angst(?), romance, friends with benefits(?), hurt/comfort
Warning: emotional tears, sexual tension
Summary: you told him not to fall in love with you. But even when you tried to keep things simple, feelings found their way
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"Don't fall in love with me."
You told him that night, your eyes locked on his. He knew you were serious. He had never seen you look at him like that like your eyes were explaining the consequences without a single word.
"I mean it, Ohyul. I won't fall in love with you, so don't."
It wasn't like you needed to say it. He had already been planning to restrain himself, to stay on the other side of that line.
After all, being something was better than being nothing with you.He was a simple man. He'd take what he could get.
Plain. Simple. Easy enough to swallow.
You looked at him a moment too long, like you didn't believe him, like you already knew he was lying through his teeth.
But then you smiled, almost tired and that was that.You never talked about it again. It just happened
You saw each other when it was convenient, when time allowed it. Sometimes, he'd find himself walking to your place without deciding to, hands buried in his pockets, rehearsing excuses that neither of you really needed.
You weren't nothing either.
It existed in that strange middle ground without labels, most especially without promises.The kind of thing that thrived in the dark and wilted in daylight.
You were his hidden treasure. He was your dirty secret. Well, that's what he told himself.
You'd sit on his couch, legs over his lap, scrolling through your phone, talking about everything except what you were actually doing.
He'd pretend not to care when your phone buzzed with someone else's name. You'd pretend not to notice that he only ever kissed you when the lights were off.
It was easy and that was the problem.
He told himself it didn't mean anything: the way you always left a little later each time, the way you started wearing his hoodies home, the hair tie he found in his jacket pocket that he didn't throw away.
He even wore it on his wrist, laughing at how pathetic he felt.
You didn't ask him to stay. He never did.
But sometimes, he'd wake in the middle of the night and realize he hadn't left yet, that morning light was already bleeding into the room, that you were breathing softly beside him and he'd wonder when the hell he started memorizing the sound of it.
That's what you were. Something he couldn't name, something that didn't fit anywhere.
Except friends didn't do this. And lovers, that word didn't belong to you. It felt too much, too definite.
So you both pretended it was fine.
That it was all just fun, temporary, harmless. He told himself he could handle it.
Now he sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless, your scent lingering on the covers more you than him. He stared for a while. You were cozied up, face half-buried in the pillow, one eye peeking out from under the blanket.
He told himself he was just watching. That there was nothing more to it. But the way his chest felt said otherwise.
He wondered when the line started to blur. Maybe it was the night you asked if he ever got tired of pretending not to care.
"It's easier” You hummed, unconvinced.
"You make everything sound so simple."He shrugged, because that's all he ever knew to do.
But he thought about it later. Thought about it too much. The way you said it. The way you poked at him like you already knew what was underneath, but were kind enough not to rip it open.
He remembers another time, weeks later, maybe months. He's not sure anymore, when you asked him if he ever thought about love.
He'd scoffed. "What about it?"
You grinned at him "Just wondering if you're still allergic to it."
He rolled his eyes, but something about the way you said still made his throat tighten.
You said it like you never believed there was a time when he wasn't. He didn't answer you that night
He just kissed you instead.
It was easier than admitting he didn't know what the hell he felt about anything anymore.
Now, sitting here, he thinks maybe that was the first time it started to slip. When the pretending stopped feeling natural
When being near you stopped feeling like a choice
He runs a hand over his face and sighs quietly. You stir, but you don't wake.
It's strange how you can spend months convincing yourself you don't want something, and then one night, in the middle of nothing special, it hits you that you already have.
The way you fit so comfortably in his space, and the thought comes uninvited
When did I start wanting you this bad?
He doesn't have the answer. He doubts he ever will.He sits there for a long time, bare shoulders slumped right, he's still shirtless.
If he thought hard enough, he could still feel your skin against his. He tries to convince himself it's just exhaustion making his head feel too full.
The room smells like detergent and your shampoo, with a faint trace of rain drifting in through the open window. Everything feels heavy with you.
So why won't he have it any other way?
You could slip out of his life the same way you slip out of his bed. That thought lands harder than he expects.
You were never his to lose.
The whole arrangement was built on that. He agreed to it. He even liked the logic of it No one gets hurt. No one owes anyone anything.
And yet here he is, sitting in the dark, feeling like he's already losing something that was never his.He stares at the curve of your shoulder under the blanket.
The kind of safe that has nothing to do with him.
