend once threw a card across the room, dinner sometimes, the four of you at a table, splitting the bill, walking home in pairs. Heeseung and his girlfriend held hands. Jake and you walked close enough that your arms touched and sometimes his hand would find yours and you'd let it and you'd walk like that for a block before one of you found a reason to need that hand for something else. It was a whole thing, everyone could see it was a whole thing. 

You'd started staying over more, and that happened gradually enough that there was no single moment where it became the new normal, it just did. And then you started staying the whole night, not leaving before he woke up, which he noticed the first few times and tried very hard not to make obvious because he didn't want to spook you by making it into something. You'd wake up and he'd be in the kitchen and you'd come out in whatever you'd slept in and he'd hand you coffee already made the way you took it, and it was domestic in a way that should've felt strange given the official status of things and somehow just felt like tuesday. He stayed at yours too, more than before. Your roommate had stopped asking who he was approximately three weeks into this pattern and had started just saying hi Jake when he came in the door and offering him whatever she was eating.

The hand holding happened without ceremony too, his hand would find yours and you'd be holding hands and that would be that. You went to a farmers market once and walked around for an hour and a half and held hands the entire time and talked about produce and absolutely nothing else, and on the way back he'd bought you something you'd looked at twice and you'd told him not to and he'd already paid for it. 

You'd gotten into this habit somewhere along the way of always being in the same car. If you were going to the same place, which happened more often than it probably should have given that you weren't technically together, Jake drove or you drove and the other one got in and that was it. It was efficient and practical, he told himself. Good for the environment, even. Spring break came around and it turned out you were both heading back toward the same general direction of the country, your hometown was about forty minutes from his, and the route passed through his anyway, so the road trip thing made sense logistically, he told Heeseung, who did not ask about the logistics and also did not bother hiding his expression. "Have fun," Heeseung said.

You left on a friday morning, your bag in his backseat, matcha latte from the place near your condo because you'd insisted on stopping even though it added twelve minutes and he'd complained about it the entire way there and then drunk half of yours when his ran out somewhere around the first hour. You didn't say anything when he reached over and took it, just handed it to him without looking up from your phone, which was somehow more intimate than most things and he noticed but didn't say anything about it.

The first hour was easy the way things between you two were always easy. You told him about something that had happened with a friend of yours that week, and he asked questions in the right places and you filled in the gaps. Around hour two you'd migrated into the particular road trip intimacy where you'd turned slightly sideways in the passenger seat so you were half facing him. Jake had one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the center console and at some point you put your hand over his, just placed it there, and he turned his hand over so your fingers could settle into his, and you stayed like that for a while without commenting on it.

The playlist cycled through something slow and you sang along under your breath to a part you knew and he watched the road and listened and thought about how this was just a thing that was happening, a normal friday, two people driving to their hometowns for break, nothing remarkable about it, and somehow it was also one of his favorite days in recent memory and he had no idea what to do with that information.

"You missed the turn," you said.

"I didn't miss it, I'm taking the other way."

"The other way adds like twenty minutes."

"Yeah but the other way has Weendy's."

You stared at him. "You're taking a twenty minute detour for Wendy's."

"Wendeez nuts."

"Jake." You tried not to laugh.

"You want some or not, pretty?"

"Deez nuts or Wendy's?” You asked, smirking playfully.

"Wendy's.” Jake answered, laughing. “Unless…”

You laughed out loud, and you did want some. You both got chips and sat on the hood of his car in the rest stop parking lot for twenty minutes eating them and watching other people's road trips pass through, and you stole from his bag even though you had your own, and he let you because he always let you. The last hour he had his hand on your knee for most of it, not consciously, just where it ended up, and you had your head tipped back against the seat looking out the window at the trees and you were quiet in a good way, and he drove and thought about nothing in particular and everything loosely related to it.

He pulled up in front of your house and your bag was already in your lap and the engine was still running and you sat there for a second without moving. "Thanks for the detour," you said.

"Best Wendy's in the state," he said.

You smiled and looked at him and he looked at you and there was a moment, a couple seconds long, where neither of you said anything and the car was quiet and it would've been very easy to just stay there. Then you leaned over and kissed him, soft and unhurried, one hand coming up to his jaw and he kissed you back. You pulled back and he could still feel the warmth of it. "Drive safe," you said. "Text me when you get there, okay?"

"I will," he said. You got out and shut the door and he watched you go up the front path, your bag on your shoulder, and he lowered the window because there was something – he didn't plan it, he didn't think about it, it came out the same way things sometimes come out when you're not monitoring yourself closely enough –

"Love you," he said.

And then he drove away.

He was at the end of the street before his brain fully processed what had just come out of his mouth. He kept driving. He went through a green light. He merged onto the main road. His hands were on the wheel at ten and two like a person who was being very normal about something.

Jake had not waited to see your face. He had not waited for anything, he'd just said it and put the car in drive like he could outrun it if he moved fast enough, which was insane, which was possibly the most insane thing he'd done in three years of consistently insane behavior, and that was a high bar. His phone was in the cupholder but he did not look at it. He drove for twenty minutes before he accepted that he was going to have to look at it eventually and pulled into a gas station and sat in the parking lot and picked it up. No messages, thank God. Thank.. God?

Okay, Jake thought. Okay. That happened. He'd said it and you'd heard it clearly and he'd driven away before you could respond and now he was in a gas station parking lot forty minutes from his hometown and twenty minutes from yours and he had no idea what came next and his heart was doing something loud and inconvenient in his chest. So he called Heeseung. "Hey," Heeseung said, background noise of the TV behind him. "You get there okay?"

"I told her I love her," Jake said.

A pause. "You did what?"

"Yeah and I drove away before she could say anything."

Silence. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Heeseung said.

"You gotta be more specific," Jake said.

"You said I love you and then you just –"

"I drove away, yes, I'm aware, I was there –"

"Why would you do that, you absolute moron?"

"I don't know, dude!" Jake said, which was true. He genuinely did not know. It had come out and his foot had hit the gas and now here he was in a gas station parking lot having the worst and best moment of the last several years simultaneously. "What do I do now?!"

Heeseung was quiet for a second. "I mean," he said, "you could start by driving back."

Jake did not drive back. He sat in the parking lot for another ten minutes being a coward about it. But eventually he drove the rest of the way to his hometown with the radio on and his phone in the cupholder and the specific stillness of someone who has done something irreversible and is still in the process of understanding what that means. His family's house looked the same as always, his mom had left the porch light on, and he sat in the driveway for a minute before going in, kinda expecting his phone to buzz and it didn't, and he went inside and ate dinner and was normal about it with his family in the way that you're normal about things when you have no other option.

He texted you saying he got home. Delivered. He checked his phone before bed to see if you had texted back, nothing. Woke up the next morning, still nothing. Day two? Yeah, nothing. Aw shit, here we go again.

The thing about being home is that it does something to your memory, it pulls things up from storage without asking permission. Jake lay there on day two and day three with nowhere particular to be and found himself thinking about things he hadn't thought about in years.

He thought about being fifteen and having a crush on a girl in his class who'd looked at him exactly once with any particular intention and he'd spent three months treating that one look like a compass, orienting everything around it, which was a lot of weight for a single look to carry. Nothing came of it but he'd survived. He thought about being seventeen and thinking he understood what it meant to care about someone, the specific confidence of that age where you feel things enormously and interpret that enormity as depth when sometimes it's just volume. He'd been loud about his feelings at seventeen without being particularly honest about them, which is a thing that takes a while to notice about yourself.

He thought about his ex (yeah, sad, I know) who had been genuinely good and genuinely wrong for him in equal measure, and how the ending of that had been the first time he'd understood that caring about someone and being right for someone were separate questions with separate answers. He'd learned something from that. He thought he had, at least. He'd carried it forward, applied it, tried to be more careful about the difference.

And then he thought about you, which was where everything kept ending up regardless of the route it took to get there.

Jake'd spent three years worrying about the shape of what you two were, the category, the label, the question of what to call it and what it meant and whether it was going anywhere and whether anywhere was even a place worth going. He'd had that conversation with himself more times than he could count, lying in various beds in various states of having just woken up alone, and it had never resolved because it was the wrong conversation. He'd been so focused on the uncertainty of the situation that he'd spent three years treating his own feelings like they were also uncertain, like they were part of the question instead of the one thing he'd actually known the answer to for a long time.

He thought about a cup of water at a party when he was nineteen years old and everything felt enormous. He thought about how you'd texted first after five weeks of silence and how that had been enough to make the whole week retroactively survivable. He thought about the way you fell asleep in the passenger seat and trusted him to get you there, the way you said things that were true in voices that were quiet like you were only willing to be honest at low volume. He thought about all the times he'd watched you leave and missed you in the mornings with the tired resignation of someone who'd accepted a situation instead of examining it, and he thought about how for three years he'd framed his own feelings as a problem to manage rather than a fact to just live in, and how exhausting that had been, and how unnecessary.

Jake'd said love you out of a car window and driven away and the world hadn't ended. It was still there, he was still there. You were somewhere not texting him, which was familiar territory and not his favorite place to be, but underneath the silence was still the fact that he'd said it and he'd meant it and meaning it turned out to be the most uncomplicated part of all of this by a significant margin.

Jake loved you. He'd loved you for a long time, longer than he'd let himself call it that, long enough that the feeling had become structural. It wasn't the enormous, operatic thing he'd maybe expected love to feel like when he was seventeen. It was knowing how you liked your matcha latte and your favorite Hirono figures, and the face you made when you were about to say something honest and the specific way, how you played The Sims when you were tired of living life or when you went to the movies by yourself when you felt like it. It was the thing that had made him stay in a loop for three years that any rational person would've exited, because the loop still had you in it and the exit didn't, and that was the math he'd been doing without ever writing it down.

He didn't regret saying it. That was the thing he'd been slowly arriving at across three days and two nights in his childhood bedroom. He'd driven away like a maniac and you'd gone silent and he was lying here in the house he grew up in with no idea what you were thinking and he still, genuinely, did not regret it. Which was new information about himself. He'd expected to feel more like he'd made a mistake and instead he just felt like someone who'd finally said out loud the thing that had been true for a long time.

The silence still sucked, though, that part wasn't better with context. But the thing underneath the silence was solid in a way it hadn't felt before, and he lay there on day three and looked at the ceiling of the room he'd slept in since he was a kid and thought, okay, I love her, that's just a true thing, and whatever she does with it is her thing to do, but I'm done pretending it's a question.

So Jake stopped pretending. And I know this sounds clean and decisive, but it was neither of those things. What it actually looked like was Jake sitting at his childhood desk at eleven at night opening a notes app and typing things I could say to her and then staring at the blank page for twenty minutes before writing one bullet point and deleting it. He tried writing a letter, an actual letter with pen and paper, which lasted about four sentences before he read it back and physically cringed at himself and folded it into eighths and put it in the bottom of his bag where it would never see daylight again. The sentences had been fine, objectively, they just sounded like him trying to sound like someone who wrote letters, which was worse than just sounding like himself.

He watched a movie the next afternoon because he had nothing else to do and his mom had suggested it and it turned out to be a romantic comedy, which under normal circumstances he would've been fine with but in his current state of mind he watched with the attentiveness of someone studying for an exam. It was Crazy, Stupid, Love, and he'd seen it before but not like this, not with this level of critical analysis and thought that it would not work for him because the grand gesture thing required a certain kind of confidence he didn't currently have and also a soundtrack, and real life didn't come with a soundtrack, and without the soundtrack it was just a guy standing somewhere looking hopefully at a girl and that was just a regular tuesday. (But if real life had a soundtrack, he would've picked Mistletoe by Justin Bieber, even though it was spring, and not Christmas).

He watched another one the following day because apparently this was his life now. This one was 10 Things I Hate About You, his sister had put on and he'd stayed for because he had nothing better to do, and there's that part where Heath Ledger sends Julia Stiles a delivery of flowers at school, this whole thing, very public, very committed, with Can't Take My Eyes Off You playing in the background – and he thought about flowers with genuine seriousness before concluding that showing up to your hometown with a bouquet for a girl you'd been sleeping with for three years without ever officially dating was so tonally confused that no flower arrangement could survive it. What did the flowers even say? Hey, I said I love you out a car window and drove away, here are some peonies. No, dude, absolutely not. Also Heath Ledger had also paid a marching band to serenade her on a football field and Jake was not doing that either, he had limits.

He thought about texting, but texting felt small for what this was. He thought about a voice note and then immediately dismissed it because he'd once sent a voice note instead of a text by accident and the experience had been traumatic enough that he'd never fully recovered.

Eventually, Jake picked up his phone and stared at the screen for a solid ten minutes deciding what to do with it. Calling had its own energy he wasn't sure he was ready to sustain, you call someone and they pick up and then you have to have something to say in real time with no editing with no backspace, no fourteen minutes to collect yourself first. Facetime was worse because then you'd see his face, and his face lately had the specific quality of someone who had spent four days watching romantic comedies and writing letters he was never going to send, and he didn't think that communicated the right thing.

He sat there long enough that his screen went dark and he had to unlock it again, which felt like a sign that he needed to just pick something and do it. So he called you because the thinking hadn't produced anything useful in four days. It rang twice and you picked it up. "Hey," you said, normal, like nothing.

"Hey," he said, and settled back against his headboard and felt something in his chest unclench slightly just at the sound of your voice, which was embarrassing and also completely out of his control.

"How's home?" you asked.

"Good," he said. "My mom's been cooking every single meal like I've been away for a year, I've had a full lunch and dinner every day since I got here, I physically cannot say no to her."

"That sounds amazing actually." You said, and Jake could sense you smiling on the other side.

"It is, I'm not complaining, I'm just saying my body is not used to this schedule anymore." He shifted against the headboard. "She made her carrot cake yesterday, with the chocolate frosting."

"Oh my god," you said, more invested. "I love that cake."

"I know, she's making another one before I leave so I can take some back with me."

"Yeah you better," you said. "God, your mom," you said, in the tone of someone genuinely fond of a person. "I love everything she makes."

"I told her that, she said she'd cook for you when you –" he stopped. When you what, Jake. When you come over, which presupposes a version of this situation that hadn't been discussed. He of course corrected smoothly enough. "She said she'd make more of it."

You either didn't notice or chose not to notice, and either way you let it go, and he appreciated it. You told him about your days, and your days sounded genuinely good – Jay had arrived the day before and you'd watched movies until two in the morning, which he absolutely tracked as a Jay thing, and you'd taken the family dog out twice a day and apparently the dog had gotten dramatically more chaotic since you'd been at school, and that took up a full three minutes of conversation. You'd gone to the Target near your house because your mom needed things and you'd ended up wandering for forty minutes buying nothing, which was the Target experience. You'd seen two friends from high school, one of whom had a baby now and that fact had done something strange to your concept of time, and one of whom was exactly the same as at seventeen and that had done a different strange thing to your concept of time.

He told you about his days, and that was a creative exercise because his days had consisted almost entirely of overthinking and romantic comedies, so he gave you the surface version like helping his dad with some stuff around the house, going for a run, and seeing an old friend from school for an hour. All technically true. Jake did not mention the letter. Jake would never mention the letter.

And then there was a pause and Jake looked at the ceiling and thought, okay, just say the thing, you've been doing nothing but thinking for days and the thinking hasn't helped, just say the thing. "Hey," he said. "I miss you."

He heard you go slightly quiet. "I miss you too, Jake," you said, and your voice was soft and straightforward about it.

"Can I come through on the way back? I can like, stop and get you and we drive back together." He said it casually because that was the only register he had left, the planned approach having long since been abandoned. "If that's okay."

"Yeah," you said. "That's okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." And there was something in your voice that he couldn't fully name over the phone but that sounded like it had been waiting, like you'd been in your hometown watching movies with your brother and walking a chaotic dog and going to Target and carrying something around the whole time, the same way he'd been carrying it. He didn't know that for sure, but it sounded like that. "And then we can go to the best Wendy's in the state again," you said.

So on Saturday morning, Jake woke up earlier than he needed to, and that was not a thing he did voluntarily under normal circumstances but he was already awake at seven thirty staring at the ceiling and there was no going back to sleep after that so he just got up. He showered, packed his bag, ate the breakfast his mom had made before he could say he wasn't hungry, accepted the tupperware of carrot cake she handed him at the door and got in the car.

The drive to your hometown was about forty minutes and he spent most of it thinking about what he was going to say, which was a thing he'd been doing for a week and which had not produced results yet but his brain was apparently committed to trying one more time. He ran through versions of it like the direct version, where he just said look, I meant what I said, here's what I want, what do you want. The casual version, where he eased into it through normal conversation and let it arrive naturally. The version where he just said nothing and let the drive do whatever it was going to do and trusted that you'd both know what needed to happen.

Jake didn't love any of them, but he was twenty minutes away and the options weren't improving so he was going to have to pick one and commit. He pulled onto your street and saw your house and his brain (that had been running scenarios for forty minutes) went quiet like it just stopped producing options and left him with whatever was actually there.

You were outside already, sitting on the front steps with your bag next to you, and you looked up when his car pulled up and stood and got inside to grab something, and then he saw Jay come out the front door behind you, jacket on, hands in his pockets, and Jake thought, ah. Of course. Obviously.

He got out of the car. "Hey man," he said to Jay.

"Hey," Jay said, and he was doing a thing with his face that was neutral enough to be readable only if you knew him, which Jake did.

"You need a ride back?" Jake asked, because it was the polite thing to ask and also because he genuinely had no idea what else to open with.

"Nah, I got my car," Jay said. "I'm leaving later anyway." He picked up your bag and put it in Jake's trunk. Jake and Jay were standing in the driveway and Jake became very aware of the fact that this was a thing that was happening. Jay looked at him. "She really likes you, you know," Jay said.

Jake felt something land in his chest. "I really like her too," he said.

"Yeah, I know," Jay said, like it was obvious, like it had been obvious for a long time and he was just stating it for the record. "How long has this been going on? Like two, three years?"

"Yeah," Jake said. "Something like that."

Jay nodded slowly. Then he said, "you could've just told me, bro. I'm not an idiot."

"I know you're not."

"You've been acting like I wasn't gonna notice my sister basically living in your place."

"She doesn't live in my –"

"She has a charger and a toothbrush there, Jake."

"That's not –" Jake stopped. "Okay."

Jay looked at him for a second and then did something that was almost a smile. "I'm not gonna do a whole thing about it," he said. "She's older than me, she can do whatever she wants, I'm just saying. Next time skip the three years of sneaking around and just talk to me like a normal human being."

"Yeah," Jake said. "That's fair."

"It's very fair," Jay said. "I had to find out from Heeseung's girlfriend, not ideal, you know."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just –" Jay gestured vaguely at the situation, at the car, at all of it. "Figure it out alright? Like actually figuring it out."

"Yeah, that's the plan," Jake said.

"Good," Jay said, and that was apparently the whole thing, because he picked up his coffee from the porch railing and looked at his phone and the conversation was over in the way that conversations with Jay ended when he'd said what he meant and didn't need to keep going. Jake stood there and thought, that was the most reasonable that interaction could have possibly gone, and also, I probably should have just talked to him like two years ago.

The front door opened and you came back out with your charger in hand slightly out of breath, looking between the two of them with the expression of someone calculating how much had been said in the last two minutes. "What," you said.

"Nothing," both of them said, at the same time, which was not suspicious at all.

You looked at Jake. He looked at you. "Huh, okay," you said slowly, and went around to the passenger side. Jay caught Jake's eye over the roof of the car before he got in, and did the thing with his face that said I mean it, figure it out, and Jake nodded once, and that was that.

He pulled out of your street and you were putting your seatbelt on and pairing your phone to his car's bluetooth with the familiarity of someone who had been a passenger in this car enough times to have opinions about the music, and Jake drove and watched the road and thought about what Jay had said, she really likes you, said like it was a fact he'd been sitting on for a while and had finally decided to put down somewhere.

And then you turned to say something to him and he looked at you for a second before looking back at the road, and he understood, in that moment, with the tupperware of carrot cake in the backseat and Jay's voice still in his head and hours of highway ahead of him, exactly why he'd said it out the car window without thinking. It wasn't a slip, it wasn't the kind of thing that comes out wrong; it had come out exactly right, in exactly the right direction, because it was just true. Jake loved you and every time he saw you it was there, this simple, inconvenient, load bearing fact, and last week it had just gotten out before he could catch it, which was maybe the most honest thing he'd done in three years.

"What did Jay say to you," you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Nothing," he said.

"Come on, I know he said something."

"He just said to drive safe."

"He absolutely did not say that."

"He said that… and other things."

You looked at him for a long moment. He kept his eyes on the road and tried to look like a person who was not thinking about being in love with you, which was a thing he'd been attempting with mixed results for approximately three years and was not about to crack the code on now. "Other things like what?" you asked.

"I'll tell you at Wendy's," he said.

You made a face. "But that's so far away."

"Twenty minutes."

"Jake."

"Twenty minutes, baby," he said, and turned up the music, and you huffed and looked out the window and he drove and thought, okay, twenty minutes, and then the Wendy's, and then whatever comes after that. He could do twenty minutes.

Jake pulled in and you both ordered at the drive through and he parked facing the road and you ate in the car the way you always ate in the car, just the two of you and the food and the radio on low. You stole his fries before you'd finished your own. You were working through your burger when something dripped and he reached over without thinking and wiped your chin with his thumb, and you went slightly still for a second and he didn't move his hand away immediately, just let it stay there against your jaw for a second, and you looked at him with your burger still in your hands and he leaned over and kissed you, soft and easy, and you kissed him back and you tasted like french fries and he didn't care at all.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. You had that expression that you got sometimes, the open one, the one that didn't have the usual layer of deflection over it, and he thought about how much he liked that face specifically, and then thought about how he had approximately a hundred thoughts like that a day and had been filing them away for years. "Okay," you said, settling back in your seat. "Are you going to tell me what you and my brother talked about?"

"He said he already knew," Jake said after a second. "About us. He just wanted me to know that he knew."

You made the face that meant you were not surprised. "Of course he knew."

"He said he had to find out from Heeseung's girlfriend."

"Oh god," you said.

"Yeah." He smiled and reached over and stole one of your fries, you watched him do it with an expression of betrayal that was entirely performed. "He also said something else," Jake said.

"What?"

He leaned back in his seat, looking at you, and let himself be a little smug about it because he'd earned it. "He said you really like me."

You opened your mouth and closed it. "He did not say that."

"He did."

"No, he did not."

"He really did," Jake said, enjoying this more than was strictly necessary. "Very straightforward about it. Just, she really likes you, you know." Jake mimicked Jay's voice.

"Oh my god," you said, turning to look out the windshield, and your ears had gone slightly pink which he was also filing away. "I cannot believe him. Or you."

"What? I thought it was helpful information," Jake said while he grabbed your hand.

"I'm sure you did," you said flatly.

"Very useful," he said. "Really rounded out my morning."

"Jake, I swear to god –"

He laughed and reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and you stopped mid sentence and looked at him, still flustered in the way you rarely let yourself be, and he kept his hand there against the side of your face and felt the conversation shift into something quieter. "But I told him something too," he said. "That was also true."

Your expression changed, just slightly. "What?"

"That I really like you too," he said. "Which you know. But I wanted it on record with your brother, so."

"Jake…" you said, soft, a little warning in it, the way you said his name when you were about to close off, when you felt something getting close and your instinct was to redirect it.

"Let me say something," Jake said, and his voice was easy but he meant it, and you heard that he meant it because you went quiet and looked at him and didn't redirect, so he took a breath. "I've been trying to figure out for a week how to say this the right way," he said. "I wrote an actual letter and it was bad, like it sucked. I watched like three romantic comedies looking for ideas and none of them were applicable, and oh my God, I even thought about flowers –"

You blinked. "Flowers?!"

"I decided against it."

"Oh."

"The point is," he said, "I've been making this complicated for days and it's actually not that complicated. I said what I said last week because I meant it and I've meant it for a long time and I'm done pretending I don't." He looked at you, at your face in the afternoon light, at the open expression you were still wearing despite your best efforts. "I love you. That's it. That's the whole thing. I'm not asking you to say it back right now, I'm not trying to make you feel like you have to do anything with it, I just – I'm done not saying it. It's been true for long enough that it feels stupid to keep it in my head."

The car was very quiet. Outside, a truck passed on the highway. The radio was playing something neither of you was listening to. You were looking at him with an expression he hadn't seen on your face before, or maybe he had but not this clearly, not without the usual layer of armor over it. Your eyes were a little bright and you blinked once and looked down at your lap and then back up at him, and he waited.

"I hate that you said it and drove away," you said finally, and your voice was a little unsteady.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said. "In my defense, it came out before I decided to say it."

"That's not a defense."

"I know," he said, softer. "I know it's not." He reached over and took your hand where it was sitting in your lap and held it, and you let him, and your fingers curled into his. "I'm saying it now though. Properly. To your face." Jake smiled when you looked up at him. "I love you."

You were still a little bright eyed and you said, quiet and plain, "I love you too, Jake."

He heard it and his brain did something that wasn't quite a thought, more like a full system restart, just a second of complete blank before everything came back online at once. You'd said it back, plainly, to his face, in a Wendy's parking lot on a saturday, and he sat there for approximately three seconds just holding that fact in both hands like he was making sure it was real.

And then he kissed you. Not on the mouth first, he kissed your cheek, and then your other cheek, and then your forehead, and then the side of your face, just going at it, and you started giggling, trying to lean back and not quite managing it because he followed you. "Jake –" you said, still laughing. He kissed your cheek again. "What is happening –"

"Nothing," he said, into your cheek.

"You're insane," you said, but you were giggling now, the kind that you couldn't control, and your hand had come up and was sort of half heartedly pushing at his shoulder while the other one was holding onto his jacket, which was contradictory and he appreciated it.

He pulled back enough to look at you, your face all open and laughing, and he felt so straightforwardly happy about it that he couldn't do anything except be honest. "What? I'm in love, bro, damn." he said. 

You stared at him. "So I'm your bro now."

"No," he said, "you're my girl, and I'm pampering my girl with little kisses, those are different things."

"Pampering your girl?" you repeated.

"Yes," he said, and kissed your nose, and you scrunched it and laughed again. "You deserve little kisses. I have three years of little kisses to make up for and I'm very behind," he said, very seriously. "I have a deficit."

"You are so –" you started, and then stopped, and were looking at him with that smile that was softer and he looked back at you and felt the thing in his chest. "Say that again," you said.

"What, that I have a deficit –"

"No," you said. "The other thing."

"That you're my girl?"

"Yeah," you said, quiet.

"You're my girl," he said. "If you want to be." You laughed a little and looked down, and he watched you sit with it for a second, this thing that had been true for so long that naming it should've felt redundant and somehow still felt enormous, and then he said, "Come on, baby, we gotta communicate," because you'd gone quiet and quiet with you could mean anything and he needed to know which kind of quiet this was.

You looked up at him and smiled, and it was the unguarded one. "Yes," you said. "I want to be your girl."

He felt it all the way through. "Yeah?"

"Yes, Jake," you said. "I'm tired of pretending I'm not ready for it. I want you."

He stared at you. "For real? You wanna be my girlfriend?"

"I want to be your girlfriend," you said, a little laugh in it, like you were trying the words on and finding they fit. "I've wanted to be your girlfriend for a really long time and I've been really stupid about it."

"We've both been really stupid about it," he said.

"Yeah but I was stupider."

"I asked you if you liked twinks because I was jealous of Sangwon," he said.

You pointed at him. "Okay, it was even."

Jake laughed and kissed you again, properly this time, and you kissed him back with your hand in his jacket and you were kissing at a Wendy's parking lot, and he couldn't have cared less because you were his girlfriend now and that was the only relevant information. He pulled back and looked at you and you were smiling into the kiss the way people smile when they're too happy to keep a straight face, and he thought, I have been in love with you since I was nineteen years old and you gave me water at a party and I've been an absolute idiot about it ever since and somehow we still ended up here, and somehow here was exactly right.

"Hi," that's all Jake managed to say.

"Hi," you said back.

"Hi, girlfriend."

You covered your face with your hand. "Oh my god."

"Hi, my girlfriend, my baby, my precious," he said again, delighted with himself.

"You're the worst," you said, into your hand.

"You literally just agreed to date me," he said. "You did that. You made this choice."

You looked at him through your fingers, laughing, and said "I know" in the tone of someone who had absolutely no regrets, and Jake thought, aw shit here we go again, but this time he meant it like a beginning.

You always think you're smarter than you really are at 21, and that's exactly what Jake Sim thought he was. And look, he wasn't wrong, not entirely. He was smart enough to know what he was getting into, smart enough to see it coming, the problem was that being smart about something and doing the right thing about it are two completely different skills, and Jake had only developed one of them at 21, and it wasn't the second one.

He's 24 now. And here's what 24 looks like, for the record: it looks like knowing your limits and mostly respecting them. It looks like going to bed at a reasonable hour without feeling like you're missing something. It looks like three years of the most circular, exhausting, wonderful situationship of his life finally becoming something with a name, which happened in a Wendy's parking lot on a Saturday afternoon, which is not how Jake would have written it if he'd been given creative control over the situation, but which turned out to be exactly right anyway.

For Jake, being twenty four looks like you. Specifically, you in his passenger seat, which is where you've always been, except now when you steal his fries he calls you his girlfriend  and you tell him to shut up and he does it again. It looks like your charger in his car and your hoodie on his couch and the specific way you say his name when you're trying not to laugh at something he said, which is a sound he's been collecting since he was nineteen years old at a party with a cup of water and an audience of exactly one. It looks like waking up and you're still there, which still gets him every time, which he suspects will keep getting him for a long time, and which he has decided to just let get him instead of filing it away somewhere.

The thing about being 24 and not 21 is that you stop pretending the things that matter don't matter. You stop performing indifference about the stuff you're actually not indifferent about. You get tired of the gap between what's true and what you're saying, and at some point the gap gets small enough that closing it feels less like bravery and more like just, finally, telling the truth. Jake told the truth out a car window and drove away and it was embarrassing and it was worth it and he'd do it again.

He knew, on some level, that this was always where it was going. Not the Wendy's specifically, but the version where you're his and he's yours and the loop finally closes into something that isn't a loop anymore. He'd known it since he was 21 and smart and absolutely full of shit about what he was and wasn't capable of feeling. He'd just taken the scenic route to get here, which, given that the scenic route included three years of you, he couldn't bring himself to regret.

So yeah, Jake Sim thought he was smarter than he really was at 21. Turns out he wasn't smart enough to avoid falling in love with you, wasn't smart enough to keep it casual, wasn't smart enough to protect himself from any of it. But it was the best thing that ever happened to Jake Sim, honestly.

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

[gureumz]

liar, sweetheart

rating: explicit

member: sunghoon

premise: your best friend, benj, is a twin but he's the complete opposite of his brother. his brother, sunghoon, is all kinds of sleazy, or so you've heard. knowing about your big fat crush on your best friend, this sorry excuse of a twin brother agrees to put in a good word, in exchange for a good fuck, of course.

notes: fem!reader, dom!sunghoon, sort of rivals-to-lovers, unprotected sex, slight breeding, dacryphilia, dirty talk, degradation, praise, clothed sex, accidental voyeurism, sunghoon is two people here lmao, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: fifth entry for my 1k follower special! we're in the endgame now, people. one last after this and my 1k event is ending. how did that happen :') anyways, i really got back into my writing groove for this one so i hope you all enjoy!

"what do you think of sunghoon?"

your ears perk up as you turn your head to give your best friend a look.

oh, benj. sweet, sweet benjamin park.

awkward but in a cute, boyish sort of way, tall almost to the point of gangly, but handsome in the way supermodels were.

benj is a figure skater, a very good one at that. he's at the level where if he did well enough, he'd be international news tomorrow. you've seen him skate and to you, it was nothing short of mesmerizing.

oh, you. clueless, utterly clueless you.

honestly, it was all so predictable.

a situation right out of booktok's latest favorite friends-to-lovers novel by some up-and-coming author. the comfortable silence, the memorized starbucks orders, the pining, oh, the pining. booktok lives for the pining.

sitting here in benj's room as he casually games, fingers lazily moving over his ps5 controller, you realize just how utterly shortsighted you were.

of course you'd fall in love with your best friend. it's law. it's fate. a canon event, as the kids say.

but, you're getting out of topic here. right now, benj is asking you about his twin brother.

"what do you mean?" you ask, swiveling around in the office chair by benj's desk. benj is perched on his bed, leaned up against his headboard as he plays.

"like...what do you think of him...?" benj repeats, as if in an attempt to rephrase his question but ultimately failing.

your forehead creases even more.

"you have to be more specific than that," you chuckle.

benj pauses the game, setting the controller down. he shifts on his side so he can get a better look at you.

"do you like him?" benj deadpans, raising an eyebrow.

you nearly choke on your own saliva.

sunghoon. benj's twin brother.

the younger twin, as benj always reminded. your thoughts drift to the other park brother, complete in all his dark clothes and equally dark hair.

while benj afforded himself the preference of dying his hair an icy blonde, sunghoon kept his own hair jet black. benj wore sweaters and cardigans and loose-fitting shirts, but sunghoon wore button-ups, with the first three buttons popped open, paired with jeans ripped to the heavens.

benj is the shining star in this family, a star figure skater, an overachiever. sunghoon battles his way around ice hockey, dabbles in dance, keeps his triumphs to himself.

benj is the sun, while sunghoon is the moon. yin and yang.

you get the picture.

oh, and sunghoon is a complete asshole. benj is not.

"he's okay," you finally answer. benj looks at you like he's waiting for more.

"that's it?" benj asks after a second.

you roll your eyes. "i don't know what you want me to say. i barely talk to him since i spend most of my time with you."

benj cocks his head to the side, as if curious.

"weird," he says. "he asks about you all the time."

this piques your interest.

"he does?"

benj shrugs, returning his attention to the tv. he picks the forgotten controller back up, resuming his game.

"yeah. asks if and when you'll be coming over," benj explains. he shoots you a quick side glance.

"you're not hooking up behind my back, are you?"

you physically recoil at benj's words, the idea initially repulsive to you.

"absolutely not," you practically spit out. "he's not my type."

benj bursts out laughing, his eyes forming cute crescents as he does so.

"you basically just called me ugly with that," benj points out, eyes unmoving from the tv screen.

you stutter for a second. "that's not what i meant. it's just—well we're not close, at least not like how we are and—"

you sigh, cutting yourself off. you've embarrassed yourself enough, you think.

benj shakes his head, one side of his mouth turning up in a half-smile.

"okay, no need to explain, ______. i was just asking," benj says. "but the way you're so defensive about it is raising a few questions, not gonna lie."

you rub exasperatedly at your temples.

"i am not sleeping with your brother."

