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22 thanks soldiers

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

this is MY first time writing something like this but it was like totally crazy, i feel like that teacher from 10 things i hate about you.

~~~

(18+)calebxreader!smut dom!reader sub!caleb (i think it switches tho sometimes idk) v!rgincaleb! ‘experiencedreader! nicknames!pipsqueak,baby- probably overused pipsqueak pronwithplotfr probably doesn’t follow any lore accurate timelines

i watched the movie the first time with dylan obrien and had this similar idea lol also i dont know how to write in protection yet so just saying wrap it up in tango time, safety first!

might write the sylus one since reader did learn stuff ig teehee

your first or mine?

Asking caleb to give you lessons on sexual matters wasn’t your first choice, but after he somehow found out you were asking your girlfriends about finding someone experienced to teach you some things, he was adamant on him being your choice.

You knew enough, but you needed more practice if you wanted to impress Sylus.

And that’s just how you ended up in Caleb’s room with only your lacey matching set covering your body.

It was just after 5:30pm and the early rays of the winter moon glowed onto your body. All Caleb had on was his loose grey sweatpants, the string from his waistband dangled and tickled your abdomen as his body draped over yours. You haven’t done this in a while and Caleb took notice of the nervous look on your face.

“This isn’t your first time is it?” His husky voice breathed out.

You rolled your eyes as you un furrowed your brows.

“its just been awhile.” You replied.

His biceps were caging your head in as your arms lay to your side. Maybe the feeling was weird because you’ve been friends for so long.

“I have some ground rules.” You spoke as his eyes scanned your face.

“Mhm.” He hummed as you sighed.

“Just that you can touch me anywhere.” You fluttered your eyelashes as you responded hoarsely, his breathy laugh fanned your face as he inched closer, this kind of flirty talking in bed was something you wanted to work on.

“Same goes for me Pipsqueak.” He whispered deeply as one of his fingers twirled a strand of your hair, you were getting more anxious by the minute, you didn’t think he would do the thing where it feels like the only thing he wants to do is stare at you for hours; you knew this was a bad idea from the beginning but you were desperate.

You squirmed as you huffed.

“Caleb I want you to touch me already.” Your hands finally moved to his bare shoulders as your fingers trickled down his chiseled back, you met his gaze, pouting your lips in protest at his devlish grin.

You watched as he lowered his mouth to your ear.

His long fingers grasped your chin to tilt your head.

“I like to savour these type of things, you understand right?” His hot breath sent chills throughout you as he pulled away to see your reaction, you recovered and replaced your surprised look with one filled with fox like tendencies.

“Well I don’t care.” You replied smashing your lips onto his, your legs automatically wrapped around his slim waist deepening the sloppy kiss, he hummed as you both pushed and pulled desperately.

Your hands roamed his body, every touch you heard him hum pathetically, his body felt agonizingly endless until you finally found the waistband to his sweatpants.

You swiftly placed your index finger to the inside of his pants and snapped them against his body he groaned as he quickly broke the kiss and pulled away to stand, leaving you with furrowed brows.

He looked troubled, both parties breathing still ragged.

“I can’t do this.” He bashfully huffed out, the apples of his cheeks were a bright red just as his ears, he stood at the end of the bed, avoiding your confused gaze.

“What?- Caleb, wha- Did I do something wrong?” You caught your breath as you tried to catch his eyes, he looked embarrassed, his stare shifting to everything but you.

“I-“ You awaited his response without moving your gaze from him.

“I’ve never.” He finally spoke, his breathing evened and his eyes met yours.

The understanding stare you were giving him was enough to calm him down to sit on the left side of the bed next to you.

“Oh.” You uttered as you stared vacantly at your clothes on the ground.

“But-“ You added, not knowing how to use your words, your hard stare stuck on the door now.

“Your confidence, it felt like..” You added as he shifted, your stare moved to his face.

He looked straight ahead as he spoke again.

“Fake it till you make it I guess.” He chuckled tensely, rubbing the back of his neck, all you could do was ogle at him.

“I dont think many girls are too fond of my voice.” And I don’t want other girls. He admittedly breathed out as he looked away from you, terrified you could read his thoughts, your brows furrowed as you softly tittered.

“Well..” You spoke softly scooting closer to him as his head tilted up wanting to hear what you have to say.

“It was working for me five minutes ago.” You played with the hem of his sheets as you admitted with a small honest smile.

He roughly scoffed, making a shiver run down your spine.

“Well none of it was real so whatever.” He looked down as he harshly remarked. You felt hurt as he said that, you gulped as you hesitantly replied.

“It was for me.” You whispered loud enough for him to hear, he didnt reply and continued to stare forward, your gaze was burning through the side of his face, you felt self conscious and needed to get out of there.

You hummed a slight scoff, scooting to the edge of the bed- his bed, correction, what were you even thinking?

“I should go before I embarrass myself even more.” You sheepishly replied as you jumped up to grab your clothing hastily.

“Hey- pipsqueak, wait.” He leaped from the bed as he grabbed hold of your wrist that was holding your clothes.

You looked up at his towering figure and were surprised to be met with his soft gaze.

“I didnt think you would actually want to- I am sorry.” He grinned as he added.

“Maybe I needed the practice more than you.” He shrugged with a pouty lip, the look on his face was pitiful.

You playfully rolled your eyes, looking back at him to connect with his amethyst stare again, the look in them was desperate and you couldn’t stay mad at him if he was giving you that look.

“Maybe.” He spoke up, he moved slowly like he was worried he would scare you, his free hand put a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hm?“ You hummed staring back at him.

“We could try again.” His other persona was back as he breathed out in his gruff voice, he inched slowly towards your neck.

You watched as he placed soft kisses along your throat, poorly.

His hot breath on you gave your body a wave of tingles, your eyes fluttered as you cleared your throat unknowingly giving a small laugh, he stopped to give you a feeble look.

You softly rolled your eyes.

“Here- sit there.” You spoke as you sat him on the end of his bed, the blush under his eyes covered his cheeks and nose, it was adorable, it doubled as you straddled his lap, placing your arms around his shoulders.

He propped both of his hands behind him.

“Is this okay?” You asked as he hesitantly nodded, not because he was unsure, but because he was excited and he was nervous to mess it up again, his breathing became unsteady.

he gulped as he recognized the look in your eyes and just that excited him more, you could do anything around him and he would find it unbelievably attractive but this, this was way different from before.

You gave him a small grin as you softly placed your lips to his giving him the smallest peck and pulling away, his adorable pout and half-lidded eyes was enchanting, you moved your hand to cup his jaw as you changed the pace to sloppily kiss him, he fervently returned the kiss.

Your tongues clashed together messily, the mixture of hands groping and soft pants was enough for you to not want this to end, but his barely audible whines drove you insane.

He groaned as you ground your hips into his, his hands roughly grabbed your waist as he guided you to do it once more earning a whine-like groan to escape him, you pulled away once more, giving him an after-shock look on his face, you placed a wet kiss to the side of his mouth then his cheek, the edge of his jaw, you spared a look to his face to see his long lashes fluttering. You felt his jaw clench as your kisses lowered to his throat, grinding into his pelvis again as you left wet kisses and marks on his neck.

“Yes- mark me.” He audibly whispered, you shivered as he gulped, giving you lustful confidence.

You suckled on his carven shoulders as you agonizingly moved back up to his face, his whimpers fired you up- you didnt think a mans whimpers could give you such a power thrill and you couldn’t stop there.

You pulled back, a ghost of your lips grazed his cheek as you looked head on at his face; his brows furrowed and mouth agape as ragged breaths left him, and that lustful glare in his eyes.

“Do you want to try now?” You asked hoarsely, he half nodded as his teeth clacked with yours when his mouth met your lips once more, his teeth hitting yours erupted a painful gasp from you, allowing him to drive his tongue deeper down your throat.

His hands raked your back as he moaned soft whines, he moved to kiss the side of your mouth and your cheeks, he rushed his actions, he messily left wet kisses to your throat, you moaned causing him to buck his hips up.

You softly snickered.

“You’re really going step by step of my moves?” You spoke.

“Shut up.” He breathed out as he flipped you both, his body veiled over yours as you gasped, he didn’t skip a beat continuing his work on your collarbone and shoulders.

You felt heat pool in your panties, you squirmed as he bit at a spot on your throat, you whined, your hand gripping at his back as he ground into you, you mewled as he groaned, the vibration from his voice on your jaw sent shivers throughout you.

Caleb’s kisses felt rushed and messy, his dry thrusts into your hips felt heavenly and needy, you needed more, he needed more.

He pulled his mouth away from your neck, his hands shook with anticipation as he ground his pelvis into you, you bit your lip as he groaned out loud.

“I need to feel you.” His voice was hoarse and deprived, he whispered with his mouth beside your head as he ground into you once more. Your eyes met his uncontrollable gaze as you reached down to palm his hard on, his mouth fell open as he mewled with his eyes locked on yours.

“more.” He moaned as he bucked into your hand, you grinned as you slid your hand into his pants, he didn’t think this would happen he said, yet his boxers weren’t on him.

He groaned as you slid your thumb over his slit, you slightly pumped once earning you a frenzied whimper from him, his face contorted in pleasure as you watched from under him. You started slow, every shift of your hand on him gave you a delicious, breathy groan from him.

His arms were almost buckling as he bucked more into your hand, he rolled his hips faster in want, his movements were beginning to get sloppier as his breath hitched in between moans and whimpers.

You felt his member hit your lower stomach as you pulled your hand away before his release, he gasped as he realized what you’ve done.

“wha-“ You give him a devilish smirk as he stares back at you dumbfounded.

He looked exhausted, the blush on his face spread to his chest as you looked him once over, you effortlessly turned both of you so you were kneeling above him, you rake your hands down his chest and stomach as you inch away from him to stand at the end of the bed, he gulps as he stays where you layed him on his back.

“please-“ He begs with half-breaths and whimpers, you slowly smile at him, your eyes brimmed with lust as his shimmered back at you the same way, you agonizingly peeled your panties from your body, you felt them slide to the floor, his eyes following them until you reached for your bra unclasping it.

He swallowed as you crawled toward him, angling yourself over him again.

“Are you sure?” You asked as your fingers danced across his lower stomach, his eye lashes fluttered as he nodded with a gulp.

“yes, yes- please.”

He pleaded in anguish, you slowly arched your entrance over his dick, the tip was grazing you as you shakily breathed, you rocked your hips slightly before you slid down, you gasped as he filled you, he gripped your thighs as he clenched his jaw, you slowly rolled your hips, he groaned as you bit your bottom lip and rolled your eyes back. He grabbed your waist wanting to guide the rolling of your hips, he grasped the skin dangerously rough as he rocked you back and forth, you both moaned melodiously.

“feel- so good.” He groaned out as he arched his hips upwards, he shifted the movement of your hips to move up and down, he grounded up into you as his fingers dug into your sides, crescent shaped indents were already forming on his chest from your nails. The slapping of skin against skin, and Caleb’s vibrational loud moans had you seeing stars.

“Caleb!” You yelped as he flipped you backwards, he pounded deeper into your opening, one of your legs bent over his shoulder, the other down by his side that you arched at the knee for him, he grabbed both of your thighs, giving them a violent squeeze as he roughly moaned and groaned with every thrust, this was even better, you felt even fuller as your grainy moans drummed into his ears causing him to pick up his pace.

“hmgh, your pussy feels- so good!” He hiccuped as he thrusted in and out of you, you felt outstretched as you arched your back, you groaned as he pushes you down by your abdomen, leaving his palm sprawled over your stomach, you keened as he defied you, he couldn’t help himself, he had to feel himself going in and out of you.

“You feel that- you’re so full aren’t you?” He growled as he pummelled his hips into you,

“Yes Caleb- so f-full, I’m gonna!” You wailed as his thrusting became sloppier, the tightness in your stomach was coiling to unbearable heights, his member hit your cervix deeper with every hammer of his waist, you gasped a moan as he finally hit that spot that unraveled you.

“Yeah- baby, that’s it!” He egged your orgasm on, your wet folds ached as he pounded his final thrusts into your already undone self.

“oh god, f-fuck!” Caleb groaned as he pulled out to undo himself onto your lower stomach, he fell over to tower over you, his hands holding him up as they gripped the sheets beside your head, his breath hitched as the last spurts of himself covered you. Both of your breaths were unsteady and hot, his breathing fanned your face as you met his gaze, he chuckled hoarsely as he slowly got up.

“I’ll get you cleaned up.” He spoke unevenly as a towel glided towards his outstretched hand, he carefully wiped the remmenants of himself from your abdomen.

“some practice.” You expressed with a shit eating grin, he laughed gutturally, as you propped yourself up.

“I am gonna shower, you wanna join?” You announced as you carefully rose, he shook his head no.

“I’ll help you but-“ He adjusted his sweatpants as he rose, standing in front of you to caress your face.

“I don’t want to wash you off myself quite yet.” He grinned as he pulled you into his arms for a deep passionate-filled kiss.

HEHEHEHEHE

[zyiasthoughts]

casual | katie b streamer

katie b x fem!reader

warnings : kinda angsty (my first time yall forgive me), like a tiny weeny bit suggestive, fwb, katie is unintentionally (or intentionally) hurting reader’s feelings.

my friends call be a loser cause i’m still hanging around

"you're seriously flying to fucking kentucky of all places to meet up with a girl you met on the internet" your best friend chuckled from your bed, helping you pack by offering emotional support.

"well when you say it like that I sound like a loser. we've met up in person a million times before. you've even met her before" you defended, still contemplating whether four halter tops was too much.

"yeah cause you are a loser. like it or not she's technically your little internet girlfriend. swear you guys are always doing something together. i'm surprised you're not on call right now" she added

"no. stop making it weird. me and katie are just friends"

""uhuh" she mumbled, continuing to watch her movie.

i’ve heard so many rumors that im just a girl that you bang on your couch

"they definitely fucking" katie read her chat. she had a habit of reading the most egregious comments whenever you two were together. "chat no. we are just friends. plus, i'm never losing my virginity because i never lose" she made her infamous mog face.

technically you weren't fucking- present continuous tense. it happened once at a meetup in la. vanilla, qt, katie and you decided to go to a concert together. when you got back, she said you could sleep in her bed, because you didn't want to be alone that night. then one thing led to the other.

you never did address it though. the next morning you both just went along with life,l like nothing happened. you figured that you were both tired,and practically delirious. accidents happen all the time. they just aren't supposed to feel good. you're not supposed to want accidents to happen again.

i thought you thought of me better. someone you couldn’t lose. you said “we’re not together” so now when we kiss i’ve got anger issues

you've always hated nonchalant guys. so part of you wondered what was it about her attitude which was basically the same that drew you in.

the first time you met up since the "thing" was when katie invited you to kentucky to spend the easter weekend with her family.

you landed about two hours ago and now you were on her bed, lips in slow embrace. you probably shouldn't be in this situation. friends don't kiss like that. at least in your mind they didn't. maybe to katie they did.when she finally pulled away, the girl urged you to meet her parents who knew you were coming. "oh this is my friend by the way, the one i'm always talking to online" she told

hmph

"nice you meet you both" you beamed at her parents, katie's mom immediately pulling you into a hug like you were her own child, her father shaking your hand.

dinner wasn't as bad as you thought it would've been. it was just casual. too casual. you were just making out with this girl an hour ago, and now she was asking you to pass the salt like you were just friends. that word really irked you. katie used it, her parents used it. after a while you even started using it. but you know you didn't want to be just friends. who would want to be just friends after that. friends don't have makeout sessions with law and order: svu playing in the background, immediately after a dinner filled with that stupidly infuriating word.

you said baby, “no attachments”

katie had this thing that whenever you were together on stream, she'd "fake" flirt with you, and shoot her shot and you'd play along with them.

"would you rather be really beautiful or really smart" she read the chat, you busy with the puzzle you were both supposed to be solving.

"smart. definitely"

"you're both" she smirked at you, and you just looked away smiling at the chat, over exaggerating your facial expressions so they could grasp it was a joke.

this was a common thing. someone in the chat says something, and she responds, more often than not making a joke that she's "shooting her shot" with you. she'd always clarify with the chatafter that it was just a joke, you were just friends, and a great streaming partner because you took all the jokes like a champ.

jokes aren't supposed to get your hopes up. jokes aren't supposed to give you a deluded sense of hope that whatever happened, was because there was something real behind it. that they weren't just casual.

knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out. is it casual now? two weeks and your mom invites me to her house in long beach, is it causal now?

you had been home alone in your empty apartment for two months since katie's last visit. within those two months of distance, you were still basically always together. if it wasn't streaming together, it was facetime. if it wasn't facetime it was constant texting about the most random things.

"oh by the way, are you free this weekend?" she asked over the phone, keeping you company as you rearranged your closet for the third time this month.

"yeah, plus nora went to mexico with her boyfriend so i basically have no one in town to talk to." you responded

"oh. my mom has this family reunion thing in long beach, and she wants you to come." she spoke. you could hear the smile through your speaker

"your mom or you?"

"no comment" she muttered

"hmm okay, sure. i'd love to come"

"yes!" she cheered, immediately calming herself down "i mean cool. thanks dude"

"you're welcome. i know your mom, among other people miss me" you chuckled"wonder who those people are" she feigned ignorance "i can't wait for you to meet my family. they're gonna love you"

you were pretty excited. her parents were literal angels on earth, so you couldn't wait to see what her extended family was like. her mom (and she) wanted you to go as far as to meet them. really close friend shit.

i know what you tell you friends it’s casual. if it’s casual now, baby get me off again if it’s casual. it’s casual now.

this was your second meetup with Katie this month. this time you paid a visit to la to play in the streamer games. you were both clad in pink jerseys marked with your streamer tags at the back and team vanilla in front.

"hey gorg" vanilla greeted you with a tight hug, katie standing right behind you. "my favorite girl" you smiled, pulling back"woah, hello. i'm right here" katie jokingly interrupted.

“you’re number two” you joked, and she rolled her eyes playfully. “no only i’m supposed to be your favorite”

“hold on babe your gloss is smudged” vanilla muttered, gently wiping the smudged gloss from your lips, not noticing katie subconsciously wiping hers to make sure there was no incriminating evidence.

“this is so gross please leave her alone. she’s for me” katie joked after she made sure there was nothing that could hit at anything happening between you two.

part of you was happy that she was finally showing an inkling of wanting. you just wondered why she wasn’t always like this. you wanted her to always be like this. to be possessive over you.

sadly you don’t always get what you want. you instead get random glances throughout the day, and silent treatment unless it was to speak to you for the stream. you wanted to be upset but you couldn’t bring yourself to. because then it would be weird for the best friend katie brought to be so possessive. she keeps using that word with you.

you really wanted to be upset about what she tells them. but it’s quite hard to do that when both your brain and the windows are foggy.

dumb love, i love being stupid. dream of us in a year. maybe we’d have an apartment and you’d show me off to your friends at the pier

“chocolate or vanilla” she asked you, preparing to order the ice cream for you both at your “date” to the fair. it wasn’t a date date considering you were simply friends but you both looked you best. katie even put in extra effort to win you a few plushies at the games, one being the huge panda you had in hand.

“vanilla” you answered

“seems like your taste is the same across multiple mediums” she joked, handing the ice cream cone covered in sprinkles.

you thanked her sincerely, licking away at your ice cream, occasionally tasting sips of her cookies n’ cream milkshake as you walked through the darkening fair, her hand rested in yours, fingers intertwined

“oh my gosh no way it’s you guys!” a fan squealed, taking you and katie off guard. she nervously pulled her hand away from yours and returned the fan’s hyper energy.

putting on the most genuine smile you could, you took a picture with the girl, even making a tiktok with her and katie to the iconic “pimped out chevrolet” sound. the girl was so sweet and was basically skipping away when you were done, but when you and katie continued the walk though of the fair, she kept her limbs a safe distance from yours.

that’s fair. you can’t expect her to want to be public. you weren’t even a couple. barely even counted as friends with benefits. maybe her hands got sweaty and she didn’t want to hold yours anymore because she knew your issue with certain textures. yeah. that makes sense.

it’s hard being casual when my favorite bra lives in your dresser. and it's hard being casual when i’m on the phone talking down your sister

“then my fucking game crashed again” katie finally finished her rant “anyway. how are you? how’s rio?”

you and nora, your roommate were spending a week over there for a friend from high school’s wedding. it was a few hours ahead so you were lying in bed, staring into space speaking to the girl, trying not to wake your sleeping friend.

“it’s chill. really pretty here. the two bad things so far are i can’t find my cute bra, the pink victoria’s secret one we got at the mall even though i swore i packed it, and we just got back to the hotel. did a hike this morning and clubbing just now so my legs are killing me” you answered

“that sounds nice. also i have your bra” she resolved nonchalantly

“what do you mean you have it katie?” you raised a brow as if she could see your face. “yeah, you left to the last time you came to kentucky. it’s literally in my dresser with some other clothes you forgot”

“oh my bad. i think my brother is passing by the apartment on his way to jersey. do you mind shipping it out so he can leave it with my neighbors?” you queried

“no you’re fine. i’ll keep them. you always complain about not having clothes when you come over” she nonchalantly spoke “okay cool”

literally how was that casual.

and i tried to be the chill girl who holds her tongue and gives you space. i try to be the chill girl, but honestly im not

“what are we” you blurted out. in the middle of the third season of brooklyn 99 you just had to know. your lips were slightly swollen still and your legs were intertwined with katie’s laying on her bed.

“friends.” she answered, still paying attention to the show “really?” you asked again.

“best friends?” she looked at you

you couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. “katie friends don’t do what we do” you tried. there had to be something more. there was no way she was running you mad just for the love of the game.

“we’re special friends. that’s what i like about us.”

special? that’s the best she could come up with? special?

“oh okay cool. love ya special friend”

“love you too”

katie spoke so casually just watching her show in peace. you wanted to yell and scream. you wanted to be angered. but you couldn’t. because no matter how much she tried to keep what you did as just friendly activities you couldn’t find it in you. part of you didn’t care how much it hurt because it was katie. didn’t care how much it annoyed you because it was katie.

you just wanted a label, it at least a removable sticker tag. not just friends.

but you took it because it was her.

i fucked you in the bathroom when we went to dinner. your parents at your table, you wonder why i’m bitter.

the “thing” happened again. this time it was just in a slightly cramped accessible restroom of a fancy restaurant that she and her parents invited you to.

you were upset because of a myriad of things, and the cherry on the cake was your shoe was way too uncomfortable to be in all night, so she offered to cheer you up.

but even getting off doesn’t cheer everything up, because that just made your mood worse. she was willing to do anything and everything for you, even going as far as to massage your feet from under the table, but refused to even consider referring to you as her girlfriend.

your mood soured more and more into the dinner, but with her parents being two sweet souls, forced that smile like your life depended on it.

it was after dinner the issue arose.

“katie we have to talk” you demanded as soon as you stepped foot into her room, hustling to take the heels and dress of to change into a pair of joggers and a sweater.

“that’s not good” she joked. that was starting to get old now. not everything was a joke.

“yeah no. it’s not. i really don’t know what you want from me but im willing to let you live without it.” you smarted, pulling out her drawers getting clothes and access and shoving them into your suitcase.

“what are you doing. relax” she urged, sitting on her bed. “don’t tell me what to do” you snapped

“i have wasted a year of my life trying to figure out what we are and playing a game of will she won’t she with myself. i can’t do this— relationship stuff thing when you won’t even acknowledge me as more than just a friend to you” you held back tears

“what do you mean?” you almost crashed out at her worlds “katie, friends don’t boink, friends don’t make out, friends don’t go on outings reserved for couples, friends don’t get possessive and friends don’t play with each others feelings”

“i had no idea you felt this way”

“yes you did. i have on multiple occasions asked what are we, if it’s weird what we do and if normal friends do that. well the answer is no. i’m so tired of being strung along because i know that you don’t want to make a commitment like that.” you cried. “i’m going back to the city tomorrow. notas getting me from the airport. i’m gonna stay in a hotel something” you grabbed you suitcase and headed out her bedroom door.

“wait! is this about what happened at dinner? because if it is im sor—” “it’s more than just dinner katie. i cannot be just friends with you because i will run mad and clearly you need to be just friends with me or the same happens”

“please don’t”

“i have to. im sorry” you gave her one last hug, not bothering to hear what she had to say about it, turning around to head into the uber you’d called on the way back from the restaurant.

that night, you cried the most you have since high school graduation because there was no way that could’ve been casual. the past year was so far from casual to you, but was the pinnacle of casualty to katie which was exactly why you had to leave. this was a decision for your mental health. so you didn’t chop your head off from being a bit more than casual with your best friend.

i hate that i let this drag on so long. i hate myself. i hate that i let this drag on so long you can go to hell.

you had been back home for a full month and you still weren’t over it. who knew your first lesbian situationship real up could’ve been more agonizing than the first relationship breakup.

you and nora had gone through probably ten pints of hagen das and four packs of cookie dough in various forms this month because the sugar filled the hole in your heart that katie once used to fill.

when you accepted the bare minimum because it felt good.

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

i LOVE😭

[evermore-q]

half a spell | part three ❆ ༄.°

synopsis: With the Yule Ball fast approaching, Beomgyu enlists you—his best friend—as his wingman in a bold plan to win over Kim Chaewon, the school’s golden girl. In return, he promises to find you the perfect date, sparking a ridiculous series of interviews. Meanwhile, you’re quietly drawn to Kai, a reserved Hufflepuff whose tutoring sessions slowly unravel something unexpected between you. But as your connection with Kai grows and Beomgyu edges closer to asking Chaewon out, something unspoken begins to shift between the two of you—just in time to make everything so very complicated.

pairing: gryffindor bestfriend!Beomgyu x gryffindor fem!reader, hufflepuff!Kai x gryffindor fem!reader

genre: hogwarts AU, bestfriends-to-lovers, wingman-to-lover, slow-burn romance, unrequited crush, jealousy sparking realization, love triangle

warning/s: lots of swearing, slow burn as fuckkk

wc: 13.5k

a/n: heyyy!! i know we aren't on best terms rn bc ive been disappearing so much after every time i postkjsbdfksd but heres part three (finally omg). also, just a disclaimer, this series was originally supposed to end in three partss, buuuttt i decided to add some things in to strengthen the story more. so, unfortunately, there will be a part fourr. also, im ngl i don't rlly know how to feel about this partt the pacing and everything seems all over the place, and i feel like i kinda focused too much on the dialogue (fml) so pls lmk your thoughts.

It's been days.

Days since the Ravenclaw party at the Room of Requirement, since that kiss.

It hasn’t been long, but it’s enough that I’ve started memorizing which corridors to avoid, the exact timing I need to slip out of the common room so I don’t run into anyone on the way to breakfast, to know the smallest corners of the library where I can disappear into invisible silence.

I haven’t really talked to anyone. Well, not properly, at least. Nari’s been sending me a few looks ever since that night. At first, she tried asking me what happened, wondering why I suddenly got so quiet after, but after continuously telling her that nothing happened she eventually dropped it; though I still received worried looks from her when we’re getting ready for bed. Jungwon caught my arm once in the Great Hall and asked if I was okay. Of course, I told him the same thing—that I was just tired, which isn’t a lie, exactly. But, it obviously wasn't whole truth either.

And Beomgyu…

Let's just say I've been avoiding him since that night.

He's been trying to talk to me, though... in small ways. Sometimes, I’ll feel him slow down when he spots me in the corridor, like he’s waiting for me to fall into step beside him. I never do.

It’s now exactly two days before the Yule Ball.

Everyone’s been spending their time either buying or receiving their dress robes — parading fabric swatches through the corridors and whispering about colours and dates. The overall excitement spilled out in ways I can’t bring myself to mirror.

I’m currently sitting alone in the common room right now, the lights dimmed low except for the fireplace I’d just lit. My legs are comfortably curled up into the chair, book resting loosely in one hand, as the warmth from the fire slowly sinks into my skin and pushes back the cold still clinging from the winter air.

It’s past curfew.

It’s the kind of late where the castle starts feeling like it’s been left to itself. No footsteps passing outside the door, no faint voices drifting up from the staircases, no doors opening and closing in the distance. Even the portraits have gone quiet, most of them turned away or settled into that fake sleep they do when they don’t feel like being bothered.

My hand slowly flicks through another page, thumb lingering at the edge as the words blur together. My focus begins to drift somewhere just beyond the page before—

“Hey,” a voice suddenly greets me. 

My shoulders jerk reflexively, eyes lifting upwards to search for the source of the voice. Beomgyu hovers beside the couch, his expression timid before easing into the empty space next to me.

“Merlin, you scared me,” I mumble, lowering my feet onto the rug beneath me.

“Sorry,” a careful smile pulls at his lips. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say, the cushion dipping under my weight as I tuck myself in a little tighter. “You?”

“Yeah. Me either.” His gaze slips past me at first, eyes fixed toward the corridor before finding its way back to mine.  “Aren’t you scared the prefects might find you?”

I can only manage to give him a shrug, my attention falling to the space between us rather than his eyes. The fire crackles softly in front of us, its sound folding into the background for a moment. Suddenly, I can’t help but think how I’ve known Beomgyu for half my life, and still this quiet that fills the space between us feels so unfamiliar.

My teeth catch my bottom lip, book dipping loosely in my hand before I finally close it. Then, I carefully plant my feet on the rug, standing forward to leave.

“Wait,” he blurts out, the word slipping out before he can stop it. “Don’t… don’t go.”

I pause mid-step, his voice pulling me back before I can keep going. 

Fuck. 

“Y/N…” he says, hesitant. 

Slowly, my eyes lift to finally meet him, but his are already on me, gaze locked in place as he stands up from the couch. “Is… everything ok between us?”

I stall for a second, fingers pressing into the cover of the book. “Yeah… yeah. We’re okay.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs, leaning closer.

“What? Nothing’s wrong,” My body moves back on instinct, trying to put distance between us.

“Please don’t bullshit me right now,” 

“I’m not bullshitting you.”  

That finally makes him pause, his stare lingering on me for a second too long. “Y/N, I know you’ve been avoiding me since the night at the Ravenclaw party.” 

“I haven’t,” I return, the reply spilling out in a hurry. “I’ve just—been busy. That’s all.”

“We’re literally on break before the ball,” he raises a brow, clearly not buying any of it. “We don’t have any homework or anything after OWLs—at least not until next semester.”

My grip on the book shifts as my fingers find the bookmark, fidgeting with it absently, anything to keep my hands busy.

“Look, I wasn’t trying to avoid you,” I remark, trying to deflect. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind, okay?”

It seems as if we’re suspended in the moment, even the faint patter of snow against the windows in the common room feels like it's carrying through this invisible space between us.

“Did I do something wrong?”

My jaw tightens as I try to search for the right words.

“No,” I say finally. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me?” he slides closer, his frame casting a shadow over mine.

“Like I said I’ve been busy,” I reply, voice tight. “I’ve had things on my mind.”

"Please look at me, Y/N."

I tilt my head up, dragging my eyes upward to meet his. My cheeks go warm under the pressure of his gaze.

“I just want to help,” he insists. “If it’s about me—”

“Why does it always have to be about you?”

Beomgyu freezes. The scrunched skin between his brows casting a shadow over his eyes.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I—I didn’t…” I stop, my right hand clenching into fists at my side. The apology is right there, but I can’t seem force it past the heat in my throat.

“It just means—” I swallow, the sound loud in the airless gap between us. “I'm tired, Beomgyu. That's it."

The boy doesn't budge. He simply takes a step closer towards me, his frame casting an unmovable shadow over my figure.

"You're lying. You haven't talked or even looked at me properly in days."

"I'm looking at you now," I try to force my eyes to stay on him, but his presence alone makes my pulse thrum in my fingertips. "Is this what you wanted? I'm looking at you now. I told you everything's fine, so just drop it."

“So what,” he says, voice measured, “you’re just pushing me away for no reason then?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then explain it to me,” he insists, voice rising despite himself. “Because right now it just feels like you’re blaming me for something I don’t even understand.”

“I don’t know how to make you get it,” I say, voice shaking now. “I don’t know how to say it without it turning into… this.”

“What?” His expression falters, suddenly lost. “Y/N, please.”

He takes another step, closing the distance until the radiant heat from his chest brushes against mine. The air between us is compacted now, turning into an airless block that makes every inhale a continuous struggle.

“Stop,” I cut in, the word barely a whisper.

The sound shatters the gravity holding us together. Suddenly, the memory of the party rushes back—the distant echo of the music, the cold drink in my hand, the sight of him with her.

I can’t look at him without seeing it.

A sharp shove gets me past him, the contact of my shoulder against his chest a jarring jolt that sends a sting through my arm. I don't stop until I reach the base of the stairs to the girls' dormitories, heels heavy on the stone.

"Just go to bed, Beomgyu." I say, my back to him, feeling his gaze boring into my spine. "Stop trying to fix everything. Please just… leave me alone."

Without waiting for a response, I bolt up the rest of the stairs, leaving him as nothing but a motionless shadow in the fading glow of the fire.

The next day doesn’t feel like a new day at all.

If anything, it feels like the previous night had simply itself carried over. The same tightness still lingers in my chest like a slow ache wedged between my ribs. But, on the bright side, at least the castle is loud again, footsteps and distant laughter echoing off the stone walls as students move past in groups. I keep my head down, trying to disappear into the morning rush of the corridors.

I truly have nothing else planned for today. While most girls are doing a mini self-care day in their dorm rooms and breaking in their shoes for the ball, the only thing I have scheduled for the day is a small hangout with Kai. I’d received the invitation the day before, tucked into a note tied to his owl, Aqua. It was sweet, yet a bit ominous at the same time. The letter went something along the lines of:

Meet me at the river by the stone bridge past the grounds, tomorrow at 4 p.m. — H.K.

I tuck the memory of it away as I keep walking, adjusting my grip on my bag. Just get through the morning. Just get through the day.

I barely make it past the enchanted staircase before—

"Absolutely not."

Suddenly, my wrist is yanked back by a force before I can even make it past the enchanted staircase.

"I am not letting you disappear on me again," Nari says, already tugging me in the opposite direction. "You've been dodging everyone for days, and I'm officially done with it."

"Nari—"

"Nope." She tightens her grip on my hand, not sparing me a glance. "I don't care if it's Jungwon or Beomgyu or anyone else—you don't get to do this with me too."

"But I can't—"

"No excuses. You're coming with me."

I barely manage to keep up with how fast she's walking. "Where are we even going exactly?"

Finally, Nari glances over her shoulder, a grin curling at her lips.

"Dress shopping."

I groan under my breath, digging my heels in for half a second, but it does nothing. She just drags me along anyway, weaving us through the crowded corridor. We’re constantly being stepped around as people talk over one another. One girl rushes by clutching a bundle of emerald velvet, and a boy trails her with silver robes draped over his arm. There’s a frantic energy to the castle today that I can’t seem to sync up with.

Everything is just too bright, too loud, and far too crowded.

“Seriously, Nari, I don’t—”

“You do,” she cuts in. “Because the ball is tomorrow, and unless you’re planning on showing up wrapped in a blanket, you need something to wear.”

“I already have something,” I try to say.

It’s not entirely a lie. I do have something—an old dress lodged somewhere in the back of my closet that I had planned to settle for.

“Liar.”

Okay.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Gladrags Wizardwear is a shop packed wall to wall with racks of clothing. Bolts of fabric spill from the shelves, filling the space with more color than I’ve ever seen in my life. There are even mannequins dressed in all kinds patterns scattered throughout the store: polka dots, stripes, and swirling designs in varying colors. It almost feels like the owner tried to squeeze every kind of garment in the world into one damn place.

A piece of measuring tape is already wrapped around my waist before I’ve even had time to take it all in. Cold fingers adjust it at my side, pulling it snug.

"Hold still,"

The seamstress circles me once. Then again. A floating parchment trails beside her shoulder, the quill scratching quickly on its own. Nari sits nearby on a low stool, chin propped in her palm, watching with quiet amusement.

"So," she starts.

"Arms out, darling." the lady insists, cutting her off mid-sentence.

I lift my arms.

"We've established that you've been acting weird lately," Nari states anyway.

I exhale lightly. “That’s not exactly new.”

"Don't," she warns, "Don't brush it off with me."

The seamstress moves to my chest, the tape wrapping around my upper torso as she calls out another number under her breath. My eyes skim over the faint lines of the tiled floor.

"We know about it, babe. About you and Beomgyu."

I press my hand shut, fingernails digging small crescent moons into my palm. The seamstress pauses for a second before moving on, her hands a little less quick than before.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I say, trying to sound oblivious.

"Oh please, don't give me that shit—"

"Nari," I scold her.

"I'm serious, Y/N." she exhales through her nose, then leans back slightly. "It's not like we haven't known for awhile now…"

I turn my head the other way, trying to avoid the look in her eyes.

"You and him have been doing that thing for years."

"That thing," I repeat flatly.

"You know," she gestures vaguely, like the word itself is obvious. "The weird flirting, hand-holding, 'staring-and-then-pretending-you weren't-staring-at-all' thing."

Nari sighs. "Basically, the whole 'we're just friends' act while doing whatever that is."

The seamstress clears her throat a little too loudly. “Arms down,” she guides the tape along my side again. I obey automatically, though my focus doesn’t really follow her hands anymore.

"Again, don't know what you're talking about."

“Y/N.”

The way she says my name makes something in my chest dip. The measuring tape slides across my back now.

“We heard about the kiss.”

The seamstress pauses mid-note at the word, then continues a second later. I swallow, eyes fixed on the shelf in front of me. "Who told you?"

"People talk, babe." she shrugs, crossing her legs. "It's just… me and Jungwon. We could kinda tell that you've had a thing for him for years, even back when we first became a friend group."

My jaw tightens slightly and Nari doesn't stop there.

"And then this whole 'Operation: Chaewon' shit happened, and now he's been hanging around her group all the time—after the party especially," she adds. "so it wasn't exactly hard to put two and two together, you know?"

I don't respond. Nari exhales quietly, expecting that from me.

“I mean,” Nari continues, more carefully now, “you don’t have to tell me everything. But you can’t keep pretending like nothing’s wrong and then expect it to just… disappear.”

Fuck. That lands quieter than anything else she’s said. The seamstress circles back to my waist, slower this time.

“I’m sorry,” Nari tilts her head. “Didn’t you measure that part already?”

The woman freezes. Then, far too quickly, she clears her throat.

“Yes, excellent, I have everything I need.” The tape retracts with a flick of her wand.“I’ll find your size. Stand there, don’t move, don’t talk too much, preferably either of you.”

She doesn’t wait, disappearing between the racks before we can respond, parchment trailing after her. Nari watches her go, then sighs.

“Right.” she says, quieter now. “Anyway,”

“I’m not saying this to corner you,” she hesitates, searching for the right words. "I just… don't like seeing you like this, Y/N."

I keep my gaze fixed on the edge of a rack nearby, where a row of robes hangs in uneven colors, swaying slightly as someone passes deeper in the shop.

“I’m fine,” I say eventually, though it comes out softer than I mean it to. When I finally glance at her, her expression has shifted into something less teasing and more understanding.

“He’s miserable, you know,” she remarks. “You are too.”

I press my lips together, arms crossing loosely over my chest. Then, the sound of footsteps return before either of us can say anything else. The seamstress reappears with a stack of dresses floating neatly beside her, each one suspended in place by careful wandwork. The floating parchment dips beside her shoulder, quill still scribbling.

“Okay, I’ve picked out a few options that should suit your size,” she continues, already steering the dresses forward. “Try them on and see what works best.”

She disappears, leaving us alone once again. Nari finally stands, glancing at the dresses as they drift closer. "You have to admit," she says, tone lightening on purpose. "she has incredible timing."

My mouth twitches. “She does.”

I step back to admire them. One of the dresses breaks from the cluster and floats toward me first. It’s deep blue, soft at the edges, the fabric catching the light in a faint glittering shimmer.

"That one's pretty." Nari lips curl into a soft smile.

Suddenly, another dress follows. The fabric is a wash blush pink and pale green blending together like watercolor bleeding into fabric. The skirt falls in loose, floating layers that catch the air, while the bodice is tailored and close-fitting, giving shape beneath the softness.

Nari leans forward a little, interest returning properly now. “Okay, wait—try that one.”

I blink at her. “You didn’t even see the rest.”

"I don't need to." she answers, unwavering. "That one suits you the best."

I hesitate for a moment longer before reaching for the pink-green dress. My gaze lingers over its details before I turn and head toward the dressing room. Behind me, Nari leans back against the stool again, watching with a faintly satisfied expression.

“Don’t get smug,” I tease, pushing past the curtain.

“I’m not,” she says immediately. “I just know my shit. There’s a difference.”

I let out a quiet scoff as I step inside. The fabric brushes against my shoulders as I slip into the alcove, the noise outside fading enough to give me a second to myself. I start changing slowly, my movements stalling every few seconds.

“You know,” Nari calls, “I didn’t mean earlier to make it sound like everyone’s been gossiping about you.”

I pause slightly at that. “…It kind of did,” I reply.

“Yeah,” she admits, “I'm sorry.”

A beat passes. I pull the dress the rest of the way on, smoothing it down more out of habit than need.

“…So,” I say, mostly to fill the space, “how are you and Taehyun?”

There’s a short pause on the other side of the curtain. “We’re good,” she offers simply.

"Really?" I glance toward the curtain. "That sounded suspiciously normal."

“It is normal,” she replies, “We’re just… taking it slow.”

A faint rustle—her shifting position on the stool again. “Like,” she adds, as if clarifying for my benefit, “Just seeing where things go.”

I nod, a teasing edge slipping into my tone. “How mature of you both.”

“It is mature,” she insists, then softens, “we flirt a bit, then act like we’re not flirting. I'd say it's a very controlled environment.”

That gets a quiet breath of laughter out of me.

"I'm surprised you're handling this so well, Nari." I note. "I know how much you've liked him over the past year."

“I know right,” she admits. “I’m thriving.”

“How about you?” Nari adds.

“What about me?”

“What happened with your end of the Beomgyu situation?” she asks. “Did you figure out a date for the ball? It’s tomorrow.”

I look down at the dress, feeling warmth rise to my cheeks. “…I have a date,” I mumble.

“Wait,” she says, leaning forward a little like she’s trying to process it properly. “You’re just casually telling me this now?”

"I swear everything happened so fast."

Nari lets out a small breathy laugh, more surprised than anything. I fidget with the fabric behind the curtain, heat creeping up my neck. “Plus, it didn’t really feel like a ‘big announcement’ kind of moment.”

“That’s exactly what makes it a 'big announcement' kind of moment,” she says immediately, but there’s a smile in her voice now.

A beat passes, lighter than before.

“So,” she continues gently, “who is it then?”

I hesitate. “… Kai,” I say.

For a second, there’s silence. Then Nari goes, “Oh!”

“Oh, that’s actually really good,” she says quickly, sitting up straighter. “Wait, I like that. I really like that.”

I blink through the curtain. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she nods like it’s obvious. “Kai’s sweet. And he’s really good with you. Like, genuinely. That’s a good match.”

There’s a warmth in her tone that makes my shoulders loosen a little without me meaning to.

Nari grins to herself. “I'm really happy for you, babe.”

My grip on the dress loosens slightly. “…Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says simply, softer now but still smiling. “You deserve a good night. Especially tomorrow.”

A small pause settles, but it doesn’t feel heavy anymore. Nari hesitates slightly, her voice gentling as she speaks. “By the way,” she adds, “Beomgyu told me too.”

My hands still against the dress. "…Told you what?” I ask, quieter.

“That Chaewon asked him to the ball,” she says. “After the party. He mentioned it to me and Jungwon himself.”

I glance down at my reflection in the mirror. “Oh,” I say softly.

“Surprisingly enough, he didn’t seem all that excited about it,” she adds carefully. “it was like… he was trying to move past it or something.”

A pause. Then she exhales lightly, almost like she’s making a choice not to linger there too long.

“But that’s not really something you need to carry right now,” she says, voice gentler again, grounding. “Tomorrow’s about you. And Kai. And I really do think that’s a good thing for you, Y/N.”

I swallow, the words settling more quietly than before.

“…Yeah,” I say, softer this time.

A sharp knock breaks the quiet from somewhere inside in the shop. “Are we decent?” the seamstress calls, tone unchanged from before.

Nari tilts her head. “Define decent.”

“Not you,” the seamstress replies instantly.

A quiet laugh slips from Nari.

The curtain parts with a soft rustle, and the noise of the shop folds back in around us. I step out, fingers still fussing with the fabric at my waist. “Okay, don’t say anything yet—” I start.

Nari stands up, then pauses for half a second before her expression shifts into a grin, eyes locking onto me. "You look so beautiful, babe." Her smile widens, caught off guard by how right it feels.

“Wait,” she says quickly. “No, seriously—look at you.”

She guides me toward a mirror nearby. My reflection meets my gaze. I let out a small breath, unable to look away. I mean, I did look good.

Before she can speak, the seamstress circles back into view, wand tucked neatly between her fingers. “Are we planning to go with that one, then?” she asks, eyes flicking over the dress.

“Yes,” I exhale. The seamstress nods once like that’s all she needed.

“Good,” she says briskly. Then she flicks her wand, and the fabric subtly responds—tightening at the waist and smoothing itself at the hem. “Final adjustments tomorrow morning. Pick-up before midday. Don’t be late. I don’t do emotional damage control on event day.”

Nari mutters under her breath, “That feels targeted.”

“It is,” the seamstress replies without hesitation, already turning away.

Nari chuckles at her demeanor. "I like her."

"Me too." I chuckle.

“You do look really good though,” she adds, pausing a beat, eyes staying on me.

I nod faintly, fingers smoothing the fabric at my waist again. “Thank you.”

A pause stretches between us.

"… You okay?"

A beat passes once more before I answer, too quick. “Yeah,” I respond automatically. “Just—thinking.”

I let out a quiet breath through my nose, trying to focus on the way the dress falls instead of the way my chest tightens. “It’s just… weird,” I admit. “Looking like this and knowing everything’s still… not okay.”

Her expression softens as she straightens a little, shifting the air on purpose. “Okay,” she says, more practical now. “Tell you what.”

I glance at her through the mirror.

“We’re having a mini get-together tonight,” she continues.

I blink. “What?”

"It's at the Room of Requirement again…" Nari says softly. "But I swear, it's mostly for us Gryffindors."

My shoulders tighten slightly before I can stop them.

“…Nari,” I mumble.

“I promise it's not like last time,” she adds quickly. “It’s not some big social thing. It’s just… a couple of people. Our people. Somewhere you can breathe for a bit.”

I look away from the mirror. The idea presses into my chest, calm and unsettling at the same time, making my shoulders tense.

Nari’s voice gentles further. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, babe.” Her head settles against my shoulder. “Only if you want to get out of your head for a few hours. No pressure.”

I hesitate, but she just waits patiently for me to take my time in deciding. Finally, I give in.

“…Okay,” I say, almost reluctant. Nari’s expression softens immediately.

“Yeah?” she lifts her head from my shoulder, turning to read my reaction.

I nod once, already made up my mind. “Yeah,” I repeat.

“Alright,” she says, stepping back. “Come on. Let's go pay for this dress."

The winter breeze brushes past my face, pulling my hair behind my shoulders as I rush over the stone bridge on my way back from Hogsmeade with Nari.

I told her I’d meet her at the party tonight instead, since I’d already promised to meet Kai by the river this afternoon. Her only response was that stupid smirk she always makes whenever I mention him—like she’s holding back every teasing comment behind her closed pink lips.

I’m clearly running late now, mostly because I didn’t expect her to drag me out of nowhere in the first place. But the guilt only starts seeping in my stomach as soon as my eyes catch Kai leaning alone against a tree beside the frozen river.

I quicken my steps, feet crunching through the powdered snow, until I finally stop in front of him.

“Hey—” I manage out of breath, words puffing out visible clouds. "I'm… so sorry… I'm late."

My chest is still rising too fast from how fast I managed to walk in that long distance, fingers still numb from being exposed in the cold air. I try to warm them up by curling them into the sleeves but it doesn't help much.

"It's okay." he smiles.

"How long have you been waiting here for?" I ask, noticing the faint redness forming on the tip of his nose.

"Not long." Kai insists. He pushes off the tree and steps closer, a small beaded pouch hanging from his hand. "Did you run all the way here?"

“Yeah,” I exhale, gradually steadying myself. “Nari kind of ambushed me in the corridor when I was on my way to the courtyard after lunch.”

“Ah,” he nods, not needing any further explanation. He knows my friends well enough for the spontaneity not to surprise him.

“So,” I say, glancing around, “what are we doing here today?”

The meeting place, let's say… was pretty unusual, even as I'm standing in it now. We're simply out in the freezing cold with nothing but the the wind nipping at our cheeks and the icy river beside us.

Everything else around us is swallowed in pale stillness.

"Well," he starts, a small grin forming, "since the river's frozen today—and I know we don't really have anything else planned—I thought maybe we could…"

He clasps open the beaded pouch in his hand and reaches inside, rummaging for a moment. His brow furrows slightly in concentration, teeth catching lightly at his cheek. Then his expression lights up when he finally feels for the item. He pulls his arm back to reveal—

A purple-colored hair straightener.

I raise a brow, "… straighten our hair for the ball tomorrow?"

Kai lets out a short laugh, shaking his head immediately. "Oh shit, sorry, this is my sister's bag." He tucks the straightener under his other arm, holding the bag in place, before reaching back in with his right hand and finally pulling out two pairs of skates.

"Go ice skating."

Before I know it, our bags and shoes are left half-forgotten near the tree. We've settled onto the dry grass, bending forward as we try to slip the skates on. The cold continues to bite through my fingers as I fumble with the right shoe.

"How do you even have these in the first place?"

"We have a lake beside our house." he says, focused on adjusting his own skates. "I used to skate a lot there with my sisters during winter break."

That makes me pause a little. "Oh."

He gestures the pair I'm trying to put on now. "I borrowed that one from my sister Hiyyih. Well, and the purse too, of course."

I hum, the image of a younger Hufflepuff with the same light blond hair coming to mind. "Let's hope we're the same shoe size then."

Kai huffs a small laugh, then glances up at me for a second before looking back down at his skates. I keep pushing my foot into the skate, struggling against how stiff it is.

"If you don't mind me asking," I let go of it for a second, "why'd you decide to do this with me all of a sudden?"

“I guess I've kinda noticed you’ve been a little out of it lately,” he says, ears turning a bit pink.“I haven’t really seen you at the Gryffindor table much. So I thought this might help."

The corners of my mouth lift without me meaning to.

"That's… really sweet of you."

I don’t add anything else, just focus on getting the skates on, pushing until my foot finally slides in. The other follows the same way, the laces still left loose. I exhale, resting for a second before bending forward again to tie them with my shivering hands.

"You good over there?" he asks, already done with his.

"What—how are you so fast at this?"

"Believe it or not, these are my skates." he teases before sitting up. "Here, let me help."

Before I can protest, he's already positioned in front of me. His fingers move with quiet ease through the laces and straps, fixing all the small, stubborn parts I couldn’t quite figure out, like he’s done this a hundred times before. I fall quiet without meaning to.

There’s something about the way he focuses that makes me slow down too—his brow slightly drawn in, eyes fixed on the laces as his fingers work steadily through them. He doesn’t rush, even with the cold biting at his hands.

At some point, he briefly glances up.

Our eyes meet, and he smiles faintly, a slight lift at the corner of his mouth. Then he drops his gaze again, continuing to work on the skates without pausing. When he finishes, he gives the knot a small tug.

“Okay,” he says softly. “You’re all set.”

“…Thanks,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks growing warm despite the cold.

Kai pushes himself off the ground with ease, then offering both of his hands out to me. I take his hands, but the moment I try to pull myself up, I immediately wobble.

He laughs under his breath, hands still in mine. "You got it."

Slowly, I adjust my feet on the grass, the blades scraping faintly as I straighten my legs. After a second of imbalance, I finally pull away from his hands when I manage to straighten myself.

“Okay—this isn’t so bad,” I sigh, trying to sound confident.

"Wait til' you get to the ice.”

I glance toward the frozen river again, hesitation creeping back in now that I’m actually standing in skates. “…Are you sure this is safe?”

Kai is already looking in the same direction, like he’s been waiting for that question. “Yeah,” he says simply. “I checked the state of the ice yesterday. It was pretty stable.”

I blink at him. “You checked it?”

He lets out a small breath that’s almost a laugh, but his expression stays calm.“I walked along the edges,” he explains. “It’s thick enough. It should be fine today.”

That doesn’t completely erase the nervous twist in my stomach, but the way he says it makes it easier to believe him anyway.

“Hey, I promise it's perfect for today,” he adds, softer now. “I wouldn’t bring you here if I wasn’t sure.”

“…Okay,” I say finally.

Kai steps in first. The moment his skates touch the ice, his weight shifts forward without hesitation. One foot slides ahead, then the other follows, blades carving a clean line as he tests the surface with an easy, practiced glide. I linger at the edge, eyes following him, a little caught off guard by how natural it looks on him. My fingers tighten slightly at my sides before I force myself to step forward anyway.

The second my skates touch the surface, everything shifts.

My foot slides before I fully commit to it, the other following a beat too late. My arms shoot out on instinct, shoulders tensing as I try to catch my balance.

“Okay—okay,” I mutter under my breath, more to myself than anything. Behind me, I hear Kai move back a little.

“Just take it slow,”

I try again. Smaller this time. I step onto the ice a little too carefully, more like I’m walking on solid ground than anything else. Kai watches me for a second before skating closer, easily matching my hesitant pace, then reaches out to take my hands in his once more.

"Here," he lowers his voice, "follow my lead."

I swallow, nodding even though I’m still very aware of how unnatural this feels. My feet push forward again, and this time I actually glide—just a short distance, but enough that my breath catches a little in surprise.

“Good,” he says. “You’re getting it.”

I glance at him. “I feel like I’m going to fall at any second.”

“You won’t,” he replies immediately.

We move slowly across the ice, his hands still clasped against mine, adjusting whenever I wobble too much. Kai skates backwards the entire time. The motion is still unfamiliar—every push of my foot feels like a negotiation with the ground beneath me—but it’s getting less chaotic. Less like I’m about to fall at any second.

“Your sisters must’ve been really patient with you,” I speak after a while, watching him more than the ice now.

He hums, shifting our grip slightly as I take another careful step forward. “Not really. They just laughed at me a lot.”

That makes me huff a quiet laugh. “Sounds about right.”

“They were worse than me at first though,” he adds. “I just picked it up faster.”

I glance down at my feet as they scrape forward. “You’re kind of a natural at everything, you know that?”

"I don't know about that." he lets out a laugh.

“C’mon, you don’t need to be so modest about it.” I smile at him. “You fly well on your broom, you’ve got good grades—I’ve even seen you play drums in the school orchestra.”

"You've seen me play?"

"You guys literally had a performance earlier this year. Of course, I did."

"Oh, I forgot about that." His cheeks turn a slight shade of pink at the mention of it, hands tightening briefly around mine, then relaxing again. “I’ve actually learned a few more instruments growing up,” he adds. “Even though we’re pureblooded, my parents have always been pretty open with muggle stuff.”

"What are instruments do you know how to play?"

"Guitar, bass—but I mostly play the piano and the drums."

“That’s actually really cool,” I say, impressed.

He lets out a small breath of a laugh, "I really want to join a band one day."

I watch him for a second. "You know, I'm surprised people don't get to see this side of you. You don't really act like someone who's just… good at everything without trying."

"I'm not though."

"Still feels like it." I shrug, voice teasing.

"How about you?" he asks, still skating backwards. "What are some of your hobbies?"

"I knit sometimes," I respond. "And I read a lot."

Kai flashes me a grin. "Oh, so you're like a proper grandmother then?"

"Hey,"

"Sorry, sorry." he giggles. We keep moving, slower now, my steps starting to match his guidance instead of fighting it.

"I'm in the charms club too," I mention. "the one held by Professor Flitwick."

“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s it like?”

“Pretty fun,” I say. “We just experiment with spells most of the time. Nothing too serious.”

He nods slightly, still watching my footing as I push off again.

“But there was this one time when Nari tried getting me into duelling club too,” I continue. “But I don’t know though. Some of the students there are a bit too intense. I can’t really match that kind of energy.”

"Oh yeah, I've heard about the stuff that goes on there from Taehyun." he recalls. "The students there are really tough to beat."

“Okay,” I say after a few more careful glides. My shoulders loosen a little. “I think I can try on my own now.”

He looks at me. “You sure?”

I meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Alright,”

The moment his support is gone, I shift forward carefully. My first push is uneven, but I don’t fall. The ice carries me a little, and I quickly adjust, knees bending slightly as I find my balance again.

Another step. Then another.

It’s still wobbly and a little awkward, but I’m moving.

“Holy shit,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “I’m doing it.”

Kai laughs fondly at my reaction. "Yeah, you are."

I glance back at him, and he skates forward, circling slightly ahead of me to stay within reach, making sure I’m steady.

“See?” he says. “Told you.”

For a while, we just move like that—me figuring out how to stay upright, him keeping pace close enough to step in if I need him. Then, a little quieter, he speaks again.

“Hey,” he says, tone shifting slightly softer. “Can I ask something?”

I slow a little. “Yeah?”

"Have you been okay lately?"

The question isn't intrusive at all, but I can't help but look down at the ice for a second as I keep moving. "To be honest with you… not really," I admit, voice low. "It's just—something happened between me and Beomyu, and we haven't really been okay since."

Kai doesn't interrupt.

I swallow, then continue anyway. "There was this… Ravenclaw party at the Room of Requirement a few days ago. Yeonjun told me something. About the dates."

"What about them?"

"He said something about how Beomgyu was kind of… sabotaging them."

"How?"

"Like, he would tell them in private that everything was just a joke. To not take it too seriously and actually ask me out to the ball."

Kai's brows knit together. "What? Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," I say, a hint frustration in my tone. "I wondered the same thing. I told him that he'd never do something like that to me."

A pause stretches between us again. The only sound is the scrape of skates on ice. Kai doesn’t rush to fill it.

"Yeonjun said…" I hesitate, fingers curling into small fists at my sides. "He thinks that Beomgyu did it because he wanted to ask me himself."

I let out a short, disbelieving breath. “It sounds ridiculous. I don’t even think that’s true. And I just got so overwhelmed at the party that… I don’t know, I kind of lost it.” My gaze stays fixed ahead, but my voice tightens slightly as I add, “And then, I saw them. Beomgyu and Chaewon… kissing.”

Kai goes quiet beside me.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. “That happened.”

I shrug too fast. “It’s fine. I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t not expect it. It was going well for them even before that. And I helped him too, so—it made sense.”

My words come out light, but my grip on my balance isn’t as steady anymore. I focus harder on the ice instead. I speak again before he can say anything else. "God, I'm so sorry for dumping this all on you, Kai."

"Hey, it's okay." he reassures me. "I don't mind. Truly."

"I just…" I pause, sighing. "I need you to know that I'm still very happy that I'm going with you. And I'm having a really great time with you right now."

"I'm glad." Kai smiles as he stays close beside me, matching my pace.

“But, you know, it doesn’t change anything,” he adds after a moment, “You’re allowed to talk about it.”

“I don’t know." I shake my head a little too quickly. "It just feels weird. Like I’m dragging it into something that’s supposed to be—” I gesture vaguely between us, “—this.”

He glides a fraction closer, not touching me this time, just staying within reach. “You don’t have to apologize for having feelings, Y/N”

That makes me glance at him for the first time in a while. He’s looking ahead, guiding his steps, but his expression is steady. Kai’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “All of this isn’t fair on you either.”

I don’t answer.

My breath simply catches again, but this time it’s not from the cold. The ice shifts under me as my skate begins to catch wrong. My weight tips before I can fix it.

“Wait—” I start, but it’s already too late. My arms fly out instinctively as my balance disappears. I feel myself falling, the world tilting sideways in a clean, unstoppable drop.

Kai is already moving. He closes the distance in a few quick, controlled glides, skates cutting short lines across the ice as he reaches for my hands. His fingers catch mine just as I start to go—but I’m already off balance, my weight pulling forward too fast for him to fully steady me. He tries anyway, tightening his grip and shifting his stance, but it only lasts a second. My skates slide out from under me, and I tug him down with me as I fall.

We hit the ice in a clumsy drop, my shoulder landing first, a quick jolt of cold seeping straight through my clothes. His hand is still loosely in mine, our fingers tangled awkwardly for a beat before we both go still.

A quiet pause.

Then I let out a breathy laugh, half from shock, half from how ridiculous it is. Kai is beside me, also laughing now, one arm still slightly stretched out like he tried to save it at the last second.

“Okay,” he says between breaths, “that was definitely you.”

For a moment, neither of us moves. Just lying there on the ice, laughing until it fades into something lighter. Kai turns his head slightly toward me, still catching his breath.

“Hey,” he says after a beat, quieter now. “How are you now?”

I stare up at the pale sky for a second.

“I’ve been a bit better today. Nari dragged me out dress shopping earlier, so I guess that helped.” I let out a breath, shifting slightly on the ice, "And I'm having a lot of fun with you right now too, so I guess you're helping as well."

A laugh escapes past his lips. "Oh yeah," Then, he turns his head a little, like something just clicked. “You never actually told me what you were planning to wear for the ball.”

I shrug lightly. “I mean, I had this old dress I was supposed to wear.” I say. “My mom sent it over when she first heard that the Triwizard Tournament was being held at Hogwarts. It was this icy white one.”

A pause.

“It kind of matched the Yule Ball theme,” I add, “but it also looked a bit… too much like a wedding dress.”

That earns a quiet laugh from him.

“I’m pretty sure Nari saw it earlier this year,” I continue. “That’s why she dragged me out today. She said it needed… saving.”

Kai hums. “So what are you wearing now?”

I glance at him. “That’s a secret,” I say.

He tilts his head slightly. “Not even a hint?”

I pretend to think for a second. “You should get a green pocket square,”

“Green?” he repeats.

I nod once. “Yeah.”

His mouth twitches, holding back a grin. “… Noted,”

We lie there for a moment longer before I push myself up slightly, wincing as the cold bites through my sleeves.

“Okay,” I say, exhaling. “Round two?”

He takes my hand, but the second I try to pull him up, my balance gives out again. My skates slip, and I end up right back on top of him, the impact soft this time. We both burst out laughing, as my hands rest on his chest and his arm wrapped around me, his right hand settled on my waist.

“I swear that wasn’t on purpose—” I manage through a breath, but my skates still slide uselessly against the ice when I try to shift my weight. Kai laughs too, a little breathless under me.

I try to push myself up again, but it only makes me slip closer instead. My hands press more firmly against his chest to steady myself, and that’s when I notice it—the rhythmic rise and fall beneath my palms, the warmth of his hand still resting at my waist, keeping me from completely losing balance.

Suddenly, I become a little too aware of everything all at once as the laughter between us fades.

I stop trying to move.

My eyes lift to his face, and he’s already looking right back at me. There’s something in his expression I can’t quite name, but it holds me there—suspended. I can feel his warm breath, brushing faintly against my face in the cold air between us, small clouds forming and fading with each exhale. The space between us feels smaller than it did a second ago.

And look, I don’t really know what possesses me to do it. I just know it happens before I can think it through.

I lean in, closing the gap between us until my lips meet his.

The action is so brief that it happens before either of us can fully react. It lasts only a fraction of a second before my brain catches up, and everything in me jolts at once. And just as quickly, I pull back away from him. Like I can even undo what I just did my creating distance again.

My eyes widen.

“Oh—” I breathe out, heat rushing up my face instantly. “I don’t know what came over me—”

The words spill out in a rush, messy and panicked, but neither of us actually bothers to move away from each other. His hand is still at my waist. My grip hasn’t left him either. We’re just… frozen in the moment after. I can only avert my eyes, face burning a bright shade of red now.

“I—fuck, I’m so sorry, Kai. That was not okay for me to do without your permission. I just—”

“It’s okay.” Kai cuts me off.

Before I can finish, his hands lift and gently catches my chin between his fingers, tilting my face back up until I have no choice but to meet his eyes again. A slow lopsided, goofy smile takes over his face.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, voice softened.