They keep looping how you laugh at texts that aren't his, how you talk about other people like the world is still wide open for you, and how he can't even say your name sometimes without feeling like it costs him something.
Someone else could have you.
The idea makes his chest twist.
Someone else could make you laugh without wondering if it's allowed. Someone else could call you theirs.
He presses the heel of his palm against his eye, hard enough to see spots. It doesn't help.
He wants to tell himself it's just jealousy, something small and ugly that'll fade if he ignores it long enough.But the more he blinks, the worse it gets. He hates that. He hates that you did this to him without even trying.
You shift in your sleep, mumbling something he can't quite catch, and he freezes.
He's half-afraid you'll wake up, half-hoping you will
Maybe if you did, he could hide behind another kiss, another joke, another round of pretending it's all the same.
But you don't wake. You just breathe.
And he sits there, eyes burning, watching the rise and fall of your chest like it's the only thing keeping him grounded.
You could walk away tomorrow.
You could find someone who doesn't hesitate, someone who doesn't make things complicated just by existing.
And what would he do? What could he do?
He isn't your boyfriend. He isn't anything you'd have to miss. Just a name you scroll past when you want to feel less alone for a few hours.
He sits there until his eyes ache from staring at the dark, and his mind drifts.
It lands, for whatever reason, on that one afternoon in your kitchen. The one that was supposed to be nothing just killing time before things blurred into what they always did.
Before you warmed each other again.There was flour on your hands. You'd laughed when he told you that you were terrible at measuring.
You said, "Then you do it," and handed him the spoon.
He rolled his eyes, of course.
That's what he did when he didn't want you to know he was enjoying himself.
But then you leaned close, eyes crinkled with that stupid grin, and before he could make some dry comment, you pressed a quick kiss to his nose.
It was so small it barely counted as anything
A blink and miss it kind of thing
You just laughed and turned back to the counter, still talking about how bad the dough looked. But for a second, just a second, it was quiet.
And that moment felt like his.
Like something that belonged to him alone He hadn't realized how much he'd held onto it until now.
The memory plays over and over that flash of warmth, that sound of you laughing, that tiny, ridiculous kiss and suddenly the weight in his chest feels unbearable.
He blinks, and his vision goes blurry
At first, he thinks it's just the light. But then it happens again, a hot sting, a small, shaky exhale that slips out before he can stop it.
It's pathetic. He knows it is.
Crying over something that was never his to begin with.
But the more he tries to swallow it down, the worse it gets.
His throat tightens, the air feels too thick His hands come up, elbows on his knees, head bowing until his hair falls forward.
He sniffles as quietly as he can, like he's afraid the sound will wake you. It hurts all over. His chest feels like it's collapsing in slow motion.Every breath catches halfway, stuck between wanting to let go and wanting to hold it all in.
He wipes at his face with the back of his hand, annoyed at himself, but the tears don't stop right away. They slide down anyway, one after another, soaking into his palms, catching on his jaw.
It's ridiculous. He's ridiculous. He'd promised himself this wouldn't happen.
And still, here he is, shirtless, in the dark, crying over someone who told him not to fall
But that moment, aside from all the others he keeps safe in his heart, comes back to remind him these are all he has.
You're sitting now, hair messy, one hand clutching the blanket to your chest, eyes still hazy from sleep.
He doesn't answer. He can't.
You blink at him, confused, a little concerned. The room's too dim to see much, but it's enough.
You notice the way his shoulders shake once, the way he quickly wipes at his face like he can erase the evidence.
He cuts you off without meaning to.
It comes out croaked, his voice cracking from silently crying. You tilt your head, still trying to make sense of him.
He laughs under his breath.
"No." Another sniffle betrays him, and his jaw tightens.
You study him for a moment longer. Then you sigh and shift closer, the mattress dipping under your weight. You don't ask again. You just reach out, fingers brushing the back of his arms
He flinches at the contact, almost imperceptibly, then stills.
You whisper, "Hey" like it's the only word that makes sense right now.
And he hates it, the kindness in your voice, the way it almost feels like you care
Because he knows you do, just not the way he wants. He swallows hard, eyes still burning.
"It's fine," he mutters again. "Really."
You don't press. You just sit there with him, your hand still on his arm.
It shouldn't make him want to cry more but it does. Because this tiny bit of softness is the closest he'll ever get to what he wants from you. He turns his head away, wipes at his eyes again, forces a small breath out through his nose.
"Sorry," he mumbles, voice breaking halfway. "Didn't mean to wake you."