---

"hey."

you nearly jump a foot back in surprise. looking up, you're met with the stern gaze of sunghoon, black hair falling over his eyes. he's wearing one of those compression shirts, ridiculously tight against his toned upper body.

you turn away before it gets weird.

"oh, sorry, is benj home?" you ask, peeking momentarily past sunghoon.

"he's at training," sunghoon informs. "didn't he tell you?"

you glance at your watch. "he said he'd be done by now."

sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "well, he's not."

your mouth falls open, your mind momentarily going blank. you shift your expression to one of stony resolve.

"you know what, i'll just come back. sorry to bother you," you say, already turning away.

"i didn't tell you to leave, did i?"

you turn back, giving sunghoon a look. you stare hard, noticing just how much he resembles benj. but some things differ, naturally.

an extra beauty mark. the slightly sharper upturn of his nose. the seemingly eternal frown on his face.

"you can come in," sunghoon says with a sigh, stepping aside. you duck your head as you cross the threshold.

"and don't be so uptight next time," he adds. you can practically hear the smirk as he says this.

you glare daggers at sunghoon and he's still smiling as he closes the door behind him. he crosses his arms and studies you.

he leans back against the door and you straighten yourself up as much as you could.

"what's your problem, sunghoon?" you ask, planting your hands on your hips.

"what's yours?" sunghoon replies. you feel a twinge of annoyance spark in your chest.

"nothing," you emphasize. "and that's exactly it. i don't have a problem but if you don't stop acting like that, i might just have one soon enough."

"acting like what?" sunghoon questions, tilting his head to the side.

you swallow. you rack your brain for something to say, and don't be mistaken, you have a lot, but it's like your train of thought has halted altogether.

"like...that," you say, gesticulating vaguely with your hands.

sunghoon laughs, a hand coming up to run through his hair. you watch him, observe as his muscles shift beneath that stupidly tight, stupidly attractive shirt.

...what?

"are you this jumpy with my brother?" sunghoon asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants.

"i don't follow," you say, taking a step back. being close to sunghoon seems suffocating now, as if the air is stuffy with something you can't quite put your finger on.

"of course, you don't," sunghoon mutters under his breath.

it takes everything in you not to punch him square in the jaw.

"you like benj, don't you?" it's more of a statement rather than a question and it's so unexpected to you, you nearly stumble back in surprise.

"what?" is all you can say.

sunghoon snorts as if your confusion is oh-so-amusing.

"no need to deny it, _______," sunghoon reassures. "everyone with one working eye can see it."

you decide to stay silent. maybe if you don't react, sunghoon would drop the subject.

sunghoon seems satisfied with himself as he grins, nodding to himself, probably mentally patting himself on the back for his 'detective work'. he brushes past you and you get a whiff of his perfume and what you can assume is his body wash.

fresh. powdery. clean.

you wait a second before you hear his bedroom door close.

you let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding.

your phone vibrates with a notification and you're relieved to see it's a message from benj.

'are you at my place yet? i'll be home in a few. sunghoon will let you in. sorry, love u!'

you smile to yourself as you lock your phone.

---

you couldn't stop thinking about it.

were you really that obvious? or is it just some twin telepathy that's why sunghoon could tell? could benj tell?

you sit up, careful not to jostle anything in your immediate vicinity. you peer up at benj's sleeping figure from where you're situated on his spare mattress, positioned on the floor right next to his bed.

he seems to be deep in slumber, shoulders rising and falling steadily. you swallow, realizing how parched your throat has gotten. you get up on your feet, treading carefully around benj's room to get to the door.

you exit, walking down the hallway of the parks' penthouse apartment, trying to make as minimal sound as you can. you round the corner to where you know the kitchen is and you immediately stop in your tracks.

"shit—" you curse, startled by the figure standing by the kitchen island.

your eyes adjust to the dim lighting and you realize you've come face to face with sunghoon.

"hi, _______," sunghoon greets. "fancy seeing you here."

you huff, approaching the refrigerator. "ha ha. you scared the shit out of me."

you hear sunghoon laugh quietly from behind you.

you take the ice-cold pitcher out of the fridge, setting it on the counter before walking over to the cupboards where the parks keep their glasses.

you can feel sunghoon watching you, aware of the burning attention. you can feel your neck prickle with it.

you pull the cupboard door open and it's only now that you realize you can barely see. afraid to just reach in and possibly knock over and break something, you pause, willing your vision to adjust even more to the low lighting.

"hey, can you turn on the—"

your words are cut off when you feel warmth press up against your back. you flinch, watching with wide eyes as sunghoon's arm braces itself against the countertop in front of you. he reaches over you, his breath tickling the top of your head.

you shiver involuntarily.

you turn to face him, pressing yourself fully against the granite behind you. sunghoon pulls a glass down from the cupboard, handing it to you. his arm is still planted firmly to your side, half caging you in.

"here," sunghoon says.

you can just make out his face in the low light, his scent invading your senses once more. you take the glass from him and he steps away, freeing you.

you wordlessly return to the center of the kitchen, pouring yourself the water you desperately need. and boy, do you need it.

you gulp down mouthfuls of it, unsure why your legs are suddenly weak, your knees threatening to give out.

"hey," sunghoon calls out. you pause, turning to where he's still standing by the cupboards.

he has the same easy stance he had earlier in the day. leaned back, arms crossed. even in the dark, you can feel him staring.

"what?" it comes out a little more harshly than you'd like and you wince.

"do you hate me or something?" sunghoon asks brusquely.

once again, you find yourself rendered speechless by sunghoon.

"no," you answer simply, setting your glass down.

"then why don't you hang out with me like you do with benj?" sunghoon asks, approaching you.

"because benj is my best friend, you're not," you respond. sunghoon stops right in front of you and you have to crane your neck to meet where you think his eyes are.

"your best friend that you're in love with," sunghoon says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"that's not true," you deny.

sunghoon snickers. "sure, keep lying to yourself, sweetheart."

you inhale at the term of endearment.

"you know, i never understood why you got closer to him but you stopped spending time with me altogether," sunghoon muses. "the three of us grew up together, remember?"

you do.

the afternoons spent in the local playground. you and benj sat on the swings while sunghoon pushed. you and sunghoon on the seesaw while benj attempted to balance in the middle (much to their mother's horror). the twins hiding while you played seeker.

a smile tugs at your lips at the memory. and then it falters just as quick.

"you were the one who stopped hanging out with us," you say, a little accusatory in the way you did. "you had newer ice hockey friends and when middle school rolled around, you decided those girls were worth your time more than us."

'more than me,' is what you wanted to say. but you swallow it down.

sunghoon stays silent at this. after what you estimate is a minute, he sighs.

"sorry," is all he says.

you shake your head. "it's okay, we all drift apart from our childhood friends at one point."

sunghoon steps even closer. you can feel him now. a strange crackle of electricity tickles your fingertips.

"that's not the case with you and benj," sunghoon observes.

it's your turn to say nothing.

"i can help you," sunghoon suggests. your head snaps up as you try to process sunghoon's words.

you can see him now, illuminated by the faint hallway lights behind you. sunghoon's looking at you, expression unreadable.

"help me?" you parrot back. sunghoon nods.

"i can help you get with benj, if that's what you want. plant the seeds, so to speak," sunghoon explains. "he is my twin brother, after all."

you consider this for a moment. there's no denying the giddy feeling you get in benj's presence. the comfort it gives you when you spend the whole day together. the butterflies in your stomach when he beams at you, all bright and shining.

this should be an offer you can't refuse.

"i just have one thing to ask of you," sunghoon cuts through your thoughts.

"what?" you ask.

sunghoon pauses, turning away as if gathering his own words.

"do you ever feel that there's this weird...thing between us?" sunghoon asks.

your whole body seems to stiffen. your hands turn cold, clammy.

"like tension," sunghoon elaborates. "something you can't really explain."

"no," you answer a little too quickly.

sunghoon chuckles. "there you go again, lying."

you avoid sunghoon's gaze, staring hard at a spot behind him where his shadow dances against the cabinets.

"if you agree to...try this thing with me just this once, i'll help you get together with benj," sunghoon concludes, bending lower so he's in your line of sight.

unable to avoid him any longer, you look into sunghoon's eyes. he's much clearer now, your eyes well-adjusted to the dark. he's looking at you, expression soft, unlike the other times you've come face-to-face with him.

"so, you're offering to be my wingman, but only if i let you fuck me?" you string your words out carefully. "is that it?"

sunghoon sighs, shrugging. "basically, yeah. sounds fucking weird but you can always say no."

"it is weird," you confirm. you cross your arms as you narrow your eyes at sunghoon.

"can't we just skip the part where we fuck and go straight to the part where you help me?"

sunghoon grins down at you, dipping even lower so you're eye level with him.

"it's as if you don't know me at all, _______," sunghoon says lowly. "that hardly seems fair, sweetheart."

you grit your teeth.

"besides, do you want to skip the part where we fuck?" sunghoon presses on the last word, holding your gaze as he said it. you feel a warmth spread all over your body.

you take a deep breath, steadying yourself. your mind is at war with itself, warning you that this is a bad idea. if you get together with benj after, what then? take the secret that you fucked his brother to your grave?

"just this once, and when we're done, you'll help me, correct?" you say, raising a brow at sunghoon.

sunghoon nods. "exactly."

you pause. you want it. what 'it' is, you're not so sure.

you reach your hand out.

"deal."

sunghoon grasps your hand in his, squeezing firmly. his fingers envelop yours easily, your palm almost cartoonishly smaller than his.

and he's warm. so warm.

your eyes meet his and it's like something snaps.

you feel sunghoon grasp at your waist and your own arms come flying up to wrap around sunghoon's neck. he kisses you fervently, harshly, desperately. you respond with the same enthusiasm, pulling him closer to you.

sunghoon pushes you against the fridge, the contents rattling within. you gasp as the cold metal presses through your thin pajamas, but sunghoon drinks in any noise from you with his mouth.

"fuck," sunghoon mutters softly.

"god, ______," sunghoon continues, hands splayed against your back, his lips exploring the expanse of your neck.

"sunghoon," you whisper, clutching onto his wide frame. you mewl softly when you feel him suckle on a spot just above your collarbone.

you pull sunghoon away from your neck, guiding his face back to level with yours. you kiss him some more, a strange feeling bubbling within you.

it's making you want more of sunghoon, as if your whole being craved him.

you hear a soft click of a door opening somewhere down the hall and your eyes fly open, your hands forcing sunghoon off you. he jumps back as well, a panicked look on his face.

footsteps echo in the hallway and a voice immediately follows after.

"_______?"

benj. it's benj. his voice is thick with sleep and you look over at sunghoon, eyes wide with alarm.

"i-i'm in the kitchen," you call out. "just needed a drink."

you rush out of the kitchen and into the hall, running right into benj's firm chest. he catches you before you stumble and he holds you at arm's length, looking at you through half-closed eyes.

"there you are," benj says with a laugh.

you let out a nervous giggle of your own, gently pushing benj back towards his room.

"i'm right here," you assure him. benj rambles on about hearing noises from his room and you quickly dismiss it as you just messing around in their kitchen.

just as you herd benj back into his room, you look back down the hall and see sunghoon sauntering casually towards his own door. he catches your eye and winks, stepping quietly into his room.

---

"i know what you were doing last night."

you stop dead in your tracks, hand frozen in midair just as you're unwrapping your hair from your towel.

you had just stepped out of the bathroom adjacent to benj's room, dressed in his shirt and your shorts from yesterday. it's the morning after your little tryst with sunghoon and you were nearly a hundred percent sure you had successfully lied your way out of an explanation to benj.

it turns out, you haven't.

"you were hooking up with sunghoon, weren't you?" benj says, looking at you expectantly.

you put on your best attempt at an appalled expression, eyes wide an lips turning down into a frown.

"no, i wasn't," you muster up with as much disgust as you can.

benj just laughs. "i've lived here for nearly half my life, ____. i know the sounds of this house better than you."

"well, you thought wrong," you argue, busying yourself with brushing through your hair. you keep your eyes trained on the full body mirror in front of you, setting your sight on your own face.

benj comes up behind you, looking at you as if he could see right through you.

you think maybe he can.

"you're such a bad liar," benj accuses.

"i would never hook up with your brother," you protest, raking through your hair aggressively. you're getting antsy and you pray that benj would just drop the subject.

"why not?" benj questions.

you look at his reflection, scowling. "i don't like him like that, benj."

"hooking up with him would feel like hooking up with you," you add. 'a red herring, yes,' you think. 'distract him, make him feel weird for even asking.'

benj gives you a look. "what's so bad about that?"

you stare open-mouthed at benj. a million thoughts are flying through your head and something pinches at your chest.

"you're my best friend, benj," you try to reason. "that's weird."

"and hooking up with my brother isn't?"

you groan, letting your head fall into your hands.

"i didn't hook up with sunghoon!"

benj nods, pouting as if not fully convinced. "okay, whatever you say."

he steps out through the door, leaving you in his eerily quiet room.

you sigh, turning back to your reflection.

"not yet," you whisper to yourself.

---

"aren't you leaving yet?"

you look up from your phone and you're met with sunghoon peeking through benj's door. his hair is damp and you can smell his aftershave from where you're sprawled out on benj's bed.

"nope," you reply curtly, turning back to your phone.

"you've been here two days," sunghoon points out, stepping into the room. you ignore the jolt of excitement in your gut.

"i'll leave once benj comes back from training," you say.

"oh sure, then the two of you will get caught up again in whatever nerd things you do, and then it's the evening and you'll stay another night, walking around in your skimpy pajamas," sunghoon rambles sarcastically.

you narrow your eyes him as you sit up. "what's wrong with my pajamas?"

"they make me impossibly hard, _______. that's what's wrong," sunghoon admits, expression unchanging.

your eyebrows shoot up in mild surprise. "that down bad, huh?"

"nah," sunghoon replies nonchalantly.

"whatever you say, sweetheart," you say, throwing the pet name back at sunghoon.

sunghoon lets his eyes travel over your body, expression darkening, and you feel every hair on your skin stand up under his unrelenting gaze. you shift around, unsure of what to do with sunghoon's undivided attention.

you watch as sunghoon approaches, his jaw set as he pauses right before benj's bed. he meets your eyes and before you know it, sunghoon is crawling over you, stopping once he has you caged in between his arms.

"you're seriously not thinking of fucking me on your twin brother's bed, are you?" you whisper. you're nearly nose to nose with sunghoon now.

"i am," sunghoon answers simply before kissing you, effectively driving you back against the plush mattress.

the same bubbling feeling reappears and you grab at any part of sunghoon that you can, hooking your legs around his waist. he grunts against your mouth and you feel him harden against your core.

"this is my shirt by the way," sunghoon grins against your lips. "benj stole it from me a while back."

you moan at the thought of it. you feel sunghoon reach under your—his—shirt, chuckling when he feels the absence of a bra. he cups one of your breasts in his hand, kneading as he continues his assault on your lips.

"lose this," sunghoon commands, his other hand tugging your shorts down harshly. you oblige, reaching down to discard the piece of clothing along with your underwear.

"but keep this on," sunghoon adds as he kisses along your jaw, referring to the large shirt swallowing your frame.

you kick off your shorts and underwear the same time sunghoon pulls back to undo his own joggers. he throws them off to the side unceremoniously before hovering back over you, his eyes scanning every feature of your face.

"if you're so in love with benj, why are you about to sleep with me on his bed?" sunghoon asks, his fingers trailing down delicately from your chest down to your stomach. you flinch, fighting the urge to curl into yourself at the ticklish feeling.

sunghoon continues down towards the space between your legs, wasting no time swiping through your folds. you gasp, back arching as sunghoon rubs up and down, finger circling teasingly around your entrance.

"you talk too much," you counter, voice shaking. "are you gonna fuck my brains out or what?"

sunghoon sneers, shoving two fingers in without warning. you yelp, turning to bury your face in benj's pillow. it smells like him, but you barely register that, seeing as his twin's fingers are knuckles deep in you.

"go on, run your mouth like you always do, slut," sunghoon taunts. you involuntarily clench down at his use of such a degrading word and sunghoon notices, of course, his mouth curling into a smirk.

"should have known you were into that," sunghoon wonders out loud. he moves his fingers in and out of you, pumping his thick digits into your wanting hole.

you clamp a hand down on your mouth, suppressing every noise that threatens to escape you.

"let me hear you, pretty, come on," sunghoon coos, prying your hand off your face. "it's just the two of us here."

you bite your lip but let yourself be heard as sunghoon continues to fuck you with his fingers. he curls them up inside you and you thrash about, the pressure building within your abdomen.

"gonna cum already? you're so fucking easy," sunghoon comments, leveling his face with your cunt. he blows softly against your clit and you cry out in pleasure.

you feel the wet heat of his tongue press against your bundle of nerves and coupled with sunghoon's fingers, you can't help but curse loudly at the sensations.

"shit, sunghoon!" you whine. "yes, just like that, please."

sunghoon wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and running his tongue over it alternately. you feel like you're about to lose your mind. you're seconds away from orgasm and you barely have any time to warn sunghoon.

"i'm gonna cum, sunghoon i'm gonna—"

you're cut short by your own loud moans as you feel yourself come undone, your whole body seizing up. you grip at the sheets beneath you with one hand while the other reaches down to thread through sunghoon's hair. you hear him grunt against your pussy as you tug at the strands.

eventually, you relax, easing up on sunghoon's hair. he comes up to face you, his mouth glistening with your release. he licks his lips, smirking at the way you watch him with awe.

"you still with me?" sunghoon asks with a raise of his brow. you nod weakly, hands coming up to cup at his face.

sunghoon leans down to kiss you tenderly and you moan as you taste yourself on his lips. he moves his lips against yours slowly, savoring each pass of your tongue over each other's, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away.

you peek down and see that sunghoon's cock stands red and angry against the black of his shirt.

"fuck me raw," you say before you can stop yourself.

sunghoon's eyebrows shoot up.

"are you sure?" he asks.

you nod, angling your hips up. restraint be damned, you want sunghoon and you want him now.

sunghoon chews down on his bottom lip as he lines himself up against your dripping hole. he coats his tip with your juices and you throw your head back as he teases you with his leaking cock.

"please," you whisper.

sunghoon presses a kiss on your cheek. "i got you, angel."

you feel him push in, stretching you out more than you anticipated. your mouth falls open in a silent moan as sunghoon slowly but surely bottoms out. your heart races and your mind loses all coherent thought. all you can register is that sunghoon feels like he's splitting you open with his dick.

"fuuuuck," sunghoon drawls into your ear.

"so fucking tight and so fucking good," he continues, bracing himself on either side of you. he moves his hips experimentally, pulling out then thrusting in and the two of you moan at the same time.

"give it to me," you pant, pulling sunghoon closer. "don't you dare hold back."

sunghoon grunts as he snaps his hips forward. you whine and moan like a whore as sunghoon fucks into you with reckless abandon. he keeps his eyes on your face, observing every expression that passes over your features.

"look at me," sunghoon orders as you let your eyes flutter close. "i said, look at me."

you obey, peering up at sunghoon through your lashes. he grabs your jaw as he hammers even harder into you. you cry out brokenly as you feel him deep within you. he's like a man starved, eyes wild as he takes you like this. rough and uncaring and oh so desperate.

"waited so long for this," sunghoon grunts. "to have you moaning and begging under me."

you feel tears prickle in your eyes, half from sunghoon's sharp nails digging into your cheek and half from the way his cock repeatedly punches against your cervix. it hurts but it's a pain you'd like to savor.

"god," sunghoon says, his face scrunching up in pleasure. he momentarily closes his eyes as he moves his hips even faster. he turns back to you, and by this time, your tears have escaped, streaking your face.

"fuck yeah, cry for me," sunghoon curses. "my pretty slut, weeping over my dick."

"oh, fuck—"

it came so suddenly, so unexpectedly that you can physically feel your body jolt. your second orgasm of the day rips through you, brought about by the filthy words escaping sunghoon's mouth. you hear him practically growl above you as he stills, your cunt clenching down so hard he's unable to move. you feel him twitch inside you and a second later, the warmth of his cum follows, shooting deep inside.

you're full-on crying now, mind hazy from pleasure as sunghoon catches himself before completely crushing you with his weight.

you wrap your shaky arms around sunghoon's shoulders, stroking his hair as the two of you calm yourselves down. sunghoon pulls out a minute later and you wince, immediately clamping your legs together to keep all of him inside you.

sunghoon plops down next to you, breathing heavy as his eyes stare at the ceiling. you hug your knees to your chest, hoping that nothing stains benj's sheets.

"fuck, that's a good girl, keeping all my cum in," sunghoon says through breathless chuckles. you groan, swatting at his chest.

"get tissues or something," you demand weakly, rolling over to your side. sunghoon pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"later," he murmurs, kissing you on the forehead. "just wanna hold you."

you hum in agreement, letting your eyes droop close. the two of you lay there, unmoving for a few minutes.

you initially think it's your imagination but you can hear faint footsteps coming down the hallway from outside benj's room. just as your eyes fly open, a loud knock thunders against the door.

"are you done?" comes benj's muffled voice from the other side.

"as much as i wanted to stay and watch, that might not be something you guys are into, so i gave you your privacy," he continues.

you and sunghoon look at each other, clearly panicking.

"but please, for the love of god, don't do it on my goddamn bed next time!"

[bambiens]

MR. POSSESSIVE ⋆˚࿔ — [p. sunghoon] part one

SYNOPSIS ⟢ Park Sunghoon can easily be described in three words: stuck-up, picky, and overly critical about everything and everyone. That was until he met you, who ticked off everything he liked in his head. One problem, he's got too much pride and ego to do anything about it. The other problem? His best friend, Jake, swooped in and took action before he could even build up the courage––and Sunghoon really hates when people take what's his.

pairing ⟢ grumpy downbad! sunghoon x fem! reader

genre ⟢ written, friends to lovers (?), university au

content warnings ⟢ smut with plot (18+), humour, profanity, use of alcohol, reader is with jake for a certain period in the story, sunghoon has a one-sided rivalry with jake, mutual pining but they don't know, sunghoon is stubborn in the beginning but should lowkey be prescribed xanax later on, everyone in the story kinda makes poor decisions (depending how you view it), homie hopping lol, softdom! sunghoon, unprotected p in v sex, multiple rounds, overstimulation, fingering, oral (m & f. receiving), mild ass play, nipple play, bulge kink, dirty talk, squirting, use of petnames (just baby), sunghoon is downright filthy in bed.

featuring ⟢ all of enhypen (7), giselle of aespa & anton of riize cameo(s)

word count: ~12k

author's note: official bambiens comeback with my first EVER full-length fic!! (please be kind to me), i genuinely didn't think i'd ever post a full-length fic –– let alone this one, like i thought this shit was gonna get sent straight into the basement. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing this!! also i haven't proofread this yet let me know if there are any mistakes please!

MR. POSSESSIVE PLAYLIST ⊹˚♬₊⋆

reblogs appreciated ♡

PARK SUNGHOON was always a hard guy to please. 

Exhibit A (extracted from age 5): As a child, he’d make a fuss whenever his mom forgot to cut the crusts off of his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. 

To this day, he still tells his mom that he didn't throw tantrums over bread crusts because he was “picky,” but simply because he had “food sensory issues.”

Exhibit B (extracted from age 10): He liked his toy figurines organized in a certain kind of way –– aligned on his shelf, standing upright, facing forward. Nothing else, no exceptions. 

One day, he found his limited edition Superman action figure fallen face flat on the shelf. 

His parents earthquake-proofed all of their furniture. 

…he later found out that his sister was secretly playing with his toys while he was at school.

Sunghoon didn’t come out of his room for three days after that.

Exhibit C (extracted from age 15): There were even instances in high school where he would get his grades appealed if he believed they were “marked incorrectly,” which, by the way, always got re-corrected in the end. Even if he really was wrong in the first place.

It was either his way or the highway.

In other words, Park Sunghoon was a complete perfectionist, and this fastidious behaviour followed him well into his adulthood. 

Somehow along the way, he managed to score himself a scholarship and landed himself a place in a prestigious university.

But even when he got there he was sensitive about the minor details. He was extremely particular about his class timetable, stuck to a tight-grit schedule, and even had certain criteria of who could be his friend and who couldn’t. 

And when it finally came down to choosing his university friends, he managed to pick people who were all in the same major, shared the same humour, had the same hobbies, and followed similar daily schedules as him –– but before you think of anything, no, they definitely weren’t as hypercritical as he was. 

Don’t get him wrong though, despite his meticulous and seemingly strict nature, he still found time to fool around and have fun whilst in school. 

If anything, Sunghoon considered himself as… quite the witty guy. 

He kept a mental list of things he likes. He likes watching funny cat memes on his feed, playing games on his computer during his free time, going clubbing with his friends every weekend, and he also really likes how the shawarma shop beside his place always had a buy-one-get-one deal on Thursdays.

He also had a list of things he hates. He hates when he has to share his food, or anything, really; he hates when people chew with their mouths open, he hates when freshmen walk too slowly on campus, he hates when his roommates “forget” to clean their dirty dishes –– honestly, the list could go on and on.

But, for the past couple of months, what he hated most was his best friend, Sim Jake.

Sunghoon didn’t always hate him though. If he hated him from the beginning, one, he wouldn’t have befriended him in the first place, and two, he wouldn’t have asked him to be one of his roommates –– which, this entire living situation soon became an issue with him. An extreme issue, he would call it, even.

So, what was the catalyst to the start of Sunghoon’s immense hatred towards Jake, you may ask? 

Well, it was you. 

At this point, Sunghoon’s heard it all. With people constantly calling him “nit-picky” and “extremely demanding,” always complaining that he has these crazy high standards for everything and that there’s nothing — better yet, no one — he ever liked from the get-go.

How exhausting does that sound?

Though he can admit, they’re all right about him being nit-picky, extremely demanding, and right about him having those “crazy high” standards. But, they were a bit wrong about that last part.

Park Sunghoon wasn’t sure about a lot of things, but he knew he was sure he liked you.

He guessed he always, at least, subconsciously knew he liked you from the second the two of you met during freshmen orientation –– he hadn’t realized it back then, but you kind of just checked off all the boxes in his mind.

With his personality though, he had never admitted it out-loud –– even if it was pain-stakingly obvious to all of his close friends.

It honestly really was just a little crush to him at first. He started looking for your face around campus, teasing you whenever you were around, occasionally texting each other. You know, doing the usual shit slightly delusional people always do to cope with their minor infatuations who don’t like them back.

Surprisingly over time, the two of you eventually became a lot closer and hung out with each other more.

…and also became a little more flirtatious with each other (at least that’s what Sunghoon thinks, but he’s not too sure). 

It got to the point where Sunghoon’s friends could tell whether he was in a good mood or not depending on whether he got a text from you that day.

You and Sunghoon were good, he thought things were going well –– he’s got game… right? 

Until one day, Sunghoon’s fairytale-princess-dream of living a life with the two of you together all came crashing down. 

To be honest, you’d never met Sunghoon’s so-called “best friends” the past two years you had been friends. You started to wonder whether they were real or if Sunghoon was just faking it and actually has no friends.

Eventually, you came to meet them –– Heeseung, Jay, Sunoo, Jungwon, Riki, and Jake.

Sunghoon really hated that. He never even wanted to introduce you to his friends, you guys just bumped into each other by accident.

In his mind, he kind of just wanted to keep you as his little secret. After all, he met you first, befriended you first, and liked you first. And again, Sunghoon really hated sharing.

And, it sounds a teensy bit toxic but he’d always been competitive to the bone, maybe a little too much. So when he saw you started getting a lot closer to Jake than you were with him, it honestly felt like a two-faced betrayal. But he couldn’t say anything –– his ego and stubbornness wouldn’t let him.

Sunghoon kind of just watched and let it happen, so he honestly shouldn’t even be that mad. At first, he tried to bury the thought of you and Jake being “best friends” in the back of his head. But it didn’t help when you started coming over to his shared apartment to hang out with stupid, freaking Jake.

He always wondered why you chose Jake and not him.

All of Sunghoon’s friends had just adjusted from the fact that they thought he liked you... to Jake being the one pursuing you instead. 

You and Sunghoon never “fell out,” however, the friendship felt a bit more distant. But what was Sunghoon supposed to do about it? Beg you to become best friends with him instead? Whenever he thought this way, he’d always feel like he reverted back into a kid.

When you’d come over, you would say “hi,” and engage in like, three-minute small talk with Sunghoon, and then go into Jake’s stinkin’ room and giggle with him and probably have so much fun with whatever the fuck Jake is doing. 

Sunghoon wouldn’t really know though, he couldn’t bring himself to ask what the two of you did when you left their apartment.

The most information he could get was when his other roommates would tease Jake about you. There was one particular time, however, where Sunghoon was royally pissed off over the two of you. According to him, this conversation was just so juvenile and hard-to-listen to this day. 

Sunghoon was in the kitchen fixing their coffee machine while silently eavesdropping on his roommates by the couch. Jay lightly nudged Jake’s shoulder, “So, you and y/n, what’s up with that?”

The second Sunghoon heard Jay drop the first vowel of your name, his ears immediately perked up.

Jake chuckles, staying focused on the game in front of him, “Nah man, chill. It’s nothing like that.”

Liar.

Heeseung tsks, tossing his controller down after losing a match against Jake, “If it was just ‘nothing’ then you wouldn’t be texting her all day and hanging out with her more than your own roommmates.”

Right? Heeseung’s so right. If it really was just “nothing” then he wouldn’t have caught Jake kicking his feet up and down while on the phone with you.

“Guys, leave it, we’re just best friends.” Jake laughs.

Yeah right, that’s such bullshit cause Sunghoon had found out you two started dating, like, exactly a month later.

That was essentially the beginning of his own hell, agony, and his pure hatred towards Jake.

Sunghoon would see you waltz into his –– their, sorry –– apartment almost every day with a huge smile plastered on your face like shit was all sweet and rainbows and butterflies when he was suffering every waking minute.

Daily he’d see your annoyingly gorgeous face, hear your stupidly adorable laughter through the walls, and watch you and Jake be all lovey-dovey right in front of him. Sunghoon didn’t even know he could like a person to this extent, you just made him like this.

It actually made him sick in the stomach. That should’ve been him.

One morning, he genuinely contemplated jumping off of their balcony when you stepped outside of Jake’s room wearing his clothes. He wanted to shout, he wanted to remind you that you were his friend first, he wanted to ask you, “what do you see in him that you don’t see in me?”

But all he managed to spit out was, “Morning, you want coffee?” while gripping onto his penguin-shaped coffee mug so tight that it was on the brink of shattering into pieces.

Now, Sunghoon knew it was wrong, and that you’re now quite literally his best friend's girlfriend but what ever happened to “dibs?” He knew you way before than dumbass Jake did.

One night, Sunghoon couldn’t fall asleep. He had been tossing and turning for the past two hours trying not to lose his mind over the fact that you were sleeping over at their place, again.

He thought some tea might help soothe his worries and ease his anxiety a little bit, eventually bringing him to sleep, so he got up and made his way over to the kettle in the kitchen. He got his favourite mug out and had the peppermint tea bag sitting nicely inside when he heard a small pip-squeak coming from the rooms.

At first he couldn’t actually tell if that sound was coming from the rooms or if it was just the steam from the kettle, but then a pip-squeak turned into a muffled gasp –– a seemingly sexual sounding one, he believed.

Sunghoon couldn’t bear to stick around longer to figure out whether you and Jake were having sex. That was enough for him to abandon his cup of tea and trudge his way over to Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki’s place in his house slippers and pajamas. 

He even bought ear-plugs at the convenience store on the way there.

Sunghoon honestly doesn’t really remember much after he bolted out of his apartment that night. But according to them, he got to their place and sat in the corner of their living room with his knees to his chest –– refusing to tell any of them what the matter was –– eventually falling asleep on the floor. 

Riki also did keep mentioning how Sunghoon started rocking back-and-forth while whispering to himself quietly, but everyone knows Riki has a thing for theatrics.

While yes, Sunghoon had thoughts about you that were most definitely against the bro-code, he never actually acted on them.

Like, yeah Sunghoon hated his best friend for stealing the love of his life, but that’s still literally his best friend –– whom he hates. It’s complicated, he can’t really explain it.

Over the course of a couple months, Sunghoon thinks he’s seen and heard it all, especially the arguments you and Jake would have. On those nights, he prayed he’d wake up to news that you guys finally broke up –– which never happened by the way.

Those arguments were usually petty and small, but a particular argument was unlike the rest. 

One day, you ran out of Jake’s room in tears. Sunghoon was on the couch watching the evening news with the volume turned up so high at the time, he couldn’t even hear you guys arguing anymore.

But this was just usual protocol whenever you and Jake would argue, it felt almost invasive so all of the guys agreed to blast the TV and drown out the yelling sound.

At first, Sunghoon didn’t notice you crying hysterically –– not until he looked up and saw your face.

Sunghoon’s body reacted by itself. Without even meaning to, he found himself chasing after you to make sure you were okay. You two were still friends regardless of the fact that you were in a relationship with Jake, so he thought this was totally justifiable.

When Sunghoon finally caught up to you, he grabbed your arm, “Hey,” he spoke softly, “I can’t let you leave until I know you’re okay. What’s wrong?”

You finally turn to look at him, and he sees you: mascara running down your rosy cheeks, eyes all puffy, your nose running a little. It wasn’t long till you shrugged Sunghoon’s hand off your arm.

“Stop acting stupid,” you spat, “you guys are best friends, I know you that you know already. Really, what are you even here for? To seem like some good-guy-hero? Like, what, you’re gonna go on a whole tangent about how Jake is a great guy, that this is just some miscommunication, how he’ll apologize or that, maybe even I should be the one to apologize––”

Maybe Sunghoon shouldn’t have said what he said next, because it just made things worse.

“Is that really what you think of me, y/n? Like I’m just Jake’s loyal fucking lapdog running after you so I can take his side? He’s my friend, yeah, but why would you ever think that lowly of me?”

At this point, you started to feel really bad for snapping on him when in reality, he was just trying to help.

Sunghoon speaks in a tiny voice, “I don’t even know what’s going on in your relationship. I don’t even ask about it because it hurts.”

Your face of dishevelment slowly turns into confusion as you keep listening to Sunghoon, “What are you talking about?”

Sunghoon knows he probably shouldn’t be talking about this right now, that he should just end the conversation there and maybe try to gaslight you into thinking that he actually said something else –– but it all slipped out.

He lets out a frustrated sigh accompanied with a quick eye-roll, almost like he can’t believe the words that he’s about to say, “I met you first. We were friends first. I liked you first. But I just let you slip away and now you’re his –– and I can’t do anything about it. I’ve been forced to just watch you with him. You don’t even know how bitter I get seeing you guys together. He knew I liked you first, and he took you away from me. You were supposed to be with me instead.” 

You have a boyfriend, this is your boyfriend’s best friend. This whole situation is fucked up. All you do is shake your head in disbelief, “What are you trying to say, what’s the whole point of this Sunghoon?”