My teeth catch my bottom lip, and his eyes flick down to it for a second before lifting back to mine. I let go slowly as the quiet settles between us again. Kai moves in closer, his palm coming up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing lightly across my skin.

He pauses there for a moment, looking at me. Then he leans in and presses his lips against mine gently, his hand still holding my face as he closes the space between us. The kiss is light, his mouth moving slowly against mine without any rush or force. His nose touches mine, angling my face as he adjusts his position without breaking the kiss.

After a beat, the pressure lessens. His lips leave mine gradually, the contact breaking without a sharp pull, his hand lingering at my face for a moment longer before lowering. Then he looks down, head dipping as his gaze breaks away. His lips press together, then he catches his bottom lip between his teeth, holding it there for a second before letting go.

I can’t help it—I let out a laugh at his reaction.

“That was really cute,” I murmur.

His shoulders lift a little, then drop again as he exhales through his nose, still not looking at me.

“…Shut up,” he mumurs under his breath, but there’s no distance in it as his mouth curves slightly at the end.

The moment stretches after his words. The laugh fades out between us, leaving only the sound of our breathing and the faint scrape of skates somewhere far off on the ice. I shift a little where I’m still close to him, fingers loosening where they’d been holding onto his jacket without me noticing.

“Hey…” I start, then stop, swallowing once. My eyes drop for a second before I force myself to look back at him. “Uhm. There’s this thing Nari invited me to tonight… at the Room of Requirement.”

His gaze stays on me. “Yeah?”

I nod, then hesitate again, my fingers curling against my sleeve. “It's nothing big, just a little get-together with a bunch of friends, but…"

I exhale then continue. "Do you maybe want to go with me?"

There’s a small shift in his posture, his head tilting slightly as he listens.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I don’t want to intrude or anything if it’s strictly Gryffindors.”

I shake my head quickly. “Oh no, Nari said it wasn’t completely exclusive. It’s mostly Gryffindors and a few friends from other houses. Just a hangout.” My voice softens at the end. “But it’s completely okay if you’re busy tonight. It’s no big deal.”

A beat passes.

Then I add, quieter, eyes lowering for a second before lifting again. “I guess I just… wanted to see you again before the ball tomorrow.”

Kai doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he lifts his hand, two fingers sliding gently under my chin, guiding my face up until I’m looking at him properly again. The touch is light but certain, keeping me from looking away this time.

“I’d love to go with you tonight,” he says.

Something in my chest tightens and eases at the same time. Our eyes stay locked for a moment longer. Then both of us smile at the same time.

He lets go of my chin shortly after, and pushes himself up from the ice, adjusting his balance in one smooth motion. He looks back down at me, extending a hand again.

“Okay,” Kai says, a hint of playfulness returning. “How about we try this again?”

It’s 9:30 p.m. when Nari and I finally slip away after dinner, shoulders knocking lightly as we make our way down the corridor. We stop in front of the blank wall, both of us pausing for a moment catch our breath. Then, Nari steps forward without a word.

Her hand presses flat against the cold stone, fingers splaying slightly as she drags her palm across its rough surface. The wall shifts instantly under the contact. It trembles under her touch as thin lines etch themselves outward, carving into the stone with a low, quiet scrape. They deepen, widening into shape—

Until a large wooden door forms right in front of us.

She turns to me, a tight-lipped smile pulling at her mouth as her hand hovers over the knob. I give her a small nod in return. That’s all she needs. Her fingers curl around it, and with a quick twist, the door clicks open.

The Room of Requirement looks nothing like it did the last time I was here. It’s smaller than I expected—but warmer and cozier that it almost feels like an extension of the Gryffindor common room. The space has same deep shade of red that lined the walls, softened by the glow of a fireplace tucked off to the side. A window stretches across the far end of the room, reflecting the flicker of floating candles that drift lazily overhead.

There are mismatched couches scattered around the space, worn and familiar. Off to the side, a single drinks table draws a small cluster of people. My eyes catch patches of greenery climbing along parts of the wall—probably something the Hufflepuffs put together. The floor is layered with different patterned carpets in deep reds and golds, soft under my shoes, muffling each step. Off to the right, there’s another door set into the wall, closed, with no real hint of where it leads.

Somewhere in the background, music hums low, nearly swallowed by quiet laughter and overlapping conversations that fill the room.

It’s not crowded. Mostly Gryffindors, just like Nari said. A few familiar faces from other houses scattered in between.

I feel my shoulders loosen a little, the tightness from earlier easing out of me as I take it in. Then, I feel Nari nudging my arm from beside me. “See? Not that bad.”

“Yeah,” I nod, eyes still scanning the room without thinking. She catches it.

“Are you looking for someone?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.

"Uh… yeah actually," I hesitate for a second, then glance at her. “I invited Kai. If that's okay?”

Nari’s expression shifts almost instantly—something bright flickers across her face before she smooths it over just as quickly. “Of course it’s okay,” she says, a little too fast, then bumps her shoulder lightly against mine. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

I huff out a quiet laugh, some of the tension easing from my chest. “I don’t know. I just didn’t want to, like… invite someone into your thing without telling you.”

“It’s not my thing,” she shrugs, already stepping further into the room. “It’s just a hangout. And anyway—” she glances back at me, a small grin tugging at her lips, “—I like him for you.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the small smile that pulls at my mouth. “Okay, you need to relax there.”

“Mhm,” she hums, clearly not convinced, before grabbing my wrist and tugging me toward the drinks table. “Come on. At least pretend to socialize while you wait.”

We move toward the drinks table, slipping past a few students, and Nari immediately lights up when she spots them.

“Ryujin, Chaeryeong!”

After a quick greeting, she turns back to me, her hand still holding my wrist as she draws me closer.

“Y/N,” she says, easing me into the space beside her. “These are my friends from DADA.”

Ryujin’s attention settles on me fully. “So you’re Y/N.”

I nod shyly. “Yeah. Hi.”

“Nice to meet you,” Chaeryeong says right after, voice easy as she shifts her weight slightly against the table.

Nari stays close beside me, her shoulder still brushing mine. “I’ve told them about you,” she says.

“All good things, I hope?”

“Of course.” Ryujin smiles.

The four of us slip into an easy rhythm of conversation.

We stay by the drinks table for a while, talking and drinking as the party grows louder around us. The room fills with constant movement—small groups forming and breaking apart, voices blending into the background. Nari talks with Ryujin and Chaeryeong about dueling club, and I mostly just listen, chiming in here and there when it feels natural.

After a moment, Ryujin looks over our shoulders, noticing someone in the room. She taps Chaeryeong’s arm, they exchange a brief look, then both step back from the table.

“Hey, we’re just going to say hi to a few people,” Ryujin says.

Nari nods. “Yeah, go ahead.”

They slip into the crowd, leaving me and Nari by the drinks table. I don’t notice the door opening again at first—until Beomgyu walks in with Jungwon. My body goes still the second I catch the sight of them. Nari notices the change beside me, but she doesn’t say anything.

Jungwon spots us first and heads over without hesitation. “There you guys are,” he says, stopping beside Nari.

Nari shifts her stance, more relaxed now. “Hey. We got here early—didn’t want to deal with sneaking in after curfew.”

He glances around the room, then back at us. “This place is actually nicer than I thought it’d be.”

Beomgyu follows a second later. He stops beside Jungwon, and I feel his eyes flick to mine for a brief moment before both of us look away at the same time. It’s the first time we’ve all been together properly in a while, and it shows in the way the conversation hesitates for a second before picking up.

Jungwon looks at the drinks. “So what are we working with here then? Same mystery selection?”

Nari hums. “Pretty much.”

I glance down at the table without thinking. “I’ll get you guys something,” I say, already reaching for a few cups.

There’s a small pause before Jungwon leans back. “Alright. I trust your judgment.”

Nari doesn’t say anything, just shifts aside to give me space. I focus on the cups, keeping my hands steady as I mix something simple.

Across from me, Jungwon keeps talking—something about people disappearing and reappearing all over the room. Nari answers him easily, picking up the rhythm without effort. Beomgyu stays quieter, but he’s still there, responding when he’s pulled in, then slipping back into silence.

When I finish, I set two cups down.

“One for you,” I say, sliding the first toward Jungwon. He takes it immediately.

Then I turn slightly and offer the second. Beomgyu is closer now. He doesn’t move right away, just looks at it, then at me, before taking it from my hand.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

The conversation carries on between the four of us. I catch fragments of it—Jungwon asking how I’ve been, me answering briefly, Nari filling in gaps with small comments that keep things moving. It’s easier, less careful than before. The topic shifts between drinks, the room, people moving in and out of conversation, nothing holding for too long.

I find myself laughing more easily now, shoulders relaxing as Jungwon and Nari bounce off each other. My posture loosens, chest rising and falling more freely. Even Beomgyu lets out a quiet laugh from my right, his shoulders lifting slightly before settling again.

It almost feels normal again… Then the door opens.

Nari’s head turns first. “Oh— they’re here.”

I follow her gaze without thinking.

Kai steps in, Taehyun just behind him, both of them pausing for half a second as they take in the room before moving further inside. The warm light catches against the edges of Kai’s hair, softening his features, and when his eyes scan across the space and land on me—

I give him a small smile. He returns it just as quickly, before they both start walking over.

“Hey guys,” Taehyun greets, standing beside Nari.

Kai lingers half a step behind him before speaking, eyes flicking toward me. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I echo, softly.

"H-hey." Nari suddenly perks up, straigtening her posture. "You guys came."

“Of course. Hard to turn you down.” Taehyun says, a small, knowing smile pulling at his lips. "So, anything interesting happen yet?"

"Nah, it's still pretty early. I'd say you guys arrived on time." Jungwon answers.

We all slip into an easy conversation between the group, and not surprisingly enough, Taehyun and Kai are fitting in with our friend group pretty well. At one point, the discussion shifts into Quidditch again—Jungwon leaning in more as he talks, hands moving slightly as he goes on about notable players from Durmstrang, while Taehyun responds smoothly, nodding along and adding in quick remarks. Nari tries to join in, stepping into the conversation whenever she can, but her sentences break off midway a few times as she searches for the right terms.

I’d have to admit—it’s pretty cute to see Nari act so differently when it comes to Taehyun.

Kai and I aren’t listening much. The conversation continues around us while I stay focused on the drink in my hand. Shortly after, his gaze drops from his cup to my wrist, eyes resting on the silver charm bracelet.

"You're still wearing it." he leans down, whispering.

A small smile pulls at my lips as I glance up at him, then back down at the bracelet. “Of course I am. I told you I liked it.”

"It suits you."

I swallow once, my throat moving before I look away. From the corner of my eye, I notice Jungwon’s hand brushing against Beomgyu’s back in small motions. I raise a brow and glance toward Beomgyu on my right, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. His lips stay on his cup, and he nods along to the conversation.

Before we can say anything else, someone across the room erupts with a shout—loud enough to cut through the voices and the music playing in the background. “Gather around everyone! We’re playing Seven Minutes in Heaven!”

The room reacts all at once.

A wave of movement spreads through the space—chairs scraping against the floor, footsteps shifting, voices rising over one another. A few people groan in protest, but most are already laughing, grabbing drinks and pushing themselves off couches.

Nari shifts closer to me, eyes flicking toward the center of the room before landing back on me. I tilt my head slightly.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven?” I murmur.

She blinks at me. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a muggle game,” Kai says, voice calm. “You spin a bottle in the middle of the room, and whoever it lands on has to stay in a closet with them for seven minutes.”

Nari’s expression tightens immediately. "A closet?”

"Yeah," Kai nods.

Taehyun lets out a quiet laugh beside her. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“But why is it called ‘Heaven’?” I ask, confusion spreading across my face. Nari only laughs and pats my back once before walking over to the circle, lowering herself down beside Taehyun.

I glance over to Kai, giving him a look that asks sit beside me? He nods, and we move toward the circle, slipping in between two Gryffindor students. Across the circle, Jungwon and Beomgyu sit next to one another.

Jay crouches in the middle of the circle, one hand already holding the empty bottle as the last of the chatter dies down into expectant silence.

“Okay,” he starts, glancing around the group with an easy grin. “I know most of you are pretty much familiar with this game. If not, it’s pretty straightforward and you’ll learn as we go.”

A few chuckles erupt from the crowd, the circle tightening more as everyone focuses in. Jay places the bottle carefully in the center of the floor before pulling out his wand. I watch as he gives it a small flick, the tip catching the light from the candles looming over us.

“Just so we don’t waste time arguing spins,” Jay adds, voice casual, “we’re enchanting it.” He taps the bottle lightly with his wand.“Spins on command. You just say Rotatio.”

Someone near the edge of the circle mutters, “That’s kind of smart, actually.”

Jay looks up again. “So—anyone want to go first?”

A brief pause follows. Then a voice breaks through it.

“I’ll go.”

Felix, a Hufflepuff sitting a few spots over, pushes himself up with an easy smile. A couple of people react immediately—some cheering, others laughing under their breath as he moves into the center.

“Alright,” Jay says, stepping back slightly to give him space. “Go ahead.”

Felix glances down at the bottle, then at the group around him. "Rotatio."

The bottle jerks.

Then begins to spin on its own, picking up speed as the circle breaks into murmurs and quiet reactions, everyone leaning forward to see where it lands.

It spins a few more times.

Silence holds in the room as the bottle slows to a stop.

Ryujin.

A wave of reaction breaks immediately—laughter, a few cheers, someone clapping lightly from the side of the circle.

“Of course it lands on her,” someone bitterly calls out.

Ryujin lets out a short laugh, pushing herself up without hesitation. “Alright, alright.”

Felix stands as well, relaxed with a smile across his face. He doesn’t look surprised though—just amused as he steps into the center with her. As they pass, Ryujin leans slightly toward Chaeryeong, voice low but still audible in the quieted circle.

“I promise you nothing’s gonna happen in there,” she says, lips twitching.

Chaeryeong snorts. “Sure.”

Ryujin rolls her eyes, then pushes herself up from the floor and follows Felix toward the side. The group’s attention stays on them as they cross the room. Ryujin reaches the door first, pulls it open, and they both step inside. It closes behind them with a soft click.

Conversation picks up again almost immediately after, the circle filling with overlapping voices and movement. I mostly stay where I am, listening in fragments—Jungwon talking, someone else reacting, the bottle being reset in the center.

Then, faintly, a laugh cuts through from the side of the room.

Ryujin.

It comes from behind the closed door.

A few heads turn toward it. Confused looks pass between some of the students sitting nearby, brows furrowing slightly as they try to figure out what’s happening inside. Chaeryeong stays relaxed, eyes on the door for a second before she smiles to herself and looks away again.

“Probably just talking,” she says under her breath, voice calm.

The circle doesn’t dwell on it for long. The game moves on—someone nudges the bottle again, conversation filling the space back up. Seven minutes pass in bits of laughter, shifting bodies, and scattered conversation.

Eventually, the door opens.

Ryujin steps out first, adjusting her sleeves as she walks back into the room. Felix follows a moment later, expression easy, hands in his pockets. They both return to the circle without hesitation, the conversation continuing around them as if nothing changed.

"Okay, who's next?" Jay calls out.

A few more people go after us, and it’s mostly uneventful from where I sit. One pair comes out with their hair slightly messy, sleeves adjusted as they step back into the circle. Another follows soon after, both of them straightening their clothes while laughter and teasing comments ripple through the group.

Eventually, Jay steps back in again, gesturing toward the center. “Alright. Let’s keep it going.”

Beomgyu continues speaking with Jungwon, voice low and even, as the other boy listens with small nods, one hand resting on the floor while the other keeps hold of his cup near his knee. Their conversation tapers off as attention shifts toward the middle of the circle.

“Beomgyu’s up,” someone suddenly calls out.

A ripple of noise follows—low whistles, scattered laughter, someone dragging out a drawn “ooo” that stretches across the circle. Bodies shift closer toward the center, knees edging inward, elbows braced on the floor.

From the edge, a Gryffindor Quidditch player leans forward on both hands. “I don't think he's up for it. Chaewon’s not even here.”

A few people laugh into their cups, breath catching against the rim as shoulders lift and drop. A grin gets hidden behind a hand for a moment before slipping through anyway.

Jake tilts his head back slightly, palms planted behind him as he watches Beomgyu. His voice carries easily over the noise. “Hey, don’t overthink it, man. It’s just a game anyway.” A pause as he shifts his weight. “You don’t even have to do anything in there.”

I watch the exchange unfold, a small frown forming on my face. My gaze flicks across the circle before meeting Nari's eyes. Her expression softens for a second, mouth lifting into a faint smile directed at me. She holds my gaze for a beat longer, then gives a small nod.

Before I can fully look away, Kai leans slightly closer beside me. His shoulder brushes mine as he lowers his voice near my ear.

“Look at Soobin,” he murmurs.

My eyes drift toward the circle.

Soobin is sitting slightly off balance, tucked between two students. His face is flushed, hair a little messier than before, and he’s holding onto a wooden ladle someone must have passed him earlier. Both hands are wrapped around it firmly, elbows pulled in tight to his sides.

The person next to him reaches for it, laughing, trying to tug it free. Soobin reacts immediately. He pulls it closer to his chest, shoulders rising as he turns his body away, still gripping it like it’s been assigned to him personally. Someone calls out his name, trying to coax him into handing it over, but he just shakes his head once and adjusts his grip again, refusing to let go.

A quiet laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. Kai looks at me, the corners of his mouth lifting into a goofy smile.

I feel another presence shift across from us.

Beomgyu’s gaze lands briefly on me and Kai. His jaw tightens slightly, a small pause settling in his shoulders before he leans forward toward the center of the circle. The movement is controlled, deliberate, his attention dropping to the glass bottle while the noise around him dulls into the background.

His fingers hover for a second above it.

Then he speaks.

“Rotatio.”

The word drops into the circle.

The bottle jerks.

Except it doesn’t spin cleanly this time. It stutters. A slight lurch to the side before it catches, glass scraping faintly against the floor in a way it didn’t before. The rotation feels uneven—slower in one direction, then snapping forward too quickly in the next. A few people shift in their seats, but no one comments, eyes still fixed on the center.

My brow furrows without thinking.

From the edge of my vision, I catch it—Jay’s wand hand lowering again, tucked close to his leg. A small flick of his wrist, quick enough that it blends into the shifting bodies around him. No one reacts to it.

Then, the bottle slows. And stops…

To me.

Silence lands for half a second before the room breaks. A wave of noise spills through the circle as cheers break loose and whistles thread through the air, overlapping with rising laughter that spreads outward in uneven bursts.

"Finally crossing the line of friendship, huh." Jay calls out, voice cutting cleaning through the noise.

Another boy perks up at this comment, adding, "About time something happened between the two of you."

A few people laugh harder at that, elbows bumping, heads turning between me and Beomgyu like they’re waiting for something to happen right there in the open. I feel Kai shift beside me before I even look at him. His hand moves to mine under the edge of the noise, fingers wrapping around mine with a light pressure.

He doesn’t look at the circle when he speaks.

“Go,” he says quietly. “It’s okay.”

His hand squeezes mine once more before he lets go. I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.

My weight shifts off the floor as my legs push me upright. Beomgyu is already standing, his posture steady as he turns away from the circle without looking back. He moves first, heading straight for the door at the side of the room, and it swings open ahead of him before he steps inside. The noise behind us stays loud, but it thins the further we move away from the circle. By the time I reach the doorway, he’s already inside. I follow a beat later, stepping into the small space and turning around to pull the door shut behind me.

Across the threshold, My eyes catch Jay watching from the circle, brows lifting and dropping in exaggerated teasing. I hold his gaze for a second longer, raise my hand, and flip him off without hesitation. Reactions ripple faintly from the other side, laughter bleeding through the door as it closes fully between us.

The latch clicks into place and the sound of the room drops away completely. The closet is small, dimmer than the rest of the room had been. There's light slipping in from the cracks around the door to outline the edges of everything—barely any distance between us.

I turn slowly after a second and Beomgyu is already looking down, avoiding my gaze again. His hands are loose at his sides, shoulders set, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor.

A few seconds pass.

The silence settles deeper, filling in every gap between the two of us until even breathing feels more noticeable. I shift my weight slightly, then stop. My gaze drops on its own after that, landing on my shoes instead of his face.

I hear Beomgyu exhale after a moment before breaking the silence. “Sorry I couldn’t leave you alone,” he says bitterly, hurt evident in the tone of his voice.

The words hang there longer than they should.

He finally lifts his head a little, not fully meeting my eyes, but not fully avoiding me either. His jaw tightens again, and he shifts his weight back against the wall of the closet, the small space making every movement feel sharper.

"What?"

"You heard me." he scoffs, arms crossing.

I take a step back, words catching my throat. "Please don't be an asshole about it right now."

“Right,” Beomgyu mutters, tone clipped. “Because I’m the one being an asshole for no reason.”

My gaze tightens on him. "You're being fucking ridiculous."

"Really? Because it looks like you're doing great without me anyway." he adds after a beat, voice low.

My face stiffens, jaw tensing. “What are you talking about?”

Beomgyu lets out a short breath through his nose, almost a laugh but without any humor in it. He pushes off the wall slightly, then stops himself halfway, like even that feels like too much movement for the little amount of space between us.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says, voice lower now, controlled in a way that makes it worse. “How you’ve been acting like I don’t exist for days… and suddenly Kai’s your new best friend now.”

I lift my head slightly.

“That's not—”

“It is,” he cuts in immediately. His voice rises as it presses against the walls of the closet. “You don’t look at me. You don’t sit with me. You don’t even talk to me unless someone else is there.”

His hand flexes at his side. “And then I see you laughing with him.”

My chest tightens. Beomgyu exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before dropping it again.

“So just tell me,” he says, frustration breaking through now, “did I do something wrong, or did you just decide you didn’t want me around anymore?”

My eyes snap to his.

“You know, you're being a hypocrite right now,” I say, voice shaking slightly now. “You say I’ve been distant, but you’ve been doing the exact same thing way before I did. Just in your own way.”

Something shifts in his expression then—hurt turning into something messier. Beomgyu’s voice comes out lower, strained at the edges, like he’s trying to keep it from breaking.

“That’s not fair,” he says. “You know I didn’t even do that on purpose when I just wanted to get closer to the girl I liked.”

The words hang there.

My breath catches slightly.

His gaze flickers for a second, then hardens again as he exhales through his nose, jaw tightening while he looks away briefly before meeting my eyes again. “And you don’t get to say I’m the one pushing you away now when you were the one who told me to leave you alone in the first place.”

“And you don’t get to act all innocent like you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then please tell me what I did wrong, Y/N,” he says, the words coming out almost like a plea now, his voice breaking at the edges. His eyes go glassy under the dim light. “I don’t like being like this with you.”

I hesitate for moment. And then it spills out before I can stop it.

"Yeonjun told me about what you were doing with the dates." I finally say. “He said you were sabotaging the interviews. That you told them it was all some dumb fucking joke, because you didn't have any intention with setting any of it up for me.”

His expression changes instantly.

“Why would I even—”

“Don’t,” I interrupt. “Don’t lie to me right now.”

He doesn't respond.

I continue, "Tell me he wasn't lying. That he was just fucking with me about how you apparently wanted to ask me yourself, but threw it all away the second you booked it with Chaewon."

His mouth opens, then closes again.

Nothing comes out.

Something in my chest tightens painfully at that.

“Tell me,” I say again, forcing it out while my fingers curl hard against my palm. “that you don’t like me.”

His eyes flicker at that.

Beomgyu lets out a short breath and looks away again. Somehow the small space feels even tighter now.

“That’s not—” he starts, then stops. Swallows. His voice drops when he tries again. “That’s not what this is about.”

“It is,” I cut in immediately, the words coming out faster now. “Just answer the question.”

Silence.

When he finally looks at me, his gaze lands, then shifts away for a fraction of a second before returning. His throat moves as he swallows.

“I don’t—” he exhales, voice shaking. “I don’t have feelings for you, Y/N.”

The sentence lands. It stings in a way that’s almost worse because of how carefully he says it.

“You’re my best friend,” he adds, voice lower, stance loosening slightly as he finishes.

My throat tightens immediately. Best friend.

The words echo a little too long in my head, bouncing off everything else we’ve said tonight. I nod once, but it feels automatic, like my body is reacting before I’ve fully caught up.

“Right,” I mumble, and I hate how flat it comes out.

The silence stretches between us.

“...Well,” I say, forcing the air out of my lungs, “that’s good then.”

A pause follows immediately.

My fingers curl once at my side before dropping again.

“At least it isn’t weird for you,” I add, eyes fixed somewhere near his chest before lifting slightly. “That I’m going with Kai to the ball.”

His mouth parts, closes again, and a breath leaves through his nose before he looks away and back. Beomgyu looks away first before giving a brief nod.

“In the end,” I say, eyes dropping briefly before lifting back to him, “we both got what we wanted, right?”

Suddenly, the timer sharply rings from outside, cutting through whatever silence is left between us.

My fingers twitch at my side.

Before I can think twice, I turn toward the door. And behind me, Beomgyu shifts. His hand lifts slightly, then stops halfway. His mouth moves, words forming under his breath.

“Don’t—” he tries to call out, but the sound doesn’t reach me as the door is yanked open.

The light spills from the other side, swallowing the dimness that surrounded us just moments before.

And I step out of the closet without looking back.

put down the pitch forks!! i know, i knoww another cliff hanger. please i just need this build up to be goodd akjfdsjb slow burn is hopefully slow burningg!!

tags: @woonagiiii @choibeargyu @illustriousknightorb @umbrellah @whoisgami @snghon @tyongyuta @usuallyunlikelyfox @dayyy-siii @bbinwrld @lyll-le-ian @sndvlmuriel4 @lovegyuuuu @micherves @zyklion @lilyofthevalley6

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

just reread part two and cried at the end I LOVE THIS SO MUCHHHH THOOOOO 😭🤍🤍🤍🤍 **reposted before i read it because i love it so much but can update that im crying about this ending TOO MANNN😭😭😭stillloveitsmthoocabtwaitfirnextchapterrrr😭😭😭

[vetckkie]

girl get off that c.ai and embrace the 'x reader'

[makeitworse]

UPSIDE DOWN KISS

just your friendly neighbourhood freak !

🕷️ tags: spiderman!yunho x f!reader, est. relationship, roleplay kinda, dry humping, 18+ MDNI 🕷️ wc: 1.2k

🕷️ notes: this is so short i just needed him out of my head

WIND WHIPS AROUND YOUR HAIR AS YOU LEAN ON THE BALCONY RAILING. with it carries the bustling noise of new york’s night life: drunk pedestrians, cars honking, and if you really strain enough – you can just catch a distant ‘thwip’ on the horizon. a smile graces your lips at the recognition. 

you pull out your phone, bright screen still open on the last text yunho sent: be there in 5. it’s been much longer than just a mere five minutes, but you know to take his ETA estimates with a grain of salt. he can get so easily caught up, your boyfriend. especially on a chaotic friday night in the heart of the big apple. 

you sigh, breath turning to fog in the cold air. in the thin cotton of your pyjamas, all that’s really keeping you warm out here is the buzzing under your skin – the excitement of your boyfriend finally coming home. 

these days, he’s been crawling into bed beside you at ridiculous o’clock, cuddling into your snoring body. and by the morning, you wake up to his side of the bed cold, a love note stuck to your phone and some breakfast kept warm on the stove. it’s been too long since he’s just held you – not just a hug goodbye, but a hold that swallows you into his arms until your bodies are tangled as one. a touch that crawls up, that blooms inside you.. 

you flinch when your vision is suddenly cloaked in black – gloved hands cupping over your eyes from behind. your initial surprise quickly slides back into excitement, and you can’t help yourself from reaching up and hooking your fingers around his pinky. 

“guess who?” comes a muffled voice from behind you. even under the mask, you can hear the giddy grin on his face.

you giggle, deciding to play into it. “spiderman?” you faux-gasp, “but i didn’t call for any help..”

he hums, palms sliding down your cheeks, fingers splaying across your chin and neck. you sigh into the touch, head leaning back and bumping into his forearms. that’s when you realise the angle – this show-off is hanging upside down. 

“well, i didn’t come because of any danger, miss..” he says lowly, tilting your head back to stare at him. he inches further down on the string, mask hovering at level with your face. you can hear the way his breaths turn heavy, no doubt his eyes taking in your body. you’re proven right when his hands creep further down, just resting above your chest – fingers twitching over the dainty straps of your pyjama top. your lip quirks over how well you know him. he’s like a dog to a bone. 

“but– my boyfriend’s coming home soon,” you bat your lashes at him, fully committed to the bit. 

he chuckles, removing a hand from your chest to reach for his mask, pulling it up over his mouth. he licks his lips, smirking. “i’ll keep it quick then. he won’t have to know.” 

then he kisses you, soft and hot, inhaling sharply like your mouth is the air he breathes. you kiss him back harder, a noise slipping from your throat in desperation, and it only serves to spur him on. his mouth moves in a hurry against yours, tongue tasting every corner of your mouth. your nose nudges his chin from the angle. 

gloved hands run down your body; one stopping to grope a breast, the other reaching for a handful of your ass. you lean in, instinctually chasing the feel of his body pressed against yours in a kiss, yet finding nothing but the thin air from how he’s hovering above you. you whine from the unfairness – and you feel the way his lip curls into the kiss over the noise. 

“you’re so cute,” he coos as he comes to hold your chin, a stark contrast to the way his fingers pinch your nipple. you squeak, which he quickly smothers with his mouth on yours, fingers continuing to rub at the bud until it perks through the fabric. 

he pulls himself further down on the string, mouth mapping a path down your jaw and neck. nipping with his teeth and soothing with his tongue, eliciting little gasps from you into the night. he kisses all the way down to your chest, pulling your top down enough to free your tits – his mouth latching onto a nipple. you whimper, putty in his hands from how long you’ve been waiting to have your boyfriend like this. 

“please..” you whine, hands trying desperately to grab at the muscles in his back as he leaves a path of lovebites from one nipple to the next. he hums, listening but not stopping. “please, yu–”

you gasp as you hear a snapping sound from above you. you blink, and you’re being pushed into the balcony railing, your boyfriend standing before you – mask off, face flushed, eyes wild. you don’t get to take in the sight of his pretty face you’ve been missing like hell for long, before he’s crashing his mouth back onto yours. the kiss feels even more impatient than the last, and the groan that leaves him is like a spotlight on the bulge pressing into your thigh. 

“let’s take this inside–” you plead through the kisses, about two seconds away from ripping his damn suit off and jumping his bones. 

“got no time, baby,” he mutters as he licks into your mouth. a thought forms, and he chuckles. “what about your boyfriend?” 

you roll your eyes at his sass, rocking your hips forward just to watch the way his face crumples as you rub up against his boner. you repeat the action, drawing out the rolls of your pelvis, feeling your panties grow damper as they rub up and down his clothed length. yunho’s heaving at this point – he always loses it over a bit of grinding – before he’s stopping your hips, biceps tensed from the force. 

“baby..” he exhales, smiling in disbelief but also in pain of not being able to take you the way he so desperately wants to right now. “i still gotta get back out there. i’ll ruin the suit–”

intent on convincing him otherwise, you wedge a hand between your bodies to just grip him through the material. he keels over, face falling onto your shoulder. 

he groans, dick pulsing in your fingers. “you’ll get me fired one of these days.”

“fired?” you snort. “since when do you have a boss?”

yunho bucks his hips into your palm, sighing onto your neck. “since you.”

you crane your neck to kiss him at that – revelling in how he’s unrestrained with all the noises spilling out into your mouth. you remove your hand, and he’s quicker to press his heat back up against yours, both of you sighing in tandem from the relief. 

you stay like that for a while, getting lost in the warmth of each other’s mouths, in the pressure of his clothed cock rubbing into the damp ridges of your panties. your grips on each other’s bodies turning increasingly rough, moans increasingly eager. 

“take the night off?” you plea, guiding one of his hands to your breast for some extra convincing. you stifle a giggle at how he gets immediately hypnotised, kneading the flesh between his gloved fingers. 

he smiles at you, all dopey and in love. “you’re the boss.” 

@ttturnitup @jhthings @fweakygyatt @lunaryoongie @binneulton @kits-treasure-trove @kpopishgirlie @jaja-salute @joongtime @fancypeacepersona @persassyismysecrettwin

[bangchangbinnie]

Rematch | C.YJ

“So how about a rematch, huh?”

perv!Yeonjun x chubby, naive reader

cw: fake wrestling, grinding, dirty talk, oblivious reader, clothed dry humping, bulge grinding, sexual teasing from Yeonjun but reader doesn’t understand, accidental stimulation, Yeonjun gets off secretly, (would this be considered non con?)

AN: ngl yall I didn’t feel like including the cute font for the description 😭

✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི

It was only a rematch… at first.

“You cheated last time,” Yeonjun accused, his smirk cocky and laced with challenge. He stood a few feet away, arms folded lazily over his chest, shoulders tilted like he was already certain he’d win. “Jumped me before I was ready.”

You scoffed, brushing him off with a flick of your hand. “You just can’t handle being beat by someone softer than you.”

His head tilted, one brow lifting in that way he always did when he was about to turn a joke into a trap. “Softer?” The word rolled off his tongue slowly, almost tasting it. His gaze dipped deliberately, scanning over you in a way that made heat creep into your cheeks. Playful still… but there was a sharpness in it, an undercurrent of something else. “I’ll show you what soft looks like pinned.”

You laughed, pushing the tension away. “Try it, loser.”

He didn’t hesitate. This time, he moved first.

The mattress dipped hard beneath you as he lunged, tackling you before you even had the chance to plant your feet. His weight pressed you down, the air catching in your throat in a startled sound. In one smooth motion, he rolled over you, all long limbs and quick reflexes, and before you knew it, he was straddling your waist. His thighs bracketed your sides, caging you in, and the grin he gave you had a wicked curl to it.

“Gotcha.”

You wriggled under him instinctively, your pulse quickening, breath coming quicker from the surprise. But his hand shot out, catching both your wrists and pinning them above your head with just one of his. His grip was firm, enough to remind you he wasn’t letting go unless he wanted to.

His other hand slid down, resting on your hip, fingers curling possessively into the soft flesh there. The squeeze was deliberate, his thumb brushing against the waistband of your shorts like he was testing something, and the look in his eyes said he noticed exactly how your body yielded under his touch.

“Unfair,” you pouted, twisting your wrists lightly against his hold, more out of reflex than real protest.“Mmm, not my fault you’re weak,” he murmured, voice low and warm, brushing the edge of teasing and something heavier.

You bucked your hips, meaning only to try and shimmy out from under him, and that’s when it happened.

The movement made your body drag up against his, and suddenly your covered core was pressed right over the thick, undeniable shape in his sweatpants. Yeonjun froze the second your hips rolled over him.

It wasn’t obvious, not unless you were looking for it. His smirk faltered for just a heartbeat, his breath caught halfway through a laugh, and the fingers around your wrists tightened almost imperceptibly. His gaze flicked down, tracking the exact place your body had just dragged over his, then back up to your face… as if he was checking to see if you’d noticed.

You didn’t.

You were still twisting beneath him, stubborn and determined, your legs shifting against the sheets as you wriggled to get free. And every movement, every push, every buck, only made you brush against him again.

He stayed utterly still except for the subtle press of his knees, holding himself in place like a wall. He didn’t push down, didn’t try to stop you… oh, he let you. He let you rock up against him again and again, each pass dragging the soft heat between your thighs right over the thick ridge beneath his sweats. His pulse kicked hard in his neck, his lips parting on a sharp inhale he barely let himself take.

“Oh… fuck,” he breathed out, almost inaudible, like the words weren’t meant for you at all.

“What?” you huffed under him, brows knitting, more annoyed at losing the match than anything else.

His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, his jaw working tight. “You keep doing that,” he rasped, voice low, uneven, “you’re gonna make me lose.”

“I’m trying to make you lose!” you shot back without thinking, twisting your hips harder. The motion was innocent to you, but to him, it was deliberate sin. The plush heat of you pressed right through your shorts and underwear, sliding along his length in a way that made his whole body tense.

Yeonjun’s jaw dropped open slightly, like he’d been caught between wanting to laugh and groan. His grip on your wrists firmed, the tendons in his forearm standing out. “God, you feel so good like this…”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard, your breath faltering. “Huh?”

He dipped forward just a little, hips pressing down — not enough to pin you harder, but enough that the weight of his cock nestled more snugly between your bodies. You felt it shift, felt the way it caught and dragged as if it was searching for a better spot. Even through layers of fabric, it throbbed hot against you.

“Bet you don’t even realize what you’re doing,” he whispered, his voice turned almost reverent. Like he couldn’t believe you were giving this to him without knowing. His eyes were heavy-lidded now, gaze glazed and fixed on you as though he was drinking in every second.

You giggled softly, cheeks warm. “I’m escaping?”A short, dark laugh rumbled out of him, hoarse and edged in something dangerous. “You’re humping me.”You went still under him, heat rushing to your face. “What—? I’m not!”

“You are,” he murmured, leaning closer until the warmth of his breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. His tone was unhurried, deliberate, each word falling with a weighted precision that seemed to sink right through you. “Grinding that fat little pussy on my cock… and acting like it’s nothing.”

The low, husky way he said it made the air between you feel different. Heavier, like it had been pulled tighter around the both of you. You could feel his words as much as you heard them, the vibration of his chest against yours making your skin prickle.

His gaze didn’t waver. It burned into you, locked and unrelenting, like he was watching for the exact second you’d either pull away or worse- keep going. There was something in his eyes that was sharper than teasing but softer than a dare, as if he was waiting for you to prove him right without even realizing you were doing it.

You stared back at him, wide-eyed and caught in the mess of your own heartbeat. Your chest felt too tight, your pulse thudding in your ears. Confusion sat right alongside denial, but underneath both was something else. A flutter low in your stomach that made you want to squirm even more.

Yeonjun didn’t move away. Didn’t blink. The weight of his body above yours stayed firm and unyielding, his hands pinning your wrists so easily you couldn’t even test his strength. His chest rose and fell harder now, the press of it brushing yours with every inhale, like the steady rhythm was a tether keeping you still.

Then, without warning, his hips shifted. Just a little. Enough that the line of his cock nudged against you, dragging along that already-sensitive seam between your thighs. It wasn’t hard, wasn’t a thrust, just a careful roll that made your lower belly tighten.

The movement drew a soft, startled sound from you before you could stop it, a half-gasp that you immediately tried to swallow down.

His smirk didn’t return, not yet. Instead, his voice dropped into something quieter, almost curious. “Sensitive?” he murmured, the word curling in the air between you.

You shook your head quickly, or tried to, the motion awkward against the pillow. “N-no—! I just didn’t expect—”

He didn’t press you for the rest of the sentence. His eyes had already dropped, slow and deliberate, from your own down to your mouth. His gaze lingered there in a way that made your lips feel warmer, like you’d been caught mid-thought.

“You keep rubbing like that,” he said, voice slipping into a rawer register now, “and I’m gonna cum in my pants.”

The bluntness hit you like a snap of heat, and you gasped his name. “Yeonjun—!” equal parts scandalized and flustered, and then, just as quickly, his mouth pulled into that familiar grin, sharp, teasing, infuriating. “Kidding. Obviously.”

Except… he didn’t sound entirely convincing. The gleam in his eyes didn’t match the casual edge in his voice, and the weight of him hadn’t shifted away at all. If anything, the tension in his thighs told you he wasn’t nearly as unaffected as he wanted you to think.

You let out a shaky, nervous laugh, your cheeks warm and your chest still rising and falling from the little struggle. “You’re so annoying.”

Yeonjun didn’t move away. He didn’t loosen his hold on your wrists. Instead, his hips rolled again. Slower this time, more measured, as if he was deliberately testing how much he could get away with. The movement was unhurried but sure, pressing the hard, swollen length of him right into the seam of your shorts.

“Just messing around,” he said, his tone soft and light enough to pass for innocent… if not for the fact that the tip of his cock was already leaking into his boxers. The damp heat spread in a slow bloom against the fabric, each grind dragging the wet spot up along you in perfect alignment. He was aiming now, whether you realized it or not.

You were still trying to wriggle free, your legs shifting and your hips rolling in the pretense of escape, but every attempt only rubbed you more firmly against him. The cotton of your shorts and underwear flattened under his weight, molding around your shape until you could feel him in sharper detail, the solid ridge straining inside his sweats.

Yeonjun was shaking. Not a visible tremor, but a faint, contained shiver that you could feel in the way his thighs tightened around your waist, in the flex of the hand holding your wrists, in the stutter of his breathing as he forced himself to keep it together.

“Oh, baby…” The words slipped out of him so low you almost didn’t catch them. They were rough and unsteady, the kind of whisper that wasn’t meant to be heard but couldn’t be swallowed down. “You’re gonna make me cum just like this…”

Before you could process it, his hips moved again, faster now, and with an urgency that betrayed the calm front he’d been holding onto. His breaths shortened, dragging in uneven through his nose, spilling out over you in bursts of heat. Each grind was deep and deliberate, forcing the length of his cock to slide the entire way along you, from base to tip, letting the bulge in his sweats stroke directly over the softest, most sensitive part of you.

You could feel the outline of him now. Thick and heavy. Insistent. Although the layers of fabric kept you from feeling skin to skin, the friction was maddening. It made your body react before your mind could catch up, that low, restless awareness tightening in your belly.

Embarrassment rooted you in place. You weren’t fighting anymore, not really. Your wrists stayed caught in his grip, your thighs pressing together out of instinct rather than to push him away.

“You’re so gross,” you muttered, your voice quieter than you intended. His mouth pulled into a smirk that looked almost lazy, though his eyes were far from relaxed. “You like it.”

“I don’t—”

“I do,” he cut in, and this time it wasn’t smug. It was a moan, deep and raw, his head tipping forward slightly as his body moved on instinct. The pace quickened, his hips snapping forward in one last slow, dragging thrust that pinned you deeper into the mattress.

Then it hit him.

You felt the change instantly. The way his body went tense all at once, the way his thighs clamped around you and his grip on your wrists tightened just enough to make you gasp. A low, guttural sound tore from his throat as his whole frame jerked above you, sharp little tremors running through him as his orgasm crashed over him. His eyes fluttered shut, his brows pinching, lips parting around shaky breaths as he let it happen.

Hot, thick wetness spilled into his boxers, the heat of it spreading quickly against you through both your clothes. He kept grinding even as he came, slow, drawn-out drags like he was trying to wring every last pulse of pleasure from the moment. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, panting hard against the side of your throat, the sound hot and damp in your ear.

You lay there, stunned and still, the only movement in you the faint hitch of your breath as you processed the weight of him on top of you.

After a moment, you found your voice. “You okay?”

He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, his expression slack with satisfaction. A lazy, almost boyish smile tugged at his lips. “Just tired.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he rolled off of you, shifting onto his side so that his back was partly to you. You caught the briefest glimpse of the darkened patch spreading low on his sweats before he pulled his knee up slightly, hiding the evidence behind the angle of his body.

You stayed there, warm and red-faced, your heart still beating too fast. You didn’t really understand what had just happened, not completely, or why your best friend looked so thoroughly wrecked from what you still thought was a “wrestling match.”

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

OOOOHHHHHMYGAWRDDD UNDERRATEDDDD 🤯 you ate

[sunsetagain]

Blade Runner 2049 xover

"Hello, kitten. What a day, eh? You look lonely. I can fix that."

[evermore-q]

half a spell | part two ˚⋆｡°✩

synopsis: With the Yule Ball fast approaching, Beomgyu enlists you—his best friend—as his wingman in a bold plan to win over Kim Chaewon, the school’s golden girl. In return, he promises to find you the perfect date, sparking a ridiculous series of interviews. Meanwhile, you’re quietly drawn to Kai, a reserved Hufflepuff whose tutoring sessions slowly unravel something unexpected between you. But as your connection with Kai grows and Beomgyu edges closer to asking Chaewon out, something unspoken begins to shift between the two of you—just in time to make everything so very complicated.

pairing: gryffindor bestfriend!Beomgyu x gryffindor fem!reader, hufflepuff!Kai x gryffindor fem!reader

genre: hogwarts AU, bestfriends-to-lovers, wingman-to-lover, slow-burn romance, unrequited crush, jealousy sparking realization, love triangle

warning/s: lots of swearing, slow burn as fuck

wc: 12.0k

a/n: i want to apologize in advance bc im ngl I DONT KNOW HOW I FEEL ABT THISSS GODDD I HATE BEING A PERFECTIONIST!! ive had this draft saved for months bc i RLLYY wanted to do good, so im a bit disappointed in myself with the fact that i still dont know how to feel abt itt akljbfkjbsdf but i hope yall enjoy either wayy huhu (part 3 soon)

previous next (wip)

The courtyard stirs with gentle life as the late afternoon sun weaves through the crisp breeze of November's early winter. Tiny snowflakes begin to drift lazily, dotting onto the fading grass as students remain scattered across the icy lawn in relaxed clusters—as if holding on to what little warmth remains before winter fully settles in. Some are sprawled out on blankets, eyes closed, while others are deep in conversations, their laughter rising and fading with the breeze.

A few couples linger at the edges of the yard, tucked away on benches or beneath low-hanging branches. Some move in slow circles on the uneven grass, murmuring apologies and laughing quietly as they try to find the rhythm. Others sit with their shoulders touching, speaking softly, their words nearly lost to the breeze and the faint crunch of snow underfoot.

The scene in front of me almost looks endearing… if you ignore the part where everyone else already has what I’ve been failing to find all week.

I exhale through my nose and lean back, palms pressed into the picnic blanket as my eyes sweep across the lawn in quiet resignation. My mind only continues to circle back to one thing: the interviews.

God. It’s been one after another, after another. At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I make it to the ball with my dignity still intact.

Suddenly, there’s a quiet rustle beside me.

Beomgyu drops onto the blanket with a soft thud. He doesn’t say anything at first, simply stretches his legs out in front of him and sighs deeply, like the week’s starting to catch up to him too. After a moment, he finally breaks the silence between us..

“Alright,” he murmurs, “maybe this matchmaking thing’s not going exactly as planned.”

I breathe out a soft laugh, barely there. “You think?”

He leans back on his elbows, eyes squinting up at the sky. “Sorry. It felt like a good idea when I came up with it.” I only hum as a response.

Then, silence settles in. Not heavy, just a simple one.

“You know we’re at, like, date number fourteen now, right?” I say. He tilts his head, brows raised.

“Seriously?”

“Uhuh.” I nod. “Give or take.”

He hums thoughtfully under his breath. “Well... who knows? Maybe fifteen’s finally the one that changes everything.” he half-jokes.

I stay silent, letting the quiet return as my gaze wanders over the courtyard again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a group of Ravenclaws sprawled under the shade of a nearby tree. They're calm, composed—untouched by the chaos the Ball has stirred in everyone else. I watch for a beat, then let out a soft breath, envy curling tight in my chest.

“Lucky bastards,” I mutter under my breath, before shifting my focus back to Beomgyu. 

“You know, I still don’t get why you weren’t into Soobin,” I say. “Or Sunghoon. They were both decent dates. Like… actually normal human beings.”

Beomgyu picks at a patch of dead grass, lips pressed together. “Yeah, they were.”

I pause for a moment, but he doesn’t go on. “So?”

He shifts his weight. “So, I don’t know…. They just didn’t feel like the right fit for you.”

“That’s not a real answer, Gyu.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.” I say, softer now.

He freezes, hand still curled around a torn blade of grass. His eyes stay locked on the parchment, and for a second, I’m not sure he’s going to say anything at all. Then, barely a breath—

“I just didn’t see it happening. You and… them.”

I glance over, watching his face carefully.

He’s been doing this all week, crossing names off the list for reasons that don’t make any sense at all. I’ve let it all slide—until now.

Because this time, it’s getting harder not to notice it.

I keep my voice light, measured. “Jung from Ravenclaw said Sunghoon might ask me, you know.”

He looks over—but stays quiet.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." I nod, looking over at him as he fidgets with the corners of the parchment. “Doesn’t that mean we’re done?” I ask. “Like, mission complete or something?”

Beomgyu sighs. “if you really want it to be.”

"Do you?"

“I just think… we haven’t seen all of our options yet. I mean, there’s still time, right?”

I let out a gentle breath, eyes roaming the surroundings again. “Right. Because the perfect guy is obviously hiding here somewhere.”

Beomgyu hums thoughtfully, lowering his eyes again as he brushes a thumb over the parchment. 

“Wait—hold on.” 

He straightens up abruptly, eyes narrowing like he’s caught sight of a miracle. “Isn’t that the Durmstrang guy? What was his name again? Jisung? Jinyoung?”

“I don’t know… Why?” I ask, but he’s already rising to his feet—and it hits me, all at once, what he’s about to do.

 "Wait. Beomgyu, don’t—” But it’s too late. 

He’s already on his feet, yelling across the courtyard. “Hey! Hey, Jiyeon! My man!”

Yep. That’s definitely not his name.

Jimin (no.) Jisung (no, thats not it either.) The Durmstrang guy doesn’t even flinch. He simply walks right past us with his chin high and cloak dramatically swishing in the air from the gust of wind.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” he tries again, planting himself directly in the guy’s way.

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. 

He just breezes past like Beomgyu’s invisible.

Beomgyu gapes after him, visibly annoyed, then drags himself back over and collapses onto the grass beside me. "He was nice."

"I'm pretty sure you butchered his name."

"What do you mean? He looked like a Yoon-something."

"No, he didn’t."

Beomgyu shrugs. "Whatever. He probably just didn’t see me."

I laugh softly, tired but warm, but the sound dies when I glance down at the parchment between us. It’s crumpled and stained with smudged ink from all the names we’ve scribbled and crossed out.

“Gyu,” I say, softer this time, “let’s just pause this whole thing.”

He looks over at me. “Pause what?”

“The interviews,” I say. “They’re not going anywhere.”

His face shifts, the lightness dimming just a little.

“I mean it,” I say. “If we wait any longer, Chaewon might end up actually saying yes to one of her many proposals. So we need to focus on your plan first. Like, ASAP.” 

He goes quiet for a moment, fiddling with the crumpled parchment. “Are you sure?” he asks, softer this time.

“Positive.” I nod. “You helped me, right? Now it’s my turn to help you.”

He tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Okay, then. Let’s start Operation: Win over Kim Chaewon.”

I hold out my hand. “Let’s make it happen.”

He shakes it, his hand warm and familiar in mine. And now, it finally begins.

The bells over the green door tinkle as we enter Honeydukes, and the air is filled with the sweet scent of caramel, chocolate, and a chaotic burst of mixed jelly beans. The shelves brim with every candy imaginable as students are weaving through the tight aisles of the store—laughing and shouting as they scramble for their favorites before they disappear.

“Alright,” Jungwon says, eyes moving swiftly over the shelves like he’s plotting a strategy. “We should split up. I’m heading for the Acid Pops before they sell out again.”

"God, you act like we’re going to war every time we come here," Nari mutters, unwinding her scarf.

“Because this is war.” Beomgyu says without missing a beat. “You weren’t here last Hogsmeade trip. Things got ugly.”

I shoot him an amused look. “You mean the time you went head-to-head with a third-year over the last pack of chocolate wands?”

I glance at Nari. “I literally had to drag this idiot out of the store so we wouldn’t get banned.”

“That little rascal literally yanked it right out of my hands!” Beomgyu says, turning to me, still looking genuinely offended. “I believe I had every right to defend myself.”

“Right, because calling him a 'greedy little troll' really helped ease the situation.”

"I said what I said." he shrugs.

I roll my eyes. 

"Just try not to get kicked out this time, yeah?”

“No promises.” He grins, already halfway to the shelves.

We start to split up. Jungwon and Nari disappear into the crowd, weaving between shelves and clusters of students. I’m just about to follow when someone near the back catches my eye.

Kim Chaewon.

Her laughter rings out softly at the shopkeeper’s joke as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, eyes crinkling just a bit.

Fucking bingo.

“Oh, look, Y/N! They finally got your favorite popping candy.” Beomgyu waves the red-and-gold pack in the air like a prized tropy, his face breaking into a broad, innocent grin.

“I’ll make sure to get you some,” he adds with a sigh. “God, I really am the best, huh?”

I pause mid-step and turn to look at him. He’s still completely absorbed by the shelf, poking curiously at a chocolate frog twitching inside its wrapper. Perfect.

Without hesitation, I instantly jab my elbow into his side.

“OW—hey! What the hell was that for?” Beomgyu yelps, rubbing his side with a frown.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off by shoving him forward. “No time to explain. Just go!”

“What—what's happening—” Too late again.

His momentum carries him straight into Chaewon, who’s just turned around holding a small jar of fairy fizz. He stumbles, reaching out to steady himself—but the bump sends the jar tumbling, bouncing off a bin’s edge and spinning rapidly toward the floor.

Okay… maybe I pushed a little too hard.

Thankfully, Beomgyu moves on instinct, bending down and catching the jar just before it hits the floor.

“Got it,” he mutters, a little breathless.

“Whoa, that was… fast,” a familiar voice comments ahead of him.

He freezes in place and looks up slowly. As soon as Beomgyu's eyes meet hers, he straightens up way too fast, like that’ll make him look less awkward.

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” he asks, clearly flustered. “I swear I didn’t mean to run into you.”

Chaewon laughs softly, still a little surprised.

“Yeah, I'm okay. That just caught me a little off guard is all.” She nods at the jar in his hand. “Nice save, though.”

I edge a little closer to them, pretending to browse the nearest shelf while keeping one ear trained on the pair. Beomgyu clears his throat, face already flushed.

“Oh—uh, thank you. I-I play Quidditch, so y’know. Lots of… catching,” he mumbles, already wincing at himself.

Jesus.

I close my eyes for a second, pretending to inspect a box of Chocolate Frogs and doing everything I can to ignore the secondhand embarrassment trailing up my spine.

“Shit—I’m really sorry again,” he adds, voice quieter now.

“It’s okay. Accidents happen,” she says, waving it off with a small smile. Then she tilts her head, a teasing lilt slipping into her voice. “Although, I wouldn’t have guessed you were a player.”

“Oh—uh, yeah. Gryffindor, actually,” he says. “I took a bit of a break, but I’m getting back into it.”

I roll my eyes as I try my very best to hold back a snort.

"Oh," She reaches out and softly takes the jar back, fingers brushing his for a moment. “Good to know.” He nods, a little dazed.

 I’m never hearing the end of this. Her gaze lingers on him for a moment before, suddenly, something clicks.

“Wait. Hang on—you’re that Gryffindor who got owled those legendary dress robes for the ball, right? The sparkly ones that caused a near riot in the Great Hall?”

“What.” His eyes widened, her words catching him completely off guard.  Beomgyu rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish smile starting to tug at his lips. “Oh. Yeah. That… that was me.”

She grins, clearly amused. “I knew you looked familiar.” He lets out a soft laugh, barely more than a breath, and shakes his head.

“Damn, I can’t believe you know me from that incident.” His ears are turning a soft shade of pink.

“Yeah! Of course I do.” She shifts her weight slightly, still smiling. “I’m pretty sure your dress robes were the talk of the castle for, like, two days.”

Beomgyu groans and brings a hand up to cover his face, though the smile never quite leaves. “Oh god. Noo… Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” she says, laughing. “Unfortunately.”

Then she pauses, eyes flicking toward him again—lighter now, maybe even a little shy. “But, y'know, I actually thought they were kind of cute.”

"Huh?" He peeks at her through his fingers, surprised. “…you really think so?”

“Yeah, I do.” Her grin softens around the edges. “I mean, I think they’re way better than those boring ‘mysterious’ looks every other guy in here tries to pull.”

There’s a brief pause. His hand lowers, and he looks at her fully this time—still a little flustered, but something about the way she’s looking at him eases the sting of the memory.

“T-thank you,” he says quietly. “That… kind of makes me feel better about the whole thing.”

Beomgyu rubs the back of his neck, obviously searching for something—anything—to say next. I nudge him on the back with my elbow before he can spiral, biting back a grin.

He suddenly clears his throat. “Well, if you ever need help with, uh, your… reflexes or, you know, catching things... I-I’m your guy.”

Good lord.

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.” Chaewon smiles.

She then reaches for another jar of fairy fizz from the shelf nearby and nudges it toward him.

“Oh, by the way, you should try these instead." she says, then motions to the popping candy in his hand. "I think they’re way better than those.”

Beomgyu only nods and slowly takes the jar from her, a little dazed.  He absentmindedly sets the popping candy on some random shelf nearby, like he forgot he was even holding it.

“Thanks,” he says, softer this time.

She throws him one last smile before heading to the counter. Beomgyu just stands there, watching her go, too stunned to say anything more.

The moment she’s out of earshot, I pop back into view. “You’re welcome,” I whisper.

Beomgyu blinks, like he’s coming out of a trance. “What just happened?”

“You flirted. Badly. But she somehow liked it.” He looks down at the jar in his hands, then back at me, wide-eyed. 

“Oh no. Did I say anything weird? Was the reflex thing too much? Fuck, I think I blacked out.”

I shrug. “No, you did fine. You caught the jar, didn’t you?”

He runs a hand through his hair, still dazed. “Oh my god. She called me cute.”

“Correction: she called your dress robes cute.”

He doesn’t even bother to argue, simply grinning boyishly at the floor beneath him. 

As we start heading back toward the others, something catches my eye: a familiar red and gold pack sitting quietly on a shelf, just beside where he’d been standing earlier. I don’t say anything.

I simply tug my scarf a little tighter and nudge him forward. 

“Come on, Romeo. Before we lose the others."

Beomgyu groans softly but keeps a tight grip on the jar of fairy fizz Chaewon handed him.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

“AND THERE I WAS, heroically saving her jar of fairy fizz with my amazing Quidditch skills,” Beomgyu says, grinning as if he just won the House Cup. “And then she goes like, ‘Hey, aren't you that handsome, good-looking Gryffindor who got owled those cute dress robes for the ball?’” 

Nari snorts in response, nearly dropping her bag of sweets. Jungwon just blows a bubble and lets it pop loud, listening intently to his rambles.

We’re now halfway up the path to the castle, the sun dipping low behind the towers. I roll my eyes, but a smile sneaks onto my face.

“Right. And she totally didn't mention how half the Gryffindor table nearly choked laughing that day.”

“A minor detail.” Beomgyu waves a hand dismissively. “The point is she thought my dress robes were cute. Did you hear that? Cute! From Chaewon.”

Nari smirks. “Damn. Nice work, Y/N. Maybe he’s not a lost cause after all.”

“Congrats, man. Looks like you’ve got game after all.” Jungwon laughs.

Beomgyu beams, that crooked, too-proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his fingers tighten slightly around the jar in his hand.

Ever since that brief run-in with Chaewon at Honeydukes, Beomgyu’s found a handful of excuses to ‘casually’ cross paths with her—each one getting more ridiculous than the last.

 “Just passing through,” he shrugged when I raised a brow.  

We were on our way to dinner in the Great Hall. Or at least, we were until Beomgyu made a sharp turn toward the west staircase—just as the Ravenclaws began filing down.

He slowed near the landing, eyes flicking up just long enough to spot Chaewon in her usual group, before immediately redirecting his attention to a nearby painting of a turnip farmer—suddenly locked in intense eye contact with the man.

Honestly, I couldn’t believe that I witnessed this in real time.

The farmer paused mid-hoist of his massive vegetable, squinting down at Beomgyu who's suddenly face-to-face with him.

“Oh, hello there...?” The farmer greeted, confused. “Can I help you with something, lad?”

Beomgyu clearing his throat, nodding, all serious. “Hello, sir. Big fan of your... crops.”

A beat of silence. 

The farmer blinked. “Err. Right.”

I stepped up beside Beomgyu and nudged his elbow, just enough to make him flinch.

“Seriously?” I muttered. “This is your strategy now?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, eyes still fixed onto the painting. “I’m simply appreciating quality agricultural-themed artwork.”

The farmer shifted uncomfortably in his frame, eyes darting left and right like trying his best to avoid direct eye-contact with Beomgyu (who was still dead-staring at him, by the way.)

“Right.” I nodded toward the staircase. “And that has absolutely nothing to do with her being, what, ten steps away?”

“Oh, wow." Beomgyu ‘casually’ peering over his shoulder, all wide-eyed innocence. “What a happy coincidence.”

“Uh-huh.”

Across the staircases, Chaewon laughed at something one of her friends had said. She didn’t seem to notice him—but one of the girls beside her definitely did. The girl leaned close and murmured something into her ear, prompting Chaewon to glance back over her shoulder.

Beomgyu snapped his head back toward the portrait, far too eager to hide the fact that he was watching. I exhaled, shaking my head at the sorry display.

“You know she already thinks you’re kind of cute, right? Like in a weird sweet way.”

“Really?”

“She called your dress robes cute, didn’t she? That’s at least a tier-two compliment.”

Beomgyu laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Sorry, I just…I don’t wanna screw anything up,” he said.

“You won’t,” I murmured, softer now. “Just maybe stop pretending you’re artistically moved by vegetable art.”

That gets a small, sheepish smile. “Got it.” ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

There was another time too, in the library this time. 

I caught him a few shelves away from where Chaewon’s sitting, pretending to read a Herbology book he clearly has no reason to be reading.

And the best part? It’s completely upside down… Again.

I walked past him, quietly sliding a Care of Magical Creatures textbook onto the table in front of him—Chaewon’s favorite subject. He didn’t even look up, just flipped it open like that had been his plan all along. I rolled my eyes as I turned away. 

Absolute idiot. ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

And even, outside the Charms classroom, I caught him again—trying way too hard to look casual, his eyes flicking constantly toward the corridor.

When I asked what he was up to, he just said, “I’m waiting for a friend.”

He wasn’t.

The door finally opened and Chaewon walked out with two of her Slytherin friends, laughter following behind them. One of the girls nudged her when they noticed Beomgyu standing there, and Chaewon glanced over.

“Hi,” she greeted politely, not breaking a stride.

“Hi. Just… waiting for a friend,” he replied, way too fast.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips before disappearing into the hall. I don’t say anything right away—not until we’re already heading back toward the common room and he’s still walking like he’s in a daze.

“She talked to me again,” he mumbled quietly, like he couldn't believe it.

I glanced over. His ears turning a shade of pink.

“She did,” I agreed. “Almost like she’s a real person.”

Beomgyu simply groaned, dragging his hands down his face, but there’s no hiding the grin tugging at his lips. I just shook my head at him, biting back a smile.

Later that afternoon, the hum of the castle fades behind me as I reach the Quidditch stands, the cold air sharp enough to make the warmth of the drinks in my hands feel well-earned. I spot Kai sitting by the bleachers and lift a hand in a wave as I make my way over. 

He greets me with a soft “hey” when I hand him a cup of hot chocolate, the steam curling in the cool air as I settle beside him. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the Quidditch pitch, and there’s a hum of boisterous, laugh-filled chatter from the field as Gryffindor’s team wraps up their warmups.

“Hey, thought you might need this,” I say, motioning to the mug in his hands.

Kai smiles—that same soft, gentle smile he always has. “You read my mind.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the blur of students zoom across the sky on their brooms. Gryffindor’s practice is now in full swing—red and gold streaks against a cloudless backdrop. I spot Beomgyu instantly.

Of course. The loudest one on the pitch.

“How’ve you been lately?” I ask, tucking my legs up to sit cross-legged. “Caught you with your nose still stuck in that astrology book I gave you the other day.” Kai lets out a chuckle. 

“Oh yeah, I’ve been reading about moons a lot lately. Started after we stopped our tutoring sessions.” He takes a slow sip of his hot chocolate, eyes flicking to mine over the rim. “Guess you must’ve rubbed off on me.”

I grin. “Damn, I was that good of a teacher, huh?”

“I guess you were. “ he laughs under his breath. “You never know—maybe one day I’ll be the one tutoring you about constellations and lunar phases.”

I quirk a smile. “At least it's a new excuse to keep seeing you, then.”

He watches me over the rim of his mug, eyes lingering just a moment too long before he takes another slow sip.

“How’re the interviews going, by the way? Found your soulmate yet?”

I exhale, shaking my head. “Paused, actually. For now we’re focusing on Beomgyu’s whole Chaewon mission.”

“Oh, really?” Kai says, voice dipping just slightly. “That’s… probably smart.”

He doesn’t say more, but the slower, looser nod feels almost… relieved, like he’s not entirely unhappy about the change in plans. Before I can respond, a familiar voice echoes up the stands.