There's silence after that. Just you staring at his back. Then, out of nowhere, you speak. "Is it something I did?"
He freezes at your question.
His breath catches, shaky. For a second, he almost laughs but the sound never makes it out.He drops his gaze again, eyes burning, hands trembling where they rest against his knees.
He presses his palms into his face, elbows digging into his thighs, like he can hide there.Like if he stays still enough, maybe you'll stop asking.Because what the hell is he supposed to say to that?
That it's not what you did, it's what you didn't.It's the way you never stay long enough after. The way you never let it be more than what it is.
It's the way you smile like nothing ever touches you, the way he keeps hoping you'll look at him and mean it.
His chest tightens until it hurts.
Another small sound slips out of him, a broken exhale that shakes all the way through.
He hates that you can hear it. He hates that he can't stop.
You move before he can even think.
Blanket forgotten, you're on your knees beside him, reachina out like instinct
Your voice is laced with something he's never heard from you before, something dangerously close to worry, panic.
He still doesn't look up.
Just shakes his head, pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes like that'll stop anything from leaking out.
"Don't," he manages, voice barely there. "Just-don’t"
But it's too late. You're already there, your hands hovering, unsure where to touch. He's never looked this small before. Not him. Not Kwon Ohyul
You whisper his name again, softer this time.
He doesn't. His shoulders curl inward, another muffled sniffle betraying him. He doesn't. His shoulders curl inward, another muffled sniffle betraying him.
It's a slow unraveling, painful to watch.
You reach out finally, fingers brushing through his hair, down the back of his neck.
He goes rigid, breathing all uneven, and for a moment you think he might actually pull away.
He just lets out a shaky breath and keeps his head down, palms still hiding half his face.
He's never cried like this, not in front of anyone. And maybe that's what scares you most.
You whisper again, barely audible,
He laughs under his breath.
"Everything," he says. It's almost a whisper.
You blink, unsure if you even heard him right.
He lifts his head then, finally, there you see his red eyes. He looks at you like it hurts.
Your breath catches. "Stop?"
He nods once, like he's forcing it out before he can take it back.
"This. Us. Whatever this is. We should quit it."
It's quiet for a second too long. You stare at him, not sure what to say, not sure if he even means it.
"Did I-" you start, "did I do something wrong?"
That sets something off in him. He exhales through his nose, shaking his head, jaw clenched so tight it trembles.
"No, you didn't do anything," he snaps, then his voice cracks again, softer this time "That's the fucking problem."
You don't move. You just look at him, at the mess of him, and wait.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing at his face again like he can scrub the words back down his throat.
But they keep spilling out.
"You didn't do anything wrong. You just-"
He stops, searching for the words. "You're fine. You always are. You walk out of here like nothing happened and I just sit here-"
He laughs again, though it's humourless.
"I sit here like an idiot, thinking about you until it hurts."
You open your mouth, but he keeps going-words tumbling out faster, desperate, like he's been holding them back for too long. "You said not to fall. You made it sound so simple. And I thought just keep it easy, keep it light. That's it."
He shakes his head, running a trembling hand through his hair "But it's not easy anymore. I can't turn it off. You don't even know what you're doing to me."
His voice drops, eyes locking onto yours "I want you, okay? I want you so bad it's disgusting"
It's like the air leaves the room.
He lets out a shaky laugh, the kind that sounds like he's on the verge of breaking again "You're all I fucking think about. Even when you're not here. Especially when you're not here."
You freeze, wide-eyed, heart hammering against your ribs.
He swallows, throat tight, tears clinging to his lashes "And I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend it's just sex when every time you touch me, it feels like I'm losing my mind."
He exhales hard "That's what's wrong."
And for the first time, you don't have a single word
He drags the back of his hand across his face, smearing the tears that haven't even finished falling.It doesn't help, his eyes stay red, raw, too honest.
He's trying to pull himself back together, but nothing sticks. Then he pushes up from the bed.
You watch him bend down, grabbing his shirt from the floor. He shakes it out with another quiet sniff, wiping at his eyes before pulling it on halfway, doesn't even straighten it.
He just needs his hands busy, but everything looks wrong on him.
You sit there, staring at his back. The air between you feels tight, waiting.
Then you finally speak"Then what, huh?"
You stand, bare feet on the floor, anger and confusion bubbling up with something colder underneath.
You step forward. "You're just gonna end it, and then what?"
Just stands there, shirt hanging off one shoulder.