A pause of silence passed by, and in those seconds of quietness, Sunghoon really tried hard to think, what is the whole point of him telling you this now? What did he think would even happen?

“I–I don’t know,” he stutters, “just– nothing. Just forget everything I said please, just forget about it. Let me get you an Uber home.”

The truth was, you understood what he meant completely and you couldn’t just simply forget about it.

But you had to pretend.

Just in time, you saw Jake jogging towards you two in your peripheral vision. It wasn’t long until Sunghoon noticed.

The second Jake came to you, Sunghoon took a step back and left.

You honestly forgot about your argument with Jake until he apologized and insisted he drove you home. The drive back to your place was silent. Your head was leaned against the car window with your hands between your thighs the entire ride.

Jake turned onto your street, eventually pulling up to the entrance of your apartment. The two of you sit there for a while, the only sound coming from his fingers lightly drumming on the console. Your gaze stays fixed on a tree outside, too embarrassed to break the ice first.

He moves his hand onto the steering wheel, “y/n, I’m really sorry.”

You turn your head slightly to look at him before pushing the car door open, “It’s fine, just don’t let it happen again.”

Jake watches you slam the car door shut, making your way inside and up the elevator before he drives away.

That night, you had a lot to ponder about –– not just because of the argument you and your boyfriend had, but also because of what his best friend had just confessed to you...

Fuck, why are you even thinking about Sunghoon again? Jake’s right here. Jake is your boyfriend… yeah.

⋆˚࿔

Mondays were always the worst for Sunghoon. At 8 a.m., he has Theory of Computation, then once that ends at 10, he has an hour to himself before he’s got three back-to-back classes till 4 p.m. On top of that, he also told Sunoo and Riki that he’d meet them at the library at 6:30 p.m. to get a headstart on their group project. 

Great, he thought, so now he’s able to schedule an hour-long nervous breakdown before he has to compose himself like a normal citizen and attend to his responsibilities again. 

Once he got home after his final lecture of the day, he sat on his desk chair (not his bed, he had his outside clothes on) and pulled out his phone from his backpocket.

“Google am I a bad person?”

Sunghoon’s staring at the searchbar waiting for the results to load on his phone, the floorboards creaking loudly because of how much he kept bouncing his legs out of anxiety. 

All he’s done the past 24 hours was replay the conversation he last had with you, and the more he kept thinking about it, the more he started to feel like he really fucked up this time. 

His first worry was you possibly telling Jake that he had just confessed his undying love for you –– but when he heard Jake say good morning the next day while making an omelette, he crossed that fear off the list.

'Cause like, what guy who's mad would make omelettes in the morning?

His second worry was that he might actually be a horrible person. Sunghoon always understood he was insufferable since birth, but never once has he thought he was a bad guy… until now.

Like, it’s a really fucked up situation right? He put you in a difficult position, and if Jake finds out then that’s goodbye to his best friend too –– oh god, what about his roommates? Will he have to find a new place to live next year?

A plethora of different worries began to plague his mind until he realized the search results had finally loaded on his phone. He saw countless people asking the same question on different forums, where he eventually found himself on r/AmItheAsshole, reading excerpts from literally Lucifer(s) themselves in attempts to make him feel better about his own situation.

At that moment Sunghoon came to the realization that, yeah there are definitely a lot of worse people in the world with way more questionable morals than him –– and that if he was considered a bad person, then the people of this Subreddit must think he’s made out of unicorns and sunshine.

Before he left his apartment again, he took a deep breath, tried to push his feelings down and go about his day.

When he finally arrived at the library, he found Jungwon and Riki at their usual spot. Jungwon spots him walking towards them first, prompting him to move his backpack on the seat beside him to the ground, “Hey, we saved you a spot.”

Sunghoon falls into the chair, “Thanks man.”

In front of Jungwon, Riki lays his head flat on the table, “Guys, can we rethink this. We have a month till this project is due. Isn’t doing this real early almost unnecessary?”

Jungwon continues typing on his keyboard, not once looking up, “It’s just in case, and there’s nothing wrong with starting early.”

Riki rolls his eyes and releases a big sigh before raising his head to look back up at his JavaScript for the nth time today.

Once Sunghoon had opened up his computer, Jungwon left no time to waste, “I forgot to ask, have you ever used a graphical interface for designing SQL queries before?"

“Yeah, have you?”

Riki looks up at the two of them like they’re speaking a completely different language, when in reality he’s supposed to be in the same major as them –– therefore he probably should know what Sunghoon and Jungwon are talking about.

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head, “But, that’ll aid us while building this thing.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Riki groans and shuts his laptop, “Sorry Won, but I’ve been busting my ass learning this code for the past three hours we’ve been here –– I haven’t even eaten anything yet!”

He pulls out his phone, face immediately lighting up green, “Fuck it, I’m ordering UberEats, y’all want something?”

Sunghoon declines, “Nah, I’m good I ate before I left.”

Inside his backpack, Jungwon pulls out a tupperware filled with fruit and a bag of half-eaten beef jerky, “It’s fine, I packed myself some food.”

“Dude, what the hell,” Riki exits from the app, “Why didn’t you tell me you had food, my stomach has been grumbling for a whole hour.”

“Yeah, I know, I heard.”

Riki snatches the bag of opened beef jerky as a form of opposition against Jungwon, stuffing a handful into his mouth.

“Wait,” pausing mid-chew to swallow his food, “Anton just texted me, apparently his frat’s hosting a houseparty, mixer-thingy –– whatever the fuck –– on Friday.”

Sunghoon holds back a laugh, “Hell nah, remember what happened when their frat threw a party last semester?”

Unlike Sunghoon, Jungwon has no shame and bursts out in laughter causing the rest of the people on the floor to hush him, “Yo, we gotta go, Jake was legendary that time.”

Riki’s face falters as if he were recalling a traumatic memory, “Man, I don’t think Jake’s gonna act out, he’s been a different guy ever since he got a girl. Kinda miss the old him.”

After hearing your name being brought up in the conversation, Sunghoon looks up from his computer, fully immersing himself in the topic –– yet, he can’t bring himself to speak.

“Don’t make assumptions that he’s boring yet, I don’t think this guy has gone out since then, the guy’s a beast when he’s fucked up. Ya never know. Maybe he’ll surprise us.” Jungwon chuckles.

“Do you still have that video of him from last year?”

“Bro, of course I do. Chill, let me find it on my camera roll.”

At this moment, all of Sunghoon’s thoughts began racing. 

He can’t help it but those feelings of resentment towards Jake are all coming back again. Maybe he really is a bad person after all, because the only thing he could say was, “I think we should go.”

This is the reason why Sunghoon thinks that he might actually be a horrible person –– because why would he want to see his best friend potentially fuck up?

From then on, Sunghoon decided that this was the last time he would be selfish ...he thinks.

⋆˚࿔

It was around 10 p.m. when Sunghoon had gotten home from the library. All of the lights in the apartment were turned off, which was kind of odd to him but he didn’t really pay much attention to it. He figures his roommates just went somewhere –– he honestly doesn’t care where. 

In fact, he liked it when he was the only one home. It gave him some peace and solace. He never liked to admit it, but sometimes being with other people is exhausting. 

Not that he doesn’t like being around his roommates, he does. It’s just a little daunting for him to be around people for extended periods of time. He really hates the way he thinks. He finds it a little embarrassing that he thinks it’s anxiety-inducing and overwhelming to be around other people sometimes.

He thinks his logic is flawed, and almost wishes he wasn’t like this. Look at Park Sunghoon, uptight, picky, critical, no-good-for-anyone –– yet he can’t stick around long if he’s surrounded by people or else he’ll freak out? 

Whatever, he doesn’t have time to host his own pity party when he’s got bigger fish to fry. 

In hopes of seeking relaxation after the day he’s had, he grabs a towel and heads toward the bathroom. Waiting for him was a nice, steamy-hot shower, preferably one that’s a little too hot that it makes his body physically produce steam.

What he expected to see when he walked into the bathroom was a fucking toilet, shower, and sink. But when he opened the bathroom door, he was greeted with a fucking toilet, shower, sink, and you who just happens to be brushing your teeth oh-so conveniently at the same time Sunghoon wants to shower.

Truthfully, you almost scared the shit out of Sunghoon when he saw your face, cause first of all, no one’s even supposed to be home right now (allegedly).

Your eyes widen when you come face-to-face with Sunghoon. This was the first time the two of you had seen each other since last night. He didn’t rehearse this meeting happening and now he’s internally freaking out.

Instead of the awkward encounter Sunghoon had anticipated, you spit out your toothpaste, finish brushing your teeth, and flash him a smile, “Hey, sorry I was just quickly brushing my teeth, you can use the bathroom now.”

A smile that almost convinced Sunghoon that maybe last night was all just a dream and didn’t actually happen in real life.

Straight-faced, he nods, clearing the doorway for you to step out. He watches you walk past his bedroom door and go into Jake’s room before he steps inside the bathroom. 

Under the showerhead, Sunghoon lets the water run down his head, staring down at the drain. He had numerous thoughts running through his mind, but what stuck out most was why you just acted like nothing had happened between them?

When he looks up to grab his shampoo, he sees all of your shower products in the corner with Jake’s toiletries –– which made him come to the realization that actually, maybe nothing had happened between you two at all.

At the end of the day, you’re still Jake’s girl. Nothing changed that. Not even his stupid confession of love for you.

When he stepped out of the shower, he concluded that what really happened was: he shared his feelings for you on a whim, you basically rejected him, and now you’re probably just being nice to him, acting like everything is fine because he’s still Jake’s best friend after all.

Fuck, now he’s embarrassed. He should just forget about this whole ordeal –– right?

⋆˚࿔

For the rest of the week, Sunghoon was lucky enough to not bump into you anywhere –– not even inside their apartment. There were days where he knew you were over, but you never came out of Jake’s room whenever he was around.

All Sunghoon had been looking forward to all week was Anton’s frat party. It was basically an excuse for him to abuse alcohol and make bad decisions.

Once he came home from his last lab at 7:30 p.m. on Friday, he found his quiet sanctuary (his shared apartment) filled with all of his friends, quickly grabbing a beer from one of the cartons before ducking into his room to change.

Sunghoon tried to act nonchalantly, pretending like he didn’t actually care about what he was gonna wear to the frat party. It’s not even like he has clothes that would upstage anyone’s outfit, he was really overthinking it for no reason.

Knock knock.

“Yo, just come in, why’d you have to fucking knock?” he yells.

A small voice spoke through the crack of his door, “Oh, sorry, um, it’s just me, y/n, the guys need help picking up the keg stand.”

Sunghoon almost got whiplash from how fast he turned his head around to look at you; you hadn’t stepped a foot into his room, the door was slightly creaked open, and your head was down –– which he soon realized it’s because he doesn’t have a shirt on.

He swiftly grabbed the first shirt that was within vicinity and threw it on, “Oh sorry, I thought you were one of the guys, you caught me off guard.”

You flail your hands, finally looking up now that he’s fully clothed, “No! It’s okay! They told me to go and get you –– wait.”

Sunghoon furrows his eyebrows, wait for what?

All he could hear was your laughter, one that he recognized all too well, “Maybe you should change your shirt, Hoon.”

He immediately dropped his head down to look at what he was wearing.

…of course the shirt he had to grab happened to be the stupid t-shirt Heeseung gave him for Christmas that says “Mike Who Cheese Hairy” in bold.

Great, could Sunghoon’s life get any worse?

That night, he had a little too much to drink, actually maybe way more than he anticipated. But Sunghoon wasn’t the messy type of drunk –– at least that’s what he thinks.

He was never the type of guy who let himself get too intoxicated. He usually knew what his limits were. Oftentimes, he thought that overly drunk people in public settings were making a fool of themselves and that maybe those people just had a humiliation kink.

But as of right now, Sunghoon’s kinda having trouble holding his balance at Alpha Epsilon Phi’s mixer.

In his defence, he only got this fucked up because him and Jake were going back-to-back on that keg stand trying to outdo the other –– which only got the both of them hammered.

What made things even worse for Sunghoon, however, was the fact that 15 feet away from him were you and Jake.

Sunghoon was consumed in jealousy. How could he not? He can’t bring himself to look away from the painful scene in front of him, Jake wobbling against the island table with his hands wrapped around your waist while you fix his scruffy hair.

All he could think was: I’m drunk as fuck too. Where’s my help?

He scoffed and decided he’s had enough and went up the stairs. Using all of his strength, he managed to lock himself in a bathroom and finally took a deep breath out.

Sunghoon kept blinking his eyes while staring at his reflection in the mirror –– trying to desperately convince himself he’s not seeing double right now. 

Thinking that he might be able to sober up, he turned on the faucet, cupping his hand and drank from the sink (he also splashed a bunch of water on his face, slapped himself 10x, and tried to pull trig, which he failed to do). 

After 15 minutes had passed by and a hundred knocks later, Sunghoon decided to finally come out of his lavatory dungeon –– and of course the first person who he sees is Jake.

At this point, he’s just silently preparing himself to see you and him be all flirty and couple-y again.

Except, when Sunghoon gets closer, he realizes that Jake isn’t with you –– but another girl?

He immediately paused in his tracks, watching what was happening in front of him. Sunghoon was confused, where were you? Why weren’t you with Jake? And most importantly, what is Jake doing with another girl?

Should he say something? He should go up to him and stop him, right? But is that the best thing to do? What even is Jake doing?

The longer Sunghoon looks, the more uncertain he becomes. Jake seems a little too close to the girl, even if they aren’t kissing or doing anything… but why doesn’t this seem right to him?

Would this be considered cheating? Nothing sexual seems to be happening, just a bunch of teasing arm grabbing and touching.

But that wasn’t you, and you’re his girlfriend. If it wasn’t cheating, it still had to be fucking weird. Sunghoon was infuriated. Jake got the girl but can’t even treat her right? 

He knew then that he had to leave before he made a scene.

When he came back downstairs, he couldn’t help but feel suffocated. There were too many people, the air was stuffy, it reeked of alcohol, and the soles of his shoes were too sticky to stay inside any longer. So he decided to step outside instead. 

Sunghoon sat on a curb a couple of feet away from the fraternity, but still far enough that he wouldn’t be disturbed by booming bass or intoxicated party-goers. He figured he’d stay outside till his friends decide they’ve had enough with partying –– he wasn’t really feeling the vibe of the function anyways.

At one point, Sunghoon decided to just lay down on the pavement because he was drunk and he can. Out of boredom he began counting how many streetlights ran up and down the street, eventually dozing off in the process.

Coming out of a hazy state, all Sunghoon could hear was his name being repeated multiple times. When he opened his eyes, he came face-to-face with you.

You give a big sigh of relief, “Oh thank god, I thought you died for a second dude. Don’t scare me like that!” 

“What? …y/n?” Sunghoon rubs his eyes, “Sorry, I accidentally um, fell asleep I think.”

You laugh while Sunghoon fixes his posture and sits up right again, “Can I sit beside you?”

To be honest, Sunghoon still kinda feels foggy in his half-woken drunk state, so he can’t really think properly, “Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” He pats on the ground beside him. You take a seat, bringing your chin to your knees, playing with the gravel beneath you.

“Are you not having fun?” You ask.

Sunghoon looks straight ahead and shakes his head, “Not really feeling it today.”

You nod in agreement, continuing to collect pebbles with your right hand.

After a beat, Sunghoon turns to look at you, “Hey, I, um, need to tell you something important.”

“Hmm? What is it?”

He lets a deep exhale out before bringing himself to speak again, “I saw Jake inside with another girl. They weren’t like, doing anything but it’s just weird –– I don’t know if this is cheating but I thought I should tell–”

Your eyes stay fixed on the ground, “I know.”

Sunghoon furrows his eyebrows at you, “What do you mean?”

“That’s why we were arguing last week. This has always been an issue with him, even if it isn’t physically cheating.”

Sunghoon didn’t know this. All he could hear during your arguments with Jake was the volume of the TV on max. Carefully, he asked, “Is this… not the first time?”

“No.”

You almost feel ashamed that you’re confessing this all to Sunghoon. You’re scared of what he’d think of you. You already know what he’s like, what he’s probably thinking of you at this moment. You’re aware of how pathetic you sound right now.

Before he could even think about what he was saying, he blurted it all out, “I don’t get it, then why don’t you just break up with him? Isn’t what he’s doing bothering you?”

That night, you and Sunghoon found out something about each other: the two of you probably shouldn’t be together while drunk.

“...I don’t know. Wouldn’t breaking up with him mean that I won’t be able to see you anymore?”

“What? Why are you saying that?”

“If me and Jake end on bad terms, does that mean that you won’t be there for me anymore?”

⋆˚࿔

After Jake had dropped you off at your apartment that night last week, you realized you were more angry than sad. All of those tears had dried up, and now you were yelling on the phone.

“Why would he do this now when he had all that time last year and make a proper move! It’s not my fault he didn’t man up sooner!” You ranted on the phone.

You didn’t know what else to do except call Giselle and ask for some advice. 

“I don’t get Sunghoon, he never did anything about us for so long and now he wants to tell me that he wanted me first?”

“Well, what are you going to do about it? You’re with his best friend now,” Giselle asks on the other side of the speaker.

You wipe your mascara-streaked eyes with a cotton pad, “I would have loved it if he told me all of that a year ago, that’s what I wanted. He missed his chance and now I’m just stuck in a sticky situation.”

“But, you love Jake right?”

“Yeah...” you murmured, “Right.”

Before you were with Jake, Sunghoon was the one you wanted most. 

To you, Park Sunghoon was like this shiny, perfect Ken doll that you wanted so badly but couldn’t get no matter what.

Contrary to popular belief, you had made your advances towards him –– just in different ways. So you actually never knew if he caught on or not. Over time it seemed like Sunghoon really had no interest in you at all, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t heartbroken over it at all.

You decided to move on after being sure that nothing would happen with you and Sunghoon. In all honesty, you were never that interested in Jake at the beginning.

It was always him starting conversations, making plans. And after a while, you started getting used to Jake’s company.

But for some reason, the closer you got with Jake, the further Sunghoon seemed to get. At the time, you knew not to think any more about you and Sunghoon –– it wasn’t happening and that’s final.

You came to learn that Jake was a pretty outgoing and talkative guy, the complete opposite of Sunghoon. 

When Jake finally asked you to be his girlfriend, you won’t lie. You were taken aback. It’s true, you do like Jake… but what about Sunghoon? Were you really over this crush? Are you going to have to be around him all the time because he’s Jake’s best friend? You didn’t know if you could do that.

You snap back into reality when you remind yourself that Sunghoon just doesn’t like you like that.

And it wasn’t like you didn’t like Jake at all. So, you gave him a chance.

Sim Jake was extroverted, polite, and friendly –– maybe a little too friendly. Being in social settings with him almost felt exhausting sometimes. He was the kind of guy that was able to go up to anyone and be able to talk to them.

The first time he ever got too friendly with a girl, you tried to ignore it. You made excuses for him like, that’s just the way he is, maybe I’m being an overbearing girlfriend.

But then it happened a second time, then a third time, then it just kept going.

This was the main reason for most of your arguments.

The start of your arguments often looked like this: the two of you would go somewhere, Jake would get a little too close, a little too talkative to a girl, and you had to wait till you guys were alone to bring up your concerns.

“Jake, I just really don’t like how overly friendly you are with other girls. It makes me feel weird as your girlfriend.”

Jake doesn’t seem to be taking the conversation seriously, “C’mon, y/n you’re the only girl I have eyes for.”

You shrug, sitting on the edge of his bed, “Can’t you just, I don’t know, not… do that? I really don’t like it.”

He tenses his forehead, fixing his position on the bed, “...do you not trust me?”

Your eyes widen in shock, “No! That’s not what I’m saying at all!”

And that’s essentially how you and Jake got into that huge argument last week.

What a mess.

⋆˚࿔

When Sunghoon woke up the day after the frat party, he was met with constant panging in his head. He only remembers little bits and pieces of the night and genuinely cannot, for the life of him, remember how he even got home that night. 

It was only till after breakfast that he found out Sunoo had called him a Uber home after he spotted him crying alone on the curbside.

Why was he even crying? He can’t remember, no matter how hard he tries to pull it out of his memory, nothing comes out.

Sunghoon’s roommates were usually out and about on Saturdays, so he decided to dedicate his Saturdays to self-care –– which in Sunghoon’s case, means watching cute videos of animals and yelling at his teammates over the mic that they suck ass all day.

He couldn’t even do that because of all that banging inside his head. Even after taking some Tylenol, it just wouldn’t stop pounding. So Sunghoon decided he should try to sleep it out on the couch.

After a couple of minutes of tossing and turning, Sunghoon finally found some tranquility –– but this was ruined the second he heard their apartment door slam shut.

Sunghoon almost fell out of the couch due to the sound, “What the fuck are you slamming doors for in the afternoon?”

When he looks up to see which one of his roommates almost broke their door down, he sees Jake –– his expression annoyed and Sunghoon’s presence totally ignored. Jake slams his own door shut without saying a word.

Sunghoon always knew not to bother Jake when he was upset and to just wait for him to feel better, so instead he sent a couple texts to Heeseung and Jay asking what’s up with Jake.

SUNGHOON What’s up with Jake He just came in slamming doors looking pissy and my head fucking hurtssss

JJONGSAENG think he and y/n broke up

HEESEUNG U being deadass?

JJONGSAENG yeah but jake didn’t tell me tho heard thru the grapevine  u know how fast rumours spread on campus but pretty sure they did i’ll ask him later

Upon reading these texts Sunghoon sat up immediately. All those times he prayed for you and Jake to break up finally came into fruition. But was it right for him to be celebrating like this? Jake’s still his best friend after all.

His thumb hovers over your contact on his phone –– but what was he even going to do? Say, hey heard you and Jake broke up, I’m sorry. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I'll be waiting?

He felt incompetent and stupid thinking about this, so he just turned off his phone and kept trying to sleep.

Later that night, Sunghoon found out that you broke up with him and not the other way around. Sunghoon tried really hard not to smile when Jake was explaining what had happened between the two of them to their roommates. 

They found out that you had broken up with him after he said, quote, “...she saw me with another girl at the frat and got so fucking upset about something and the fact that I was ‘acting out’ at the party, then she left without a word. It wasn’t until this morning she texted asking me to come over to talk. I didn’t know she was gonna break up with me?!”

At the frat? Was it the one Sunghoon had seen him with when he left the bathroom?

Truthfully, Sunghoon had been waiting for a text from you even though he knew it wouldn’t happen. After a week went by without hearing from you, he gave up on waiting.

Jake was up and running again in no time. He was the kind of person that could easily bounce back from adversities. He did admit, however, that he tried reaching out to you multiple times but never got a reply.

Sunghoon kept getting deja vu, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what’s so familiar –– until it clicked. Remnants of the night slowly started popping up again.

“What do you mean ‘I won’t be there for you anymore?’” Sunghoon asked you on the curb.

You turn your head on your knees to face him now, “I mean, would I lose you for good if Jake’s not in the picture anymore?”

Sunghoon didn’t know if he was absolutely plastered or if these words were actually coming out of your mouth right now.

“No,” Sunghoon shook his head, “No you won’t.”

The corners of your mouth turn upward, “Okay.” You stand up and brush off all the gravel from your clothes, “Are you going to be alright?”

His eyes stay fixed on you, nodding.

“Well,” you sigh, dusting your hands off, “I have to go back to the party. Text me, okay?”

Sunghoon was even more confused now –– on top of already being drunk and overly emotional –– so he burst out in tears. He tried his hardest to keep the tears from spilling out but the floodgates just wouldn’t close.

It wasn’t even just the whole him, you, and Jake situation that caused this –– it was also all the emotions that he had been building up for years.

Being Park Sunghoon –– stuck-up, critical, nitpicky, and insufferable since birth –– was hard. 

⋆˚࿔

Sunghoon found himself stuck in a dilemma. On one hand, he has Jake, his best friend, and on the other hand he has you –– but he wants both.

It seems like an easy decision, right? Jake’s his best friend, so ultimately he’s gotta kick the girl to the curb –– except Sunghoon doesn’t want just anyone, he wants you. 

He knew trying finding someone like you would be impossible.

It was truly a newfound feeling when he had experienced butterflies for the first time. He’s honestly never felt this deeply about a girl before. 

So what else can he do but text you when you ask him to? …two weeks later after mustering up the courage to open up your messages on his phone.

SUNGHOON Hey How have you been?

YOU hey!!!! u finally texted me i’ve been good thanks for asking

Sunghoon taps his foot on the ground, biting his nails, thinking about what else he could say to you to keep the conversation going.

SUNGHOON That’s good I know a lot has happened the past two weeks

You assume he’s referring to you and Jake breaking up. The two of you haven’t seen each other since Alpha Epsilon Pi’s mixer.

Admittedly, the last conversation you had with Sunghoon really cleared a lot of the looming thoughts you had stuck in your brain.

It’s been two weeks since you broke up with Jake.

It’s also been two weeks since Sunghoon told you that you wouldn’t lose him for good.

YOU yea  we should catch up let’s have a drink together like old times :))

⋆˚࿔

Like old times.

Sunghoon sat in a booth at his local university pub, just like he would last year. Waiting for you all the time.

In truth, Sunghoon couldn’t shake off the nerves of seeing you again after a while –– so to curb his anxiety he ordered two beers. One for you and one for himself. Well, at least that’s what he intended at first, but after he finished his bottle he still felt nervous so he drank “yours.”

You aren’t even late to meet him, he’s just way too early.

Ah fuck, he thought. If you still weren’t here and he’d already drank his own beer and “your” beer, and the two of you were meeting for drinks –– wouldn’t that suggest they were going to get multiple drinks?

Sunghoon covered his mouth, murmuring to himself silently, “Oh my god, how drunk am I gonna get. I can't embarrass myself” (Spoiler alert, he wasn't actually that drunk throughout the night, definitely just the placebo effect).

You actually arrive 10 minutes before your meeting time thinking you’d be early, but you were surprised when you saw Sunghoon sipping beer by himself, “Hey! You’re really early.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon grins, “I guess you are too. How have you been?”

You seat yourself on the other side of the booth, “Well,” you sigh, “you already know what’s been going on with me and Jake.”

Sunghoon flinched at the mention of Jake’s name. Oh god, now he really was going to have a nervous breakdown. In the midst of this all, Sunghoon actually forgot about Jake in the equation.

Is it appropriate to be meeting his now ex-girlfriend for drinks? Like, just two of them? But wait, Sunghoon was friends with y/n way before him so would this be justified? Whatever, he needs a drink.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.”

You figured you probably shouldn't have brought that up and sheepishly smiled, “Why would you be sorry? Let’s order some drinks!”

After three more beers, a long island iced tea, and a mojito later, it was safe to say you and Sunghoon had all the alcohol courage you could get.

The two of you were laughing about, god knows what, for the past two hours –– but the topic of conversation never mattered between you and him. You could talk to him about anything. 

You stretch your arms up, “Do you think we should leave?” you and Sunghoon turn to look around the pub and realize they’re getting ready for closing.

Sunghoon ended up paying for all the drinks which made you feel giddy and thankful because your drinks were $15 each and you weren’t planning on going broke that night.

Outside of the pub, you and Sunghoon kept the laughter going. God, it’s been so long since you’ve hung out with him like this. You never realized how much you missed him.

“So…” Sunghoon drags out, “is this goodbye?”

You fish for your phone in your purse to check the time, “Wanna keep talking and have drinks at my place?”

He smiles at you, gesturing to the sidewalk ahead, “Lead the way Missy.”

When you finally arrive at your apartment, you push the door open and welcome him in, “My humble abode.”

Sunghoon had never been to your apartment before. Back then he thought it would be creepy and invasive if he asked to hang out at yours instead. He always knew you were a nostalgic and sentimental person, but your apartment unit really personified it. You kept all of the cheerleading medals you had stacked up in high school years ago, your fridge filled with photos of you and your loved ones, you even had a pile of every birthday card you’ve received in the corner of your desk.

Without meaning to, Sunghoon found himself meddling around your apartment inspecting everything you possessed. He wanted to know what you were like before he met you –– he wanted to know everything he could about you.

A finger taps on Sunghoon’s shoulder making him jolt, “You snooping around?” you tease.

He stammers, “No– sorry, I– I was just curious.”

You chuckle and walk towards the kitchen to grab some more drinks, “I’m just kidding, Hoon.”

Exactly like a loyal golden retriever would, he followed behind you quietly. You pass him a bottle of beer and take a sip of your seltzer. You prop yourself up the counter, legs lightly swinging from the ground, “So…”

In front of you, he puts a hand in his pocket and takes a swig of beer with the other, “...so” he repeats.

At this point, the alcohol wore off from the walk back to yours. Both of you were the right amount of buzzed –– giggly drunk.

“But seriously, how have you been? Like truthfully.” you ask.

Sunghoon tries to think hard about it –– but he’s always stuck to the same routine he’s had for the past three years. He scratches the back of his neck, “I dunno, life’s been the same as always. Wake up, eat, sleep, repeat all over again.”

You tilt your head, “Same old Sunghoon, doesn’t it get tiring sometimes?”

“What does? The routine?”

“No,” you fiddle with your fingers, “bottling everything up.”

Sunghoon’s surprised by your answer. He wonders what makes you think that, “What do you mean?”

You chug the remaining of your seltzer, “It’s just– it seems like you had a lot on your plate recently.”

At first, he wonders what you’re referring to. If he thinks hard about it, all he does is study, go to the gym, and play games. But when he finally realized what you were talking about he started getting flustered.

“...are you asking me this because of the conversation we had three weeks ago?”

He still remembers that night vividly. It had rained during the day, releasing the smell of petrichor and wet grass. The pavement hadn’t dried up yet where they stood –— he remembered because he kept his head down after Jake came to console you. He also remembers how he felt when he heard Jake come back from dropping you off. Straight guilt.

He laid in bed that night wondering what kind of “best friend” he was to say all of those things to you as if you weren’t dating Jake then. 

But now he’s standing in front of you, at your apartment, in your cramped kitchen, a little too close to each other.

“...yeah, sorry,” you apologize, “it seemed like you had a lot on your mind then.”

Sunghoon steps a bit closer, slightly wedged in between your legs, “I did have a lot on my mind then.” he confessed.

Not once breaking eye contact with you, he takes a final swig of his beer before he lightly places the empty bottle on the counter.

“Would you tell me if I asked?” you let him slide in between your thighs.

He boxes you in when he places both hands on the counter beside you, “I’d do anything you ask, y/n. You know that.”

You could hear the water drip from the kitchen faucet with how quiet it was.

“What about now? Do you still have a lot on your mind?”

Sunghoon pretends to ponder about it for a second before answering.

“Yeah.”

“...what are you thinking about right now?”

He only looks at you, fixing your hair before tucking a strand behind your ear.

“Whether this is a good idea or not.”

Sunghoon slowly leans in, almost as if he’s asking for permission before making a move –– and when you wrap your arms around his neck, he takes it as a green light and presses his lips against yours.

He thinks he’s dreamt about this moment his entire university career; what it would be like kissing you. Well now he knows. He knows that your lips taste like the cherry chapstick you always wear, that you kiss him softly, and that you get all handsy while making out. 

You drag your hand gently down Sunghoon’s chest and you assume he liked that considering you can feel him smiling on your lips. 

So you begin to outline his entire body. You trace your fingers along his jaw, the curvature of his abs, his biceps. You gently tug on his hair which elicits a small groan from him. You’re everywhere, you were ravenous.

All that time back then, when you’d pine over ice prince Park Sunghoon and throw hints at him here and there –– he never got the message though. 

But now you’re here, kissing Sunghoon, and you just can’t get enough –– and it seems like he can’t either.

Sunghoon caresses the outline of your waist, fingers slightly skimming up your skin, when he pulls away to pepper light kisses on your neck, “you know,” he mumbled, "I've been waiting for this moment ever since we first met.”

A small moan escapes your lips when he starts licking behind your ear, “Hoon,” you breathe out, “...do you want to go to my bedroom?”

He swears he can see stars now from how lightheaded he feels right now. He can’t even process that what’s happening is actually happening. 

Is this real life? 

Instead of exchanging words, he lets his body talk, picking you up from the counter walking towards your room, where he lays you down with the utmost care –– like you were his most prized possession. 

Cautiously, he asks, “Do you really wanna…”

“Yes. I do.” You shut him up with a kiss, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. You knew he understood the memo when he pulled away to throw his shirt to the ground.

He falls back into you, moving his knee between your thighs when he cups your face to kiss you again. This time, it’s messy, it’s desperate. Sunghoon wants to explore every inch of you, learn how your mind works, what you’ve experienced in life, what you haven’t, what you want to. He slides his tongue like he’s going to devour you.

Slowly, he peeled off all your clothes one-by-one until you’re left in your undergarments. You wish you had known what your plans were gonna be tonight otherwise you would’ve surely put on some better lingerie.

Sunghoon doesn’t give a fuck though, you were laying in front of him undressed and beautiful, how could he focus on something so miniscule when he has you all to himself? …but he also didn’t care because it’s going to come off anyways.

He unclasps your bra, exposing your bare chest. His kisses trailed from your throat all the way to your inner thighs. Now he was perched in between your legs next to your clothed pussy. He smirked when he saw how soaked your panties were, “You get this wet for me?”

You cover your eyes using your forearms out of embarrassment, “Just stop teasing, Hoon.”

“Hoon.”

God he loved hearing you call him by that nickname, he could feel his dick getting impossibly hard in his boxers. He’s going to absolutely destroy you.

Sunghoon delicately took off your panties before spreading your legs wider. He could see the slick from your pussy drooling onto the sheets already, and he swore he almost moaned.

You bite your bottom lip when he starts to place light kisses onto your pussy. He dragged his tongue from your fluttering hole to your clit. Park Sunghoon was a starved, starved man. He attaches himself onto your clit. He works his tongue until he gets you moaning, and when he’s decided he wants to hear you moan louder for him, he plunges two fingers in without warning.

Now he was knuckle deep inside of you, and those moans just kept escaping from your mouth, gradually getting louder and louder –– you pray you don’t get a noise complaint by the end of tonight. He pumps his fingers with vigor, eventually finding your most sensitive spot. 

He’s still lapping at your pussy while he massages your spongy G-spot. Sunghoon assumes he’s doing a great job since your legs are shaking …and also because you keep cheering him on like he’s a D1 athlete, “Ffffuck… Hoon– Please just– don’t stop. K–keep going!”

When you start to thrash around he tightens his grip on your plush thigh, continuing to work his tongue and fingers inside of you. He could tell you were about to cum from the fact that your pussy kept pulsing while his fingers were in deep.

“W– Wait,” You grab onto the sheets, “Hoon wait, I think– I feel like I’m gonna pee.”