“GUESS WHO’S GOING TO THE YULE BALL WITH KANG TAEHYUN, BITCHESS?”

Nari practically launches herself into the row in front of us, cheeks pink and eyes shining. “I can’t believe I actually did it. I used the squirrel-note idea with the bowtie and everything—and he said YES. Me. He said yes to ME.”

Then she adds, “We actually talked. He said he’s always noticed me in class as the ‘cute smart girl who’s really good at dueling in DADA’. He noticed me.” She squeals, vibrating with excitement

"Holy shit. That’s amazing, Nari! I’m so proud of you." I grin.

“Awee thanks, Y/N!  I mean I'm pretty sure I blacked out for most of it, but I definitely might’ve heard a squeak. Still not sure if it was coming from the squirrel or me.”

I chuckle at her remark.

“Jesus, what’s with people blacking out during conversations lately?” I tease. “But honestly, I’d bet on you.”

“Not the point,” she says, waving a hand. “What matters is that I did it! I’m actually going to the Yule Ball with the Kang Taehyun.”

She throws her fists into the air like a Quidditch player who just scored the winning goal, then immediately lowers them when her eyes land on Kai beside me. 

“Oh—hello.” She straightens up the moment she notices Kai. “Wait, is this Kai?”

“Oh, right.” I turn toward them. “Nari, meet Kai. Kai, this is my best friend-slash-roommate-slash-the reason I haven’t hexed half the castle.”

“Hello.” Kai offers a polite smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Nari arches a brow at me, silent questions practically radiating from her figure. I ignore it.

“Hold on,” she says, narrowing her eyes at Kai. “Haven’t I seen you with Taehyun before?”

“Oh yeah.” he nods, lowering his mug. “He’s been my best friend since first year. Our parents were friends, so we knew each other before Hogwarts too.”

Nari’s eyes widen. “Oh fuck… my bad.” She buries her face in her hands.

“No, no, it’s okay!” Kai quickly reassures her. “He doesn’t talk about girls much, but I’ve seen him looking your way—in the corridors and in Hogsmeade… So yeah. I can tell he really likes you too.”

Nari peeks through her fingers, her face running a deep shade of red underneath it. “Oh my God. Don’t say that. I will literally combust on this spot.”

Kai smiles. “Too late. Besides… it’s true.”

She flails dramatically, then plops beside me. “Okay, I need to distract myself before I melt into a puddle of nerves.” she states. “What were you two talking about?”

“Beomgyu’s plan with Chaewon,” I say. “Which is currently going terribly, by the way.”

Nari groans. “You know, for someone with a decent fangirl following, he’s awful at this kind of thing.”

Kai hums, thoughtful. “Well… it sort of makes sense if he’s really that into her.”

“True. He has been crushing on Chaewon since last year.” I comment.

Kai nods. “Sometimes, the longer you like someone, the harder it gets to actually say anything.”

“Ugh. Facts.” Nari leans back. “So what’s the new angle, then? Because the current plan sucks.”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I just feel like we’re missing something. Like, there has to be a better way to show her who he actually is. Not the version that stumbles every time she walks past.”

“Hmm.. maybe you guys just need to find his meta point,” Kai says casually.

I blink. “His what now?”

“You know, the thing that makes him stand out… His natural charm. The part of him people can’t help but admire.”

“That’s a challenge.” Nari snorts. “This is the same guy who barked back at an enchanted bulldog portrait just last week.”

“God,” I mutter. “I really need to tell him to stop harassing the castle paintings.”

Kai lets out a genuine, wholehearted laugh.

“But he’s right,” Nari says. “If we want to impress Hogwarts’ golden girl, we might need to blur out some of the chaos and highlight the parts of him that are… not completely unhinged.”

Our voices fade as our eyes return to the pitch. Beomgyu loops through the air, easy and wild, the wind catching his hair as his laughter spreads bright and free across the field.

He’s not trying to be charming. He’s just being himself. And weirdly enough, it works.

That’s it! He doesn’t need a grand gesture or a clever strategy.

The man is the strategy.

“That’s it,” I breathe, shooting to my feet. “That’s fucking it, guys!”

Nari startles. “What—what happened?”

I nearly spill my drink as I grab her in a hug. “That’s the plan. Beomgyu is the whole plan.”

"What? I don’t get it." She asks, holding a confused expression.

I turn and throw my arms around Kai, who stiffens for a second before slowly hugging me back—his hand resting lightly on my waist, ears turning visibly pink. When I pull back, there’s a quiet, bashful grin on his face.

“Soo.. what is the plan, exactly?” Nari asks, half-laughing, half-bouncing.

“We’ll talk on the way,” I say, already standing up from my spot. “But we’re gonna need a broomstick. And maybe a few distraction spells.”

That evening, Beomgyu’s hair is still damp from practice, sticking up in chaotic directions like he towel-dried it and gave up mid-way.

He’s now slouched on the rug by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, towel bunched in his hands, looking every bit like a boy losing an argument—with himself.

Jungwon lounges on the couch across him, toying a Chocolate Frog card without much interest, clearly the unwilling audience to whatever this is.

“I’m just saying,” Beomgyu mutters, wringing the small towel between his hands, “if I charm my broom to do, like, this really cool front flip mid-air, it could seem pretty impressive to her, right. Romantic, even?”

Jungwon doesn’t even bother looking up. “Or you could look like you’re actively trying to throw up in front of her. Depends on the flip.”

I stifle a grin as Nari and I step through the portrait hole. Beomgyu’s groan echoing off the stone walls just in time to greet us.

He flops back dramatically against the armrest. “Why is timing so complicated? I can do a half-pitch score with a quaffle, but not this.”

“You’re taking Chaewon on a broom ride tonight,” I announce, dropping my cloak onto the nearest chair without ceremony. “Midnight. South Tower.”

Beomgyu blinks. “I’m sorry, what—?”

“You heard her,” Nari adds, flopping onto the couch next to Jungwon and casually swiping the frog card from his hand. “No thinking. Just doing. That’s your thing, right?”

Beomgyu gestures vaguely to his still-wet hair, like that’s proof enough. “I literally just got back from practice a few hours ago. You want me to do extra drills?”

I shrug. “Yeah. But, Chaewon doesn’t know that.”

He turns to Jungwon for backup. “Did I not just spend two grueling hours dodging Bludgers with you?”

Jungwon, the traitor, doesn’t even flinch. “Not my circus, not my confession plan.”

I step closer, keeping my voice steady.

“She likes stargazing. Near the field. I heard it from a friend who heard it from another friend—but, regardless, it checks out. You just show up like you’re just squeezing in extra practice, ‘accidentally’ run into her, and invite her to fly with you. Simple.”

Nari nods. "She goes there when she just wants some peace and quiet. Clear skies, no crowds. It’s honestly kind of perfect."

“Exactly,” I say. “You don’t need some big dramatic move. Just show up and be you. That’s what she’ll actually like.”

Beomgyu opens his mouth, then closes it again. His eyes dart between the two of us, like we’ve all rehearsed this behind his back—which, okay, we sort of have.

“This is insane,” he mutters eventually.

“You’re welcome,” I say, grinning as I grab his hand and pull him up off the couch. “Now get moving, lover boy.”

Nari stands to follow us, still looking pleased with herself.

Behind us, I can hear Jungwon call out, “Hey! Give me back my card, Nari!”

She doesn’t even turn around.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Beomgyu keeps his hand wrapped around mine as we head to the field, his grip just a bit unsteady. In his other hand, he clutches his broom, fingers curled tight around the handle as Nari hums quietly behind us.

Beomgyu mutters under his breath, trying to hype himself up, “Okay. Okay. You’re gonna be fine, Choi Beomgyu. You’ve done scarier things, right? Like… OWLs. And telling Mom you joined the Quidditch team instead of choir—yeah, that was way worse. This is nothing.”

His hand is tight around the broom, tension written in the lines of his fingers. I thread my fingers through his and squeeze gently, hoping the warmth is enough to remind him he’s not alone.

“You got this,” I mumble, quietly. He looks back at me with a small, thankful smile.

Just up ahead, Chaewon rests on the grass by the Quidditch pitch, a book balanced in her hands. Her bag sits at her side as she lifts her eyes to the stars, the calm in her gaze almost palpable.

Beomgyu slows, voice tight. “Oh, fuck. She’s there. What do I even say?”

Nari impatiently cuts in. “Just go. She’s literally right there. That’s your cue.”

“No pressure, Gyu. Just be yourself—that’s more than enough.” I assure him gently. His fingers tighten around mine, and neither of us makes a move.

Suddenly, Nari’s voice cuts in from behind, “You know, you guys can stop holding hands now, right?”

Beomgyu flinches slightly, easing his hand away. I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to look casual, but the sudden emptiness feels unexpectedly sharp.

“Oh. Right, sorry.” he laughs awkwardly.

“Romantic,” Nari teases. “Wrong girl, though, lover boy.”

Beomgyu stays quiet, straightening his posture with a slow inhale before reluctantly making his way toward Chaewon.

Damn.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Third Person POV

The grass crunched softly beneath Beomgyu’s boots, his steps slow and steady as he walked toward the pitch. The broom resting lightly in his hand, and he mutters little encouraging words under his breath.

He almost misses her voice when it comes.

“You always train this late?” a familiar voice calls out. Beomgyu skids to a half-stop. 

This is it.

Chaewon sits on the grassy hill just before the field, knees drawn up to her chest, and the book now forgotten on the ground beside her. She looks at him, curious but not unfriendly.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Sometimes,” he says, trying not to trip over the words. “Just helps me think, I guess.”

She smiles gently. “I didn’t know Gryffindors could be brooding.”

“I’m not! I mean—only a little.” He shifts awkwardly. “You come here a lot?”

“Sometimes,” she says softly. “It’s quiet. Good for stargazing.”

Beomgyu nods. “Yeah. Best view on castle grounds, if you ask me.”

“Oh, uh, I’m Beomgyu, by the way.” he finally introduces himself, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “Choi Beomgyu.”

“It’s nice to finally match a name to the face,” she says, lips twitching into a grin. “Chaewon. Kim Chaewon.”

“Yeah, I know,” he blurts, then winces. “Not in a creepy way! It’s just… you’re in Arithmancy with Aera, Aera’s partners with Y/N in Potions, and Y/N’s my—” He stops himself. “Friend.”

Chaewon lifts a brow, amused. “Friend of a friend, huh? That explains the lingering.”

“I wasn’t…” Beomgyu begins, then quickly relents. “Okay, maybe just a tiny bit.”

A quiet stretches between them, before he clears his throat.

“Um… I was actually gonna go for a short ride. You know, just a clear-my-head kind of thing. Would you care to join me?”

She hesitates, a nervous smile tugging at her lips. “You mean… on that?”

“Yeah. I’ll handle all the flying. You’d just hang on.” He lifts the broom slightly. Chaewon doesn’t answer immediately.

“I’m not great with heights,” she admits softly. “Flying class was… okay, barely, but being up there still makes me nervous.”

Beomgyu’s softens at this revelation.

“Hey, that’s fine. I’ll keep it steady. No sudden moves—just a simple, smooth ride.” She studies him for a moment, then slowly stands, brushing grass from her robes.

“Alright,” she says, a bit nervous. “But if I scream… you can’t tell anyone.”

“Deal,” he says, grinning. “And if I drop you, you’re allowed to haunt me forever.”

She laughs quietly.

“Good. Then we understand each other perfectly.”

They start walking toward the pitch side by side, her steps slightly slower than his, the broom swinging gently in his grip. From across the courtyard, Nari spots them first through the shadows.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, tugging on Y/N’s sleeve. “He’s actually doing it. They’re walking to the pitch.”

Y/N looks up instinctively.

Sure enough, Beomgyu and Chaewon are silhouetted against the moonlight, heading toward the Quidditch field together. His broom now bouncing lightly at his side as their steps carry a quiet rhythm between them.

“Oh,” Y/N says, and her voice comes out smaller than she intends it to. Nari watches her carefully. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replies. “It’s part of the plan. He’s—doing great.”

A quiet, measured smile curving her pink lips.

Nari doesn’t call her out. Instead, she gives a gentle nudge and pulls a small bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans from her cloak pocket.

“Want to mess with Jungwon later? Rig his jelly beans so he gets all the gross flavors?”

Y/N blinks, then lets out a small, quiet laugh. “You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

The two girls turn and head off toward the castle steps, laughter soft and a little distracted.

Back on the pitch, Beomgyu stands with the broom in hand, holding it out toward her with quiet patience. Chaewon approaches slowly, reluctant, her eyes fixed on the broom like it might bite if she got too close.

“Are you sure you’ve done this with another person before?” she asks, adjusting her grip.

“Thousands of times,” he says, overly confident. Chaewon only tilts her head slightly, shooting him a look. “Okay—like… thrice. But it's close enough.”

She giggles softly.

“I got you. Promise.” he says, eyes warm and steady.

She nods, a little unsure, then climbs onto the broom, holding the handle tighter than she means to. Beomgyu swings on right behind her, his chest brushing lightly against her back as he settles in, and she goes still. The broom wobbles slightly under the silence, but neither of them say anything.

“You ready?” he asks, voice low, the words brushing close to her ear.

“Not exactly,” she admits with a quiet smile, but she nods all the same.

He pushes them off the ground, and the broom rises clean into the air. The castle falls away behind the pair, windows glowing like scattered embers and the trees blurring beneath their feet. Chaewon doesn’t speak, simply watching as the sky stretches wider around them, cold air brushing her face. Everything feels too high and not high enough all at once.

Chaewon laughs under her breath as the wind brushes her face.

“Okay… this isn’t as scary as I remembered.”

“I told you. Best view on castle grounds." Beomgyu leans slightly forward, smiling at the view ahead.

Chaewon’s breath comes out quiet, almost in awe. Her eyes sweep across the lights below. “It's so beautiful,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I forgot how magical it all looks from up here,”

Beomgyu lets out a soft hum behind her, keeping the broom steady beneath them.

“You know,” she says with a soft sigh, eyes still on the view, “this would be even more magical on a hippogriff.”

After a beat, she adds, “I rode Buckbeak once. It was during Care of Magical Creatures. Terrifying, honestly—but kind of amazing. That’s the only real flying I’ve done outside of class.”

“No way,” Beomgyu perks up, laughing softly. “Buckbeak and I have… history.”

Chaewon glances over her shoulder, curious. “History?”

“Yeah,” he says, wincing a little. “He scratched me once. Talon straight to the arm. I ended up in the Hospital Wing right after.”

“Oh—was that why you were in a cast during OWLs season?”

Her eyes widen a little as the memory clicks. “I remember you were limping around the castle with your arm wrapped up like a mummy.”

He glances away, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “Oh, you saw that?”

“It was kind of hard to miss.” she smiles. "So, what happened?"

“It’s a long story.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Y/N got chosen to interact with Buckbeak. Everything was going fine—until some student dropped something loud near the paddock, right as she was bowing.”

He pauses, like he’s still a little embarrassed by it. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I panicked and kind of… threw myself in between him and Y/N.”

There’s a small pause as Chaewon takes that in. Her eyes search his face, softer now.

“You saved her?” she says quietly.

“I mean… barely,” he says, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “She almost got nipped. Badly. But yeah.”

His voice softens unconsciously. “Y/N was terrified, and I didn’t really think—I just moved.”

Chaewon shifts slightly, just enough to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He isn’t smiling exactly, but there’s a softness in the way his voice eases when he says her name. It slips out without effort, like something warm threading through the cracks of his facade.

She raises an eyebrow, her voice light but curious. “So… you and Y/N. Pretty close, then?”

A small pause.

“Are you two an item?”

Beomgyu blinks, thrown for a second.

“What? Oh—no. No, we’re not." He shakes his head quickly, eyes darting forward. "She’s just—my best friend.”

Chaewon smiles to herself. “Mhm.”

“I swear,” he says quickly, chuckling under his breath. “She’d hex me if I said otherwise.”

“I see.”

The wind whistles softly around them as the broom glides higher, and for a while they’re quiet, only soaking everything in—the view, the stars, world beneath them. Chaewon closes her eyes, letting the breeze run through her hair, then opens them again with a small, unshakable smile.

“Okay,” she says, “I get why you sneak out to do this now.”

Beomgyu grins. “Told you. It’s a nice little escape from all the chaos back at the castle.”

“Yeah? But is it better with company?” Chaewon tilts her head, her voice light.

He shifts the broom gently, steering them into a slow curve through the moonlight. Then he leans in, just enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath against her ear.

“Definitely better with company.”

Y/N's POV

It’s only been a few days since that broom ride with Chaewon, and already, Beomgyu’s spending more time with her than anyone else. It’s not surprising—not really. He’s been throwing himself into “Operation: Win Over Kim Chaewon” like it’s a full-time job.

There were study breaks that somehow always ended up with just the two of them, little walks after class where they’d disappear around the corners of the castle, and those perfectly timed “accidental” run-ins near the greenhouses. Sometimes he’d bring me along, and I’d pretend it didn’t feel weird—like I was tagging along on something that wasn’t even official yet, but clearly heading there.

It wasn’t the same anymore. The boy used to skip rocks with me by the Black Lake, sneak bites 'small' from my snack stash, and even leave terrible jokes scribbled in the margins of whatever book I was reading.

Now, we’re lucky if he turns up at dinner.

But it’s fine. Whatever. It’s what I agreed to help with, anyway. Still, the space he used to take up feels a little louder now that it’s empty.

“You think it’s working?” Nari asks, dropping into the seat beside me at the Gryffindor table. She’s holding a half-eaten pumpkin tart, her eyes fixed on me with a quiet certainty.

I glance up from my notes. “What?”

“Operation: Win Over Chaewon,” she says, nudging my elbow. “You’ve been on, like, quarter the missions, right?”

“God. Don’t call it that,” I groan.

Jungwon slides into the spot across from us, already mid-chew. “Well, he has been acting differently,” he mumbles, mouth full. “Wearing that dumb cologne again lately.”

“He always wears that dumb cologne,” I mutter, but it comes out weaker than I meant.

“He’s trying,” Nari’s voice drops a little. “And it looks like she’s into him.”

I nod, forcing a smile and Jungwon raises a brow. “You okay with that?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You don’t have to lie to us, you know.." Nari says softly.

“I’m not,” I reply. “I’m just… focusing on other things.”

“Like Kai?” Jungwon grins. “Saw him give you one of those chocolate frogs he pretends he doesn’t hoard.”

Nari gives him a playful smack on the arm. I simply roll my eyes at his comment.

“Well…” I say, a bit too quietly, “Kai’s a sweet guy.”

Jungwon teases. “Mhmm.”

"Shut up."

He’s not wrong. I have been spending more time with Kai ever since Beomgyu’s attention shifted entirely to her. It wasn’t planned—I didn’t even realize it was happening at first. But Kai started showing up more, saving me a seat in the library, coming along for stargazing at the Astronomy Tower again, even making sure to get to breakfast early so I wouldn’t be alone when Nari and Jungwon weren’t around.

Being with him feels quiet. Steady. Like he knows exactly when to speak and when to let the silence linger. And it’s different, but not in a bad way, just… softer. 

He’s not trying to pull me out of my thoughts or distract me. He just holds a space beside him, open if I want it. No chaos, no wild back-and-forth (well, maybe a little teasing), just a calm I didn’t realize I needed.

Sometimes, his steady look feels like he’s seeing the parts of me I keep hidden, even from myself. ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

“Are you okay? You’ve been a lot quieter lately,” Kai asks one evening, pulling away from the telescope as we sit together in the Astronomy Tower.

Of course, before curfew this time.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” I shift in my seat, eyes dropping to the open book in my lap. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been… distracted.”

I force a half-smile. “I'm sorry.”

Kai shakes his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

 “You don’t have to apologize.” He leans back on his hands, gaze drifting toward the stars. “You’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”

I don’t answer right away.

The stars spread across the velvet sky above us, each one steady and distant. They burn quietly, unaware of the heaviness that settles over everything down here. Kai only glances over at me once more.

“Is it about Beomgyu?”

My stomach twists, but I try not to let it show. I flip a page in my book just to keep my hands busy. “Everyone’s been saying that lately…”

Kai holds the silence gently, giving me time without a single question.

“I think…” I hesitate, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I think I’ve just been feeling kind of… replaced. Or left behind. Which is stupid, because it’s not like anything’s changed overnight.”

He looks at me softly. “It’s not stupid.”

I let out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “It kind of is.”

“It’s not,” he says again, softer this time. “It makes sense. Watching someone drift away—even slowly—still hurts.”

“My friends keep asking if I’m okay,” I admit after a moment, voice low. “Like they’re just waiting for me to fall apart.”

Kai listens quietly.

“I don’t know what they expect me to say. That I’m jealous? That I miss him?” I let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “That I hate watching my best friend run off chasing someone else?”

The silence settles without pressure.

Kai’s voice breaks the silence, steady and calm. “Maybe they want you to be honest, even if it hurts.”

He pauses, gaze lifting back to the sky. “You deserve someone who looks at you the way you look at him.”

I exhale, slow and tight. “Was I really that obvious?”

“You’re not,” he says, glancing back at me. “Not really. But I guess I’ve been paying attention.”

We sit quietly for a while, not saying a word, simply taking in the stillness around us.

A breeze moves through the tower, cool and soft. Somewhere below, the castle hums with faint sounds, closing doors and shifting staircases, but it feels distant and not part of this moment. Kai leans back, elbows resting behind him, eyes fixed on the stars as he tries to memorize their positions.

I watch him from the corner of my eye, drawn to the smooth curve of his jaw, the tiny moles on his skin, and the way his soft pink lips press together as he stares up at the clouds with those deep brown eyes.

He catches me looking and tilts his head a little. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, eyes darting back to my book, though I haven’t read a word in the last ten minutes.

He smiles softly, only shifting a little closer, our knees brushing.

“Do you ever get the feeling you can just be yourself with someone?” he asks softly after a pause, his voice calm but carrying something deeper that stirs my stomach.

I blink, a sudden heat rising to my cheeks. “Be myself… in a good way or a bad way?”

“Good,” he says, soft, thoughtful. “Like… you don’t have to worry. No pretending, no games—just… you.”

I hum softly, heart skipping a little. “Yeah… I think I get that.”

He swallows, then admits, voice barely above a whisper, “I think… I feel that way with you.”

A small jolt hits my chest, warmth spreading through me, throwing my thoughts off balance. He stays silent for a moment, letting the weight settle between us before adding softly, “You don’t have to pretend around me, you know?”

“I’m not pretending.”

“You are. A little,” he teases, though his voice is gentle. 

I huff out a quiet laugh. “You’re a little too observant, you know.”

He grins. “Told you I pay attention.”

There’s a pause. A soft and easy one.

Then he shifts slightly, turning toward me more fully now. His voice is careful when he speaks again, like he’s been waiting for the right moment.

“I… I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he says, shifting slightly. “But I didn’t want it to feel like I was stepping in for someone else… or pressuring you before you were ready.”

My chest tightens. He swallows, then meets my eyes.

“I was wondering… if you don’t have a date yet, would you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

And then he looks at me—really looks at me—and it’s like he’s seeing every little part of me. His gaze is steady and warm, soft enough to make my skin tingle. Its hopeful in the softest, most unassuming way.

“I’d really like to go with you,” Kai adds, softer this time. “Not because I think you need cheering up. Just because I want to... if you'd let me."

For a second, I don’t say anything. Not because I don’t want to—but because I need a moment to steady my voice before it trembles.

“I’d like that,” I respond quietly. And I mean it.

Kai’s smile tugs at the corners of his lips, careful but with a faint lift that betrays his excitement. He doesn’t say a word at first. He just holds my gaze, memorizing the moment, hiding the quick flutter of his heart behind a calm exterior.

“Yeah?” he says, voice a touch lighter now. 

I nod, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my jumper. “Yeah.”

The stone skips twice before sinking, sending soft ripples across the Black Lake. I watch them fade, then stoop to pick up another flat one from the small pile at my feet.

The lake is unusually quiet this afternoon. The low sun casts a warm gold across the water, and a gentle breeze tugs at the edges of my sleeves. I bend for another rock just as a voice breaks the stillness behind me.

“Y/N!”

I turn, and there he is—jogging down the hill, hoodie half-zipped, hair tousled like he ran straight from the castle. Beomgyu’s grin is wide, eyes bright with that effortless, contagious excitement.

“Guess. Guess what just happened. Guess what Chaewon just asked me.”

I blink at him, a small rock still in hand. “Um. Did she ask you to stop yelling in public spaces?”

“No, but that would’ve been fair,” he admits, then grabs my shoulders with way too much enthusiasm. “She invited me to the Ravenclaw party! I mean, it’s not really a party-party… more like a hangout. Popular-kid social event thing, whatever. But it’s mostly Ravenclaws, and, like, half the cool kids from the other houses sneak in too. And she invited ME. Directly.”

I raise a brow. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because you’re coming with me.”

I snort. “Absolutely not.”

“Y/N, please, come,” he pleads, a little breathless. “I can’t do this alone. I’ll freeze and mess everything up, probably say something ridiculous… I need you there. You’re, like, my calm in the chaos.”

I try to keep a straight face, but it’s not easy. “So you mean to tell me you got invited to some elite Ravenclaw gathering by Kim Chaewon herself, and your first thought was to rope me into it?”

“Yes!” he says, as if it’s obvious. “Of course. You think I’m going in there alone? I’ll explode. I’d probably end up cracking awful jokes and getting kicked out before the night even starts.”

I laugh, but the hesitation still tugs at me. “I don’t know, Gyu… Their crowd isn’t exactly my scene. Don’t you think it’s better if you just… go solo this time?”

“I’ll stay with you,” he says quickly. “I swear. As much as I can. And if I do ditch you—which I won’t—you have full permission to hex me in the shin.”

I snort. “Noted.”

“And look,” he says, more hesitant now, “she mentioned something about not accepting anyone’s Yule Ball offer yet. It wasn’t direct or anything, but it felt like… like an opening, you know? I think this might be my chance.”

“You should go for it, then.”

“I want to,” he says. “But I'll feel better when you’re there. It’s dumb, I know. But…”

“It’s not dumb,” I intervened quietly. He softens.

“Then come with me.”

I pick up another stone, weighing it in my palm. Finally, I sigh. “Fine.”

Beomgyu lights up instantly. “YES. Oh my God. Thank you. You are the greatest, kindest, most beautiful soul to ever walk the earth.”

“You know, I’m regretting it already.”

"C'mon, Y/N. You're literally saving lives out here. You're saving my life."

I roll my eyes.

"You do realize that you owe me for this, right?"

"I owe you everything."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Before I know it, we’re standing in front of what looks like a blank stretch of wall on the seventh floor. Beomgyu paces past it three times, and then a door appears.

The Room of Requirement.

The moment the door swings open, laughter and music flood into the hall. It feels as if the sound is woven into the very walls.

I mean whatever magic the Ravenclaws use to keep this hidden, it's clearly working—because from the outside, you’d never have any idea there was a party going on at all.

The warmth hits as soon as we step inside. The room was filled with students scattered into mixed groups and drinks and snacks lounge lazily on tables, basking in the gentle glow of the room. There were soft golden lights conjured bulbs placed high along the ceiling arches and richly patterned blue rugs covering the wooden floors. Cushions are scattered across the room as long window seats stretch beneath tall panes, framing the night sky perfectly.

Beomgyu bumps his shoulder against mine with a goofy grin spreading across his face. He seems excited and at ease.

He fits in this place perfectly.

“You ready?” he asks, glance sliding to me. I slowly nod in response, ignoring the nervous pit building in my stomach.

We move further in, and it doesn’t take long for people to notice him. A few Ravenclaws nod or flash quick smiles toward his direction, and one of the Beauxbatons girls—who I hadn’t even realized was here—waves at him like they’ve actually talked before. Beomgyu waves back easily, like it’s no big deal.

I hang back slightly, scanning the room for something, anything that makes me feel like I belong here, too.

“Hey,” he leans toward me again. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, forcing a small smile. “You go ahead. I’ll find a spot.”

“Nope,” he says, not skipping a beat. “C’mon, we’ll find one together.”

Before I can talk myself out of it, he gently takes my hand and steers me toward one of the window nooks in the back of the room. It had a cluster of cushions sprawled all around and a few small trays of snacks resting on small tables, clearly brought for small groups. The space feels quiet, set apart from the room’s lively bustle.

“We’ll start here, okay?” he says, settling in beside me. “Ease into it.”

A quiet laugh escapes me. “You make it sound like we’re planning a heist or something.”

“Kind of feels like it, doesn’t it?” he grins. "Okay, so we just sit here, and when the time’s right, I’ll go find Chaewon and you hex me if or when I act like an idiot. Deal?”

I exhale a laugh. “Deal.”

He plops down beside me, knees bumped together like always.

“Thank you for coming with me again, Y/N.”

And somehow, even with my chest tight from nerves and the unfamiliar crowd around us, being here with him makes it feel like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Beomgyu and I continue to linger near the edge of the room, not quite blending in, but not totally out of place either. It’s surprisingly packed. The area around us warm and dimly lit, buzzing with eased chatter and gentle laughter. There’s a soft charm playing overhead, twinkling music and floating lights that shift like candle flames.

It doesn’t feel like a full-blown party, but it definitely feels… exclusive.

He leans in closer, nodding towards the crowd.. “Wait—isn’t that the Gryffindor Beater who got a Howler last week for skipping detention?”

I squint past the crowd. “Yup. I can’t believe he actually showed his face.”

“I heard he only showed up ‘cause someone told him there’d be firewhisky here.”

We laugh under our breath. 

“Wow. You two really do hang out in every dark corner of Hogwarts, huh?” a voice teases.

It was Jay.

He’s standing just ahead with a drink resting easily in his hand He’s dressed pretty casual, but there’s still that easy confidence in how he carries himself. He raises one eyebrow and smirks a little, a spark of amusement evident in his gaze.

Beomgyu snorts. “We were invited, thank you very much.”

“Technically invited,” I add.

Jay lifts a brow. “Well, in that case—very elite of you.”

"What about you?" I ask. "Since when do you attend ‘high-class’ social events like this?"

“Eh, I have my connections.” Jay sips his drink, then nods toward the crowd. “Plus, the music’s decent and I heard there’d be cauldron cakes. So, I go where the snacks are.”

We fall into easy conversation, our voices low as we watch the crowd. Mostly Ravenclaws, with familiar faces from other houses sprinkled in and a few people I never would’ve guessed to see at all.

Jay nods toward the back of the room. “Wow. Didn’t think I’d see half those people here. I mean, that’s literally like half the Hufflepuff prefect lineup over there.”

Beomgyu follows his gaze. “Damn. I thought this was supposed to be a low-key, exclusive Ravenclaw party.”

“Guess word spreads fast when there’s good snacks and a bit of alcohol involved.” Jay chuckles.

He glances at me again, softer this time, a trace of awkwardness in his eyes.

“Oh—uh, and, sorry about the thing with Sunghoon, by the way.”

I blink. “What thing?”

“Wait… you didn’t hear?” Jay hesitates.

“Hear what?” Beomgyu tilts his head. 

“Sunghoon’s going to the dance with Eunji.”

Beomgyu straightens up a bit. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Jay says. “Happened like two days ago, I think. I just figured you knew, since you guys were… y’know, shortlisting him and all.”

“Oh,” I say, a little startled, but I manage a small smile. “No, it’s cool. I’m happy for him.”

Jay watches me for a second like he’s gauging if I really mean it.

“Guess our date interview didn’t leave much of a lasting impression,” Beomgyu mutters under his breath. Jay laughs.

“Maybe he just didn’t like being interrogated with questions and a rubric to get a date to the ball.”

“That was Beomgyu’s idea,” I deadpan.

“Hey,” Beomgyu says, half-defensively, “you agreed to it.”

There’s a brief lull in the conversation. 

Then Jay leans slightly toward Beomgyu, raising his cup. “Anyway. If it makes you feel any better, half the people here are still date-less. And speaking of…” He gestures toward the side of the room.

We all look up at once.

Chaewon has just walked in, hair loose over her shoulders, a soft smile playing on her lips as she chats with a couple of Ravenclaws nearby.

“You should go talk to her.” Jay leans in, nudging Beomgyu’s elbow. 

Beomgyu freezes for a split second. “What, now?”

“No better time. C’mon, man.”

Before he can protest, Beomgyu’s getting lightly shoved forward, and I watch him stumble a little before catching himself as he makes his way toward her, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks back at us for a split second, looking back at me.

I give him two thumbs ups, mouthing: "You've got this."

He sighs nervously, his shoulders visibly a little tense before shoving both hands into his pockets as he finally makes his way closer to her.

Jay lingers beside me for a beat, arms crossed. “You sure you’re good?”

I nod. “Yeah. I didn’t think it’d be Sunghoon anyway. I guess we were just… exploring our options.”

“Hmm.. So, who is it, then?” he hums.

I pause for a moment.

“I mean, assuming you’ve got a date already,” Jay adds quickly, flashing a half-apologetic grin.

“Oh, yeah,” I say after a beat. “I do. I just… haven’t told Beomgyu yet.”

Jay raises a brow. “Oh? Should I be worried?”

I laugh softly. “Not unless he takes it personally.”

Jay’s eyes flick toward Beomgyu and Chaewon. “Think he will?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “That’s kind of the problem.”

He opens his mouth, about to say something else, but a voice calls out his name from across the room. Jay nods towards them in acknowledgement. “Welp, duty calls. I’ll catch you later, then?”

I grin. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

He glances back, lifting his red-solo cup in hand, smirking. “No promises.”

And just like that, I’m alone again.

Across the room, Beomgyu chats with Chaewon, fidgety and animated, caught somewhere between nerves and excitement. She smiles softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she listens. I shift my gaze, trying not to dwell, though a quiet flutter lingers in my chest.

I move over to the snacks and drinks table and pour myself a cup, forcing my mind to focus on the simple motion instead of the tightness building in my chest.

I take a slow sip, letting the warmth settle, and let my eyes wander again. Laughter drifts in the air from a nearby group as someone bumps into a chair, sending a small clatter across the floor. I tilt my head, scanning the room without thinking—until I catch sight of him.

Choi Yeonjun, standing with a group of Slytherins.

Our eyes meet for a brief second. He steps away from the group, weaving through the crowd with a relaxed, confident stride. The space around me seems to shrink as he gets closer. When he reaches the edge of my space, a small smirk curls at the corner of his lips.

“Caught you staring again,” he says, leaning against the edge of the drinks table, that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips.

I blink, caught off guard. “I wasn’t—” I stop myself. “Never mind.”

Yeonjun tilts his head, grin widening. “Uh-huh. Sure you weren’t.”

“So…” He glances around, then back at me. “What’s a Gryffindor like you doing in a crowd like this? Oh, don’t tell me you’ve gone rogue.”

I roll my eyes, but my gaze shifts, almost instinctively, to Beomgyu. He’s leaning in close to Chaewon, grinning too wide at whatever she just said.

“That,” I murmur. “That’s why I’m here.”

Yeonjun follows my eyes for a beat, then looks back at me with a knowing curve to his lips. “Ah. Got it.”

A short pause.

“So, how’s it going with you, then? Have you found a date to the ball yet?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah.” I say simply. “I have, actually.”

His brows lift for a moment, but quickly hides it behind a slow sip from his cup.

“Really?” His voice is smooth, but surprise flickers beneath it. I simply nod.

Yeonjun exhales softly, more to himself than to me. “Huh. And here I thought no one ever really stood a chance in those interviews.”

“Oh, not through the interviews, actually.” I say, glancing at him. There’s a small tug at the corner of my mouth. “This one... I found on my own time.”

He hums. “Figures.”

I pause, brow slightly raised. Figures? No one stood a real chance.

What’s that supposed to mean?

I meet his gaze again. He shifts his eyes away, taking a deliberate sip, his expression unreadable.

“What did you mean by that, by the way?” I ask, watching him carefully.

He looks up. “By what?”

I lift a brow. “That thing you said. About no one standing a real chance in the interviews?”

Yeonjun pauses. His eyes drop to his drink. His fingers trace the rim as he holds the cup. He finally lets out a quiet breath.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

That makes me shift, just a little.

“But,” he continues, voice low, more careful now, “Beomgyu’s kind of been getting in the way of the interviews. Sabotaging it, really.”

I blink, stunned. “What?”

“Yeah, he’s been talking to the guys. Even the ones who were serious about it. Saying stuff like you’re just doing it for fun, or you’re not actually interested in finding anyone.” 

My chest tightens. “Are you serious?”

Yeonjun nods once, slowly. “Sunghoon was actually planning to ask you, y’know before he found another date. Nervous as hell too, but he was ready… Until, Beomgyu pulled him aside and made it sound like it’d be a waste of time.”

The words settle in my stomach like stone.

“He didn’t tell them to back off. Not directly,” Yeonjun says. “But he didn’t need to. Just said enough to make them second-guess it.”

“What?” I stare at him. “Why would he—”

Yeonjun meets my eyes. His voice softens.

“I think you know why.”

He pauses for a second, like he’s choosing his words.

“At first, I thought maybe he was doing it to keep you from getting stuck with someone you didn’t actually like. But… the more I watched, the more I realized—”

He breaks off for a second, like he’s making sure I’m listening.

“I think he wanted to be the one to ask you to the dance.”

I look at Yeonjun, searching his face for any sign that he’s joking. Some grin, some exaggerated lift of the brow that says gotcha. But there’s nothing.

My breath catches, and my eyes drift across the room without thinking. Beomgyu stands there, laughing and talking with her as if nothing has changed in the last thirty seconds. He leans in slightly toward Chaewon, his shoulders relaxed and a soft, easy smile playing on his lips. Chaewon tilts her head, speaking quietly, and he listens with steady, warm eyes.

They’re closer now, shoulders almost touching, moving in sync without a word.

He doesn’t look this way. Doesn’t notice me watching.

I know I should look away. I don’t. The sight twists quietly in my chest. Yeonjun stays silent.

“You’re lying,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. Almost like I’m trying to convince myself more than him. “Beomgyu wouldn’t do that. Not to me.”

Yeonjun doesn’t flinch. He seems to have expected the disbelief in my tone.

“I don’t lie, Y/N.” he says, quietly. “Especially not about something like this.”

There’s no edge to his voice. No satisfaction in being the one to tell me. “He talked to me, too, y’know.”

I shift slightly, meeting his gaze again.

“He didn’t say it outright,” Yeonjun continues. “But he made it clear. Told me all the same things he told the other guys. That I shouldn’t bother even asking you.”

His gaze holds mine.

“So that’s why I thought he was going to ask you,” Yeonjun says, his voice softer now. “Maybe he just didn’t want anyone else to get there first. The way he looked at you—even during those interviews—it wasn’t hard to see that.”

He says it without drama, his tone steady, carrying the weight of someone who’s been watching this unfold longer than I thought.

His eyes wander across the room, settling on Beomgyu and Chaewon, still wrapped up in their own world. They laugh softly, leaning closer together as they move in a quiet, unspoken rhythm.

Yeonjun falls silent beside me.

“…But now I’m not so sure.”

I follow his gaze again. And this time, I see it.

Chaewon reaches out, her fingers brushing over his sleeve with a light, deliberate touch—as if smoothing a wrinkle or simply finding an excuse to get closer to him. Then slowly, she leans in, closing the space between them until their lips meet in a soft and steady kiss.

He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he leans forward, meeting her halfway as he pulls her closer towards him. One hand settles firmly on her waist as the other softly caress her rosy cheek. They remain close to one another, neither moving away nor breaking apart, caught in the quiet pull between them.

The room around them seems to blur and fade, leaving only the stillness of the kiss between their bodies.

Fuck.

I don’t say anything. I can’t.

I freeze, staring at him—the boy I thought I knew with all my heart, the one I had quietly hoped liked me back—now pressed close to someone else, their lips meeting without any hesitation.

Suddenly, the room shrinks as the noise presses in, sharp and impossibly overwhelming.

The hum of the party, the clink of plastic cups, the faint notes of music… it all blurs around me. And yet, I can see every detail: the tilt of her head, the ease in his hands, the way they move together like a rhythm I wasn’t allowed to learn. I swallow, painfully aware of how quiet I’ve become in the middle of all this noise. My chest tightens, my hands curl at my sides, and I realize—I need to get out before the weight of watching them crushes me completely.

Yeonjun shifts beside me. I catch his glance just before his voice breaks the silence.

“Hey,” he mumbles, gentle. “You okay?”

My mouth opens, but no words come. I blink once, twice, my eyes locked on the door even as I remain frozen in place.

“Yeah,” I manage, but my voice feels thin. “I just— I need a second.”

Yeonjun doesn’t push. He simply nods and lets me go.

I begin to slip through the crowd of students, the music and laughter fading fast behind me. Beomgyu clings to Chaewon, completely unaware of anything. The weight in my chest is heavier than I expected.

But I keep moving.

No goodbyes.

No glances back.

a/n: I KNOW I KNOW I ENDED THE PART WITH A CLIFF HANGER IKKKK AKLSBDKABSHAB

jesus KAJBSFKJABSf hey yall j here to pop in again to let yall know that if ever u want to get tagged in part 3, plus the endings for this series. i didnt want to tag the ones that commented in part one bc i felt SOOO bad cuz its been months and i didnt know if i had the right to be tagging yall like that LMAOOO. anyway, god part 3 soon bc its shits abt to go DOWNNNN

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

OH MY GAWDDD😭 i finally had the time to read this and ITs PERFECTTT OMG CAN welikegetsomeactionjkjkkkjdjhdhdh oops not like that i just mean beomgyu got a kissssss anyways perf man i cant wait for the next chap<3333

[heartyluv]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ indulgent scheme..? cw: sex. that’s it. mdni. word count: 1.7K (woah) •only proofread like once..•

how waking up to your boyfriend cooking you breakfast turned into caleb’s jeans being barely lowered enough for him to stuff you with his cock wasn’t something that took a genius to understand how such events fell into place.

he was pure temptation the moment you stepped out of your bedroom and into the kitchen to see him standing there in his classic apron, not one article of clothing on to hide the strong muscles moving in his back and biceps each time he gently shook the cast iron skillet sizzling with something undeniably delicious.

but it wasn’t the aroma or the potential flavors that would be dancing on your tastebuds that had you almost drooling like a cartoon character comically does over freshly baked apple pie. absolutely nothing food related was on your mind the closer you got to him, in fact.

so engrossed with perfecting his dish, caleb didn’t notice how closely you stood behind him, taking the few seconds you had to admire all the marks you proudly left on him just last night. you don’t know what had gotten into you, why you were so desperate to mark him up so that you could see your masterpiece cemented into his skin in the morning that followed.

seeing it now; the indents of your teeth, the hickeys, and scratch marks… this sight proved to be precisely why. it was absolute perfection—suitable for the man who sports your lustful onslaught like a well-earned trophy.

it started off sweet, almost capable of being considered innocent when you made your presence known. he jolted just the smallest bit after the warmth of your lips touched right below his shoulder and quickly relaxed the more kisses you trailed across the smooth expanse of your already painted canvas.

“you left me?” you interrogated him softly through a pout he could hear far too clearly, tugging on the belt loop of his light denim. why he was wearing jeans and not completely naked was a question you needed an answer to. pressing matters, of course.

“just headed out to get some things so i could feed you, pips,” he promised teasingly. “you worked up quite the appetite. seein’ as you tried to eat me and everything, after all.”

that made you laugh, despite how much it was laced with his typical corniness. but it also made the subtle ache in between your legs pulse with a greedy desire for more. so much more.

knowing that he went outside with everything you’d done to him hidden beneath nothing but a t-shirt? it was like a drug. addictive. and seeing as he didn’t stop you when you pulled on the knot he had tied and sitting on his lower back, he wanted “more” just as much as you did.

“i like them, though. took some pictures for your filthy safekeepin’, too.” the second he turned off the burner and rested his spatula on the apple shaped saucer you two had gotten at a flea market, you knew what was about to happen.

was it pathetic to be so excited?

the loose tie fell completely at the same time caleb turned to face you, and you didn’t let him waste anymore of it when his hand cupped the underside of your jaw. as his thumb grazed your bottom lip, it was then that you took the initiative and brought his lips to yours, pulling him toward you by the back of his neck.

“can’t ever get enough, can you? wakin’ up and causing all kinds of trouble.” he chuckled in between the wet kisses, carefully pushing you back until you bumped into the counter. goosebumps dotted across every part of your body when he caressed your hip tenderly. “food’s gonna get cold… won’t taste as good.”

your head shook swiftly. “don’t care.” you meant it.

mumbling hurriedly against his lips for him to touch you and fisting the material of his apron, you were trying your best to get him to understand that if he wasn’t inside of you in the next few seconds, there would be hell to pay and sexually frustrated tears to wipe.

caleb knew you like the back of his hand. he didn’t need words for it to click that you were just his pretty girl who was desperate for more dick than he already gave you. he’s given you everything you’ve ever wanted in all your years together and like the good boyfriend he’s long since been promoted to, how could he ever dare to deny you?

as if you were featherlight, he easily hoisted you above the countertop and spread your thighs apart to give himself room. he was just so… big. everywhere. his ability to take up space and make you feel small would forever be one of the qualities about him that you treasured most.

more kisses were placed in the crook of your neck as you looked to the ceiling to give him easier access when he began to outline it like a roadmap. from your collarbone, your throat, and your jaw, caleb made a silent vow to spend today leaving you just as claimed as he’d been by you. it was only fair.

feeling his bulge nudge against you through his jeans and your panties was a buzz that had you on the precipice of rabid.

now. you needed him now.

“take what you want.” he licked your bottom lip while you eagerly fumbled with his button and zipper. “use me juuussstt how you need to. since you’re so impatient.”

he could tease you all he wanted to, but the fact that he was pulling your panties to the side and eventually swatted your hands away when you took too long to release him through your needy haze, was more than enough ammo for you.

you worked to get his meddlesome pants and boxers down right below his ass, too impatient to try stripping one another completely. when your hooded eyes met, caleb guided the tip of his cock until it pushed past your pussy lips and kissed your fluttering hole that was trying its hardest to suck him in. both of you were textbook examples of a whimpering pathetic mess, and the feeling of your heart beating in your chest so intensely was inebriating more than anything else.

“caleb…” you warned the second he stalled. “if you don’t—” words didn’t exist. not when you could feel every inch, vein, and curve of his pulsing cock slowly split you open and slide inside of your throbbing cunt. you braced a hand on his shoulder and the other tightly held onto his elbow of the arm that he had firmly planted beside you the more connected you became.

“f-fuck… you’re this soaked already…” the shakiness of his voice made you clench around him tighter than you already were. “what about now, huh? got nothin’ smart to say?”

“s-shut up…” you weakly retorted, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he rolled his hips into you in retaliation to your poor manners.

“you used to say thank you… used to be so sweet…” his hair swayed across his brows furrowed with pleasure. “now you just take, take, take. and all i do is let you... some things will never change.”

he didn’t bother trying to mess with you anymore as he nipped at your ear, solely because if waited too long to start moving, he would fill you with his seed before either of you had the opportunity to truly enjoy this moment. his apron began to fall off his body with every stroke he gave and his pressured grip on your outer thigh that he had resting on his hip was sure to leave a caleb-sized print that you’d get tattooed if you could.

both of you grabbed at each other like you couldn’t be closer, moaning loud enough that if the neighbors didn’t know how sickly in love you were, they would surely get the memo now.

“watch us,” he panted, pressing his forehead to yours with a lazy grin. “you’re so fuckin’ easy, pips. look at how wet we are.”

your mouth hung open in a small o when you peered down at the sight of him gliding in and out of you with so much ease. your slick had his dick glistening and the creamy ring that was forming was a sight so erotic that you could already feel that familiar coil building in your lower gut.

“baby… ‘m gonna…” you warned as you felt your orgasm steadily approaching. but he wasn’t done. not yet.

he opened you up more to the point that you felt the blissful burn in your thighs, drilling into your sensitive pussy until all you could do was cry when he reached so deeply.

the violet in his irises almost seemed to shine with pride as you lost yourself in the way he fucked you. a hand made itself at home in his tousled hair and you couldn’t hold it any longer when the friction of him being so close stimulated your swollen clit.

your shared orgasm was instantaneous after that final gratifying thrust that made him shake and call out your name like it was what would always be what saved him from himself. his cum was hot, thick and sticky as it flooded your insides and painted your velvet walls until both of you were drained and utterly spent.

it was only seconds that passed before he slid out of you with a wet squelch, making you hiss from the peaked sensitivity.

“lemme see.”

you knew what he liked. every time without fail.

he rested a hand on your knee and used the other to keep your panties out of the way, staring at your used cunt as you pushed his load out. caleb watched in awe the more the creamy substance trailed down your ass and made a small pool on the once pristine marble. the way it dripped and fell down the side could make his knees buckle.

so much cum was leaking from you, and he didn’t know if he should make you aware of his cock already trying to stir to life once more.

“you’re a freak,” caleb jested, tucking himself back into his jeans before crowding you shamelessly.

“yes we are.” you smiled into his kiss as he leaned down, groaning when his tongue danced with yours in the sensual exchange. “clean me up?”

nodding once, he abruptly pushed you further back on the surface, making you yelp at the gesture that was opposite of what you thought he’d do.

“lay down f’me, pipsqueak. i got it.” without hesitation, you followed his instruction. you didn’t know what to expect; a hot rag, a paper towel, or his fingers stuffing his seed back inside. but you surely didn’t anticipate your back arching from the sensation of a long lick sliding up in between your puffy slit.

caleb looked up at you when you searched for answers, nose buried in the mess you made together with a knowing smirk in his eyes.

who needed breakfast anyway?

a/n: pls be easy on me.

creds to @/omi-resources for the snowy divider & @/angeliicide for the pink flowers!

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

PEAK LITERATURE?!<333 FAAAAH🔥🔥🔥‼️⁉️

[sunsetagain]

After the gods of twilight fell, all that remained was a thick dusting of gold on someone's lashes.

"You want to see if my tears are made of gold? All right, I'll cry for you next time."

Inspired by Alexandre Cabanel's The Fallen Angel

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

OHHHHHMNYAHAH MASTERPIECE WOAHAH

[maho6any]

breathe- c. san

kinktober- day three

warnings: aphrodisiacs, multiple orgasms, rough sex, so much cum etc.

a/n: yeah...

enjoy.

You really should have put them in a cabinet, or hell, you could've even thrown them in the trash. But you didn’t. And you weren't sure that you regretted it.

They were a childish idea of a gag gift from a game of Secret Santa you had played with your coworkers last Christmas. You were beyond disoriented when you opened your gift to find the pills inside the neatly wrapped box, immediately taking it as your coworkers finding your consistent lack of a partner amusing.

You took them home, with zero intention to use them. It's not like you had a boyfriend, so they sat on your nightstand, collecting dust, untouched, along with a plethora of random items that never saw the light of day. You didn’t know why exactly you never threw them away, maybe because in the future, it was a possibility you might use them. Fat chance. You had completely forgotten about them, the bottle becoming just another item on your “I Spy’’ of a table.

Enter Choi San.

San always comes over unannounced, walking through your front door like he owns the place; that's just what best friends do. Making a home on your sectional and refusing to leave until the cushions swallowed him whole and you had to drag him out by his ear.

You would complain, but you both knew he was always more than welcome. This time was no different, waltzing in just as the sun began to set in the sky. He had brought some Chinese takeout for you, insisting that you needed to spend the evening taking it easy and leaving work alone for a minute, which was really taking a toll on you.

San always noticed these things before you yourself could even catch on. When you are overworked or when you catch a cold. When your cycle was starting or when your hangovers were bad. He knew you better than you knew yourself, and you couldn’t help but feel so loved and cared for with how easily he saw through you.

It started with a headache.

You were both curled up on the couch, a TV show you had been watching together for the past month played on your TV. You had cookies stuffed in your mouth, and San nursed a can of beer. The house was dark, no lights on, just the soft glow of the TV screen. San was close, one arm draped over your shoulders as he leaned against your side. You lay your head on his shoulder, eyes glued to the screen.

“Do you have any Advil or something?” San’s soft voice broke the comfortable silence, slipping his arm away from you and lifting his hands to his forehead to massage his temples, eyebrows knitted in pain.

“Headache?” you ask simply, and he nods, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Yeah. probably all this staring at a screen I’ve been doing all day.” You nod sympathetically, then point towards the dark hallway, “I have some ibuprofen on my nightstand in my room if you wanna go take some.” He smiles and stands, walking behind the couch.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” San’s hand finds the nape of your neck, squeezing the tense muscle there in a quick massaging movement, as a way of saying thank you. His hands are large and warm, easily overtaking the entire expanse of your neck. You’re lucky he was so quick to rid himself of this headache because if his hand had lingered any longer, you probably would have lost it.

San is hot. Anyone with eyes can see that. From the beginning, you may have seen the possibility of a romantic relationship developing, but you didn’t wanna make things weird. So you listed that under the “not gonna happen” category and never touched it again. What made it so hard was that San was incredibly touchy and affectionate; it was like he had a parasite inside of him that fed off of human touch.

San walked into your bedroom, the space cast in shadows. He didn't bother turning on the light, using the dim desk lamp across the room as he made a beeline towards your nightstand. Your sheets were a mess, and a few clothes were strewn about here and there. It smelled like you.

When he saw the nightstand, he sighed audibly at the absolute mess it was. Hairbands, mail, books, and pencils, everything on planet earth crammed onto one small surface. Sitting at the edge was a white bottle with a blue label. He picked it up and twisted the cap off, pouring a couple of pills into his hand. He walked out of your room and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and washing it down.

When he sat back down next to you, you glanced over as he began to make himself comfy again. “Found them?” you asked.

“Yeah," San reached over and took your wrist in his hand, brushing his fingers over the pulse point, pressing down on it gently. "By the way, you should clean that table; it looks like an office depot threw up all over it.”

You rolled your eyes and gently kicked his side. “When you start paying rent, I’ll think about it.” You both laughed and directed your attention back at the TV, that comfortable silence settling once again.

It was about 45 minutes later, San had noticed his headache had gone, but now he was feeling… something else.

Feverish, like someone had poured hot coals into his stomach.

Was he getting sick? You were still lost in the TV, but San had long forgotten as it played in the background. He felt hot, overheated. Sure, his head didn’t hurt anymore, but instead it felt fuzzy. He was sweating, and his knee wouldn’t stop bouncing.

He brushed it off as maybe too much beer, but even 10 minutes later, he only felt worse. Maybe worse wasn’t the right word, but suddenly the nape of his neck burned like crazy, his heart was racing, and there was this strange feeling in his gut that felt like a tug, a pull of some sort.

He turned to look at you, and he swallowed. And that heat all over his body increased tenfold.

You sat prettily, legs tucked underneath you, nibbling on the nail of your thumb absentmindedly. Your shorts rode up your soft thighs, your chest rose and fell with gentle, relaxed breaths, the side of your neck exposed, the light of the TV reflecting in your glassy eyes. 

San’s breath hitched, and he felt s strong lurch in his stomach. His mouth instantly dried, every nerve ending in his body was set alight. Then he finally placed what he was feeling. 

He was horny. So unbelievably, fucking horny.

He didn’t understand why, and he was less worried about the why and worried about how if he didn’t get out of here now, shit was going to go down. It would be something he couldn't control, and that seemed to only excite him further.

His brain was a mess of thoughts, words overlapping one another, and an unbearable heat dripping down his back. But the one thought that screamed louder than the rest of them, was to ravage. To take and to fuck this heat away, using you.

His skin was ablaze, his breath ragged, his cock straining against the confines of his pants painfully. Everywhere his eyes landed on you only added fuel to the flames; his fingers twitched, itching to touch.

You had heard his shallow breaths, and you turned your head to make sure he was alright. Pure, innocent concern for your friend who sounded like he was literally about to pass out. “San?” you whispered.

His jaw clenched, and his dick jumped in his pants at the sound of your sweet… sweet voice. 

He inhaled sharply, and your brows furrowed in concern as you inched yourself closer to him, a hand carefully reached out.

“Sannie, are you alright-“

“H-hands off!” He exclaimed, his voice dropped to a strained low drawl, and trailing off into a pathetic whine as he wiped the sweat that gathered on his palms on his pants. Immediately, he scrambled to apologize to you, to come up with an excuse to explain his freakish behavior.

But when he looked at you again, he felt that need to apologize and explain die on his tongue when he found your gaze trained on the print in his jeans. You swallowed once. Visibly, your body sent a shiver throughout you, and San’s need to gain control of the situation was slipping… fast.

Consequences be damned, San was willing to risk anything to make this ferocity go away.

“Look at me.” A growl, quiet and sharp, that travelled straight through your body like you had just been injected with liquid fire.

You blinked and ripped your eyes away from his lower body, meeting his gaze in a shared, misty look. Your heart was racing, and he took notice of the slight glaze in your eyes, your heavy breathing, the way your fingers played with the hem of your shirt nervously.

Caught and guilty.

“Say no.” San gritted, eyes boring into yours like you might vanish if he blinked.

“Huh?” You whispered, eyes subtly drifting to his clenched fists and his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.

“You heard me.” He sounded wrecked… and if that didn’t make you wet, nothing would. “Say no. Tell me no.” San’s gaze was heated, anything but calm and collected. At this moment, he did not seem himself. The soft, easy-going, gentle San. Instead, he looked hungry, determined, and way too fucking delicious, which was not giving you any peace of mind.

Your eyes fell to your lap, mind racing and heart pounding. You kept your mouth shut.

"I'm not playing with you." San gritted out. His voice was dangerous, a warning. Electrifying. He was giving you an out. A chance to walk away with your body intact tonight.

You didn't take it. You dragged your eyes back up to his, and when your gazes locked, San's nostrils flared, his tongue slipping out and licking his bottom lip. His cock jumped in his pants, and he began to pant slowly, feverishly, his breath shaking with each quiet exhale.

He didn't move. He didn't speak. He stared at you, not once averting his eyes from yours. Assessing, waiting for any semblance in your body language to hint that there was a chance that you didn't want this.

Nothing. If the look in your eyes was anything to go off, San would say you were basically begging for him to lay his hands on you.

And considering that San was sure he might internally combust if you kept looking at him like that, he was ready to take his chances.

“Keep looking at me like that.” He rumbled in a near frightening warning, tilting his head upwards like he was challenging his prey, the gaze he laid on you so intense you felt it in your gut. “I dare you.”

You clenched your thighs, and San noticed.

His eyes rolled and a filthy smile spread across his lips, craning his neck to the side, a quiet cracking sound snapping the deafening silence in two as he stretched himself out.

So much for making out of this in one piece.

"I'm gonna fucking ruin you."

The first movement was a blur, so quick that you immediately started to wonder if you were going to regret this decision. San’s hands gripped either one of your shoulders and hauled you around so your back was pressed against the couch. Your pants were off in one swift movement, and he lay himself between your thighs eagerly, no sign of restraint or patience in his tense shoulders.

You were dizzy with how fast he maneuvered you, and he gave you no time to think before his hot mouth was on you. 

Wet, desperate, and loud, San's mouth moved against your quivering cunt between pained groans and needy whines, his tongue swiping through your folds and his hands squeezing your hips, holding them down against the couch cushions. Your fingers dug into the armrest until your nails started to hurt, a long, pitched whine slipping from your lips. San was shameless in his eating, and when your hips bucked in an attempt to escape his ruthless devouring of you, his eyes flashed dark and his teeth bared as he sank them into your sensitive clit.

“Stop fucking moving,” he ordered, flattening his tongue against and licking a long, hungry stripe up the length of you. “If you can’t handle this, there’s no way you’ll survive me fucking you.”

The promise in his words makes you swallow, and he wasted no time devouring you once again. He was starving, famished, and every time your taste flooded his tongue, his blood shot right to his dick, and the heat was unbearable. Like he was strapped down under a heat lamp that he couldn't turn off, his blood buzzed and his brain felt fogged, and the only thing he could think of was you.

“Shit, baby, you taste so good.” Absentmindedly, San’s hips rutted against the cushions of the couch, desperately trying to satiate the straining in his pants while simultaneously trying to quell his fill on your pretty pussy, soaked and creaming for him.

You were coming before you even realized it was happening, your breath catching and your hips stuttering against his tongue. 

And yet.

“Fuck me, honey…” he whined. “More, please. Oh god.” and his mouth continued to move, to eat, to consume and whisper sweet filthy nothings against you, like this was just the first course.

He lay between your plush thighs, kneading them with his soft hands, shaking his head back and forth, fucking you on his tongue and drinking you up like it gave him life.

His skilled tongue, flipping, circling. Sucking and obscenely eating, it nearly sounded like he was drowning, moaning unabashedly between your thighs, each heavy lustful groan sending shocks through your cunt and spreading about your entire body.

Consuming for the sake of feeding, he couldn't care less if you were crying from overstimulation, you tasted so damn good, and every nerve in his body screamed at him to make you cum over and over and over to satiate this intense hunger that made his skin burn and his mind haze.

Only when you came for the second time, voice breaking and your whole body shaking, did he reluctantly force himself from your sweet pussy, giving it a few more fleeting licks and kisses, whining in distress like he hated himself for depriving himself from eating you until you couldn't feel your legs for the rest of the night.

He flipped your body over so your stomach was pressed flat against the couch, he ripped his pants off, and pressed himself against your sweltering back. The heat radiating off his skin was insane, the way it soaked into your flesh like he was the sun itself, like he had a burning fever.

His breathing was needy and ragged, the way his voice quietly whined between each exhale of air, like it hurt. San needed to feel your skin on his, needed to squeeze your flesh in his sweltering palms, needed to be inside you.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him, his broad chest against your shoulder blades, his soft mouth on the side of yout throat, his throbbing dick pressed right up against the slick entrance of your cunt.

 One hand buried in your hair, the other gripping the side of your waist. “Gonna fuck you until we both lose our minds,” he promised breathlessly in your ear, licking your lobe and pressing a wet kiss to your temple.

“It's so hot… too hot." San opened his mouth in a pained groan against your temple, his warm breath fanning over your skin.

"It hurts, baby…” he groaned, just as he pressed his tip past your lips. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, as each thick inch of his cock slid inside of you with little to no resistance from how fucking wet his mouth got you.

The stretch was mouthwatering, and the whine that came from his throat made you flutter around him. Hips flush against your ass, he rolled them, forcing you to feel every vein and every warm, long pulsing bit of his cock against your snug walls. And the moan you let out was downright sinful, enough to break him down right then and there.

If you even wanted to try and stop him now, there was no way he'd be able to find it in him to. He was lost in the feeling of you, your cunt hugged him so tight, and the warmth under his skin only seemed to flare hotter. San dragged his hips back sliding his cock along your walls, thrusting back insde with force enough to shake the couch.

“Oh fuck, yes…” he groaned, immediately setting a rhythm in his body to chase away that burning fire in his body that made him feel like an animal in heat. He fucked you like he was angry, like he was infected with a virus and the only cure was your saccharine moans that fell from your mouth every time his tip kissed that spot deep inside of you.

Your brain was reeling as you searched your thoughts to try to justify how and why this was happening. Why San was rutting into you like it’d kill him not too. Why his skin was so hot that it felt like it was burning you. Why it felt like San's cock was made for you.

The first time you came with his cock inside of you, you squeezed around him so hard that he had to stop for a moment, the feeling so intense that his mouth fell open, and you swore you felt him drool on your shoulder. "Sweeheart, please..." San meweled, his hands sliding from your hips to snatch your wrists and trapping them in his iron grip, holding them down against your lower back to prevent you from moving. "I know it's a lot but stop squirming. Be a good girl-- oh fuck-- endure it for me, baby."

Endurance was the one thing you wished you had right now because San was completely destroying you from the inside out.

When he fucked his cock back up into you again, he was already spilling his cum, hips sliding smoothly, fucking you so full of him your eyes were crossing from feeling so full. The slick wet sounds that echoed around the dark living room were vile in nature, his cum mixing with your slick, your thighs sticky, and your brain melted.

“Shit shit, god… you’re so good… so good for me.. so s-soft…” he was babbling, never losing that punishing pace as he continued to fuck the pain out of his body. Using your cunt as stress relief to relieve this ache in his bones.

But it was like it never let up, the need to fuck like rabbits until both your brains fried from the pleasure only got even stronger.