You push again, voice sharper, faster "You think that'll fix it? That you'll stop feeling like this if you walk out right now?"
He doesn't move. Doesn't answer.
And somehow that hurts more.
"So what, stop seeing me and then what? You move on? You forget about me?"
That's the real question. You're asking if he can. Slowly, he turns his head over his shoulder and the look in his eyes hits you like a punch. "Do you really think I could?"
Not when he looks like that.
"I'm giving you an out." He says it finally. The words sound scraped raw.
"This—" He gestures between the two of you, hand shaking. "This is your chance. To find someone who'll do what you asked. Someone who won't fucking fall."
You open your mouth, but he keeps going.
"Because I did." His voice breaks hard on the last word "I fucking did."
The confession splits the silence open. He drags a hand down his face, eyes squeezing shut like he can't stand the sound of himself.
"I want you to the bone," he whispers "It's pathetic."
You step forward, but he shakes his head, small, sharp like he can't let you get close, not when he's like this.
"I want you so bad it's embarrassing," he says, breath hitching."It's all I think about. You. Every damn day." He lets out a humorless laugh. "You told me not to fall, and I did anyway. So just-take the out, okay? Just go."
His voice wavers, but the words still hit. "Before I make it worse. Before I make you hate me for it."
You stare at him, throat tight, heart pounding so loud it swallows everything else.
He swallows too, wiping at his face again even though the tears keep falling, slow and quiet.
This time it comes out a whisper, like he's begging you to end this for him, to make it stop hurting.
You cross the space between you before you even realize you're moving.
He doesn't notice until your hand fists the front of his shirt.
He startles, eyes jerking up red-rimmed, wet, shattered.
"Do you know why I said that, huh?" Your voice cracks halfway through, but you don't let go. You've got him by the fabric.
He stares at you, still trying to breathe through the mess of everything. 'What?"
He can feel the heat of you now, your hand trembling against his chest.
"Do you even know why I told you not to fall?"
He doesn't answer. He just waits, afraid of whatever comes next.
You swallow hard, forcing the truth out. "Because I thought you wouldn't."
His eyes flicker confusion, then something deeper.
"You weren't supposed to." Your voice shakes.
"I just— I was trying to protect myself, okay? I didn't want to be the one who fell first."
He opens his mouth, but you keep talking, faster now.
"I thought if I said it first. If I set the rules then it wouldn't hurt as much when you didn't feel the same." Your fingers tighten in his shirt.
"Because you weren't supposed to. You're you, Ohyul, Careful. Detached. Impossible to read. And I-" You let out a weak, bitter laugh.
"I would've taken anything. Even this. Just having you near, even if it wasn't really mine."
You finally look straight at him."Being close to you like that, even if it meant nothing... was better than not having you at all."
He just stares at you eyes wide, wet, wrecked like your words are something he's trying to hold but keep slipping through his fingers.
Just watches you, memorizing everything, your lashes still damp, your shaking hands,the raw honesty trembling in your voice.
Then, out of nowhere, he exhales a broken sound.
It's hoarse and it fractures something in both of you.
He drags a hand through his hair, head dropping forward like the weight of your words finally hit him.
His chest jerks once, twice, a stifled sob threatening to break loose.
"Fuck" he whispers again, shakier.
You think he's going to shut down, shut you out, slip back behind the walls you've watched him hide in a hundred times.
You brace yourself for distance. For retreat. For him running from the pain.
He reaches out and grabs your wrist. You stumble a little when he turns back toward the bed.His hand trembles, fingers clutching your skin like it's the only thing keeping him steady.
He doesn't look at you as he sits on the edge of the mattress, pulling you with him. You don't even think he realizes he's done it.He reaches out and grabs your wrist like his body moved on instinct, needing you close while his mind scrambles to catch up.
You end up standing between his knees, his hand still wrapped around your wrist.
Neither of you says a word.
He leans forward, elbows on his thighs, head buried in his hands.
Small, choked noises slip out of him, barely audible. And all you can do is watch.
Not with people, at least.
He could always read someone's boredom, their lies, the silent cues that told him when to speak or stay quiet He read people like textbooks, never missing a detail.
But with you. Somewhere along the way, he got stupid.
Because none of it makes sense anymore. The signs, the rules, the words, they all broke the second you existed near him.
When he finally lifts his head, lashes clumped with tears, he looks at you like he's searching for something to hold onto.
"Does that mean you want me too?"
this been sitting in my draft for a while now, thank you for readingg. I love hearing what you guys think!
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