“So what? Just relax and let it out.”

You do what he says, your juices coating his tongue. You watched him suck up every drop. The squelching sound was filthy, his fingers still scissoring you open. He brings himself up to lick at your neck while his fingers stay buried inside of your pussy, “You like that?”

What a freak. 

You never expected Park Sunghoon of all people acting this way in bed.

Your mouth drops open, nodding in agreement, “Uh huh…” Your breathing pattern still off from your last orgasm, “I fucking love it.”

He sucks at your neck, “Atta girl,” his fingers finally pull out of your cunt, dragging his hand up to one to fondle with one of your titties, “You gonna let me fuck you then?”

“Please.”

His lips curled into a devilish smirk, pulling out his cock out from his sweatpants. Teasingly, he raises his eyebrows at you, hand holding his cock –– silently curious about whether you could take the dick or not.

Saliva started pooling on the corners of your mouth and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. Sunghoon takes one good look at your swollen clit and puffy lips before he aligns himself at your entrance.

You’re horny and throbbing, you can barely hold your patience while Sunghoon seems to look extremely entertained taunting you by slightly pushing the head in before pulling out. He grabs ahold of your hips, bringing you closer to him. 

You laid there biting your nails wondering if he’s ever going to actually fuck you when he slides his cock inside your pussy inch-by-inch without warning. He starts thrusting in and out, grabbing your face to sloppily kiss you. All that drool you’ve accumulated from your past orgasm had been licked clean from your mouth to your chin. 

Sunghoon was insatiable. He started kneading your titties, his dick still fucking you nice and open. You probably still don’t know that he hadn’t even put the entire thing in yet. He starts rolling your nipples in between his knuckles before pinching them –– bottoming out completely at the same time.

You just had to lay there and take it. Everything hurt but felt so good at the same time. You hear the schlick-schlick-schlicking sound coming from his dick relentlessly pounding into your drenched pussy.

“Mmphf! Wait, Hoon it f– feels ssoo… good.” You manage to whimper out.

“You just–” thrust, “take it–” thrust, “so fucking well.” thrust.

He was inside so raw, so deep. You thought he was inside of you to the hilt, but when he pressed your thighs against your chest, he found a new angle and somehow managed to fuck you even deeper. You could feel his fat tip battering up against your cervix with every pump –– genuinely becoming scared at one point that his cock would slide into your womb. Your moans echoed throughout your apartment unit. It honestly sounds like pornstars having sex in here.

When Sunghoon felt your walls clamp down on his dick, he knew that you were about to cum soon. He began to really pound into you now, using his thumb to rub on your clit. It felt like he really did stretch you out. You look down at where the two of you connect and you cum at the sight of his cock plunging into you, forming a ring of milky white cum during the process. 

Sunghoon groans at how tight your pussy walls squeeze him in as he fucks you through your second orgasm. You were already so overstimulated; his pelvis rubbing against your sensitive clit, his cock deep inside you, your nipples being rolled and pinched. You couldn’t take it anymore.

Your whole body is quivering at this point and Sunghoon is still spearing you in half. You push at his chest, “W– Wait, hold on.”

He pulls out and looks at you with a cocky smirk on his face, “What’s wrong, baby? Can’t take the dick?”

You pant out, “I just…” You bring your hands to your legs, attempting to stop them from shaking, but it’s no use, “...I just need a second.”

“You tapping out?” he tuts.

Despite having to take a quick breather, you quickly shake your head no.

You crawl towards him now, wrapping your warm hands on the base of his cock. He groans at your touch and revels in it. You lick the tip like it’s candy.

You wait till he lets out a couple more groans before you finally wrap your lips around him and slowly slide his cock down deeper into your throat, stroking the rest with a hand.

A sense of satisfaction washed over you when you looked up to see Sunghoon with his hair tussled, head thrown back, mouth agape. It only pushed you to do more. You relax your throat to prepare for the intrusion, gliding his cock down lower and lower. Sunghoon gently grabs a fistful of your hair enough to keep his balance. All you could hear were his groans of pleasure. 

You try to keep all of him in your mouth for as long as you humanely could before pulling away from his shaft, sucking a big breath of fresh hair in.

You could see his eyes darken, “Turn around for me.”

Confused but still compliant, you follow his orders and turn your back against him. He places his hand on your lower back, moving it up your spine to delicately push you back onto the bed. He grabs ahold of your hips, perching them up.

Now you were face down, ass up on your bed. 

Sunghoon smoothed the arch of your back with his calloused palm, finding its place at the nape of your neck. He growls lowly in your ear, “You gonna be good for me?”

“Uh huh,” you manage to get out.

He removes his hand at your neck, giving your ass a squeeze before entering inside you again. He hammers into you with the same drive and vigor, steadying your legs when he feels them start to tremor again.

You melt under his touch, the curve of his dick hitting that sensitive spot once again. The sound of your moans pushed him to go even further. He lands his two hands on the moons of your ass, spreading them wide open to see his wet dick pound into your dripping pussy, sliding deeper till he feels the resistance.

“Aargh,” he groans, swiping his thumb over the rim of your other hole.

“Fuuuck…” you whine out loud.

Sunghoon watches himself disappear in between your glistening pussy lips. The sheets beneath you two were pooled with your slick, you couldn’t control your moans anymore –– you knew you were about to give out and cum again any minute now.

Your pussy just squeezes him in right, he could keep fucking you all night. You push against him, fucking yourself on his cock when he starts laughing, “How bad do you want it, baby?”

You roll your hips on him, “I want it… bad.” you mewl.

He presses himself balls deep inside of you just to watch you struggle and grind on him to desperately reach your nth orgasm tonight. He caresses your asscheek when he’s decided he’s had enough fun watching you use him like a fuck toy.

Sunghoon starts thrusting into you again, slow and deep this time, jolting your body forward on the bed with each pump of his dick. When you feel him twitch inside of you, you knew his release was close –– his groans getting louder.

He starts pounding into you again relentlessly, feeling your gummy walls hugging him tight. You could feel him chasing his orgasm. His hand snakes its way to your lower stomach, brushing against the bulge of his bulbous cockhead before he presses down on it. The added pressure made your eyes roll back, gripping onto anything you could.

“Hoon… I’m gonna– I’m gonna cum.” you cry out.

“Then do it.”

You let yourself go, cumming so hard on his cock, you swore you were about to blackout from the feeling of immense pleasure.

He fastens the speed of his thrusts; you feel them become messy and sloppier. You hear his breathing getting ragged when he pulls out, stroking himself as thick ropes of sticky, white, cum spill onto your ass. You lay still on the mattress, still panting when Sunghoon finishes milking out every drop of cum.

Sunghoon uses the back of his hand to wipe off the sweat dripping down his forehead, “Wait,” he breathes out, promptly leaving the room to come back with a towel. He cleans you up when you start chuckling out loud.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, moving your hair out of your face.

“No, it’s just I haven’t had good sex in a while.” you giggle.

Confused, he asks, “Wait but, haven’t you…”

“Me and Jake never had sex.” you confessed.

Sunghoon’s eyes widened, “But– I heard you… in his room–”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you look at him, face puzzled, “Maybe we were watching a movie?”

He decides to drop the topic and just be glad instead. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him, “I wish I’d done something sooner.”

Snug against his arms, you chirp, “Well, why didn’t you? I was throwing hints all the time!”

Now Sunghoon didn’t know this, “...what do you mean ‘throwing hints?’”

You playfully slap against his chest, “Freshman and sophomore year I was waiting for you to make a move but you never did! So I just assumed you didn’t like me like that and tried to move on…”

One thing about Sunghoon was: he wasn’t really good with social cues. He was always in his own little bubble doing his own thing. But now that he thinks about it, you were pretty obvious –– it just didn’t click to him back then.

The two of you ended up dozing off after talking for hours, and before you knew it, the sun was up again.

Both of you were awoken by a couple of hard knocks at your door.

Sunghoon yawns, “Who’s at your door this early?”

Half-awake, you slip into some clothes you find scattered on the floor, “I’m not sure, maybe a package I ordered?” You rub your eyes, “These FedEx guys always deliver packages so early.”

You quickly leave the room to see who’s at your apartment door. While waiting, Sunghoon props himself up against your headboard, reaching for his phone. He placed a hand behind his head while he started scrolling through his missed notifications. For some reason, Sunghoon felt like he was forgetting something –– he wasn’t sure what.

Something was off, but he couldn’t quite pin what it was. Was he just being paranoid? He bagged the girl of his dreams, he just had amazing sex, and now he’s waiting for you in your bed shirtless, boxers on.

He tries to run through his mental to-do list in his head: he already submitted his assignments, it’s the weekend so he doesn’t have any classes, his rent isn’t due till next month, he did his laundry yesterday –– so why did he feel like he was forgetting something?

Sunghoon hears your voice echo throughout the apartment, “Jake! What are you doing here?”

Oh shit.

kay's note: r/amitheasshole which one of them do you think is the biggest asshole: sunghoon, jake, reader, or all of them, cause i was lowkey thinking about it myself but i'm not too sure either

copyright © bambiens 2026.

[tmtxtf-library]

NOOOOO WAY

[nephynes]

THE 3RD DEGREE ──.୨ৎ kim sunoo x park sunghoon one shot

Just a night that was meant to be the peak of your relationship with Sunoo starting to look like the "best friend" you invited into your bed is never leaving.

nsfw warnings ── SMUT ── minors do not interact (oral f&m receiving) angst if you’re a pussy, reader is insecure but is justified (kinda), toxic dynamics, jealousy, threesome, established relationship, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, slow burn tension, secret pinning. let me know if i missed any.

wc ── 6.4k

You turn the spare key in the lock with a familiar, metallic click that usually signals the start of your favorite part of the week. It's Friday night so that means no work, no school, just you in Sunoo's clothes and his scent enveloping your senses for the next seventy two hours. You swing the door open, a playful "Guess who?" already perched on the tip of your tongue but the words die before they can even hit the air.

Your boyfriend's living room is bathed in the low glow of the lamp in the corner, there’s a low fi beat you recognize as something from your shared playlist and Sunoo is on the sofa with his legs tucked under him but he isn't alone...unfortunately. Sunghoon is leaned deep into his space, eyes fixed on a notebook they're both looking at, shoulders pressed firmly together.

"Oh," you say, the syllable feeling heavy and even a little clumsy in the doorway. "He's here."

Sunghoon looks up first, you hate the way his gaze is always so sharp and composed, it makes you feel like you're being cataloged. "Hey you," he says, sending a confusing jolt of memory straight to your gut.

Two weeks ago, that same voice had been whispered filthy things against the shell of your ear while Sunoo fucked his tongue into your pussy. Two weeks ago, the three of you had been a tangled breathless mess of "no regrets" and "just this once". It had been transcendent to say the least, like an explosion of heat that felt like a new experience in your relationship with Sunoo. But tonight, walking in to see the way Sunghoon's hand lingers just a second too long on Sunoo's knee as he points at something in the notebook, the "no regrets" feels like a lie you've been telling yourself.

It was the silence of the last thirteen days that did the most damage in your head, you call it the aftermath, that hazy period after the three of you had shared a bed for the first time. It was supposed to be a one time thing, a mountain you climbed together and then came back down from but while you were trying to find your footing back on solid ground, it seemed like Sunghoon had never actually left the damn mountain.

The observations started small, in these tiny pieces of a puzzle you were dreading finishing. It started with the ‘best friend’ shorthand and you only noticed it because of a stupid cup of coffee. They were sitting at the kitchen island when Sunghoon reached for Sunoo's coffee without asking, taking a sip and handing it back. It's a best friend move, sure but there was something in the way Sunghoon's eyes lingered on the rim of the cup, aiming for the exact spot where Sunoo's mouth had been, with a look of quiet satisfaction. It wasn't exactly bro energy, it almost seemed like a lingering taste of the intimacy they'd shared with you, only now Sunghoon seemed to be intentionally filtering you out of the memory.

Then came what you called the erasure, which was basically whenever three of you were in a room, Sunghoon's body language was a masterclass in subtle exclusion. He would pivot his chair or his body just a few degrees away from you, creating this closed unit with just Sunoo, he spoke in inside jokes from ages ago, weaving a web of history that you couldn't touch, like was reminding you and Sunoo that he was here first.

What came next was the look, this one really did keep you up at night. During the sex, you had been so caught up in the sensory overload from two mouths on you at the same time that you hadn't processed it. But in the quiet of your own apartment days later, you remembered how Sunghoon hadn't looked at you with the same desperation he had for Sunoo. When he touched you, it felt like he was performing for Sunoo, like he wanted Sunoo to see how good he was with you.

But when he looked at Sunoo or touched him? Oh that was different, you remember a brief moment when Sunghoon had his mouth wrapped around Sunoo's cock, working his hole with one long finger. You remember how loud he had your boyfriend moaning and whining, chasing his mouth when Sunghoon would pull back just to be a tease, you didn't have enough time to dwell on it though cause Sunoo had grabbed you and thrown you over his face, pressing you down so harshly on his mouth, his tongue frantic as his moans vibrated through you. You remember making eye contact with Sunghoon in that position before Sunoo sucked so good on your clit your eyes rolled back and that was a man looking at a life raft, there was an obvious hunger there that felt ancient and terrifying and it definitely wasn't for you.

Every time Sunoo laughed at one of Sunghoon's jokes this past week, you felt a little bit of your territory being taken. Every time Sunghoon accidentally left a shirt at the apartment, it felt like a flag being planted.

By the time you walked in tonight and saw them on the couch, the best friend label almost felt like a cruel joke. You weren't crashing out over nothing, you were watching a slow motion heist where the prize was the man you loved.

Sunoo finally beams at you, that bright cat like grin that usually melts you, but right now it feels like he's looking through you. "We're just finishing up this project for the gallery, baby. Sunghoon brought over those prints I needed."

"Right," you say, dropping your overnight bag by the door. "The prints."

You walk over and as you sit on the arm of the sofa, you notice Sunghoon doesn't even bother to pull away from Sunoo. If anything, he shifts closer, a subtle claim of territory that wasn't there before you invited him into your bed. He knows exactly what he's doing, you know he knows. He probably remembers the way your back arched under his touch two weeks ago, he probably remembers the way your face scrunched up when he made you cum all over his huge dick, calling his name in a way that stripped away every layer of your pride.

You hate to think that to him, you aren't just Sunoo's girlfriend anymore—he’s looking at you right now like a boundary he's already crossed. "You look tired, baby girl," Sunghoon says, the nickname rolling off his tongue with a terrifying ease but it hits you like a physical blow. It's a name reserved for intimacy, for the dark four walls of a bedroom, not a casual Friday night in the living room. You freeze, feeling your heart hammering against your ribs as your eyes darting instinctively to Sunoo, who doesn't even look up from the sketches. He just hums in vague agreement, a distracted smile playing on his lips as he flips a page. "He's right, you've been working too hard, baby. Come sit down."

You watch Sunghoon's smirk deepen just a fraction, a silent victory on the corner of his mouth. He definitely saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes, and he saw Sunoo's utter obliviousness—or even worse, what you’re interpreting as his permission cause by not correcting him, Sunoo has effectively handed Sunghoon the keys to the kingdom.

Sunghoon shifts, making a show of patting the small, narrow space on the cushion between him and Sunoo. It's a trap, you think, he’s daring you to squeeze in and reclaim your spot, knowing that if you do, you'll be pressed against his side just as much as Sunoo's.

"Yeah, come here," Sunghoon adds, dragging that memory of his whispered commands back to the surface of your skin. "Wanna see the prints?"

Sunoo looks back at you, his eyes bright and completely unaware of the psychological war being waged on his fucking velvet couch. "They’re really good, babe."

There’s a vibration in the air, like a low frequency hum of competition that Sunoo seems blissfully deaf to. You can feel Sunghoon's eyes on you as you slide off the arm of the sofa and press yourself into Sunoo's side, basically on his lap, your hand slides up his chest to tangle in the soft fabric of his shirt, attempting to erase the memory of last week with the reality of now.

"I missed you," you murmur, your voice shifting into that honeyed tone meant only for him.

Sunoo smiles and leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. It's soft and familiar but it sure as hell isn't enough, especially with the witness you have tonight. So you tilt your head and seek more, your tongue grazing the seam of his lips to pull him into something deeper but he flinches back just an inch and laughs as his hands come up to your waist.

"Woah, princess," he breathes, his eyes darting momentarily to Sunghoon before landing back on you with a playful reprimand. "We have company, remember?"

The rejection stings worse than the nickname does and you’re immediately flustered, it’s the way he says company as if Sunghoon hasn't seen both of you at your most vulnerable, as if he wasn't an active participant in the very thing Sunoo is suddenly acting shy about.

You feel this desperate clawing need in your chest to prove that the hierarchy hasn't shifted one bit, that Sunghoon is a guest and you are the constant. You let out a frustrated whine, as you tug at his collar, not giving him any space to breathe before swinging a leg over his, and crawling directly into his lap and kissing him again.

Sunoo's resolve breaks with a huff of surprise, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist tighter to keep you from falling. "Okay, okay," he mutters, his voice muffled against your lips, his grip tightening in a way that feels like a small win, for a minute he’s holding you and he feels like yours.

But then, you hear the sound of a page turning followed by Sunghoon's voice, devoid of any awkwardness as usual. "You're making her needy, Sunoo," Sunghoon says. You can hear the smirk in his tone, like he thinks you’re putting on a show for him. "Maybe we should finish the prints later?"

The way he says we makes your blood run cold, like he’s trying to start something, like he thinks the one time he was in your bed was an automatic invite to every single time you and your boyfriend got intimate. You scramble off Sunoo’s lap and stand to your feet with your chest heaving, "Why are you always here?" you seethe the words, "Every time I come over he’s here, Sunoo. Do you even remember what it's like to just have us? To have a night where he isn't breathing down our necks?"

Sunoo looks startled as his hands go up in a placating gesture and he rises from the sofa a little. "Baby, hey, calm down. It's just Sunghoon. He's my best friend, you know that—"

"Is he?" You whirl on Sunghoon, who hasn't moved a damn inch. He's lounging back, one arm draped over the cushions, watching you with a terrifyingly calm expression, like the look of a scientist watching a lab rat lose its mind. "Is that what we're calling it? Because I saw you, Sunghoon. I was there."

Your voice cracks and you hate the way your eyes are stinging with hot tears of frustration. "You barely even looked at me! Isn't the girl supposed to be the center of a threesome? Isn't that the point? But your eyes never even left my boyfriend! You just wanted an excuse to finally touch him, didn't you? You've been waiting for the opportunity to fuck him and you used me to get there!"

The accusation hangs in the air so heavy and ugly as you pant and wait for a denial, for Sunoo to be shocked and maybe even have an epiphany and take your side so the world can realign.

Instead, Sunghoon lets out a huffed laugh, it’s a dry sound that makes your skin crawl instantly. "Are you saying I didn't give you enough attention?" he asks, his voice is so patronizing that it makes you want to scream. He tilts his head, his eyes glinting with a cruel sort of amusement. "Is that what this is? You're upset because you weren’t the main character?"

"No—that's not—don't twist my words!" you sputter feeling backed up into a corner. You sound desperate and he knows it. "Because if I remember correctly you were screaming my name quite clearly," Sunghoon continues, ignoring Sunoo's uncomfortable "Hoon, maybe don't..." He stands up slowly, closing the distance between you until he's looming over you, forcing you to look up at him. "If you wanted me all to yourself, you should have just asked. But don't blame Sunoo because you're feeling insecure about where you fit in now."

"Sunghoon, stop," Sunoo pleads, finally stepping between you placing his hands on your waist. He's trying to pull you back and shield you but right now his touch feels like a consolation prize. "She's just tired, she didn't mean it like that."

"I did mean it!" you cry out, pushing at Sunoo's chest, your eyes fixed on Sunghoon's smug face. "He wants to steal you from me, Sunoo! He's trying to replace me!"

Sunghoon just raises an eyebrow, all mock concern. "She's hysterical. Maybe she should go lie down? I think the stress is getting to her."

This man is gaslighting you in real time, he’s painting you as the crazy girlfriend while he stands there like the loyal and mistreated friend. The worst part is that you can clearly see the doubt flickering in Sunoo's eyes as he looks at you.

It makes you shake as your vision tunnel until all you can see is the infuriating, porcelain perfect mask of Sunghoon's face. He scoffs a dismissive sound that cuts through your frantic breathing, turning his head toward Sunoo with a look of mock disbelief. "Dude, I can't believe your girlfriend is actually crashing out because I didn't give her enough attention," he says, voice dripping with a cruel and condescending pity. "Is she always this...delicate about sharing?"

The words leaving his mouth is the straw that breaks the camels back, it’s the final insult, the utter dismissal of your feelings as nothing more than a bruised ego.

"You absolute bastard!" You lunge, completely ungraceful in a blind hot burst of animalistic rage. Your fingers are hooked like claws, reaching for the curve of his jaw, ready to leave marks that no amount of gallery lighting could hide.

"Woah—hey! Stop!"

Before you can make contact, Sunoo's arms wrap around your waist, your boyfriend is stronger than he looks and without a grunt of effort he hauls you back, hoisting you up until your feet leave the plush rug. You're kicking and flailing as he hitches you over his shoulder.

"Put me down! Sunoo, let me go! He's doing this on purpose!" you shriek, your fists drumming uselessly against Sunoo's back.

From your upside down point of view, you can see Sunghoon step closer, leaning down so his face is inches from yours while you're draped helplessly over Sunoo's shoulder. He looks at you with a scary hungry glint in his eyes—the exact same look he had right before he ruined your life two weeks ago.

"Oh, poor you," Sunghoon whispers, loud enough for only you to hear the obvious sound of triumph in his voice. He reaches out with his fingers and ghosts them over the hem of your shirt with a flick. "Next time, I'll just have to fuck you harder. Maybe then you'll feel like the main character."

The audacity of this man, the way he says it right in front of Sunoo, knowing Sunoo is too busy trying to keep you from catching a domestic assault charge to hear the venom. You’re seeing red all over again. "There won't be a next time!" you scream as Sunoo starts carrying you toward his bedroom. "There is no next time, you fucking lunatic! Get out of here! Get out!"

Sunoo's grip is firm, his shoulder digging into your stomach as he carries you down the hallway. He's breathing hard, a mix of genuine distress and the sheer physical effort of containing your spiral. "My love, please, just breathe," he pleads. "You're not acting like yourself. You're scaring me a little."

He dumps you unceremoniously onto the center of his bed, but before he can even pull back to look you in the eye, the cause of all this is at the doorway. Leaning against the frame with his hands shoved into his pockets, you hate how looks perfectly unruffled, a stark contrast to your tear streaked face and Sunoo's slightly disheveled hair. He looks like he's watching a particularly entertaining film.

"She's not scary," Sunghoon says, "She's just frustrated because she doesn't know how to label what she's feeling. Right, baby girl?"

"Get out!" you scream, grabbing a decorative pillow and hurling it at him. He doesn't even flinch as it thuds against his chest and drops to the floor. "Sunoo, tell him to leave! Why is he still here?"

Sunoo looks between the two of you, his expression agonizingly torn. Sunoo isn’t as oblivious as you think he is, he's seen the way Sunghoon's eyes follow you when you aren't looking, the way Sunghoon's voice changed when he talked about that night after you'd fallen asleep. Sunoo knows this isn't just about him. It's about the fact that Sunghoon has decided he's moving in on both of you.

"Sunghoon, maybe just...give us a minute?" Sunoo asks but it's just a suggestion that the other boy completely ignores and steps fully into the bedroom, pinning you with a gaze that is suddenly honest.

"You're so fucking loud about me wanting Sunoo," Sunghoon muses, his voice low and dangerous. "And you're right. I do. I want him in every way a person can want someone. But you're too busy playing the damn victim that you can’t see what’s right in front of you."

He leans down, hands resting on his knees so he's level with you. "The real problem is that you liked it. You liked the way I looked at you—and the way I didn't. You're only throwing this tantrum because you realize that if I stay, you're never going to be satisfied with just him again."

"That's a lie," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I love Sunoo. I only want Sunoo."

Sunghoon tilts his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. He looks at Sunoo, then back to you. "You’re such a bad liar, baby girl. Tell the truth and admit what you really think about me being in this bed."

You feel suffocated with the thick scent of Sunoo's expensive candles and the sharp tang of Sunghoon's cologne. You look at Sunoo expecting to see horror on his face, expecting him to be disgusted by Sunghoon's arrogance, or at least protective of you.

Instead, you watch in real time as Sunoo's expression softens. He reaches out and takes your shaking hand in his, giving you that look that usually makes you feel like the only person in the world. But this time, it's different, it’s more…knowing.

"Baby," Sunoo whispers, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles. "Why do you think I let him stay? You really think I don’t see how he gets under your skin? How you let him?"

"Because he's your best friend and you're blind," you snap, though the bite in your voice has began to fade into a shaky uncertainty.

Sunoo shakes his head as a sweet smile spreads across his face. It's the smile of someone who has a secret they've been dying to share. "No. It's because he hasn't stopped talking about you since that night. He's obsessed with you, baby. He's not trying to take me away from you...he's just trying to find a way to stay with both of us."

Your heart stops. "You're lying. He's just saying that to get into your head, Sunoo. He's so fucking manipulative, he's—"

"I'm right here," Sunghoon interrupts, his voice is heavier now, weighted with an intensity that makes goosebumps spread across your skin. "Sunoo doesn't lie for me. He doesn't have to."

You look from Sunoo's encouraging gaze to Sunghoon's dark eyes. You want to keep fighting, you want to maintain the wall of "no, I hate him," but the wall is crumbling quickly. You're so exhausted from the rage and beneath it, there’s a raw pulsing memory of Sunghoon's touch from that night that is screaming to be felt again.

"You hate me," you whisper, but it sounds like a question now, a plea even. "I hate how clueless you are," Sunghoon corrects, stepping into the space between your knees as you sit on the edge of the bed. He reaches out and this time, he seems to hope you won’t lunge at him again. Your hands go limp from the claws they were in a moment ago. His fingers are cool as they graze your jawline, thumb hooking under your chin to tilt your face up. You look at Sunoo, one last desperate search for a reason to stop this, but Sunoo just nods and leans back against the headboard, watching the two of you with a quiet look of something that seems more like patience rather than jealousy.

As you look back at Sunghoon, the broken pieces of the last week start to come back together, forming a picture that makes your stomach drop. You had been so obsessed with the way he looked at Sunoo, so convinced you were being erased that you had become blind to the trail of breadcrumbs he’d been leaving specifically for you.

The flowers you met on Sunoo’s kitchen counter last Wednesday were from him but you thanked Sunoo so sweetly instead and neither of them had the heart to correct you, Sunghoon had watched you kiss him thank you with a little bit of hurt in his eyes. You told Sunoo he was the best when your favorite takeout order was already sitting on the table when you arrived last Friday, but it was Sunghoon who had remembered you hated cilantro.

Then, the most damning memory of all was the heat of that first night. You remember the blur of it, Sunoo’s voice thick and breathless in your ear as Sunghoon fucked into you so deliciously, your feet were kicking and you were damn near screaming as he pushed your knees further to your chest. Sunoo had asked him "Do you love this pussy, Hoon?" And Sunghoon hadn't answered with a "yes" or a grunt. He had looked you dead in your eyes, his gaze boring into yours with a sincerity that bordered of scary and rasped, "Ah—Fuck! Yes! Yes! I love it! I love her so much." You had immediately written it off as the heat of the moment, a slip of the tongue in a state of high lust. But looking at him now, you realize it was a confession. Sunghoon watches the realization dawn on your face, the way your eyes widen and your breath hitches. Finally.

He’s spent the last two weeks losing his mind, he’s a man who prides himself on precision and on getting exactly what he wants through calculated moves, but you were the one variable he couldn't solve. He had been practically screaming his intentions at you, marking your life with his presence and you had looked past him as if he were nothing more than a threat to your security.

It was maddening, every time he tried to take care of you, you praised Sunoo instead, every time he tried to catch your eye, you looked at the floor. He had started the "baby girl" comments and the territorial displays not to push you out but to force you to see him. To acknowledge that he wasn't just Sunoo’s best friend anymore—he literally belonged to you now.

He had expected you to be smart, to understand the weight of his words that night in the dark. Instead, he’d watched you spiral into a mess of insecurity and accusations of him wanting to steal what was already partly his.

His grip on your jaw tightens just a fraction, his frustration leaking through his composed exterior. He’s really tired of the games, tired of being the villain in a story where he’s trying to be the co-author.

"You’re finally catching up," Sunghoon murmurs, his eyes dropping to your mouth. "I was starting to think I’d have to be even more obvious and I don't think Sunoo’s heart could take much more of my bad behavior."

"I didn't use you to get to him. I used both of you to get exactly where I wanted to be. Right here. You are the prize, baby girl."

Sunoo slides off the headboard, moving until he’s kneeling on the mattress right beside you. He looks smaller like this, a little vulnerable too as his eyes search yours with cautious hope. He’s seen you scream, seen you lunge and seen you surrender, now he’s the one holding his breath. "Baby?" Sunoo’s voice is a whisper, his hand carefully reaching out to brush a stray hair from your damp forehead. "Do you...do you want this? Do you want us? Both of us, for real?"

The no you had been rehearsing all week is gone, dissolved by the heat of Sunghoon’s hand on your jaw and the beautiful reality of Sunoo’s devotion. You don't have the words yet, so you just nod with certainty.

Sunoo’s entire face lights up, that striking grin returning with a force that makes your heart ache. "Yeah? You mean it?"

He doesn't wait for a verbal answer before he lunges forward, capturing your lips in a messy kiss that’s all relief and pure joy. When he finally pulls away, breathless and beaming, you both look up at Sunghoon, he looks down at the two of tangled together, at the way you’re both looking at him with an invitation instead of an accusation now.

Sunghoon lets out a long breath, a hand running through his dark hair as a helpless laugh escapes him. "Fuck," he rasps, his gaze roaming over your flushed face and Sunoo’s triumph. "You’re both gonna kill me, uhn?"

Any lingering doubt instantly flies out the window the moment you’re laid back against the pillows, like your body an open book they’ve both been dying to read. You’re naked and spread out, your head lolling back as the intense wave of pleasure rolls over you.

Down below, both of them are a beautiful as they lap their tongues over your pussy. You’re moaning completely lost in the feeling as both your hands tangle in their hair, pulling them closer as they lose themselves in you and each other. Sunghoon’s mouth is a hot and demanding wrapped around your clit and sucking while Sunoo is pushing his tongue deeper into your pussy just the way he knows you like it, they switch positions but not before meeting each other’s lips mid pussy eating to kiss right over your cunt. You almost can’t believe it, you feel so lucky that the three of you have finally found a rhythm that works, and by the way Sunghoon refuses to let go of your hand even as he kisses Sunoo, you know they aren't going anywhere.

It's like a coordinated assault on your senses that’s leaving you pinned to the sheets. You're so lost in the friction that you can't even tell whose locks you're tugging on. When they finally pull back looking all flushed, the air immediately hits your damp skin with a cold shock. Sunoo doesn't move far, he crawls upward and slides his body right next to yours until his chest is pressed up against your side. He leans in, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear and when he speaks it makes your toes curl.

"Open your eyes, baby." Sunoo whispers, his hand sliding up to cup your chin and tilt your face. "Look at how much he wants you, princess. He's been a nightmare all week because he thought he’d never get you like this again."

You open your eyes and the sight of Sunghoon above you is nothing like the composed man you’ve known so far, the smug mask has been replaced with something so raw and real. He even seems to be shaking as he grabs your ankles, dragging you down the bed until you're flush against him again.

"Sunoo, move," Sunghoon commands, his voice completely stripped of its usual silk and he’s looking at you with a hunger that feels so old you just never noticed it, his eyes blown out and dark. "I can't—I need to be inside her. Now."

If you weren’t shaking so much, you’d be able to notice he’s shaking as well, his movements are lacking their usual grace as he positions his stiff cock right at your hole that won’t stop gushing, his gaze locked onto yours as if Sunoo’s words were true and Sunghoon genuinely thought he’d never get you under him again. "Tell me you're mine," he rasps, his hands sliding up to pin your wrists beside your head. "Tell me I didn't imagine any of this."

As he drives into you, the stretch is so intense you immediately shut your eyes and let out a moan, "Ohh—Fu—Sunghoon!" But Sunoo doesn’t let you keep your eyes closed for long, his lips are still pressed to your ears as he whispers again, "No, baby. You gotta keep your eyes open."

And you really do try to heed your boyfriends words but the feeling of Sunghoon getting deeper and deeper and reaching that spot that makes you lost it is way too intense, you even reach down to place a hand on his stomach to slow him down but that just earns you a grunt, "Move your fucking hand." Sunoo is right then to help him move your hand out of the way as Sunghoon sets a tempo, his hips start to roll into yours with strokes that make it impossible for you not to feel every ridge and vein of his cock against your gummy walls. He's slowly reclaiming his composure, even as his skin glistens with sweat and he watches the way your breath hitches and you let out moans in sync with his thrusts.

Sunoo however, is slowly becoming restless with each moment that passes and he’s the only one still fully clothed, you can feel it in the way his body shifts against your side, his touch becoming more frequent and more demanding, he moves from pinching your nipples to sucking on them but it’s clear he’s no longer content just being spectator. His fingers trail restlessly over your collarbone, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he finally lets out a soft impatient whine against your skin.

Sunghoon catches the movement immediately and a small, dark smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, though his focus remains locked on the way you're unraveling beneath him.

"Look at him," Sunghoon rasps, his voice vibrating deep in his chest as he pushes into you again, slow and deep. "You're both exactly the same." He says before pausing for a heartbeat, staying buried deep within your cunt as he shifts his gaze to Sunoo. Sunghoon murmurs, a trace of fond exasperation through the lust. "Always so hungry for it. Always needing to be touched."

"Oh fuck—Hooooon!" You moan out when he suddenly finds a rhythm that has you egding towards your orgasm so quickly, it’s embarrassing. "I know, baby. I know." He chuckles, slowly returning to his usual smug self, he’s clearly proud he’s gotten you so pilant under his frame. Without breaking his rhythm with you, Sunghoon reaches out and slides his hand down Sunoo's hip, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Sunoo's gray sweats and pulling them down. The sudden exposure makes your boyfriend gasp, his back arching and hips chasing Sunghoon’s hand.

"If you're going to be restless, Sunoo, at least make yourself useful," Sunghoon commands, his thrusts picking up just a fraction of speed, his eyes darting between where you’re taking his thrusts with a plap plap plap and the boy who is now also completely at his mercy. "I'm not the only one she needs to feel tonight."

Sunoo doesn't need to be told twice, with his sweats pooled around his knees, he crawls back over you, and through the blurriness of your vision you watch the last shred of his gentle boyfriend persona vanish, getting replaced by demanding hunger that catches you off guard.