"'M so sorry, baby," San groaned, dragging his warm tongue up the side of your throat, kissing your shoulder, and squeezing your hips so tight you thought he was trying to snap them so you couldn't run.

"So tight- mmm fuck! So warm... taking me so w-well, oh god, take it baby, take it. Take it..." His voice trailed off into mindless, breathless chants, every stroke of his cock switching off the lights in your brain, your belly warm with him, your poor cunt creaming around him, the pleasure so insane you thought you just might be in heaven. San fucked you until time slipped away, and the only thought you had was to cum, and the only word you remembered was his name.

After what must've been an innumerable number of orgasms for you both, you couldn't keep your body from twitching. He had you on your back, pressing languid, consuming kisses into your swollen mouth, his cock buried so deep inside of you, your stomach felt full of him and his cum. It leaked down your thighs, his thrusts slowed to a sensual, deep roll of hips, the sounds wet and nasty.

“Sannieeee…” you whined softly, voice hoarse and eyes heavy lidded as he fucked another load into you. His eyes were brimming with tears and his cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, lips coated in saliva. Hands roamed up and down the soft flesh of your waist, kneading your stomach and massaging your hips. He had literally fucked you numb.

“S-sorry baby…” he whimpered, and his hips kept moving like his body was in a trance, like he couldn’t control himself. “Can’t help it… it still h-hurts… you’re so warm, baby. Please… just a little more.” He was pathetic, and he just couldn’t even bear to think of slipping out of you. He wanted to stay in your pussy for an eternity.

Your body was spent, and so was San’s, but he just kept going. Like he wasn’t already sore, like his brain wasn’t mush from pleasure. Like you weren’t absolutely fucked dumb, like your thighs didn’t shake and twitch with every slick stroke of his cock inside of you.

San kept using your body like it was the only thing keeping him alive. You had definitely connected the dots by this time and ultimately decided that those pills needed to be rid of as soon as possible.

As soon as San’s dick was no longer turning you inside out.

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

KINKTOBER IS NOT FOR THE WEAK OH MY GODDD ATEEEE, LIKE SAN DID WITH- what, anyways WOAHHHH🤍

[teeskzagain]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆Friendly Neighborhood Munch⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

» pairing: neighbor!yunho x f!reader

» summary: sexual frustration is a curse, and it's plagued you. you can't even begin to recall the last time you orgasmed—weeks, maybe even months ago? you're desperate. so what if one night, the night where you finally feel close to finishing, your neighbor goes and fucks it all up by being loud? well, you go over to his apartment and give him a heavy tongue lashing, of course. except, what happens when he decides to return the favor...

» genres + warnings: college au, neighbor trope (they lowkey don't like each other until they do), reader's SUPER mean to yunho at first, yunho calls reader a bitch (only once), teasing, LOTSSS of dirty talk, heavy make-outs, grinding, yunho's an eater, pussy rubbing w/ tip (NO PENETRATION), dom!yunho, sub!reader (reader gets whipped into shape), yunho basically c*ms all over reader's cunt, lust-drunk yunho, lust-drunk reader, small depiction of "choking", overstimulation, verrryyy breif mingi cameo

» w.c: 9k

» a/n: so, i'm actually obsessed with this concept, #loveit #holyshitthisissodirty #wet

» taglist : @vivaponoso @yunhouu @alaskaortiga @kuromigutzz @no1lullet @xrosaliemercer @0x11s @dawn-iscozy @cl3mentina @jooholicx @cypher-03 @xodidarks @parakissss @cosmic-joong @sugarbabymingi @autieofthevalley @tenaciousstarfishfun @uchihabbynic @yunhoswifeyy @trivia-134340 @bloomyroses @choreomvnia @lyracarvahall @ri6ht6ack

"yeah baby? you almost there? come on, hurry and finish."

as the video progresses, you grip your phone tighter. the random man continues to spill out sweet nothings, fueling your desire.

he's positioned upright in a chair, rubbing his cock feverishly with a heaving chest. you almost mimic his breathing as simultaneously, you quicken the pace on your clit.

your headphones perfectly encapsulate the low, sultry voice he speaks to you in, and a brisk shudder over takes you.

with a slight thrash to your body, you widen and close your legs against the soft bed. your fingers work at maintaining the pleasure pulsing throughout your core, while the desperation fills your stomach.

fuuck. you're so close this time. you just know it.

so what if all of the other attempts this past week as been an utter fail? you just know this time will be different.

a low whine buzzes from your lips and briefly your eyes shut, "awww....mmmm. yes. oh fuck, i'm..." you keep on whispering to yourself.

the speed you’re producing is so intense, it practically has your pelvis rocking alongside the rhythm. no true thoughts resided in your head—simply the absolute need to finish blares in the forefront of your mind.

by now, the man on your screen appears to also be close, with how his body starts to convulse, "baby—shit. i can feel the cum about to rush out. fucking hell, i'm gonna cum. i'm gonna cum."

and right as his torso stiffens and the milky load begins to spill out, a loud thump from outside of your headphones makes you nearly drop your phone smack dab onto your face.

“holy-!” you jolt from the noise, putting an immediate halt to your movements down below. quickly, you pause the video as you remain still, trying to process what the hell that noise was.

there’s a pause.

after a second, you think you’re okay to start up again; however, another roaring bang echoes in from your left, and this time, you let your phone fall down next to you while you scramble to yank off your headphones.

when yet another sound is made from the other side of your wall, you find yourself shooting up from your bed. breathing heavy from adrenaline, you hear from a distance slight murmurs being muffled by the division—but oh god, do you know them all too well.

eyes narrowing, you try to focus in on the voice. there’s more murmuring followed by a heinous cackle, one that resembles a hyena. then shortly after, an even louder thud flows into your room and at this point, you’re absolutely triggered.

this bastard.

“i’m gonna kill him.” the words are tight and menacing as immediately, you throw the blankets away from your body and scoot out of bed.

fuming, you grab your sleep shorts from the floor and yank them up your legs, before jamming your feet into nearby slippers. you throw on the tank top just left in your bed, and soon you’re stomping out of your bedroom.

ooh, that freaking bastard. words can't even begin to describe how pissed you are. any chance at you having the perfect orgasm—long gone. the feeling between your legs—your pleasure and desire—instantly dissipated. what remains is raging hot aggression, the kind that you can feel radiating from your core.

little grumbles leave your mouth as you now pass by your living room, a nearby clock reading, ‘1:47 AM’. just the sight of the time makes your eye twitch, and after swiping your keys from their place holder, you swiftly beeline out your apartment door, making sure to end with a harsh slam.

it takes 0.2 seconds before you’re standing in front of your neighbor’s door, harshly knocking at it. there’s no breaks, just continuous, rapid banging.

tiny comments flow from your mouth, "swear this stupid idiot.....god, i’m gonna.....he's so dead..."

from the other side, you hear footsteps approaching, along with quiet mumbles and a laugh. you’re still pounding at the door until there's a soft click and it gets thrown in.

there stands your idiotic neighbor—jeong yunho—holding the door propped open with one hand and a phone to his ear with the other.

he's lost in conversation, his gaze to the floor and a short smile present. he hasn’t registered who's here yet. though, once he briefly glances up, yunho's whole demeanor begins to change. he sees you, pissed, sticking out your hip and crossing your arms.

“oh……" yunho's face sinks in on himself, mouth now slightly parted. he casts a look away as his expression turns stoic, "uh. yeah, i’m gonna have to call you back.”

as you wait for him to hang up, foot tapping to count the seconds, you couldn’t help the way your eyes fleet around to examine his sleep attire. it looks so similar to yours.

a black tank top that hugs his torso and basketball shorts that hang loosely off his waist. usually when you come over here, he's decked out in a large sweatshirt plus sweatpants. at some point, you started to think that's all he owned. but, clearly not.

when your eyes skip over to the arm on the door, you could see his bicep flexing from how hard he gripped the wood. and close to that, you peep the messy state his hair is in, all curly and tussled.

after observing his face, you start to realize you've been ogling at him for too long. so, you force yourself to look away and pick up an interest in the carpet you're standing on. god, does he just piss you off. you can't even stand the sight of him.

a harsh sigh leaves your throat and you start to roll your neck around in frustration. can he just hurry up?

yunho grimaces softly at your outburst before returning to his friend. he listens intently to what's being said, part of him also trying to mask the irritation pricking at his skin, "hmm? yeah, i guess. just be quick about it."

a low voice is on the other end, you register, evident by the deep laugh he produces. you can't really make out anything being said, but after sneaking a glance at yunho, you assume a question’s being asked.

he's giving it some careful thought. his head shifts up a tiny bit, eyes moving around the ceiling as he thinks. but, really, the moment you swiftly hold up your nails to randomly inspect them, that's when he's able to dart his eyes down to your distracted body and give the question true thought.

he's watchful of your next-to-nothing clothing, and how it outlines every part of you. the small buds poking through your tank top fabric, proving that you're not wearing a bra. your smooth thighs that are held close together. he's observant of everything.

however, when you shake your shoulders back and throw your hand down, it quickly snaps yunho out of his mild trance. in one motion, he sweeps his attention away from you and clears his throat.

“okay, i’m not even gonna think about what you just asked—no, seriously i’ll call you back later. i’m hanging up now.”

he wastes no time in dropping his hand and ending the call. then, as he peers upwards, ready to formally address you—well, you make sure to beat him to it

your head is cocked to the side as an icy tone slips out, "finally. i was starting to get impatient."

blinking, yunho stares at you briefly before inhaling a long breath. he can already tell how the rest of this conversation is going to go, judging by your already snippy attitude.

"i'm sorry about that. the phone call ran a little longer than i-"

"frankly, i don't give a fuck about that," you cut him off, body instantly tensing up from just how annoyed you are, “have you lost your goddamn mind? it is the middle of the night, why the hell are you being so loud? again?"

fuck him. his body expels a quiet sigh as his tall figure hunches down slightly, "i was just...rearranging some furniture."

this time, your words are more clipped, "and you couldn't have waited until morning? are you a fucking idiot?"

it takes everything in yunho to keep his composure.

lately, every single time you come knocking at his door to complain, this is usually how it goes. you storm over, beat at his door, then berate him for about 5 minutes before walking away and slamming your door shut. every. single. time.

he wonders where this anger came from all of sudden, the hostility. you hadn’t always been this grumpy, but for the past week, it’s like you’d just decided to hate his guts. even in passing, like when riding the elevator or entering the apartment together, you always wear a scowl around him. like it's now been permanently etched into your face.

seriously, what’s your deal?

when you make a particularly frustrated groan half-way through your rant, it's then yunho comes back to reality.

"this is my third time coming over here in a week. my third time. but somehow, there’s always some stupid fucking excuse as to why you’re being so damn loud," you sneer, not even able to recount all of the other dumb reasons he's given you thus far, "do you think i enjoy this? having to tell you to shut up every other day?"

his face reactively tilts down as a dry scoff flies out. sorry, but he doesn't really want to deal with all of this tonight. if that makes him apathetic towards your situation, oh well—so be it.

before he knows it, a snarky remark comes flying out, "well, you have been making it a habit lately, so i'm sure you must find some enjoyment in being a bitch. right?" he ends off with a straight face and condescending shrug.

oh.

in a flash, the blood flowing through you turns cold. your eyes go bewildered from his dig at you and you change your stance to somewhat cage him in. you notice he doesn’t move away from you, but that didn’t stop you from still trying to size him up—if that’s even possible.

“listen to me, jeong yunho,” your voice starts off unusually low, and surprisingly, yunho seems to respond well to it, “i don’t want to come back here ever again. so either you shut the actual fuck up for good, or i’m calling our landlady next time and i’m going to have your ass finally evicted.”

after you finished, an overbearing silence takes over. there are so many things yunho could say to you right now. his mind is racing a mile a minute, and yet his mouth remains closed as his eyes begin to lower. his hand is starting to shake from squeezing the door so hard.

eventually he drops his arm, right as you take a few steps back. you both have this lingering tension in the air, almost as if you two are secretly trying to zap each other with the charged energy. before you walk off, you make sure to eye yunho up and down with an obvious snarl.

“you got that?”

his eyes wander around your stature, and once he makes eye contact with you, he breathes in deeply, “you know, it’s always such a pleasure whenever you visit. really, you should do it more often. tomorrow night, maybe?”

his tone couldn’t be laced with any more sarcasm. and to that, you simply begin to walk away, not forgetting to throw a, ‘fuck off,’ over your shoulder.

yunho waits until you’re close to your door before calling out to you one last time, “get some good sleep. or else tomorrow, you're gonna wake up cranky again. and we don't want that, now. ”

you flip him off clear as day, and then with a tight grip on your handle, you slam the door shut. shortly after, you hear your neighbor’s own door close just as aggressively.

now that you’re in the comfort of your own space, you finally let out the whiny squeal built up from the interaction, “ugh!”

fuck, he gets underneath your skin in a way you’ve never experienced before. the anger makes your body tingly all over, lighting up each and every part of you. you’re on fire.

kicking off your slippers, you don’t even care where they land. you toss your keys in any direction when passing your kitchen table. upon entering your room, you immediately begin to strip because for some reason, the clothes were becoming too constricting.

once you’re in your underwear, your body flops down backwards onto the bed, your breasts to the ceiling. chests huffing, you still feel your heart thumping from the events earlier, but also from the sheer frustration coursing through your veins.

frustrated that you’ve had to deal with jeong yunho for the past week, and absolutely nothing has changed. frustrated that no matter what the circumstance is, he manages to get you heated like no other. frustrated that you missed out on what would’ve been your best orgasm as of late, if only he just...wasn’t your neighbor.

you roll over to your side, staring blankly at the wall. as unfortunate as it is, you can’t control who your neighbors are—meaning the irritation you feel is just a consequence of poor residency. but, you absolutely could’ve relieved at least your sexual frustrations. and you had been so close too. a silent huff fills the room as a pout grows on your lips. what are you going to do?

because even if the feeling in your core has long disappeared, internally, there's still this lingering itch needing to be satiated. it's buried deep down, but it's there. you can sense it. you breathe out another groan and soon find yourself shifting to your backside once again. the feeling is definitely there. it just needs to be reactivated.

so without much thinking, you pick up your phone from wherever it was around your bed, and begin tapping aimlessly on the screen. the video you had been previously watching is immediately pulled up, though you're not in the mood for it anymore. you’re craving something else.

after searching and scrolling around the website, another intriguing video catches your eye, and in one swoop you click on it. after so many fails and empty climaxes, you have a last resort in mind to finally cure your desire—but, it's one you were trying to avoid.

already connected to your headphones, the video starts to play and quickly you lean over to your bedside drawer. it's not a hard find, your little pink rose toy, as it’s tucked away in its usual corner. the last time you had used it...maybe five months ago? six? you can't exactly pinpoint it, you just know it's been a while.

you roll back over to your bed, your eyes scanning it wearily, "mmmm...."

you don't know what's wrong with you. you really have no idea. but a while ago, you learned that your clit is extremely sensitive. and it was because of this toy. the first time you had used it, not only did you nearly piss yourself (genuinely), your orgasm also came in six minutes.

it had buzzed, sucked, and pulsed your cunt in a way you've simply never experienced before, and honestly, you hated how quickly it made you finish. on top of that, you were left feeling raw and overstimulated afterwards, trembling in your bed once it was over. ever since then, you've opted to use your fingers, something that gives you time to fully enjoy the experience.

however, tonight is different. you've tried everything already, but to no avail. you're needy. you're desperate. you want to get this over with. if that means you'll be finishing in basically five minutes—then so freaking be it.

not wasting another second, you quickly begin to toss on your headphones and immediately the sounds of a male moaning enters your head. you pick up your phone in one hand, and reposition the vibrator in the other.

your knees instinctively rise up as you move your body around in order to find the perfect position. when you believe you’ve achieved it, you use your thumb to press down on the small button which turns on the rose.

although the sound is silent to you, the buzzing that's instantly felt in your palm makes you shiver. nearly a whimper topples out of you from just pure anticipation of what's to come. steadily, you move the toy down, all the while your eyes remain glued to the scene.

the new man is needy, just like you. he's gripping and palming himself over his clothed erection, causing the once lost feeling to be reignited inside you. a slow throb pulses through your core. the moment the vibrator touches your own clothed sex, a tiny moan shoots out. already, you feel the vibrations hitting you in all the right places, and you're not even bare.

you press it down a little harder into your clit, the sensation now overtaking your whole cunt. shuddering, you allow yourself to adjust to the pace, but not for very long. without fail, your hips begin to gradually buck against it as the rose works itself into your slit.

your teeth goes to tug onto your lower lip, and momentarily your eyes flutter close, "oh my god."

you have to stop your back from arching off the bed, that's how good it feels. you keep the toy close to your sex, and even start to circle it around your underwear to produce more ripples of pleasure throughout.

and with each surge of pleasure, there's a reactive noise to go along with it. you notice you're more vocal than usual, but truly it's because you can't help it. that's what makes using this toy so dangerous.

another low whimper fills your ears as this time, the man starts to slowly bring out his cock. he's not in a rush. no, he’s barely touching himself, yet he’s still squirming around as if anything more would be too much. like any small movement would cause himself to cum on the spot. the sight of him just turns you on even more.

by now, you're full on humping yourself into the vibrator, even though you haven't touched yourself naked with it. you're too nervous that once you do, you'll be seriously cumming and shooting out liquids all over the place. the barricade of your underwear is enough for you. you still feel on the edge of an orgasm.

"hmm...hmm...fuck, 'm almost there." your face is a mess right now, you already know. the small grunts you're letting out overrun your mouth. the shallow breaths you’re emitting. all of it attests to how much of a mess you are.

you can't control anything that's happening. not the way your hips are chasing after the vibrations, nor the way your eyes squint open to see the man jerk himself off. his cock is even twitching from each stroke, like it's ready to explode any moment.

you groan a little louder, "holy...fuck. oh, fuck. gonna cum soon. mmm....gonna...cuh—"

- beeeeep -

a text notification comes popping in from the top of your screen, followed by another. you skim over them, stopping all movements plus the video. once you register what was said, as well as who sent them, it makes your heart fall to the pit of your stomach.

jeong yunho

2:14 AM

i think i understand why you've been so moody lately

you’re just a little frustrated, aren’t you y/n?

focus blurred, you quickly exit out of the video, going to fully open up the texts. meanwhile, the vibrator lays lonely between your legs as it continues to suction on your clit in a way that has you lightly jerking around.

your eyes narrow, “stupid fucking a-asshole.” straight away, the pads of your fingers type out a short message. just have to get this over with.

y/n

2:16 AM

i don’t know what you’re talking about

before you can even leave the message log, your neighbor is already producing another text.

jeong yunho

2:16 AM

yeah, the vibrator isn’t all that quiet

embarrassment rushes to your face, your hand shooting down towards the toy. you skittishly remove it from yourself and quickly power it off, then throw it to the other side of your bed, “shit!”

you’re so screwed. oh fuck, you’re so screwed. yunho is never going to let this go, you can already foresee it, and just that thought alone is enough to make your cheeks burn. how humiliating.

jeong yunho

2:17 AM

why’d it stop? did you come already?

weird, i didn’t hear it

“what’s his problem?” running a hand over your face, you hold back a groan that truly wants to escape out of you. are you stupid? had you really been that loud? you don’t think you were, but, god, somehow he still heard you.

with your face all scrunched, shame overtaking your expression, you bring your fingers forward again to begrudgingly type out a response.

y/n

2:19 AM

what are you even saying right now?

again, i have no idea what you’re talking

you can’t let him know the truth. in your mind, all you can do right now is just deny.

….deny…deny….de…ny…?

jeong yunho

2:20 AM

yeah?

you don’t remember moaning over and over again just now? whining about how you’re almost there?

that you’re so close to cumming?

i mean, you just said it, how can you not remember?

your face shrinks while reading the string of questions. well, fucking hell. what more could you say now? he basically called you out and quoted you verbatim. slowly, your eyes shut and you take steady breaths. oh wow. your heart is nearly pounding out of your chest right now. you can feel it.

but furthermore, you feel so exposed. so vulnerable. especially since it’s him who heard it. fuck, why him? to make matters worse, there’s not much you can even say to refute his messages. at this point, he knows, really knows. so, how do you respond?

y/n

2:22 AM

fuck off

yunho

2:22 AM

the walls aren’t thin, i’m sure you of all people would know

y/n

2:22 AM

jeong yunho, fuck off

jeong yunho

2:23 AM

i could hear you so clearly. you sounded needy

like you were gonna finish at any second, but didn’t, yeah?

you never orgasmed?

even with your cold replies, how is that he still has more to say? that more messages continue to flood in? your moods already been killed, but now it feels torturous to sit here and just take it.

y/n

2:24 AM

i’m not talking about this anymore

you glance off to the side as the vexation travels through you. part of you debates if you should just go ahead and block him—rid yourself from this nonsense. he's toying with you right now. obviously. and you're sick of it.

you fix your fingers to get ready and block him for good, when a vibration buzzes in your hand.

jeong yunho

2:26 PM

but you're still frustrated, right?

you know, if you really need help, i can come over

reading that makes you audibly gasp. what is happening? now, you feel like he's just saying anything.

y/n

2:28 AM

stop it

you're not being serious

scowling, you adjust your back against the bed. what a stupid joke. stupid jeong yunho, with his stupid joke. your eyes look up to your ceiling, mind wandering. he doesn't mean what he's saying...you know he doesn't. he's just messing with you, as always.

until his other message comes through.

jeong yunho

2:28 AM

i promise you i am

it really doesn't have to mean anything either. im just offering some help.

after seeing that, your face bucks backwards. where is this even coming from? you're so confused.

jeong yunho

2:29 AM

so can i come over?

yeah, you aren't sure what sort of game he's trying to play, but you're not falling for this.

y/n

2:30 AM

absolutely not

you’re not coming anywhere near me

there’s a brief pause before he types another response.

jeong yunho

2:31 AM

oh yeah? what about inside of you?

your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. WHAT. instinctively, you bring a hand up towards the wall. two loud smacks are given to the hard surface as you try your hardest to slow down your breathing. holy—what the actual fuck is wrong with him?

from the other side, a subtle laugh reverbs through the wall, and you resist the urge to beat harder on the surface. shortly after, another message comes through on your phone.

jeong yunho

2:34 AM

sorry, guess that was too much lol

but i’m being serious, y/n

no wonder why you’ve been so bitchy lately, you’re just sexually frustrated. and clearly you need help.

reading the latest text has you scoffing, though some cold sweats begin to drip from your forehead. because how was he able to read you so well? yeah, maybe you’ve been a tad bit snappier with him recently, but that could be for any reason! you didn’t like how easily he figured you out, especially since you are sexually frustrated. and it’s bad.

even then, you find yourself with your guard up still. he may be able to call out your problem, however, that doesn’t mean you want—jeong yunho of all people—to fix it. he’s your annoying, dumbass neighbor. what all does he know?

as you permanently shut down whatever the proposition was in your head, you also force yourself to ignore the slight twinge your belly does. you’d be lying if you said there wasn't a small part of you affected by his words. wondering, what exactly is he offering right now?

no.

shaking your head, you tighten the pressure against your legs as you prepare to type out one final message.

y/n

2:37 AM

for the last time, no.

just leave me alone

with that, you turn off your phone. another buzz comes through, but you don’t even check it. you’re so over it—over him.

turning, you try to find a comfortable spot on your back, panting slightly from pure anxiousness. your heart feels like it's about ready to explode from his words.

'you know, if you really need help, i can come over'

reactively, a hallow laugh tumbles out from you, eyes closing briefly. because seriously, what is the matter with him? he's ridiculous. always saying the crudest, most dumbest things. but now, it's truly gone too far.

your eyes crack open and then you decide to adjust over to your side, facing away from your phone. your mind starts to wander to all the events from tonight.

the night had started off so good.

the sensation just pouring through your core the first time you started masturbating. god, did it feel amazing. even when that attempt at an orgasm failed, the same pleasure was quietly still there. silently waiting for its chance to finally spill over.

but, it never did.

rounds after rounds—even with jeong yunho's interruption—you never came. it's been a week of this. and now, you're just done. you've decided that this rut you're in has gotten the best of you.

you don't know how long you'll be suffering, with the subtle ache pulsing away in your core. hopefully with time, it'll go away.

a sudden vibration makes your skin jump. turning around, you spot your phone inches away from you, the screen lighting up. yunho's contact pops up from afar.

eyes low, you stare at the phone. your brain is scattered, and yet, a recurring thought keeps coming back to you.

should you do it?

you've literally tried everything. fingers, pillow humping, fisting. even the rose toy, which usually has you cumming in genuine seconds, couldn't get you off, and frankly, you don’t want it to anymore. you're stuck.

you blink your eyes a few times.

what all would he even do?

you don't think you'd want to go...all the way with him. just something to help alleviate your pressure. and nothing that would last too long, you had to be up early in the morning. quickly, a blush overtakes your face as you start to feel embarrassed by your thoughts. but...anything is better than nothing, right?

"oh, god..." your stomach churns when you reach out to grab your phone.

unlocking it, you see the latest messages from your neighbor were attempts at trying to sway you. still, you disregard them. you've made up your mind now.

with a burnt face, you type out a simple: 'fine, come over', all the while you try your hardest to calm down your nerves.

he replies back in an instant, but you've already powered off your phone, stomach full of butterflies at the thought of jeong yunho taking care of your problem.

yet, when you start to truly think about how jeong yunho will take care of this problem, an immediate pulse hits you hard in your center.

before you even have a chance to react to the sensation, rapid knocking emerges from the distance. your stomach sinks to your ass, as you frantically work to put your tank top back on. then, you leap out of bed.

you don't even have time to reconsider this idea, with how swiftly you glide out of your bedroom and across the living room. you're scared the moment you start to think about this, you'll back out. and deep down, you know you don't want to do that. not when another chance has literally thrown itself at you.

only an idiot would pass this up.

once you reach your front door, you don't even check your peephole. with a quick twist of the handle, you open the wooden door inwards, and there stands jeong yunho on the other side.

his body looms over yours as he leans against the door frame. although he's still wearing the same outfit from earlier—the tank top and shorts combo, there's no longer an annoyed expression to accompany it. no, there's something entirely new.

his eyebrow's are furrowed, indicating slight confusion. there's a sprinkle of curiosity within his eyes, and below that, the corners of his mouth are turned smugingly upward. but all over, yunho has a faint red hue coating his face, like he's also nervous for what's to come.

for a short second, neither of you say anything. a quiet staring contest is what you both have. there's a look to yunho's eyes that makes you want to clench your stomach. bouncing your eyes back and forth between his gaze.

until unexpectedly, he clears his throat and tilts his head to the side, "crazy, now the roles are reversed. hold on—should i start yelling at you too? throw in some degradation while i'm at it?"

you see him trying to hold back a grin as he stifles out a laugh. his eyes are crinkled and dimples are showing, all the while you begin to lower your gaze. haha, so funny.

eventually, your face straightens out into a deadpan, "shut up."

yunho continues to laugh, body shaking as he chuckles, and without thinking, you lunge to grab at his chest, "just get in here."

bunching up his tank top, you yank him inside your apartment. he enters with a stumble, with you only releasing him when he's few inches behind you.

more laughter is coming from the tall boy, and while you hear him trying to regain his balance, you stay facing forward with a hand on the door. part of you is still contemplating if you should go through with this whole thing, and yet the other part is yelling at you to stop making things so complicated.

both sides are clawing at you, though once you take a deep breath, a brief moment of clarity hits. you use your courage to push the door close, now trapping you both inside.

you slowly turn around towards yunho. he's already taken off his slippers and placed them onto the nearby rack, waiting for you to make the next advancements. a small smile remains on his face.

okay, this is serious. your vision darts off to the corner, fingers reaching to play with the hem of your tank top, "uhh...so..." there's a pause, "bedroom's just down the hall."

yunho now regards you with a mildly confused face, raising an eyebrow. he's definitely sensing a change in your attitude from just moments ago. you fidget once more with your shirt, the silence becoming too deafening for you. ultimately, you decide to proceed forward towards the narrow hallway.

at least, until a hand catches you in place.

"not so fast...where do you think you're going?" yunho's voice piques up at the end as he starts to bring you back, his grip firm and tight. you're tripping over your own feet and only stop once you're placed directly in front of him.

you don't look up at him, even though you feel his eyes burning deeply into your scalp. the spot where he's touching you starts to heat up, and all you begin to think about is how hot his touch will feel other places. oh, god. now you really can't look at him anymore, your face feels completely flushed.

yunho's aware of his hold on you, though he doesn't try to remove it. his eyes remain on you and how he can tell you're deliberately avoiding eye contact. he's never seen you so shy before, he realizes. so timid. it's almost a complete turn around from how you've been acting this past week—hell, even the past three months he's known you.

he's realizing that you're truly nervous, and god does he like that. eyelids fluttering, yunho feels little tingles start to spread all over his body.

"hey," his tone is more serious, but you sense a hint of playfulness somewhere, "y/n, you gotta look at me when i'm trying to talk to you."

the moment he addresses you, your body erupts into shivers. as your head stays lowered, your eyes slowly work their up till their peering through your eyelashes.

"what do you want?" your voice is a buzzed whisper.

"are you nervous?" his hand shifts up from your arm to now your shoulder, "you're acting so different."

you want to shrug him off of you and back away, though the slight squeeze he has on you keeps you from doing so. instead, you feel that area begin to heat up, your attention remaining on him.

"i'm not nervous," how you managed to say that without stuttering—you don't know either, but your heart feels like it's gonna explode, "i'm just not used to....this."

he mulls over your words, lips pursing in somewhat agreement, "hmm, yeah. i can see that. i don't usually call my neighbors over for a late night session either.

your face lightly scrunches, "i didn't really call you ov-"

"i don't want you to worry, though," ignoring you, he shifts his hand once again until it's resting near the nape of your neck, fingers curled over it, "i know you think i'm just gonna go in that room, fuck you a couple of times, then leave."

his vulgar words shock you. expression now stunned, your breathing turns heavy as he travels his hand towards the front of your neck, now placing a soft clasp around your throat, "but i won't do that to you. i told you i'm here to help. here for you."

gradually, the hard look in your eyes begins to melt. your face becomes more relaxed, and yunho notices this.

"what, you like this? my hand around your throat?" he mumbles out.

you're dazed, lips slightly parted from the quiet gasps you're taking in. he cocks his head to the side as he watches your changing face.

"mmm, i kinda like seeing you in this state," his eyes rake around your features, whole time you stare back weakly, "can't really call me an idiot anymore, can you?"

you try to speak, but yunho instantly hushes you quiet. he's stroking his thumb up and down your smooth skin as he leans in just a tiny bit.

"you're so cute, y/n. just the face you're making, it's so..."

he's only inches from you, you can feel his breath hit your face. oh, god. and he's coming closer towards your lips. his eyes are low, mouth hanging, waiting to take in yours.

you close your eyes in anticipation, but at the last second, he curves your face.

his mouth goes to the shell of your ear instead, just barely touching, "go take us to the bedroom now."

his words pour into your head as a near whimper dribbles out of you. he backs away with the same heated look in his eye, while you're completely disoriented. he takes his hand away from you, and with a small stagger you turn around and lead him down the hall.

what fucking spell did he just put you under? your head is mush. you can't think straight. the throb in your core is practically beating at you, and it's making you even more dizzy. the moment you step foot into your nightly lit bedroom, you're immediately twisting to face yunho. oh, you're done for.

he's trailing in behind you, his walk a bit different from yours. he ambles up to you, though when you briefly glance down at his shorts, there's an obvious bulge sticking out of the fabric. your eyes widen, but yunho's calling your name to recapture your attention.

he stops in front of you, eyes heavy with lust, "just looking at you got me so hard."

"yunho," you say with whine. your neck is craned upward to look at his face.

"so fucking hard." he repeats, tone even lowered. his hand comes back up to your nape, and you watch him lean down, "i can't even concentrate."

your eyes bounce back and forth between his gaze and his lips. you want to beg for a kiss. beg for him to finally end this tortured pain you're in. but instead, you part your lips and lower your eyes, signaling to him that you're ready. desperation fills your expression, and yunho is drinking every bit up.

he watches your hazy state, how quickly you fell apart for him. what an absolute turn around from how you were acting earlier in the night. you're just a mindless doll at this point. so ready to be completely ruined by him.

thinking this, a low groan escapes his throat, "god, you're so good to me."

his mouth drops slowly before enveloping yours with a greedy kiss—finally. he takes your lips hungrily as you tilt your head for a better taste. the two of you stumble back slightly until the bed grazes the back of your knees. he grips the back of your neck harder.

the intensity of the kiss has you levitating. slow pants start to leave your mouth, only to get swallowed up by yunho’s mouth. he’s coming at you, hard, as if he’s been deprived for so long. you slip a bit of your tongue into his mouth which sends a shudder down his back. as payback, when yunho’s lips come down on yours again, he grazes your bottom lip with his teeth.

you whimper. you two are completely enamored with one another. all thoughts have left your head and you're left with a desire that's practically eating you alive.

his lips part from yours once more, "fuck. can't wait for you to make such big mess on me."

he breathes heartily then captures your mouth, the two of you sharing another kiss. swiftly, he breaks away, "gonna make you cum so hard."

he uses all of his weight in the next kiss he gives you. yunho begins to lower you further into the mattress, the two of you not releasing. the bed squeaks from the added pressure, until eventually you're laying down on your back. and a genuine whimper buzzes out of you. you're dying within his grasp.

he’s pulling your lips harshly within his, groaning and mumbling more dirty words. the hand behind your neck shifts towards your front, him pressing down into your throat. that makes you whine. the noise bellows out of you, only for yunho to shut you up with a rough kiss. god, you're so loud. he thinks to himself.

still passionately making out, his pelvis starts to rock between your legs. he's so fucking turned on right now. his bulge rolls deep into your underwear, your pussy creating the perfect crevice for him. the new friction makes you see stars. so much is happening right now: the kissing, his hand on you, the way he's grinding into you, all of it has your senses are on overload.

then, he rips himself away. he slides his hand up to underneath your chin and forcefully turns your face away. he goes to the side of your neck—kissing, sucking, and licking around your skin. you can already feel the hickies starting to form.

"need to leave a reminder for you," his words fall onto your neck, and all you could do is moan, "you're gonna remember this night."

he places a few more hickies on you.

releasing his hand, he starts to travel down your body. he kisses and licks along your sternum, before stopping at your breasts. his eyes flicker up to your lust-out expression, taking a brief pause. you wait anxiously for his next move.

"want me to suck on them?" his voice is just barely audible. you quickly shake your head 'yes'.

his gaze drops down to your tits. your hard nipples poke out of the fabric of your tank top. they're practically begging for stimulation. he leans in close to your buds, and gives one of them a quick flick of his tongue.

"oh, god." your body stutters from the sensation.

intrigued by your response, he leans over to quickly lick at the other bud, you reacting the same way. you are just so fucking sensitive, he's noticed. everything he's done so far has you damn near falling apart.

he keeps this in mind as he keeps working his way down. he gives you kisses against your stomach which causes butterflies to erupt and your belly to convulse slightly.

soon, he's at your underwear. you're quivering, body squirming, just waiting for him. but, he doesn't proceed. he sits a bit longer. your underwear is a cute color, a pretty shade of purple. and it holds your cunt so well.

"so pretty," muttering, he dips down to place a soft peck at the top of your underwear, "oh my—are you twitching right now?"

he calls you out with tiny grin. he's watchful of your current demeanor. you've already shut your eyes. it'd been to much to see yunho do this to you. with each little touch he's given you, your body reacts like it's never experienced this before. your short breaths fill the room, and you think anything else will make you cry. you really are a mess.

"just...just do something," you whine, "please, yunho."

and with that, he's instantly gliding your underwear off of you, throwing it wherever on the ground. he grips your knees and pushes them further back as now, he gets the best view of your needy cunt.

you're glistening, wetness coating your lips like someone had just drenched water on you. he swears he even sees your hole lightly opening and closing, basically asking for it to be stuffed.

a groan trickles from lips, "why is your cunt so perfect? it's just begging for me to ruin it." he takes his fingers from off of your knee and runs them up and down your slit.

"gah—yunho!" wailing, your pussy immediately clenches from his movement.

"you're like a toy, holy shit," he does the motion again, except this time he makes sure to end with slow circles at your clit, "your body listens to me so well, like the good toy you are."

a string of slickness leaks from your entrance. oh, man. you can already sense your sensitivity getting the best of you. he's only just now started stimulating your cunt, but it feels like too much already.

"you twitch on command. leak on command," in a swift motion, he brings his head down to lay his tongue on your sex, starting from your wet entrance and ending at the top. he whispers out the next part, "can i make you cum on command?"

when he moves his hand away to do the same action again, your eyes roll into the back your head. yunho grips your knees again, his face buried deep between your legs. he gives a hearty lick to your cunt once more, then another, then another.

"mmmm, fuck. yunho, this....this feels so good." you're lightly jerking, hips involuntarily moving. he use this as motivation.

his jaw flexes open, taking in a greater amount. soon, his licks turn into large kisses. he's conscious of the fact that you're on edge. he feels you moving around in his grasp. he's determined to make you finish, now.

mouth fully between your cunt, he swirls his tongue deeply into your cunt. ripples of pleasure come bursting through your core, shooting up through your veins, before ending at your head. you feel faint.

your hips push harder against his face, and a noise quickly starts up. a squelching sound rings through both of your ears as your wet pussy begins to mix with yunho's mouth. it sounds disgustingly wet—but, you love it. you feel so dirty, so nasty, but that just turns you on even more.

your juices turn frothy and bubbles out from the side of yunho's face. when realizing this, he groans inside your sweet clit. it vibrates your pussy in a way that makes quiver. you let out a throaty moan and he starts to speed up his pace.

"oh, oh—i think i'm close." you huff, chest rising up and down sporadically. god, you're so close.

yunho hums at your words, but to be honest, he's too drunk off your taste to really hear you. he's too far gone. more sloppy kisses are given to your cunt. they're sloppy, filthy—disgusting. so much so that he starts to shake his head in circles, just to give an extra sense of pleasure. the other secret reason, he freaking loves how wet his face feels from your dripping cunt. he wants it permanently on his face.

he goes in faster. you're already whining, wailing out desperate cries. it truly is too much. the build up from earlier to now, you don't even know how you were able to last this long. though, it's going to be over soon.

and soon hits you faster than you could've ever expected.

you don't even know what triggers it—probably everything—but in an instant, your body quickly convulses and your eyes go white. your orgasm hits you stronger than you've ever felt before.

"ah—fuck! oh, god!"

yunho clamps down onto you when he feels you orgasming, his mouth slurping and licking all over your pulsating cunt. he feels even more liquid gush out, only adding to the mixture he's created. he guzzles it all down, just everything is so messy.

you continue to thrash around, part of you trying to break free from his grasp while the other part does nothing but let your rapture wash over you. eventually, your body calms down, your movements slowing to a halt. even as you try to regain your composure, yunho's still going at your cunt as if he's starved. now, you're going into overstimulation territory.

"ahhh, yunho," glancing down, your voice is weak when you address him, "mmm, you can stop now. i'm done."

he drinks up your pussy one last time, before parting dramatically. he's pushes himself up, so now you can fully see his face. and god, is it glimmering in wetness. but, before you can even comment on his current state, yunho's already pulling down his shorts.

your eyebrows scrunch, "what are you doing?" although your brain is still foggy from your intense finish, you still have some awareness.

his shorts drop to his knees along with his boxers, and you're left wide-eyed. he's huge. and you mean huge. his thick cock stands up perfectly, reaching all the way to his stomach. his tip is a dark pink color and you swear you see little drips falling from his slit.

yunho sighs a relief at finally being able to free himself, "y/n, i already promised i wouldn't fuck you. we can save that for another time."

another time? if even possible, your eyes open wider. what does he mean another ti—

"but, fuck, i really need to do this," his hand comes up to aimlessly stroke away at his cock, his pelvis grinding slowly into his palm, "i won't stick it in, i promise. just need to feel your sweet cunt on me again. i feel so close."

your breath hitches. is he suggesting what you think he's suggesting?

"you...wanna...?"

"is that okay?" he asks quietly, his hand squeezing harder around his base.

you knew how dangerous of a request this is. even if he wasn't going to insert it, you knew lust can make people do anything. but then, why does the thought sound so good?

"i'm already sensitive..." you try, barely. you can already imagine what it must feel like, and the thought gets you horny all over again.

"i'll be quick, i promise," he says firmly, already lowering his body to be close to yours, "i can already feel my cum about to shoot out. just want something to stimulate it."

his face stops right in front of yours as you feel his tip just barely graze your cunt. you hold back another moan.

"i can do it?" he asks once more, this time looking into your eyes. you stare back at his large, brown gaze, and instinctively, you whimper out a 'yes'.

he's quick to grab his cock, now positioning it to where his shaft lays beautifully along the crevice of your pussy. earlier it had just felt so good, he knew he needed to do it again.

your pussy wraps around his skin, enveloping his warm cock. yunho's already buzzing with tingles that travel up around his body. and then, he begins moving.

he rocks his erection between your lips, starting off ever so leisurely. he's getting a feel of your bare cunt running up and down him. you bite your lip to hold back a scream. you're too overstimulated for this, him rubbing his cock against in this way. your eyelids flutter as your breathing turns ragged.

"oh my—fuck, y/n. i'm gonna cum. shit, your cunt's gonna make me me..."

he speeds up his hips, him full on grinding his shaft into your pussy. holy fuck, did he make the best decision. his mind becomes clouded, his breathing turning hard. as for you, well you've already check out, with just how sensitive you are. and yet somehow, you feel yourself working up to another orgasm.

he digs his hips deeper and deeper, his cock rolling along your clit. his head would pass by your bud, giving it the perfect stimulation. he's so close. so damn close. he's practically fucking your cunt right now. and you're just taking it so well.

it wasn't until his final buck, in which a creamy, white load comes foaming out from his tip. it lands directly at the bottom of your stomach, but then starts to seep down to your precious slit. feeling the viscous liquid, a smaller, less dramatic orgasm takes over you—yet it still had you quaking.

your pussy begins squeezing and pulsating yet again, which just milks yunho's fat cock even more. the two of you moan simultaneously, you both shaking and twitching against one another.

and that's how this night ends.

what once started out as your terrible attempt at the perfect orgasm, ends with you actually achieving it—twice. on top of that, it was all done thanks to your stupid, idiot neighbor, who's currently passed out next to you.

finally. after this long, eventful night, are you able to sleep peacefully, even with jeong yunho curled up right beside you.

- Bonus -

it's been 2 weeks since that night with yunho and you have absolutely no idea where two's current relationship stands. through it all, he'll always be your idiotic, annoying neighbor—the one who keeps you up late at night.

except for now, he's been keeping you up late for a different reason.

*

*

*

*

jeong yunho

11:13 PM

y/nnnnn, can you come over right now?

i need help :(

you grimace at the texts sent, you dropping down your pencil to focus on them. you're currently sitting at your desk, trying to prepare for an exam you have coming up.

y/n

11:14 PM

but you just texted me this morning???

how could you possibly need help again??

what the hell? he's never texted you twice in one day about this.

jeong yunho

11:14 PM

ugh, i know and normally i don't even get hard again after i cum

but god, i literally couldn't stop thinking about the way your mouth felt around me this morning

started daydreaming about it and got a boner LOL

"aww, yunho!" moaning, you silently curse his idiotic brain, head drooping. this isn't the first he's asked you to take care of a problem caused by his stupid thoughts. you've already told him to learn how to control them!

and unfortunately, you're not available for him.

y/n

11:16 PM

oh my god

sorry but i can't right now, studying for a test

jeong yunho

11:16 PM

oh boooooo

you're a smart girl, i know you'll ace it

y/n

11:17 PM

wanna know how i get this smart? by studying

jeong yunho

11:18 PM

but y/n it's so painful

my cock's throbbing for you

look

sent image

reluctantly, you open the picture. it's of his erection protruding through his grey sweatpants. you can tell he doesn't have any underwear on from how large he looks in the photo, and also by the fact there's small specks of dark grey splattered near the top. his pre-cum.

shit. you really should not have opened this.

jeong yunho

11:19 PM

need you so bad

please, help me

you bring your bottom lip inwards to chew on it. you really need to study, and you know this. but, fuck, he looks so good right now. the noises—the whimpering—he made for you earlier this morning resurface to your head, and now you're even more conflicted.

another text from yunho comes through.

jeong yunho

11:22 PM

it'll be the neighborly thing to do ☹️

oh, please. your eyes roll at that. he's been throwing this phrase around about a week after you two started fooling with each other.

what an idiot.

y/n

11:23 PM

you know what? fine, here i come

truthfully, you were convinced since the beginning, you just wanted to see how far he would go. you shoot up from your desk and grab your phone, feeling your core already tingle at what's to come.

you begin to make your way out of your bedroom when another buzz comes through.

jeong yunho

11:24 PM

atta girl

my favorite neighbor

*

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*

*

[lovesongrecs]

AAUHJDJFNEN . Ifhf. 🤤🤤🤤

okay sorru reeljng it back in. I haven’t written a review in forever, but this is still fresh in my mind, and i’m determined to change that!

before that actually… kind of a funny story, but i went through my blog to update the tags on empty rbs this afternoon, and i found a wooyoung fic from your old blog! i was like “hey this user looks kinda familiar” 🤔 then it clicked. it’s so nice to see u again btw!! i just thought this was a silly little sequence of events :3

honestly (and this isn’t jab at anyone) but i feel like a lot of writers tend to forget that sex doesn’t always have to be penetrative… especially when it comes to yunho. not that i’m complaining, but it doesn’t hurt spicing things up a bit and venturing out of the tried and true! i feel like this is a prime example of that, which sounds silly in hindsight. but i mean this in terms of fandom writerblrs. so it was really refreshing to see that disclaimer in the teaser!

the ending is so damn cute and fluffy… 😭😭😭😭💔💔 or well, before the bonus lol. even with the bonus i find it so heartwarming that, in a way, yunho’s still keeping his promise with his and mc’s new little…. relationship? dynamic. i don’t want to assume but he Is my bias and i Am crazy so. 😇 anyways! all in all, just a very cute characterization of him! the initial cockiness he approaches mc with… them both being fucked out… the bonus where he’s needy and. 🫩 kinda puppy like? i’m gonna be sixk

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

HOLY MOLY😮 ATETAYEYWTATER AYYYY AHHHHHHH THISS THIS SO AMAZINGGGG

[fairyofshampgyu]

☆ Newfound Discoveries !

Genre: smut, flatmate au, college au, fluff

Pairing: femdom ! nsfw content creator reader x sub ! flatmate beomgyu, feat. sub ! soobin

Warnings: dom reader, sub beomgyu, mentions of porn, solo masturbation, perv gyu, face sitting, choking on pussy, face slapping, spit kink, nipple play, filming sex, degrading, use of pet names ‘puppy’, riding, overstim, orgasm denial, premature ejaculation, reader is seen as ‘shy’

Synopysis: beomgyu didn’t think he’d ever be into femdom, that is, until he discovers his cute flatmate’s secret nsfw twitter account.

Word count: 6.6k

If beomgyu were to describe his flatmate, the adjectives that first come to mind would be timid, shy, polite and quietly considerate.

Both of you had a list of chores of who took care of what in the flat, stuck colour coded to the fridge, with beomgyu’s main responsibility to take out the bins and sometimes if he’d simply forget to, you’d quietly do it yourself and just send him a small message, 'You forgot the bins. But it's okay I took it out :) <3’ and he’d profusely apologise, 'I'M SOSORRY OMGG', genuinely guilt ridden and promising you he'd definitely remember next time.

You never got angry or irritated with him. In fact, Beomgyu can't even remember a time where he's genuinely seen you angry. Because, that was just the kind of person you were. And that was frankly insane since beomgyu knew how annoying he can be at times.

You had even taken care of him once when he’d returned stumbling back home, smashed from hitting all the clubs, the goofiest grin spread across his face as he’d nearly toppled into the coat rack trying to take his shoes off. You’d helped him into his bed even though you were asleep before hearing all the ruckus he’d made, beomgyu drunk but very aware of the warmth of your hands on him and the proximity of your body trying to keep him up steering him into his room.

Even that time when beomgyu was ill with a terrible, hellish sore throat and had skipped his lectures, laying in bed with a miserable pout and croaking like a dying frog, you’d knocked on his door, asking him if he was okay and even made your own concoction of honey and lemon juice hot water for him to drink, telling him it’d make him feel better. It did, and it also had made his heart flutter embarrassingly too much for someone who only received a homemade remedy from their flatmate. (He may or may not have nearly cried after you left but the gesture had gone straight to his heart and being sick always makes him really emotional and dramatic especially since he’d felt lonely the whole day, wallowing in self pity under the covers.)

And when beomgyu has stressful end of semester exams and stays for late hours cooped in the library, too tired and broke and thinking of just skipping dinner, you even leave some of your food you’d made for yourself for him when he comes back. He’d eat it all, finding he was actually extremely hungry, cheeks full and chest warming in gratitude, sending you a sleepy 'Thank you so much >_< !' before faceplanting into his pillow and dozing off.

Now, Beomgyu wasn’t a terrible flatmate himself, and actually, beomgyu prides himself in being pretty clean and organised. Nothing makes his eye twitch more than when the cupboards and fridge are all cluttered with food and filled with expired jars and he’s always the one to rearrange them, lining up items and jars. Beomgyu puts everything into different categories and shelves that make sense for them to be, shooting you a proud look whenever you notice, but sometimes, yes, at times he can just be a little forgetful. But he doesn’t mean to be.

Beomgyu does try to do things for you too and he likes doing it too like, making you a coffee when he sees you still up and studying, sending you encouraging messages in the morning when he knows you have exams telling you ‘you’ve got this ! Fighting !!’ with a string of silly emojis. He asks if you need anything when he’s going out to do his weekly shop of necessities. And when he did his laundry, knocking on your door, asking you if you have your own clothes you wanted to toss for the wash too because he really doesn’t mind also doing yours. So, he really hopes you don’t think he’s the worst flatmate actually, because he tries.

Were you guys close? He’d say you were partially, pretty close. Close enough to watch things on the tv in the shared living room often together. You’d chat then too and he’d make you laugh with his commentary, trying to get you out your shell just a little more. Close enough to eat together sometimes and talk about random things. Close enough to swap playlists and exchange each of your favourite songs of the week. Close enough that you’d both grumble about your subjects together, complaining about assignments.

Sometimes, you even walked to campus in the mornings together when your lectures lined up, your steps matching his, both of you walking a bit too close, your bag bumping into his side every now and then as you chatted about whatever, dropping you off at your lecture hall before making it to his hurriedly. Those walks always felt too short to him.

All in all, beomgyu would say you were an amazing flatmate. He’s lucky to have been randomly selected you to share with. Some people got stuck with nightmare flatmates who stole food, that didn’t clean after themselves and who threw loud parties at 3am. You were more like the dream flatmate.

And beomgyu also won’t lie and say he hadn’t maybe, just maybe, developed the tiniest crush on you somewhere along the way. Because he may have. Really minuscule though, basically microscopic. Barely even there. Nothing to worry about at all. But what can he say, you were so cute and sweet and calming! Like a momentary gentle, blissful breeze in his chaotic world of tropical cyclones.

So, you can only imagine how Beomgyu reacts one night when he’s scrolling through his anonymous twitter account he uses solely for viewing porn, slightly horny and frustratedly crazed by now when he can’t find a good enough video to jerk off to. Everything he had bookmarked just wasn’t doing it for him, he’d watched them all so many times, countless times, it was just boring, uninspiring, so dull now.

He attempts to find new material, digging deeper, desperately looking through the accounts he follows for something decent, even clicking on the accounts that they’ve quote retweeted from and the accounts that they’ve retweeted from and so on, and so on. Come on, something, anything to get him off so he can finally go to sleep. But it’s all the same repetitive, bland shit, fake moans, overacting, terrible angles, somethings just downright concerning. Beomgyu huffs as he swipes out of yet another video. And he’s about to surrender for the night, having totally given up when-

Beomgyu blinks and pauses, then squints, tilting his head.

He sees something. It’s a short clip, no longer than thirty seconds, shaky camera, pretty bad lighting and shit quality, but it catches his eye: a woman her back facing the camera, their pretty hand pumping a dude’s cock, but not nicely. Like, meanly ? The dude’s wrists were tied together too with a pink silk ribbon as he begs, thighs trembling and he was sobbing. Actually…sobbing. The woman speaks saccharinely to him, voice low and commanding “Don’t you dare cum unless I say you can, ‘kay?”

Beomgyu’s stomach does a weird flip.

Huh.

He’s never seen something like this before. Now, he’s not a completely vanilla person, he admits, but he’s never thought of this. It’s not exactly his usual cup of tea, he thinks? Beomgyu’s thumb hovers contemplatively, then he presses the button to the username of the original account a little too swiftly.

He views the whole profile, it’s a ‘femdom’ account. He clicks curiously on the most recent video and beomgyu’s jaw completely drops in pure, utter, sheer bewilderment once it loads.

What. The. Living. Fuck.

“Owww! Fuck!-Ugh…” Beomgyu rubs his nose, scrunching his face in pain as, in his absolute shock, had accidentally smacked his phone right onto his face. Then he lifts his phone again just to check once more. He’s hallucinating, he’s sleep deprived, so horny he’s gone into some psychosis maybe-no, he’s right.

Beomgyu’s world has imploded.

The video had loaded and it was much clearer, the women’s face much more visible.

That—it almost looks like—you. His flatmate. It has to be you. It must be you. It looks exactly like you. It’s definitely you. And he’s so sure of it because the woman is also wearing the exact bracelet you never take off, the one you had told him was gifted by your grandmother.

His timid, shy, polite and quietly considerate flatmate. Except, you’re spitting filthy, dirty, commanding words beomgyu didn’t even think you’d have knowledge of, much less would ever say. And you’re domming the shit out of a dude. You. What is going on…?!

You’re calling the guy pathetic, telling him to beg harder, your hand relentless around him as he squirms, sobs, drools for you. The way you looked while pumping this guy’s dick, your demeanour, your voice, sweetly taunting, it was so far removed from the you beomgyu thought he knew that beomgyu genuinely thought he was in some kind of alternative universe.

What’s worse is that, the scandalous words you’re spewing to the other guy has beomgyu’s cheeks heating up extremely fast, a flush crawling all the way up to his ears, and what you’re doing makes beomgyu’s dick give a sharp, embarrassing eager twitch at the sight. Oh, fuck no. No. He couldn’t. No. This was wrong. So fucking wrong. This was you! But, everything you were doing, you were so terrifyingly hot. And beomgyu found himself weirdly hard as hell, aching and straining against his pyjama bottoms, considering every other porn clip he’d been going through hadn’t prior.

Beomgyu couldn’t help himself. He was trying for this the whole night. He was so needy and horny now and it was starting to hurt! He knows he’s going to hell for this, he knows he’s a pervert, a creep, the worst flatmate in the world right now, but, fuck it. He’ll condemn for his sins later, he’ll never do it again, he’ll never look at your account ever again, he’ll erase it from his memories after this, he just needs this so bad right now.

Beomgyu’s hand goes straight down his plaid pyjama bottoms with the most embarrassingly, disgusting desperation he’s ever felt, hurriedly wrapping his hand around his dick, jerking himself off frantically. He slaps his other hand over his mouth so he doesn’t make a noise, so you wouldn’t hear him jerking off to you in the next room as he watches you ruin another dude on his phone.

Beomgyu’s mind is screaming.

What are you doing, what are you doing, this is your flatmate, you’re going to hell, you’re insane!

But it just feels too good, his hips jerking up into his palm, eyes glued to the screen as you staunch off the other guy’s orgasm, slapping his balls and Beomgyu’s never been more turned on in his life. He’s moaning into his palm, muffled, shamefully as he fucks into his fist, and it’s so humiliating that this is what finally does it for him, of all things. It’s so, so wrong. But beomgyu is too far gone to care at this point, hips stuttering as he continues to move his hand over his cock, teeth biting down on his palm so hard and pressing it further to his mouth so you really can’t hear him whimpering.

Beomgyu cums pathetically fast. Mortifyingly fast. For some reason, the thought of him in that guy’s place, you saying those things to him instead, had made him cum even harder, spilling thick ropes of cum all over his fist. He pants, his bangs sweaty and sticking to his forehead, chest heaving and staring at his ceiling in stunned silence, he feels like he’s ascending, like he could go to heaven.

That is, until the post nut clarity hits, and- no, it’s definitely hell he’s going. He feels repulsive, guilty, filthy.

It was a one time thing, a slip up, a moment of weakness, it’d never happen again.

That’s what beomgyu had promised himself, but then the night came once again and he couldn’t find a good enough clip to get him off once more, the porn still unsurprisingly abysmal. He bit his lip, internally struggling with himself, angel and devil debating with each other on his shoulder, but alas he chose the devil’s side and quickly typed your username into the search bar.

And it started to become a regular occurrence. It was the only thing he could jerk off to anymore. He was addicted, obsessed.

He’d never really… looked at femdom stuff before, never thought he’d be into that. It felt too intense. Too embarrassing. Too emasculating. He was the one in charge, right? He liked being in control. Maybe he’s not even into it, maybe it’s just the absurdity of it all, the taboo-ness, the fact it’s just his cute flatmate he’s always had a crush on making porn, not the actual femdom aspect of it, no.

And yet, beomgyu, who said he’d never been into this kind of stuff, was still jerking off to every single one of your videos every night.

He feels guilty, he really does. Especially when you were still your sweet self, when you’d still do all these sweet things for him, when he’d see you cooking in the kitchen and the images of the videos he’d been watching and him moaning into his pillow came to mind. He still found it shocking that you were the same person. It was totally disorienting.

But technically, your videos are made for people to jerk off to it, you make your money off it, you profit off it, it’s not like he’s the only guy doing this, in fact, he’s increasing your view count, boosting your engagement. He’s helping you. Could even think of it as one of the many ways beomgyu tries to do things for you in return.

It makes sense now, how you had so much random expensive shit and collected things as a college student. He just always thought you had super rich parents or something.

You always filmed the videos with the same guy too and beomgyu recognised him as Choi Soobin, another student in your course and he’d frequent your room or you’d say you were going to his and studying with him but you were probably filming porn with him this whole time. He thought you guys were just friends. Were you dating? With the brief hi’s and small talk he’d have with soobin when he was at the flat, he’d always fucked with him, thought he was a pretty chill, cool guy. But now, every time, you’d say you were going to meet up with soobin, it filled him with this annoyance at the name. Fuck soobin, man. Why does soobin get to see that side of you? Why couldn’t it be beomgyu?

He wished you’d put him in his place, he was so jealous of soobin, he wants to know what it feels like in real life too. To have you saying that to him instead, have you touching him, you fucking him. He needs it. He fantasises about it all the time. Maybe if he keeps being an annoying flatmate, if he keeps on forgetting to do his chores, you’ll finally snap and get mad at him. Maybe you’d punish him, fuck him stupid? Maybe he should start doing that, turn into an insufferable flatmate. You’re always so calm, you never get angry at him. He wants you to get angry at him, wants you to yell at him, wants you to be mean to him.

Like routine, beomgyu was watching the latest clip you had posted, laying in his bed with his marshall headphones and his phone, a dim, sleepy amber glow over his room from his fairy lights as he fisted his cock with a mix of shame and arousal.

“You’ve been touching yourself without permission haven’t you? You tut at soobin onscreen. “What a pervert. So disappointing.”

It was as if you knew beomgyu was watching, and he could imagine you saying it to him instead which only made him move his hand over his dick faster, biting his lip as tries so hard not to whimper loudly.

“Touch your nipples for me too, baby.”

You instruct soobin and so beomgyu does it too, one of his hands reaching up to flick his nipple experimentally. Beomgyu gasps out at the sensitive feeling, continuing to flick his nipple with his finger again and again and then he cums with a startled loud yelp he hadn’t meant to let out. Beomgyu slaps a hand to his mouth instantly, praying that you’re fast asleep right now as he lets out pathetic shaky breaths, cum pooling on his tummy.

Beomgyu practically sprinted back from campus. You’d uploaded a new video whilst he was in his lecture. He’d received the notification but he obviously couldn’t watch it there so he had to wait for all of his classes to be over, the day going by excruciatingly slow.

Beomgyu bursts into the flat and into his room with one singular goal. He jumps onto his bed, finds your twitter through his anonymous account, clicks on the recently uploaded excitedly, anticipating. Then he rummages through his bag next to him for his marshall headphones-oh shit. They’re not there. Where would he have put them? That’s when he remembers with a disappointed groan, he’d left them on the library desk when he’d taken a nap in between classes. It’s okay, he can just retrieve his precious headphones back from the library office. But is there time to go all the way back? He can watch it without headphones. You weren’t here, the flat was empty, you’d said you were going to hang out with soobin so you wouldn’t be back for a while. It’s fine. He doesn’t need them. What he does need is to watch the video though.

And so he does, he presses play.

You’re edging soobin again and beomgyu matches, trying to mimic your movements on soobin’s dick, trying to imagine you were edging him instead and he’s so immersed by now. His moans getting louder and needier, unabashed and shameless and it feels good to fuck himself, finally moan unrestricted without being scared you’d hear.

Beomgyu’s gasping now, trembling, edging himself just like you told Soobin to, whining out your name. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, please!” His eyes glassy, face scrunched up and sweaty and so into it, like you’re really there.

“You don’t deserve to cum today at all.” you spat in the video, stopping your movements on soobin’s dick.

“N-no, no, please! Don’t stop-ah, y/n…! I’ll be good.” Beomgyu babbles to no one, worriedly, furrowing his brow.

Beomgyu is completely engrossed in his fantasy, so engrossed, he doesn’t hear the front door open, doesn’t hear your footsteps over the squelching noises of his wet dick over his hand, over his loud as hell moans, over the video of your voice on full volume which is the only thing his ears are paying attention to.

He didn’t even realise his door wasn’t properly shut, hadn’t bothered to close it in his excitement when he came back, didn’t think it would be a problem at all.

The second you stepped in and heard your own voice from Beomgyu’s room, followed by his loud whimpers and moans of your name, you paused. Completely stunned. You pushed the door open slightly with one finger, peering in. This wasn’t disrespecting someone’s privacy if he was so shamelessly jerking off, if he was literally watching your videos. You had a right. And you were curious.

The idiot still doesn’t even notice that his door is open, that you’re watching him, too lost in pleasure, eyes squeezed tightly shut, mouth hanging open, his back arching, hips lifting slightly off his bed as he ruts into his hand. What the hell. You’d never expected beomgyu to be so dirty like this. He was just your silly, funny flatmate that made your heart flutter just a little sometimes. And he was jerking off to your account? How did he even find it? He looked gorgeous like this though and it was definitely doing something to him in this state. You’d never thought beomgyu would be into any of this, into your account.

You clear your throat.

“OH MY GOD-!” Beomgyu screams high pitched and his eyes widen in pure horror, scrambling to pull his underwear up and trying to cover his body with his sheets, throwing his phone away so fast, but then realises the video is still on and you can still hear your voice and soobin’s so he quickly reaches back for it, fumbling to try to pause it, body and whole face as red as the ripest strawberry. “Y-y/n-i-i-shit—I’m s-so sorry, I’m s-sorry, I w-wasn’t, I wasn’t—I mean I was, but not like that—I’ll move out. I’ve disrespected you. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me—I-I’ll-I’ll move out tomorrow-!”

Beomgyu was genuinely crying. Actual tears, bottom lip wobbly and hiccuping so cutely. It was endearing and also amusing. This was all working in your favour.

“Beomgyu,” you interrupt his panicked ramblings, crossing your arms. “Relax. I’m not mad. Don’t you want me to touch you?”

He stops. Mouth agape.

“I…what.”

“Don’t you want me to fuck you? Wanna know what it actually feels like?”

Beomgyu blinks, not believing these are words coming out of your mouth. “A-are you serious? What—what about Soobin? Aren’t you guys dating?”

“No we’re not dating, we’re just partners. We had a little fight and he backed out on filming today. I need someone else.” You look beomgyu up and down, satisfied. “You’ll do.”

Beomgyu’s jaw drops, “Me??!!”

“Unless you don’t want to. Then that’s fine.”

Beomgyu shakes his head vehemently, still in shock that any of this is happening. How have you not kicked him out of the flat?! “No. No. I want to! I really want to!”