He moves over you with a predatory grace, he positions his leaking red cock right at your lips and his fingers that are usually so soft when they brush hair from your eyes, are now knotted firmly at the base of your skull. He uses that grip to anchor you and pulls your head back to guide your rhythm with a dominance that makes your heart hammer against your ribs. The contrast is staggering, your sweet boyfriend who brought you tea when you had cramps and held you when you cried is now using his strength to dictate exactly how you suck his dick.

As you start sucking him the way you know he likes, he immediately lets out a high whine that somehow vibrates through your jaw. He's vocal in a way that feels unhinged, his hips even start to buck instinctively against your mouth, sending his cock deeper and deeper into the warmth of your mouth while he whimpers your name.

Sunghoon, who’s still pounding into you, watches the display with a darkened gaze. He feels the way your gummy walls squeeze him every time Sunoo's grip tightens just a little in your hair, the dual pleasure is beginning to create a sensory feedback loop that's becoming impossible to manage and it doesn’t help that Sunoo is still pinching and prodding at your over sensitive nipples.

"Fuck," Sunghoon curses, the word rips from his throat as he loses the steady rhythm he'd worked so hard to maintain. His head falls back and his throat works as he tries to keep his composure while being caught between the sight of your mouth wrapped around Sunoo and his own wet friction inside you.

Through his moans and whines, Sunoo manages a breathless chuckle but doesn't let up his grip—if anything, he pulls tighter on your hair and locks eyes with Sunghoon with a look of pure mischief.

The room is practically thick with the sound of desperate breathing and the frantic slap of skin against skin added with the squelch of your throat and lips as Sunoo uses your mouth. You are sitting right in the edge of what you know is about to be am earth shattering orgasm, your body stretched tight like a bowstring ready to snap. Sunghoon's movements have lost their calculated grace and he's now fucking into your cunt with a raw, heavy power, that has him hitting that one specific spot that makes your vision go white every time his hips collide with yours. "I—I’m so close, Hoon! Right there please!" You pull off Sunoo to moan out.

You can feel the tremors starting in his thighs, there’s a way his muscles are corded and vibrating with the effort of holding back and when one particularly deep thrust sends a jolt through you, making clench around him in a desperate vice.

"Oh shit, baby—" Sunghoon gasps, his head falling into the crook of your neck as that clench shatters his remaining restraint. He's falling over the edge very quickly and his body begins to shudder as he spills all his cum into you, pumping you full of his essence that immediately triggers yours. Your vision goes white at the edges and you suddenly go completely incoherent, babbling and screaming nonsense. "Aha! Sss—hoon, Sunoo!"

Sunoo who is still above you with his cock already starting to leak into your mouth, his knuckles have turned white where they're still knotted in your hair and his face twisted in a mask of agonized frustration. "Baby you’re gonna make me cum," he whines, his voice breaking as his hips buck his length into your mouth. "I can't—I'm so close."

Sunghoon doesn't pull away or pulled out of you, even as he's coming down from his own high, he reaches up and wraps his hand around the back of Sunoo's neck and pulls him forward. "Come here," Sunghoon commands, his voice a guttural rasp. "Right here."

Sunoo pulls out of your mouth and collapses forward, he joins Sunghoon and lets out a shattered cry as he finally lets go, the release hits him with a force that leaves him trembling against your skin, spilling his cum right over your pussy. You're caught in the middle of them, caught in the middle of two men who know just how to break you and put you back together. Sunghoon moves so suddenly, pulling back to look at you and he doesn’t look quite satisfied, he looks down at the messy evidence of their shared claim on you, and decides there and then to sweep it all together and push it back into you with two fingers. You let out a soft moan when he begins to finger you into another orgasm, you don’t know whose fingers begin to rub at your clit but from the familiarity you suspect it’s Sunoo. They both have you shaking and damn near crying from the overstimulation.

"There," Sunghoon whispers, bring his hand to your lips and tracing his thump over the line of your lower lip as he leans in to kiss you, making you taste the mix of salt and victory on his tongue.

Sunoo has already curled his body around your side and Sunghoon basically falls over you, the territorial wars and the erasures of the past week feel like a fever dream that has finally broken.

nene’s note ── not so comeback comeback, i can’t stay gone for too long. enjoy!💋

taglist i ── @fancypeacepersona @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji @gabrielinhaa @ieatwon @rialikesbts @lunacrtk @dulcetnostalgia @lovel1z @dearestdreamies @kristynaaah @rosepetals09 @c1eod1n3 @kiikiisblog @plumdove @pqrkjyx @tojiworshipper @loverseon @yazmike @ravenslocked @enhxlvr @mangoescrazy @hees-h0e @stayalittlelonger143

© nephynes 2025

all works are pieces of original fiction, do not repost, translate, or adapt without explicit permission.

[nephynes]

UNDONE ── .✦ jake sim one shot

To everyone else, you’re Jake’s girlfriend and picture of innocence—soft spoken, always with a smile, the type to bake cookies and kiss him goodbye on the cheek. His friends are sure he’s not getting what he needs, and they don’t hold back their advice for him to cheat, flirt, find someone who’ll actually put out. Jake doesn’t even bother correcting them, cause not only are they wrong, they’re wildly off the mark.

nsfw warnings: SMUT, toxic male friendship dynamics, back-talking, gaslighting, multiple rounds of sex, overstimulation, oral (m & f receiving), creampie, fingering, light breathplay, praise kink, mild degradation, anal play (established dynamic), light powerplay, hair pulling, dirty talk, cockwarming, light possessiveness, squirting, soft dom/sub elements, and begging.

wc ── 7.9k

Jake Sim is...hard to explain.

If you ask around, you'll hear a thousand different versions. Jake Sim is hot. Jake Sim is an asshole. Jake Sim is the sweetest guy you'll ever meet. Jake Sim is the guy who'll flirt with you all night, fuck you into the mattress, and then forget your name before the sun even rises. Jake Sim is a player, a charmer, he's the guy everyone warns everyone about always a little too late.

And to be honest? they're not exactly wrong. Jake is the kind of guy who makes a mess just to see if someone else will clean it up. The kind who smiles like he knows all the answers to everything and doesn't care to share them. Jake's never had to try hard for anything—not attention, not girls, not the kind of casual popularity that clings to people like him for no reason other than sheer gravity.

He floats through life on charm and instinct, making trouble look too effortless.

Well, not until you.

You never belonged in Jake's world, like not even a little bit. You didn't chase parties or post thirst traps. You weren't loud, or flashy, or easy to figure out. But you were soft spoken and self contained, always in those oversized knit sweaters and delicate little necklaces. You said "pardon?" instead of "what," and you never once looked at Jake like you wanted anything from him. In fact you never looked at him at all.

Maybe that's why he couldn't stop staring, because you didn't orbit around him like everyone else did. You truly just existed in your own world and you didn't give a toss that he was attractive in the way that made people act stupid. You were genuinely kind, irritatingly kind Jake would say, and it made him feel like a walking glitch in your perfect little universe.

He was the kind to ghost girls. You were the kind to remember everyone's birthdays. He blew off midterms sometimes. You sent people your notes when you noticed they weren't in class.

You weren't his type in any sense and he sure as hell wasn't yours. But that didn't stop him from going after you anyway.

It didn't stop the way he'd linger outside the library when he knew you were in there, with his eyes low and his fingers twitching. It didn't stop him from getting your number from someone he'd never even spoken to in his life but he saw them speak to you once and that was enough for him. It didn't stop whatever this became—this quietly consuming, slow burn kind of obsession that made Jake Sim, the most unserious, nonchalant boy in the world, go dead serious when it came to you.

So dead serious that he made you his girlfriend quicker than you could think to even consider saying no, and goddamn if you didn't love him and the intensity of it all too.

The promise ring he asked you to be his girlfriend with was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. You remember how red in the face he was, a little awkward too, holding out a tiny velvet box.

You'd slipped it on without hesitation, and now it lives on your finger, always warm from your skin and twirled endlessly whenever you're anxious or shy or thinking a little too hard. Jake watches you do it sometimes when you're talking to him, or even when you're not. It makes his chest tight in the best way possible.

You're still not officially living with him. But your things are everywhere, all over his apartment. Your makeup clutters the edge of his bathroom sin, your slippers sit beside his sneakers at the front door, your clothes even hang in his closet, slowly but surely taking over, and your lacey panties end up in his laundry pile more often than not—a discovery Jake reacts to every time like it's Christmas morning.

He swears he loves it, all of it, all of you.

He loves the way you hum to yourself when you cook, loves how you taste everything off the spoon and make him do the same thing. He loves waking up to the smell of something sweet in the oven, loves hearing you sing along to songs you think he can't hear from the other room. He loves the softness you bring into his space, it’s like his whole apartment exhales when you're in it.

And right now, he's trying not to smile like an idiot as you leave the tray of cookies fresh from the oven on the coffee table for him and his friends, they’re still warm and rich with the scent of vanilla and browned butter. The boys dive in immediately, tearing into them like they've been starving all day.

"Dude," Sunghoon mumbles with his mouth full. "What does she put in these?"

"Crack," Heeseung says, reaching for another. "Crack cocaine, I’m so damn sure."

Jake just smirks, watching you tidy up in the kitchen with your hair pulled back, phone in hand before heading toward the living room again, eyes already on him.

"I'm heading to the mall with my friends," you tell him sweetly, swinging your purse over your shoulder and leaning down to kiss one cheek, then the other. "Don't eat all the cookies before I get back." You tell them even though you know it’ll all be gone by the time you’re back.

Jake smiles up at you. "No promises."

You glance at the guys. "Enjoy, boys."

"Thanks, sweetheart," Sunghoon replies automatically, and Heeseung raises his cookie in salute.

The door to the apartment shuts behind you and the silence gets loaded.

Jake barely has time to reach for another cookie before Heeseung squints at him over the edge of his glass and says, "Okay but like...how often do you jerk off?"

Jake blinks. "What?"

"You know," Heeseung gestures vaguely. "When she's not around. Or even when she is. Like, how bad's the drought?"

Jake frowns. "What are you even—"

"Come on dude. She bakes, she cleans, she kisses your cheeks like a fucking disney character," Sunghoon says, shaking his head like he's genuinely concerned. "And she's got you wearing a promise ring, bro. Be serious."

Jake raises an eyebrow.

"She's your girlfriend, not your chastity coach," Heeseung adds, mouth full. "It's okay to like her, man. Be whipped or whatever, but every guy's got needs." He does air quotes with his fingers at whipped.

"Exactly," Sunghoon nods. "You're telling us you haven't cracked once? Eight months and she's still playing house instead of playing with your dick?"

Jake laughs.

It's low and easy as he tosses a cookie up in air, catching it in his mouth like he doesn't have a care in the world. "You guys don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Oh, come on—"

He doesn't let them finish.

Just shrugs, wipes a crumb off his jeans, and leans back against the couch cushions with that same frustratingly calm grin. Not confirming anything or denying either and definitely not offering a damn thing more.

And maybe that's what gets them most. Sunghoon is about to continue with his drilling but the apartment door bangs open and Jay barrels in like he was trying to break the door open.

"I had to park three fucking blocks away—why are there so many delivery trucks on your str—" He stops question when he spots the half empty cookie tray and Jake's face. "Ah. What’s going on?"

Heeseung and Sunghoon exchange a look that says perfect timing.

Sunghoon jerks a thumb toward Jake. "We're staging an intervention. Lover boy here claims he hasn't touched himself for eight months because little miss betty boop apparently doesn't—"

"Dude," Jake warns, voice flat.

Heeseung dives in anyway. "We're just saying every guy's got needs, and she's not exactly—" he twirls a hand, searching for a polite word and failing—"open access."

Jay slumps into the couch slowly, suddenly wary. "Okay, first? Why is this our business? Second, she literally did my laundry when I was half dead with the flu last month. She's an angel—"

"Exactly," Sunghoon interrupts, irritated that Jay isn't backing him. "She's too angelic. Jake's basically wasting away. I know a girl who wouldn't care that you’re taken—she'll rock your fucking world, no strings."

Jay's eyebrows shoot up. "Bro, are you actually telling him to cheat? That's fucked up."

Heeseung waves him off. "Look, pastor Jay, spare us the sermon. We’re being practical."

Jay crosses his arms. "Practical? Or fucking sleazy?"

Sunghoon's jaw tics. "Fine, keep your halo. I'm trying to help our boy here."

"Help?" Jay snorts. "You're insinuating his girlfriend's a prude and pushing him toward some side piece because you can't fathom a relationship that isn't twenty-four/seven fucking."

Heeseung lets out a low laugh. "Prude? She's sweet, yeah—but let's be real, she's a little stuck-up. Bet she makes him say please and thank you before he even—"

"Enough."

His voice isn't loud, but it's close to lethal and it make the room still. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on Heeseung. "Don't talk about my girlfriend like that."

The silence is as thick as caramel.

Heeseung opens his mouth, thinks better of it and just shrugs instead. Sunghoon raises both hands in a mock surrender. "All right, all right. We're just looking out for you, man."

Jake sits back, expression unmoving except for the tight belt of muscle along his jaw. "Appreciate the concern but drop it."

Jay exhales, tension easing from his shoulders as he snags a cookie. "Cool. Crisis averted. Let's talk about literally anything else—basketball, stocks, the weather—"

But the mood has unfortunately shifted too far. Under the warm scent of sugar and butter, something colder threads the air, like a line drawn or a warning given.

Jake breaks off a crumb, flicks it onto the tray, and doesn't say another word.

The hangout's pretty much dead, even though they try to shift the conversation, try to joke but nothing lands. Not with Jake sitting there, stiff as a statue, jaw tight, barely looking up. Heeseung's chewing slower, the cookies don't taste as good anymore, and Sunghoon keeps checking his phone like there's somewhere else he needs to be.

Because there is.

Anywhere but here that’s for sure.

Jake's not even yelling, but does he have to? The way he's gone quiet should be enough. He's not laughing at their dumb jokes, not biting back with sarcasm like usual. He’s just sitting there on his own couch like he doesn't even recognize it.

Jay finally clears his throat. "Uh...I should probably get going. Early shift tomorrow."

Heeseung stands. "Yeah. Same." He doesn’t even have a job.

Sunghoon mumbles something about traffic, already halfway to the door. No one says it, but they all feel it, feel the vibe shot and Jake's silence holding the smoking gun.

Jay lingers a little longer near the door. He glances back, eyes softer than before. "Hey...sorry, man. I’m sure they didn't mean for it to go there."

Jake doesn't look at him. Just rubs the heel of his palm into one eye. "Yeah. Whatever."

Jay nods once and doesn't push. The door clicks shut behind them, and Jake's left alone in the quiet. He slumps back on the couch, eyes drifting to the half empty cookie tray on the coffee table.

You made those for them.

And they still had the audacity to talk about you like that. To reduce you to some outdated stereotype of some sweet, doting, sexless girlfriend he must clearly be suffering through.

The door creaks open a moment later, and you waltz bouncing with happiness, arms overflowing with shopping bags. You toe off your shoes at the door, grin still plastered on your face as you make your way inside, the scent of your perfume trailing behind you like sunshine.

"Babyyy," you call out cheerfully. "You will not believe the sale I hit today."

You find him on the couch, slouched deep into the cushions, hoodie up, face shadowed by the TV glow and a silence that immediately makes you feel like something is wrong.

Your grin falters. "Jake?"

He turns his head toward you, offers a weak smile that’s just a twitch of his lips, not the real one that crinkles his eyes and melts your stomach.

You pause at the edge of the couch, looking at him, then the table, at the cookie tray that’s half full. There’s not a crumb in sight on the cushions or floor, which is odd because the boys always devour them like wolves.

Your heart sinks a little.

Something is wrong.

Without a word, you gently set your shopping bags down and crawl into his lap, settling your weight carefully over him, but his hands stay limp at his sides. He doesn't even tuck them around your waist like he always does. Doesn't nose into your neck or murmur a "missed you."

You touch his face, frown deepening. "Jakey..." you whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Talk to me. What happened? You were fine when I left."

He shrugs once and his eyes stay distant, so you lean in and kiss his cheek, then the other, then his forehead, then the corner of his mouth but still nothing.

You press a soft slow kiss to his lips and his eyes flutter shut for a second.

He finally breathes out a sigh at that, like you've loosened something that was wrapped too tight in his chest.

"Just..." he mumbles, pulling you in by the waist now, finally holding you, finally here with you. "Some stupid shit with the boys."

You lean your forehead against his. "Hmm…what kind of stupid?"

He shakes his head, exhaling through his nose, jaw still ticking. "Doesn't matter."

"It matters if it makes this face," you say, gently pinching his pout. "Talk to me, baby."

He sighs again, but this time it's softer and a little less bitter. For a second, he just holds you, arms snug around your waist, your fingers in his hair, the scent of fresh cookies and the ghost of something ugly lingering in the air between you.

But at least you're here now and he’s already starting to feel better.

"They were just..." He swallows, jaw clenched. "Saying shit. About you. About us."

You pull back just a little, just enough to look into his eyes, head tilting softly. "Like what?"

He doesn't answer at first, he just presses his lips together like the words taste unpleasant on his tongue.

"That you're too sweet," he says finally. "Too innocent. That I must be struggling. That I'm not getting...what I need." He can't even say the rest while looking at you so his gaze drops to your collarbone. "Sunghoon even suggested that I should cheat. That he knew some girl who wouldn't care if I had a girlfriend."

“Jay was different though, he wasn’t having any of it.”

Your breath stutters just a little, but it’s enough that he notices and enough that it makes his stomach drop.

There it is—your face crumpling, it’s not dramatic, it’s like your heart folded in on itself for a second, and you're working quickly to iron it flat again.

Jake hates himself for putting that look there.

But then—God, your smile. It comes immediately after and it’s soft and unshaken.

"That's really shitty," you say, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. "But it doesn't matter what they think."

Jake's eyes flick up, searching yours for any signs of insincerity.

"You know that's not true," you continue. "Right?"

He nods, slowly. "Of course I do."

"Then that's all that matters," you whisper. You lean in and kiss his forehead again, warm and reassuring. "Maybe you just need to reevaluate your little bro club. Pick the ones who don't suggest cheating on your girlfriend over cookies she baked for them."

Jake exhales a breath of a laugh, tension starting to ease from his shoulders.

You smile again, a little sly this time. "Honestly, I always liked Jay more than the rest, anyway."

Jake huffs through his nose. "Yeah?"

You nod. "He defended my honor. What a man."

Jake finally smiles, real and wide and completely helpless. "I love you."

"I know, baby. I love you too." You kiss the corner of his mouth. "Now help me carry in all my bags. I got new panties." You say and push off him and that shuts him up fast, he’s already standing and following you into the bedroom like a possessed man, with eyes that gleam and hands that twitch, absolutely thrilled to see what you spent his money on.

You're already pulling out bags, giggling as you place each one on the bed like a dramatic little fashion show.

"Okay, ready?" you ask, grinning as you kneel on the mattress, surrounded by tissue paper, paper bags and receipts.

He flops down beside you, eyes wide, nodding like this is the first time you’ve done this, it’s not.

You hold up a dainty little silk top. "Cute, right?"

"That’s so hot, princess."

Followed by a miniskirt. "Too short?"

"No such thing."

He leans back on the bed, hands behind his head, watching you with an easy smile as you sift through your shopping bags, showing him more of what you got. He doesn't even bother hiding how proud he is watching you flaunt everything you bought.

You hold up a cute little white dress next. "This one was kinda expensive..."

Jake hums, eyes raking over you. "Worth every cent if you're wearing it."

You snort, but you're smiling as you slip it over your head. You smooth the fabric down and twirl once. "Do I look like someone's sugar baby?"

"You are someone's sugar baby," Jake grins, "you just cook too well for it to be obvious."

You giggle, tugging the hem down before sighing. "Okay, I'm not about to stain this with lipstick or lotion—hold on."

You casually peel the dress back off and toss it onto a nearby chair, standing fully naked in front of him without a second thought.

He lets his gaze drag slowly down your body, the same way it always does when you’re naked in his presence, so lazy but heated and familiar. Like he knows every inch of you by heart and never gets tired of seeing it.

"C'mere," he says, voice so deep, you already know what’s on his mind and you barely take a step before he's already got his hands on your waist, pulling you into his lap so he can have you straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck, and he just leans in, pressing his face into your skin, right at the curve of your neck.

"You always smell so fucking good," he tells you, lips brushing your collarbone. "And you're warm."

"I'm always warm," you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair.

He grins into your skin. "Yeah. Especially when you're on top of me like this, titties in my face and everything."

His lips trail along your collarbone, soft and slow, and his hands stay steady at your waist, thumbs pressing into the dip of your back, holding you in place

You sigh when he kisses your neck, just below your ear, and he feels the way your body softens in his lap, you're melting just for him.

He nips your jaw, then lower, moving his mouth down your throat, so warm and unhurried, open mouthed kisses skating down your chest until he reaches one of your breasts, wrapping his lips around it with a low groan like he's finally getting something he's been craving all day.

You arch into him instinctively, fingers curling in his hair as his tongue swirls around your nipple—lazy at first, then firmer and hungrier.

"Jake," you whisper, breath catching a little.

He hums against you, sucking slow and deep, one hand sliding up to cup the other side, thumb circling with the same rhythm his mouth sets.

Your hips shift without meaning to grind down unto him, and he catches that too, cock already hard beneath you.

"I’m so fucking in love with you," he mumbles into your skin, kissing across your chest to the other side.

His mouth stays wrapped tightly around your nipple, sucking on it so hard you moan a little, then he continues trailing wet kisses over your chest, his lips drag down your sternum before slipping one of his hands between your thighs. He's lazy about it at first, tracing idle circles against the inside of your thigh, like he's in no rush, or like he doesn't already feel how warm and wet you are sitting right on top of him.

You shift your hips, needing more, trying to grind down on him, but Jake just smiles against your skin. "Getting needy already, baby?" he murmurs, moving your panties to the side with two fingers, knuckles brushing deliberately light against your folds, teasing. "You're already wet," he mutters, almost to himself. His thumb grazes just barely over your clit, featherlight. "You know what that does to me?"

You whine and he grins like he's won something. But then his grin falters when you grab his wrist and hold it still.

Your voice is soft. "Jake."

He glances up at you.

"Stop teasing."

Before he can say anything back, you push firmly at his chest with both hands and he lets you. Lets himself fall back onto the mattress with a small gasp of surprise that turns into a breathless laugh.

"Shit," he laughs under his breath, one arm behind his head now, the other resting on your thigh. "You don't even let me pretend I'm in control anymore, huh?"

You raise a brow as you settle over him properly, your hands moving down his torso, nails dragging just enough to make him tense.

He bites his lip, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, already drunk on the way you’re naked above him and so sure of what you want.

Jake's always had game. He's had his fun, knew what it meant to chase and win. But with you? With you, it's never been a game.

Your palm works him over his cock through his sweats, slow and deliberate, your thumb catching the outline of him through the fabric just right, and Jake's head tips back into the pillow with a strangled sound, breath hitching like he absolutely cannot help it.

"F–fuck," he whimpers, hips twitching up into your hand. "I love you. I'm so in love with you."

You lean down, nuzzling your nose against his cheek, voice soft and syrupy as you coo, "Yeah? You love me, Jakey?"

He nods fast, his chest rising and falling hard beneath you, completely gone for you already, and you hum sweetly like you're proud of him, almost like you're indulging a boy who's trying so hard to be good.

You tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, just enough to free his cock, and he lifts his hips obediently, still panting.

And when you finally pull him out, your eyes widen.

"Oh my god," you gasp, like you haven't seen him a hundred times before.

Jake lets out a breathless laugh, flushed and glowing with affection. "You do that every time," he grins.

You wrap your hand around him, giving one firm, languid stroke, eyes still fixed in reverence. "It shocks me every time."

Jake groans, both hands flying up to grip your hips now cause he needs to hold on to something, as if the worship in your voice is just as dangerous as your touch.

"Baby," he breathes, already dizzy, "please..."

His hands tighten on your hips. "My heart," he says, breathless but steady, "can you sit on it for me?"

Your brows lift in teasing surprise. "You asking nicely now?"

He leans up, kisses the swell of your breast before dragging his mouth to your neck. "Please," he murmurs against your skin.

You giggle, glancing down between your bodies where he's hard and leaking pre cum against your stomach. You drag your fingers over his tip and grin when he twitches. "Jakey, I don't know...it's so big. Not sure I can take it."

He lets out a full bodied groan and his hands shoot up to cover his face like your words physically broke something in him. "Fuck—don't say that."

You laugh, warm and wicked, and reach down to line him up with your pussy.

He peeks through his fingers at you, eyes dark and glassy. "You know what that does to me."

You lean in, kiss his jaw and whisper, "I do, baby." Slowly sinking yourself down on his cock, and Jake's mouth falls open around a gasp so needy it makes your stomach flip.

All his confidence and playboy charm melts into raw want for you. And you know he wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world, so when you settle fully on him with you clit nearly brushing his pubic bone, you gasp at the stretch like it's brand new, even though he's been inside you more times than you can count.

Jake watches with blown pupils, biting down on a groan as your walls flutter around him. You're breathless, clutching his shoulders, eyes glazed and already starting to tremble from how deep in your cunt he hits.

But it's still you who says it first, voice all sweet, whiny, and almost demanding. "Please fuck me, Jakey."

That’s truly all he needs and he doesn’t even hesitate, his hands lock under your thighs and he drives his cock up into you, fucking you from below with a pace so sharp it knocks the air from your lungs. The slap of skin on skin fills the room instantly, his hips pistoning up into yours like he's making up for every second he ever spent apart from you.

You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, clinging to him as your head tips back. “Oh!—Just like that, baby!”

"You take me so well," he pants, staring up at you with so much love and adoration. "Always do. So fucking good for me."

You can't even answer cause with every snap of his hips, your body jerking helplessly every time he hits that spot inside you just right and you're jus too far gone, moaning as your thighs start to tremble,

Your moans get higher, needier, and Jake just holds you tighter, fucking you harder like he knows you're getting close. “Ah—Shit! I love this pussy—I love you.”

And the you whimper his name in that high pitched tone, he already knows what’s coming.

"Jake...Jake, please..." He groans, lifting his whole body and head to kiss you through it, breath hot and desperate against your mouth.

His hand slips between your bodies without thinking too much, fingers finding that sensitive little clit and the moment he starts rubbing tight, practiced circles into it, your whole body jolts, your hips stutter as well as your breath.

"Jake—" you cry out, the sound thin and wrecked as your orgasm nears.

"I've got you," he says, voice husky and strained as he keeps thrusting up into you. "Come on, baby. Cum for me."

Your eyes roll back, mouth falling open as your walls clamp down hard around his cock. You never had a shot, not with his cock so deep and thick inside you, not with his fingers rubbing so deliciously at your clit.

Your orgasm slams into you with a force that makes your back arch and your nails dig into his shoulders, shaking as pleasure floods your veins. “Oh my—F-Fuck! Jake! I’m cumming! I’m cumming for you!”

You're moaning his name like it's the only word you know, clenching around him so tight he practically growls.

"Fuck—you're so tight—" Jake's hands grip your hips, fingers digging in. "Gonna cum, baby—gonna fill you up—"

He snaps his hips up one, two, three more times before burying himself deep with a sharp gasp, thick ropes of cum spilling inside you as he lets out a low, trembling groan against your shoulder. “Just like that, take it baby.”

His whole body tenses, as he continues to fuck his cum deeper into your pussy, before melting beneath you and wrapping his arms around your waist cause he needs to come back to earth.

You sit there on his cock, fucked out with your body is still twitching from aftershocks, then he sits up presses a soft kiss to your collarbone and speaks, almost dazed, "I love you. You know that right?."

Your chest heaves just like his as you try to catch your breath as well, your skin is dewy and flushed, thighs still trembling slightly where they cradle his hips. Jake lies beneath you, hair stuck to his forehead and completely ruined and glowing in the aftermath.

His cock stays buried inside you, still thick but it’s starting soften and warm from his and your cum.

Jake's eyes are barely open when you start to move again, just with slow and lazy rolls of your hips, like you're testing him, like you already miss the stretch. His eyes snap up to meet yours, wide and glassy.

"Baby..." he rasps, voice rough with the tail end of his orgasm. "Again?"

You nod, bottom lip between your teeth, hands planted firmly on his chest as you grind your hips just right. He twitches inside you, not fully hard yet again, but your walls squeeze around him like you're coaxing him back to life.

"Need you hard again, baby." You whisper, a little whine slipping into your voice. "Want more."

Jake actually groans but his hands flying to your waist regardless, it’s not to stop you, it’s to anchor himself.

"You're insatiable," he mutters, head dropping back on the pillow. "You know that?"

You giggle breathlessly, grinding down again. "But you like it, don’t you?"

He laughs, weak but wrecked, already feeling himself swell inside you again. "Fuck, of course I do, you know I do."

He’s already giving in, letting you use him, letting you move how you want, letting you chase what you need. Because you always take what you want from him and Jake fucking lives for it.

His finger squeeze your waist as your hips keep rocking against him, slow but hungry and so greedy, so fucking sweet about it, whining for more when he's still soft and sensitive. It has his head spinning.

"God, you're gonna kill me," he groans, voice low and shaky.

But you just smile down at him, hips grinding insistently, eyes all sparkly with mischief and need.

That's what does it.

He sits up with a sudden growl and grabs your thighs, flipping you onto your back in one smooth quick motion that makes you squeal and giggle. Before you can protest, he's sliding your leg up, hooking it over his shoulder and settling between your thighs again, his cock already twitching back to life as it presses against your slick pussy.

"Since you don't know when to stop..." he mutters, leaning over you, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot against your lips, "guess I'll have to fuck it out of you."

You gasp, fingers digging into his arms as he ruts forward slowly, stretching you out and you're still so wet and swollen around him from your first orgasm that he slips right back in. A shaky moan tumbles from your lips as he bottoms out, and Jake watches your face melt with satisfaction.

"There she is," he breathes, cupping your jaw. "Always so ready for me."

You try to sass him, you open your mouth with something smug, but then he draws his hips back and slams back in deep, and all you can do is cry out and clutch at his arms. “Jake! Fuck!”

He grins. "Yeah? You like that, baby?"

With your leg slung over his shoulder, every thrust drives his cock in at a perfect, punishing angle, he’s so deep it punches the air from your lungs, makes your head tilt back and your fingers claw down his back.

"Yes Jake—"

He groans low at the sound of his name from your lips, fucking in harder and rougher now, one hand gripping your thigh, the other pressing down beside your head.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, voice wrecked and breathless. "You feel so good—so tight, still?"

You're barely holding on, moaning so high and needy with your eyes fluttering. "Because I want you all the time," you whisper, drunk on the stretch and the rhythm of him. "Wanna fuck all the time."

Jake curses, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. "That's fucking insane," he gasps, his hips jerking for a moment. "You're—Fuck."

You hold him tighter, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as your leg slips from his grip, both feet now planted flat so you can rock up to meet every thrust. Your mouths meet in a messy kiss, full of panting breaths and whispered "I love you"s between the moans as he fucks you into the sheets.

You gasp, "Oh baby, please don't stop," he just nods frantically, already lost in you all over again.

His thrusts slow as he feels your body start to tighten again, that telltale tremble of both your orgasms building. You're gasping his name, legs shaking on either side of his hips, hands gripping at his arms so hard he’s sure you’re gonna leave marks.

"That's it, baby," he pants, breath hot against your cheek as he presses his forehead to yours. "You gonna cum for me again? I can feel it—fuck, you're squeezing me so tight—"

Your nails dig into his shoulders and your voice breaks. "Jake—Jake—I'm—"

He doesn't let up his thrust, he continues to fuck his cock into your cunt deeper and faster. "Make you cum for me. Let me feel it."

Your back arches, mouth falling open in a soundless cry, and then it hits again and your whole body jolts as you gush your release around him, warmth flooding between your legs. Jake groans, deep and raw, watching you as it happens.

"Holy shit, baby—look at you," he breathes, eyes glued to where your bodies meet. His fingers slip down instinctively, sliding through the mess of cum and squirt and pushing two inside you with ease, curling them so deep, you jerk under him, overstimulated, crying out, but he's grinning like he's the one being worshipped.

"Yeah baby," he rasps, fucking his fingers into your cunt so fast and deep, he's coaxing out every last tremble, every aftershock. "You're so fucking perfect—fuck, I love when you do that."

You're whining, twitching beneath him, but not stopping him either and he knows you won't, especially when you don't even pause to catch your breath. You're already pushing up, hands slipping against his sweat-slick skin, eyes glassy and blown wide with lust.

"Baby—" he starts, but you're pushing him on his back again and wrapping your mouth around his cock in one desperate and hungry motion.

Jake chokes on a moan, his head falling back with a thud against the pillow. "F—fuck, baby..."

You're still shaking from your own orgasm, but your mouth sucks him so good with your lips stretched wide and your eyes fluttering shut as you take his cock deeper in your throat that tightens around him. He's still wet from you, slick and throbbing on your tongue, and the mix of it all makes your head spin.

"Jesus—shit," Jake growls, both hands fisting in your hair as he begins thrusting into your throat, fast and controlled, his hips twitching as he groans through his teeth.

"You're—fuck—you're gonna make me cum," he breathes, voice strained, eyes locked on the obscene sight of you between his legs with your cheeks hollowed, looking so fucking pretty even now.

You hum around him, fingers digging into his thighs for balance, tears prickling at your lashes as he hits the back of your throat again and again. He swears under his breath, tightening his grip in your hair, one hand cupping the back of your head as he starts to move a little rougher, chasing that high you're dragging out of him like it's yours.

"Fuck—just like that—don't stop—don't—"

"Y/n—Baby." He groans, jerking into your mouth as he cums hard, hips stuttering, holding your head down on him while he spills down your throat.

His hands fall away, and you finally pull back, swallowing his cum with a soft gasp. Your lips are swollen and your cheeks are flushed but you're smiling up at him cause to you, you've done nothing out of the ordinary.

"Holy shit," he whispers, grinning up as you flop half on top of him and on the bed.

His skin is warm, still damp from sweat, and his voice is soft and sweet when he starts talking.

"We should go to the farmer's market tomorrow," he says through breaths, turning his face toward you with a sleepy smile. "Get that jelly you like. Maybe brunch after...or just come back and stay in bed all day."

You hum in agreement, eyes half-lidded as you turn to face him. "Mhm. That sounds perfect."

He's still talking, "We could also check out that new restaurant you wanted to try—" Then he feels your leg slides over his, bare skin gliding against his thigh as you spread yourself open beside him. His voice stutters, pauses, but he doesn't think much of it until your hand finds his.