Beomgyu has never subbed before.

This was all terrifyingly new. He feels like a virgin all over again. Nervous, embarrassed, not sure what to do. But the second you shove him flat on the bed, rubbing him through his calvin klein underwear and messily making out with him, he gives into you just so, so, so easily, instantly melting at your small touch and the neediest sounds he’s ever heard from himself before, that he tries so hard to suppress, but ultimately leave his mouth, humiliatingly high. He still can’t believe any of this is even real right now.

Beomgyu breaks from the kiss reluctantly, eyes half lidded and his lips swollen and sticky from your lip gloss, whole body heated up, whimpering as you still grind your palm on his clothed dick and he grasps tightly onto the fabric of your top, “Ah…don’t want you to go soft on me…” beomgyu looks into your eyes so sincerely, so earnestly, so serious with his big brown eyes, “Please…want you to be mean to me, want you to use me. I can take it all….Wanna be better than soobin. I can.”

You giggle at him, cocking an eyebrow, “You want me to be mean?”

Beomgyu nods quickly, “Please….”

“You think you can take it?”

“Yeah, yeah…I can.”

You lean in, pressing your lips just beside his ear, breath hot as he closes his eyes, nervously. “But you already look so gone, gyu.”

Beomgyu whimpers and shakes his head, skin prickling up at that. “No! I-I’m not. I swear.”

“Prove it to me then.” You challenge, grinning.

He watches as you grab your phone, propping it up and pressing record, then you slid your panties down, taking them off, hearing beomgyu’s breath catch audibly in his throat. You grin as you make your way to his body, hovering over beomgyu’s face. His pupils dilate so wide and then he stares up at your pretty pussy in awe, seemingly entranced, lips slightly parted and he just looks so incredibly dumb it’s cute.

You slowly lovee yourself onto his face, smothering him with your pussy and beomgyu wastes absolutely no time, gripping onto the plush of your thighs hard and already diving in, eagerly lapping at your pussy like a starved puppy, getting to work, concentrating so hard on eating you out, shuddering and shakily trying to keep it together but he’s falling apart already.

The sounds over the room are so obscene and nasty as beomgyu slurps and sucks and basically makes out with your pussy sloppily, his beautifully sculpted nose bumping against your clit and you have to admit, beomgyu is pretty damn good at this. Soobin is usually so careful, so shy and slow at eating you out but beomgyu is the complete opposite, licking at your pussy so fervently, so messy, so diligently as if it was his only purpose in life.

“Gosh, gyu.” You sigh out, running your fingers through his hair, “So you were getting off to my videos this whole time? You’re really the nastiest pervert I know.” Beomgyu just whines and cries out muffled pitifully beneath you, the sound vibrating straight to your core. “Stick your tongue out for me.”

He obeys instantly, sticking his tongue out for you like a panting dog and you begin to ride his face harshly. “You have such a ridable face, gyu. Should I ride your face all the time?” Beomgyu moans whorishly loud into your cunt in response to that, attempting to nod. You’re just completely using his face now, roughly gripping his hair and savagely grinding yourself on him, literally suffocating him with your pussy but beomgyu loves it, he loves that you’re finally roughing him up, loves that he finally gets to see this side of you too.

His poor dick is all leaky and flushed, throbbing as he humps the air desperately, wanting to feel some sort of friction to try and relieve himself just a little but he ruts into nothing, whining sorrowfully into your cunt.

He begins to choke slightly underneath you from the lack of air but he doesn’t try to get you off him at all, taking it all, just his shiny teary puppy eyes staring up at you.

“Yeah, that’s it. I’m cumming, gyu. Such a good boy for me.” You shudder, tugging on his hair harder, riding his face impossibly deeper and finally cumming all on his pretty face. Beomgyu splutters and chokes but at the sound of your praise, and you calling him a good boy, he blushes and malfunctions, brain short circuiting. A good boy…he’s spiralling. It sounds so good coming out of your mouth. He never knew he wanted to be called a good boy so bad. His hips jerk wildly, like the praise alone had nearly made him cum too.

When you finally lifted yourself off his face, beomgyu gasps out for air, breathing in and out and taking in deep shaky breaths. His swollen plump lips, chin, nose, the whole of his lower face completely drenched and soaked, glistening in your juices.

“Holy shit...” Beomgyu licks his lips and around his mouth, savouring the taste of you, looking so completely blissed out, dazedly smiling so stupid and dopey and so content with his life.

You can’t help but laugh and scoff at the ridiculous look on his face. You take your phone once again and move further down on his body, straddling his hips, pinning his wrists down beside his head on the pillow. You bring your phone to his face, angling the camera and filming him. He suddenly gets camera shy and embarrassed, self conscious, realising, really realising that this was all being filmed, that it’s his expression being filmed now and not soobin’s, that everyone can see him reduced to this state for you. Isn’t that embarrassing for a man?

He turns his face, trying to hide in the crook of his arm, cheeks red with shame. You giggle, amused. “Oh, so now you’re shy?” You coo and tug his arm away gently, exposing his face again. His blush impossibly deepens.

But he can’t seem to care at all once you start sliding on his wet dick and he takes a sharp intake, shivering and squirming at the feeling, eyes rolling, “s-sshit!” Beomgyu shuts his eyes in pleasure, eyelashes fluttering obnoxiously prettily. This is all so surreal still. You meanly laugh at the look on his face, shoving the phone more in his face, moving his cock against your folds up and down.

“Oh,” Beomgyu breathes out as you unceremoniously sink down on him in one go, “Oh, fuck—” His eyes literally go cross eyed at the feeling of being inside your pussy. You swivel your hips around him and he gasps for air, his back arching tensely and then you begin to ride him. He turns into even more of a melted puddle, brain completely slushed, in complete ecstasy. For a second, he attempts to suppress his moans again but then realises he’s doesn’t give a fuck at all and starts moaning out shamelessly so loud.

“Is this better than watching me online? Hm? Better than how you fantasised every night?” You bounce on his dick, unrelentingly.

"Mmmggh. ‘Sso good…pussy so good. Better than i everr ‘maginedd.” Beomgyu slurs, mouth hanging open and so fucked out, drooling all over himself.

You chuckle lowly, “Open your mouth.”

He does so, mindlessly, just looking up at you with his sparkly round eyes. You lean down, grabbing his jaw, tilting his face up and using your thumb to softly trace over his delicious bottom lip, wiping away some of the drool that was dribbling at the corner of his mouth. You bring yourself closer, spitting in his mouth and landing on his waiting tongue. He moans like he was being fed something divine, sticking his tongue back in, closing his mouth and pliantly swallowing, his sharp adam’s apple bobbing, then he sticks his tongue out like a slut again, asking for more. You shake your head and laugh breathlessly, aroused at how hot he looks. You spit into his mouth once again, kissing him roughly right after, swirling your tongue and sharing your spit and saliva messily with him. Beomgyu just moans into your mouth more, bucking his hips and meeting your movements needily, swallowing once you stop kissing him.

You fuck him frantically and unforgiving, throwing your phone off to the side so you can properly ride him, pinning both his wrists as his head lolls and moves with every violent bounce.

“Please…can I cum?” Beomgyu chokes out, eyes rolling to the back of his head, he’s surprised he’s even gotten this far without blowing his load.

You give him a disappointed look and tsk, “Already? But I thought you said you could take it or was that all just talk? The real thing too much for you?” You mock him, tilting your head down at him.

“Please, I c-can’t take it anymore.” He looks up at you with his pretty doe, puppy dog eyes, pouting at you in despair, long lashes fluttering to get you to give into to him, you get lost in those eyes and, for a split second, you almost do, but then you furrow your brows at him.

“Yes you can. You can hold it for longer.” You tell him sternly.

“A-at least slow down then, pleaseee!” Beomgyu pleads.

You scoff, “No.”

He whines but doesn’t do anything else, hands bunched into tight fists to try and staunch his orgasm off, fighting with his own body for you. He doesn’t want to make you disappointed even more, he’s being such a bad sub and he’s so upset at himself.

You just go faster in spite of him, even sadistically clenching tightly around his dick from time to time and he loses his mind, fearfully moaning like a bitch now, nearing his breaking point, his messy damp bangs falling into his eyes that he can’t see anything, just scrambling to keep himself from cumming and biting his lip so hard it hurts. He can be good he can be good he can be good he can be good-

You feel him twitching inside you and then he cums, whole body convulsing, spurting his load inside your pussy. It hits him so hard, that for a moment his mind goes blank. It feels too good, he forgets for a second, losing himself in the pleasure and going limp, eyes fluttering closed and sighing out as if he’s floating.

But then he remembers.

He jolts upright with, eyes flying open wide, face full of alarm. His breath catches and he stares at you in shock, wide eyed, as if only just realising now what he's done.

"Oh god. Oh god, I'm sorry. I’m so sorry!." Beomgyu freaks out, panicked and nervous, stuttering out apologies, just as surprised about his orgasm as you were. "I-i didn't mean to! I s-swear-" Beomgyu cries in humiliation. He swears he’s never prematurely came like that. He’s never came that fast before. It’s just because it’s you. He’s never felt anything like this before. It’s too much.

You slap him across his face and he gasps, bringing his hand to his now stinging, reddened cheek, looking up at you with shocked teary eyes. “Did you just cum in me?!” You say in disbelief and fury at him. But his dick twitches inside you again at the slap and the scolding. He can’t believe he actually just made you angry. He’s never seen you this angry, never seen you look at him this way and it’s so hot.

You expected him to look at you like a sad little puppy getting told off but he just looks so excited. “Did you seriously get turned on from me slapping you? You like this?” You strike him across his other cheek. He lets out a tiny hiss, his face turning to the side in his pillow, mouth in an ‘o’ shape, blinking hazily and he looks so sexy like that. Then he nods happily, eagerly, lips parted around a soft moan that he doesn't even try to hide. “Wow. You’re not good for anything but being a pervert, aren’t you? So much for proving yourself better than soobin.” You slap him again.

That makes his expression fall, hurt splashing on his face. “No I can. Please cum on my dick. I-i can take it.” He looks like he’s about to cry because he disappointed you, and also because he hates soobin and so desperately wants to be the one you use. Hopefully you’ll use him more after this, and get rid of soobin for good.

“You couldnt even take it before.” You sneer.

He looks at you with his lips heavily downturned it’s comical. “No I can take it this time. Use me. Please. I’m your toy.” His eyes go half lidded just thinking about it, licking his lips, hips bucking involuntarily inside of you at the thought.

So you grab his shoulders, starting to move on his dick again and he winces from the overstimulation, you lift yourself off and slam back down, bouncing on him faster and faster as he writhes and you dig your nails into his shoulder hard, his doll lashes clumped together with tears.

You fuck the life out of him, hips slamming down without mercy, pace rough and so cruel, and all he can do is just emit the most garbled moans and sounds, throwing his head back, taking whatever you give him, so deliriously far gone by now. He loves this so much, loves you wrecking him, loves you fucking him, it feels so good to just let you do whatever with him.

You bring one of your hands to rub at your clit to get you to reach your high and bring your other hand to flick at beomgyu’s nipple. The reaction is instant, his whole body jerking. He’d already recently discovered how sensitive his nipples really are but for some reason you touching them made them 10x more sensitive and it just felt too good, his cries accelerating and elevating in pitch, strangled moans leaving him like a girl.

One last look at the fucked out boy underneath you and you cum around his poor cock, clenching down hard, squeezing every drop of sanity out of his poor body.

“You can cum, puppy.” You tell him sweetly, cupping his cheek, seeing how he was trying so hard not to for you, waiting for you to tell him, and with a sinful cry and hearing the pet name come out your mouth that flusters him greatly, beomgyu cums inside you once more, shooting copious amounts into you. His whole body lifts off the bed in one final arch, eyes rolling back completely, mouth slack, tears streaking down his cheeks, lips trembling as he moans your name over and over again.

You find your phone and make sure to film his gorgeous, ruined face as he orgasms hard. He lays there in a complete daze. Mind gone. Collapsing. Beomgyu thinks it’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had in his life, feeling like he’s going to pass out, his vision swimming, feeling euphoric. And he needs a while to finally come back down to earth.

After the sex, you’re reverted back to your normal, how beomgyu would say it, ‘timid, shy, polite and quietly considerate’ self, saying so much praises to beomgyu, wiping him off, kissing him.

Beomgyu hugs you tightly, arms wrapping around your waist with the intention of not letting go any time soon. His head burrows into your neck, face flushed and sticky against your skin as you run your fingers through his hair.

“I never knew you were like this…” beomgyu mumbles into your skin, sleepily.

You giggle, “I never knew you were like this either.” You raise a brow at him and he blushes, embarrassed, hiding his face in your neck, making you laugh and he hits you playfully. “Why?” You tease, Do you like it more?”

“I like every part of you.” Beomgyu kisses your neck, so happily and smiling down at you with such intensity, you don’t know what to make of it.

Soobin saw the notification whilst laying in bed, clicking on it. He watches the recently uploaded video, bitterly. It was beomgyu. His hands clench tightly, annoyed, pissed off, especially at seeing how many likes it got, more than usual, feeling his heart break into two, chest aching. You didn’t even ask him how he felt about it.

He’d backed out of filming that day, told you he didn’t feel like it, which was true but he obviously didn’t tell you the reason why. He’d been thinking about you all day and just felt if he filmed with you that day, he’d feel even more like shit, that his heart wouldn’t be able to take it. He didn’t think you’d go to him.

He’d always had this inkling about beomgyu, always something off about that dude. Too obvious. Soobin had picked up on it instantly. That barely concealed crush he tried to pass off as casual friendliness. He'd always felt slightly threatened by him. When you know someone could take something from you without even realising. But you’d said he was just your flatmate. Clearly that wasn’t it anymore.

He’d known from the start what this was. He told himself he was fine with it, in fact, he was the one who had suggested it, being used, being filmed, being close to you in some way, because at least it was something. And he liked being that. Liked that he got to see parts of you no one else did. It made him feel special.

But now beomgyu had that too. And he wasn’t sure whether he’d have to share you now, or if you’d totally discard him.

˚⋆🐇｡⋆𖦹.🐰✧˚

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

Taglist: @imrllytootiredforthis <333

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

fucking gasp 😦 clock it omg my eyebrows r gone this ate

[linen-lavender]

Man is so ethereal

[dawngyu-deactivated20251022]

WHAT REMAINS THE SAME

pairing: choi beomgyu x single-parent reader

On the hardest, most terrifying day of your life, when your body is tearing open and everything feels like it’s coming undone, his name is the only one your heart remembers to call for.

warnings: childhood friends, longing, romance, angst, second chance, pregnancy, set somewhere in 90s, mistakes, parenting, flashbacks, timeskips, guilt, alcohol-induced!manipulation, descriptions of giving birth, subtle signs of postpartum!d, plot heavy, pov switching, drunk in-love beomgyu (lol), abandonment, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything. this is a work of fiction.

smut!warnings: multiple-smut scenes, missionary, nipple-play, fingering, oral!fem receiving, virginity-loss.

wc: 31k — playlist

notes: hiii! took long but she's here. i've dreamt about this once, and i couldn't stop writing. while I’ve done some research to better understand what it’s like to be a mother, there may still be inaccuracies, i did my best to approach the subject with care and respect. xxx

How does it feel to grow up with someone, know their laughter, their fears, the way their voice sounds in the dark and then never see them again?

A part of you is missing and you’re the only one who knows.

Would things be easier if there was closure?

Closure when your parents shattered whatever was left of a home, walking away like love was something that could be unlearned. Closure when you realized your dreams of college were slipping, no matter how tightly you held on. Closure when your anger turned inward—when your foot slammed into a doorframe and the only person you could blame was the one looking back in the mirror.

Would it hurt less if you had said goodbye to him? Or would it have made losing him even worse?

"Mom, I'm gonna be late!"

You hurriedly dab lipstick onto your lips, your other hand frantically smoothing down your hair, hoping it doesn’t look like a complete disaster.

"Mommy?"

"Just a second, sweetheart," you mumble, shoving the lipstick back onto the cluttered vanity before standing up to steal one last glance in the mirror. It’s not perfect. But then again, when have you ever been?

You step out of the room, each movement slower than it should be, the kind of tired that sleep can’t fix clinging to your bones. The stairs creak beneath your feet, groaning like they know how heavy it all is.

At the bottom, she’s already waiting. Your daughter, backpack snug and shoes on the wrong feet again, bouncing like the world is brand new. Her smile hits you like sunlight through a window you forgot was there... so full of life it steals the breath from your lungs.

You force a smile back. You’re getting good at that.

It’s almost cruel, how radiant she looks. Hair brushed, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with a kind of hope you haven’t felt in years. And then there’s you, barely held together, eyes raw from the night you didn’t sleep, wearing yesterday’s grief under today’s clothes.

People say kids reflect their parents. But she glows, and you… you’re flickering. And still, you kneel to tie her shoelaces. Still, you kiss her forehead and tell her she’s going to have the best day. Because even when you’re unraveling, you stitch yourself back together for her.

"You ready?"

"Aye, aye, captain!" she giggles.

You should be laughing with her, but your steps slow as your eyes catch the steady drip of the kitchen faucet. The soft plink, plink, plink echoes, a reminder of another thing left unfixed, another problem waiting for your attention.

You exhale, rubbing your temple. “Guess I’ll have to call someone to fix that… again.”

When you turn back, she’s already watching you—wide-eyed, her face painted with innocent curiosity. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t understand the weight of things like broken faucets, overdue bills, and work that keeps you up at night.

And you don’t want her to. Not while she can still giggle over silly things and believe the world is simple.

You double-check the locks before leaving. It’s muscle memory by now. Stove off, windows closed, doors latched tight. You scan the room one last time. You carry her to the car, buckle her in, and start the engine. The morning air is cold, the silence even colder but she fills it like she always does. Why are there more clouds today? Why are wheels round? Why is it called a car?

And you answer every question, every single one, because as long as she’s asking, you get to speak. You get to be known. You get to be real to someone. She knows your voice. She trusts it. And in her tiny, curious world, you are enough.

You remember the beginning. Those nights when she was barely one and you were… barely human. When her cries echoed through the walls and your body was too heavy with fatigue to even cry back. When no position, no lullaby, no amount of rocking made her stop and you were left wondering what you were doing wrong.

There were nights you stood in the hallway, holding her like a lifeline, tears sliding silently down your face while hers screamed out loud, both of you breaking in different languages.

But you’re here now, driving her to school, answering questions about clouds and wheels and words. You think… maybe you made it through the worst of it. You're still here, hands on the wheel, heart somewhere in the rearview mirror.

"Nari!" The booming voice cut through the air the moment you stepped out of the car, your daughter still nestled in your arms. You barely had time to turn before a familiar figure came sprinting toward you, like a man starved for something he’d only been missing a week. It made you chuckle, he always acted like it had been years since he last saw her.

"Uncle Binnie!"

Nari wriggled free, launching herself into his waiting arms. He caught her effortlessly, lifting her high before spinning her around, her laughter ringing out. Heads turned. Strangers watched. And you saw it too, the way he held her so easily, the way she clung to him, like father and daughter rather than what they really were.

You walked closer, and Soobin stretched out an arm, wordlessly inviting you in. You let him hold you, because you owed him your life.

"So," he said, his voice lighter now, as if this—this reunion, this familiarity—was as much his comfort as it was yours. His arm stayed draped around your shoulders, Nari tucked against his side. "How have my two favorite girls been?"

Nari giggled at the word favourite, her tiny hands clinging to him. "Mommy's been busy all days, uncle!"

The two of you laughed at the words your daughter. "Really? She's not playing with you?"

"Well, she plays with me still." She pouts and Soobin pinches her nose lightly. "But she's always busy."

You rest a hand on your daughter's head, gently smoothing her hair as her words settle deep inside you. After everything, you raised a child this kind, this thoughtful. A proof that you did something right. It burns in your chest.

She is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

The three of you walked toward the restaurant where Soobin had booked a reservation, his voice light as he chatted with Nari about her new teacher and the friends she’d made. You let them talk, let their voices blur into background noise as you glanced inside through the frosted windows.

Families.

Because it was Christmas.

A lump swells in your throat the moment you step inside. Parents leaning close to their children, wiping crumbs from tiny mouths, passing plates with gentle hands. Grandparents pulling little ones into their arms like gravity itself is made of love. Siblings bickering over who got more dessert, only to split the last bite anyway.

Every table holds something whole. Something complete. You hold your daughter's hand a little tighter.

You see it everywhere now, in the drop-off lines where both parents wave from the car window. In the grocery store, where dads lift kids onto their shoulders and moms scold them lovingly for grabbing too many snacks. In the tiny moments that most people take for granted, you see the shape of something you couldn’t give her.

Fate had a cruel way of making sure you never forget.

Nari was a big eater, one of the few traits she hadn’t inherited from you. She sat beside Soobin, happily digging into her food, her small hands clutching her utensils with eagerness. Meanwhile, you barely touched your plate, absently pushing the food around, taking a few bites here and there but never really eating.

Soobin noticed. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

His gaze softened, "Are you okay?" For some reason, his words made you smile. After all these years, he was still the most observant person you knew. Well… almost.

Because there had been someone else.

Someone who had noticed things about you without you ever having to say a word. Someone who had memorized the way your hands trembled when you were nervous. Someone that could read you in a glance, catch the shift in your breath before the words ever left your lips, but you haven’t seen him in years. Haven’t said his name out loud in even longer. And you weren’t sure if you ever would.

You weren't sure if you could.

"I am," you say, forcing the words out before glancing at Nari, watching as she happily munched on her pasta. "I guess I just don’t really like the holidays that much."

Soobin blinked, studying you for a moment before offering, "We can go watch a movie after dinner? Nari’s been wanting to see that one."

You nod, giving him another small, grateful smile. You reach for your water, ready to wash down the tightness in your throat, when he speaks again. "I also… heard."

You turn to him, brows furrowing. "Heard what?"

Soobin hesitates, his fingers gripping the edge of his fork. "He’s back in town."

Your heart stalls.

"Who?"

You shouldn’t have asked.

"Choi Beomgyu."

"Choi Beomgyu!" you squealed as the boy snatched the paper from your hands. "Yah! Give it back!"

"Don't cry over this," he said firmly, already folding the paper before you could grab it. Effortlessly, he slung your backpack over one arm while reaching for his own, slipping the paper inside.

A paper you were sure you’d never see again.

"What would my parents think, idiot?"

"I’d just tell them you got passing marks. No way they’d believe a high score anyway—ouch, ouch! I’m sorry! Fuck!" Beomgyu yelped as you tugged at his ear, swatting weakly at your hands in protest. His ears turned red, whether from the pull or the fact that you touched him, you weren’t sure.

"You think I haven’t already tried that?" you huffed.

"Well, no," he admitted. "But your parents love me more than you—ow! I mean, I mean, they see me as their own kid!" He laughed at your pout, eyes crinkling with amusement.

"You wanna be siblings then?"

"Hell no."

You turned away at his answer, crossing your arms as you walked. The buttons of your high school uniform pressed uncomfortably into your skin, but you ignored it. Beomgyu, your best friend, immediately followed. Like he always did.

The Beomgyu magnet to Y/N.

That’s what everyone called it.

Students stared as the two of you walked, their gazes lingering a little too long. A few even called out to Beomgyu, tossing him belated "Happy 19th birthday!" greetings, nevermind that his birthday had been last week.

Maybe that was just the price of being him. The kind of popular where people scrambled for any excuse to talk to you, even if it meant getting the date wrong. He’s smart, been in the school band since forever, and unfortunately, he’s not exactly hard to look at.

Not that you’d ever say that out loud.

"You mad?" he asked beside you. You shook your head, not even looking at him. From the corner of your eye, you caught the smirk tugging at his lips. "Hungry?"

You swatted his hand away when he poked at your sides, barely listening to his words. Beomgyu didn’t get the hint or maybe he did and just didn’t care. Either way, you kept walking, your chest tight, your hands curled into fists at your sides.

That damn test paper, crumpled inside his bag like it wasn’t another reminder of your failure. Like it wasn’t proof that no matter how hard you tried, it still wasn’t enough. You stayed up late. You gave up sleep, let the words blur and the numbers dance until they made sense. And for what? A score so low it made your stomach churn. The people that said they barely studied flashed scores that were twice as high as yours. Effortless. Like success was something they were born with, something they carried in their blood while you were left clawing for scraps.

It’s pathetic, isn’t it? That the only thing you have is passion and even that can’t save you.

"Hey."

You hadn’t even noticed your best friend catching up, too lost in your own head to hear his footsteps, but now he was in front of you, walking backward to see your face, deliberately blocking your path. "Don't think about it," he said,"I told you not to."

"I wasn’t thinking about anything.",The lie barely made it past your lips. You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady, but it was useless. Especially when he was looking at with the soft eyes of his.

There are moments you catch yourself wanting to pull away from him. Not because he did anything wrong—the opposite, really. He’s everything you’re not. He barely studies but still gets by with decent grades, he’s effortlessly good at almost everything, like life just hands him a script and he nails it every time. And you hate that it gets to you. You wanted to pull away from him.

How do you resent someone who’s never done anything but shine?

"Y/N," His eyes searched yours. "You look like you're about to cry."

You blinked at his words, but they don’t surprise you anymore. Beomgyu has always been seeing you. You clear your throat, a flimsy attempt to steady yourself, but he’s still looking at you. Still seeing too much. And then it happens—the slightest sniff, barely there, but he catches it.

"Can we go now?" Your voice trembles, and the second it does, his eyes widen just a little, something unreadable flashing across them. When he sees the gloss in yours, he reaches for you, fingers wrapping safely around your wrist.

"Come on," he murmurs, tugging you forward. You let him, swallowing back the lump in your throat, willing yourself not to fall apart here.

Not in front of everyone.

Being the daughter of a family of eleven, no one expected much from you. You were just another name in a crowded house, another body squeezed into too little space. School was a luxury, not a necessity. No one thought you’d make it past middle school.

Except your mother.

She saw the way your fingers traced the edges of worn-out textbooks, the way your eyes lingered on words you barely understood but desperately wanted to. And she let you chase that dream, even when it meant stretching what little you had even thinner.

"Hard work never betrays you," they say. But they never tell you how much it can hurt, because what do you do when you give everything; your nights, your energy, your hope, only to fall short? How are you supposed to believe in effort when all it leaves you with is failure?

"Stop sniffing, Y/N!" Choi Soobin snaps, his half-eaten lunch sitting in front of him on the makeshift mat spread across the school rooftop. "Seriously, it's driving me crazy."

You press your handkerchief to your nose again, trying to stay quiet. It’s lunchtime, but your food stays untouched. Just the thought of eating turns your stomach.

"Maybe stop talking with your mouth full," Beomgyu cuts in, not even bothering to look up. Then he glances at Soobin and adds, flatly, "And don’t yell at her."

"I'm just so pissed about that teacher giving her such a low score. Did you see her essay? It was her best one yet, she did so good!" the taller boy grumbles, pouting as he reaches over to pinch your cheek gently.

Your eyes—still a little red—meet his. “I know, right? I did my best.” you say, voice cracking just before the tears start all over again.

Beomgyu clicked his tongue, giving Soobin’s leg a light kick. “You made her cry again,” he muttered, shaking his head as he reached for your unopened lunchbox and popped it open like it was routine. He was already unscrewing your water bottle when Soobin, without a word, placed a tempura on top of your rice, his quiet way of saying sorry.

You wiped at your eyes, the ache in your chest softening just a little at the sight. When Beomgyu handed you your utensils, you took them without hesitation.

The universe didn’t give you everything you wanted but it tried to make up for it by giving you two people.

Everyone had gone back to eating. You reached for your food, slowly scooping the rice balls your mother had packed. Then, you glanced to your right. Your tear-streaked eyes—now lighter—and your mouth still full of rice met Choi Beomgyu’s gaze.

His eyes now filled with relief.

You forget little things all the time; where you left your pen, what day it is, one thing your mom asked you to grab from the market, but somehow, no matter how much time passes, you'll never forget the day you met your best friend.

You met Choi Beomgyu in kindergarten, when you were barely six years old. It wasn’t one of those storybook friendships that happened overnight. You just knew that the other kids were always too loud, too messy, too much and Beomgyu, was the only one who wasn’t. He was quiet. He didn’t try too hard. And then one day, your teacher asked the boys to choose a girl for the class dance. Without a word, Beomgyu walked straight to you. When you asked him why, he shrugged and said, “You don’t annoy me as much.”

It wasn’t exactly poetic but, it felt like the start of something that would last.

The only reason the friendship ever started was because neither of you found the other annoying. That was it. A comfort in each other’s presence. And somehow, that small reason stretched into something that lasted over a decade.

You grew up like that, orbiting each other through school days, lazy summer nights and wordless understandings. Eventually, people stopped calling you just friends. You were best friends. Branded, known. His name was a permanent fixture in your mouth; yours was stitched into every part of his life. His house felt like a second home. His mother always smiled a little softer when you came over, brushing your hair back like you were hers. Beomgyu’s older brother loved teasing him but was always strangely gentle with you.

It was rare to see one of you without the other.

Middle school was when you really noticed it—how Beomgyu started to change. He got louder. Braver. Started laughing with people you'd never seen him talk to before. His circle widened almost overnight. More guy friends, more inside jokes you didn’t quite understand, more people calling his name in the hallway. He picked up a guitar one day and never really put it down after that. It made you scared that he'll change with you too.

But he didn’t. Not once.

He still waited for you after class. Still leaned in to place his head on your shoulders when he was bored, still flicked your forehead lightly just to see you scowl. Still remembered the exact way you liked your ramen, and still offered the last bite even though he pretended not to care. And when someone tried to mess with you once—a cruel joke whispered too loud—Beomgyu didn’t even hesitate. He was there before you could even speak, standing in front of you like a wall you didn’t ask for.

Protective in a way that made your chest ache.

By the time middle school ended, the whispers had started. Are they dating? They’re always together. They have to be something.

You heard it all—in the hallways, behind half-closed locker doors, in the sharp glances thrown your way from girls when you and Beomgyu laughed like the world only existed for the two of you. It made something twist in your chest you got scared, unsure. You didn’t know what you were supposed to feel, or what he felt, or if either of you were even allowed to change the shape of what you’d always been.

So, just for a day, you pulled away.

You ignored him, let your eyes pass over him like he wasn’t there, didn’t wait at the gate like you always did, didn’t answer his questions. It wasn’t meant to hurt him. It was supposed to be space.

And that day, was the first time you ever saw Choi Beomgyu cry.

You never dared again.

In a house full of noise, with siblings, all louder and needier than you, it was easy to feel invisible. Your voice always got lost, your victories overlooked, and your sadness mistaken for silence.

Beomgyu saw you.

Where your family’s attention scattered, he gave you his wholly. He noticed when you were quiet, asked when no one else did. Remembered things no one bothered to learn. The way you preferred your socks mismatched. The way your hands trembled when you were overwhelmed. The way you lit up, just a little, when someone said your name.

With that kind of attention, it made you feel like you and him, alone, were enough.

High school brought a lot of changes. New uniforms, new hallways, new people. And Choi Soobin. The quietest boy you’d ever met. Kind in a way that didn’t demand attention. Always alone, always lingering just outside the crowd, like he hadn’t figured out how to step inside yet. It wasn’t you who invited him. It was Beomgyu.

“He looks lonely,” he’d said one afternoon, watching Soobin trail behind the rest of the class. “Let’s have lunch with him.”

And slowly, Soobin bloomed. Around the two of you, he laughed louder, smiled wider, filled space with stories and inside jokes and that rich, echoing laugh with his dimples that made everything feel a little warmer.

It was beautiful, watching him come alive, because you knew that feeling. You knew what it was to bloom like that.

You, too, bloomed because of Choi Beomgyu.

"You don’t like it?" Beomgyu asks, noticing the frown tugging at your face. His brows pull together in concern. "Why’d you go for that weird flavour?"

The two of you are walking side by side, the street quiet except for the sound of your footsteps. You’d said goodbye to Soobin five minutes ago, he lived on the other side of town, and his path had already veered off.

"It looked interesting," you mumble, pouting as you glance at Beomgyu taking a bite of his strawberry ice cream, one you’ve never seen him pick before. "It tastes awful, Gyu."

He laughs at the frustration in your voice, reaching out with his right hand for the lavender ice cream you picked on a whim. You hand it over without protest, eyes hopeful.

"You give in way too easily, with sales talk." When he offers his strawberry cone in exchange, you grin, already tasting victory. "That one's way too sweet anyway."

"Then why’d you get it?"

Beomgyu shrugs, eyes on the sidewalk. "Because it’s your favourite," he says simply. "And just in case you hated yours."

His words warmed your cheeks even as you keep your eyes forward. You keep walking, heart thudding a little too loudly in your chest, footsteps in sync with his like they’ve always been. You stay close to the edge of the sidewalk, careful not to drift too near. Beomgyu walks beside you, his hand swinging lazily at his side, fingers occasionally brushing against the fabric of his uniform pants. So casual. So unaware of how close he is.

And all you can think about is that space between you.

What would he do if you reached out and held his hand?

"No, Mom!"

Your attention shifts to a wailing child as you near the familiar playground you both pass every time you walk home. The kid is mid-meltdown, clearly not ready to leave, while his mother looks like she’s holding on by a thread. You scoff, shaking your head. "I don’t think I’ll ever be a mom. I can’t stand kids." A laugh bubbles out from beside you. You roll your eyes, already knowing who it’s from.

"Stop laughing," you mutter. He does but the grin stays, soft and a little amused. You catch him looking at you.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says, still smiling. "Just pictured a tiny version of you throwing a tantrum like that."

"As if."

“Do you want to swing for a bit?” he sways the conversation, nodding toward the playground.

You blink. “Huh?”

“The swings,” he says again, a bit more softly this time. “I can push you.” You glance over, surprised, but his expression is sincere, almost serious in that way Beomgyu gets when something small matters more than it should. And you remember…how you both used to love this.

“Okay,” you murmur, “Sure.”

The playground is mostly empty now. The crying child from earlier is gone, carried away by a tired mother. A few scattered voices float in the breeze, but it’s peaceful, quiet enough to hear the rustling of trees, the soft creak of the swing chains. From here, you can see the lower half of the town, rooftops glowing under the setting sun, like something out of a memory.

You finish the last bite of your ice cream, sit down on the swing, and feel his hands gently press against your back. "You ready?"

For a while, he says nothing after that. Just pushes you with that soft kind of attention he’s always had—like you’re something delicate he’s afraid to damage. Every time you glance back at him, he’s already looking at you, smiling.

You think it's because your smile is too wide to hide.

The breeze dances through your hair, and the sun dips lower, casting everything in gold, and when you look back at him again, his hair tousled by the wind, his eyes soft, his face glowing in that dying light; your breath catches.

He’s beautiful. He's always been beautiful. In the way he’s always looked at you.

“Y/N.” The sun has dipped. It’s been about thirty minutes since you first sat down. Beomgyu now sits on the swing next to yours, feet dragging lightly against the gravel, head bowed like he’s studying the way his fingers twist together.

You glance at him. “Hm?”

“I… I have to tell you something.” His eyes stay fixed on his hands.

You try to lighten the mood, like you always do when he gets like this, “You need anything?” you tease, nudging his foot with yours. “Is that why you pushed me off the swings earlier?” He lets out a short, breathless laugh, but his eyes never meet yours.

“I— I’m going out of the country.”

“Oh, wow,” you say, perking up. “That sounds amazing! It’s your first time, right? Who would’ve thought you’d be getting on a plane before me? Where are you going? How long’s the vacation? Are you gonna—"

You stop mid-sentence. He’s finally looking at you, and there’s something in his expression that makes your heart sink. “What’s wrong?” you ask, quieter now.

“I’m not going on vacation,” he says. “I’m moving. For college. My parents got this opportunity… it was all kind of sudden. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

You stare at him.

Leaving. He’s leaving.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is small. It barely carries over the creak of the swings, but it’s enough, enough to make Beomgyu go still.

You don’t know why that’s the first thing you said. Maybe because it’s easier than saying please don’t go. Your hands are freezing, even though it’s not that cold out. It’s the way your whole body feels hollow now, like something vital’s been yanked out of you. You remember the stories—the ones your classmates whisper like warnings.

People who leave this town don’t come back.

The thought of him leaving terrified you.

Beomgyu shifts in the swing beside you, the chains rattling. “Y/N, I… I didn’t know how. Everything happened so fast and I—” When he finally looks at you, you wish he hadn’t. There’s guilt written all over his face. It makes you feel worse.

“You still should’ve told me.” You grab your bag, his hands flinch as you pull it from them, and you’re already on your feet. You take it without meeting his eyes. “I’m going home.”

He says your name, again and again, but you’re already walking. Fast. Like if you stop, it’ll all hit you at once and you’ll break apart right there in front of him.

You don’t look back.

Because you know if you do, you’ll beg him to stay.

You slipped through the front door of your home without a sound. It was too easy, when no one really looked at you long enough to see the redness in your eyes.

Your family wasn’t rich but they managed to rent a house with just enough space to pretend everyone had their own corner. Yours was the storage room. Barely wide enough for a mattress, with walls that breathed dust and silence. But it was yours. Four claustrophobic walls and a door you could close on everything else. You dropped your bag and sat on the floor. The mattress creaked behind you, but you didn’t move. You just sat there, blinking hard against the tears that threatened again.

This was the one place where it was safe to fall apart other than in front of him.

It’s been hours since you got home. Hours since you last your best friend. Since he told you he was leaving.

At first, you were angry. Furious, even. You buried your face in your pillow and cried like it would undo the words he’d said. It felt like betrayal. You kept thinking: Why didn’t he tell you sooner? He’d told you everything before. Every stupid little secret. Every bad decision. Every dream. And this—this—he kept quiet.

But anger doesn’t last. Not when it’s him.

Why did you react like that? Why couldn’t you have just smiled and said, I’m happy for you? What kind of best friend gets upset when someone they love is finally getting out?

Because of all people—he deserves to leave this town.

He’s always dreamed bigger than these cracked sidewalks and dead-end streets. Always reached for something more while you stayed tethered to what’s familiar. He’s leaving you. You wipe your eyes again, though it’s useless. The tears keep coming, your body hasn’t figured out how to stop grieving yet. You’ll apologize tomorrow. The moment the sun rises. You’ll tell him you were wrong. That you’re proud of him. That you’ll miss him more than he’ll ever know.

Because he deserves that.

You’ll apologize tomorrow... tomorrow?

The thought tastes wrong in your mouth. What if tomorrow is too late?

You sit up suddenly, heart pounding. The clock reads 9:04 PM. You listened outside, the house is still. Silent. You know the rhythm of your family’s sleep—light snorers, tired bones, people who won’t notice you’re gone as long as you're quiet. You grab your jacket, moving carefully across the creaking floorboards. Your door opens with a whisper. One cautious step, then another, and you're at the front door, fingers trembling slightly as they find the lock.

The outside air is cool against your skin as you crack the door open. But just as you take a step out, you freeze.

Across the street, lit faintly by the orange glow of the nearest streetlamp, someone sits on the pavement. Legs stretched out, hands buried deep in the pockets of a hoodie you know too well.

Choi Beomgyu.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Hi, pretty.”

“You—” A curse almost slips out, but you bite it back, glancing toward the hallway behind you. You lower your voice. “What the hell are you doing here? What if I didn’t come out, idiot?”

The furrow in his brow from earlier is gone now, replaced by that familiar boyish grin, the one that always makes it harder to stay mad.

“But you did come out,” he says simply. He rises from the pavement with that lazy ease he always carries, brushing his hands on his jeans before holding them out—open, waiting—but he doesn’t move toward you. Just stands there. Looking at you like he knew you’d come. Like he hoped you would. You hear it in the quiet expectant look on his face. Come here.

And you do.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, closing the distance between you and him. Without a word, you wrap your arms around his waist, his arms are already around you before your face finds the safety of his chest. He pulls you in tighter, like he's afraid that if he doesn't hold you close enough, you’ll disappear too.

Beomgyu leans down, buries his face in your hair, and breathes in—one deep, shaking inhale that sounds like worry, like guilt, like relief all tangled into one. Because he was.

“I knew you’d come out,” he whispers. His voice is soft, cracking at the edges, and it breaks something in you. Your eyes sting immediately. “I’m sorry,” he adds.

You pull back reluctantly, almost having to pry yourself from his arms because he doesn’t loosen his grip right away. When you finally look up at him, your voice is barely above a whisper. “No… I’m the one who’s sorry.”

He’s staring at you now, like you’re something fragile in his hands. His gaze scans your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize every flicker of emotion before it fades. His left arm stays wrapped around you, grounding you, while his right hand comes up, gently cupping your face. His palm is warm. Familiar. It fits too perfectly against your skin. You’ve always been close to him. But this—this feels like a different kind of closeness, and you can’t look away.

Not when he’s looking at you like this.

Not when the soft, slow stroke of his thumb across your cheek sends shivers through your chest, makes your breath hitch and your heart stutter.

Is it because he's leaving?

“Have you been crying?” he whispers, voice is barely there, like he’s afraid to ask, afraid to know the answer. His hand stays warm on your face, thumb trailing just beneath your eye. He’s not wiping tears—there are none left—but it’s like he can feel where they were, tracing. “Have you?” he asks again, softer this time.

You try to look away, but his hand gently guides you back, eyes locked onto yours. Your voice comes out in a breath, cracked and small. “It was my fault.”

“No,” he interrupts, voice thick, eyes glassy. “I don’t want to leave you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, and you close your eyes, the burn behind them almost unbearable now. He pulls back just enough to kiss your forehead. Another lands gently on the bridge of your nose. You’re still, barely breathing, as his lips hover close to yours. “I’ve been in love with you for years,”

Your eyes flew open. “What?”

“Did you really not see it?” His voice cracked. “That I’m completely, stupidly in love with you?”

You shook your head, stunned, your cheeks burning despite the ache swelling in your chest.

“God,” he breathed, pulling you into him, “it’s taking everything in me not to kiss you right now.”

His arms tightened around you, desperate. “Since you didn't hear me out earlier, I'll say it now. I swear I’ll come back. As soon as I can. I’ll come for you. I'll make it up to you. You better be ready—I want your bags packed the second I show up. I made Soobin promise to walk you home every day, because I know how easily your mind wanders and it drives me insane.”

You clutched his shirt, the tears finally breaking free. “I’ll wait for you,” you whispered, voice wrecked as you cried. “I promise.”

He pressed his lips to your hair. “Good.”

“And Gyu?” you murmured, voice muffled against his chest. He hummed in response, arms still wrapped tightly around you, your face pressed against the fabric of his shirt, breathing him. “I’ve been in love with you too,”

You didn’t have to see his face—you’ve known him for thirteen years. You felt the way his whole body stilled for a second, then melted, like the words filled something he hadn’t dared to hope for. You knew he was grinning, that crooked, boyish grin that always made your heart trip. He pulled you impossibly closer, like he wanted to fuse you into him.

And under the soft, flickering lamplight, it’s the kind of scene that belongs in a movie. Two teenagers, holding on like the world might tear them apart the second they let go. Two hearts beating too loud, too fast.

Hopelessly, breathlessly in love.

When Beomgyu pulled away from the hug, his eyes flicked to the door of your house. You were meant to go inside but his expression asked you to stay. You slipped your fingers into his.

“Can I come with you?”

He didn’t even hesitate. He never could, not with you. Maybe it was the quiet defiance of it, or maybe it was the way things had shifted—how it suddenly felt like you were his, and he was yours. The truth that the two of you belonged to each other now. He reaches out, his hands waiting for yours.

It only took a second when you did.

That night, you didn’t walk into the comfort of him home, or the usual warmth of his family’s greetings. You followed him up to his room, quietly.

He made sure you were comfortable, tucking you in gently before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll just turn off the lights,” he murmured, his voice low.

You shifted onto the left side of the bed, heart thudding as you waited. Every creak of the mattress as he moved made your breath catch. The bed dipped with his weight, and you held your breath, listening to the quiet rustle of sheets and the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears. "Beomgyu?" you whispered.

His response was immediate. “You need something?”

You hesitated, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. “Can you… hold me?”

Two strong arms snaked around your waist as soon as you said those words, and Beomgyu's lips were against your nape. He left trails of kisses on your neck up to the back of your ears, his body pressed on yours. "I thought you'd never ask."

You giggle, breathless, and he laughs too, warm against your skin. He presses a few more soft kisses to the back of your head, then his voice drops to a whisper against your ear. “Can I touch you?”

Your breath hitches, but you nod. His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers brushing lightly across your stomach. “This okay?” he asks, voice gentle.

You nod again, barely able to get the word out. “Yeah.”

His hand travels higher, fingertips gliding up until they meet the bare curve of your chest. He pauses, just long enough to make your heart race. His lips are at your neck now, breath hot. “This okay too?”

When he feels you nod, his hand moves with more purpose, fingertips gliding over the curve of your breast. He cups you fully, palm warm, thumb brushing the softness, squeezing just enough to make you arch subtly into his touch. He teases, exploring everywhere except where you need him most, drawing out the ache with every careful touch. When his fingers finally graze your nipple, a quiet moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. He pauses, his breath brushing against your neck. “You can tell me to stop anytime, okay?”

Then he pulls his hand away from under your shirt, and the sudden absence makes you whine, your body instinctively chasing after his warmth. Before you can speak, he cups your face gently, tilting your head until your eyes meet. It’s dark—but he's close, so close—you can make out the shape of his face, the softness in his gaze.

He leans in, brushing a featherlight kiss over your lips. Then another. You giggle softly, breath mingling, and when your lips part in a smile, he takes it as invitation. This time the kiss is deep—hungry. His mouth moves against yours with desperation, like he’s been craving your taste for far too long. His hand finds your waist, tugging you closer, bodies aligning in all the right ways as the heat between you builds.

“I need you, Gyu,” you whisper, voice barely there, lost in the way his lips trail along your neck, warm and wet. “Please.”

He pauses just enough to meet your gaze, then his hand slips between your thighs, cupping you through the fabric. The pressure makes your hips jerk, breath hitching.

“Here?” he murmurs, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “You need me here?”

It’s too much, and not enough. Heat pools low in your belly, a need that feels raw and overwhelming. You nod, biting your lip, your voice trembling. “Yes. There. Please.”

He groans, low and deep, and that’s when clothes start disappearing—slowly, messily. Every layer peeled off is interrupted by his mouth; on your lips, your jaw, your collarbones. His hands, greedy and gentle all at once, explore you like he’s memorizing every inch. The room is filled with nothing but breath, the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional hitch of a moan. It takes time—because he makes it take time. Like he wants to savour the reveal, like he’s waited too long to see you like this and now he refuses to rush. He holds and touches you, like your mother made you just for him.

When he finally sinks lower, eyes locked on yours as his lips trace a burning path down your body, you don’t stop him.

“Beomgyu…” You moaned as you clenched your fist on his dark locks. His tongue was doing to your buds as his fingers part your wet folds. You don't know what it is, but it makes your legs quivered as his tongue lapped at your entrance.

Beomgyu grunts as he hears your soft moans, sucking on your clit to hear more. Your taste in his mouth got him drunk as he shook his head from side to side, making your moans go higher as you moved your hips to grind your wetness on his tongue. "Hmm?"

He pulled back, replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing her wet clit as he kissed and sucked your inner thighs. Your eyes rolled back as your chest rose up and down, glistening with sweat.

You're fucking beautiful. Beomgyu thought as he looked up at you with hooded eyes. Your lachrymose eyes met his. The sight of your blushing cheeks, eyes asking for more with your lips between your teeth made Beomgyu slightly rut his hips on the bed.

"You'll come back for me, right?" He pumped a finger inside your pussy, curling it to hit your spot as he put his mouth back to work again, flattening his tongue over your swollen pearl before flicking it with the tip. You cried out in pleasure, throwing your head back.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I just couldn't help myself.” He begged as he doubled the finger inside your soaking cunt, making you cry out in pleasure as your hands grabbed the pillow under your head. "I will. I can't live without you."

“I can't resist having all of you.” He kissed your clit, making you whimper at the brief contact. He took off his shirt and pants before pulling you by your arm, sitting you on his lap as he took off your blouse and bra. He kissed around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

It’s crazy how you went from crying to rubbing against each other, but both have been craving for this. And now, the situation of him leaving only made his hunger for you increase. Beomgyu thought of everything he could do to show you how sincere he was and how much he loves you. He wanted you to know that you were the only woman he’ll ever touch like this. That he'll come back, that this decision wasn't something he ever wanted. And the growing tent in his boxers is also aching to prove that.

He moved your position to grind on his bulge, letting out quiet moans as he desperately kissed you. He stopped your hips as he moved to your other nipple, lightly biting it while staring at your glossy eyes, making your breath hitch. He hummed as he sucked the pebbled flesh into his mouth, nibbling on it. Once satisfied, he laid your back down, admiring your body as you panted. Your eyes are glistening, and so is your cunt. He groaned at the sight, pushing his hair back and taking his erected member out of its confinement. He pumped it a few times before you sat up and took it into your hand.

“Let me make you feel good.” Beomgyu stopped your hand, giving a kiss on your forehead. “Fuck.” He murmured as he moved to your lips, sucking on them, making you whimper as you laid back down again.

“Beomgyu, please…” You cried when Beomgyu started to rub his shaft on your slit. Every time his head hits her bud, you let out a whimper, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide as you look up at him.

Beomgyu took his time, grunting before pushing the tip inside. You gasped, grabbing the sheets under, feeling the pain as his length invade you. Your walls fluttered around his cock, making him let out low growls. You felt tears in your eyes as you watched half of his length disappear inside you. Beomgyu took your hand, intertwining your fingers. He kissed your tears.

“Just a little more, love.” Beomgyu shushed when you hissed, feeling a hint of pain as he filled you. His other hand began rubbing circles on your clit to ease the burn from the stretch.

Beomgyu kissed your hand when he was entirely in, giving you time to adjust. You look gorgeous underneath him. Legs wide open,mouth slightly parted, and body glistening under the dim lights of his room. You're all his, and he would never let himself fuck up. He would never let himself do something stupid. He'll come back to you as soon as he can, the thought of you waiting burns him.

Beomgyu started moving slowly when you nod your head, until your whimpers turned into moans. His name echoed in whispers, as you clawed on the skin of his back, leaving red marks. He was cradling your head, and his lips pressed on your ear. He was whispering the sweetest things to you.

“You’re the only one I’d fuck like this, baby. You’re the only one I’d touch like this.” Beomgyu growled, kissing your ear lobes.

“Yes, yes, Beomgyu, please…” You begged as his hips started to thrust harder into you.

“Fuck. You’re the only one I’d make love to, Y/N.” He groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. He could tell that you were both close. Your walls spasmed around him, and his thrust started to stutter.

“I love you and only you. So fucking much.” He stared deeply into your eyes, feeling your orgasm take over your body. His mouth reaches for your sweet lips, your toes curling as your legs wrap around his waist. Beomgyu thrustied into you a few more times before pulling out to spill his thick load on your thighs. He wouldn’t trade you for the world.

After, Beomgyu became the shyiest guy in the world. He silently blushed, cleaned you up before getting under the covers with you.

“I love you,” He started, as he ran his fingers down your back before resting on the lower part of it, pulling you to his chest.

“I love you, Beomgyu.”

“Do you have any plans?” your mother asks softly, her voice barely cutting through the clatter of her hands preparing a lunchbox. You’re in front of the mirror, running your fingers through your hair.

“Plans for what?” you finally say, eyes fixed on your own reflection—not really seeing it.

“It’s your… twentieth birthday.” Your hand pauses mid-motion.

You clear your throat and force a shrug, “Oh. Right.”

She watches as you fumble with the buttons on your blouse, your fingers too stiff, too fast. She sees the shadows beneath your eyes and sighs. “You should take it easy, sweetheart.”

“I am,” you lie, “I just have work. And… I don’t know.” You reach for the lunchbox she’s packed. Transparent. Eggs again. You swallow hard, the sight alone making your stomach twist.

“I’ll get going,” you murmur, already turning away. You don’t meet her eyes. You can’t. Not when you know she’s still watching you—worried, helpless. And not when you’ve gotten so good at pretending it doesn’t matter.

After high school, it wasn’t a shock, you knew college was never in the cards for you. No dramatic moment of realization. Just reality. So here you are, a year later, on your way to work… and you didn’t even remember today was your birthday.

He would’ve remembered. He never missed it.

You shake the thought off like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t stick to the inside of your ribs. You offer stiff smiles to your coworkers as you clock in, grabbing the stack of flyers assigned to you for the day. Real estate. That’s what they call it. What you do is stand outside in the sun, in the cold, in the wind—shoving these papers into passing hands, hoping someone actually cares enough to look.

Most don’t.

But then again… who would take someone like you seriously? Who would even want someone like you?

“Here. It’s on promo today,” you say, holding out the flyer with rehearsed cheer. “You can get ten percent off the down payment if you sign today, and there's a—”

“I’ll do it,” the man cuts in, eyes lingering where they shouldn’t. On you, not the paper.

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh, great,” you say, managing a small smile. Finally. Something good. Maybe you can actually afford to eat something real tonight. Maybe even bring some back for your mom.

“If you sleep with me. One night.” You freeze. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the flyer. You don’t look at him right away—you’re afraid if you do, you’ll either throw up or scream.

“I’ll pay extra,” he adds, as if this is just another business transaction. As if your dignity has a price tag. Your jaw clenches. Slowly, you snatch the flyer back from his hand, crumpling it in your grip.

“Go to hell,” you mutter. You don’t even look back as you turn around, heart pounding—not from fear, not entirely. From exhaustion. From disgust. From the unbearable weight of this being your life. You exhale shakily, trying to bury the sting in your throat.

You thought today couldn’t get worse. But that’s the thing, isn’t it?

Every day’s been worse since.

After that encounter, you had to pull yourself together, force a smile like nothing happened, like the words didn’t stick to your skin and crawl under it. You kept handing out flyers with trembling hands and a voice that cracked more than once. But no one noticed. No one ever does.

You whispered it like a prayer. Please—just one sale. Just one. If there’s anything left out there for you—anyone listening—let today be enough. It’s your birthday, for god’s sake. Let that mean something.

Not a single sale.

Now you’re on the subway, back hunched against the hard plastic seat, eyes locked on the floor like if you move, you’ll shatter. The carriage rocks, people come and go, and still, you sit there, numb.

Your eyes sting, but the tears won’t fall. They never do. Not anymore. Because nothing hurts more than the ache that’s lived inside you for the past year. It's a wound that learned how to stop bleeding and just started swallowing you whole instead.

You pulled out your wallet and started counting what little was left. Bills folded too many times, coins barely enough to matter. You stared at the total for a second, then let out a quiet sigh. Fuck it. A drink won’t fix anything but it’ll help you tonight. You took a different bus route tonight.

The pub is dim, you step inside quietly, hoping not to draw attention. You don’t belong here, but you don’t belong anywhere these days. You could be anyone: a woman with a broken heart, a woman who just lost her job, a woman trying not to fall apart in public. All of them could be true. None of them are far off. You’re still in your work clothes. The blouse is wrinkled, two buttons undone. Your hair’s half-up, half-forgotten, and the look on your face probably says enough to keep people away. You don’t care. You head straight to the bar and order something strong, sitting alone at a stool like it’s the only place left in the world that doesn’t expect anything from you.

"I will. I can’t live without you."

Your breath stutters. The glass trembles slightly in your hand. You almost choke on the drink as the tears sting again—too cruel. You press your lips together and wipe your face quickly, like that’ll stop the pain. You need to leave. Now. Before you break down in front of strangers.

You slide off the stool, heart pounding, eyes glassy ut then the stool beside yours shifts.

“Hi, pretty.”

You freeze. You turn your head slowly, hope rising in your chest before you can stop it—hope that maybe, somehow—

It’s not him.

“Jaehyun,” you say, forcing your features to settle. He noticed the flicker of disappointment in your eyes, the way it sparked and died all in the same breath. You remember him. A batchmate. Schoolmate. Someone who never really talked to you back then.

“What are you doing here all alone?” he asks, already gesturing to the bartender for two drinks.

You shake your head quickly. “No, I’m good.”

He grins, “Come on, just one. I’ve missed you.”

You almost laugh. Bitterness curling behind your teeth like smoke. Missed you? He didn’t even know you. You were never close. You never even talked outside of borrowed notes and hallway nods. And now, here he is, like proximity to your sadness gives him permission to touch it.

Does he miss you too?

You look down at your drink, the ice already melting. “That’s funny,” you mutter, just loud enough.

“What is?”

“You missed me?” you echo, eyebrows raised, voice flat. “We barely spoke in school. Is that a new pick-up line or something?” Your eyes meet his, tired and unamused. You expect him to get defensive, maybe roll his eyes and leave. Part of you even hopes he does. But instead, he laughs.

“Well, sorry,” he says, shrugging, “but you should know, I had this terrible, massive crush on you back then.”

You blink in surprise. He goes on. “Except… Choi Beomgyu basically told me to back off in second year. Guy was obsessed with you.”

Your stomach twists. Choi Beomgyu. You look away, suddenly too aware of your own breathing. The room feels louder, smaller.

Choi Beomgyu that you haven't heard back anything since the day he left.

“He told you that?” you manage to say, voice thinner now, almost brittle.

Jaehyun hums like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just drop a grenade into your chest. “Yeah. Said you weren’t really available. Emotionally or otherwise.” He chuckles. “Dude looked ready to murder me, so I backed off.”

You stare into your glass, watching the light catch on the melted ice. The burn in your throat isn’t just from the alcohol anymore, it’s from everything you’ve buried just to stay standing.

Beomgyu wrote you, at first. The first month after he left, letters came; messy handwriting, little jokes scribbled in the margins, lines that made you cry in secret because he still sounded like yours. His I love yous. And you clung to that. But then… nothing.

You kept writing anyway. Hundreds of letters. You told him everything—about your new job, about how hard things had gotten, about the nights you couldn’t sleep, about how it felt like something inside you was cracking open just from missing him. You even wrote when you were sick, when you thought, maybe this will scare him enough to write back. Still nothing.

You gave him the benefit of the doubt. Told yourself maybe he lost your address. Maybe life got too loud. Maybe something happened. Maybe. But denial only holds you together for so long. One month passed. Then one year. And the silence became an answer you never asked for. You remember checking the mailbox every day like clockwork. Standing there in your pajamas with bare feet on cold tile, praying for something—anything—with his name on it. There was even a day you went to the post office, hands trembling, convinced the letters must’ve gotten stuck somewhere, misplaced, waiting.

But there was nothing.

And now you're outside the pub, crying. You're a mess, knees drawn to your chest on the dim pavement, makeup smudged, throat raw from holding back too long. Drunk, heartbroken. And Jaehyun, this man you barely know, is looking at you like you're shattering.

“Fuck him,” he mutters, his fists clenching at his sides like that might help. “Forget about him, Y/N.” He crouches beside you, his hand awkwardly pressing to your shoulder, trying to comfort you. You barely feel it. Everything inside you is too loud.

Choi Beomgyu.

His name beats in your chest.

“I hate seeing you like this,” Jaehyun says, his voice tightening. “I backed off because of that asshole. And now look. He left. He hurt you. He’s probably living some perfect fucking life while you’re here… like this.”

Choi Beomgyu.

You miss him. You need him.

You can’t say anything. You just keep crying—ugly, silent sobs that make your shoulders shake. There’s nothing left to hold together. Nothing left to explain. No one to explain it to. Your other half isn't here.

Jaehyun’s voice softens, “Stop crying,” he whispers, too close. “You don't deserve this. He forgot you, Y/N. He lied, he's an asshole."

"Come with me. I’ll make you forget him.”

Choi Beomgyu. He'll never come back to you.

Jaehyun reaches out his hand. And just like that, you’re back to that night, back to the night your best friend confessed. You lifted your eyes, only to see his face instead. The man in front of you waves his hand again.

It took long for you to give your hands.

It only takes one decision.

One misstep. One reckless breath you don’t take back in time. People don’t believe that—not really. They think life builds slow, that it gives you warnings, but sometimes, it just tips. One turn down the wrong street. One answer you shouldn’t have given. One goodbye you didn’t mean and suddenly, the shape of your life is different. You think you’re being careful. You think you’re being brave. You think you’re doing the right thing, but the future isn’t some distant, untouchable thing. It's sitting in your hands, waiting for you to move. To decide. Pressed into your palms, like wet clay. You could mold it into anything. Or crush it without meaning to.

You don’t always know which one you’ve done until it’s here.

"You'll take care of yourself, right?" Beomgyu's voice cracks, his lips tremble like they’re holding back everything he doesn’t want to say. His hands cup your face so gently it hurts.

You nod. It’s all you can manage. Your throat is tight, your eyes sting, "I will. I promise."

Behind him, his family waits, luggage in hand, eyes heavy with knowing. The gate is just a few feet away, and it draws a line. A line you can’t follow. A future you’re not invited to.

Beomgyu leans in, kissing you like he's trying to leave pieces of himself behind. A kiss to your forehead. Your nose. Your cheeks. Your lips. "I love you," he says. And somehow, despite the chaos of the airport, the overhead announcements, the rushing footsteps—you hear it. You hear it.

He grips his passport tighter, knuckles white, like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He looks at you one last time—eyes burning, jaw clenched—and then he lets go. His hands leave your skin, and something inside you goes with them.

He turns to Soobin, standing behind you, silent and teary-eyed. His voice is low, almost pleading. "Take care of her."

Then he walks away.

You bite your lip hard, tasting salt and copper, as the tears spill freely now. Soobin’s hand rests on your shoulder, but it does nothing to soothe the storm inside you.

Because he's walking away. His figure grows smaller and smaller, swallowed by distance and the sharp fluorescent lights of the terminal.

Then—he stops. He turns around.

And you see it, fresh tears carving down his cheeks. He looks at you. He looks like he wants to run back to you. You shouldn’t be surprised. Not with Beomgyu. Not with the way he loves; loud, reckless, and all at once. He throws his head back, chest heaving, and yells so loud the entire terminal stills:

"I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU!"

You wake with a jolt, gasping like you’ve just surfaced from drowning. Sweat clings to your skin, your forehead slick, and his voice—those last shouted words—still echo like sirens in your ears. You press your palms into your face, trying to ground yourself, but your stomach twists violently. Before you can even think, you’re out of bed, legs shaky, breath uneven. You half-stumble down the hall, grateful that the bathroom’s empty. You barely make it to the sink before the nausea hits.

You vomit. Again. Again. Each heave sends a fresh wave of pain crashing through your skull, like your body’s punishing you for remembering. All you can hear is the frantic thud of your heartbeat, pounding so loud it drowns out everything else.

It’s been over a month since you slept with Jaehyun. A month since you last saw his face. You tried with him—god, you tried, but you can't.

Every moment with him feels rehearsed.

You wipe your face with trembling hands, heart thudding against your ribs like it wants out. The bathroom light flickers faintly above you, and when you finally dare to look up at your reflection, you barely recognize the girl staring back. You’re usually regular. Always have been. But this time… nothing.

The realization hits you like ice down your spine. Your throat tightens as you swallow hard.

You need to buy a pregnancy test.

"I'm pregnant." The words fall from your lips, your eyes fixed on anything but him. The floor. The wall. "I don’t know what to do."

The silence that follows is deafening. You don’t have to look to know he’s staring at the test in your hand—at the two pink lines that changed everything. Then, quietly but without hesitation: “Let’s keep it.”

“I know you don’t love me,” he adds, voice soft even as it cracks at the edges. “I know you’re still…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. The silence stretches, his throat bobbing as he swallows down. “But we can keep it. Together. For the baby.”

And finally, you look at him. Really look. His eyes aren’t pleading. They’re not trying to convince. They’re just… open. Raw. Honest.

“We’ll build something,” he says, stepping a little closer, as if that might make it real. “A home. A family. Just give it time. Move in with me. We’ll make it work.”

Days passed. Somehow, you said yes. You told him you'd try — and he held on to that like it was a promise.

Jaehyun talked more now. About his family in the U.S., how they already knew, how they were surprisingly… supportive. He started picking up little things for the baby, socks, bottles, a stuffed bear with a stitched-on smile. He showed you receipts, color palettes for the nursery. He told you that before the baby comes, he’d have a small apartment ready. For both of you. For your new life together.

You believed him.

Your mother's reaction, on the other hand, was quieter than you expected. No yelling. No disappointment. Just a soft, dull acceptance. Maybe it was because she never expected much from you in the first place. Or maybe she saw how pale you looked, how your hands trembled when you thought no one was watching, and figured silence was the kindest thing she could give. Your father... just ignored it.