Still speaking so sweetly, like he doesn't even notice what's happening, Jake continues, "And maybe get stuff for dinner too. We could try that new reci—"

You take his hand and slowly guide it down your stomach, between your thighs...but instead of stopping on your pussy like he expects, you slide his fingers just a little further back.

He stops talking and his brows knit. "Wait..." he breathes, lifting himself onto one elbow to look down at where you're gently positioning him, not quite shy, but quiet.

"Oh?" His voice lifts a little, soft and surprised, fingers frozen in place.

"Here?" he asks, tilting his head, eyes searching your face.

You nod, biting your lip, pupils wide, cheeks heated, just the tiniest bit nervous but far more excited. Jake's heart patters at the sight.

He blinks, then lets out the softest, most reverent little, "Fuck," as his fingers twitch against your hole.

He goes still for a second before glancing down at you with a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jake huffs a soft laugh, rubbing his fingers gently where you've placed him. "You really want that again?"

Your lips part in a quiet sigh. "Mhm. Haven't stopped thinking about it."

He grunts in his throat, already adjusting his position to hover over you, his hand still between your thighs. "God, baby...you're unbelievable."

"Please," you whisper.

Jake leans down, kissing your neck with a grin. "Okay, baby."

Jake does exactly what you ask without question, without teasing this time, without dragging it out. Just the steady glide of his fingers, slick with you, working your hole open with practiced care. He knows what you like now. Knows how to curve them just right, how much pressure to apply, when to slow down and when to ruin you.

You're shaking under him, body arching, fists gripping at the sheets. Your eyes flutter back and your mouth falls open but no real words are coming out, just breathy, broken sounds that melt into helpless little moans.

"Fuck, princess," Jake breathes, watching your face like he's obsessed. "Look at you."

You're drooling and you don't even care. Your brain's gone soft and syrupy, babbling nonsense, hiccupping between whines. "So full...s'too good, Jake— I—"

"You can," he murmurs, curling his fingers deeper. "You asked for it, baby."

You whimper hard at that, thighs squeezing around his hand.

Jake leans down, kissing your jaw, your ear, whispering all the filth you crave like praise. "My pretty girl. So greedy for me, huh? Couldn't even wait. Got your fill twice and now you want more."

"Need it," you mewl, "need you— please, please—"

"You have me," he says, voice thick devout as he strokes his own cock back to life, and pushes it in your hole just enough to have you gasping again, moaning as your body clenches hard around his cock.

His thrusts start slow, so deep into you and deliberate, loving the way you squeeze around him and trying not to lose it too fast. Every push forward is a grind of his hips and a filthy exhale against your skin.

But then he hears that sweet little whine you make and he feels your fingers dig into his back, he loses all his patience.

"That's it, baby," His voice is shaking. "Doing so good."

Then his pace starts to speed up, his hips snap harder and sharper. Each thrust makes the pressure mount, your breath hitching as your body rocks forward with every stroke. He holds you firmly, one hand pressing into the mattress, the other one at your hip—dragging you down so his cock can slide deeper and deeper into your ass.

The drag of him against your walls is so intense, even his hips are starting to jerk erratically in their movements, his body slick with sweat, every nerve in him frayed and completely on fire, but he doesn't stop. He can't. Not when you're shaking like this beneath him with tears in your eyes from how good he’s fucking you, so good that you're clawing at him.

He's already come twice and his body sore and overstimulated, but none of it matters cause he has to make you cum one time.

"C'mon, princess," he pants into your neck, his voice is bordering on a little whimper now, "need you to cum for me—give it to me, yeah?"

You nod, your fingers digging into his back. "Jake—I'm—I'm close—"

"I know," he says, sliding a hand between your bodies, thumb immediately circling your clit just the way he knows you like it as he continues to fuck your ass faster and harder, his rhythm never faltering even when his whole body twitches from the overstimulation.

"Fuck—!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut, thighs locking around him.

Jake moans when he feels you start to clench again, the grip of your body making him curse into your skin. "That's it. Just like that. Be good for me, baby—cum for me."

Your body listens to him and you cum so hard and loud, you’re nearly sobbing through it, your whole body shaking as you gush your release around him again.

Jake groans like he's in pain and pleasure all at once, overstimulated out of his mind but still working his thumb through your orgasm, riding it out with you, whispering, "That's my girl. So good for me. So good."

He's trembling too, face buried in your neck, still inside you, still twitching, but all he cares about is the way you're still falling apart in his arms.

"You've got one more in you," Jake whispers, lips brushing your cheek. "I know you do. Be good for me, baby. Just one more, yeah?"

You're still shaking with how hard your third orgasm just rocked you, but you nod, because you know he knows exactly how to touch you that’ll have that fourth orgasm he wants dragged it out of you.

"You know," he says, lips curling into something darker, "the guys still think you're some sweet little thing who doesn't even let me touch her."

Your eyes snap open.

"They really think I'm suffering over here. Poor Jake, dating the world's most innocent girl," he chuckles in your ear, his fingers pressing harder, cock thrusting faster and faster just the way you need. "Wonder what they'd say if they saw you like this."

"Jake—" you gasp, nails raking down his back. "Don't— don't say that—"

"Why not?" he groans, barely holding on himself. "Look at you. Fucking soaked for me. Begging me to fuck your ass. Taking my cock like this—over and over."

You're gone, completely unraveling under him with your hips bucking, your back arching and a scream caught in your throat as you fall apart, wet and messy and uncontrollable.

Jake watches it all with a dark, fucked out smile, his lips on your cheek as he whispers, "Yeah...real fucking innocent, huh?" His words slam into you like a wave. You arch off the bed, fingers tangling in the sheets, mouth falling open in an enraptured cry.

"Fuck!" you sob, hips bucking involuntarily around his hand and his cock. "Oh god—Jake—"

You're shuddering and everything going white at the edges, and then you cum again, for the fourth time. You squirt around his fingers and cock again, every muscle spasming as you cry out his name again and again, lost in the release.

Jake drops his mouth right where you’re squirting so he can get some into his mouth and suck down on your clit, to guide you through each quaking wave. One of his hands trails back to finger your ass while the other one strokes his cock until he cums into the sheets.

“Yes baby—Oh shit!”

His tongue keeps tracing delicate patterns over your clit and your whole pussy that keep you teetering on the edge even as you ride out your climax before pulling back and looking down at you.

When you look up at him, he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out, then he drapes himself over you, chest slick against yours, breath heavy and shallow as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

"Baby..." he starts, boneless and spent. "You're insane."

You giggle, tracing lazy circles along the curve of his spine, still catching your own breath.

He gave you everything, held you down and pulled you apart until your body trembled under his, until he had nothing left to give. And now he's here, lips brushing your collarbone with every exhale, trying to hang on to consciousness.

"We should try double penetration." You say, running your fingers through his hair and feeling his body stiffen at your words as his head lifts slightly to look into your eyes.

"What?"

You grin. "You know. Your cock and a dildo. Just once."

Jake's eyes flutter close and open again, the look he gives you is somewhere between bewilderment and disbelief. His mouth opens like maybe he wants to say something, but doesn't even know where to start.

"Princess," he breathes, collapsing back down on top of you with a dramatic groan. "You might actually kill me one day."

You hum sweetly, threading your fingers through his damp hair. "You'd like it."

"I know I would. That's the problem." He grins against your skin. "Let me survive tonight first."

You laugh, soft and warm beneath him, already thinking about which toy you'll pick and feeling his breathing go even.

He falls asleep like that, with his arms wrapped around you, utterly spent, murmuring something about needing to train for you like it's a sport. And as you run your fingers through his hair, smiling to yourself, one thing's crystal clear.

Jake's friends have no idea just how completely undone he is by you.

nene’s note ── who wants a boyfriend like jake? MEEEEE!!!!

© nephynes 2025

all works are pieces of original fiction, do not repost, translate, or adapt without explicit permission.

[nephynes]

2 PARANOID ── A PARANOIA SEQUEL

What happens when Sunghoon is forced to realize that every action has its equal and violent consequence? He truly must have committed unspeakable crimes in his past life to deserve a retribution as calculated as you—a woman who transformed from his broken toy into the very wrath sent to ruin him.

nsfw warnings ── toxic power dynamics, gaslighting, extreme psychological manipulation, infidelity, obsessive behavior, public humiliation, familial betrayal, dubious consent (emotional coercion), graphic sexual encounters, excessive profanity, narcissistic abuse, and alcohol consumption. if i missed any it’s to avoid spoilers.

prequel

word count ── 7.9k

Sunghoon is currently leaned back against the headboard of his bed, shirtless and watching the window through the expensive curtains of his apartment. A month had passed since that night and somehow the air of ruin that had destroyed everyone else's lives had only served to build him a throne. He was the only one who had walked out of that house with his crown intact.

Jay and Jake were in something of a social exile, their messy, years long deception finally curdling their reputations but who really cares about people being gay these days? But Sunghoon was a victim, he was the noble boyfriend who had been betrayed by his girlfriend and his best friend. The narrative was perfect and the rewards were even better. His gaze shifted to the door of the ensuite bathroom, you were in there probably fixing your makeup, moving with that quiet, tentative tread you'd adopted lately. For four weeks you’d become a shell of yourself, so consumed by the guilt of your mistake with Jay that you had become a servant to Sunghoon's every whim. You cooked for him, you anticipated his moods, always looking at him with such desperate eyes that it almost made him want to laugh. You were working so hard to earn back the trust of a man who had never actually lost it because he had never been faithful to begin with.

Then there was Leah.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand with a text that he didn't even need to open to know it was from her. Leah was a different kind of fun. Where you were desperate for forgiveness, Leah was oh so desperate for supremacy. She was obsessed with the secret they shared—the adrenaline of cheating right under your nose made her crazy in a way Sunghoon was oddly attracted to. She wanted to be his number one and she was willing to degrade herself in ways you wouldn't dream of just to prove she was more loyal than you.

He had you both exactly where he wanted you, you in his bed seeking redemption and Leah in the shadows seeking a title.

The door opened and you stepped out wearing one of his oversized shirts looking so small and fragile. "I made you coffee," you told him, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to touch his hand like you were afraid he'd recoil. "What are your plans today, Hoon?"

Sunghoon reached out, tangling his fingers in your hair to pull you closer. He didn't answer immediately, he liked to let the silence stretch until you looked like you were on the verge of tears.

"I’m not sure yet," he finally murmured, his voice smooth and devoid of the hurt he had been weaponizing for the past four weeks. He felt a surge of power, Sunghoon had cheated, he had lied and in the grand scheme of things he had won. He was the only one who knew the truth and as long as he kept you and Leah spiraling in your own competitions, he would never have to pay for a thing, he would never pay for the consequences of his actions.

"You're a good girl," he added, loving the way you visibly melted at the words. He caught his reflection in the mirror opposite the bed, feeling utterly untouchable.

He trailed his hands to your waist and adjusted you so you were now straddling him, his face buried for a moment in the crook of your neck. He breathed you in, savoring the way you stayed perfectly still, as if you were yielding to him completely. This was his favorite part of the game, he loved the absolute submission born from your misplaced shame.

The relentless vibration of his phone against the nightstand broke the silence. He reached for it and immediately let out a hiss of annoyance, tossing the device back onto the mattress as if it had burned him and rolling his eyes so hard it looked painful.

"What is it, babe?" you asked, your hand tentatively smoothing the hair at the nape of his neck. "Did something happen?"

"My father," he spat the name like a curse. "He wants another one of those miserable family dinners tomorrow. God, I hate that word. He always uses it like it's supposed to mean something."

He leaned back again, the mask of the composed victim was slipping to reveal the raw edges of his elitism and if you weren't so blinded by your own consuming guilt, you would've noticed it immediately. "Those people aren't my family. They're more like intruders. That woman is nothing but a gold digger and a whore who caught my father at a weak moment, and her son—" He cut himself off with a bitter laugh. "Jungwon is the most arrogant, insufferable brat I've ever had the misfortune of knowing. He walks around that house like he owns the fucking floorboards and father just eats it up."

You stayed quiet, just letting him vent and tracing soothing circles against his skin until the tension in his shoulders finally began to bleed away. You were the only one who could tame him like this, or at least he let you believe you were. He felt a smug sense of pride watching you work so hard to fix his mood.

His phone buzzed again and this time he snatched it up, you watched his lip curl in disgust as he read the second message. "How fantastic. It gets better, baby. Apparently, the little prince wants to introduce his new girlfriend to everyone. My father expects us to be there to welcome her into the fold."

Sunghoon tossed the phone aside again and pulled you flush against his chest this time, sliding his down to grip your hips possessively. "I can already see her," he scoffed with condescension. "Some airhead who's fallen for Jungwon's perfect gentleman act. Probably some flavor of the month socialite who doesn't have two fucking brain cells to rub together. Jungwon has zero taste, he just picks whoever is going to look best in a photo op."

"But I have to go. I'd rather endure a night of staring at whatever bimbo he's brought home than deal with my father's lectures about unity and him dangling my trust over my head. You're coming with me, of course. I need you there to remind them what a real woman looks like."

His lips nipped at your earlobe, a dark smile spreading on his lips. "And besides...I want them to see how much you adore me. It'll make Jungwon's little debut look pathetic in comparison."

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words

"Hoon...I can't tomorrow. It's my sister's bridal shower remember? I told you about it last week, I'm supposed to be there all day."

Sunghoon's hands on your hips went rigid the second the words left your mouth, he didn't say a word at first, he did stare at you with those piercing eyes that made you feel like a specimen under a microscope.

"A bridal shower," he repeated. "So your sister's party is more important than my father's command? More important than supporting me through a night with those vultures?"

"Hoon, please, I've been planning it for months," your heart already beginning to race. "I'm the maid of honor, I can't just—"

"I bet if it were Jay asking, you'd find a way to be there," he snapped. It was his favorite weapon these days, the ultimate trump card he pulled whenever he wanted to remind you of your place.

"No! Hoon, that's not fair, you know I—I'll do anything to make it up to you, I promise. I'll come over right after, I'll stay the whole weekend, I'll—"

"Shut it," he muttered, his hurt victim act vanishing to reveal the cold tyrant beneath. "I don't want to hear your excuses. You're all the same. You claim you want to earn my trust but the second I actually need you, you have plans."

He stood up abruptly, roughly shifting his weight so suddenly that he tossed you off his lap. You landed on the mattress with a soft thud, scrambling to sit up as he looked down at you with utter disdain. He wasn't even looking at your face anymore; his gaze was fixed on your legs, his expression almost transactional.

"If you're going to be useless to me at dinner, you might as well be useful to me now," he said with no affection in his tone. "Take your panties off. Now."

You looked at him, searching for even a flicker of the boy who used to love you so much but all you saw was the man who held your reputation in his hands. Shaking, your fingers moved to the waistband of your lace underwear, slowly sliding them down your legs while he watched you with a bored look on his face.

He stood there enjoying the sight of your submission. "You're going to stay just like that until I'm satisfied," he murmured as he pushed his pajama pants down slowly. "And maybe, if you're good enough, I'll consider forgiving you for being so selfish."

──.୨ৎ

Sunghoon killed the engine of his car but he couldn't bring himself to move yet, he needed the time to gather himself so he sat in the silence of his leather trimmed sanctuary, gripping the steering wheel until his fingers started to tingle. Outside, the sprawling driveway of the Park estate was bathed in the warm, mocking glow of the mansion's exterior lights but then the his eyes caught the baby blue G-Wagon parked crookedly just a few yards away.

The vehicle seemed to be rocking on its suspension in a rhythmic, almost violent motion that made Sunghoon's lip curl in a snarl of pure disgust. Even though the windows were tinted, the silhouettes were unmistakable.

Of course, Sunghoon thought. The venom in his mind dripping over every word. Of course the little prince couldn't even make it through the front door without acting like a rutting animal.

He stepped out of his car, the click of his shoes against the gravel was sharp and as he drew closer to the car to head toward the front steps, the soundproofing of the luxury SUV failed to drown out the noise. The girl's moans were high pitched and entirely too loud for a residential driveway.

"Do you like that?" His step brother's voice drifted out, it was muffled but recognizable with ghat smug arrogance that made Sunghoon's stomach turn. "Tell me you love my cock. Tell me who you belong to."

"Yes! Yes, I love it! Please, Wonie!" the girl screamed, her voice hitting an airheaded crescendo that echoed off the stone walls.

It made Sunghoon stop in his tracks, his frame rigid and his expression a mask of frozen disdain. Disgusting. Utterly primitive. He looked up at the darkened windows of his father's study, wondering how the man could be so blind. This was the boy his father was constantly comparing him to—a boy who had zero respect for the family home, zero dignity and apparently, zero standards as well.

Jungwon's new girlfriend was exactly what he expected—a loud, brainless girl with no sense of decorum, willing to be bent over the console of a car like a common street whore. To think his father expected Sunghoon to sit at a table to break bread and play nice with a girl who was currently screaming her lungs out in the driveway was an insult to his very existence.

She isn't even worth the effort of an introduction, Sunghoon thought, smoothing his jacket with a sharp motion. She's a placeholder, a toy for a boy who doesn't know the first thing about power or restraint.

He had just spent his whole day yesterday making you beg for a scrap of his grace and here was his step brother, practically begging for the attention of a girl who sounded like she had the depth of a light rain puddle.

He reached the front doors and the heavy oak door swung back to reveal the sterile, golden grandeur of the foyer. He would literally give anything for his father to see the contrast between the son who arrived with composure and the boy who was currently staining the interior of a Mercedes.

He didn't even have his coat off before the sound of heels clicking against marble announced her arrival. "Sunghoon! You're finally here," she chirped, smelling of expensive perfume and desperation—a combination he'd learned to identify long ago.

She reached out, arms opening for a motherly embrace that smelled just as shallow as her wedding vows, but Sunghoon didn't break his stride, he side stepped her instead. Not even a flinch and she was left hugging the air where he had been a second before, her hands awkwardly clutching at nothing, she was quick to catch herself though.

"Where is my father?" Sunghoon asked not even looking at her, too busy adjusting his watch, as if her proximity alone had somehow knocked his perfection out of alignment.

"He's in his study with—"

"Perfect," he interrupted, finally sliding his eyes toward her with the kind of look he usually gave Leah when she cried too loudly. "Try not to hover. It's unbecoming."

"Now, now, Sunghoon," his father's voice boomed from the top of the stairs, bouncing off the walls with that easy confidence that only comes with a high net worth. He descended the steps with a soft smile, looking every bit the patriarch he was. "Don't be so cold to your mother. She's just happy to see you."

He didn't even look at the woman standing there but he felt her presence like a smudge on a clean window. "She's not my mother," the words barely leaving his lips. It was like reflex to him now, a small piece of truth he threw out every time they decided to do this dance. His father swept past him but not before clapping a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. "Let's sit. I'm starving and I have a feeling the kitchen has outdone itself tonight."

"Jungwon is just a little late," his step mother sang out. "He'll be here any second, I'm sure of it."

Little late, Sunghoon thought, his eyes focused on the dust motes dancing in the light of the chandelier. Jungwon is fucking some bimbo in the driveway and he's going to walk in here soon and pretend nothing happened. He pulled out his chair, imagining you sitting there beside him, then he remembered why you weren't there, he remembered you were at your sister's bridal shower and it made a bitter taste flood his mouth.

"Oh, Sunghoon! You really should have met the lovely girl Jungwon brought over last weekend," her voice rising in excitement as she began to pour the wine. "She is just the sweetest thing. So polite and wholesome. She's exactly the kind of girl Jungwon needs."

Sunghoon's gaze stayed fixed on the silver fork in front of him, polite and wholesome. He wanted to laugh at the thought of a girl who could debase herself in the front of her boyfriend's family home as polite and wholesome. He wondered if Jungwon's girl had any idea what kind of animal she was dating or if she was just another prop in his step brother's own twisted theater.

"I'm sure she's a delight," Sunghoon said sarcastically. "I look forward to seeing how long she lasts before she realizes what kind of man your son is." He smiled at her but that smile quickly dropped when he heard his father's raised voice. "Park Sunghoon!" "You will not speak about your brother like that! We respect each other in this house." Those words unfortunately led to a lecture that somehow pivoted to his college education, "Law school isn't just about the pedigree, Sunghoon," his father continued with his usual steady drone of expectations. "It's about the endurance. Your grades are stable, but I need to see more focus. Less time at those campus parties, more time in the archives. You need to understand that once you graduate, the grace period is—"

The heavy dining room doors groaned open cutting the words from his father short. Sunghoon didn't even look up at first, his mind had drifted back to the annoyance he felt toward you for choosing a bridal shower over him. He was ready to watch Jungwon stroll in with some mindless girl he'd picked up from a sorority house, he was simply prepared to be unimpressed.

"Sorry for the wait," Jungwon's voice rang out, making the hair on the back of Sunghoon's neck stand up for some reason. "We got a little...distracted."

Sunghoon's eyes finally snapped up and for a second the world tilted, the grandeur of the room seemed to bleed into a blur of sickening realization. There, standing on Jungwon's arm, was you. You weren't at a bridal shower, you weren't wearing some floral sundress or helping your sister with ribbons and party games. You were wearing something sharp, that made you look expensive and sinful and your lips were slightly swollen—the exact same way they looked when Sunghoon finished with you.

The girl he had been internally mocking for being wholesome, the girl Jungwon had just been fucking in the driveway while Sunghoon watched with clinical disgust from the window.

It was you.

"Oh, sweetheart! You're back!" Jungwon's mother gushed, already on her feet with a beaming, smile. She crossed the room to you and took your hands in hers as if you were already her daughter. "It's so good to see you again. Jungwon hasn't stopped talking about how much he adores you since last weekend."

Sunghoon felt the air leave his lungs, his vision tunneled until all he could see was the way Jungwon's hand stayed firmly planted on the small of your back in a possessive touch that screamed of intimacy.

His mind quickly became a violent loop of contradictions. You told me you were with your family. You told me you were guilty. You're my toy. You're the one I broke. Across the table, Jungwon caught Sunghoon's eyes and he didn't look away when a smirk made its way to his face. Jungwon had been playing a much deeper game than Sunghoon ever realized.

"Sunghoon hyung," Jungwon said, his voice dripping with politeness that really just felt like a slap. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Don't tell me you forgot to say hello to my girlfriend?"

"It's nice to see you again, Sunghoon," you say with no usual tremor in your voice, you even offer him a small smile, the type someone gives a person they’re not close to, or a loser. Every instinct he has is screaming at him to lung forward, to grab your wrist and drag you out into the hallway and demand what the hell you're doing. The bridal shower? The lie tasted like ash in his mouth.

But his father is watching.

"You two know each other?" his father asks, clearly interested in the silence radiating from his eldest son

"We go to the same university," Jungwon quickly answers for you, pulling out your chair at the same time. "Small world, right?"

Sunghoon forced a breath through his nose and looked at you, trying to find a flicker of the girl who had been begging for his forgiveness for the past four weeks but all he could see was the sweetheart his stepmother had praised…Jungwon’s girlfriend.

"Small indeed," Sunghoon finally managed to say.

"Anyway," Jungwon's mother chirped, oblivious to the silent war happening across the centerpiece. "Tell us everything! How did you two meet? It must have been so romantic."

Sunghoon's eyes locked onto yours, like he was still trying to see if he could control you, to have you show some fear or even some shame but you just looked away and answered her question. "It was actually very sweet, Ma’am."

"He helped me when I was really in need and I couldn’t help myself—I fell for him. Jungwon really is a darling. You’ve raised him well."

Jungwon really was sweet to you, well maybe not in the beginning at least. The silence of the library was usually your sanctuary, it was the one place where the suffocating guilt of that night didn't feel like it was actively crushing your chest. For two weeks, you had been living in a state of self inflicted pain. You had replayed that night a thousand times, from the look on Sunghoon's face, to the sound of Heeseung and Calista’s laughs and without even realizing it, you had let Sunghoon turn that guilt and pain into a collar.

You were trying so hard, you’d even gone to Leah for advice, finding solace and comfort in her from time to time, genuinely believing she was your best friend.

Your phone buzzed on the table with a notification.

Unknown Number: [1 Video Attachment]

You thought it was a scam or perhaps another cruel joke from Heeseung but then you pressed play.

The video was in high definition, filmed from a distant balcony view. You immediately recognized the blue shimmer of the pool in Sunghoon’s family estate from when you’d spent weekends there. He told you he was traveling out of town for family business, he had ben insinuated it was a somber trip he needed to take alone to clear his head from the stress you had caused him.

In the frame, Sunghoon wasn't working or relaxing to clear his head. He was on a lounge chair by the pool, his head tilted back and his hands gripping the waist of a girl who was straddling him with practiced ease.

You dropped the phone like it had burned you when said girl threw her head back and you saw Leah’s face. You began to tremble right there in the library thinking of all the times you’d confided in her, yet here she was—fucking your boyfriend. You picked up your phone again with shaking hands and watched him pull her down for a kiss in that same way he kissed you and you felt your world fracture. The guilt that had been your shadow suddenly vanished, replaced by a cold clarity. Through your blurry eyes filling with tears you see two more notifications.

Unknown Number: He thinks he's alone. Hyung’s always been bad at checking corners.

Unknown Number: It’s Jungwon btw. I believe we have a mutual interest in making sure Sunghoon doesn't get everything he wants. Give me a call if you're tired of being the only one holding the debt.

You hesitated before managing to walk out of the library to dial the number. Jungwon answered on the first ring. "I wondered how long it would take you to watch it," he said sounding entirely too amused with himself.

"Why are you showing me this?" you whispered with a rage you didn't know you had.

"Because my brother has a habit of collecting things he doesn't appreciate," Jungwon said to you. "He likes the way he can make you cry and then make you thank him for it. And I find it so fucking boring. Don’t you think it's insulting to someone with your...potential?"

"What do you want?"

"I just want to see the look on his face when his perfect life finally collapses." You could’ve sworn you could just sense the evil radiating through the phone. "He hates me, you know? He thinks I'm some intruder in his house. Imagine how he'll feel when he finds out his broken little girlfriend is actually mine."

"I'm not yours," you snapped.

"Not yet," Jungwon countered, he really did have alluring energy about him. "But think about it. I’m pretty sure you want revenge and I want to replace him. We could be useful to each other."

You could’ve gotten nominated for an academy award with the way you acted in the weeks leading up to tonight. You played the part of the guilty girlfriend so perfectly, there was no doubt you had him fooled, you nodded when he ranted about his useless problems. You watched him get angry when you told him you couldn’t come to dinner with him, you watched him use your mistake to try and manipulate you into canceling. And for the first time it didn't hurt at all, it just made you want to see him burn even more.

When you first met Jungwon for dinner, you no doubt had your guard up. You fully expected a younger, maybe louder version of Sunghoon. Instead, you found a natural born predator who knew how to hide his teeth really. He was the perfect gentleman, pulling out your chair and listening with an intensity that Sunghoon only ever reserved for his own reflection. He didn't lecture you on your how you’d made a mistake by getting with his step brother in the first place, or that you trusted him too much but by the end of the night you felt like you were the only person in the room.

You had to keep repeating the mantra in your head—they aren't blood, they aren't related. It was the only way to keep the vertigo from taking over. Jungwon was supposedly the intruder in Sunghoon's life, their relationship was simply a byproduct of a second marriage and that distance was exactly what made the idea of him so dangerous.

You didn't intend to go home with him that first night, in fact you didn’t intend to ever go home with him at all and you certainly didn't intend to let him touch you. But then you were in the parking lot and the city lights were blurred by the tinted glass of his car, the air between you turned electric. You quickly found out he had a thing for fucking in cars, maybe it was the claustrophobia of the leather seats or the risk of being seen, you had no idea, all you knew was that it was primal and messy. You also quickly found out you had a thing for how easily he could unravel you.

Sex with Sunghoon always felt like an audition, you were constantly performing for him, having to say the right things so he would be satisfied. Jungwon didn’t care about any of that, he was too focused on the way your face looked when he was bouncing you on his cock, he always made sure you lost your voice and wouldn’t stop until you were shaking and begging.

And tonight in the driveway, he was exactly the same. Pinning you against the backseat and reminding you of exactly what you were about to do. He made you cum so hard you nearly forgot your own name, let alone the fact that you were a mere thirty feet from his family.

"Think of how much he thinks he owns you and then tell me how good this cock feels." It damn sure felt better than anything Sunghoon had ever given you.

Now, as you sit across from Sunghoon at his father's table, you can still feel the faint ache in your thighs, along with the ghost of Jungwon's touch under your dress. You look at Sunghoon, he looks pale as he vibrates with a repressed fury and you realize the debt has almost been paid in full.

As the main course is served and the clink of silverware is the only sound in the room, Sunghoon finally speaks in a voice so low it's almost a growl. "So, Jungwon...exactly how long has this romance been going on? You've been rather quiet about her."

Jungwon takes a slow sip of his wine, his eyes dancing in delight as he looks at you the back at his step brother. "Long enough for me to know she’s the one," he says, reaching under the table to slide his hand up your inner thigh, mere inches away from where Sunghoon's eyes are fixed. "She's so full of surprises, Hyung. I absolutely adore her." He finishes placing a kiss on your cheek at which his mother gushes in excitement.

From then on the night becomes full blown psychological torture for Sunghoon. Every time you laugh at one of his father's dry jokes or offer some soft words to Jungwon’s mother, it’s like you can feel Sunghoon's pulse drumming from across the table. He looks like a man watching his own house burn down while being forced to applaud the flames. The irony is thick enough to choke on. His father, who he has spent his entire life trying to impress is completely charmed by you.

"Sunghoon," his father says, leaning with a rare look of genuine approval on his face. "You should take notes. Jungwon has finally shown some discernment. You'd do well to find a girl just like this lovely lady right here. Not like those...distractions you usually surround yourself with."

Sunghoon's knuckles are white with how hard he’s trying not to scream. He wants to stand up and roar that you are his girl, that you belong in his apartment and under his thumb, drowning in the guilt he spent a month cultivating. But he can't because to speak up now would be to admit he lost control, it would be him admitting that Jungwon, the arrogant intruder, took something right from under his nose.

When dinner finally ends and you and Jungwon reach the doors of the foyer, ready to leave, Sunghoon doesn’t just follow you, he marches towards you and lunges forward, grabbing your wrist with so much force that you wince.

"What the fuck is this, Y/n?" he hissed, his eyes darting between you and his step-brother. "What are you doing here? The bridal shower? You think you can just lie to me and walk into my father's house on his arm?" He turns his anger toward Jungwon. "And you. You think this is some fucking game? You think you can just take whatever—"

"Woah, woah," Jungwon interjects, stepping forward with a lazy calm, not looking the least bit intimidated, he just looks like he's enjoying every second of Sunghoon's meltdown as he places a firm hand on Sunghoon's forearm, forcing him to loosen his grip on you. "Please don't talk to my girlfriend like that, Hyung. It's a bit ungentlemanly, don't you think?"

Sunghoon's eyes go wide as his chest heaves. "Your girlfriend? Jungwon, you have no idea what you're talking about. She’s not—"

"Are you lost, Hoonie?"

You step closer to him, tilting your head and pouting up at him with the same innocence he used to mock you. The look in your eyes is stone cold though, you’re looking at him like he's a stranger and a pathetic one at that. "You seem really confused. Maybe the stress of law school is finally getting to you."

Jungwon chuckles, pulling you back against his side, his arm draping possessively over your waist. "Seems like he is, princess. He's completely lost it."

Jungwon looks his brother up and down, "Tell you what, hyung," he starts. "Why don't you pull up to my penthouse tonight? I feel like I missed out on all the fun the other night. Let's play another game of paranoia. I have a few questions of my own...and I’m sure you want answers."

Sunghoon stands there frozen in the doorway of his own home, as Jungwon leads you toward the car. He even watches the taillights fade until the silence of the estate settles over him like a shroud.

The drive to Jungwon’s place was a blur of neon lights and tight knuckled grips for Sunghoon. His mind was a chaotic mess of logic and jagged anger, he had managed to convince himself he was going there to talk sense into you, to drag you away from the toxic influence of his step brother and remind you of the debt you owed him. But as he stepped out of the elevator and into the sleek entryway of Jungwon's apartment, the air felt different and he began to doubt if he could actually pull it off.

The heavy bass of the music didn't sound like a party to him, it sounded like a taunt.

He walked right to the living room and expected to find you and Jungwon alone in some twisted confrontation. Instead, he was met with a scene that felt like a curated nightmare.

The usual crowd was scattered across the plush sofas. Jake was leaning against the bar, looking entirely too comfortable in Jay’s arms. The litmus test from a month ago had clearly reached its conclusion and Sunghoon was the only one who hadn't been invited to the reveal.

Leah was also there tucked into the corner of a sectional, looking like she wanted to completely disappear. The second Sunghoon's eyes found her, she flinched and dropping her gaze to her hands in her lap. She couldn’t look him in the eye in a way that had Sunghoon wondering if they’d been caught.

Then, he saw you perched comfortably on Jungwon's lap, your fingers idly playing with his chain as if it was the most natural place in the world for you to be. Ume was leaning in close, letting you whisper something into her ear that made her throw her head back in a genuine laugh.

You wouldn't have been brazen enough to invite Calista or Heeseung but this group of people felt more intimate somehow.

"Well, well," a voice chirped, breaking through the ringing in Sunghoon's ears. Jake straightened up as he looked Sunghoon up and down. "Look who decided to show up. You've been a very bad boy, Hoonie. Keeping secrets, hiding away...I didn't think you had it in you to be this messy."

Sunghoon didn't even acknowledge him, his eyes were locked on you, burning with a question he couldn't ask out loud in front of them for fear of humiliation.

Jungwon tightened his hold on your waist and pulled you a fraction closer as he looked up at his brother. The lighting in the penthouse was dim, casting long, predatory shadows across his face. "You're late, Sunghoon," Jungwon said, his voice smooth and almost welcoming, if Sunghoon didn’t know what Jungwon was like, he wouldn’t have noticed the edge his voice carried.

"But don't worry. We haven't started the game yet. We were just waiting for the guest of honor to arrive."

You finally looked at him then, observing his disheveled hair and his erratic breathing with a detached sort of pity that hurt worse than a slap.

"Sit down, Sunghoon," you said mirroring the exact tone he had used on you for weeks. "You look tired. You should have a drink before we start. You're going to need it."

As everyone settled into the makeshift circle, you were clearly the center of gravity on Jungwon's lap, while Sunghoon was an island of his own misery on the far edge of the room.

"Everyone remembers the rules, right?" you asked, your voice cutting through the low hum of the music. You didn't wait for an answer, you immediately leaned into Jungwon, letting your lips brush against the shell of his ear to whisper the first strike. "Who here is a lying, cheating bastard?"

A dark, amused huff escaped him as he looked directly across the space. "Sunghoon."

The silence that followed was deafening. Sunghoon didn't argue, he simply reached for his glass, willing his hand to stop trembling and drained it in one jagged motion. Jungwon's smirk widened as he revealed the question to the room, watching the realization sink into the group like lead.