You're sitting on a bench in the park, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the grass. You pop a strawberry into your mouth, sweet and cool against the heat. Six months. You're six months pregnant now. Just a little over three left.

Jaehyun sits beside you, a paper bag in hand, his eyes bright with effort. "Here," he says, pulling out a small container of salad. “I made it. Looked up what’s good for the baby. Thought you might like it.”

You smile, soft and small, and take the container from him. You open it — and pause. The smile fades. “Oh.”

He stiffens beside you. “Why?”

You glance up at him, careful with your voice. “I’m allergic to peanuts.” You’ve told him before. Twice. Maybe three times.

His face falls. He takes the container back immediately, as if it’s burned him. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur. You see it in his face, that flicker of guilt, of failure. He’s trying so hard to be someone good for you, for the baby. But the truth is, you barely know each other. You’re still learning each other’s favorite colours, let alone what makes each other hurt.

He reaches for your hand.

You let him hold it.

That day had been going well. Too well. The sun was warm but not suffocating, the breeze gentle against your skin. Jaehyun was laughing, not just smiling, but actually laughing, the kind that made you glance at him sideways because it still felt strange to hear joy from him, to feel it near you.

And you let yourself imagine it. A future. A home.

A baby wrapped in soft cotton blankets.

“Jake?” It was sharp, high-pitched, almost disbelieving. You turn instinctively. A woman stands a few feet away, dressed in crisp neutrals, her expression caught between shock and something you can’t quite name. She looks to be in her forties, and she's staring straight at you. “Are you joking?”

The sun is gone now, replaced by the fading lavender of twilight. A breeze lifts the hem of your shirt slightly, brushing cool against your skin.

“Mom,” Jaehyun says quickly, already letting go of your hand like he has been caught. He stands, tense, defensive. The word Mom hits you like a shove. You try to stand too, slow and awkward, one hand supporting your back, the other braced against the bench. You can feel the weight of her stare, heavy on your belly.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. Jaehyun's told me about you." You smiled or tried to, under her pining stare. Jaehyun just stands there, caught between you and her, mouth slightly open.

Why does he looks so shock?

And in that awful silence, you feel a rush of embarassment crawl up your neck, because you’re standing here, and she’s looking at you like a mistake he should’ve never made.

“Well,” she says, her tone clipped, “He’s never told me about… you.” Her eyes rake over you. From your shoes to the curve of your belly. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard it stings.

He lied.

“Mom, not here. Please. Let’s talk—”

“Is this why you’ve been asking for more money?” Her voice rises, looks around at the food, the soft blanket, the picnic he prepared so proudly. Then her eyes land on your clothes—the ones Jaehyun bought you—and her lip curls. “You thought we knew? That we’d let this happen? That I’d let my son throw his life away for a girl like you?”

“Mom! Stop!” Jaehyun shouts.

Your chest tightens. Your throat burns. You cover your stomach without thinking, hands trembling as they settle over the place your baby lives like you can protect them from her words. The tears sting, but you blink them back.

You look at the father of your child. He should be saying something, anything. He should be standing in front of you, shielding you from the way his mother's eyes tore into you.

He steps toward her. He places his hands gently on her shoulders, leans in, and whispers something you can’t hear. And just like that, she exhales. Composed again. Her mouth presses into a smug, satisfied line as she straightens her purse strap and turns away. “I’ll wait in the car, son.”

Your chest is burning now, your heart lodged somewhere in your throat. You stare at the ground. You can’t meet his eyes.

“I’ll talk to my mom first, ugh, you can go home by yourself, right? I’ll see you soon after. Be safe." He doesn’t even wait for your answer. He jogs off, his figure growing smaller with every step. And all you can do is watch his back.

It’s not unfamiliar to you now, that view.

You stand there a moment longer than you should, frozen in place, lips pressed tight as tears finally spilled down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, rough and fast, like you’re angry at yourself for letting them fall in the first place. Then, gently, you rest your hand on your stomach, “I’m sorry about that,” you whispered.

You walked home alone.

You weren’t surprised when Jaehyun didn’t show up the next morning. Hope had already begun dying in you the moment he left you in the middle of that park without looking back.

It wasn’t him who came. It was a man in a tailored suit with dead eyes and a briefcase that looked more expensive than anything you owned. The family lawyer. He didn’t ask how you were. Didn’t even sit down. We’ll need a paternity test. He’s willing to pay child support. Don’t get any ideas about taking advantage of him.

You stood there, your mother nodding beside you. Your father crossing his arms with dissapointment in his face. Your fingers numb, barely hearing anything over the sound of your own heartbeat screaming in your ears.

Maybe this was some twisted drama, and you were the girl everyone pities at the end, the one who gets left behind while the world keeps spinning. Not the lead. Not even a real character. Just… a consequence.

The future you had barely started cracked before it even had the chance to grow roots.

“Hold on, okay? She’s almost here,” your mother says, voice shaking as she grips your hand.

But it’s slipping, everything is slipping. The pain is unbearable, a tearing, twisting storm from your waist down, and it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t even give you a moment to breathe. Your body feels like it's being ripped apart from the inside out, like it's punishing you for something you don’t remember doing wrong. You can smell the blood. It clings to the air, to your skin, to the sheets already damp beneath you. The weight of what's about to happen, of bringing life into the world while feeling like you’re dying.

“It hurts,” you gasp, voice cracking, tears slipping past clenched eyes. “Mom, it fucking hurts. Help me, please. Get her out of me.”

Your mother squeezes your hand again, then suddenly lets go. “She’s outside. I think she’s here. Just—just wait for me. Hold on.”

The silence that fills the room is unbearable. You stare up at the ceiling, as if by looking high enough, far enough, you can escape this. The pain. The fear.

They say in books, in birth books, in all those neat little guides—you’re supposed to think of something calming during labor. Focus your mind. Ground yourself in something that brings you peace.

You try. Your baby.

You’re going to meet your baby.

That thought should’ve been enough. It should’ve filled your chest with warmth, should’ve steadied the pain tearing through your mind and body. But the next contraction crashes in like a wave with no mercy, stealing the air from your lungs, and all that escapes is a broken scream. “F-Fuck— Somebody, please—”

Think. You have to think of something.

Anything.

Your head thuds back against the pillow. Eyes squeezed shut. Nails digging into the sheets. You're drowning. You're breaking. You're alone—but through the haze, something small slips through.

“Beomgyu…” you whimpered, voice trembling, pleading. “Choi Beomgyu…”

Where are you? Are you okay? Do you know? You imagine his face; the one you’ve tried so hard to forget. The one you buried behind months of silence and sleepless nights. His voice, the sound of home. His laugh that you know like the back of your hand. You still love him. You always have. It never stopped.

On the hardest, most terrifying day of your life, when your body is tearing open and everything feels like it’s coming undone, his name is the only one your heart remembers how to say.

“It’s uncommon, but still normal,” the town doctor says gently, “Some women don’t lactate. Hormones play a big role. But… please, don’t blame yourself.”

You nod without really hearing her, eyes fixed on the floor, your nails digging into the soft, raw skin of your nailbeds. You shift slightly, rocking your sleeping baby in your arms, trying to ignore the weight in your chest that won’t lift.

“Remind me—what’s the baby’s name again?” You blink. Your lips part, but the words don’t come.

“Uh…” you murmur. “I haven’t… thought of one yet.”

The doctor exhales, not unkindly, but tired. “Alright. But it’s been three weeks. She really should have a name by now. Please try to decide soon so we can get her registered.”

You nod again. But the truth is, you’ve thought about it. A thousand names, whispered into the quiet in the middle of the night. But none of them felt right. None of them felt like hers. Or maybe… none of them felt like yours to give.

And so you just sit there, holding this tiny, perfect girl, feeling the weight of everything you should be and everything you’re not.

You gather your things in silence, careful not to wake the baby cradled in your arms. As you step out of the small clinic room, your eyes instinctively scan the hallway, pausing on the sight of couples dotting the waiting area, soft coos and shared smiles hovering between them. Each one holding their newborn close. Each one together.

You start walking, slow and unsteady, the dull throb of healing stitches pulling at your every step. Your body still remembers the pain, even if the world already expects you to move on from it. You wince, adjusting your hold on her, and try not to think about how you haven’t even given your daughter a name.

You should’ve given her at least that.

You glance down. She’s fast asleep, her tiny features softened in slumber, the faintest blush dusting the bridge of her nose. A little replica of you. It almost makes you want to cry. “Look at you,” you whisper, “sleeping like you didn’t have me up all night.”

The wind hits softly as you step outside, cool and crisp. And that’s when you see them; a small cluster of flowers, blooming stubbornly from the cracked soil lining the pavement. Soft petals reaching toward the gray sky.

Rain lilies. Your eyes linger.

Lily… Nari. Nari that means lily.

You look down again, heart twisting. “Nari?” you murmur, brushing a finger against her soft cheek. “Nari.”

You finally have a name now.

“Nari…” you whisper, voice cracked and shaking as you rock her back and forth, again and again. “Please… what’s wrong?”

She won’t stop crying. She’s been crying for hours. Her tiny fists clench in the air, her face red and scrunched as the wails echo through the small, suffocating space. You’ve fed her. Changed her. Held her. Walked in circles until your legs gave out beneath you. Nothing works.

You feel your eyes burn, the tears pooling too fast to blink away. “Mama fed you, changed your diaper… I don’t know what else to do.”

You bounce her gently, almost frantically now, trying to stay calm, trying not to let your own tears fall onto her cheeks. Your arms ache. Your head pounds. You’re too tired to think. Too tired to feel anything but the raw failure in your chest. Your gaze flickers across the room , the mess of bottles, clothes, diapers. The couch you now sleep on, because your room is too small for the crib. Her rocker sits unused in the corner, surrounded by unfolded laundry. Everything feels too much.

You hear the door creak open behind you. “I have class tomorrow,” your sister says, peeking out with a tired frown. “Can you make her sleep?”

“I’m trying,” you choke out, barely able to speak through the sob in your throat. She sighs.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper quickly. “…give me a few more minutes.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just closes the door. You swallow the scream lodged in your chest and hold Nari tighter. Waking your mother isn’t an option. She’s been sick. She’s done enough. And this… this was supposed to be yours. Your responsibility. Your choice.

"Just pictured a tiny version of you throwing a tantrum like that."

You remembered Beomgyu's words, and you laughed. “Yeah, idiot,” you murmured through your tears, voice shaking but light for the first time in hours. “It’s a mini me throwing a tantrum.”

Nari blinked up at you, her cries halting mid-breath, her wide, wet eyes now focused on your face like she’d just seen something new.

“Nari?” you whispered, tilting your head toward her. “Are you curious about what Mama just said? You want a story, is that it?”

A hiccup. A blink. Silence. And just like that… she stopped crying. You breathed out, stunned. The smallest, most fragile peace settling in the quiet of the room.

“Okay,” you said, cradling her close, your voice soft as cotton, barely louder than a breath. “I’ll tell you about Mama’s best friend.”

Your voice filled the space. Low, warm, laced with something tender and bruised all at once. You told her about him. About how the world used to feel safer with him around. You giggled at the memories, surprised at how easily they came flooding back. The way he used to clicked his tounge but always carry your bag anyway. The way he’d say your name when he was trying not to laugh. The way he looked at you like you were something soft in a world that never was.

You didn’t say his name out loud. You weren’t ready.

But for twenty whole minutes, the past lived again in that tiny room, and by the end of it, Nari was asleep in your arms.

It worked like a miracle.

From that night on, whenever Nari cried, you spoke of him, and she listened. Is it because of how soft your voice is? You found yourself remembering him more often, not just in the obvious ways, but in the smallest corners of your day. The way he used to hum while doing homework when the silence got too loud. The way he tapped his fingers when he was nervous.

It was survival.

Because somehow, in your mind, he was here. In the warmth of a blanket tucked around Nari. In the gentle sway of your arms as you rocked her. In the soft words you murmured when she couldn’t sleep. And sometimes, when the night got too heavy and you couldn’t stop crying, it almost felt like he was holding both of you.

As if he’s... here.

His face, and memories that would carry you through the hardest nights.

“Nari, here, baby. Come on, girl.”

You crouch down, clapping your hands softly, eyes wide with wonder, a grin tugging at your lips even as your heart races. She’s moving—wobbling just a little, her tiny feet unsteady but determined.

She takes one hesitant step. Then another. And then a few more, slow and careful, her chubby arms outstretched for balance as she toddles from your mother’s arms toward you.

“That’s it,” you breathe, laughing through the lump in your throat. “Come on, love. You’re doing so well.”

When she finally makes it into your waiting arms, you scoop her up, spinning her gently with a joyful squeal. Her giggles fill the space like music, bright and unstoppable.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you whisper, pressing kisses to her cheeks. “You walked. You really walked.” From across, your mother watches, eyes soft with pride.

"Y/N." The voice is deep, familiar, and it stops you cold. You turn around slowly, your breath catching in your throat. He looks older but his eyes are still soft. Still searching. He glances at the little girl in your mother’s arms, then back at you. And it’s like something clicks.

"You’ve been here all along?" he asks, disbelief painting every inch of his face.

You force a small smile, bending down to kiss Nari’s forehead. “Wait for Mama, okay?” you whisper. Your mother gently takes her inside, casting you a look before the door closes behind them.

You stand, tugging awkwardly at the oversized T-shirt clinging to your frame, your shorts wrinkled, your hair tied up in a messy attempt to feel somewhat put together. You know you don’t look anything like the version of yourself he used to know.

"Hi, Soobin," you say quietly, and he just stares. “Yeah. I’ve been… here.”

His jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He runs a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to make sense of something that refuses to be clean. “Every time I came by, they told me you weren’t around. That you’d moved. And now—” he exhales hard, eyes flickering back toward the house. He doesn’t finish the sentence. You know what he wants to ask. You can feel the question burning in his chest.

You look down at your hands. “I was ashamed,” you admit. “I didn’t go to college. I didn’t do everything the way I said I would. Life happened. Fast.”

You swallow. “I have a daughter now, Soobin. And… you don’t have to keep looking for me. I’m not who I used to be.”

You try to fix your hair, but his eyes drop to your shoulder—and you know he’s seen it. The faint stain from Nari’s spit-up you missed. You cover it too late, embarrassed. You offer another shaky smile, but it barely holds.

Then he moves. He steps forward, without hesitation this time, and pulls you into him. You don’t even have time to brace for it. His arms wrap around you like they remember. Like they never forgot.

“I want to meet her,” he says into your hair.

It was beautiful, the way Nari took to Soobin, like she’d known him all along. Like something in her little heart just recognized him. The moment you placed her in his arms, she blinked up at him, curious and calm. And Soobin, he melted. Immediately. A soft grin tugged at his lips, and the cooing started, gentle and awkward and perfect.

“She’s so tiny,” he whispered, holding her like she was the most fragile thing in the world. Like he was afraid to breathe too hard. But within minutes, he was bouncing her softly, nose brushing against her cheeks, whispering silly things just to make her giggle. He didn’t want to let go. You could see it in the way his arms curled tighter, like maybe holding her could undo all the time lost between you.

When he saw the place you’d been staying in, he didn’t judge. He didn’t say a word about the peeling paint or the single fan in the corner. He just looked at you, eyes determined. “Come with me,” he said. “I have a spare apartment. It’s clean. It’s yours if you want it.”

And before you could even shake your head, he added, “I’ll help with Nari. I’ll help you get back on your feet.”

You said no at first. Of course you did. You couldn’t be that girl; the one who takes advantage of someone’s kindness. Soobin didn’t push. He just came back the next day. And the day after that. And again. Somehow, after long talks with your mother, after long nights staring at the ceiling wondering if you were doing the right thing—you said yes.

Trusting became hard for you. But you found with Soobin, maybe because, he trusted him too.

Moving in felt less terrifying than you thought it would. Soobin didn’t make it feel like charity. He made it feel like home. You found a job a month later. And Soobin… Soobin became the softest constant in Nari’s world. The man she ran to with tiny feet and open arms. The one who could make her laugh when you were too tired to try.

He didn’t replace anything. He just… showed up.

"I also… heard."

You turn to him, brows furrowing. "Heard what?"

Soobin hesitates, his fingers gripping the edge of his fork. "He’s back in town."

Your heart stalls. There’s only one person neither of you have dared to mention in years.

"Who?" You shouldn’t have asked. You shouldn’t want to know.

"Choi Beomgyu."

The moment his name hit the air, you dropped your gaze. Like it burned. You couldn’t meet Soobin’s eyes. You knew what was there; the same quiet questions he used to ask in softer moments, the ones you always left unanswered.

He had tried to make sense of how someone could disappear so completely. How someone like Beomgyu could vanish without so much as a goodbye. You remember those early months—Soobin asking carefully, kindly, trying not to press too hard. What happened between you two? Did something go wrong?

You never said a word. Not really. You built walls around your silence and stayed inside them. Pretending was easier than admitting you’d been left behind without a reason. A year without word turned into six. And in all that time, Beomgyu never did. Never came back. No letters. No apologies. Not even a rumor to hold onto.

It’s almost laughable, if it didn’t sting so much.

When you told Soobin about Jaehyun—the shame, the mess, the lawyer at your doorstep—he understood. No futher questions. No judgment. Just that steady kind of empathy only Soobin ever managed to offer. But when it came to Beomgyu? He never understood. He couldn’t. Or maybe he just wouldn’t. "Beomgyu's so in love with you that I can’t believe it."

Maybe it was because you were both too young. Or maybe he met someone oversea, a girl who laughed like you but didn’t cry like you, someone who studied at the same college, shared the same dreams. Maybe she didn’t come with too much baggage, or sleepless nights.

Maybe by now, he has a new life. A wife. A child.

And if someone had told your nineteen-year-old self that this would be the ending, you would’ve laughed. Laughed like it was the cruelest punchline to a joke you didn’t know you were part of. You didn’t know what love really was back then. Not until it stayed behind when he didn’t.

Not until six years passed and he still lived in your head.

“Groceries?” you ask as you open Soobin’s car, your voice low. He moves slowly, cradling the sleeping Nari in his arms like she’s made of glass, then settling her gently into the passenger seat, tucking the blanket around her like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I can go pick them up, if you want,” you offer, watching the way he lingers with her.

“You sure?” he asks, eyes flicking to yours as he reaches over, gently fixing the collar of your coat, you hadn’t even noticed it had slipped. “It’s cold today. You okay to drive?”

“I’m sure,” you nod, tugging your sleeves over your knuckles. “Besides, Nari said she wanted to sleep over at your place tonight. Something about your sister’s pancakes and playing with Han.”

He smiles,“She’s been talking about that all week.”

You nod again, more to yourself than to him. “And I can’t leave my car parked out here overnight. So… it makes sense.”

“Alright.” He exhales softly, “Call me if anything happens, okay?”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Still trying to figure that out… this phone.”

He laughs, “I’ll go, then. I’ve got her.”

You step back as he closes the door. “Bye,” you murmur, watching the car pull away. And when the taillights disappear into the evening, you let out a long, tired breath. The cold bites at your fingers as you turn to your own car.

The drive was short.

You rub your hands together as soon as you step out into the cold, breath fogging in front of you. The night has settled deep. The parking lot is nearly empty. A few cars. A flickering streetlamp. Just like Soobin said, it’s just groceries. A quick stop. Preparations for tomorrow’s feast. His sister always makes a big deal out of celebrations, dragging him into the chaos. You’ve learned to let them. It gives Nari something bright to look forward to.

Inside, the box is heavier than you expected. You thank the employee handing it over and hug it to your chest, shifting your weight so you don’t drop it. You can carry it. You’ve carried heavier things.

You start walking, slow and careful, the edges of the cardboard digging into your arms. You were just about to ask someone for help with the door when—

It opens. From the outside.

The bell rings overhead; a soft chime, but for some reason it sounds like music tonight. It catches you off guard, how comforting it feels. Maybe it’s the simple fact that someone held the door for you. Maybe it’s the smallness of kindness that makes your chest loosen. You don’t even care if he only opened it because he was heading inside himself. He stepped aside, held the door open, and waited.

And lately, that’s more than enough. You smile for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Thank you—” The word barely made it past your lips before it died because standing in front of you, just as stunned, just as still—

Choi Beomgyu?

You blinked. Once. Twice.

It was like the world forgot how to move. Or maybe just you. The cold didn’t bite anymore. The weight of the box in your arms vanished. Even your own breathing, gone, like your lungs decided they couldn’t function with him so close.

He looked older. Not completely different, but grown. His hair was longer now, brushed just past his shoulders, half tied back in a way that made him look effortlessly composed. He looks at you. Behind him, someone cleared their throat—an older man, another customer —the sound snapping the thread of stillness that had wrapped around the two of you like a noose.

You flinched first.

You took a step back, sudden and clumsy, the box in your arms tilting dangerously as your feet fumbled over themselves. He didn’t move — not a word, not a sound, just his eyes following the box, then trailing downward. To your hands. And when his gaze stopped on your ring finger—bare, unadorned, still slightly red from cold—something flickered across his face.

As soon as the old man walks past, you run.

You don’t think anymore, your body moves before your brain can catch up. The cold slaps your face as you push through the door, feet pounding against the pavement. Behind you, you hear it; that soft slam of the door closing too fast, like someone let go in a rush.

“Y/N—” His voice. God, his voice. It hits you like a bullet. Real. Near. Here. You gasp, eyes locking on your car. Just a few steps. Just get there. Just get in, you can’t let him catch up.

You can’t see his face again. Can’t hear what he might say. Because after all this time... You still don’t know who left who.

You still don’t know if he betrayed you or if it was you who betrayed him.

“Y/N, please—”

Three more steps to your car.

Just three.

“Y/N.” You reach for your keys, but something so painful happens to your right foot. “O—ouch.” The box slips, crashes to the pavement.

“Fuck,” you curse, loud and sharp, the sound echoing through the empty parking lot. You see Beomgyu flinch. You lean against the side of the car, pain blooming like heat across your ankle, shame rushing in right after. All you want to do is disappear. Fold into the metal. Crawl into the seat and drive away like none of this ever happened.

It's one of your leg fucking cramps.

One of the cruelest things no one tells you about giving birth… is how your body doesn’t come back the same. You keep your head down, chest heaving, trying not to cry and behind you, you hear him step closer.

“What’s wrong?” Beomgyu asks. You’re trying to reach for your leg, but the muscle spasms again—tight and brutal, like it’s being wrung out from the inside—and your breath catches, a broken sob lodged in your throat. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” He’s closer now, panicked.

You don’t answer. You can’t, the pain twists deeper, radiating up your thigh, stealing the air from your lungs. You collapse back against the car, gasping, then you whimpered; tears burn hot, streaking down your cheeks before you even realize you’re crying.

“It hurts—” you sob, choked and ugly. “It hurts, it hurts, I—”

Beomgyu’s down in front of you before the words finish. He’s on his knees, hands trembling as he reaches for your ankle, for your shoes, for anything he can fix.

“Okay, okay, I got you, I got you,” he mutters like a prayer, but his hands hover, unsure. Like he’s scared to touch you. Like he doesn’t know where it hurts more. You keep crying; loud, unfiltered sobs that rip through you like the pain itself. Beomgyu’s hands are at your ankle now, carefully slipping off your shoe.

“Don’t move,” he says, and you shake your head, clutching at the car door, your body trembling. “Don’t—don’t move, baby—”

“Don’t— ah—” You managed to say, but the pain flares again, and your voice collapses with it.

Beomgyu’s left hand moves up to your thigh, firm but gentle, pressing your leg down to straighten it. His right finds your foot, still covered in your sock, and starts to stretch it carefully—and you felt your body relax as the pain blurs.

“Breathe,” he says. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Breathe, Y/N.”

You do. And slowly, the pain starts to ease. Your breathing staggers, catches, steadies even if your tears are still falling. And for the first time since after accidentally meeting him at the store, you look back at him. Your eyes meet his, and you can see how glassy they are. His eyes—locked on you like you're something fragile and holy and breaking all at once.

Do you know what it’s like to be angry at someone?

Like really, deeply angry; the kind that simmers low for years, slow and bitter. The kind you carry in your chest like armor. You build it up, rehearse it alone in the shower, in the car, while folding laundry like you’re folding the bones of your rage. You prepare your words like weapons. Every line sharp, factual, unforgiving. You’re not going to yell. No. You’re going to ruin them. Intelligently. With every truth they chose to ignore.

And he looks at you like this. With the softest look that he can give, like he never meant to hurt you. Like he miss you.

You don’t feel powerful. You feel exposed. How do you stay mad at someone who still looks at you like you’re everything they lost?

You let him hold your ankle. You don’t even fight it. His other hand moves up your leg again, massaging. You can feel the warmth of him even through the fabric. Fresh tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Beomgyu freezes at the sight of it. “Does it still hurt?”

Yes. How can you miss him for years, and seeing him now makes you miss him more?

“Where?” he asks again, softer this time. “Tell me where it hurts.”

Everywhere, you think. You.

You pull away. No words, just the slow removal of his hands from your skin. You crouch to gather the fallen box, desperate for anything to do with your hands but before you can even reach it—he’s already there. Already picking it up. Already moving toward your car like it’s still his place to help. He opens the back door, gently places the groceries inside then turns to look at you.

"I should go," It was your voice this time, cracking the silence between you for the first time all night. Beomgyu flinches, almost imperceptibly, as if your voice surprised him. "My family's waiting."

You don’t wait to see if he reaches for you. You open the car door, slide inside, and shut it before the moment can stretch any further. The engine rumbles to life beneath your hands, a poor distraction from the weight in your chest. As you pull away, you glance in the rearview mirror; see him get smaller and smaller, watching you.

The car felt like a cage. You could barely breathe, not with the way your chest was caving in, not with the way your fingers wouldn’t stop trembling. You kept seeing him; standing there, just standing there, like he didn’t know whether to run after you or let you go. That image clung to you like a bruise. What were you supposed to say? Hey. I guess you’re back. Did it hurt as much for you as it did for me?

When you finally pulled up, your face was dry, but only because you'd cried yourself empty. You didn’t say anything to Soobin—couldn’t. Nari was already asleep, curled up beside his nephew like nothing in the world had gone wrong. His sister welcomed you with a soft smile and showed you to the guest room, no questions asked. You were grateful for that. You didn’t have the strength to lie. Soobin looked at you like he wanted to ask, but you refused to meet his eyes. You knew if you did, something inside you might shatter beyond repair. He must’ve sensed it because he didn’t say a word either.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, not when the only thing behind your eyelids was the face you’d missed more than the life you once had.

It's cruel how memory chooses the softest parts of someone to haunt.

A soft knock at the door startled you awake.

The room was too bright, it's morning. You flinched, disoriented. Had you even slept? It felt like you’d just blinked. “Yeah… I’m up,” you mumbled, voice rough with a night that gave you no rest. Whoever it was didn’t respond; the sound of footsteps fading down the hall.

You needed to check on Nari. That much you could focus on. You pulled your hair into a loose ponytail with tired fingers, the strands falling uneven around your face. Your pajamas were wrinkled, your face was swollen from all the crying, but you made yourself somewhat presentable.

The living room greeted you with soft light spilling through the curtains, shadows curling against the floor. “Where’s Na—” You froze.

Sitting casually on the couch, a fresh bouquet of roses rested on the table in front, he turned at the sound of your voice.

Choi Beomgyu.

Right. You kept forgetting he was Soobin’s friend too. Of course.

He stood slowly, looking at you. His hand reached for the flowers. “Good morning,” he said softly.

It pulled you out of your stupor, your instincts kicking in like a switch. You turned on your heel, not giving him the satisfaction of a second glance. You needed to find the criminal.

"Good morning, my Y/N!" Soobin greeted with that stupid smile of his, the one that usually made things feel a little lighter. But not today. Not when you walked straight up to him and grabbed him by the collar, your fists trembling with something dangerously close to panic. His grin vanished.

"What the hell are you trying to do?" you snapped, your voice low, "Where is my daughter?" He winced, not from your grip, but from your stare.

“He kept calling me about you—ouch—okay,” he muttered, raising a hand as if to calm you down. “He was desperate. He somehow managed to reach people I haven’t even spoken to in years. Just calling and calling, he was trying to find me. All because of you." Your grip faltered for a second.

“I think…” he hesitated, then met your eyes. “I think it’s best if you hear him out. He got here fifteen minutes after Nari went out with my sister and Han. They’ll be back in the afternoon.”

You slowly let go of his collar, hand falling back to your side like it suddenly weighed too much. Your chest was tight, heart heavier than it had been in weeks. Did he talk? Did he tell him? About you? About how deeply, thoroughly, and irreversibly you’ve screwed everything up?

Your eyes searched his face, ask but then, almost gently, as if he could read your thoughts, Soobin spoke. “I didn’t tell him anything, It wasn’t my place.” he said quietly. “It’s best if you hear him out..”

Beomgyu’s walking away.

Each step feels like it’s slicing him open from the inside, like the ground’s dragging knives across his chest. The doors ahead glint under the airport lights; the ones that’ll swallow him whole and spit him out somewhere far from here. Far from you. He tells himself not to look back. If he does, he’ll break. If he sees your face, he’ll run back and beg to stay. Worse—if you so much as whispered his name, told him not to go—he would drop everything. The flight. The future. All of it.

So he keeps going. Until something in him caves. He always caves when it comes to you. He stops. Turns.

And there you are; clinging to Soobin, crying like the world’s ending. Maybe it is. He wants to run to you, hold you until you stop shaking. But instead, he just stands there, chest heavy with every breath. He makes a promise right then, like a prayer carved into bone: He'll give you the life you deserve. He'll give you everything.

He tries to smile, but his lips are trembling too much. He can’t fall apart here, not when you’re already crying. You’re always the crybaby, not him. He has to be the strong one.

And when he finally finds the words—words that feel like ripping out his own heart and handing it to you—he shouts them so loud they shake through the air between you.

What do you even say to someone you're leaving behind?

“I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU!”

Even if the world changes. Even if you forget.

He will.

It’s hard, being in a new country. Harder than he ever admitted out loud. His family’s here, but it doesn’t feel like it. They’re always working, always somewhere else. And when he comes home to an empty apartment and four white walls, it hits him all over again.

You’re miles and oceans away.

He walks through streets that don’t sound like home. Every sign is a puzzle, every conversation feels like it’s moving too fast, slipping through his fingers. He nods and smiles, pretends he understands. But most of the time, he doesn’t. Most of the time, he’s just tired.

The only thing that feels real is when your letter arrives.

On those days, everything stops. His heart settles. His hands too excited as he tears the envelope open, like it’s something that gives him ar reason to live for. Your handwriting, your words; they’re a piece of home he can hold. It becomes his favorite part of the week. His only part of the week, really. Writing to you, reading your letters, rereading them until the ink practically imprints itself into his skin.

It was going well. For a while, anyway. Two months of surviving. Of pretending he was getting the hang of it.

Until it all went up in smoke.

He came home one evening and the sky was choked in black. Smoke pouring like a stormcloud, thick and angry, swallowing everything whole. Their apartment—the only place that ever felt remotely stable—was on fire. Gone. His parents’ last coin flip, their last gamble at a better life, reduced to ash. The furniture. The photographs. The little trinkets that made it feel like home.

Your letters. God, your letters.

He’d kept every single one. Folded neatly, worn soft from rereading. He used to clutch them on the bad days, the lonely nights. And now they were gone, burned before he could even say goodbye to them.

Suddenly, they were homeless in a country that still didn’t feel like theirs. The language still felt foreign, the people distant. They stayed where they could; shelters, temporary housing, places that didn’t ask too many questions. He didn’t write for a week. Then another. A month slipped by before he realized just how long it had been. But how could he write, when he couldn’t even buy himself a meal? When a sheet of paper, an envelope, a stamp—things he used to take for granted—now felt like luxuries too far out of reach?

He thought of you every single day. He trusted you’d still be there, still waiting, still believing in him. He had to, because he didn’t have anything else left.

They moved. Again. And again. From shelter to shelter, wherever there was space, wherever someone would take them in. No place ever felt permanent with borrowed beds. While his father scraped together bits and pieces for a future that still felt out of reach—secondhand furniture, donated appliances, hope held together with tape, Beomgyu worked for their family too. Late shifts, early mornings, anything that paid. He kept his head down, hands tired, eyes always scanning for something he couldn’t name.

It took six months. Six months of skipped meals and pocketed coins, of walking past stationery aisles with a lump in his throat, before he could finally afford to write to you again. And when he did, he poured everything into that first letter. Every apology he never got to say. Every cracked piece of his heart. Every I’m sorry it took so long, wrapped in trembling handwriting and the ghost of smoke that never really left his clothes.

He waited for your reply. Days passed. Then weeks. Nothing. So he wrote again. Maybe the first got lost. Maybe you didn’t see it, but then the second went unanswered. And the third

Still, he didn’t stop.

Every week, without fail, he wrote. Even when his fingers ached. Even when the silence on the other end felt like a punishment he deserved. He wrote like it was the only way to stay alive. Like if he just kept going, somehow, you'd hear him. Apologies bled through ink. Cries tucked between the lines. Please. Please say something. Please don’t leave me behind.

It had been over a year.

One year and seven months since he last saw your face, he missed your birthday. He missed everything. Coming back was a miracle in itself. His boss had finally said yes to time off, just a few days, barely enough, but he didn’t care. He had scraped together every cent. Skipped meals. He stopped buying things that tasted like comfort just to save a little more. He told himself he’d apologize the moment he saw you. Fall to his knees if he had to. He didn’t care what it took—he just wanted to explain, to make you understand, but then, on the bus to your neighborhood, holding the small bag of gifts he could afford, it hit him like a punch to the chest.

He’d been writing your address wrong.

All those letters—pages of love and pain, of apologies and hope—had never reached you because he wrote them from memory after everything got burned. He didn’t even realize he was crying until a stranger asked if he was alright.

And then he saw you. From across the street, standing beside Jake Sim. You're pregnant? Jake is laughing at something, one hand resting on your belly. You look beautiful.

Right there, across the street, the boy who swore he’d come back for you was breaking.

The ones left behind mourn with open hands, reaching for echoes, clinging to the warmth of a room that’s already gone cold. They cry in the spaces where laughter used to live, and the grief comes loud, sharp, like a scream in an empty house. But the ones who leave? They bleed quietly. They turn their backs knowing they’re carving wounds into people they love, knowing their absence will echo longer than their presence ever did. And they leave not because they want to—but because the world asks them to; because duty, or fate, or something crueler demands it.

Between the two, who suffers more? The ones who wait for a door that won’t open, or the ones who shut it with shaking hands and walk away?

Beomgyu had kept himself hidden for years—not out of pride, but shame. A quiet, gnawing embarrassment that maybe he had broken too much to ever come back whole. He never wanted to burden you, never wanted his face to remind you of the past. He knew you had your own life now. A family. A world that kept turning even after he stepped out of it.

He couldn’t explain what shifted in him this year. Maybe it was the ache of too many birthdays passed, or the way the past never seemed to loosen its grip. But he found himself wanting. Just a glimpse. Just to know you were okay. He went to your house—stood in front of the door he once called home—and was met with a stranger’s cold dismissal. Your father, grayer now, eyes harder. There was no trace of your mother; divorce, he guessed.

Then he felt oddly drawn to buy himself water and saw you at a grocery store. A mundane miracle.

And now here he is, sitting across from you, heart in his throat, watching your brows knit in confusion as he says the words he’s kept caged for years. The girl he once wanted to give everything to. The girl he still does. He worked through the ache, graduated, got a job, built something steady from the mess he once was. It’s not enough to retire on, but it’s enough to build a life. He tried dating, tried pretending but every time someone got too close, he found himself pulling away, haunted by a laugh that wasn’t yours. He looks at you, you’re here. And your adorable, bewildered expression guts him more than anything else ever could, because it confirms the one thing he’s tried hardest to bury: he’s still so fucking in love with you.

Beomgyu clenches his fist, thumb digging into his palm as he forces himself to meet your eyes. He stopped talking minutes ago—about the fire, the years, except the time he went back and saw you with Jake—and still, you haven’t said a word. Not to him. Not yet. “I know it’s—”

“What do you want me to do?” you ask, your voice flat, unfamiliar. And it terrifies him more than if you had shouted. “I’m sorry. About the fire, and everything, but what do you want me to do with that, Beomgyu?”

The way you say his name, it burns. Beomgyu stares. You still look the same, achingly so, but something in your voice tells him the years have changed you into someone else. Someone harder. He nods slowly, eyes flickering down, again to your hands. Bare. Still bare. The absence of a ring doesn’t make sense. You should be married by now. Any man would’ve been a fool not to. So why is your finger still empty? Soobin never told him anything. Wouldn’t.

“I don’t really want anything,” he says quietly, even though his heart is screaming otherwise. He wants everything. He wants you. “I just… hoped we could talk again.”

Beomgyu sees your face soften with his words, and you're about to speak when the door of Soobin's apartment beeps open.

“Mommy!”

A small voice cuts, bright and sweet, and he turns just in time to see a little girl bounding toward you—hair in low pigtails, uneven but endearing, the kind he used to tie for you in middle school with small fingers and too much care. The lollipop in her hand is sticky, half-melted, clinging to her palm as she throws herself into your arms. And you catch her like you were made for it. Beomgyu’s heart stutters.

“Did you miss me, Mommy?” she beams, eyes wide and waiting. And then he sees it—the softest, most real thing he’s seen on your lips since he sat down.

It tears him apart.

“I did, hun,” you murmur, brushing hair gently from her cheek. “Did you eat yet?”

“Yes! Sorry I didn’t wake you up to eat. Uncle Binnie said to let you sleep.” Beomgyu can’t breathe. His chest feels too tight, too full.

He can’t look away. He knows he should; knows it’s not his place to linger in the picture-perfect moment unfolding in front of him but he’s frozen. The little girl settles in your lap, arms still curled around your neck, and then, her curious eyes flick to him.

“Hi,” she says brightly, the lollipop now forgotten, her smile wide and fearless. Beomgyu blinks, then somehow finds the strength to match her energy.

“Hi,” he says softly. “I’m Beomgyu.” He sees it immediately—the shift in your gaze.

“She’s my daughter,” you say. “Her name is Nari.”

His breath catches.

Of course she is.

She looks like you. Same curious eyes. Same soft, heart-shaped face. A perfect mirror of the girl he fell in love with all those years ago. It stings—how beautiful she is. How familiar. She looks like you. He lets out a small, stunned laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, figured she is.”

“Bye, Beomgyu,” Nari chirps from the living room, her tiny hands waving enthusiastically at the man standing by the door. Beomgyu grins, lifting his hand in a playful wave back. Then his eyes find yours.

You shift where you’re standing, arms crossed tight over your chest. Soobin’s already stepped outside, giving the two of you space as he walks ahead from Beomgyu toward the lot. You hadn’t expected Nari to warm up to him so quickly. Nari, usually shy around anyone new, had taken to Beomgyu almost instantly. She’d asked him question after question, tugged on his sleeve, even laughed in that unfiltered way she rarely does; maybe because he kept talking to her like he’d known her forever. Gentle. Patient. Funny in that effortless way.

“I’ll head out,” he says softly, clearing his throat. “See you tomorrow?” He looks like he's about to take you in his arms.

“Yeah,” you murmur, voice barely holding steady. “Drive safe.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. Not when your chest already feels too tight. For a moment, nothing happens.

Then he shifts, and when his hand lifts, you flinch—so subtly he might not even notice; all he does is rest his palm gently on your head. The touch is soft. Careful. With that small, simple gesture, he’s holding the whole mess of your heart right there in his hand.

You look up, just in time to see him step back. He gives you a quiet smile, a small nod, then he turns and walks out the door. You stand there, staring at the space he left behind, at the door that feels like it’s separating more than just a room. And suddenly, it hits you—this aching, desperate urge to run after him. To pull him back. To say all the things you swallowed down.

You felt it the moment he started talking, explaining—something inside you beginning to quietly break. His story unfolded slowly, like a wound being reopened in real time. It was too vivid, too cinematic, the kind of tragedy that scripts are written around. The kind that ruins the heroine, just before the credits roll but this wasn’t fiction, and Beomgyu doesn’t lie.

That’s what made it unbearable.

You sat there, silent, trying not to fall apart, trying to keep your expression flat even as the weight of his words dragged you under. Because somewhere between his grief and yours, a realization slipped through the cracks.

You were the one who gave up first.

Now, you couldn’t pull him into this; this version of your life where everything is held together with fraying thread because of you decisions. Where your daughter’s laugh is the only light in a world that feels dim more often than not. Where you don't even know who you are without the exhaustion.

You love Nari. Of course you do. You love her with a kind of fierce, bone-deep love that no one else will ever understand. But loving her doesn’t mean you don’t ache. You can’t let him back in. You can’t let him try to fit into this life, not when you know it would never be enough.He belongs to a different world, a world of bright lights and movement and choices. He could leave tomorrow.

You told yourself you were protecting him. That someone like Beomgyu—so full of life and possibility—shouldn’t be dragged into the mess of your world. A single mother, anchored to a small town and a quiet kind of loneliness. He deserved someone lighter. Someone with no baggage. You love Nari. God, you love her more than anything. Being her mother is the one thing you’ve never regretted. But that love also demands a kind of sacrifice.

If you let Beomgyu in—really in—you’d hope. You’d start to believe he might stay. And that hope is dangerous.

Worse still, a darker thought lingers: what if Nari starts to see him as more than just your friend? What if she lets herself believe he could be something permanent, someone who doesn't leave? Beomgyu comes from a world that moves faster than this place ever will. A city boy, full of dreams and fire. This town would shrink around him.

There’s an urge—violent, desperate—to throw the door open and run after him, but you don’t move. Your hands… they’re not the same hands that once held him with all the certainty in the world. The naive teenager you once were would’ve said yes without thinking, would’ve smiled and nodded like words was enough to fix anything. Whatever fragile, fleeting thing bloomed between you, it was your hands that crushed it first. Wanting him now would be selfish. Cruel.

You're not heartless enough to ruin him twice. You will be damned if you ever stood in front of his path.

It's still bright out.

The sun hasn't set yet, but when Soobin glances to his right, it feels like someone told the man beside him that it never would rise again. All that light seems to have drained from him, a ghost of the boy Soobin first saw; eyes full of hope, clutching a bouquet of roses like he believed in happy endings.

"Choi Beomgyu," Soobin sighs as the elevator doors slide shut. "What did she say?"

There’s no answer. Just a low, half-hearted grumble from Beomgyu, somewhere between a whine and a sigh, like even admitting it out loud would hurt too much. Soobin turns, already knowing what he’ll see. Beomgyu’s head bowed, eyes glued to the floor, hands stuffed deep in his pockets like he’s trying to hold himself together.

Some things really don’t change. Soobin shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tightening. It's the same Beomgyu from high school—the one who used to trail behind you, heart always half a step ahead of his courage. The one who scribbled love in silence and let it rot there. Back then, Soobin had to push him every damn day just to get him to tell his heart out. Watching him want you but never move was its own kind of torture. And now, years later, here they are again. Did he seriously need to play the matchmaker again?

"Are you…" Soobin clears his throat, the question catching awkwardly on his tongue. "…giving up?"

"No. God, no." Beomgyu finally lifts his head, eyes flashing like Soobin just accused him of something unforgivable. "It's just—she caught me off guard that—"

"That she changed?" Soobin cuts in, sharp. "What, were you expecting her to do aegyo? Say some of that cute shit she used to pull in high school? Oh, I’m sorry, ‘Oh, Choi Beomgyu, I love you too—Ouch!” Soobin curses under his breath, reaching for his shin where Beomgyu’s foot just connected, hard. It wasn't playful. It was frustration. Beomgyu doesn’t say a word, but Soobin doesn’t need him to. He can feel it radiating off him—the heat, his rage.

Good. He’s still so stupidly, violently affected by you. There’s still something left to fight for.

"Are you still in love with her?" — "Yes."

The answer slips out of Beomgyu’s mouth so fast, so effortlessly, it startles the breath out of Soobin for a second. He smirks, "How can you tell?"

Beomgyu exhales, eyes distant. "Because it took everything in me not to kiss her."

"Heol. You pervert," Soobin snorts, shaking his head, but his tone softens, "About your question earlier. About… Nari’s father." He sees it instantly—the way Beomgyu’s smile falters, the way his jaw clenches like he’s bracing for something. Soobin swallows hard, the lump in his throat thick with everything he isn’t saying. There’s so much he wants to spit out. He feels like he’s being ripped in half. One part of him wants to grab Beomgyu by the collar, shake him, scream at him to grow the hell up and the other part just wants to pull him into a hug and not let go—because Beomgyu looks like he’s seconds away from breaking.

"It’s not my story to tell," Soobin finally says, "but for what it’s worth, he’s not in the picture. If that wasn’t obvious already." He pauses, glancing at the still silent Beomgyu, "She changed. I won’t lie about that. She’s sharper now, doesn’t smile unless Nari’s in the room. Harder to reach, but she’s still… our Y/N."

The elevator dings.

A week has passed, and you see Choi Beomgyu every single day.

He hasn’t brought up your last conversation. He doesn’t push, doesn’t crowd the space you’ve drawn around yourself. He just… shows up. Whenever Soobin takes Nari out, even when you’re not there, you’ll find Beomgyu waiting by the car for your daughter, always looking back to give you a small smile.

There was a time when you told Soobin you were thinking about going home. He only shrugged and said, “You’ve already planned your holiday breaks. Leaving now would break Nari’s heart.” So you stayed. And every day, Beomgyu keeps coming back.

He brings flowers—always the same kind as the first time. He never hands them to you directly; places them somewhere nearby, close enough to notice, far enough to ignore if you wanted to. He doesn’t say a word about them. Your fingers always find the stems. You gather them quietly, arrange them in the same vase.

“Do you want some of this too?” you ask, motioning toward the chicken. Nari nods immediately, her mouth open, ready for the next bite. It’s lunchtime. The dining table is full—Nari beside you, Soobin across, his sister and nephew chatting quietly at the end. And then there’s Beomgyu, sitting diagonally from you, close enough to hear every small thing you say. You spoon the food onto Nari’s plate, smoothing it out beside the rice. Beomgyu doesn’t say much, but you can feel his eyes flicker toward you every now and then.

Beomgyu glances at you, then at Nari’s plate—already full, her little fork digging in eagerly. The rest of the table begins to eat, soft clinks of utensils and the hum of conversation filling the space. Then he looks down at your plate.

It’s still empty.

Without a word, Beomgyu reaches across the table and starts serving food onto it. You turn, startled by the movement. “I’ll do it—” you begin, reaching for the serving spoon.

“Eat,” he says gently, scooping the biggest piece of fish fillet onto your plate. “You don’t like it when your food turns cold.”

You go still. The words hit you in a way you weren’t expecting; pulling you back to high school lunches, sitting on worn benches, complaining about lukewarm meals. Back to the way Beomgyu used to sprint across campus just to find a microwave, breathless but grinning as he handed your food back, warm again.

You blink, watch as he quietly adds a little more to your plate. He reaches for your utensils, places them gently in your hand and you take them.

Just like you always used to.

“You sure you don’t need help?” Soobin asks, placing the last plate into the sink.

Your hands are already in the soapy water, working through the pile of forks and spoons. “Yeah,” you reply easily, “this is nothing.”

Soobin gives your head a gentle pat, and you hear his footsteps fade as he leaves the kitchen.

You keep going, the familiar rhythm of washing grounding you—soap, rinse, repeat. It’s peaceful in the way small, ordinary things can be. Then, without looking, you feel someone beside you. A hand reaches for the dishes you’ve already washed, careful and quiet, followed by the soft drag of a towel across porcelain.

“Hey,” you start, half-turning, “I said I’m fine, I’ll do that—” Your words trail off when you glance over and see him. Beomgyu. He’s focused on the dishes, drying each one.

He's helping you.

Beomgyu glances at you, his thoughts loud. You hadn’t pushed him away. You let him stay beside you, in this small, shared space; rinsing, drying, moving in sync. Something so simple, yet to him, it feels intimate. He’d dreamed of this. Not grand reunions. Not tearful apologies or big moments. Just… this quiet kitchen, and you beside him.

“You’re a guest,” you murmur, eyes on the sink. “You shouldn’t be here, doing this.”

He hears it—the softness in your voice, the way it falters just slightly at the end. You talked to him. Directly. A loopsided smile pulls at his lips, unable to hide it, because you talked to him. He doesn’t look at you right away, just focuses on the dish in his hands like it means more than it does.

“I want to,” he says simply, glances your way. "I want to help you." He watches how quickly your hands move through the motions but all he can think about is how much he wants to stop you. How badly he wants to take your hands out of the water, dry them gently, press them to his chest so you’ll feel how fast he’s still beating for you.

He keeps drying the plates you pass to him.

Beomgyu has been watching you and Nari all week. It hadn’t even taken a full day for him to see it: how good of a mother you are. How instinctively, beautifully you move around your daughter, knowing her moods, her hunger before she even says a word. But it’s the other things he can’t stop noticing.

The way you serve everyone first before thinking of your own plate. The way you rush through bites, always half-standing to get something for someone else. The way your eyes stay on others, never on yourself. He remembers lunch—everyone halfway through their meal, and your plate still empty. You were too busy making sure Nari had enough, that Soobin’s nephew got seconds, that nothing spilled. And something about it made his chest twist in a way he wasn’t ready for.

Who’s been taking care of you?

You, years ago, pouting over your favorite ice cream being sold out. You, holding out your foot for him to tie your shoelace, smiling like you knew he’d do it without asking. You, crying over the smallest things, because back then, you were allowed to. Now you're here, taking care of a child like you’ve done it a thousand times before. He sees you—this version of you, all grown up—and it knocks the breath from his lungs.

Beomgyu reaches out before he can stop himself, the sight of a single strand of hair falling across your face pulling him in. His fingers move gently as he tucks it behind your ear. He looks at you, afraid he must have done something wrong, something personal, but in this moment, with you looking up at him, lashes soft and eyes wide, he’s too dazed.

“Thank you, Beomgyu.”

He knows you haven’t said a word since the first day he showed up, but if anything, somehow, impossibly; he’s fallen even deeper.

You were chopping vegetables at the table, Soobin’s sister beside you, lending a hand—at least until the two of you realized a few ingredients were missing, so she went out for a run. Soobin and Beomgyu had volunteered to keep an eye on the kids, leaving the kitchen unusually quiet.

“Y/N?” You looked up to see Beomgyu standing at the doorway, something wrapped in red cradled in his hands. His smile was small, unsure. You returned it without thinking.

“I wanted to give you something,” he said. You set the knife down and nodded. Ever since he’d spoken to you again that day, little conversations had started to creep back in. It felt easy. Light.

“What’s this?” — “Merry Christmas.”

“You do know it’s only 12 p.m. today, right?”

“I know,” Beomgyu says, scratching the back of his head. “But… do you remember that little tradition we had? Back then?”

You pause, looking at him. “Our families always went out of town on Christmas Day,” he continues, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “So we used to pretend Christmas was the day before. At noon. Just the two of us.”

You do remember. How could you not? Your hands move to unwrap the gift slowly, careful not to tear the paper. Inside, your eyes land on a pack of relief patches. Your breath catches. A note, scribbled in familiar messy handwriting.

Can we be friends, again?

"Uh, I didn’t really know what to get you," Beomgyu says, rubbing the back of his neck, voice a little rushed. "I mean… there’s a lot of things I wanted to give you, but," he lets out a nervous laugh, "I heard you talking about these patches. And I know you get those cramps whenever it’s too cold, so I just," He cuts himself off when he sees you smiling, arms open wide.

"If you don’t hug me right now, I’m taking it back and—"

You don’t even get to finish the teasing before he’s already moving, fast enough to startle you. His hands find the back of your head, cradling you gently as he exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. His other arm wraps around your back, pulling you closer. You instinctively hugged him around the waist—just like you used to. You hold him, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t let them fall.

Beomgyu feels your arms tighten, and he presses himself closer. Being in your arms feels like forgiveness. It’s warm.

In the middle of the kitchen, two souls stood still. Remembering, what it felt like to be whole.

You wash your hands, eyes drifting to the nearly rebuilt faucet.

It’s been a month since Christmas. Three weeks since you came back home with Nari. And Beomgyu—just as everyone expected—has been everywhere. He visits for Nari, plays with her like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Sometimes he comes with Soobin, sometimes alone. He stays. He helps. He shows up with flowers one day, groceries the next because he noticed you were running low. And the faucet, the one you swore would never stop leaking, is finally fixed.

You became... somewhat friends.

“Nari?” you called, a small laugh slipping out when she came running in with her backpack already on—hair tie and comb in her hands. You took them from her, settling onto the living room couch as she plopped down on the floor between your knees. Gently, you began brushing her hair, pulling it up the way she liked for practice days. It was her big day. And you—fresh off nearly ten hours at work—had barely caught your breath. Beomgyu had insisted on taking her this time. Said you needed to rest. Said he’d be proud to cheer her on.

Your hands moved on autopilot through her hair, “Do you remember…” you swallowed, fingers pausing for a second, “Do you remember the person I used to talk about a lot?”

You never said his name aloud but something in you needed to know.

“Hm?” Nari hums, eyes fluttering shut a little, comforted by the way you gently brush through her hair. “Oh. Yes, Mommy.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she says, “Mama’s best friend, right? And I think it’s Beomgyu.”

Your hands still. “What? Why?”

“I saw his dimples, Mama,” she replies, her voice sure. “It's ike the ones you always told me about and he’s big like a bear, like you said. And…” she turns her head slightly, looking up at you with soft certainty, “Beomgyu says you’re his favorite person in the world.”

You blink. Words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. You never realized how much she was listening. How much she noticed. You were still trying to find something to say when the doorbell rang.

It was the fastest you’d ever seen your daughter run.

You caught the look on her face; pure joy, her smile so wide you thought her cheeks might burst. It was a look she gives to someone she trusts. She knew exactly who was at the door. You followed, slower now, your steps unconsciously softening when you heard him laughing. Then you saw them; Beomgyu practically crouched on the floor, Nari already clinging to him. He looked up, his eyes met yours, and he smiled.

It made you want to dream again.

Beomgyu buckles Nari into the back seat, double-checks the latch, then closes the door with a soft click. When he turns around, you're still watching; leaning against the front door, arms crossed, casual in a plain shirt and shorts, face bare in the morning light.

So fucking beautiful.

He lifts a hand in a small wave. You smile, and wave back. It’s such a small thing, but enough to make his heart race. He gets back in the car, forcing himself to look away. He doesn’t start the engine until he sees you step inside and gently close the door behind you. He’s driving, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror once, then again. “You okay back there?”

“Yeah!” Nari chirps. “Thank you for letting Mama rest. I wanted her to rest too, ‘cause she’s been working a lot. I wanna take care of Mama today.”

Beomgyu’s chest tightens. She’s so small, her voice so light, and she probably doesn't know her words nearly undoes him. That kind of love, intentional, coming from someone who hasn’t even lived a fraction of life yet, it knocks the breath from his lungs.

How did she learn to love like that?

He glances at her in the rearview mirror, and she’s just there. Swinging her legs, looking out the window like she didn’t just crack his heart wide open. He swallows hard. He’s proud. God, he’s so proud. Of her, and of you; especially you. Because this kind of softness doesn’t come from nowhere. You built that in her and now it’s spilling out of her in the backseat of his car, and he doesn’t know what to do with the way it’s making him feel. It hasn’t even been that long. A few weeks. A handful of moments.

But he already wants forever.

He wants school plays and scraped knees. Wants to be the one who teaches her how to ride a bike, how to parallel park, how to survive the kind of heartbreaks he won’t be able to protect her from, chase off the boys who don’t deserve her. He wants to watch her grow into the world. And he wants you there for every second of it. Your laugh in the kitchen, your hand on his arm, your face before he sleeps. He wants you both. And it scares him, how much.

He’s never wanted anything this badly. His eyes sting. He blinks it away. Another glance in the mirror. Another heartbeat held tight in his chest.

“That’s cool, kid,”

The sun was high, painting the day in golden warmth that makes everything feel a little softer.

Up ahead, Nari bounced with excitement, her small hands clasped tightly in Soobin’s and Beomgyu’s. She was all smiles, practically skipping between them, laughter in her face. You watched her, heart full. Watched them. Soobin was talking to her, probably asking which games she was going to beat him at today. Beomgyu, though, kept glancing back, eyes always searching for you. Making sure you were, still close.

Soobin had wanted to take Nari out to the mall today—spoil her a little, burn some energy. And of course, that meant one inevitable stop: the arcade. Beomgyu had tagged along without hesitation. The way Beomgyu’s eyes lit up when you said yes to Nari, was evident.

“You have to press this one,” you say through a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you point to the button. “You used to be good at this, Beomgyu.”

“Hey,” he says, mock offense in his voice. “It’s been a while, okay?”

He steps closer, closer than he needs to. His shoulder brushes against yours, and the warmth of him slips under your skin before you can stop it. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his fingers wrap around yours, guiding the controller, and his other hand settles at your waist.

Steadying himself. Or maybe just finding a reason to touch you. You don’t pull away.

He presses the button like you showed him. The claw sinks down and lifts the small teddy bear. When the prize drops, he turns to you, pride written all over his face. “Told you I could do it,” he says, flashing that grin, dimple and all.

You try to play it cool, rolling your eyes, even as your heart stumbles a little. “Fine. It’s acceptable.” You take the toy from him, trying not to let your fingers brush again.

“I’ll give this to Nari," You start walking, feel Beomgyu fall into step beside you. You halt at the sight.

It’s instinctual, the way your body freezes, breath caught halfway through your chest. The space is loud, chaotic in the way weekends always are, but suddenly it all sounds muffled. Distant. Like the world just dipped underwater. It’s easy to spot Soobin; he stands tall even in a crowd, his frame always familiar but your eyes don’t land on him for long. They find the man standing across from him. The man in front of Soobin. In front of Nari.

The father of your child.

Jaehyun.

Soobin’s standing protective, squared just slightly forward, one arm half out like he’s ready to shield. He’s trying to keep things calm, you can tell. You’ve known him long enough to read the tension in his shoulders. You see him lightly push Jaehyun back. A warning. And then you see her. Nari stands beside Soobin, pressed in his legs, small and stiff, eyes wide but lips pressed in a firm, silent no. She shakes her head—once, twice, over and over. You know that look. You know that body language. The way her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt, the way she leans subtly toward Soobin, away from the man she doesn’t know.

Nari doesn’t like strangers.

You’re frozen. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest starts to ache. You don’t know what part of it hit you first; seeing him again, or the way he’s looking at your child like he has some kind of right.

Jaehyun.

The man who left knowing you were carrying his child. You feel your stomach twist, something sour crawling up your throat. Is it fear? Or is it the anger, the shame? He left you. And it wasn’t just about leaving, it was how easily he did it. How quickly he made it clear that not even a child could make him stay. That you weren’t enough. That he meant none of what he promised. You were humiliated. Why does he know Nari? Why now? Did he know? Did he follow you? Did he have someone watching? Has he been here all along, memorizing the shape of your daughter’s face without ever earning the right? Your hands are shaking. Being a father? What does that even mean?Because he’s the one who gave her half her blood? Is that all it takes? A name on a birth certificate, a twisted smile, a return after years of silence?

“Y/N. Hey.” Beomgyu’s voice is careful but you don’t look at him. Your eyes are locked on Nari. On the way her small frame stiffens, how her lips tremble like she’s holding in a sob too big for her chest. You don’t even know what to say; what do you say to a child meeting the man who walked out before she could even open her eyes? Beomgyu’s hand comes to your shoulder, but it drops the second he hears Nari.

“No—!” It's tiny, a plea, crying out through her tears. And everything goes still.

“Dude, back the fuck off.” Soobin immediately says, aware that Beomgyu who is now nearing them. “You're scaring her.”

Jaehyun steps forward anyway, insisting, and Nari stumbles back. She doesn’t say anything this time, just clutches Soobin’s hand tighter, tears slipping down her cheeks as she tries to disappear into the space behind him.

Beomgyu doesn’t even blink. The second Soobin lifts Nari, turning her away from the scene, hiding her trembling frame against his shoulder; Beomgyu snaps. He grabs Jaehyun by the collar and slams him against the nearest wall, hard enough to rattle the arcade glass. The lights flash mockingly behind them, all blinking reds and greens and blues like it’s some sick joke.

Jaehyun stares him down, cocky despite the blood already blooming at the edge of his lip.

“What?” Jaehyun stares him down, “You gonna scare me off too? Like you did with Y/N before?” Beomgyu’s jaw clenches. He’s shaking with how hard he’s holding back. Jaehyun laughs—laughs, like it’s all a game. “You’re not her father,” he spits.

That does it.

Beomgyu’s fist flies, collides straight into Jaehyun’s face. The impact is loud, brutal. Jaehyun stumbles sideways, nearly collapsing, but Beomgyu’s there again, dragging him back up by the collar like he refuses to let this end with one hit. “Don't even say her name. You left her. You left them.”

Jaehyun punches him back, hard, and Beomgyu hits the edge of a skee-ball ramp, stumbling. “You think you can come back and pretend you care?” Beomgyu growls, eyes wild, blood rushing hot in his ears. “You think one fucking look at her erases years?”

“You don’t know what I went through,” Jaehyun snaps, lunging forward. “You don’t know what it was like—”

“Don’t you talk to me about pain!” Beomgyu yells, slamming into him again. This time they both fall—Jaehyun’s back hitting the carpeted floor with a thud as Beomgyu’s fists come down, one—two—three times.

Soobin rushes forward, grabbing Beomgyu’s arm. “Stop!”

But Beomgyu shakes him off, panting hard. His knuckles are red, maybe bleeding, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. Everything is fire. Jaehyun coughs, blood at the corner of his mouth now, face turned away. “You don’t get to waltz back into her life,” Beomgyu says, voice rough. “You don’t get to show up and make her cry and act like you’re owed something. You were gone. Stay gone-” He raises his fist again. Blinded—by fury, by the ache of every story you ever told him in a whisper. He wants to destroy him for you. He wants to make Jaehyun feel what you felt.

“Choi Beomgyu!” He freezes. Your voice, cracked, frantic, and trembling—catches him in the ribs harder than any hit could. “Let’s go,” you beg, voice softer now, breaking. “Please?”

He turns. He sees you; your arms wrapped tight around yourself, like you’re barely holding it together. Tear-streaked cheeks, eyes wide and desperate. Soobin still has Nari tucked into his chest, shielding her from it all, from him. And Nari’s shaking, tiny hands fisted in Soobin’s shirt, too afraid to even look. Beomgyu’s heart drops.

He meets your eyes and it’s over. The rage leaks out of him in slow, gutting waves. Guilt rushes in to take its place, heavy and drowning. He looks down at his fists, knuckles split, blood seeping between his fingers. Jaehyun groans on the floor, but Beomgyu doesn’t care anymore.

He only sees you.

“…Let’s go.”

Beomgyu doesn’t really know what happened after. Everything moved in a blur. Security guards rushing over. Soobin’s voice, gathering Nari in his arms and carrying her out quickly. The sting of cold air as they pulled him aside. Your hand slipping into his, trembling.

And now this. A small, sterile room in the back of the arcade. Fluorescent lights buzzing above like they’re judging him. His knuckles throb with every pulse of his heart. That little box of first aid in your hands.

Beomgyu watches you. You’re so close he can feel the soft brush of your breath on his skin. Your hand cradles his jaw with the gentlest pressure, a cotton pad in your other, dabbing at the cut on his cheek with delicate focus.

He’s sitting, back against the cold wall, while you stand over him—eyes still glassy from the tears you swore you were done shedding. He doesn’t believe you. Not with how you keep blinking too fast, how your lips press together like you’re holding more in. "Does that hurt?" you ask softly, barely above a whisper.

“No, baby.”

You nod, thumb brushes his cheek as you tilt his face just slightly toward the light, inspecting the damage with far more care than he deserves. He can’t look away from you. Not with the way your brows are drawn in concern, not with the way your skin keeps brushing his, unintentionally intimate. Not with how close your mouth is. Not when he’s this full of anger, of adrenaline, of fear and guilt and the overwhelming ache of you being this soft with him after everything.

He should say something. Apologize again. Ask if you’re okay. But all the words are caught in his throat, dried out from the fire still simmering in his chest. You dab more alcohol gently and he winces, less from pain and more from the way your eyes flick to his for a split second. And linger.

He swallows.

You’re standing between his legs, hands on his face, touching him like he’s fragile. And it’s killing him—how much he wants to grab you and say something stupid like don’t leave me, don’t hate me, don’t talk to him—

“Why did you have to do that?” you whisper, voice cracking, your hands trembling where they grip the fabric of his shirt.

Beomgyu's heart swell, he reaches for you, palm steady on your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he waits even a second longer. You straddle his lap without resistance, your thighs pressing against his hips, breath shallow as you shift closer. Your face is barely inches from his when he leans in, and the moment your lips touch, it’s messy. Breathless. Too much and not enough all at once.

The kiss deepens quickly—months of longing, fear, and pent-up desire pouring into it. You tilt your head, hands sliding up to cradle his jaw, and he groans softly against your mouth, his grip tightening on your hips. His fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming the skin of your lower back, tracing slow circles. Your hips move without thought, just enough to feel the way his breath stutters against your lips. His hand slides down to your thigh, squeezing firmly before gliding up, under the fabric of your shorts, rough fingertips against soft skin.

“You were bleeding,” you murmur between kisses, breath hitching as his mouth trails along your jaw, down your throat. “I was terrified.”

His lips pause against your skin, and he exhales shakily. “I didn’t care,” he says, voice low. “I'll do anything for you.” Your fingers tangle in his hair as his hands explore. Needing. His mouth finds yours again, deeper now, hungrier. You rock your hips against him, just once, testing, and the sound he lets out makes your spine arch.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips. “Don’t do that unless you mean it.”

Beomgyu gets on his knees before you, hands gripping your thighs, “I hate that he ever got to touch you,” he mutters, lips brushing against your inner thigh, hands pressing on where you need him the most. “That he got to taste you.”

"Beomgyu," Your breath catches, your fingers tangled in his hair as he kisses higher. "Please,"

His mouth is ravenous. As soon as he lets down your underwears, his tongue moved in slow, devastating small licks that make your knees weak and your head fall back. You’re gasping, so sensitive, his grip on your thighs keeping you wide open as he buries himself in you like he’s starving.

Every lick, every kiss feels like a promise. Like he’s trying to erase every memory that isn’t him.

You cry out his name, hips stuttering under his hold, and he only groans in response, like the sound of your pleasure is the only thing he wants to hear. His hands are everywhere—thighs, hips, stomach—like he needs to hold every piece of you down while he builds you up to the edge. He rubs your clit, tounge sucking your entrance and making sure he gets, taste everything.

You’re trembling when it hits you, but he doesn’t stop and it’s too much, too good, your body curling more towards his mouth, hands gripping his hair. He looks up at you like you’re holy. Wrecked. Worshipped.

“You feel that?” he says, breathless. “No one else gets to have this. Just me.”

Soobin sighs from the driver’s seat, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. The car is still parked outside the arcade, engine off, the signs of early night settling around them. They’ve been waiting nearly twenty minutes now. He glances toward the entrance again. You and Beomgyu are still inside. No sign of either of you. Must be a serious conversation, he figures. After everything that just happened, how could it not be?

Beside him, Nari is unusually quiet. She sits in the passenger seat, small hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the window as if she’s trying to stare through time. It’s not like her. Not at all.

Soobin clears his throat gently. “Nari?” he says, keeping his voice soft. “Are you okay? Do you want anything? We can grab a snack or,” She shakes her head right away, not even turning to look at him.

He watches her for a moment, the tight press of her lips, the little furrow between her brows, her shoulders stiff with something she’s trying not to feel. A minute passes.

Then, finally, her voice; small and uncertain, breaks the silence. “Uncle... is Beomgyu going to be...”

Soobin glances over. “Hm?”

Nari bites her lip, eyes finally meeting his. “Is he upset?” The words are soft. Too soft for a kid who just cried her heart out.

Soobin’s heart twists in his chest. “No, sweetheart. He’s just... worried. About you. About your mom.” She nods once, but her pout only deepens.

“Then can you tell Beomgyu to stay with us? He really makes mommy happy.”

That day had been a moment of weakness.

Seeing Nari like that and hearing Beomgyu, breaking in your defense. You hadn’t been the same since. “Why are you ignoring him, seriously?” Soobin sighs through the phone, “Did something happen?”

You press the phone tighter to your ear, lips parting, but nothing comes out. Ever since that day, crammed in the backroom of the arcade, Beomgyu bruised and breathless—you’d barely spoken. Not to him. Not even to yourself. You couldn’t look him in the eye when you walked out. You’ve been silent ever since. “I’m just thinking,” you murmur, voice low.

“It’s been a week,” Soobin snaps, concerned. “For once, can you at least tell me what’s going on?”

You barely managed a rushed goodbye before the doorbell pulled you out of your daze. Nari was at school. You weren’t expecting anyone. Your legs felt heavy as you made your way to the door, heart climbing into your throat like it already knew.

Beomgyu. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Hair tousled, dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight like he’d rehearsed a thousand things to say and forgotten every single one the second he saw you. He quickly goes inside as soon as you step back and closes the door behind.

“What’s wrong with you?” he breathed, “What did I do?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He laughed but it was hollow. “Did I cross a line? Say something I shouldn’t have? Did I hold you too long? Look at you too much?”

“Beomgyu—”

“No,” he said quickly, his voice shaking. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that. I’ve been trying, I’ve been trying so hard not to push. Not to ask for more than you’re ready to give. I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been so patient with you, Y/N. Waiting. Holding back. Being whatever you needed me to be. And now you’re just… gone?” He choked, looking down. “You just left me there.” Tears welled up in your eyes. You swallowed hard.

He looked at you again, and it almost broke you. “Did that mean nothing to you?” he whispered. “Did I mean nothing to you?” You stepped back, instinctively, like your own guilt was too heavy to hold this close. He saw it.

Your eyes sting. You see him, the exhaustion in his face, the bags under his eyes. You look at him and God, it’s the worst thing, because he looks like he’s already bracing for the worst.

“I fucking miss you,” he says quietly, desperately. “I miss Nari. And if you really don’t want me in your life, say it to my face. If I don’t have a chance, if there’s no space for me in your world… I’ll back off.” He swallows, eyes glassy. “If you don’t want me anymore—”

“It’s not that.” Your voice comes out cracked, a whisper barely stitched together. His eyes snap to yours, and it nearly undoes you. “I’m in doubt, okay?” you whisper. “Because I’ve been there. I’ve heard promises. I’ve believed in forever before and ended up alone with a baby in my arms.” He flinches. “I can’t do it again. Not for me and especially not for Nari. She’s not like other kids. She feels everything. If she loves you and you leave…” You take a shaky breath. “It will destroy her. I know what that kind of pain looks like. I lived through it and I won’t risk her having to.”

“And on top of that,” you breathe out bitterly, “let’s be real. There are a thousand girls who’d love to be yours. Girls with no baggage. Girls who are whole. Girls who don’t carry years of hurt and a child that isn’t yours. Girls who haven’t already given everything they had away.” You shake your head, jaw tightening. “I’m a single mom, Beomgyu. I have nothing left to offer. I’ve been holding myself together with spit and string for years. And one day… one day you’ll see that, I’m not shiny or easy or new. That I’m just work. And when that happens, I won’t be surprised.” You’re shaking now, because the words are pouring out like you’ve been choking on them for years.

Your voice trembles as you say it, eyes flickering to the floor. “I just want to protect her from that moment. What if one day you wake up and realize we’re too much?”

Beomgyu stares at you, chest heaving, and for a moment, all you can hear is the silence between you. His hands are trembling. You see it even as he clenches them into fists at his sides. Then his voice breaks, barely holding back the quake in his chest. “Do you even know how hard it’s been for me?”

“Do you know what it’s like to wake up every damn day thinking about you and wondering if I ever even cross your mind?” His eyes are glassy now, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to fall apart. “Do you know what it does to a person?”

You know, you know that feeling.

He laughs, bitter and quiet. “I came back because I couldn’t stay away and yeah, maybe I was terrified because every time I see you, I wonder if just being here is ruining something you’ve already tried to heal from.” He looks at you, “But I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t pretend that moving on was possible. Not when my heart—” his voice cracks, “—not when my heart’s been beating for you all this time.”

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes red, pacing slightly as if staying still is too much. “I’m fucking in love with you, Y/N. I have been. And that feeling,” he pauses, chest rising and falling, “that feeling, it hasn’t faded. It won’t. Not in a week, not in a year, not in a lifetime or my next. I can’t look at anyone else and even try to imagine what it could be. It’s you. Always been you.”

He swallows thickly, “And Nari? She’s a gift. She’s part of you. She’s this bright, beautiful piece of you and I love her.” He chokes on the words. “If I walk away now, it’s only me. Just me. I’ll take that. But if you walk away… if you shut that door between us for good, it won’t just be you. I’ll lose both of you. You and Nari.”

Beomgyu breathes, then he sees it. Your tears. They fall quietly, like you didn’t even realize you were crying, and something in him fractures. His expression caves, soft and broken, and before he can stop himself, he steps closer, tentative, like he’s afraid you’ll flinch. His hands are gentle when they reach for you, thumbs brushing the wetness from your cheeks like he’s memorizing the shape of your grief. His touch is trembling, unsure.

“You’re crying,” he whispers, “God, you’re crying…” His voice breaks on the last word. You can feel his hands shaking as he holds your face. “You think I’d ever leave you?” he breathes, eyes locked to yours, full of disbelief and pain and love. “You think I’d walk away from this? From you? After all we've been through? I’ve known you since we were kids. I loved you then, and I love you now.”

You hiccup, the sound small and sharp, like something inside you just split. A soft, strangled whimper slips out at the warmth of his hands; so gentle, so undeserved and your face crumples as fresh tears fall. “It’s all my fault,” you whisper, and makes his breath hitch. “If I had trusted you…” Your voice shakes, breaks, and you force the words out. “If I had waited. Maybe then…” Your chest caves inward, like you’re caving around the memory. “Maybe then she wouldn’t look up at me with those huge, tear-soaked eyes and ask if he ever loved her. If she wasn’t enough.” The words fall like stones. “If that’s why he left.” Beomgyu’s face twists but he doesn’t interrupt. He just listens. He takes it.

“And I, I have to look at her, and I have to lie. I have to lie, Beomgyu.” You’re gasping now, fists clenched. “I have to smile while swallowing every goddamn piece of my grief, and tell her, ‘You are enough. You are so loved,’ while the space beside her is a fucking ghost.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “And she believes me. That’s the worst part. She believes me.”

Your voice goes hoarse, barely audible. “Maybe if I’d made better choices,” you whisper, voice barely there, “I wouldn’t be doing this alone. I wouldn’t be the only one standing on the sidelines during family days, clapping for one when the world cheers in twos.”

You press your lips together to keep from sobbing. “I wouldn’t be the only arms she runs into.”

“I’m here,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “I’m here. Just… just tell me what you need—”

“I love you.” It’s barely a whisper, but it stops the world. Your fingers tighten in his shirt, twisting desperately, “I love you,” you say again, voice cracking. “I never stopped.”

His breath catches in his throat.

“Even when I was pregnant and terrified and waking up alone. Even when the world felt too big and I was too small and everything hurt, I still loved you.” You’re trembling now, eyes locked to his like the truth has finally clawed its way out of you. “When I gave birth, when I held her for the first time and felt everything and nothing all at once—I wished you were there. I needed you there.” Your voice breaks entirely, your forehead pressed harder against his like you’re trying to crawl into him, into that space where it doesn’t hurt so much.

“There were nights I didn’t think I’d make it. Days where I’d stare at the ceiling and wonder if she’d grow up resenting me. Days where I’d hold her and whisper your name… it was you. Always you.” Beomgyu’s eyes are wide, glassy, like he’s forgotten how to breathe. His lips part, but nothing comes out. Nothing can.

Because you just shattered him.

“We survived because of you,” you whisper. “Because I remembered what it felt like to be loved by you, because even when you weren’t there, you were still the reason I kept going.”

His hands slide to your jaw, his chest is rising and falling fast now, like your words punched through every wall he built.

He’s completely undone.

You barely get to speak again before he’s on you. He can't stop himself anymore. It’s how you looked, whispered the words that you loved him after all this time. His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body heat searing through your clothes. His lips crash into yours—hungry, desperate, like he’s been starved for you. His mouth moves against yours, claiming, taking.

His fingers thread through your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue slides against yours. His hands roam down, gripping, pulling, making sure you feel every bit of him. He grabs your wrists, lifting them, wrapping your arms around his neck as his lips move to your jaw, then to your neck, his breath ragged as he nips your sensitive skin. "I missed you," he murmurs. Another kiss—hotter, deeper, his body pressing your back against the wall. "I got fucking scared you'd never let me in."

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress.

"You loved me." His voice softens, almost breaking. He presses his crotch to yours, eyes seeking yours. "You loved me after all this time?"

“Yes,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve.

"You're stuck with me now." His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. He grinds desperately to you. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word as he captures your lips again and again. "I can't stay away anymore. I can't live without you."

You surrendered to his touch, your body softening beneath him. Your hands gripped his shoulders for balance as he pressed you deeper into the mattress, which groaned under your shifting weight. You reached for Beomgyu’s lips, catching him off guard as you kissed him with everything you had, tongues colliding in a heated frenzy. His hand slid between your thighs, cupping your middle and sending a shiver through you. But even in the haze of his taste, a heavy guilt settled in your chest. "Gyu,"

"I need you, baby." His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours. Your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with adoration and awe as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He's on top of you, looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world. Beomgyu's eyes never left yours as his fingers found your hand, he intertwines your fingers.

“It's going to be okay… I'll be here now.” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers shakily reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly rubbing, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of.

"I'll fix everything for us, for you." He looks at you—wanting to see every expression you make. His face hovers and with his fingers he spreads you apart. He swallows, salivating. He sticks his tongue out, lightly licking your clit. You taste so—he buries his face in, tongue inside, hands on your hips. "Shit, you've always tasted this good," He groans, lapping up, sucking the arousal out of you. He moves up, nose bumping on your clit then he suckles more. His cock throbs with every taste of you, the way you melt against his mouth driving him insane. He feels you slick against his chin, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t leave a single inch of you untouched by his warm, greedy mouth. It was as if your body had been crafted for his lips alone, flesh and heat meant to be devoured at his leisure.

When you tug hard on his hair, he groans against you, finally pulling back. His lips glisten as he moves up your body. He crashes his mouth onto yours, the kiss deep and hungry, and you taste yourself on his tongue—messy, desperate, a mix of him and you, blurring the lines between who’s devouring who.

“I love you,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—

"You feel so so good, don't ask me to stop, please." His touch was gentle even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,"

“I love you,” you replied, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist.

"Beomgyu, I— I'm sorry—" You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw.

“Shh, I know baby,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head.

All the horrors inside you; every thoughts of abandonment, every sleepless night, every silent scream, begin to dissolve beneath his touch. With every kiss he lays against your skin, something softens. He’s chasing the ghosts from your bones, like he’s replacing every bruise life left behind with something holy. He kisses your cheeks, wet with tears. He kisses you like a man who has memorized the ruins. Who has studied the wreckage of you and decided that this is still his favorite place to be. That you, broken or whole, scarred or shining, were always meant to be his.

You’re starting to breathe.

"I'm not missing anything anymore," Beomgyu murmurs, lips tugging into a soft pout. You laugh quietly against his bare chest, your cheek rising and falling with each of his breaths. His arms tighten around you, fingertips tracing slow, lazy circles along your spine. The two of you lie tangled in the warmth of the sheets, skin to skin. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Nari. Her first words. Her first steps. All those nights you probably sat up alone…” His voice trails off, and when he speaks again, it’s rougher. “I wasn’t there. And I hate that. I hate that you had to do it all without me.” He looks at you and for a second the world seems to still. "I'm not missing any more of it."

How can someone like him be real?

“Okay.” You smile, and so does he—quiet and shy, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to show the faintest hint of dimples. You reach out without thinking, your fingers brushing the soft curve of his cheek, then trailing across the tiny freckles scattered like whispers on his skin. “And how are you supposed to do that, hmm?” you murmur, voice barely above a breath. “Live with me? Or—”

“Marry me,” he says, and your hand stills, but he catches it gently, holding it between his own. He brings it to his lips and presses a kiss to your palm, “Will you marry me?”

You can’t breathe. Your heart stumbles in your chest as you search his face for any trace of a smile, any flicker that he might be joking—that he doesn’t really mean it. Beomgyu takes your silence for doubt, so he keeps going. “Of course, I’d have to ask Nari first, and probably beg. I need her approval before anything,” he says with a nervous laugh, eyes flicking to yours.

“You get to choose where we live,” he adds quickly. “Do you want a house near the coast? Somewhere quiet? We could move. We could adopt a dog. Or do you want a flower shop?” He’s painting visions in the air now, “We could also—”

Beomgyu keeps talking. His words are soft, a little rushed. He talks about futures like they’re right there in the middle of his hands, painted in soft colors and quiet mornings. You, him, and Nari. A little house somewhere warm. A dog with floppy ears. A flower shop if you want it. A life that feels full.

You hear him, but your heart is louder.

They say you’re lucky if you find the man of your dreams. But that never felt like something made for you. Not for the boy rambling in front of you, not for your best friend. You look at him; at his eyes, honest and open, at his lips, red and kiss-bitten from how often they’ve met yours. At the way he watches you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

And suddenly, it makes sense. It all dawns to you, why you've always find it hard to imagine, to hope, and to wish.

It's all because Beomgyu, is the maker of your dreams.

"Where's my ring?"

You sit at the coffee shop, the cup of coffee in front of you untouched, growing cold. Your fingers keep circling your new ring, turning it absentmindedly, like maybe if you spin it enough, it’ll stop the nerves.

Then the door chimes. Jaehyun walks in, scanning the room, searching, until they land on you; they soften. “Hi,” he says as he slides into the seat across from you. There’s a small pink paper bag in his hands, creased slightly from how tightly he’s holding it. “Thank you for meeting me, Y/N.”

“It’s nothing,” you reply quietly. “I guess it was inevitable… that we’d have to sit down like this.” He nods, gaze drifting to your hand; your ring. A flicker of something passes over his face, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“I want to be there for Nari,” he says finally. “Time with her. Some kind of custody arrangement. I know it’s late. I know how much time I’ve missed. But I… I regret everything.” His voice trembles, “I’ve spoken to my mom. I’ve thought about this a lot. I don’t expect forgiveness, but let me support her—financially, emotionally. Whatever you’ll allow me to do.”

"Yes." You interrupt gently, before his words spiral too far. "Thank you, Jaehyun. But…" You pause, trying to steady the shake in your voice. “This is going to take time.”

You glance down at on your right, on the windows to the parked car where you know your best friend is waiting, then back at him. “I’ll explain it to her. Slowly. When it feels right. And when she’s ready, we’ll set a day where you can be with her—freely, as her father. Just… not yet. We can’t rush something like this. Not when it’s her heart on the line.”

His shoulders sink just a little as he nods. “I lost my chance,” he says softly, looking at the window, at the same parked car you've been looking at,“With you. With Nari.” It isn’t a question.

He offers a faint smile, and for a second, it looks like he might say more but the words catch somewhere in his throat and never make it out. Instead, he slides the pink bag across the table. “I baked you cookies,” he says. "It doesn't have peanuts on it."

“Nari, be careful!” you call out as your daughter bolts through the front door, laughter echoing off the bare walls of your new home.

Beside you, Beomgyu chuckles, juggling two boxes in his arms. “Careful, sweetheart,” he calls after her, his voice filled with nothing but adoration as he follows you inside.

Your eyes sweep over the space—unfamiliar, but full of promise. It had taken months of gentle convincing, of late-night talks and quiet reassurances from Beomgyu. And now… here you are. Standing in a place that doesn’t feel like home just yet, but might—because he’s here. Because she’s here.

You set your box down on the counter and breathe in slowly, letting the moment settle around you.

A warm hand slides over your back, fingers curling gently at your waist. “You okay, baby?” Beomgyu murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the side of your face. “Soobin said he stopped to get food.”

You nod, turning slightly to face him. “I want to paint our house,” you say quietly.

Our house.

Beomgyu smiles, eyes crinkling like he’s just heard something sacred. “Then let’s paint it,” he whispers, eyes still on you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

He takes your hand gently, absentmindedly lifting it to his lips. His thumb brushes over your fingers, then lingers on your ring. He kisses it, soft and slow, like it’s second nature now, like loving you in small, wordless ways has become part of who he is.

“We can also have…” he starts, voice trailing off as he imagines out loud, eyes flicking to the blank walls around you. “A wall for Nari’s drawings. Right here, maybe in the hallway. And a shelf for your books. One of those that curves, remember? You showed me a picture of it.” He smiles, that soft boyish grin he only gives when he’s picturing a life with you. “And maybe a corner just for us. A record player. Or a couch we can fall asleep on, when we're tired of chasing Nari around.” He laughs a little, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “We can fill this place up with us.”

“Daddy!” The word rings out like a bell, and you both freeze. Beomgyu goes completely still beside you, breath caught in his throat. You turn just in time to see Nari bounding down the hallway, a soft, excited smile lighting up her face.

“Do I get my own room now?” she asks, as if she didn’t just change the world with one word. You and Beomgyu look at each other, stunned; eyes wide, not in disbelief, but in something far softer.

It’s the first time. The very first time she’s called him that.

Beomgyu blinks quickly, like he’s trying to make sure he’s not dreaming, like if he moves too fast it might vanish. Then, he drops to his knees and opens his arms. Nari runs into them without hesitation.

He wraps her up tightly, heart thundering, eyes glassy with everything he’s feeling all at once; shock, love, awe. He buries his face into her tiny shoulder and laughs through it, voice thick.

“Of course you get your own room, sweetheart,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You can have anything. Daddy will give it to you. Anything you want.”

Shit happens. Life happens.

It breaks you in places you didn’t know could crack. It tests you, takes from you, forces you to let go of things before you're ready. Time passes. Plans fall apart, but no matter how far you go, no matter how the story twists, no matter what you've been through, you always end up where you belong to. Always end up with them.

The ties between may fray. Fate may take unexpected turns. You might walk through fire, lose your way, forget who you were before the world touched you, come back with more scars than dreams. But nothing, nothing, not even all the wreckage life leaves behind… can stop two souls that are meant for each other.

The things that the world can’t touch.

It remains the same.

taglist: @heesmiles @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyukascampfire @fancypeacepersona @bamgeutori @lilbrorufr @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @xylatox @yunverie @imlonelydontsendhelp @moagyuu @immelissaaa @readinmidnight @pagelets @wonderstrucktae @boba-beom @nightblythe @hyuckxtagram @hoefororeo @beomgyusluver @feet4liferss @soobinbunnie5 @soohashits @lostgirlysstuff @demidelulu @love-be0m @razsberrie @strawberryshoujosundae @y2kgyu @usuallyunlikelyfox @xi0riae @giegiemon @okkotsuevie @beomkyum @i-am-not-dal @cherr4es @brrytears @yystarz @moonlightgrleric @lumpynoofles @raspberrii @baekberrie

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

😭😭😭AHHHHHHHHHHHHAHDJFJD sooo i cried SOO BEAUTIFULLJEJDJJD

[nephynes]

You’re broke, exhausted, and desperate enough to take a cleaning job no one else will touch. The client lives alone in a silent penthouse, hidden from the world by rumor and choice. You weren’t supposed to know his name—just clean and leave. But when your journal goes missing and comes back with his handwriting in the margins, everything changes.

• minors do not interact

• pairing: schizophrenic concert pianist!heeseung x afab reader

• wc: 28k

• content tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mental health themes, depictions of schizophrenia, poverty, class disparity, emotional repression, slow burn, journal entries, forbidden closeness, soft smut, loneliness, poetic prose, mentions of blood, trauma, caretaker dynamics, emotionally intense, non-idol au, heeseung x reader, reader-insert.

WARNINGS: mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of blood, emotional breakdowns, poverty, food insecurity, toxic living environment, isolation, possible dissociation, references to past trauma, depersonalization, implied neglect, emotionally heavy content, not a fluff centric story. okay maybe there’s a little fluff.

• a/n: this was meant to be a 15k word fic (don’t ask me what happened) i would still die for recluse heeseung.

• nsfw tags under the cut

SMUT, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, unprotected sex, bloodplay implications, sex during dissociation, power imbalance, emotional dependency, mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of self-harm, trauma, possessive behavior, emotionally intense dynamic, obsession themes. (lmk if i missed any) not proofread!

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You're running. Again. The strap of your tote bag digs into your shoulder as your shoes slap the sidewalk, water splashing up your ankles with each desperate step. Rain mist clings to your skin like sweat—except sweat would be warm. This is just cold and inconvenient. Your Literature lecture ran ten minutes over because, of course, your professor finally decided to acknowledge your existence the one time you needed to leave early. He asked for your thoughts on postmodern fragmentation in the age of digital alienation while you sat there wondering if postmodern fragmentation was what your GPA would look like this semester.

By the time you made it outside, the bus was already pulling up. You waved frantically, almost twisting your ankle as you darted across the crosswalk—nearly colliding with a cyclist. He swerved. You screamed. He cursed. It was poetic, in a tragicomedy kind of way. Now, you're clinging to the pole in the bus's center aisle, damp hair clinging to your cheeks as it rocks around corners, your phone buzzing with the time—12:46 PM.

Mrs. Do expects you at 12:30. Sharp, always sharp but today you're going to disappoint her, again and it makes you nervous cause this isn't your first fuck up. Getting off at the bus stop in Mrs. Do's neighborhood is like stepping into another world. Wide sidewalks, trimmed hedges. Every driveway is the kind of polished grey stone that seems to repel dirt on principle. The kind of neighborhood that smells like generational wealth and imported jasmine diffusers.

The sky's already sour when you round the corner onto the cobblestone lane. Gray and sullen, like it knows something you don't. Your thighs ache from sprinting across campus, your spine's slick with sweat under your too-thin hoodie, and your fingers are still raw from gripping the metal pole on the bus. You hadn't even realized how tightly you were holding on—like the bus was the only thing standing between you and collapse. You're fifteen minutes late, sixteen, actually.

The house looms before you like a museum exhibit—grand, sterile, and quiet enough to make you feel like you've already done something wrong just by being there. All tall glass windows and trimmed hedges, with a front door so glossy you can see your own desperation reflected in it. You ring the bell, sucking in a breath and she opens it almost immediately. Mrs. Do doesn't need to speak to make her opinion known. Her eyes flick down your frame—hoodie, faded jeans, dirt-smudged sneakers—and her mouth flattens like she's biting back something acidic. Her nose twitches once.

"You're late."

"I'm so sorry," you say, voice thin. "My class ran over and I missed my bus, and—" She rolls her eyes, cutting you off, "You people always have an excuse". You people. "I've already called your manager," she says coolly, stepping back just enough to make room for your shame to enter. "This is unacceptable. I hired help, not excuses."

Help. You step inside anyway because she hasn't technically slammed the door in your face yet. The floor gleams beneath your feet and you're careful not to drip on the marble. "I can still clean," you try, gripping the handle of your tote tighter. "I—I'll stay longer if you need. P—Please don't fire me." She turns slowly, folding her arms like she's posing for a luxury handbag ad. "You'll leave," she says. "And next time, be honest with yourself about what you're capable of."

That's it. No raised voice, no chance to plead. Just ice in human form and the creak of the front door swinging back open like a guillotine. You stand there a second too long—long enough for it to become pathetic—then you turn and walk back out with your head down and your heart thudding where your confidence used to be. It starts to drizzle as soon as you step off her perfect property. Of course it does.You jog down to the bus stop at the end of the street, ignoring the way your socks squelch in your shoes. Your bag knocks awkwardly against your side. You still have half a bottle of disinfectant in there, you could drink it and cleanse the humiliation right out of your system.

The bus pulls up late. You board with the same dread you imagine people feel before surgery—knowing it's necessary, knowing it's going to hurt. Inside, it's packed. You stand, gripping the pole, body swaying with every uneven turn. The lights flicker overhead. A kid is screaming two seats over. A man is coughing into his hand and not covering his mouth. You catch your reflection in the window—wet hair clinging to your cheeks, eyes dull, lips chapped from chewing them in nervous spirals. This is your life, this bus ride, this moment, is unfortunately your life. The route winds through the city, away from the clean sidewalks and polished gates, deeper into the cracked edges of town where the concrete is more gum than stone and the streetlights work in pairs—if at all. You get off at the corner near the faded liquor store, shoulders hunched under the growing weight of your day.

Your apartment building is a boxy, red-brick rectangle with iron balconies rusting at the corners. The woman who lives two floors up is yelling at her boyfriend again. You can hear every word, you wonder why they're still together seeing as they're fighting every other day. You climb the stairs slowly, dragging your legs like anchors. The third floor always smells like someone burned toast and sprayed perfume to hide it. Your door sticks and it takes three tries to get it open. The TV is already blaring, some british reality dating show, laughter, the pop of a beer can. Minjae is sprawled across the couch, shirtless, remote in one hand and a bowl in the other.

Your bowl. "Yo," he greets, mouth full. "You look like death."

"Thanks." You kick off your shoes and look around in the apartment that's in pure chaos—shoes everywhere, makeup on the kitchen counter, someone's bra dangling from the dining chair. Probably Jiyoon's. The dishes in the sink are starting grow by numbers. She appears in the hallway, barefoot and probably wine-drunk, wearing one of her boyfriend's shirts.

"Hey," she slurs. "How was the bitch?" You stare at her. "I got fired." "Again?" she groans, flopping dramatically onto the peeling loveseat. "Ugh. I told you to lie and say your grandma died. It works every time." You don't respond, heading to the kitchen to open the fridge, the light flickers when you open it. There's nothing inside except a carton of milk that expired last week and someone's half-eaten burger. You close it and lean against the counter, pressing your forehead to the cabinet above.

This can't be your life. This can't keep being your life.

Your socks are still wet when you drag yourself down the narrow hall toward the shared bathroom. You don't even bother turning on the light at first—just reach blindly into the shower caddy for your body wash, hoping a hot rinse will wash off the day, or at least the last of Mrs. Do's perfume that still clings to your sleeves like a curse. Your hand closes around the bottle.

Empty.

You blink, now flipping on the harsh fluorescent light. The bottle is sitting there—your expensive one, the only thing you splurged on in months, lavender and eucalyptus, bought during a panic attack at the drugstore like a promise to yourself that things would get better but now it's squeezed dry. You stand there, frozen. Cold water dripping off your hood. Your knuckles whitening around the neck of the bottle. "Jiyoon!" your voice cracks down the hallway like a whip.

A pause. "What?" she calls back, annoyed, like you're interrupting something important—like Love Island. You storm back into the living room, brandishing the empty bottle like evidence at a trial. Minjae doesn't even glance up from the couch, he's playing something on his phone now, earbuds in, cereal bowl at his feet. Your fucking bowl.

"Tell me this wasn't him." Jiyoon sits up, scowling at your tone. "What are you talking about?" "This." You shake the bottle. "My body wash. The one you 'borrowed' last week. It's gone. Empty. And I know you don't like the smell—so unless I'm hallucinating, your leech of a boyfriend used the last of it."

She rolls her eyes. "Jesus, it's not that deep. It's body wash." "No, it's my body wash. The only nice thing I own. And he used it, again, after eating the rest of my leftovers and leaving dirty socks in the sink and never ever paying rent!"

Minjae finally glances up, one earbud still in. "Damn. You need a Xanax or something?"

Your mouth goes dry.

Jiyoon frowns. "Okay, first of all, don't talk to her like that—"

"No, don't defend me now," you cut in, voice shaking. "You let him live here for free. You make excuses for him while I scrape together every last cent to keep a roof over our heads. I work two jobs, Jiyoon. I eat scraps. I got fired today and came home in the rain to this—and now I can't even take a damn shower without discovering he's drained the last thing I own that smells like something other than despair."

She shifts, uncomfortable. "You could've said something nicer."

"And you could've picked someone who showers in his own place instead of mine!"

Silence.

You don't cry and you won't. Not in front of him. Not even here. You don't wait for an apology that'll never come. You retreat to your room, slam the door, and lock it behind you—not because you're afraid, but because you're done.

You strip off your hoodie, throw it in the corner, and climb into bed fully damp and exhausted. The blanket clings to your legs. You curl around your pillow and let the tension tremble out of your fingertips like static electricity.

You curl up in bed fully clothed, hoodie damp and clinging to your skin, fingers still aching from scrubbing tile three days ago. The blanket smells faintly like bleach. Jiyoon is laughing in the next room, voice high and bright and grating. You close your eyes.

*•*•*

You wake up to the clink of glassware and Minjae's laugh from the kitchen, that smug, high-pitched snort that always sets your teeth on edge. There's no time to be angry—not this morning. You're already late. Again.

You roll out of bed and throw on the first vaguely clean outfit you can find, dragging a brush through your tangled hair and pinning it up like your life depends on it. Your backpack's already half-packed from the night before. You stuff in your worn-out copy of Beloved, a dog-eared notebook filled with scribbles and half-finished poems, and race out the door without breakfast.

It's colder today. The kind of cold that bites under your clothes and leaves your fingers raw. You catch the bus by sheer miracle—sprinting half a block and nearly losing a shoe in the process—and squeeze into the back seat between a teenage couple whispering too loud and a man who keeps humming to himself.

You reach campus with two minutes to spare. The lecture hall smells like chalk dust and old books. It's one of your favorite smells in the world. You slide into the third row, clutching your notebook to your chest, and feel a quiet sort of calm settle over you. This is your safe place. Literature. Language. Storytelling.

The professor enters with her usual elegance, a tall woman with soft curls and a warm smile that doesn't waver even when her students barely look up. She doesn't need to raise her voice to command the room. She carries presence the way some people carry perfume—effortlessly.

"Today," she begins, "we talk about longing." You feel your chest tighten in the most bittersweet way.

She reads a passage aloud—something from a contemporary poet you love but couldn't afford to buy the full collection of—and for a while, you forget the bruising ache in your back from yesterday, or the hollowness in your stomach. You forget Minjae. You forget Mrs. Do.

After class, you linger longer than usual, pretending to organize your papers while most students file out. Professor Cha doesn't seem surprised when you approach her desk.

"I loved what you read today," you say, voice still soft from reverence. "The way it ached."

Her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. "That's a good word. A poem should ache. And yours always do."

You blink. "You read my last submission?"

"I did." She smiles, more maternal than academic now. "You write like you've lived ten lives. There's heartbreak in your syntax, but also something... resilient. It's beautiful. Raw."

The compliment hits deeper than she probably intends. You swallow. "Thank you. I... needed to hear that."

She tilts her head. "You've looked tired lately."

"I got fired," you confess, voice breaking a little at the edges. "From one of my jobs." She doesn't blink or pity you, she nods instead. "Then the world made space for something better. Keep showing up. Your stories matter even if no one pays you for them yet."

It's not much but it's enough to lift your spine straighter as you thank her and walk out the door.

The sunshine doesn't feel quite so cold.

You're halfway down the campus stairs, still thinking about her words, when your phone rings. A number you don't recognize, but one you know instinctively not to ignore.

You answer.

"About damn time," a gravelly voice snaps through the line. "Did you turn off your phone all day or do you just enjoy making my blood pressure spike?"

You wince. "Sorry, Cee. I was in class—"

"I don't care if you were in confession with the Pope," he growls. "You missed your shift yesterday and you got us fired from the Do account." You open your mouth to explain, but he keeps going.

"Lucky for you," he says, as if the words are knives between his teeth, "no one else wants this new job and I'm too tired to argue. Penthouse gig. Rich recluse. We charge double, client pays in advance, and no one wants to take it because apparently the guy's a freak."

You frown. "A freak?"

"Unstable. Hermit. Been on the news, but who the hell keeps track? Listen, I don't care if he's a lizard in a human suit—he's paying. You're taking it."

Your throat dries.

"How many days?"

"Three a week. Big place. Clean what you can, don't snoop. I'll send the address. Be early." and then, just before he hangs up, his tone softens—barely. "Don't mess this up, kid. You need it."

You really, really do.

You stare at the phone screen even after the call ends, the manager's words still ringing in your ears. Freak. Hermit. Don't mess this up.

The ache in your calves from walking half a mile after the bus dropped you off doesn't compare to the slow sinking in your stomach as you lift your head to take in the building before you.

It's not just big—it's obscene. The kind of place you'd see in a glossy magazine left behind in a waiting room. Black glass, white stone, gold accents on the automatic double doors. No peeling paint, no squeaky hinges, no smell of cheap weed in the lobby. You shift your backpack higher on your shoulder and wipe your palms on your pants, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you look.

The doorman gives you a glance that says you're not the usual type, but he opens the door for you anyway. Inside, the lobby is quiet. Too quiet. Your footsteps echo on the marble like you're trespassing.

You check the note your manager texted again: Penthouse, 45th floor. Don't use the front elevator. Service lift in the back.

Figures.

You find the service lift through a hallway no guest would ever wander down—a dimly lit corridor that smells faintly of lemon polish and secrecy. The kind of place you get swallowed in. You step inside the narrow elevator, the floor humming under your boots.

The doors slide shut with a groan. You breathe out. The kind of breath that's supposed to steady you but doesn't.

Your phone buzzes again just before the elevator doors open.

Cee: Don't fuck this up. Get there exactly at 10, leave exactly at 4. Even if you finish early, you stay. No exceptions. And whatever you do, NEVER go upstairs. He has rules. Don't test them.

You stare at the screen.

What kind of house has an upstairs in a penthouse? you think, and the second the thought passes, the elevator dings.

The doors creak open onto a hallway draped in shadow. No welcome mat, no noise or signs of life. Just a wide, heavy door that looks more like it belongs on a bank vault than a home.

You step out.

Your boots sound stupidly loud on the marble tile, and you hesitate before raising your hand to knock. But there's no need. The moment your knuckles reach the wood, the door clicks open on its own.

Unlocked.

The place is massive. The ceilings stretch too high, the walls too white, everything too pristine. There's barely any furniture. Just space and silence and air so still it feels like it hasn't been disturbed in years. You don't call out cause your manager said he wouldn't speak to you and that he likely wouldn't even show himself.

Just clean and leave. Do not go upstairs.

You hold your breath and step inside.

The air smells like cedar and something colder, like snow, if snow could haunt. You set your backpack down, find the gloves and cleaning supplies neatly packed inside, and glance around for somewhere to begin. The living room stretches out in an open floor plan—windows from floor to ceiling, giving a panoramic view of the city that glitters like it belongs to someone else.

You move quietly, gently, like the house might shatter if you're not careful, there's a faint creak above you that makes you freeze.

Somewhere beyond the mezzanine level—a second floor, tucked behind shadows and sleek black railings—you hear slow footsteps. Nothing fast, just the sound of pacing but then it stops and you don't look up.

You don't have to but you can feel the weight of someone above you. Maybe it's just the paranoia settling in or maybe it's the echo of your manager's warning.

Don't go upstairs.

You lower your gaze and start cleaning the untouched coffee table. You don't see a single cup stain or a single fingerprint. You think of the journal in your bag—the one you always carry, the one you use to write about your clients. He'll be in there by tonight, nameless, faceless. The man who lives upstairs like a ghost in the penthouse he knows.

For now, you work. Quiet and invisible. There's a fine layer of dust on everything. Not filth—just time, settled air and neglect. No signs of life, no spilled coffee mugs or kicked-off shoes. Just clean lines, cold surfaces, and untouched space.

You start in the living room, wiping down the windowsills and working your way around the low furniture. The couch looks barely used, the cushions still stiff. You sweep, mop, vacuum, moving silently through the rooms that all look the same—stunning, sterile, too expensive to feel real.

In the hallway near the back, there's a closet.

You pause in front of it.

It's nothing special—just a tall, sleek black door flush against the wall like all the others. But your fingers hesitate on the handle. Something about it makes your stomach twist. A soft wrongness that makes you not open it, that makes you turn around and just keep cleaning.

By 2:30, you've gone through the whole first floor. Kitchen wiped down. Bathroom gleaming. Trash collected and everything you were paid to do—done.

But Cee's voice rings in your head; Even if you finish early—stay. No exceptions.

So you sit.

You settle into one of the chairs by the window, the soft hum of the city beyond the glass lulling you into something between boredom and thoughtfulness. You reach into your bag and pull out your journal—worn leather, pages soft at the edges.

You click your pen open and start writing.

Day one at the penthouse. It smells like dust and something else I can't quite name. The kind of clean that doesn't feel lived in. I didn't open the black closet near the back. It felt like something in a horror film but I'll pretend it's just full of broken umbrellas.

Got fired from the Do account. Still bitter. She had a face like a lemon and a heart to match. Professor was a much-needed balm in comparison—thank God for her and her endless belief in me.

New job might be decent money if I don't screw it up. Cee says the guy who lives here is a recluse. Said he hasn't left the penthouse in two years. But I don't know. Maybe he's just lonely.

You pause there, tapping the pen against the paper. The upper floor is quiet. Still. You underline the word lonely and draw a small star beside it.

At exactly 4:00, you pack up your supplies, double-check every corner, and sling your bag over your shoulder and slide your journal right back into the side pocket of your bag, safe and sound.

You take the service elevator down, your own reflection warping in the mirrored steel walls, and step out into the cool evening air. The sun is already dipping lower, the clouds streaked in gold and gray.

The bus ride home is slower than usual. You sit in the back corner, forehead pressed to the rattling glass, zoning out to the lull of traffic and tired bodies. The city outside blurs past in tired shades.

As your apartment door creaks open, you start praying no one hears or sees you. But it's already too late.

Minjae's voice rings out sharp and annoyed. "I told you I'm looking, Jiyoon. What do you want me to do, lie on a fucking application?"

Jiyoon fires back just as quickly. "No, I want you to try! I'm covering your half of the rent again this month—what do you think I am, an ATM?!"

You freeze in the doorway, trying to shrink into your coat. If you're quiet enough, maybe you can just slip past—

"Hey," Jiyoon says suddenly, spotting you over Minjae's shoulder. Her tone shifts fast—softer now, almost guilty. "You just get in?"

You nod, shrugging your bag higher. "Yeah." "How's the nut house?"

You drop your bag by the door and stare at her. "The what?"

"The place you're cleaning. You know, that recluse guy who's like—off his rocker? Isn't that what your boss said?"

You toe off your shoes and mutter, "It's just a job."

Minjae grins walking away from Jiyoon's presence like the change in topic is suddenly the end of their argument. "I bet he's got some freaky shit there. Hidden cameras. Severed heads. Weird old dude stuff."

"I don't even know if he's old," you say, voice low. "And you don't know anything about him."

Minjae snorts. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You turn back to Jiyoon, your constant irritation for her boyfriend crawling up your neck. "It's... weird," you admit. "But clean. Quiet. Better than getting yelled at by lemon-faced socialites, I guess."

Jiyoon gives you a weak smile. "Well, if anyone can survive a haunted tower or whatever that place is, it's you."

You hum, tired beyond belief, and slip down the hall toward your room without waiting for more, maybe more will come in the morning.

And when morning does come, it hits like a slow bruise. No alarm, just the muted scrape of a garbage truck outside and the sound of Jiyoon's laughter echoing down the hall, already too loud for the hour. You blink up at the water-stained ceiling, let the ache in your jaw settle, and for a few seconds, you don't move. The blanket's twisted around your leg like it's trying to keep you here. You wish it would.

But you're broke. So you move

You don't eat breakfast. There's no time, and besides, Jiyoon's boyfriend used the last of your cereal. You found the empty box in the sink this morning, soggy and limp with leftover milk, like a personal fuck-you from the universe.

Outside, the streets are still wet from last night's rain, the air sharp and cold enough to crack your lips. You tug your coat tighter around yourself and walk fast, half-hoping your legs will just carry you somewhere else. But the route to the campus library is too familiar, too automatic. You take the side street behind the deli, cutting through the alley behind the 24-hour laundromat where the machines always sound like they're choking. There's graffiti on the brick wall now—someone's drawn a woman with eyes for hands.

The library is warm in that stale, overused way that makes you sleepy, but you know the quiet corner where the heater rattles just enough to keep you awake. You sit with your laptop and your headphones, the cushion on the chair still warm from the last desperate student who used it.

This is job number two.

You click play on the next transcription project; an audiobook manuscript from some retired executive who thinks the world needs to hear about his rise to glory. The audio crackles. His voice is deep, smug, like he's narrating his own documentary.

"It all began with a vision. I was just a boy, standing in my father's study, realizing the empire I'd one day build..." You try not to roll your eyes. Your fingers find the rhythm. You transcribe as fast as he talks, catching every word, every pretentious pause.

"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some, like me, are greatness incarnate."

Jesus.

You pause the audio and lean back, pressing your fingers into your temples. He's unbearable. Still—you need the money, so you press play again. But somewhere in the haze of his bravado, your mind drifts, not too far, just up.

Up to the penthouse you cleaned yesterday. The thick silence, untouched surfaces and the staircase you weren't allowed to climb. It all made something you couldn't name press down on the air.

You wonder what he sounds like.

The man who lives there, the one Cee called a shut-in, a recluse. Heeseung. You only know the name because of the envelope on the front table. You weren't supposed to look, but you did. Of course you did.

You imagine his voice now, layered under the pompous narration. Not loud or self-important. Just... quiet. Measured. Maybe hoarse from disuse. You imagine what it would feel like to hear it. To be the reason it breaks the silence. Your fingers falter. The word "greatness" stutters across the screen three times in a row.

You stop typing.

And for a second, you just sit there, headphones still on, the man's voice buzzing in your ears like a mosquito trapped in a jar, and you wonder if loneliness has a sound. And if maybe you've already heard it.

You leave the library when your laptop battery dies, the sky already smudged with dusk. Your ears still ring faintly from the droning of Mr. Greatness Incarnate. You swing your bag over your shoulder, scarf loose around your neck, hands shoved deep into your coat pockets. The wind cuts sharper than it did this morning. You're too tired to fight it.

By the time you reach your apartment building, you dread the climb to the third floor, not knowing what's behind your door—and your key sticks like always when you jam it into the lock but when the door finally swings open, you freeze.

The apartment is clean. Spotless even.

No laundry tossed across the couch, no cereal bowls fossilized with milk crust sitting on the coffee table. The garbage isn't overflowing. There's even a faint citrus scent in the air, like someone opened a window and let the idea of cleanliness drift in.

And Jiyoon's on the couch. Calm. Legs tucked under her, hair braided down one side, munching on a bag of shrimp chips like this is just... normal. Like this is how things have always been.

You drop your keys into the chipped bowl by the door. "What happened?" She glances at you, shrugs. "I cleaned." You blink. "No, I mean... what happened happened. Did the landlord threaten an inspection or—"

"I broke up with Minjae," she says, and pops another chip into her mouth like she didn't just detonate an-eighteen-month-long catastrophe with five words. "Told him to pack his shit and go."

You stare. "You what?"

Her eyes don't even flicker from the TV. "He was a leech. I hate leeches."

You're still frozen in the hallway, bag slipping down your arm, unsure what dimension you walked into. The silence feels wrong. Too still. Too empty. But... not bad.

Just different.

Eventually, your feet remember what to do, and you drift to your room, slowly, almost cautiously, like something might jump out at you. You twist your doorknob, push it open—and stop again cause there's a gift bag sitting on your bed.

Brown paper, neatly folded at the top, a little gold sticker sealing the tissue paper closed. You don't touch it right away, you just stare at it like it might explode.

Then you sit, gently, fingers trembling a little now. but peel the sticker away anyway, opening the bag.

Two bottles. Your favorite body wash. The same kind Minjae used up without asking. Double this time, still sealed and tucked between them, a note—scrawled in Jiyoon's quick, sharp handwriting on a sticky note she probably pulled from her planner.

"I'm sorry."

It doesn't say anything else. Doesn't have to.

You let out this huff of a sound, half a laugh, half a sob—and press the heels of your hands into your eyes. You weren't ready for this, especially not after today, not after everything you've been through this week. You sniff, smile through the sting behind your eyes, and whisper, "What the hell is going on?"

For the first time in a long time, no one answers and it doesn't feel like a threat. Just... peace. Quiet, a rare kind.

And the bathroom is yours again.

*•*•*

The next morning wakes you gently.

Not with screaming or slamming doors or the unmistakable sound of Minjae trying to justify why rent is a social construct—but with the smell of bacon.

You lie there for a moment, still curled in your sheets, nose twitching like it can't quite believe it. Bacon. And eggs. The sizzle, the clink of a pan. There's sunlight bleeding between the slats of your blinds, the kind of sleepy, golden light that feels warm just by looking at it.

You slip out of bed in your socks, shuffle into the kitchen, and there's Jiyoon—hair still messy from sleep, an oversized shirt hanging off one of her shoulders, poking a spatula at a pan like she does this every day, like this isn't a wildly new domestic era you've entered.

"Are you dying?" you ask, voice still rasped with sleep.

She smirks. "Sit your broke ass down. We're having breakfast." You do, blinking dumbly as she plates eggs and bacon and toast like some sitcom mom. The kind of meal that costs too much time and too many groceries for the world you live in. But it's real. It's on your plate. It's hot.

And it tastes like actual heaven.

"Okay," Jiyoon says through a bite, "you're not allowed to cry over eggs." "I'm not," you lie, chewing around the lump in your throat. "Shut up."

It's quiet for a beat, just the sounds of cutlery and your lives slowly stitching back together. Then she speaks, softer this time.

"I missed this."

You glance up.

"I mean—us," she says quickly. "It got weird. And Minjae was—he j—just made everything about him. And I let it happen." You nod, eyes falling to your plate. "I missed you too."

And that's all it takes. The two of you just... fall back into it. Like nothing ever cracked. Like the gap never grew wide enough to drown you.

You're halfway through your second cup of coffee when your phone buzzes. A bank notification lights up the screen.

Deposit: $400.00 — From: H.C.A. CLEANING INC.

Your breath catches and your stomach flips but you don't even have enough time to process it before a follow-up text comes in from your manager.

Cee: Well done. Keep it up.

You stare at your phone, stunned. Your fork hangs mid-air. "What?" Jiyoon leans over, eyes narrowing, trying to look at your screen. "What is it? What's that look?"

You show her the screen.

She lets out a whistle, snatching the phone out of your hand. "Four hundred dollars?! For one day?"

You nod slowly. "It's... the penthouse."

Jiyoon's eyes go wide. "Girl. Are you sure this isn't a sex dungeon?"

"It's not—!"

"I'm just saying!" she laughs, waving the phone in your face. "Do they need two cleaners? Cause I got two hands and a back that only mildly hurts."

You snort.

"No, seriously," she grins, handing your phone back. "Keep this up, and you're gonna sugar mama us out of this hellhole."

"Us?"

"Obviously. I've already picked out my new bedroom. It has a balcony."

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter today. There's food in your stomach, laughter in your lungs, and a number in your bank account that feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone who isn't drowning, maybe someone who could start swimming soon.

You rinse your plate in the sink, tie your boots, and throw on your coat with renewed resilience. There's something weird in your chest—not bad weird. Just... fluttery. A quiet excitement you can't explain, maybe it's the money. $1200 a week is enough to make a broke girl like you feel fluttery.

The penthouse is a mystery. The man inside, even more so and something about it tugs at you. You leave the apartment with a full stomach and something flickering under your ribs that almost feels like hope.

The security guard barely glances up when you pass through the front lobby, your shoes echoing across the cold marble. You know the route now—the elevator on the far end, the one with the gilded trim and the keycard scanner that flickers green the second you swipe the little laminated badge clipped to your bag.

Penthouse access. Floor 45.

You ride up alone, the hum of the elevator filling your ears, your stomach still fluttering for some godforsaken reason. It's ridiculous, really. It's just cleaning. A job. A space.

Still—there's something about this building, this job, this man—something you don't have a name for yet. Something a little strange.

When the elevator dings open at the top floor, you step out and blink at the sheer silence. It always feels a little too still up here, like the air's holding its breath. You cross the short hallway toward the penthouse door, adjusting your bag over your shoulder, then pause.

A man is walking out.

Tall. Black coat. Black hair. He doesn't look up as he pulls the door behind him and lets it click shut. There's a thick folder of papers in his hand—some printed, some handwritten—and he's flipping through them like he's on a mission. Brows furrowed as though he's deep in thought. You shift slightly to the side, give a small, polite "Good morning," but he doesn't respond, he doesn't even glance at you.

Okay.

You watch him disappear down the hallway, a little unsettled, but before your brain can start drawing conclusions, you catch something else. From behind the door.

Movement. Light.

A quiet creak, then a faint thump from the floor above. Right—he's upstairs. He hasn't come down, just like your manager said he wouldn't.

So, not Heeseung.

You shake it off, and push open the door to the penthouse. It's the same as last time. Too clean to feel lived in, a place more structure than soul. The marble kitchen glints under the soft daylight that pours in through those floor-to-ceiling windows, and the air smells faintly sterile. Like eucalyptus and untouched laundry.

You drop your bag by the door, change into your inside shoes, and head for the linen closet to start where you left off last time.

There's a note.

You spot it taped neatly to the inside of the closet door, white paper against the cool gray shelves. Typed in black ink, neatly, not handwritten.

You folded the towels wrong.

Beneath it, stapled neatly, is a printed diagram. A diagram with steps and numbered illustrations. You blink. It's absurd. It's pedantic. It's—

You laugh, quietly, to yourself. "What a nutjob," you mutter under your breath, echoing Jiyoon's words.

And then you catch yourself.

He's paying you. Four hundred dollars. For one day. To clean and to follow instructions. Folding towels properly is not asking too much—not for this kind of money, not for the kind of life you're trying to claw your way toward.

You shake your head, shoulders straightening, and refold every towel in the linen closet with the care of a military cadet. Corners aligned, fold sharp, just the way the diagram instructs.

Once you've checked them twice, you move on. The floors—again. There's always a thin veil of dust on the hardwood, like no one has lived here in years. The glass in the shower, the streaks on the chrome fixtures. You find a guest room with a window cracked just slightly, letting in the city noise below, and you seal it shut.

It's all the same movements as last time. Your body goes through the checklist while your mind wanders, as it always does. Little fragments of poetry rise up behind your eyes. A line about silence that weighs too much, about towels that speak louder than people. You file them away for later.

And like last time, you finish early.

3:26.

You double-check the space. Everything in order. Then you drift toward the single chair by the massive window that overlooks the skyline. The same chair you sat in last time. You pull out your journal, and you start writing.

He left a note about the towels. Said I did it wrong. I guess... he's not what I imagined. There's something almost neurotic about him, but not messy. Not in a Minjae way. It's all too deliberate. He's exacting. Controlled. Still not a trace of him anywhere—not a pair of shoes, not a book out of place. It's like he's trying to erase his presence even though it's so obviously here, breathing under everything.

Your pen hovers, you almost scratch it all out, but you don't.

A soft thud interrupts you. Distant. Upstairs. You freeze, eyes lifting from the page.

Another sound. A voice—muffled. A man's voice, low and smooth, bleeding through the ceiling like the floorboards are too thin to keep him contained.

You can't make out the words, but you hear the timbre. The rhythm.

You write until your hand cramps and the ink starts to skip. At 3:52, you check the time and shut the journal slowly, your gaze drifting out the window for a long moment.

But then... it happens again.

Your eyes flick to the closet door.

Same as last time. Same quiet weight pressing against your chest when you look at it. You don't know what it is about it—just a regular black door, no lock, no sign, nothing particularly ominous—but it nags at you. And before you know it, your legs are moving.

Soft steps across the hardwood. You don't even really make the decision—you just find yourself there, hand on the doorknob, heart ticking unevenly.

It's probably something stupid. Creepy. Like a skeleton, or jars of teeth. A body. It's always the ones who care too much about towel folding who hide people in their walls.

You exhale, slow, and turn the knob.

The door creaks open.

It's dim, a strip of light spilling in over your feet—and then your eyes adjust.

Not bodies. Not bones.

Photos.

Hundreds of them. Pinned to corkboard walls, stacked in boxes, frames leaning against shelves. Posters rolled into rubber-banded scrolls. A trophy case sits in the corner, glass clean, the metal plaques catching the light like little knives.

You blink, stepping in cautiously.

There are certificates. Paper yellowed with age. Borletti-Buitoni Trust Award. First Place—2022. Van Cliburn International Piano Competition 2021. Tchaikovsky Conservatory Excellence Award 2023. All in English, some in Korean, some in French.

You walk along the wall, fingertips brushing the edge of a matte photo. A group picture. A symphony ensemble, maybe. Then another, a candid shot of a teenage boy at a grand piano, his hands hovering above the keys, his brow furrowed like the music is something physical he's trying to catch.

And then another. A close-up this time. His face.

Heeseung.

Your breath catches.

He's younger in these—baby-faced almost—but you want to believe it's him. There's something about his posture, his expression, that quiet intensity even the camera couldn't wash out.

You crouch beside a crate of rolled-up posters and untangle one gently. The paper's dusty, brittle near the corners. When you unroll it, it flutters open across your lap.

A concert poster. The image glossy and faded with time: a sleek black grand piano under a single spotlight. A man sits at it, back straight, head bowed. His name sprawls across the top in elegant serif font:

LEE HEESEUNG

It's signed at the bottom, right across the curve of the piano. —With love, always, LH.

You stare at it for a long moment.

And then... the pieces begin to arrange themselves.

The penthouse. The silence. The exactness. The distance. And now—this.

He must've been a concert pianist.

You blink again, stunned that you'd never heard of him. Someone who'd clearly been celebrated, decorated, known. At some point, at least.

You tuck the poster back carefully and ease the door shut behind you. But the quiet feels different now. Not empty.

The whole bus ride home, your brain won't stop flipping through those images—trophies, posters, photos, that signature on the rolled-up poster. With love, always, LH. You hold it all in your head like puzzle pieces that almost fit, just not quite yet. But there's no mistaking it—the man in the penthouse was someone once.

The apartment smells like garlic and soy sauce when you walk in. You blink at the strange scent, automatically bracing for another fight—but it's quiet. Peaceful, even. The living room light is on, and Jiyoon's perched on the couch still in her stiff black skirt and her knock-off kitten heels, hair pinned up and eyeliner smudged.

"Hey," she says, not looking up from her phone. "Dinner's in the microwave. I made bulgogi."

You pause in the doorway, still blinking, confused. "You cooked?"

She shrugs. "Had a day. Needed to stir something before I murdered someone."

You heat up your plate and sink into the couch beside her, pulling your knees up and balancing the food on top. The meat is tender, warm and sweet, and the rice is just sticky enough.

"So?" she mumbles, mouth full of chips. "How's the nutjob in the tower?"

You laugh, almost choking on rice. "He's not a nutjob."

"Old man, then."

You glance at her. "He's not old."

She raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? And how do you know that?"

You chew slowly, smirking to yourself. "I did his laundry today."

"Oh?" She sits up straighter, grinning. "And what? The briefs don't lie?"

You laugh, snorting, and try to wave her off, cheeks hot. "No, just—his clothes. They weren't... old man clothes."

She gives you the most exaggerated eyebrow wiggle you've ever seen. "Ohhhh. So they were hot man clothes."

"Shut up."

"You want to see what he looks like," she accuses, pointing a chip at you.

You mumble something under your breath, something you don't even realize you've said aloud until she gasps.

"What was that?" she demands. "Tell me. Tell me right now."

You set your plate aside and sink into the couch cushions, eyes on the ceiling. "Okay. Fine. I opened some weird closet in his hallway today"

Her jaw drops.

"And?"

You tell her everything. The photos. The awards. The posters and the certificates. The name. The signature. The signed poster. You recite the words, LEE HEESEUNG.

She blinks. "Wait. Wait wait wait. You mean the dude you clean for is famous?"

"Was," you say softly. "I think he was famous. He was a concert pianist."

There's a beat of silence then she's snatching up her laptop. "What are we doing just sitting here? Let's Google him."

You shift beside her as she types in his name watching it autofill halfway through. She scrolls.

First result: a blurry photo of a younger Heeseung at a concert, fingers splayed on the keys.

Second result: Top 10 Rising Stars of the Classical World.

Third: The Golden Boy of the Grand Piano—Why Lee Heeseung Was Next.

There are photos—clean, posed ones, then live shots of him in motion, bent over the keys, expression contorted like the music is tearing out of him.

"Damn," Jiyoon whispers. "He was hot."

You smack her arm. "Focus."

She scrolls again—and then pauses.

You feel her go still beside you.

Her thumb hovers over the next headline.

Concert Pianist Lee Heeseung Suffers On-Stage Mental Breakdown During Performance.

Your stomach drops. It's dated 2 years ago.

"Holy shit," she whispers.

There's a thumbnail image of the article and beneath it, a video. Your fingers are trembling but you press play anyway.

The video opens on a massive concert hall. Heeseung sits alone at a grand piano under a soft blue spotlight. There's silence—and then music. Soaring, masterful, all-consuming. His fingers move like they're made of air.

He plays so beautifully that you find yourself immersed but then, something shifts.

His hands slow. His face tenses. He mutters something under his breath, eyes wide like he's seeing something the rest of the room can't. Then—

A violent slam of the keys.

The audience flinches.

He starts playing again, erratically, pounding the piano with discordant noise. His head jerks to the side. He mutters again, louder this time. Words you can't make out. Security rushes the stage. The video ends in chaos, with the camera shaking, audience gasping.

You stare at the screen long after it's gone black.

"That's why," you whisper.

Jiyoon nods slowly. "That's why he lives like that now."

Neither of you speak for a long time. There's just the hum of the microwave clock ticking forward, the faint buzz of the fridge, the afterimage of that video burned into your mind.

Heeseung isn't just a recluse. He's a man who was once made of music—and then unraveled by it.

The video plays again in your head when the screen's long since gone black.

Heeseung's face in that last shot—wild and glassy-eyed, haunted—lingers like smoke. Even with the dinner gone and the dishes rinsed, even with the taste of bulgogi faded from your tongue, it clings to your ribs.

Jiyoon breaks the silence first. She sets her laptop down with a sigh and rubs her forehead like she's trying to will away her own stress.

"Anyway," she mutters, "my manager's still a raging bitch."

The shift in topic feels abrupt, like someone slammed the door on something unfinished. You blink and turn your head, trying to meet her halfway.

"She moved my report to a different folder this morning and then cc'd her manager asking where mine was," Jiyoon grumbles, tossing a chip in her mouth. "Like she didn't just put it there herself. I swear she's trying to build a case to get me fired."

You hum a vague sound of sympathy, but your eyes are unfocused. Your thoughts are half in that concert hall, half in that penthouse closet, all tangled up with things that don't make sense yet.

Jiyoon squints at you, crunching slowly. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, blinking hard. "Sorry. I just..."

"You look tired," she says gently. "Like tired-tired. Go to bed."

You nod. "I will. Just—gonna change first."

She lets you go, and you disappear into your room, clicking the door shut behind you.

The quiet hits fast.

You peel off your jacket, your jeans. Change into your sleep shirt. The light on your desk is soft and yellow, and you go to your tote bag by instinct, unzipping it without thinking.

You freeze.

Your fingers reach the bottom of the bag.

You check again.

Then again.

Your journal's not there.

You turn the bag upside down—shake it, even though you know how pointless it is—and the only thing that falls out is a used lip balm, your wallet and your bus pass.

You drop to your knees beside the desk, rifling through the bag's compartments. Check under your bed. In your drawers. You dig through the laundry pile.

Your breath quickens. Your pulse starts to speed.

A whole year and a half. That's how long you've been writing in that journal. Every scattered thought, every tiny win, every loss, every panic attack, every private daydream. It's not just a notebook—it's you. You wrote yourself into those pages, over and over and you can think is; it's gone.

You dart back into the living room, voice already strained. "Jiyoon—have you seen my journal? The brown one?"

She looks up from her phone, blinking. "Journal? No. Did you leave it at the library?"

You shake your head too fast. "No—I had it with me. I know I had it with me. I wrote in it today, I always put it in the tote after, I—I—"

She sits up straighter. "Okay, hey. Don't panic. Maybe it slipped out on the bus?"

You clutch your arms, stomach turning. The thought of it sitting there in some grimy bus seat, left behind, already flipped through by strangers, your handwriting exposed—your insides exposed—makes you sick.

Your throat tightens.

"Hey," Jiyoon says, getting up now, her voice softer. "It's okay. We'll retrace your steps tomorrow, alright?"

But you're already crying. Not big sobs—just quiet, stunned tears, the kind that sting as they fall, the kind you can't stop once they start.

You laugh bitterly through it, pressing your palm to your mouth. "It's stupid," you mumble. "It's just a journal."

"It's not stupid," Jiyoon says, crossing the room and pulling you into a hug.

You close your eyes. Her office clothes smell like starch and soy sauce and the bad perfume her coworker probably wears, but her arms are warm and solid around you.