When the turn moved to Sunghoon, he stared at his empty glass, before muttering a, "Pass."

The room erupted in mock boos and biting whistles. "Afraid of the truth, Sunghoon?" Jake teased before leaning back into Jay's touch. "Golden boy can't even play a party game?"

Jungwon didn't let the momentum die. He leaned toward Ume, whispering a question that made her eyes go wide. She gasped as her hand flew to her mouth. "No way! I don't know—who is it?"

The curiosity in the room spiked while Ume looked around the circle. "The question was...Who here is pregnant?"

Jay and Jake exchanged a stunned look while Sunghoon's gaze darted around frantically, if you weren't reacting, if you were sitting there with that calm smile then it wasn't you. And Ume had already denied it, so that left only one person.

Leah.

Who was sat perfectly still, eyes fixed on a spot on the rug as her face continued to drain of color.

Sunghoon looked at her then at you, feeling the bile rising in his throat. From the pool lounge chair, to the laundry room and every other place he had had sex with her—it all crashed down on him at once, he looked like he was about to be physically sick.

"Leah is pregnant," your voice rang out with a terrifying lack of emotion. The words hit Sunghoon like a physical blow, he had spent a month trying to make you pay for cheating on him with Jay, all while he was planting the seeds of his own destruction in a girl he treated like a toy.

"Is it true?" Sunghoon asked her with his voice sounding like it was being dragged over broken glass. He looked at Leah, eyes wide with a mix of horror and disgust. "Leah, she’s just fucking around, right?"

The silence was her confession.

"Sounds like hyung has some responsibilities he forgot to mention to the family," Jungwon mused, "I wonder what father would think about his future law student starting a family a little ahead of schedule?"

Jake, ever the catalyst of drama leaned into Leah’s space to whisper in her ear, who looked like she was vibrating, a single sob catching in her throat as she forced out a name. "Sunghoon."

Sunghoon didn't even wait for the reveal, he immediately reached for the bottle this time, not a glass to take a desperate swig.

"The question," Jake announced with terrifying cheerfulness, "was, Who here is your baby daddy?"

"You're a lying bitch!" Sunghoon roared, finally losing the mask of superiority he'd worn like a shield for years. He surged forward, his finger pointed at Leah like a weapon. "You're lying! You're trying to trap me because you're obsessed with what Y/n and I have—you'd say anything to stay in my life!"

Leah finally looked up and the fear was gone, now replaced by an intensity that made her eyes burn. "I'm not lying, Sunghoon! I have never been with anyone else! You were my first and only one. You know I'm not lying! Did you ever wear a condom with me? You took everything from me and now you want to call me a liar?" "Screw you."

The silence that followed was so heavy that Jay and Jake couldn’t even mock him anymore, all they could do was just watch the car crash with satisfied expressions. Sunghoon looked around the room with wild eyes, looking for anyone to defend him but he lost all hope when you snorted, "What Y/n and I have is crazy, Sunghoon."

You looked at him with a gaze so filled with fake tenderness that it felt like a twist of a knife.

"Oh, Hoonie," you cooed, echoing the way he used to comfort you after making you cry your eyes out. "Don't be like that. This is a blessing, isn't it?"

"Think about it this way," you continued, "A little girl who looks just like you or maybe even a boy with your grace. You, Leah and the baby. You're going to make such a beautiful family. I can already see the Christmas cards. I'm sure your father will be so proud to see his legacy continuing so...unexpectedly."

Sunghoon looked at you as the realization truly sank in, the realization that the girl he thought he'd broken was the one who had choreographed his funeral.

"I'll even help with the baby shower," you added, the pout returning to your lips. "Since I missed my sister's bridal shower, I have plenty of free time now."

Jungwon let out a low chuckle, his hand sliding up to the back of your neck to tangle his fingers in your hair. "Hear that, Hyung? My princess is even offering to help. You really should be more grateful." He said to him before leaning to Ume to whisper in her ear but she immediately threw her hands up in frustration, the constant whispering finally getting on her nerves. "Seriously? I don't know! Why am I the one getting the hard ones?" She pouted, turning to the circle with her voice loud and fed up. "How am I meant to know who here has lost their inheritance? What does that even mean?"

Sunghoons head snapped toward Jungwon, the defensive look in his eyes was replaced by a sudden dread. He didn't reach for the glass this time, he could barely move.

"What the fuck are you on about, Jungwon?" Sunghoon's voice was a ghost of its former self, all thin and terrified. Jungwon, on the other hand didn't even look up from where he was tracing patterns on your thigh.

"Don’t tell me you didn’t read the fine print, Hyung?" Jungwon asked, "I guess you were so busy being a manipulative cunt that you didn't read the updated trust clauses father had us sign last year."

Jungwon finally looked at him. "It's a purity clause. Father is obsessed with the family image, you should know that better than anyone. It's written in black and white tha any son who produces an illegitimate child, especially one that creates a social scandal, automatically forfeits their entire inheritance. Every cent. The trust, the property, the firm...it all funnels into a single beneficiary."

Jungwon explained and pulled you closer against his chest, "And since I'm currently the only son without a pregnant side chick...it looks like I'm about to become very, very wealthy."

Sunghoon looked like he was seconds away from passing out. His eyes shifted between you and Leah, who was still trembling and clutching her stomach area. One, the girl who had been his broken possession and the other girl who was now the only thing standing between him and complete ruin—and you were sitting comfortably in the lap of the man who was taking his whole life away.

"You knew," he whispered, his gaze landing on you. "You both knew."

"Knew that what, Sunghoon?" "No one asked you to cheat and get a girl pregnant."

"I’d check your pocket if I were you, Hyung," Jungwon said. "I’m pretty sure you’re about to get a call. And you know Father—he hates being kept waiting."

Right on cue, the sharp ringtone of Sunghoon’s phone cut through the sound of Leah’s crying. The name on the screen was enough to make Sunghoon’s knees buckle. He answered with a trembling hand. "Father—"

"You fucking embarrassment!"

The shout was so loud it echoed through the silent room making Sunghoon flinch as if he’d been struck.

"Tell me Jungwon is mistaken!" his father roared over the line. "Tell me you didn't get some girl pregnant! Tell me you haven't been dragging our name through the mud while I was planning your future!"

Sunghoon looked at you as you slowly pressed a lingering kiss to Jungwon’s lips that made him smile.

"Father, please, she’s...she’s a liar," Sunghoon choked out as he looked at Leah. "She’s trying to trap me, I swear—"

Leah’s sob broke into a scream at the word liar but no one moved to comfort her. In the background, Ume was busy gushing over Jay and Jake, her voice a cheerful anddistorted contrast to the carnage. "Oh my god, you guys are actually the cutest! Why did you wait so long?" She pouted at them, watching Jay nuzzle his face deeper to Jake’s neck

"I don't want to hear it!" his father’s voice got louder and louder. "If you’re man enough to play these games then I suppose you’re man enough to fund them. You’re cut off, Sunghoon. Don't bother coming back to the estate to beg for anything! As of right now, you do not exist to me."

The line went dead before he could even think of any sort of explanation to give the man.

The phone slipped from Sunghoon’s fingers and clattered on the floor. He looked at you, then at the happy couple Ume was currently asking a million questions about how they first got together, and finally he looked at the pregnant girl in the corner.

He had spent his life trying to be a masterpiece of calculated moves and manipulative counters but in the end, he was just a footnote in your story.

"Time to go, Hyung," Jungwon said to him with a voice filled with satisfied pity. "You’ve got a family to take care of now."

Before the words could even reach Sunghoon’s ears properly, Jungwon moved with a sudden burst of energy, he hooked his arm around your waist and hoisted you up.

A startled squeal escaped you as you were flipped over his shoulder, your legs kicking out instinctively. "Jungwon! Put me down!" you laughed a mocking laugh that echoed off the walls.

Jungwon didn't listen to you, tightening his grip on your thighs instead as he began to stride toward the hallway. You looked back over his shoulder one last time to see Sunghoon standing frozen like a ghost in a room full of people who had already forgotten him.

"Bye bye, Hoonie!" you called out sweetly with a final dose of irony.

When the heavy door to Jungwon’s bedroom clicked shut, it instantly muffled the sounds of Leah’s crying and the silence of the foyer. Jungwon set you down gently against the door, his hands immediately finding your waist. "So, how did that feel?" he whispered as his eyes searched yours and his thumb traced the line of your lower lip. "Seeing him lose everything?"

"Exhilarating," you breathed, sliding your hands up to cup his face. It wasn't just about the revenge or the power shift anymore.

Jungwon’s expression softened as he looked at you. He didn't just see a partner in a scheme, he saw the only person who truly understood the darkness he had grown up in.

"Good," he murmured with a genuine warmth he saved only for you. "Because from now on, you don't ever have to play for second place again."

He leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss that wasn't for show or for an audience. It was slow, deep, and filled with a real affection—a promise that while the rest of your world was built on paranoia and lies, what was happening in this room was the only thing that was real.

nene’s note ── posting this from the hospital cause my mama didn’t raise no bitch! i loveeee feedback and i hope this met the expectations of everyone who was anticipating it! enjoy💋💋💋

taglist i ── @fancypeacepersona @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji @gabrielinhaa @ieatwon @rialikesbts @lunacrtk @dulcetnostalgia @lovel1z @dearestdreamies @kristynaaah @c1eod1n3 @kiikiisblog @plumdove @pqrkjyx @tojiworshipper @loverseon @yazmike @ravenslocked @enhxlvr @mangoescrazy @hees-h0e @stayalittlelonger143 @hazevelyn @sour-chaos @skzenhalove @mochi-mika @simjakersss1009

[tmtxtf-library]

a new fave

[nephynes]

RED FLAG MEANS GO ── .✦ lee heeseung x park jongseong

Jay calls you “baby” like a threat. Heeseung fucks you like he hates you. You say you’re confused, but you’ve got both of them on their knees and still keep the door open. Someone should stop you, too bad they’re both in love with the wreckage.

minors do not interact

pairing ── jay x afab reader x heeseung

wc ── 12k

content tags ── SMUT, toxic relationship, manipulative behavior, possessive ex, jealousy, dubcon undertones, emotional whiplash, angst, degradation, praise, emotional manipulation, hurt/comfort, power imbalance, obsessive love, heartbreak, crying during sex, coercion, unprotected sex, unresolved feelings, blurred boundaries, rough sex, aftercare (questionable), guilt, shame, self-worth issues, eroticism as control, reader with poor coping mechanisms, kind of a self righteous slut, complicated ex, trauma bonding, spiraling emotions, unhealthy attachment. NOT PROOFREAD.

nene’s note ── going against all tumblr protocols/norms and posting fics without wips or teasers, let’s consider this my comeback after taking so many BEATINGS. i wrote this with like zero emotional stability and no moral compass whatsoever and i wrote the ending with so much anxiety about my work, i feel so insecure about it but whatever. enjoyyyy and block your ex! reblog and heeseung will appear in your dream calling you angel face

nsfw warnings under the cut

oral (f receiving), rough sex, degradation, threesome, double penetration, hair pulling, mean dom!heeseung, kind of switch!jay, crying during sex, jealousy sex, handjobs, manipulation kink (implied), ass play, saliva for lube (lots of it), power play, coercion themes, sub!reader, possessive behavior, humiliation, slut shaming (not corrected), multiple partners, use of pet names, hand over mouth, spanking, forced positioning, reader cries but doesn’t stop. let me know if i missed any.

Jay's room always smells like wood smoke and something mixed with his cologne and boy musk, but you've grown way too used to it over the years. You're currently stretched out across his bed with your laptop propped against your thighs and your phone in your hand, hovering a finger over a barely there lace slip in your shopping cart. "Is it too much?" you ask, turning the screen toward him.

He barely glances up from where he's messing with his journal on his desk. "It's basically dental floss. You should get it." You snort, clicking to add it to your cart. "How supportive."

Jay turns then, walking back over with a bottle of water in hand, eyes flicking toward the screen like he's expecting more lingerie picks. He drops down beside you, one knee brushing yours, lazy and comfortable and way too familiar.

You scroll through another site, mindlessly showing him crop tops and overpriced boots. He makes stupid little comments until eventually, you lean across him to grab your charger from the nightstand beside him and your tank top slips. Just slightly thin straps sliding down your shoulder, fabric dipping lower than you meant to but it's enough for him to see them. The darkened, wine colored shadows blooming along the swell of your breasts, stark against your skin.

He goes still and you don't even notice at first, you’re too busy trying to untangle the cable, but Jay reaches without asking, curling his fingers under your strap and tugging it down a little more, his eyes sharpening. "You let him mark you up like that? Heeseung?"

You frown a little, brows raising as you glance down at where his hand is still lingering so close to your breast. Then you swat him away, annoyed. "No, Jay. The fucking tooth fairy. Who do you think?"

He doesn't laugh like you assumed he would. He leans back against the headboard, jaw tense, tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he's chewing on something he won't say. You can feel his stare, heavy and unreadable.

You roll your eyes defiantly and turn the screen back to yourself. "I didn't realize I needed to send you a memo every time I get fucked."

Jay scoffs out dry and humorless. "Guess not," he says, "just didn't think you'd still go back to him." He glances at you. "What? I didn't meet up to his standards?"

That makes you snap your head toward him. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That thing. Where you act like I owe you something."

Jay laughs low under his breath. "You don't owe me shit," he says, "but maybe you could admit you liked it."

You go quiet. Just long enough for him to know he's hit a nerve and now he looks smug, but not in a gloating way, it’s in that I know what gets under your skin and I'm going to sit there and rot it out kind of way. He shifts a little closer, gaze lingering too long on your collarbone.

"You're said we were just having fun," you say, stiff.

Jay grins. "I did."

You don't know what pisses you off more—his smile, or the fact that part of you wanted to hear something else.

You open your mouth to say something, maybe something catty but the buzzing of your phone on his bed interrupts you.

What shitty timing, you think as Heeseung's name flashes across your screen, loud and abrupt in the quiet lull after Jay's last comment. His lips curl in amusement, and he lets out this mocking laugh, like of course it's him. "Speak of the devil," he mutters.

You want to melt into the floor or throw your phone out the window, but instead you sit frozen, watching the screen pulse with Heeseung's name.

Then it goes silent—only for a text to flash up a second later.

Heeseung: you coming or not?

Jay hums, mean. "Such a romantic."

Your stomach drops as he reaches for your phone. "Jay—don't," you snap, lunging forward, but he catches your wrist easily, holding the phone up and out of reach with a bored flick of his hand. You try to grab it with your free hand, but he's quicker, suddenly twisting you around with too much ease, like he knows every way you move. In one slick move, he tosses your phone across the room and catches your arm behind your back, pinning you on the bed.

"Jay!" you gasp, twisting under him.

He leans over you, lips brushing your ear. "You were really about to go crawling back to him again?" His voice is soft but razor-sharp. "After everything he's done?"

His thigh slides between yours, pining you in place. His grip on your wrist tightens a little and you can feel his warm steady breath against your cheek. "Is that what you like?" His voice is rough now. "Being treated like a fucking afterthought."

You try to twist away from him, to say something, but he turns you over and kisses you before you can, with brute force and possession. You can feel the frustration radiating off him as he swallows the sound of your protest. Your heart rate increases and you hate how quickly your body turns against you, how familiar it feels, how much worse it makes it, the fact that it's Jay. The one person who's always known how to get under your skin.

"I just didn't think you were still that easy," he says lowly, right at your ear. "Still letting him fuck you like you mean nothing."

The words sting somewhere deep in you. You try to jerk away from him, but his hand doesn't move. "That's all he does, isn't it?" Jay adds, almost casual. "Fuck you and leave. And you run back like some good little pet."

Your heart's racing faster now and you’re trying to twist harder in his grip.

But he cuts you off by pressing in, his lips brushing your jaw in a cold and measured contact. "You let him treat you like that. But I'm the one you keep in your bed?" He asks. "Don't think that's fair."

You're too stunned to respond and he knows it. Jay releases you just as suddenly as he grabbed you, pulling away like it didn't mean anything, like he hadn't just shifted the air in the room.

He doesn't even apologize, he just watches you with that stoic look in his eyes, waiting to see what you'll do next. His eyes never leaving yours, even as he stands up from the bed.

You're panting, chest rising and falling as you sit back up on the bed, glaring at his retreating figure. He's already halfway across the room, calm like nothing happened, when he says, too offhandedly, "Your mom called me."

You frown, confused. "What?"

He looks at you. "Said you haven't been eating."

Your stomach twists and you shoot up to your feet, face hot with frustration. "You bring that up now?" you snap, breath catching in your throat. "Seriously?"

Jay just shrugs like he doesn't see why you're upset, like it's just another data point he's sliding across the table. "I'm just trying to show you what he does to you," he says simply.

Your jaw clenches. "Don't blame Heeseung for that," you bite out, angrier now. "I had issues with food way before him. You know that."

There's a pause and the air in the room feels way too heavy for how quiet it is.

He doesn't argue this time, he just flops on the bed again and says, "Come here."

You don't move at first, you shouldn't move—in fact you should get your shit and leave his apartment. But his voice is soft and smooth and too familiar, like a trigger your body's been unfortunately conditioned to obey.

You go, as if something tugs you forward, your legs moving even without your consent.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed by the time you reach him, and without asking or saying a word, he takes your wrists and pulls you into his lap, guiding your thighs to straddle him.

You settle there, shaky and annoyed, but too used to the way this goes to resist. His hands settle on your hips, holding you there. "I’m not the problem." he says, looking up at you. "I'm the one who cares, baby."

You stare back at him. At his straight face. At the boy who always knows exactly when to twist the knife.

You don't answer him right away.

Because all you can think of is how this whole fucked up thing between you and Jay didn't even start with care. Not really.

It started with rage.

Two nights after your third breakup with Heeseung.

You'd shown up to Jay's apartment with mascara bleeding under your eyes, your hoodie sleeves pulled over trembling fingers, and that look you always wore when you were ready to swear Heeseung off for good.

Jay didn't say a word when he opened the door. Just stepped aside and let you in. You stormed past him, fuming, fists clenched like you wanted to punch something.

"I'm done," you'd said. "This time I mean it. He can fuck himself—he can rot."

Jay had nodded, slow. "So he said it again."

You broke. Right there on his couch. Hot, angry tears spilled down your cheeks, your voice cracking with how bitter it all tasted. You told Jay everything. What Heeseung said, even what he didn't say and how he always knew just how to keep you hooked.

Jay sat there the whole time—legs spread, arms resting over the back of the couch, like he was soaking it in.

And then he leaned forward, pressing a hand to your thigh. "Let me help." His voice was quiet, measured even. "I could make you feel better? Or…forget?"

You didn't really know what he meant until he dropped to his knees. You definitely didn’t expect the way he grabbed you by the hips, dragged you down until your back hit the cushions of his couch. You didn't expect how gentle he was when he peeled your sweats down, your underwear off. How he kissed the insides of your thighs like they were bruises only he could soothe.

How he said—"Just let me do this. You don't have to think."

And you didn't think, in fact you couldn’t. His mouth was too good—hot, slow and sinful, tongue fucking into your soaked pussy like he was trying to reclaim every inch of you Heeseung had tainted. He moaned when you gripped his hair, when you cried out, "Jay—Jay, I'm—"

You came with your fists in his hair and your mouth slack from the shock of it, thighs shuddering where he’d placed them over his shoulders. You'd never cum like that before, not even with Heeseung.

He just looked up at you, lips wet, expressionless. "Feel better?" he'd asked.

You could barely nod.

But that was how it started and how it didn't stop.

After that night, you kept coming back. You told yourself it was casual, just a physical thing to get your mind off your ex. Jay never made a big deal about any of it, never even asked for more.

Until he found out you'd gone back to Heeseung.

He didn't yell or sulk that day. He just looked at you one morning while you were still naked in his sheets, and said, "So you let him fuck you again?"

You froze, mind scrambling for a lie to give him, but nothing came out.

He didn't press further or accuse you of anything. He stared at the ceiling and muttered, almost to himself,

"I didn't realize you liked crawling back to someone who doesn't even pretend to care about you."

And then he got out of bed.

He didn't touch you for two weeks after that. Not until you caved and showed up at his door at 1am, asking if he hated you. He just gave you that same look and pulled you into his lap like always.

Jay never needed to yell, he only needed you to come back. And somehow you always did.

The memories fade, but Jay's mattress is still beneath your knees and his hands are still coasting lazily over the backs of your thighs, because to him he's always had the right to touch you. He's moved up against the headboard now, taking you with him, dark hair messy from where you yanked it earlier. His eyes pin you in place with calm surface to them but cold calculations rippling underneath.

His thumbs press just above the curve of your hips.

"Promise me you're done with him."

It isn't a question, it's merely a line in the sand. No heat, no coaxing, just the terms of staying right here. Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. Jay lifts one brow, waiting.

"I...can try," you whisper, hating how small it sounds.

He shakes his head once. "Not good enough." Followed by a slow inhale, an almost disappointed one. "I've cut off half the girls I see for you—stopped answering DMs, stopped returning calls. You know that."

You do and part of you was always stupidly flattered every time a name disappeared from his phone.

Jay's fingers slide under the hem of your tank, thumbs brushing skin. "So here's what you're gonna do." His voice stays level, matter of fact, with nothing pleading or cruel. "You're going to block him. Delete the number. The next time he wants someone to fuck when he's bored, he can call literally anyone else."

You swallow, feeling the air too thick in your chest.

"Say it," he demands, eyes never leaving yours. "Promise me."

You despise your pulse for fluttering and that it feels like gravity tilting the room. But all you manage is a small nod and a softer, "Okay...I promise."

Something in his jaw unclenches as his palms slide up your sides, settling possessively at your ribcage. "Good girl," he says, and it isn't praise so much as confirmation that you've aligned yourself correctly. His hands guide you down until your chest brushes his. "Keep me happy," he adds, voice almost gentle, "and I'll keep making you forget why he ever mattered."

Your eyes flutter shut, equal parts relief and dread. You want to keep him happy. God, you do. Even if it means burning every other bridge until only Jay's hands are left to catch you.

So you kiss him, seal the promise on his tongue, and try not to notice how pleased he sounds when you sigh into his mouth—like he's already sure you'll never break your word.

He laughs into your mouth condescendingly, like he's entertained by you and it knocks the rhythm right out of your kiss.

"Fuck," he murmurs when you bite down on his bottom lip, his hand tightening briefly at your waist. But it's still followed by a chuckle, smug, cruel and lazy. "You're so eager now. Look at you."

You grind down on him, hips shifting instinctively, desperate to make a point, but it only makes him laugh harder. "Aww." He tilts his head, voice thick with derision. "Look who thinks she knows how to ride now."

Your stomach flips as you feel the heat of shame curling with arousal prickling up your neck.

"So precious," he keeps going, hand dragging down the small of your back, right over the curve of your ass. "You kiss like you're starving, but your hips still falters every time."

"Shut up," you mutter, breathless, but it comes out whinier than you want.

"Oh, now you're embarrassed?" His smile sharpens. "Didn't seem so shy when you were humping me just now."

You shove at his chest, but his hands only tighten, grounding you in place, locking your body against his.

"Go ahead," he says, softly now, teeth grazing the underside of your jaw. "Get mad, but prove me wrong, baby. Show me you finally learned how to fuck me properly."

And fuck—he knows exactly what he's doing. His voice, his words, his mouth, all of it designed to crack you open. He drags the shame, defiance and desire out of you like he's mining for gold.

Your hands shake a little where they press to his chest.

But you roll your hips anyway.

Because God help you, you do want to prove him wrong. But when he doesn't move you nearly falter like he predicted, he doesn't help you or even touch you, he's leaned back against the headboard, arms spread uselessly beside your knees, his expression deadpan but his eyes locked on you with sharp, dark, and maddening patience.

You're the one shifting on top of him, dragging your skirt up around your hips with trembling fingers, your breathing shaky as you tug your panties to the side yourself. He doesn't make a sound, not even when you reach down between the two of you to palm him through his sweats, trying to coax his cock hard.

Still, he just watches. You're a private show, meant only for him. Not someone he's touching, but someone he's witnessing, every breath and movement is a performance he can't tear his eyes from.

His dick twitches in your hand, slowly filling, but he gives no reaction—not a moan, not a sigh, not even a shift of his hips. Just that steady gaze that makes your skin burn.

"You won’t help me?" you whisper, a little breathless.

He shrugs, that same frustrating smirk on his lips. "Thought you were trying to prove you could ride me good now."

You glare at him, fingers curling tighter around the base of his cock. You stroke him a little rougher than necessary, but he only raises a brow like he dares you to keep going.

"Come on," he murmurs, voice low, goading. "Figure it out. You wanted to be the one in control, didn't you?"

You press your lips together, swallowing a shaky breath as you line him up, lowering yourself slowly on the thickness of him and shaking just slightly, fingers clutching his shoulders for balance.

You gasp as the bulbous head of his cock slips in. But he just watches quietly like he’s waiting.

And somehow, to you that's worse than anything he could've even said.

You're whimpering, trying to take more of him rolling your hips just right, moving slow and deliberate like you think he wants. Like you hope he wants.

Your hands brace on his chest, your thighs burning already, and you move with every ounce of desperation you can muster—arching your back, biting your lip, trying to look as sexy and confident as you can manage.

But inside, it's sheer panic. Because you know what Jay could have, you know all the other girls he's brushed off for you. All the girls who would've killed to be in your place, bouncing perfectly in his lap, earning his soft praises and smug grins.

What if one of them would've been better? What if you're just…forgettable?

The jealousy twists sharp in your gut. And the need to matter and to mean something to Jay pushes you harder. You grind your hips down with more focus, swiveling just right, clenching around him tight and desperate.

And it finally pulls a real moan from him. It seems so raw and almost involuntary, but your heart stutters in your chest anyway.

You look down at him through your lashes, still rocking your hips, barely breathing. "Am I..." Your voice is shaky. "...doing good?"

Jay's eyes lift to meet yours—half-lidded and blown black, finally trailing his hand up to rest on your waist, not guiding you yet, just holding.

He exhales slowly, like the sight of you ruins him.

"So good," he croons. "So fucking good, baby."

And like that, you feel your whole body light up with relief, pride and maybe even power. Like maybe you’re finally enough for him.

His fingers suddenly tighten around your waist, and without warning he starts moving you himself, bouncing you harder on his cock. It’s not gentle or kind like you had hoped it would be when you’d asked him to help you. No, Jay is using his strength like it's second nature, like he's been waiting for you to tire out just so he could take over.

Your breath punches out of your lungs when your hips are dragged down hard, the thick length of his throbbing cock pushing in deeper than you'd dared to go on your own.

"Jay—!" you cry out, head snapping back, thighs trembling. But he's already covering your mouth with one large palm.

"Shhh," he breathes, lips brushing your cheek as he leans forward. "You're gonna get me a noise complaint, baby."

You can't help the way your eyes roll back, the stretch, the pressure, the depth of him inside you making your body seize with too much sensation. "Mmpfh."

His grip on your waist is absolutely bruising, dragging you down again and again, faster and harder. Your moans go muffled into his hand, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, your body turning to nothing but a puppet in his lap.

And Jay just watches you fall apart with that same infuriating calmness. "Look at you," he mutters. "Didn't even know how to ride it right five minutes ago."

His voice is smug and dirty. "But now? Now you're screaming for it." He says shifting his body a little, just his hands, one still rests at your waist while the other slips off your mouth and between your bodies, fingers seeking out your clit with perfected ease. You gasp when he finds you, the slick sound of your wetness absurd in the quiet of the room.

He presses his thumb just right and you jolt, the sudden pressure driving you dangerously closer to the edge. Your hips start to stutter, rhythm completely lost, but he picks it up for you—gripping your waist and moving you with a strength you'd forgotten he liked to flex. The next thrust is deeper, more brutal, and your head tips back with a cry, body arching into his. "J—ay! Ngh—Y—yes! There! There!"

Jay doesn't let up at all. "You're babbling now," he says, voice like velvet and venom. "What, you getting stupid for me already?"

You try to respond but your mouth won't cooperate, nothing comes out but a broken whine. Your limbs are trembling, your head swimming. He can feel it in the way you're squeezing around him, right on the brink.

Then he leans forward, mouth at your ear, voice a low rasp, "Do it again."

Your whole body slows to the stiff point. You know exactly what he means, exactly what it means and panic flares across your face, just for a second. Then his hand is on your throat, but not to choke you, just guiding you and pressing you gently back down onto the bed. Your back hits the sheets, chest heaving and Jay climbs over you, slow and deliberate, gaze fixed on yours.

You don't have to say a word. He sees the desperate, delirious relief in your eyes now that he’s on top. The smirk that spreads across his face is so mean and satisfied.

"There she is," he whispers, brushing your hair back with mock affection. "Right where you belong."

Then he moves inside you again, and your world splits open. The new angle is different and it’s letting his cock brush something achingly good inside you.

Your mouth opens, forming a silent no, but it's already happening, he's coaxing it out of you with the same rough rhythm, the same maddening meticulousness.

Your body starts to stiffen again as the pressure boils over, and just as you start to panic more. "Relax," he breathes. "Let it happen."

"I said do it again."

Your thighs quake. The wet slap of skin, the slick mess between your bodies—it's so overwhelming, so humiliating, and so perfect.

You choke on a gasp as your orgasm crashes down, blinding and involuntary, and then it happens. You feel it. The heat, the release, the wet flood you tried to hold back.

Jay's eyes light up, fucking triumphant. "Look at the mess you made," he says low, like he's proud of you and taunting you all at once. His hand glides down, wet with you, lifting his soaked fingers to your mouth. "Open."

You do. Of course you do.

He pushes two fingers past your lips, and you suck them obediently, tongue swirling slow even as your chest still heaves from the aftershocks. His eyes darken.

"You like it nasty, don't you?" he mumbles, pulling his hand away with a wet pop, dragging your jaw open with his thumb. "So fucking easy."

He shifts then, the weight of him pressing your legs wider as he strokes himself once, twice, and not gently. He's so hard and even almost angry with it, and it makes you realize he's been holding back, waiting for you to cum first.

He leans forward, teeth at your jaw, whispering, "You want to be used, right? That's what Heeseung doesn't get. You don't need love. You need to be ruined."

Then he pushes deep in again, faster and meaner.

You scream a loud sound you really try to swallow but it comes out anyway.

He doesn't hold back this time, his pace is rougher now, desperate, driven by something darker. He holds your leg up over his shoulder, trying to mark his name into the deepest part of you.

"Fuck," he grits, breath coming hot against your throat. "You're still so wet—squeezing me like you want me to finish inside."

You can't seem to form any sensible thoughts so you just grip his shoulders like a lifeline, head rolling back, another moan choking in your throat.

"Still so tight," he pants, sweat dripping down his temple, his thumb dragging across your spit-slick mouth. "Still...fuck—still letting him fuck you like you're not already mine."

You sob when he shifts your legs higher, deeper now, hitting that spot that makes you claw at the sheets.

"Jay—" it's all you can manage, too far gone to stop him but too full of him to breathe. But it’s not like he's even listening. Not really. He's watching the way you fall apart, as if he's memorizing the proof that he can still undo you this thoroughly.

His hips pulse, the rhythm of them breaking down—he's close. You feel the way his breath goes jagged, the way his arms start to tremble, how his teeth dig into the underside of your jaw before he groans right there, like he's in pain.

"I'm gonna cum," he grits, voice tight. "You want it, don't you?"

You nod frantically, already crying from the sheer overstimulation. He's everywhere—his scent, his voice, the weight of him fucking you into the mattress.

"Say it."

You try, you do really try. "Want it—want you to cum—inside, please, Jay, please—"

And that's what does it for him. He buries his cock inside you to the hilt with a broken sound, hips grinding into you as he cums hard, long and deep, filling you with thick ropes of his cum until you swear you can feel it pooling inside. His whole body jerks, muscles clenching, breath catching at the base of his throat. He stays like that for a long moment, frozen over you, forehead pressed to yours, both of you slick with sweat and sex and something even heavier.

He props himself up on his hands to look down at you when both your breathing slows, but he still doesn’t pull out. He just stares down at you, still inside, his hand sliding up your ribs until it's cradling your jaw.

"Next time you go back to him..." His thumb strokes over your bottom lip. "I'm done with you."

"And if you do...you better make sure I don’t find out."

His voice isn't even loud but it's steady and enough to make your stomach drop. He ignores the look on your face and shifts your panties back in place then gets off you.

Sometime between the kisses he peppered all over your face, the threat and the uber he'd ordered you, Jay had helped you get dressed again, his touch cool and careful, not speaking as he smoothed your hair down and tucked your phone back into your hand like a peace offering.

You're curled up on your bed, thumb hovering over the keyboard of your phone, the half-typed message to Heeseung glowing like a bruise.

you: ok fine. you win. when?

You stare at it too long, not because you're hesitant but because you know you should be. True to your word and your promise to Jay you had deleted Heeseung's number but you hadn't blocked it, and what use was that when you had it memorized.

Jay had looked you in the eye not even an hour ago and basically told you to choose between them. And maybe you'd meant to take it seriously. Maybe.

But then the soft thud against the glass pane of your window that has you blinking and turning you head—changes everything.

And there he is, changing everything. Heeseung.

Climbing through your window like it he would when you first started dating, but it's not with a smile and an embarrassed chuckle like those days, it's with a frown.

He's mad.

You can tell from the second his feet hit your floor, his jaw locked tight, his eyes raking over you with that specific brand of fury only Heeseung has, that’s quiet and cold, but mean under the surface.

His gaze drops to your legs tucked beneath you on the bed, your wrinkled tank, your flushed skin, and something shifts in his expression—tighter, darker.

"Why the fuck didn't you answer my text?" he says, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

You swallow hard. Your phone's still in your hand, the screen glowing with the message you never sent. He sees it.

"I was gonna—"

"Yeah?" He takes a step closer. "You were gonna what?"

You flinch at the heat between your legs cooling too slowly, the sticky ache of Jay still clinging to you. You didn't even shower or change, the drop in serotonin you experienced after leaving Jay's house left you in a rut.

And now Heeseung's standing here, inches away, breathing the same air as you.

He stops beside your bed, looking down at you, and you can't seem to meet his eyes.

Your shame feels loud, you're even scared he can probably smell it on you.

All your fears are validated when he grabs you by the ankle, one strong hand curling around and dragging you down the bed like a ragdoll. You gasp, your phone slipping from your grip as your back hits the mattress edge.

"Don't ignore me," he mutters, but it's distracted now. His hands are already on your thighs, pushing your skirt up. You squirm, legs instinctively snapping shut, but he doesn't allow that, never does. He spreads you open with one rough motion, ready to scold you, tease you, touch you but then he looks between your legs and his hands stop moving.

Your panties are soaked. Still a little askew. You hadn't fixed them right. Hadn't bothered.

You watch his face twist in real time—brows pinching, mouth parting slightly, like he can't seem to believe what he's seeing.

"What the fuck?" he says, low, breathless. "Did you let someone else fuck you?"

Your stomach flips violently. You try to sit up, to cover yourself, to explain, to say something but he grips your inner thigh tighter, forcing you to stay open.

His voice is flat now. "Who was it?"

He blinks at your silence.

And then, without even looking at you, just staring down at the complete mess between your legs, he lets out a laugh. It's not loud, it's not even mean at first, it's actually almost like he's stunned.

"So you're a little slut now, huh?" he whispers.

The word hits you like a punch to the stomach. Your chest caves in a little. Not because of what he said, but because he said it. Heeseung—who's never called you that. Who's always had this unspoken softness for you, even when he was being cruel. Even when he was distant or cold or high out of his mind, he'd never call you out of your name.

"You don't get to say that," you whisper, voice shaking. "We're not even—" You break off, choking on the heat rising in your throat. "We're not together anymore."

"Right," he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "You just keep my name in your phone. Keep my number on speed dial. Let me fuck you whenever I want. But now suddenly I don't even get to ask?"

"You don't," you snap. Your hands slam into his chest, weakly at first then harder the second time. "Get out. Get the fuck out, Heeseung."

He doesn't budge.

You push him again, as hard as you can, trying to guide him toward the window he so casually crawled through as if things were normal between you two. "You can't just show up here and—and check my fucking underwear—"

That makes him grin. A slow, infuriating grin.

You hate him.

You want to cry.

"You're really throwing a tantrum right now?" he says coolly, dodging your push like it's child's play. He catches both your wrists with one hand, effortlessly holding them in place. "What happened to that little whimpering mess I had in my lap last weekend?"

"Fuck you," you spit, writhing in his grip, breath catching. "You don't get to shame me and then act like you care!"

He just shrugs. "Didn't say I cared."

Then his grip tightens just enough to make you stop squirming. "But I'm not leaving either."

He walks right past you like you're not even standing there, like the argument didn't just happen. He moves with lazy arrogance—shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets.

You watch, stunned, as he sinks down into your bed, like he's done it a hundred times before. Which in his defense, he has.

He reaches over to your nightstand and picks up your phone. Just grabs it, thumbing through your screen, looking for God knows what, maybe the name of the person he's so sure you fucked earlier.

Your throat is too tight. Your fists clench by your sides, but he doesn't even glance at you, he's sat there, scrolling through your phone and the silence starts to ache.

Then he looks up.

Expression calmer now. "Go shower." He says with a flat and final tone.

You don't move, the twist in your stomach and the ache in your chest from the shame blooming there makes it hard to move. The worst part is that you don't even know if it's from what he said, or the fact that a part of you wants to listen.

"Now," he adds, eyes flicking back down to your phone.

Like you're just some mess he needs to clean up. You do as you're told—of course you do because Heeseung said so.

Your bathroom light is too bright, too exposing. You scrub harder than you need to, the soap scalding your skin as the shame now settles thick in your chest. You clean yourself like you're trying to erase something. Like you can.

What if Jay calls? What if Heeseung picks up?

Your mind races as you step back into the room, wrapped in a towel, your hair dripping, your skin flushed from the too-hot water. Heeseung looks up from where he's sprawled across your sheets and laughs, so casually amused.

"That supposed to impress me?" he asks, gesturing to the towel. "Like rinsing off some other dudes cum suddenly makes you clean?"

"Cute," he says, tilting his head. "You look nervous. Is it guilt or just performance?"

"Don't just stand there," he says after a beat, voice slow like syrup, sliding back into his usual apathy. "You think we're gonna cuddle or something?"

You shift uncomfortably, still frozen in place, clutching your towel.

He finally sits up, rolling his shoulders back, spreading his legs and patting the edge of the bed like he's calling a dog.

And somehow, stupidly, your body moves before your brain tells it not to.

You sit beside him, still shaking a little, heart hammering against the wet towel. You don't look at him, and you wish he couldn't see the panic painted all over your skin.

He doesn't touch you.

Just leans closer, nose grazing your ear, voice flat and low.

"I'm not gonna fuck you in the same hole you just gave another guy." He exhales a soft, sharp breath

You jolt, but his hand grips your waist tight enough to make you shut up and stay still. "You wanna make it up to me?" he says, voice so calm it cuts deeper. "Then get on all fours. Be useful for once."

"You know what I want."

The worst part is that you do know and you feel it breaking something open inside you—something ugly and raw and so, so tired.

But regardless of the tiredness, your body still moves.

Because that's what you've always done when it comes to Heeseung.

He shifts over you, his chest grazing your back, towel slipping as he cages you in. His mouth brushes your shoulder in a slow deliberate kiss, laced with the kind of false tenderness that makes your skin crawl. You shiver, more from the pressure than the heat of it.

Then he reaches around and pushes two fingers between your lips.

"Open up for me, angel face." he says, voice low and close to your ear and when you hesitate, his other hand presses down on your lower back, a clear warning. You part your lips, and he pushes the fingers deeper, right against your tongue. You nearly gag, your cheeks heating with sheer mortification. He doesn't move them until your saliva begins to pool around them.

"That's enough," he says, yanking them out and watching a strand of saliva cling between your lips and his fingers.

Without pause, he brings that spit slick hand behind you, reaching between your ass cheeks, spreading you open.

He coats his cock with the spit lazily, intentionally letting you feel every second of the slow glide of his fingers against you. You flinch when he teases the tight ring of muscle, his voice flattening into something amused.

"What?" he asks, tauntingly innocent. "You gave him your pussy. I'm just working with what's left."

You squeeze your eyes shut, thinking of how his cruelty has never sounded this casual.

"You should be grateful," he continues, positioning himself behind you. "Most guys wouldn't want you after that. But me?"

He chuckles.

"I'll still fuck you."

His hand comes up to your throat in a choke. A reminder, as his hips press in slowly, forcing your body to adjust. Your legs tremble, stretched awkwardly on your knees, hands digging into the mattress. You can barely breathe through the sting, and he hasn't even started moving yet.

"You look so pathetic right now." He says, feeling the way the walls of your asshole spasm around him as he pushes in deeper, hot and slick with your saliva and his precum. "Poor you, helpless and weak. You just take me whenever I show up, uhn?"

You squirm in pleasure at his words, nodding, repeatedly moaning words about being his slut and for him to give you his cock, completely forgetting about the promise you just made Jay—like a true whore.

"Yeah?" He taunts you, slipping one hand under you to your tit and pinching your nipple so hard you arch your back at it, arching into him as you feel the pain shoot all the way through you in pleasure. "You're only good for taking my cum, right angel face?"

A gasp rips from your throat when his nails bite down on your nipple again, the sting shooting straight through you. Waves of goosebumps ripple across your skin, relentless, and all you can do is nod harder, desperate to keep up. "Ah—Hee, oh my god!"

"Shhh, isn't your mum home? You want her to come in here and see me fucking your needy hole? See how much of a fucking slut her daughter is?" You shake your head violently but the drag of his cock against your walls and the slap of his balls against your cunt that's dripping onto the bed as you doing otherwise.

His thrusts stay unrelenting, each one a willful reminder that this is only about release, not some sort of reunion. He leans down, mouth beside your ear, the rasp of his breath harsher than the slap of skin against skin.

"This doesn’t mean we're getting back together?" His laugh is cold and cruel, hips snapping forward harder just to hear you gasp. "Keep dreaming. I'll fuck you, but I'll never get back together with you again."

You clench around him, feeling the shame, hurt and sheer pleasure all tangled, and he hisses, the smile in his voice turning near vicious.

"That's it—tighten up like you don’t believe me," he taunts, hand curling in your hair to keep your face buried in the pillow. "We're done, angel face. You're just a convenient hole I'll use when I'm bored."

He punctuates every word with another sharp thrust, voice dropping even lower. "So stop pretending, stop hoping—because when I pull out, I'm gonna walk away, and you'll still be nothing but leftovers in another guy's bed."

You’re nearly in tears at his words, feeling it pooling on your lash line. You’re starting regret breaking your promise to Jay or for not standing your ground and pushing Heeseung out of your window. "Hee—Heeseung, please."

In one swift motion he pulls out and drags you to the edge of the bed and onto your back, pushing in again, completely ignoring your pleas. "Oh fuck! Shit’s so fucking tight—You let him fuck you here?"

"No! N—Never!" your response has him fucking forward faster, pinning your knees to your shoulders as he fucks deeper and rubs his fingers all over your clenching pussy. "You gonna squirt for me like a good girl?"

The sounds your pussy is making are messy and obscene, and when he hooks two fingers inside your pussy and curls them up? You don't stand a chance in the world, you cum hard, body spasming violently as the liquid shoots out of your cunt and sprays his chest and stomach, he laughs at the sight, "Yeahhh, there we go."

It drives him on towards his own orgasm. He thrusts faster and harder, pushing your legs into your chest harder, so hard that all you can do is bask in the pain. Your ass is burning deliciously, your pussy is hot, and your clit swollen as he finally groans and spills inside you. Hot strings of his cum filling your ass, making you keen and moan at the delicious feeling.

His skin is slick against yours as he falls over you, caging you in with your sweat cooling in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You lie tangled together on the rumpled sheets, the aftermath of your stormy reunion thrums through every nerve of your body. His breathing comes out in ragged gasps as he shifts, body weighted onto you.

His hand drifts across your waist, the pads of his fingers rough where he's still too worked up. He leans in, voice clipped on your neck, every word laced with that familiar sting, "Don't get soft on me now, angel face. I'm not your boyfriend again."

Your heart thumps at the barb because you want him to be. But instead you force the usual shrug, feigning like you don’t care and wincing at the ache between your legs.

"Yeah," you whisper, a little out of breath. "I know."

He presses closer, chest against your spine, and you feel the heat of his body like something too close to a claim for someone who just outwardly said he doesn’t want to be with you again.

"Good," he mutters through a sharp exhale. "Then you know I'm sleeping here. Don't bother moving."

You don't argue, not because you don’t see the need but because you’re far too exhausted and you know damn well he won’t listen to you anyway. You're too used to his cold commands and your quiet yielding, so you let him pull you tighter, you let his arm settle across your ribs.

No kisses or soft words or aftercare, at least Jay had tried to make you look more presentable—smoothing out your skirt and trying to tame your here it’s just the steady thump of Heeseung’s heartbeat against your back and the whir of the street outside your house.

You close your eyes, mind drifting instead to Jay as you try to ignore the not so soothing circles Heeseung’s thumb is rubbing into your stomach.

He'll kill me, you think, eyelids heavy. He said he'd be done if he finds out, he actually said to make sure he doesn’t find out. The worry threads through you, sharp and anxious, but sleep drags you under before you can chase it down.

And for a moment, you're caught between their worlds—Heeseung's cold possession holding you in the dark, and Jay's promise of finality echoing in your head as you drift off.

You wake up to the sound of someone exhaling sharply through their nose, it’s not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. But it's enough to pull you from the tangle of sleep, your limbs feel heavy and your skin is too warm beneath the sheets. Your body aches, but not sore in the good way, this is in the used up and exhausted way.

There's a dull throb between your legs and the rawness in your throat reminds you that you cried hard last night. For a second, you don't even remember where you are, but then you shift, and the bare skin against yours moves with you.

Heeseung still asleep beside you, with his chest rising and falling steadily. One of his arms is draped across your waist. You're completely naked with sticky thighs and a dull ache between your ass cheeks. The air in your room feels wrung out and the smell of sex is clinging to the sheets.

That same breath comes again and you realize it’s not from Heeseung, so you blink your eyes open.

And Jay is standing above you.

Dressed in sweats and a white tee that clings to him like second skin. His face is stoic, eyes flicking between the shape of you under your blanket and the man lying beside you.

Your heart stops, it actually stops before crashing into a violent rhythm inside your chest.

"Wow," Jay says, voice calm in that terrifyingly low way. "Not even twenty-four hours."

You shoot upright, dragging the sheet over your chest, like it'll somehow undo everything or erase the guilt growing like mold in your throat, threatening to suffocate you. You feel exposed and nauseous, like you could throw up right there in the bed.

"Jay—" you start, voice cracking.

But he just lifts his hand, not even to silence you, just so incredibly dismissively. Like your words aren't even worth hearing.

"Your mum said you didn't eat dinner," he says after a beat, not even looking at you now. "That's why I came. She said she was headed out for the day. Thought I could check on you."

Your stomach sinks. Shame slams into you so fast you have to look away. You want to be so angry at your mother for thinking Jay is so responsible with you but you can’t because he is responsible, especially with you.

Heeseung starts to stir at the sound of voices around him. He blinks up at Jay, completely unbothered. "What the fuck—?"

You can't breathe, not to talk of move. You feel like a child about to be punished, or more like a criminal caught red handed, but worse than all that, you feel absolutely pathetic.

"Is this how you let random guys barge into your room now?" Heeseung grumbles, rubbing his eyes. He squints at Jay. "The fuck are you even doing here?"

You want to scream at him to shut up. You want to cry, as you watch Jay stare into your eyes.

Heeseung sits up slowly, scoffing under his breath. "Get the fuck out, dude."

Jay doesn't budge or even feign like he’s about to. No, instead he plants himself at the foot of the bed—arms crossed, back straight, that unnerving calm carved into every line of his face. His gaze stays glued to you, not even wavering when Heeseung pushes up onto an elbow, blanket slipping low across his hips.

"Get dressed," Jay says, voice quiet but completely resolute. He isn't loud, because remember? he doesn't ever have to be. The authority in his voice is always ice cold and precise.

You scramble at the sheets, fully dizzy with panic, shame and adrenaline. Your hands are shaking so badly you can't tell if you're gripping cotton or fucking air.

Heeseung scoffs, a bark of incredulous laughter. "Who the fuck are you to tell her what to do?"

Jay doesn't still spare him a glance. He just extends a lazy hand toward your dresser. "Clothes. Now."

Heeseung's eyes narrow, confusion dawning into something uglier. "Wait." He sits all the way up, raking his gaze over Jay's face, then yours. "Hold on. Is this—" He points between the two of you, lips curling. "You? You're the guy who fucked her?"

You fathom speaking now, even though he truth is screaming inside your skull, your throat feels cemented shut.

Heeseung lets out another humorless laugh. "Wow. Your so called best friend, huh?" He looks you over, disgust edging his tone.  "You'll really spread your legs for just anyone, won't you?"

The words punch a hole straight through your chest, it has your vision blurring, but you still slide from the bed, clutching the sheet to the front of your body—the ache between your ribs way louder than the ache between your legs.

Jay's jaw flexes, but he doesn't rise to the bait of Heeseung referring to him as just anyone. He still doesn’t look at him. Rather, he turns slightly, exposing his profile to you, creating a corridor of privacy in the room that somehow excludes Heeseung entirely.

"Drawer," he says softly. "I'm counting to ten."

The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—or sob. You stumble to your dresser, jerk it open, and pull the first t-shirt you find over your head. Your fingers fumble with a pair of panties. You feel Heeseung's stare on your back, burning with hate and disbelief.

Jay murmurs, "Eight...nine—"

You wrench the panties up just as he reaches ten, heart jack-hammering in your throat. Then you stand there, arms wrapped around yourself, sheet puddled at your feet like evidence.

Finally Jay shifts his gaze to Heeseung—slow and intentional with his eyes flat and glacier cold. "Out," he says. One syllable and absolutely nothing more.

Heeseung brims with tension, rising from the bed. "Fucking make me."

The air in your room turns heavy, electric, charged with something darker than anger. You tug the oversized shirt lower on your thighs, cheeks burning, pulse rabbiting beneath your skin. You should tell one of them to leave, you should scream, you should do something. Instead you stand there uselessly with a pounding heart and a twisted gut while the two men who know your body like a map stare each other down over the wreckage of your sheets.

Jay breaks the silence first, voice low. "You promised."

Heeseung lets out a dry laugh, eyes flicking to you, then back. "And? She promised me once too. Didn't stop her moaning my name last night while I fucked her ass."

Your breath catches so hard you think you might faint. You taste shame, guilt and it’s something sour that turns strangely sweet when both their gazes snap to you at the same time, like you're the prize in a game neither of them intends to lose.

"You proud of that?" Jay asks, still calm, but you hear the steel under the words.

Heeseung's smirk widens. "Looks like she is," he says, nodding at the way your knees knock together, the way your fingers twist in the hem of the shirt that ridiculously smells like Jay's detergent and Heeseung's sweat. "Little thing's shaking."

Your stomach flips with equal parts dread and a perverse thrill. Yesterday's memories flash hard behind your eyes, both of them inside your head, under your skin. You know you'll never be able to choose. Because part of you likes this, you like their attention crashing over you from both sides, two tidal waves colliding with you caught in the undertow.

Jay steps closer, toying with your phone in his palm. "Show him you can fucking follow instructions." he says quietly, gaze never leaving Heeseung.

The command sinks into your bones, all too familiar and unraveling. Your lips part but you don't even know what you're about to say or do. But then Heeseung's hand snakes out, catching your wrist and pulling you toward him instead.

"She listens to me just fine," Heeseung declares, fingers sliding to your chin, forcing your head back so you're looking up at him. "Don't you, angel face?"

You swallow, throat tight. A tiny sound, half-whimper, half-yes escapes your lips.

Jay's eyes are blazing when Heeseung shifts you to have your back against his chest. His hand traces a slow, infuriatingly confident line down your stomach, and you flinch at the intimacy of it. You don't even have time to move before Heeseung's mouth is right beside your ear, dragging a lazy kiss against your neck, possessive and smug.

Jay doesn't say anything, but his eyes darken, you see it and so does Heeseung.

"Seriously?" Jay finally mutters, voice low, somewhere between daze and something shockingly hungrier. "You're letting him touch you like that, right in front of me?"

Heeseung just laughs, warm breath skating over your shoulder as his hand slips lower, palming your pussy like he has every right to. "You can't look away though, can you?" he says, eyes fixed on Jay now, goading. "What's the matter? Didn't get enough yesterday?"

Jay's fists curl at his sides but he doesn't move, the tension radiating off of him is palpable. His stare drops to where Heeseung's hand is inside your panties you put on, groping like he's testing ownership.

"You're disgusting," Jay snaps, but his voice is thinner now, less conviction. His gaze is low and lingering.

Heeseung hums. "And you're hard."

That hits Jay like a gunshot and he freezes, nostrils flaring because he is hard.

Heeseung turns his attention back to you, smirking a little. His fingers slip between the folds of your pussy, finding your clit and you whimper, head dropping forward into your hands, embarrassed, but not enough to tell him stop, or enough to make them leave.

"Don't pretend this isn't what she wants," Heeseung says, dragging his lips along your neck. "She's been taking both of us, hasn't she? Plus I don’t really care about her, she just lets me do things other girls don’t."

Jay doesn't answer, but he does step closer. Close enough to see everything and close enough that your skin burns from the weight of both their attention.

"You gonna join me?" Heeseung asks him, too cocky now. "Or you gonna watch with your dick in your hand like a fucking cuck?"

Jay looks at you and the way his eyes soften is the only warning you get before he grabs your chin and kisses you, rough and unrelenting. Now you know neither of them are leaving at least not until one of them wins or they break you.

Heeseung's grip on your waist tightens, but his gaze is all on Jay now, trying to stand behind you like he's bored, like he's not fully hard from just watching Jay kiss you. He lets out a slow exhale, smirking a little as he confesses something that seems to not matter to him anymore.

"You know," he starts lazily, still watching as your tongue collides with Jay’s, "when I was with her...back then? You used to piss me off. Thought you were some kind of threat."

Jay pulls his mouth from yours. "Shut the fuck up."

"But looking at you now..." Heeseung tilts his head, continuing and dragging his eyes lower in a way that makes the air shift. "I don't think I wanna fight you anymore."

There's a beat of silence, something electric buzzing underneath it. You blink, unsure if you heard him right.

"I kinda wanna fuck you instead," he adds plainly.

Jay's lips part slightly, brows drawn in confusion that's quickly swallowed anger or curiosity, you can't truly tell.

Heeseung laughs at Jay’s reaction and then leans in closer to you, resting his chin lazily on your shoulder, eyes still on Jay. His tone drops. "Bet you taste good too," he says, like it's nothing, like he's not teasing the both of you. "Wouldn't mind finding out."

You tense between them, pulse thudding, because you see how this is power, pride...and a pull between them that neither of them wants to admit but both of them feel.

"Fuck off," Jay mutters, but his voice is hoarse now. "That’s not fucking happening."

Heeseung grins, victorious, and kisses your neck again, but slower this time cause he knows Jay is watching.

Heeseung's palm slides possessively over your stomach again while his mouth works a heated trail up your throat—never taking his eyes off Jay. Every flick of Heeseung's tongue feels like a dare thrown directly at the other man, and Jay's control is visibly eroding, his jaw flexed, chest rising faster, fists clenching as though he's deciding whether to shove Heeseung away or drag him closer.

"Getting worked up just watching?" Heeseung murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, but the words are for Jay. He drags his hand lower across your thigh, slow enough to make you squirm. "Thought you were the one giving orders."

Jay's reply is a dark and unamused laugh. "Keep talking."

Heeseung does—whispers something filthy against your skin, hips nudging his hard clothed cock against your ass until you gasp and he continues to goad Jay.

"Tell me," Heeseung says, voice low as he noses along your jaw. "Is he a good kisser?" His question hums with challenge, and his fingers flex on your hip, reminding you how completely you're pinned between them.

Your pulse thunders. Shame and anticipation collide in your chest, and something reckless slips past your lips, something soft and breathy and meant only for him.

"Why don't you...find out?"

For a beat neither man moves. Jay's eyes flash in shock and something close to resentment, a flare of something hungry. Heeseung's grin spreads, slow and wicked. He leans past you, crowding closer until his breath mingles with Jay's.

The charged silence hangs, but then Jay closes the distance, grabbing the back of Heeseung's neck like he didn’t tell him a moment ago that it would never happen. Their mouths crash together, raw and forceful. You're caught between them, heat bouncing off their bodies, every muffled groan vibrating through your spine.

It's messy and competitive—Jay bites Heeseung's lip and Heeseung answers with a low growl, hand sliding boldly down Jay's side before circling back to squeeze your thigh. You feel the tremor that rolls through Jay at the touch, and pride twists with awe in your lower belly.

Heeseung's grip on your thigh loosens just long enough for him to shove you forward, away from the collision of their mouths. You stumble onto your knees beside the bed, watching as he turns fully to Jay, eyes blazing with hungry curiosity.

Heeseung presses his palm to Jay's chest, sliding it down over his ribs, fingertips tracing the line of his abs. Jay's breath draws sharp, caught off guard.

"Ever been with a guy before?" Heeseung's voice is soft, teasing, every word loaded.

Jay blinks at him. "No," he manages, tone rough.

Heeseung just laughs, soft and smug, thumb brushing over Jay's exposed skin. "That's alright. I'm honored to be your first..." He glances at you, eyes gleaming. "Just like I was hers."

Jay's jaw tics, but he doesn't move away. Heeseung steps in closer, chests brushing, heat rising in the thin space between them. His hand moves higher, curling around the back of Jay's neck, pulling him in again. And this time the kiss is filthier, open-mouthed with teeth grazing and tongues sliding without hesitation.

You're breathless watching them. Jay's hand grips Heeseung's side, uncertain but firm causing the other to groan into his mouth, hands slipping lower to snake between both their bodies to palm Jay’s hardened cock over his sweats. Jay jerks, gasping into the kiss, hips twitching forward in shock.

"Fuck," Jay hisses, pulling back just enough to suck in air.

"Sensitive already?" Heeseung grins, licking his lips. "That's cute."

You press your thighs together, pulse pounding at the sight of them, Jay's cheeks are flushed, Heeseung's calmness is near predatory, and the sheer tension vibrating between the three of you. Your body still aches from the night before, but all you can think about is them.

Heeseung bites his lip, fingers curling tighter around Jay's waistband, tugging it down enough to expose the hardness beneath.

Jay shudders. Heeseung raises an eyebrow. "You hard for me already?" he murmurs. "Or is it for her?"

Jay doesn't answer and it causes Heeseung to grin wider. "Guess it doesn't matter."

And then he spits into his hand, slow and deliberate, before wrapping it around Jay’s dick without breaking eye contact with him.

You swear you feel your clit forming a heartbeat.

Jay takes a sharp inhale he tries desperately to stifle. This is new to him, but his chest tightens either way and his pulse hammers in his throat when Heeseung wraps his spit covered hand around his dick. Everything in Jay screams that he shouldn't want this, that Heeseung is the enemy, but beneath that war, a dark current of arousal is coiling.

Heeseung's fingers pump him slow and sure, eyes locked on his as if he willing him to break. Jay's lips part, and for a heartbeat, he almost moans but he clamps his jaw shut instead, head tilting back so only the curve of his throat shows, as heat floods his face.

His hands twitch at his sides, yearning to grip something, anything. He lifts one to knot in Heeseung's hair, not in anger, but instinct like a desperate plea for more and it makes Heeseung's grin flicker with victory.

Jay's vision darkens at the edges as the pleasure builds, electric and terrifyingly sweet. He fights for control, but his body betrays him when a low groan slips free, startling even him, one which has you trailing your hand between your legs to find some sort of relief.

Heeseung doesn't even glance your way but his voice slices through the thick air like a whip, "Touch yourself and neither of us lay a hand on you."

Your fingers freeze, inches from your cunt, the sight before you too overwhelming, their bodies are close, with tension humming like live wire, and you’re drowning in it, arousal clouding everything else.

A pit of embarrassment forms in your chest. You slowly lower your hand back to the ground with your heart racing.

Jay looks you too now with a dark gaze, you notice his chest rising and falling hard like he's on the edge of saying something—but doesn't.

Heeseung's pace stroking Jay's cock quickens, it turns somewhat relentless, he has one hand still steady at Jay's hip while the other pumps him with confidence. Jay's eyes flutter shut as the pressure builds, you know that look.

"You like that, don't you?" Heeseung says, voice laced with amusement.

Jay's fingers cling to Heeseung's shoulders, body trembling under the rising tension of his orgasm. You watch, breath caught as Heeseung leans in close, lips brushing Jay's ear.

"Look at you—so proud you could handle her, and yet here you are, helpless for me." His thumb presses in right over the phallic tip of him, dragging a trembling, lewd pulse through Jay's cock. It makes Jay's hand jerk, scrabbling at Heeseung's wrist, helpless.

Heeseung smiles knowingly against Jay's skin—slow, knowing. "No hiding," he teases, brushing fingertips over Jay's lower lip until Jay parts them, letting Heeseung trace the wet line. "You don't sound like the tough guy you pretend to be."

You watch Jay try to swallow, try to form a retort, but his voice is gone, it's replaced by a soft, whimpering moan that vibrates through his whole body.

"Go on," Heeseung says. "Let me see what you look like when you cum.”

Jay's head falls back, neck bare, throat exposed. And then it happens, a trembling exhalation, guttural and urgent, as Jay's body shudders and clenches. You see the flush spread across his cheeks, you hear the wet heat of Jay's cum slicking across Heeseung's palm.

Heeseung strokes him through it with a steady hand, letting Jay's orgasm roll through him until the final shudder. Then he slowly withdraws his hand, setting Jay's spent cock free to twitch in the cool air. He watches Jay's chest heave, eyes still closed, mouth parted.

For a heartbeat, there's only the sound of Jay's ragged breathing, then Heeseung's gaze flicks downward, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips when he notices Jay still hard, flushed and ready like he hadn't just come undone seconds ago.

"Well, shit," he drawls, low and smug. "Didn't think you had stamina like that."

Jay doesn't respond at first, he just eyes Heeseung up and down, standing firm, his chest heaving with barely restrained unease. But there's a flicker in his eyes of something darker, especially when Heeseung keeps looking at him like that, like he's impressed and still in control all at once.

Heeseung's grins because he doesn't miss the look Jay gives him. He leans in a little, "I wanna know, Jay. You ever fucked her ass?"

That hits. Jay's head snaps toward you, and there's a twitch in his lip, his whole body tensing like he's about to swing, but it's not from shame or shock but something possessive and territorial, and it makes his tone is clipped and bitter when he replies, "No. I haven't."

Heeseung hums in jest, clearly savoring it, but then Jay steps in, crowding his space more with a tight jaw. "You think that makes you better than me?" he mutters, eyes narrowing. "You think that means you get to take what's mine?"

Heeseung raises a brow, not backing down. "You really think she's yours right now?" he says, voice velvet-smooth. "She let me in first. And look at you..." He chuckles as his gaze drops again. "Still acting like you've got any say."

But instead of escalating, Heeseung steps back a bit. A surprising glint of generosity or maybe twisted mischief shines in his eyes. He turns to you, then grabs your wrist, dragging you of the ground effortlessly toward him.

"Come here, angel face," he says, already sitting back on the sheets.

You shake as he guides you to straddle him, already pushing your panties down your thighs.

Jay's confusion flashes at the sight, followed quickly by understanding. His eyes drag across your body as you're pulled onto his lap. The way you're still pliant, already slick, flushed from everything that just happened. You settle over him like instinct, thighs shaking.

Heeseung lays against the bed with his hands spread on your ass, satisfied. "Go on," he tells Jay, like he's giving him a gift. "Or you don't wanna fuck her ass?"

Jay doesn't speak, he just gets on the bed behind you and grabs your hips roughly, eyes never leaving Heeseung's. The tension between them is tangible now, some primal challenge in the air and you're caught right in the center of it—torn and dizzy with it, as Jay pushes you down onto him, every inch of him searing and full of purpose. And all the while, Heeseung just watches cause he likes what he sees.

The sheets are cool under your knees as Jay's hands splay around your ass, guiding you to angle back against him. Every breath from you seems too loud in the sudden hush of your room, it's just the faint creak of the mattress and the muted hum of morning outside your window. Jay's hands are warm against your spine, his skin damp where he's still riding the edge of anger and desire.

Heeseung lounges at the head of the bed and under you, propped against the pillows, dark eyes tracking every twitch in your body and every flicker of tension across Jay's jaw. You're hyperaware of his presence—how his gaze sears like a brand, claiming you even as Jay'sce fingers spread across your waist in their own possessive pattern.

You're pinned between them—straddling Heeseung's lap as Jay lines his spit and cum covered dick up with your clenching hole. Heeseung's hands grip your hips too, trying to keep you in play for Jay, his thumbs digging into the flesh of your ass, forcing you back hard on Jay's cock behind you. You moan out something incoherent, "Oh—! W—Wait! Nggh."

Heeseung's voice is a rasp at your ear with something wicked and out of breath, "Look at you—between two men like some cheap toy." He adjusts himself under you, pulling out his cock from his boxers and gently lining it up with your pussy. "Oh my god! Heeseung wait!"

You gasp, heat roaring through your core as Jay picks up a steady pace of fucking his cock into you and Heeseung pushes his up into your sopping cunt, each stroke makes you push back Jay, the feeling of both of them in your holes has you digging your nails digging into Heeseung's shoulders.

Heeseung chuckles darkly. "You like that, don't you? Two big dicks fucking you?" His grin is jagged, but you can't even look at it for too long because the fullness is so intense you have to close your eyes. "So good! So good!"

Jay's hand finds yours on Heeseung's shoulder, gripping tight, his is palm hot on yours. He doesn't say anything, but you feel the strain in his muscles as he drives his cock into you harder and faster.

Heeseung leans upward, kissing you quickly before shoving his fingers into your mouth. "Ngh! Oh! Goddamit! I can feel your dick through her." He takes his fingers from your mouth and uses the same ones to rub your clit in harsh circles.

"Too much! Heeseung! Jay!"

"Sloppy little thing," he snarls. "But Jay'll fix that, huh?" He fucks up into you with renewed determination, the pressure of your orgasm building inside you in a jagged, desperate wave.

Tears sting your eyes as Jay's grunts fill the room. "Hole's so tight—My God."

"She ever squirt for you before?" Heeseung asks Jay, pace never failing, "Yeah," Jay groans, his eyes screwing shut and his head lolling back.

Heeseung laughs. "Yeah? Think you can go faster?"

You hear Jay grumble in agreement as his pace picks up along with Heeseung's and they both brush something delicious inside your two holes. The stretch is impossibly overwhelming, it has you drooling right onto Heeseung's chest.

You're right at the edge of losing control and you know they are too, every nerve ending in your body erupts into a blazing white-hot spark. You can feel the relentless fullness of Heeseung thrusting into your pussy and the deep burn of Jay pushing into your asshole like two currents of pressure that clash inside you, building into one ridiculously impossible wave.

"I'm gonna cum! Hee!—Jay! Gonna cum! Gonna cum!"

In that instant, your vision blurs at the edges, your breath catches in jagged gasps, and your holes clench down around them both. Your hands slam into the headboard as a rush of heat floods outward from your cunt, simultaneously constricting and exploding, like every drop of blood in your veins has turned to molten fire. "Yes yes yes! Use me! Use me!"

Your whole body convulses with Jay's name on your lips, need shooting through every nerve until Heeseung's words pull you back from the edge. "Fuck, that's right—Ugh."

A strangled moan tears from your throat, your back arches, and your toes curl as the wave crests. You're suspended between fierce ache and a blissful orgasm, every inch of you humming with overload.

Time fractures and each of your heartbeats thump in your ears as your orgasm rolls through you again and again with thick surges of bliss that crackle with humiliation and joy all at once. Your vision swims with dizziness, you're so fucking elated and completely undone.

Behind you, Jay grunts grow louder, his own ripping orgasm from him in a raw exhale as he cums into your asshole, continuing to pump himself into you. His hips jerk with every pulse, driving you higher even as you cum. "Oh fuck me."

Beneath you, Heeseung's breath snarls in your neck, with a husky voice. "Cumming!"

You feel his cum spill inside your pussy, so warm and grounding, as his hands tighten on your hips and hold you in place.

You're suspended between them with Jay's and Heeseung's pleasure and yours intertwining in a moment of pure, overwhelming abandon. Your body trembles so hard you think you might shatter, tears slipping free as the last tremor fades.

You feel trapped in their storm of shame, lust, and fear. It has you dizzier and you start to drift, so close to passing out. Your limbs feel heavy and detached, as if you're watching someone else slumped between them. Their bodies surround you so steadily while the world outside your bedroom window carries on oblivious.

Heeseung's breath is soft against your neck, his hand still resting on your hip. Jay's steady weight behind you reminds you of every promise made and every threat whispered. But no one speaks and time thins.

All you can feel is the slow pulse of your heart, the faint sting of tears on your cheeks, and the relentless press of desire still humming through your veins.

Then, almost too quietly to hear, Heeseung shifts, voice against your skin but eyes on Jay.

"I wanna fuck you next."

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