Still, your heart aches like something's gone missing.

And somewhere—somewhere else—those pages are no longer just yours.

*•*•*

You don't even realize how much weight you've been dragging until it starts to leave marks—under your eyes, behind your ribs, along your spine.

It's been a whole day without it. Twenty-four hours without your journal and you're already unraveling. Not crying anymore—just dulled out. The kind of sadness that makes everything taste like paper, feel like static.

Jiyoon tried her best. She really did. She even called in sick that morning just to help look. Said her manager could go chew on gravel, she didn't care. She pulled you out of bed, made you drink an iced coffee, and walked with you back to every single place you'd been.

You retraced your steps with her hand on your shoulder the entire time—gentle, like you'd break.

Back to the library. Back to the plaza where you sat for five minutes waiting on the bus. You even got on the same damn route, asked the driver if he'd seen a brown journal with an elastic band and too many taped-in receipts.

Nothing.

Just a kind smile from a man who said he was sorry and wished you luck.

So when Friday comes around—when you have to drag yourself out of bed again for the penthouse job—you feel heavy. Disconnected. You brush your teeth with your eyes half-closed. Tie your laces without bothering to double knot them. You're not crying, not even angry, just—

Faded.

You leave the house a little past nine. Jiyoon waves from the couch but doesn't try to stop you. She knows money talks, even when you're too tired to listen.

You arrive at ten sharp like always. Same hallway, same elevator ding, same code punched into the keypad.

The door opens.

And the stillness inside hits you harder than usual. Not just quiet—vacant. Like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

You don't bother kicking off your shoes this time.

You walk in and turn toward the kitchen to get the supplies—straight to the cabinets under the sink—and that's when you freeze.

There.

On the counter.

Your journal.

You stand still for so long the air starts to pulse in your ears cause it's open. Pages parted like a secret mid-sentence. And the breath that's been caged in your lungs for a whole day catches halfway up your throat.

You move closer. Like if you blink too hard it'll vanish.

It's turned to that entry. The one you wrote after cleaning here the first time—where you wrote about the towels and the light and the strange emptiness of a life lived up high and alone. The part where you called him lonely.

Your eyes track the handwriting in the margin. Small. Neat. Slightly angled.

An arrow is drawn from the word lonely and next to it, in ink that definitely isn't yours:

you have no idea.

Your throat goes dry.

You run your fingertips over the words—his words—like touching them will make them make sense. But they don't. Not really. They just buzz in your chest like something secret and sad and suddenly real.

He read it. He read it.

And not just read it—responded.

You sink into the nearest stool, heart hammering, holding the journal like it might slip away again.

This man—this ghost of a man, the one who hides behind silence and rules and perfectly folded towels—he read you. And then he left this like it wasn't a confession. Like it wasn't a crack in the wall you didn't think you'd ever see.

"You have no idea."

You don't.

But for the first time, you think you want to so you tear a sheet from the back of your journal. The lines are faint blue, the edge ragged where it rips. You stare at it longer than necessary—like the paper's going to change its mind about letting you say what you need to.

Your hand shakes as you write it, "I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest."

You don't sign it.

You fold it in half once, then again. Then you slide it under the coaster on the marble coffee table—tucked, but not hidden. If he wants to find it, he will.

And then you're out the door. Before 4, for the the first time not caring about the rule.

*•*•*

When you get home, Jiyoon's door is locked. You knock once, then try the handle. Still locked. "Jiyoon," you call. "Let me in." Nothing, so you knock harder. When she finally opens it, her hair is a mess and her cheeks are a deep, guilty pink. She looks like she just sprinted a mile and saw God somewhere in the middle of it.

You know what she was doing but you don't care, you just brush right past her and drop your journal on her bed like it's a live grenade.

"He read my fucking journal," you hiss, turning on your heel. "He wrote in it." "What!?" Jiyoon gasps, not even trying to play it cool. "That's where you left it?!"

"I didn't mean to!" "Wait—he wrote in it? Like, wrote wrote? Pen to page?" You nod, pacing like your bones are electric. "He responded to a line I wrote about him being lonely. Just—drew an arrow to it and wrote 'you have no idea.' Like what the fuck is that even supposed to mean!?" "That's—" She stops. Blinks. Then starts again, because of course she has to. "That's kind of hot," she says, lips twitching.

"Jiyoon!" "Okay, okay! It's fucked up, but it's also..." She trails off, thoughtful. "It's kind of giving tortured artist. Haunted tower. Piano-playing ghost with emotional constipation." You flop onto her bed, face buried in your hands. "I feel violated. But also like...I violated him first? Is that weird? I feel like we both got naked and didn't mean to."

"That is the weirdest metaphor you've ever said," Jiyoon mutters, but there's affection under it and you're about to respond but then your phone rings. Shrill and loud against the padded silence of Jiyoon's room. You check the screen and it's Cee. You answer it with a sigh. "Hello?" "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He barks immediately. "Did you leave before 4?" Your stomach drops. "Yes, I did, but—"

"You had clear fucking instructions! You don't leave before 4. Ever."

"I had to. I was done, I—" "I don't give a shit," he snaps. "From now on? You clean for him every day. That's what he wants." You blink. "Every day?"

"Every. Fucking. Day. Starting tomorrow." The line goes dead. You lower the phone slowly and Jiyoon's looking at you like you just told her you're moving to Mars. "You're cleaning for him every day?" You nod, feeling numb. She whistles. "Guess you better start folding towels in your dreams."

You flop back on her bed again, journal beside you, limbs heavy and brain scrambled, because somehow this man has read your secrets, insulted your towel folding, haunted your thoughts and gotten you trapped in a daily cleaning contract. You stare at the ceiling, heart a mess of beats. You truly have no idea what the hell you've gotten yourself into, just like Heeseung wrote.

*•*•*

You hate today. Not in the throwaway I-hate-Mondays kind of way, but in that deep, simmering, "I'd rather get hit by a bus than scrub your already-clean floors for six hours" kind of way. It's Saturday. Saturday. And you're supposed to be doing anything else. Sleeping in. Going to the corner store with Jiyoon in your pajamas. Sitting in silence and mourning the part of yourself that used to be a free woman.

Instead, you're here. The penthouse again. Cold and looming and weirdly beautiful in a way you hate to admit. It's only 9:30. You're early and you could wait. You should wait. But something reckless and slightly unhinged is buzzing in your blood—maybe it's the journal thing, or the fact that he read every single thing you've ever written about yourself. You don't know.

You just know that this time, you're not waiting. You take the elevator up. No code. No warning. Just your footsteps, soft and slow, echoing across the marble as you step into the penthouse and then—you stop. Dead.

Because there's someone already down here, in fact two someones. One of them, you recognize as the man you saw leaving that day—now unmistakably a doctor of some sort, clipboard in hand, every movement clinical and restrained. He's sitting next to another man. A man who's— Oh fuck.

Shirtless.

Barefoot. Wearing only a pair of jeans that hang low on his hips like they're barely there at all. Lee Heeseung, the one on all the pictures and posters in the haunting closet, the one from the articles you saw.He's not a ghost or a shadow upstairs. He's definitely real and he's here, laughing at something he just said, a low warm sound that breaks the silence—and then cuts off the second he sees you.They both stare and you can't help but stare back cause your brain short-circuits because not only is he real—he's gorgeous. Devastatingly beautiful in a way that feels cruel. Sharp jaw, dark hair a mess, skin golden and soft in the morning light and then the audacity of the amused curl of his mouth as he takes you in.

The doctor doesn't laugh at Heeseung's joke, he just closes his clipboard with a hard snap, locks the files into a black case with practiced hands, mutters something clipped to Heeseung, and walks past you like you're air. You don't move, not because you don't want to but because you can't. And now Heeseung just stands there, right in front of you, 6 feet away. Shirtless.

As if this is all some sort of routine, where he expected you to show up early to catch him sitting there. Then he speaks. Voice low, smooth, maddeningly calm. "You're early."

You blink, stunned mute. He cocks his head slightly. Barely.

"Is this how you always barge into my home?" You open your mouth but you have to close it again because no words will come out.Because all you can think is holy shit. Not only is he not old, like Jiyoon said, not only is he not some weird piano hermit ghost—he is breathtaking. And apparently, deeply unbothered by the fact that you've just witnessed whatever strange intimate evaluation that was.

"I—sorry," you finally manage, voice rough to the point of shame. "I didn't think—there was someone—upstairs, usually—" Heeseung raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "You didn't think as I didn't think you'd be here before ten, hmm?" You bristle, flustered and mortified and somewhere under all that, burning. "I'm just here to clean." He smiles at that and it's not kind, it's not mocking either. Just... knowing, he's got that look—the kind that says he's already pages ahead in your journal entry for tonight, already memorized the lines, already knows exactly how this ends.

"Good," he says. "Then clean." And he walks past you—slow, easy, barefoot steps—disappearing back up the stairs without another word. Leaving you there, alone with your rage, your humiliation, and your heart pounding so loud in your chest it echoes in the silence. What do you do now? You clean. Of course you do. That's what you're here for, and you already showed up thirty minutes earlier than you were supposed to, so now you're finishing faster than usual—dusting the shelves with extra care just to stall, organizing the rows of books he never touches, wiping down the marble countertops even though they don't look like they've been used in days.

And all the while your brain won't stop looping back to your journal on his kitchen counter, to the handwriting in the margins that isn't yours, to the arrow pointing right to the word lonely and the quiet weight of you have no idea written beneath it.

It's unfair, you think, the way he's just living in his architectural digest penthouse, barefoot and cryptic, while you're pacing through his living room, trying not to wonder how much of your life he's read. You almost forget the weight of it—almost—until he's suddenly back.

You hear him before you see him, the soft sound of his footsteps against the dark wood floor, and when you turn, there he is.

Coming down the stairs like a fucking problem you can't afford to have, still barefoot, still in those jeans that hang too low on his hips, but now in a loose linen shirt that he didn't even bother to button all the way.

It's distracting, infuriatingly so. You don't even want to think about how hot he is—because it's wrong, and messy, and also, you're still mad.

He sees you before you can pretend you weren't watching him descend like some kind of fallen angel with unresolved trauma, and for a moment, he says nothing. Just stands there at the bottom of the stairs, head tilted slightly, his eyes unreadably deep, like he's trying to pin you to the spot with silence alone.

Then he turns, walks toward the closet in the hallway—the one with the photographs and trophies and that signed, rolled-up poster of his own damn face—and you stare after him without meaning to, without even trying to be subtle. There's something about the way he moves, like someone who hasn't had to explain himself in years, like someone who only speaks when the silence becomes too loud to tolerate.

You don't expect him to come back out and walk straight toward you and you definitely don't expect him to stop right in front of you to speak.

"Do you always sit in my chair when you psychoanalyze me in your journal?" His voice is even, smooth, and just sharp enough to make your jaw clench. There's something teasing in it, mocking maybe, or maybe just observant, but either way—it makes your chest tighten.

You straighten where you sit, looking up at him without flinching. "You had no right to read my journal."

He doesn't flinch either.

"You wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?"

And that's what throws you—how casual he says it, how unbothered he is by the violation, like it was never that serious to begin with.

In your head, you're screaming. Not because you're scared, but because it's almost worse that he read it without hesitation. Because that journal was yours, it was everything. A year and a half of pain and boredom and loneliness and softness and tiny bursts of joy that you didn't know where else to put. Little poems about love you've never felt. Sentences that barely made sense to you at the time. Half-finished stories and full-bodied grief. And now he knows. Maybe not all of it—but enough.

You bite your tongue before your mouth runs wild, but your thoughts are already racing.

He read it. He read all of it, probably. God, did he see the poem you wrote about the boy who only existed in your dreams? Did he read the list of things you want to do before you die? Did he see the part about wanting someone to ask you how your day was, without needing a reason?

You want to be mad. You are mad. But under that is the hot sting of embarrassment, the helplessness of being seen without warning, without consent.

He's still watching you, expression still unreadable.

You blink hard. "It wasn't for you."

"I figured."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Then why did you—"

He cuts you off without cutting you off. His voice is softer this time. "I found your note."

That makes your stomach turn.

You remember the note. I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest.

You didn't even think when you left it. You just wrote it and ran. And now he's standing here, bare feet planted firmly on the floor, chest half-exposed, staring at you like your truth didn't scare him off at all.

"I don't think you're invasive," he says. "You were just... honest, like you said."

That word again.

And suddenly you're not sure what this is anymore—what he is. Because he's not yelling. He's not smug. You don't even think he's trying to humiliate you, he's just standing there, calm, casual—as if this is routine, as if your journal wasn't a goddamn blueprint of everything you never said out loud. As if he didn't drag his pen under the word lonely and scrawl you have no idea in the margins, careless, cruel, and so absurdly calm about it.

You really don't know what to say but you guess your silence must say enough, because his eyes soften just enough to sting.

"People don't usually stay when I'm honest," He says it like it's already written in stone, something that happened, not something he's choosing.

You just sit there, unsure if you're still furious or if your heart just broke a little for a man you don't understand at all.

You really want to ask him why he wrote in your journal, why he felt comfortable enough to reply to it like you were in some kind of conversation. You should get up and walk out, slam the door for good measure, remind him you're the help and he's a man who's too comfortable living above the rest of the world, shirtless and half-smiling at things that should have been private. But instead, you're still sitting there.

And instead of leaving, you ask, "What's with the whole coming at ten and leaving at four thing?"

He blinks.

It's not the question he expected, maybe not the one you expected either, but it's already out in the air now and hanging between you like mist.

He exhales through his nose, shifting his weight slightly as he leans a hip against the back of the chair across from you. You watch the movement—too closely—and hate how your eyes keep catching on the little things: the curve of his collarbone, the faint line of a vein down his forearm, the way he smells faintly like vanilla and clean linen. You force your gaze back up to his face.

He doesn't answer right away.

Then, after a moment, he says, "I just thought six hours was enough time for you to do what you needed."

It's almost clipped, controlled.

"And..." He pauses, eyes flicking to the side, as if choosing his next words carefully. "It's better for you if you follow it."

You blink. "What do you mean better for me?"

He shrugs one shoulder, nonchalant but not exactly casual. "You walked in on something you weren't supposed to see this morning."

Your mind flashes back to that moment—the doctor, the manilla folders, the way Heeseung was sitting on the chair laughing to himself with no shirt on and then suddenly not laughing at all.

Your throat feels a little dry.

"You mean the doctor?" you ask carefully.

He nods once. "Yeah." Then, quieter, "There are... things I deal with. Things I don't need anyone witnessing."

It's not quite a warning. Not quite a confession either. It floats in the space between.

You shift in your seat, uncertain. "So the schedule is more for... your privacy?"

He lets out a sound that's almost a laugh but not quite, low and humorless. "Sure. Let's go with that."

There's something in the way he says it that tells you he doesn't really mean it—not entirely. Like there's more he could say if he wanted to, but he doesn't.

Still, you nod slowly, even though you don't really understand. Even though the idea of spending six hours in a place that holds your most personal words hostage is suffocating.

Even though his presence is starting to feel... electric in the worst and best way.

And then, after a beat, you ask softly, "And what happens if I don't follow it?"

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

And for a second, something shifts. The air between you turns thicker, heavier. You can feel his eyes like heat on your skin.

"I don't think you'd want to find out," he says, voice low and quiet, but not threatening. Just true.

And you believe him.

Not because you think he'd hurt you. But because there are some parts of him—some stories, some shadows—you haven't earned the right to touch yet.

You don't answer.

You just hold his gaze until it feels like it burns and then drop your eyes to your hands and stand up to walk away, walk towards the door

He straightens then, subtly, pushing off from the chair like the moment's passed. You don't know if you're relieved or disappointed.

"Of course a person as beautiful as you would write so heartbreakingly beautiful." It's low. Almost to himself. Like he didn't mean to say it aloud.

But you hear it.

And it feels like your ribcage cracks clean in half.

You turn—just slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder. He's not even watching you. He's looking down at the floor, one hand resting loosely on the back of the chair like he hadn't just broken you open and left you bleeding all over his expensive floors.

"What did you ju—" you almost ask but he's already cutting you off. "You're done for the day, right?"

You barely nod, fully facing him now, bewildered.

"Then you should go."

You turn around and walk slowly, legs a little stiff, journal heavy in your bag, chest heavier still.

And as you move past him, toward the front door, he doesn't say anything else.

He just watches you go.

You walk home like your body isn't yours, it feels like your bones are made of sound, the way you hear everything but can't feel a single step. Your bag is even heavier than it should be for some reason.

The door to your apartment creaks as you open it. Warmth hits you in the face. Jiyoon's music is loud—some upbeat synth-pop song she always plays when she's cooking—and the smell of garlic and oil and something spicy wraps around you like a familiar blanket. But you don't step in right away. You stand in the doorway a little too long, still wearing your shoes, still holding your keys in one hand like you forgot what they're for.

Then she turns. She sees you.

And she freezes.

The music doesn't. But she grabs her phone and hits pause mid-chorus, eyebrows already pulled together in the way they do when she's bracing herself for gossip. "You look... feral."

You blink. "What?"

"Your face," she says, pointing a wooden spoon at you. "It's giving war-torn romantic heroine. What happened?"

You close the door behind you. You walk inside. You don't know where to begin.

So you say the first thing that spills from your mouth.

"I saw him."

She doesn't need clarification. "Him?"

You nod.

"Lee Heeseung?"

You nod again.

She gasps so loud the spoon hits the floor.

You don't laugh. You can't.

"He was shirtless," you add quietly, like it's something illegal.

Jiyoon makes a noise so high-pitched only the dead could hear it.

"No. No. No," she says, rushing over and grabbing both your arms like she's checking for a pulse. "You have to tell me everything. And I mean everything. Did he talk to you? Did he breathe near you? Did he smell good? Does he look weird? Did you black out? Are you still alive? Blink twice if you need CPR."

You let out a long breath, barely a laugh. "He was laughing with some man. A doctor, I think. He was barefoot. Just jeans, low. He didn't even look at me at first. Just kind of... existed."

You don't realize how tightly you're gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles start to ache.

"Then he did see me later when he came back down, I was sitting. In that chair I said I always journal in. And he just... stared. Then he disappeared into that hallway closet with all the photos and came back out without something, and I watched him the whole time like a creep." Jiyoon looks winded. "This is already the best thing I've ever heard."

"He asked me if I always sit in his chair when I psychoanalyze him in my journal." Her eyes explode. "No."

You nod. "Yes."

"What did you say?"

"I told him he had no right to read it."

"Did he deny it?" You shake your head slowly. "He said—and I quote—'you wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?'" Jiyoon puts her whole body on the counter, like gravity's too much. "This is sick. This is sick. I can't believe you're living out the plot of the exact kind of emotionally unstable literature you always say you hate." You let your head fall next to hers. "I'm going to have to switch some of my classes."

She lifts her face, blinking. "Wait, what?"

"I can't keep going in the mornings. Not if I'm cleaning for him every day. The only opening left in my schedule is evening sections and some online ones, and I'll probably miss my favorite professors class."

"You love that class."

"I know."

"I don't know if you can tell but you're kind of acting like it's worth it"

*•*•*

You wake up feeling weirdly... eager. Which is insane in your opinion. It's cleaning. You're going to clean for six hours in a house where the walls are silent and the air feels kind of tight, and maybe—maybe—he'll come down again. Maybe he won't. You tell yourself it doesn't matter. You dress in your usual oversized tee and leggings, but you switch your sneakers for the cleaner pair, the ones without scuff marks. You spend longer on your face than necessary. Just moisturizer, a little concealer—nothing obvious. Just in case. You tell yourself it's just habit. You tell yourself a lot of things.

You get there at 9:57. By 10:02, your coat is hung up and the cleaning supplies are laid out in their usual corners. The house is quiet—same as always—but now it's a different kind of quiet. Now you know who it's holding and it makes you all irrationally aware of everything.

You start with the mirrors.

Not because they're dirty. They're not.

But because they reflect the hallway, and every time you glance up, you can see the top of the stairs.

By 11:17, you've vacuumed every rug on the main floor. Nothing.

By 12:04, you've re-organized the kitchen drawers. Again. Not that he'd notice. You don't even know if he uses them.

By 12:58, you're dusting frames that don't need dusting, glancing at the ceiling like footsteps might fall out of it.

By 1:45, you've convinced yourself he's not coming down. That yesterday was a one-off. That he's upstairs doing whatever rich, complicated people do—brooding maybe, like some Austenian shut-in. You try to laugh at yourself for even caring but it sits low in your chest. He's just a man, you only even met him once.

So why does it feel this weird? You're so distracted you almost forget to check the pantry. You always check the pantry. And when you finally do, you find it's already been stocked. Someone else did it.

Maybe him.

Your stomach turns and don't know why. By 3:50, you're packing your things, fingers slow on the zipper of your bag. By 3:56, you're glancing around the room like it might give you a reason to stay longer. By 3:58, you hear it.

Footsteps that make you freeze. And there he is.

Heeseung. Descending the stairs like it's nothing. Like he didn't make you wait all day without knowing you were waiting. He's wearing another linen shirt—this one in charcoal—and it's loose over his frame, the top two buttons undone. His hair is a little messy, like he's been lying down or pulling his fingers through it and, he's barefoot again. He smiles.

"Hey," he says, voice warm in that slow, easy way. "You're still here." You swallow. "Not for long."

He steps down the last stair. "How was your day?" You blink at him. It takes a second for your voice to catch up. "I spent it here. You tell me." His brows lift a little. Not offended—more amused. He shifts his weight and leans against the banister.

"I missed my favorite class."

"You're a student? And you missed a class? Because of this?" You glance down at your hands. They're still a little red from scrubbing tile. "Yeah."

He's quiet for a second. "Have you had dinner?" You start to say no—but your stomach betrays you before your mouth can lie. It growls. Audibly. Your eyes go wide and he laughs at your expression. "Sit," he says, already turning toward the kitchen. "I'll make something."

You blink. "What? No, that's not—" He turns to look at you over his shoulder. "Sit." And there's something in the way he says it that has you obeying, hesitantly still. The counter's cool beneath your palms as you lower yourself into the chair, eyes tracking his every movement. He moves so naturally in the kitchen—opens the fridge with one hand, pulls down a skillet with the other, all casual familiarity and soft clattering sounds. It smells like garlic again. Butter. Something fresh.

"What are you making?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Something edible. Hopefully."

Heeseung's cutting vegetables like he's done it a thousand times. He slices a tomato without looking down, throws it into a pan, then adds something else from a jar. The sizzle is instant.

You lean forward. "Do you cook for all your maids?"

He pauses, halfway to the sink. Then he glances at you, a slow grin spreading across his mouth. "You're barely a maid."

"Excuse me?"

He shrugs again, that same lazy charm. "Have you seen the state of the guest bathroom?"

You laugh—actually laugh, the sound startling even to you but you catch yourself wondering why you're not offended he just insulted your cleaning skills. You watch his smile grow wider and somehow, in the scent of sautéing herbs and low music playing from the speaker he must've turned on when you weren't looking, it feels normal. Almost. Except not at all. Because when he sets the plate down in front of you, you look up to thank him—and he's already watching you. Eyes soft and focused.

And for the first time all day, your chest doesn't feel so tight.

You dig in and it's stupidly delicious, making your eyes go wide again, mouth still full. "Okay.

That's insane."

Heeseung chuckles, taking a bite of his own.

You point your fork at him. "You made this? Just now?"

He nods, watching you intently. It doesn't take long before the plates are empty—yours cleaned down to the sauce, his barely touched—and there's music playing from somewhere in the house, something soft and unfamiliar, all instrumentals and quiet piano.

You're both still sitting at the counter, opposite ends, your elbows propped up, legs curled beneath the stool. He's lounging with his long body twisted toward you, shirt sleeves rolled up, one hand holding a wine glass he hasn't taken a sip from yet.

The conversation has slowed into something looser now—easier. He asked what books you've been reading lately. You asked if he's always this good at cooking. He pretended to be modest and then very much wasn't.

And then you ask, "Why every day?"

He looks at you. "Why did you suddenly want me to come clean every day?" There's a beat of silence. Heeseung's gaze drops to the rim of his glass, the edge of his thumb skimming around it once, twice.

"When I saw your note," he says finally, voice lower now, "I didn't know what to do with it." He lifts his eyes, meets yours.

"I knew you weren't going to come again until the day after next. And it made me... restless. Waiting for a reply. Not being able to ask."

You inhale, slow and careful.

"And then I read your journal."

You stiffen a little, but he doesn't apologize. He doesn't even flinch.

"I didn't read all of it," he adds, leaning forward, closer. "I swear. Just some pages. A few entries. And one poem."

You stare at him.

He sets the glass down. Both elbows on the counter now. His fingers lace together.

"I read this line—" he begins, eyes on yours, "Your silence filled the house louder than your voice ever did."

You're stunned like your brain can't comprehend he's reciting your poem word for word.

He doesn't even blink. "I memorized the gaps in your sentences like scripture. I waited for the ending, but all you left was air."

Your mouth opens—just barely—but you can't speak.

"There's still a teacup on the windowsill. There's still a sweater on the hook. There's still a ghost in the shape of you that lives in the room where you never said goodbye."

You whisper the final two lines without thinking.

"And I still set the table for two, like a fool. Like you might remember that you left me starving."

His lips part—just slightly. Your voice had gone soft at the end, cracking a little, like it didn't want to be said out loud. And maybe it didn't. Maybe it never was.

You didn't even think it was that good. You wrote it half-asleep. You'd forgotten you even. "I needed to know," he says, not looking away, "who could write something like that."

You're quiet for a long time. "You shouldn't have read it."

"I know."

"I didn't write it for anyone to—"

"I know," he says again, voice quiet now. "But I couldn't help it. I wanted to meet the person behind it. I wanted to see if you'd look at me the way your words did."

The room is suddenly very still.

You don't know what to say. You don't know if there's even language for the way your body is reacting. There's heat in your throat, under your skin, behind your ribs. You should leave. You really should but instead you ask, "Do I?"

His brow creases. "Do you what?"

"Do I look at you that way?"

He doesn't answer your question, not with words anyway. Just studies you with that same unreadable stare, something flickering behind his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.

And then, as if someone's pressed fast-forward on the moment, he shifts his weight back and clears his throat softly. "Do you play any instruments?" he asks, voice casual, like he didn't just memorize one of the most vulnerable things you've ever written.

You blink. "What?"

He shrugs, gaze dropping to the counter. "You write. I assumed you like music."

"I do," you say carefully. "I like listening more than anything. I used to sing."

He hums, smiling faintly. "Used to?"

You sigh, deflecting. "It's different when people are watching. When you're older. The recorder was more forgiving."

That gets a real laugh out of him. He tilts his head, grinning. "The recorder?"

"Yes, and I was a prodigy. First chair in third grade." You press a hand to your chest dramatically. "The youngest to ever play Hot Cross Buns with such emotional depth."

He snorts and leans closer like he's about to say something else, but the next thing you know, he's not across the counter anymore—he's beside you.

You don't know exactly when he moved, maybe it was when he stood up from the stool to put the plates in the sink, still laughing about the recorder joke.

His elbow brushes yours. His shoulder is an inch from yours. You feel his presence like heat—radiating and dangerous in the best possible way.

And somehow, you're still laughing. You're still talking about childhood instruments and music you like and whether jazz is romantic or just sad in a pretty way. He teases you for not knowing any Miles Davis and you tease him back for quoting poetry like a teenage girl with a Tumblr account.

It's light. Easy. It's so different from the static in the air earlier this week, from the careful distance you both tried to maintain. But now...

Now his hand brushes the counter beside yours. And your breathing changes. And the silence feels like a held breath.

You don't look at each other—you're still talking, kind of. But your voices are softer now. Lower. A little slower.

And then it happens.

Your eyes meet.

His face tilts just slightly toward yours, making your breath catch.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you and doesn't. His eyes drop to your lips. He leans in, just a little—just enough that the space between you crackles—and you feel yourself tilting too, breath hitching, mouth parting.

And then he pulls back, all too quick and 

sudden. He clears his throat, looks away, stepping back so abruptly he almost knocks over the stool that was next to you.

You flinch at the sound.

"I—" he starts, then shakes his head, jaw tight. "You should go."

Your stomach drops.

"I didn't mean to—" he breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to come tomorrow. Go to your class. I'll tell your manager."

You stay frozen for a second, eyes wide, lips still tingling with something that didn't happen.

And then you nod, slow. Trying not to show how much you're shaking. "Okay."

He doesn't say anything else.

You leave quietly.

But your pulse pounds in your ears all the way home and in the haze of it all you don't take the bus home.

You don't want the rush of it—the closed windows and stale air and elbows brushing yours. You want air, real air, the kind that cools your skin and cuts through the confusion curling heavy in your chest. The heels of your sneakers hit the sidewalk harder than usual. You don't notice until your toes ache.

You can still feel it. The almost of his mouth on yours. His voice whispering poetry that used to belong to no one but you. The way he looked at you right before he pulled back—like he could drown and not care.

You don't realize how far you've walked until your phone rings, sharp in the quiet. You check the screen and it's Cee. You sigh, thumb swiping across the glass.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Where are you right now?"

You blink. "Uh... on my way home. I finished cleaning—he told me not to come tomorrow, so—"

"Yeah, well, change of plans," he cuts in, voice tight, clipped. "He called. Wants you in tomorrow."

You stop walking. "What?"

"That's what I said. Twenty minutes ago, he told me you weren't coming. Five minutes ago, he said make sure you do."

Your grip tightens around your phone. You glance down at the pavement, cracked and worn, your shadow stretched long in the streetlight. "That... doesn't make sense."

"Welcome to my fucking week."

You don't know what to say. You try to remember exactly how he said it. You don't have to come tomorrow. You can take your class.

He said it like a kindness. Like a favor.

Or maybe—maybe it was a trick. A test. Maybe you failed.

The line is quiet for a moment. Then, softer—softer than you're used to from him, like he has to chew it first before he can let it out—your manager says:

"Hey. Is everything okay over there?"

Your breath catches.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." A pause. "He hasn't done anything weird, right? Or tried something? You'd tell me, yeah?"

You blink again, hard. It feels like stepping off a curb you didn't see. Your lips part, your heart kicks—because no, he hasn't. But he almost did and you're starting to think maybe it would've been fine if he did. Maybe it would've been more than fine.

"No," you say quickly. "Nothing like that. He's... he's not like that."

"You sure?"

"Yes." You don't hesitate. "I don't want to quit."

There's silence on the line. You can hear him exhale.

"Alright," he says finally. "You're there again at ten. Don't be late."

You nod, even though he can't see you. "Okay."

He hangs up.

You just stand there. A low breeze rustles through the trees, brushes cool fingers against your neck.

He asked for you. After almost kissing you and pulling away—after telling you not to come tomorrow—he called and asked for you. Your pulse flickers hot beneath your skin as your mind raced with questions.

Was he testing you?

Did he think you wouldn't come back?

You suddenly realize your mouth is dry, your throat tight. The stars feel too bright above you. Your phone buzzes in your palm, a silent reminder that something has shifted, again.

And for better or worse, you'll be seeing him tomorrow.

You don't even bother to take your shoes off when you get in the door.

The front door slams behind you harder than you mean it to, and Jiyoon—sweet, perceptive, too-curious Jiyoon—is immediately shouting from the kitchen, "Is that you? Are you okay? You've been gone forever, I was about to—"

"I'm fine!" you yell back, already halfway down the hall. Your voice cracks halfway through the word. You don't even try to fix it.

"Wait—" Jiyoon appears around the corner, wooden spoon still in hand, some ridiculous song playing from the speaker behind her. "Wait, wait, what happened? Did you see him again?"

You keep walking.

"Did he—?"

"I'm fine," you repeat, softer this time but not gentler. "He said I don't have to come in tomorrow, so I'll probably go to my class."

"Oh my god, what does that mean?" she laughs, stepping after you. "Did you finally tell him off or did he—?"

"I'm tired, Jiyoon," you mumble, hand on your doorknob. "So tired."

She crosses her arms. "You look like you just made out with someone in a Jane Austen novel."

Your face goes hot.

"I love you," you say, deadpan. "But I need to be alone right now."

She gasps dramatically, "You're hiding something! You always say I love you when you're hiding something—"

You shut the door in her face.

Lock it.

Lean back against it.

Your heart is still thudding too loud in your ears.

You sink down to the floor, journal already in your hands before you even realize you've moved. Your fingers tremble when you unscrew the cap of your pen. You press it to the page.

And for a moment, you just sit there, not even writing.

Just breathing.

You write, He said I write beautifully.

Then, slower, He said he felt restless about not getting a response.

And then, He pulled away.

The ink smudges beneath your fingers. You don't wipe it away. You just keep writing, your handwriting more frantic than usual, trailing across the page in swooping spirals and crooked curves. You write about the way he looked at you—so real and intense it felt like it burned. About how close he was, how you could feel the heat of him.

About the poem.

How he remembered every word.

How you finished it together.

And when you're done, you stare at the page—like maybe it'll give you answers. Like maybe it'll tell you what it means when a man like Heeseung tells you not to come, then calls your manager like he can't bear not seeing you.

You close your journal.

And press it to your chest.

You crawl into bed, still in your jeans, feet hanging off the edge, journal clutched to your chest like a heartbeat you don't trust to stay steady on its own.

It takes everything in you to peel yourself away, toss the journal aside, and dig out your laptop from where it's tangled in yesterday's laundry on the floor. You log into your evening class with exactly thirty seconds to spare, camera off, mic muted, chin propped against the heel of your palm.

The professor's voice starts droning through your headphones—soft, monotone, familiar—and for a second you think maybe you can do this.

And then your eyelids get heavy.

You blink hard.

You scribble your name into the attendance chat and pretend like you're absorbing something, anything, while your mind floats right back to—

That linen shirt hanging open just enough to see his collarbones. His voice, low and steady, reciting your words back to you like scripture. The smell of garlic and rosemary from his cooking still clinging to your hair. The way he moved closer without you even realizing. The moment before the kiss that never happened—the way your heart caught on the edge of it.

You shake your head violently, try to refocus. The slide on your screen says something about semiotic theory. You don't know what that means. You don't care what that means.

You're so screwed.

Your professor's voice fades into a low buzz, and you press your palm to your cheek harder, like maybe pressure can keep you conscious. It can't.

The laptop screen glares into your face. The chat scrolls with questions you don't have the energy to fake-read. You close your eyes just for a second.

You tell yourself it's only for a second.

Just one.

Just—

You jolt awake six minutes later to your professor asking, "And how might this apply to authorial intent, Y/N?"

You blink, brain empty.

You type in the chat: Sorry, my mic's not working.

And you thank every god that ever existed for mute buttons.

*•*•*

You find yourself hovering just outside the penthouse door, hesitating.

Your fingers are curled in a loose fist, suspended midair like they've forgotten how to move. You've stood in this exact spot every day for about a week now, but this time—this time you're unsure. The same polished floor under your shoes, the same towering door with its sleek gold handle and silent weight, but something about today feels different. You feel different.

You almost turn around.

Almost.

But then—voices. Muffled, low but distinct, curling around the edges of the thick door.

You lean in without meaning to, breath held as if your body knows this is a moment you're not meant to be part of. You recognize his voice first, Heeseung's—light, teasing, a tone you've come to know well, though it still unsettles you how easily it affects you. The other voice is lower, older maybe, with clipped words and a sternness that makes your stomach tighten. It must be the doctor from the other day.

"No," the doctor says, firm and quiet. "Now isn't the time to have a new person around every day. You know that."

There's a pause. You hear something creak—maybe a chair.

"It's fine," Heeseung replies, far too casually. "Nothing's happened. She's just cleaning. It's fine."

"She's not just cleaning."

There's silence. A long one. And then—Heeseung's voice again, softer. "Maybe she's good for me."

You freeze. You don't know what they're talking about exactly, not in full, but the heat that rushes to your face is impossible to fight. Good for him? What the hell does that mean? And why does it make your chest feel like it's caving in? Before you can hear anything else, the door swings open, making you stumble back just in time, blinking up at the man who steps through—tall, with sharp eyes that land on you and skim over every inch of your body like you're being scanned. He doesn't say hello, he doesn't smile just like last time. Instead, he mutters something—so low you barely catch it but the edge is there, sharp enough to wound. Something about "distractions" and "too young" and "another mistake."

You step aside without responding, your mouth suddenly too dry to speak. He walks past you with a slight shake of his head and a long sigh, like your very existence is a burden.

And then—

"Didn't think you'd come."

You turn back around.

Heeseung's standing in the doorway, barefoot again, hair still damp like he just showered, dressed in a loose gray shirt and soft black pants that cling to his hips in a way that makes your head fog. He's smiling—nothing too wide, just soft, like a secret meant only for you. Like he's genuinely happy to see you.

You open your mouth to say something, anything—but he's already speaking again.

"About yesterday," he says, stepping aside so you can walk in. "I'm sorry. I overstepped."

And the whiplash? It's instant. Because wasn't he the one who told you not to come today? All quiet and serious and guilt-stricken after nearly kissing you in his kitchen? Now he's soft again, familiar again, and it throws you completely off.

"You don't need to apologize," you say quickly, almost defensively, as you walk inside.

"I do," he says, just as fast. "I really—"

"No, Heeseung." You stop and turn to face him, heart in your throat. "You really don't need to apologize."

He opens his mouth again, brows furrowing, about to insist—but your voice cuts through the air before you can stop yourself.

Quiet. Barely a whisper.

"You didn't have to stop either."

Silence, all heavy and immediate. Heeseung just stares at you. Still and looking stunned. His lips parted like he wants to speak but the words haven't caught up to his brain. His eyes search your face slowly, like he's not sure if he heard you right—or if you meant to say it out loud.

And maybe you didn't.

But you did.

And there's no taking it back.

The door clicks shut behind you before you can even remember stepping inside.

Heeseung doesn't move at first. Just stares at you like he's not entirely sure you're real. Like maybe he conjured you up somehow. His eyes stay on your mouth a little too long, and you try not to notice the way his chest rises and falls, slow and controlled, as if he's reminding himself how to breathe.

Then you say it again. Softer this time.

"You didn't have to stop."

It hangs in the air between you. Heavy, reckless and unapologetic.

Heeseung blinks once. His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes shutters. He exhales through his nose—shaky—and drags a hand through his hair, the curls still slightly messy from sleep or stress or something in between.

"That's inappropriate," he says, not unkindly. More like he's trying to draw a boundary he doesn't even believe in.

And the words sting. Maybe more than they should. Maybe because you were just beginning to feel something real stirring between the two of you—something outside of your job, your journal, your blurring lines. You freeze. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out at first, and it's too late anyway. He's already turning from you.

The confused hurt in your eyes stops him in his tracks, but only for a second. He looks back at you—and really looks. Something passes behind his eyes, quiet and aching. Regret maybe or worse, restraint. You watch his jaw flex, as if he's chewing on something bitter, swallowing all the things he'll never allow himself to say.

Then he's stepping away. A slow, deliberate retreat. His footsteps are soft against the stairs as he disappears up them without another word.

And just like that, you're alone. Again.

The silence is incredibly deafening.

Your hands are still trembling.

They have been ever since you left his place. You could barely wipe the kitchen counters without your fingers missing the edge. The dishes were spotless before you even realized you'd scrubbed them twice. Your head was everywhere but here, rerunning that moment—that look in his eyes, the cold withdrawal of his body after your quiet, desperate confession.

And he never came back down.

You didn't know what you expected, but it wasn't this.

The day drags, and when the clock finally blinks 4:00, you practically flee. Your phone's already to your ear by the time you hit the elevator.

"I can't do this anymore," you say as soon as Cee picks up.

He sounds startled. "Do what? Are you—what happened? Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened. I just—" You press your fingers to your temple. The weight of everything suddenly lands all at once. "I don't want to clean for him anymore."

He's quiet for a second. Then, softer, "Did he do something?"

"No. I just..." You sigh. "It's better this way."

And you think that's the end of it.

But the second you step into the building's reception, the front desk clerk—neatly pressed shirt, neutral expression, his name tag slightly askew—glances up from his computer. "Miss," he says, "Mr. Lee is asking for you upstairs."

You freeze.

Your mouth goes dry. "I—I was just up there."

He nods once, polite. "He asked me to let you know."

You hesitate.

Everything inside you says don't go. That this is how it always begins—with soft invitations and good intentions and doors that don't close fast enough behind you.

But your feet are already moving.

The elevator ride is silent, save the rush of your pulse in your ears. And when you push the door open, Heeseung is there, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Waiting.

You can't read his expression.

"I figured you'd quit," he says. Not accusing. Not even upset. Just matter-of-fact, like he'd already prepared for it.

"I am," you say. "I think it's for the best."

There's a beat.

"I don't want that."

You scoff before you can help it, stepping inside, letting the door close behind you with a soft hiss. "I'm not even sure you know what you want."

You don't even realize you're walking until you're standing in front of him, so close you could count the lashes framing his eyes if you weren't too scared to look directly into them. There's something in his face—some falter in his composure—that makes your chest feel too tight.

He doesn't move.

So you do.

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, your heart hammers, and then—you're kissing him.

It's a mess of a thing. Sudden. Brash. Tipped forward on hope and recklessness. Your lips crash into his like a question you don't want answered and—

Nothing.

He doesn't move.

Your lips are on his, but he's frozen. Unresponsive.

The rejection burns so fast it chokes you, and you start to pull back, humiliated—but something in you makes you whisper to him, "Please," you almost sound broken. "Please kiss me back, Heeseung."

That's all it takes.

The air leaves his lungs like he's been sucker-punched. His hands are on your face instantly, his mouth catching yours like he's been starving for it. Like the moment he tasted you, he remembered how badly he wanted.

And this time, he answers the question

His mouth is on yours like he's finally allowed himself to breathe. You're not sure who moves first after that—him or you—but the space between you disappears completely. His hands are in your hair, on your waist, gripping your hips like he needs the reminder that you're real and here and kissing him back just as desperately.

And when he pulls away to look at you—face flushed, eyes dark and confused—you whisper again, barely audible, "Heeseung..."

That does it for him because you can swear you see the moment something in him breaks. Suddenly he's not hesitating anymore, like the sound of your voice cracked through whatever restraint he'd been clinging to, and now it was all unraveling.

He's swallowing the soft sounds you make, capturing every gasp, every whimper, like he needs to devour them, and his mouth is hot and insistent as it trails down your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin like he's trying to mark the moment there.

You gasp when he lifts you without warning, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your arms around his neck. You can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. It's erratic—wild—matching yours nearly beat for beat.

He sets you down on the kitchen counter like you weigh nothing, the cool marble biting at the backs of your thighs through your jeans. His lips return to yours before they begin their descent again, brushing over your collarbone, down the slope of your chest. His fingers find the hem of your top and pause, glancing up, breath hitching.

You nod.

That's all he needs.

He peels it off gently—too gently for the look in his eyes—and when your bra joins the growing pile of fabric, he's silent for a second. Just watching you. Then he exhales something like a curse and leans in, pressing slow, reverent kisses down your sternum, the curve of your breasts, dragging his teeth lightly, sucking your nipple into his mouth, making you shiver and arch into him.

Every time you whimper, he presses closer.

Every time you moan, he groans softly against your skin, like your sounds undo him.

And just when you think your legs might give out from how tightly your body is wound, he lifts you again. Not onto the floor—but down, off the counter, and turns you gently, pressing you forward. You gasp softly as your hands meet the marble again, your heart stuttering.

Your jeans are tugged down with unhurried hands. Your underwear follows. You're so exposed. Breathless. And behind you, Heeseung lets out a shaky breath that sounds almost like a prayer.

One of his hands smooths over your lower back. The other grips your hip. "God forgive me," he whispers.

You don't know how to stay quiet—not when his mouth is trailing behind you, kissing the backs of your thighs, the curve of you, everywhere—and when he finally leans in, when you feel the first sweep of his tongue, your entire body jolts forward like he's short-circuited something deep inside you.

"Heeseung—" It leaves your mouth like a sob.

He groans in response, tightening his grip around your thighs, but his pace doesn't falter.

And all you can do is press your cheek against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut, biting down on your own hand as he ruins you slowly.

Intimately.

He watches you unravel with so much intensity from beneath you, it's like he's trying to imprint every detail into memory. His tongue maps out every inch of you, teasing and tasting places you never realized could make you feel this way—until he finds your clit again. Instinct takes over; your hips roll down against his mouth, and he responds with a low hum, gripping your thighs to hold them open just enough to tilt his head and drag his tongue lower once more. "Spread your legs for me baby" He whispers it in a way that has you thinking you'll do anything he says, as long as he says it in that voice.

Suddenly and surprisingly, he shoves his tongue deep inside you while using his fingers to rub tight circles against your clit. "Hee—Ah!" You're moaning and whimpering so uncontrollably, the whole thing has your legs trembling where you're stood. You're convinced if he wasn't holding you up himself you'll collapse from the pleasure and pressure of it all.

His tongue is incredibly relentless, slurping you up, not even caring that he's drooling down his chin with your essence, "Wait! W-Wait!" You cry out suddenly.

"What? What? What's wrong? Did I hu—" His words cut through to you as he gets up off his knees where he was, but you're cutting him off and pulling him for another deep kiss, hopping yourself up on the counter again. Heeseung kisses you back like he's starving—like you're the first thing he's ever been allowed to want.

Your hands are in motion before you can think. Clumsy, eager, pulling his shirt halfway out from where it's tucked into his sweats, feeling the heat of his stomach beneath your palms. You moan into his mouth and his hands squeeze your thighs in response, hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn't stop you when your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants. If anything, he kisses you harder. His tongue sweeps into your mouth like he owns it—owns you—and you're letting him. Begging for more.

Your hands are shaking when you fumble at the button of his slacks, but you manage to get it undone, your fingers brushing the trail of skin that dips below the waistband. Heeseung lets out a sharp, broken sound against your mouth—fuck—his head tipping forward, forehead resting against yours as you palm him through the fabric.

You weren't ready for how hard and heavy he would be in your hand. It was like the length of him just went on and on.

You feel the twitch beneath your palm and gasp, and his breath stutters like he's seconds from losing it.

"Jesus—" heeseung grits, his voice deep and wrecked. His head tips back, neck exposed, throat bobbing, you've never seen someone come undone like this.

He's panting now, hips shifting forward like he needs the friction, like your hand is the only thing anchoring him.

"Is this okay?" you whisper, breathless, your voice barely steady as you trace him again, bolder this time.

His eyes find yours, blown wide and unreadable, lips parted. "You're gonna kill me," he breathes, but he nods. "Don't stop. Please take it out, please."

Your hand moves again, more confidently now, doing as he says, and his mouth crashes into yours mid-moan—swallowing it whole, like he can't bear the sound of his own unraveling.

And when he groans into you, deep and guttural and feral, you feel it between your legs—hot and pulsing and near unbearable.

He grips your hips like he's trying to anchor himself—like you're the only thing holding him together. He's dragging you to the edge of the counter and pinning your hand behind you, it has you feeling dizzy—the way he has you pinned there, at his mercy.

Before you can pull away to look down at where you have your hand wrapped around him, he's picking you up off the counter yet again, carrying you and setting you down on the couch, ever so gently.

Heeseung is panting into your mouth, your bodies pressed flush—his chest against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist. The fabric between you is suffocating. His sweats are halfway down his hips, your jeans are already abandoned on the kitchen floor, along with your panties, your composure, and any shred of dignity you once clung to when it came to him.

He's got you caged between his body and the couch. One arm braced beside your head, the other skimming down your side until his fingers are slipping between your legs again. You jolt, gasping against his lips, forehead pressed to his as his fingers slide through the mess he's made of you.

"Fuck—" you whisper, clutching at the back of his neck.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice nothing but gravel and smoke, his thumb teasing your clit in slow, deliberate circles that make your spine curl. "You're perfect like this...I knew you'd come back."

You moan again, louder, desperate, rocking against his hand—your whole body begging for him.

His mouth finds yours again, kisses sloppier now, and then he's gripping himself, lining up with your entrance, breath hot and uneven against your cheek.

And then—

"Rina," he breathes.

You freeze for half a second.

It's soft—tender as a whispered prayer, effortless as a breath, a name escaping his lips before he even realizes it.

But your brain doesn't quite catch it—not fully. You're too far gone. Too overwhelmed by the stretch of him nudging at your entrance, by the unbearable heat of his body, the quiet, feral groan rumbling from his chest.

You blink, dazed. "What...?"

But the next second, he's pushing in.

And everything else disappears.

Your body arches, mouth falling open around a choked cry as he fills you in one slow, devastating thrust.

The stretch burns in the best way, and Heeseung moans something guttural, animalistic, like the moment he's inside you he's forgotten his own name too.

"So tight," he groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he holds himself there, buried to the hilt. "Fucking heaven."

Your fingers claw at his back, your mouth finding the shell of his ear.

"Heeseung—move. Please—"

He pulls back, just enough to slam into you again, and you swear the stars tilt. His rhythm is brutal, relentless, every thrust stealing the breath from your lungs, and you're sobbing now—moaning into his mouth like you've lost your mind. Maybe you have.

Maybe he has.

Because he's whispering things you can't quite understand—fragmented pieces of something almost sweet, almost unhinged.

"My perfect girl... only mine... waited so long—so long—Rina..."

You hear it again. Clearer now, but you're too gone to stop. Too full of him to question it. Your body writhes beneath his like it's what it was made for—like he's been carved into your DNA.

And you don't know what he means but something about the way he's holding you—possessive, reverent, frantic like he'll die without you—sends a chill up your spine even as you're unraveling around him.

Where they meet—the madness and the need—you don't know where you end and he begins. But you're already lifting your hips to meet his just to chase your high. You're pretty sure you're drooling now and by the way he looks down at you a smiles you know he likes what he seeing "You're so beautiful" "So tight wrapped aroun—" He keeps silencing himself with strangled moans, pulling back and sitting up, too overwhelmed to even remember he hasn't apologized for already being on the edge.

"I'm gonna c—" "Oh fuck fuck fuuuuckkk" He drawls on and on, you can feel your release coming too, in fact it almost feel like you're going to pee. "Don't stop! Heeseung! Fuck!" You moan loudly, yanking him down into a sloppy kiss before pushing his hips back, his cock slipping wet and twitching from your cunt. Without pause, your fingers find your clit, working it in savage, relentless circles, each one followed by a sharp slap that makes your thighs jolt. "Fuck—shit!" you cry out, body arching as a hot stream shoots from you, splattering across his stomach and chest.

His breath catches—eyes blown wide, chest heaving—watching you lose control all over him "You're so sexy". You haven't even caught your breath when he suddenly takes over again, letting the mess spill from you as if your trembling doesn't matter, pushing you down and driving himself deep into the pulsing aftermath still rippling through your body.

"Cum on my cock again, please" "Need you to, Rina—Fuck! I'm so close!" He's mumbling half incoherent half desperate and your overstimulated self doesn't seem to hear the alarm bells ringing in your head at the name he just called you again.  You're already on the brink again, trembling and aching for it, and when it finally crashes through you, it's because Heeseung drags it out with no mercy. He pulls out, cock dripping, and fists it furiously as he paints your stomach—but he doesn't let your cunt stay empty. Two fingers slam back into your soaked hole, curling deep and fast, forcing you to squirt all over his wrist as he talks you through it with a low, filthy grin.

You're both trembling.

Sweaty skin pressed to sweaty skin. Harsh breathing. The deep, ragged quiet of two people who forgot where they were, who they were, what any of this even meant. He slumps forward, collapsing into you with a half-groan, half-laugh, and you let your fingers drift up his spine, your body humming with aftershocks.

You don't say anything and neither does he, not for a long, long moment.

Then he pushes up, slowly, gently—his hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifts you off the couch. You whimper softly from the sensitivity, clinging to his shoulders.

"Come on," he says, voice raw and low. "Shower."

Your limbs feel like water, but you nod, letting him carry you. He walks the both of you to the massive bathroom like you weigh nothing—like you're still something precious in his arms—and sets you down on the warm tile floor. The shower clicks on, hot water spraying against his hand as he checks the temperature, then guides you under it with him.

The moment the water hits you, you shiver—more from the way he's looking at you than the heat. His gaze doesn't drop once. Not when he's rubbing gentle soap over your skin, not when he's rinsing between your legs with careful fingers, not when he presses a kiss to your shoulder like an apology he's too afraid to say aloud.

He doesn't speak until you're both out, towel-wrapped and damp.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, toweling off your hair with surprising tenderness.

You nod. And you don't stop him when he pulls one of his T-shirts over your head—soft and oversized, falling to your mid-thigh. You don't stop him when he pulls on a pair of boxers for you either, or when he leads you to the guest bedroom, the sheets cool and clean beneath your bare legs as you crawl under them.

He climbs in next to you, his body warm beside yours, and without a word, he pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist like it's muscle memory.

There's no more heat. No more tension. Just his heartbeat against your back, his breath slow and steady in your ear and you fall asleep like that, in his clothes, in his bed, in his arms. Not thining about the name he whispered.

*•*•*

You wake up before Heeseung does.

There's no buzzing alarm, no sunlight breaking through the blackout curtains, but your body jolts upright anyway—like your soul remembered what your mind didn't.

Panic grips you first.

Jiyoon. She's definitely called. Probably texted. Maybe even filed a missing person's report.

You twist in the sheets, trying not to disturb the weight draped over your waist. Heeseung's arm. Heavy, possessive, warm. His hand is splayed over your hip like it belongs there.

You freeze. Your breath catches in your throat.

What did I do?

Your heart's racing as you carefully, carefully peel his arm off of you, shimmying toward the edge of the bed. You manage to get one leg off, then another, tiptoeing like a thief in the early morning hush—

"Why are you sneaking out?"

You squeak.

Spinning around, your hands instinctively fly to your chest, but you're still wearing his shirt. You breathe a little but then freeze again when you see him. Heeseung is propped up on one elbow, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded and heavy with sleep. His voice is low and scratchy—one of those voices that somehow sounds like velvet and gravel all at once.

You stare. And then it hits you—like a freight train right between the ribs. Everything he did to you. Every moan he pulled from your lips. The way he tasted. The way he touched you like you were something sacred and sinful at the same time. You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth like you can trap the memory there.

His brow lifts just slightly, eyes crinkling with amusement. "What am I gonna do with you?" he mutters, flipping back onto the bed with a sigh, one arm flung over his eyes. "You're trouble."

"I have to go," you say quickly, eyes darting to the door. "My friend is probably freaking out, she didn't know where I was—"

"Okay," he murmurs, voice muffled beneath his forearm. "But can I get a kiss?" You blink, feeling your heart stutter. Then, slowly, you cross the room again, padding back to the side of the bed. His arm lowers just enough to watch you. When you lean down, brushing your lips to his, he hums—like he's been waiting for that exact moment.

But just as you try to pull away, he grabs you. You yelp, landing on top of him with a soft thud as his hands anchor you by the hips. "Heeseung—" He kisses you again and t's not a chaste goodbye kiss this time. It's deeper, hotter—his lips moving slow and sure against yours, like he has all the time in the world. His tongue licks into your mouth, and you melt against him without thinking, your fingers clutching the soft fabric of his T-shirt over his chest.

You whine into his mouth. "I have to go..." He nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with a soft kiss before pulling back just enough to breathe. "Come back," he whispers. "Tonight. Seven o'clock."

You're blinking at him, breathless. "To... clean?" He shakes his head once, lips twitching. "No. I'll cook." You can't help it. You smile. It's shy and warm and completely helpless. "Okay," you whisper.

He lets you go then, but not before placing one last kiss on your cheek, right beneath your eye. "Don't be late."

You close the door to the guest bedroom behind you, twisting the handle slowly so it doesn't make a sound, like he might stir just from the click, not that he could even be asleep again. Your heart's still thudding, though softer now, your body still warm from how he held you—not just last night, but moments ago. You feel him on your skin. Between your thighs. In your mouth, even. You pad into the hallway, feet silent against the floor, and the penthouse feels even bigger in the morning, stretching out wide and echoey. Sunlight slips in through the tall windows of the living room, golden and faint, catching dust in the air.

Your clothes are everywhere. A trail—your bra laying on the kitchen floor with your jeans close by, your shirt hanging from the edge of a barstool like some kind of white flag.

You sigh.

You gather them quickly, cradling the bundle to your chest. But when you unfold your shirt—well, what's left of it—you remember the exact moment he took it off, how he looked at you like you were some forbidden fruit he'd gone too long without, you hadn't even realized he had ripped it. It's unsalvageable.

So you just... don't put it on. You slip your bra back on, then shrug his black shirt over it. It swallows you, soft and warm from sleep. You wiggle into your jeans next, the ones he peeled off of you. Your hands tremble as you do the button up.

Last thing—your phone. You search the couch. Nothing. Under the cushions. Still nothing. You check the kitchen counter, the bar, even crouch down to peek under the sofa. "Come on, come on..." Then finally, mercifully, you spot it near the edge of the carpet, half-tucked under the dining chair. You dive for it like it's oxygen and fumble to unlock it.

Ten missed calls. Three voicemails. Twenty-two messages.

All from one name. You don't even get a word out when you hit call—Jiyoon answers on the first ring. "You bitch." You wince. "Oh my god," she cackles. "You bitch. Where were you? Don't tell me—no, no actually, tell me everything right now."

"Ji—"

"You slept with him, didn't you? You fucking whore. You got that psycho dick, didn't you?! Tell me. Was it good? Was it crazy?!"

You cover your face with your hand, crouching down behind the kitchen island like you're trying to hide from the embarrassment sinking into your bones. "I'm coming home," you say weakly, voice still raspy from sleep and... everything else.

"Oh," Jiyoon says, tone shifting slightly. "I'm not home right now. I'm covering a shift for my lazy coworker. But I'll be back later—wait, wait, is he still there? Are you still there? What's he doing?"

"Jiyoon."

"What?"

"Bye."

You hang up.

Still pink-faced and hot, you shove your phone in your pocket, tug on your sneakers, and walk to the elevator with your head ducked low—like the doors might open and the walls themselves would whisper what happened between them. You're not sure how to feel. Still floating. Still wrecked. But you know you'll be back by 7.

*•*•*

You unlock the door to your apartment with shaking fingers, pushing it open slowly like you might find the night before still waiting for you on the other side. But it's empty, cause there's no Heeseung here. No soft piano notes echoing from hidden corners. No whispered "be back by seven." Just your little apartment, lived-in and warm and smelling faintly of vanilla from the candle Jiyoon must've lit last night. You step inside, close the door behind you, and lean back against it for a second. Just to breathe. Your body aches so deliciously and shamefully. Your lips are sore. Your thighs. Your heart.

You change into something soft and oversized before dropping onto your desk chair and logging into your online class, the kind of class that requires so much effort to focus on even when you haven't just had... whatever that was. The screen lights up. A professor you don't care about is already talking, already droning on about something you're not registering. You blink at the slides. The bullet points. You try. Really, you do. But your brain?

It's busy. Because it won't stop showing you his face in the dark. The way he hovered over you, lips parted, skin burning hot against yours. The way he touched you like you were something he needed to know. Memorize.

The way he whispered—low and wrecked—"Rina." You flinch.

It hits you all at once. You'd been so caught up in the moment, too far gone to process it then. But now? Now it loops. The way he said it. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Rina.

Who the hell is Rina? You shift in your seat, open a new tab, and hesitate. Your heart is racing again—not the good kind this time, as your hands tremble over the keyboard. Then you type it in regardless,

Lee Heeseung Rina

The search bar blinks at you. You hit enter. And there it is.

The very first result is a glossy thumbnail from three years ago. Heeseung in an interview, seated on a sleek navy couch, wearing black slacks and a gray button up sweater and a white shirt beneath it. He's smiling. That breathtaking smile you've only seen a few times up close, so effortless and disarming. You click the video.

The host laughs and leans forward. "Come on, Heeseung. Everyone wants to know. Who's Rina?" Heeseung chuckles, mouth tugging up at one side. You sit a little straighter.

"She's my first love," he says. "And probably the only one I'll ever love like that." The crowd awwws and your heart cracks like glass under pressure, you have pause the video. So she was real. A real woman.Someone he loved so deeply he admitted it on camera—publicly, permanently. Your throat closes up. Your chest tightens. He called you that name. Did he think of her while he was—. You don't even finish the thought. Instead, you search harder. Scroll deeper. You need to know what she looks like. If you look like her. If this is some messed up ghost-of-an-ex situation.

Another video pops up—this one titled "Behind the Scenes | Seoul Symphony Ensemble (ft. Lee Heeseung)"

You click it. The footage is candid, grainy. Heeseung's younger here, maybe only twenty or twenty-one, still too beautiful for it to be fair. The camera follows him backstage as he leads a film crew through the dim corridors of a concert hall. Then he stops, turns to the camera. "Come here," he says with a quiet laugh, gesturing to the next room. "You have to meet her." The camera jostles slightly as they follow. Heeseung walks up to a sleek, glossy black grand piano and runs his fingers across the keys. "This is Rina," he says, like he's introducing a person. His voice is reverent. Almost loving. "She's been with me since I was thirteen. She's...kind of everything to me."

You freeze.

The camera zooms in slightly. Heeseung brushes dust from the piano's surface with his sleeve, smiling at it so softly it hurts. "She's my first love." You sit there, staring, mind blank and full all at once.

Rina's not a person.

Rina's a piano.

A fucking piano. A part of you wants to laugh at your delusion but you don't, instead you just sit there.  Eyes glued to the screen. To him. To the way he's speaking—not to the camera, not even to the crew—but to the piano, like it's something alive. Like it's someone he's missed. Someone he still longs for in the softest, most ruined parts of himself. And that name—Rina—sits different now in your head. Not like a rival. Not like someone he's still in love with. But like... a memory. A feeling. Something that made him whole when the world couldn't.

Rina is his piano.

You let the video run, sound turned low, just watching him—barely twenty two, still beautiful, still broken. The way he presses one key gently and listens. How he says, she's been with me since I was thirteen. How he adds, she's my first love like it's a secret and a confession all at once. Your heart folds in on itself. Because in a way it makes sense now. The way he said your name last night, the way he whispered Rina instead—like he couldn't tell the difference. Like in his mind, in that haze of need and obsession and closeness, you had become something sacred. Something he hadn't let himself love in years. Something he used to play like music. And he'd touched you the same way—with reverence and hunger, as if trying to figure out where you end and he begins. You press your palm to your chest, like maybe you can settle your heartbeat if you hold it hard enough.

He doesn't see you as a replacement. You're not her. But in that moment, you think he felt something he hadn't in a long time. Something pure. Something familiar. Something maybe even terrifying. Heeseung, in his fractured, beautiful, obsessive mind, didn't just mistake you for his piano, he associated the moment—you—with what he once felt when he played Rina. And maybe he's so far gone he doesn't even realize he did it. And maybe you should be scared, but all you feel is this deep, warm ache in your ribs that won't go away. You close the laptop, completely forgetting about your class, and press your fingers to your lips. They still tingle from kissing him and you feel your stomach turn with excitement for the night to come.

*•*•*

You hear it before you see her. The clatter of her keys on the counter. The heavy sigh. And then, sharp—like a bullet of disbelief,  "YOU BITCH." "OH MY GOD." You don't even turn. Just let your eyes flutter shut and mentally brace for it. "You absolute filthy little minx," Jiyoon hisses, storming into the hallway in her work flats and crumpled apron, "Don't even try to deny it—I know you did it." "I'm not denying anything," you mumble, turning slowly to face her. She's halfway through unzipping her jacket, eyes wide, expression scandalized.

Your entire face bursts into flames. "Jiyoon—" "Oh my God, you did sleep with him." She points at you like she's witnessing a war crime. "You have sex hair. You're literally glowing. What the hell is that shirt? Wait—don't tell me." She takes a dramatic step back. "Is that his shirt?" You tug the hem instinctively. "It's just... something I had to wear. Mine got—um. Ripped." She stares at you. Blinks once. Twice. Then screams. "Oh my GOD. He ripped your clothes off? That's—like—that's premium movie-level sexy violence."

You bury your face in your hands. "Please lower your voice." "You didn't even text me last night!" she cries. "Do you know how worried I was? I thought he locked you in a cage or something!"

"I was busy," you say, voice strangled. "You were BUSY getting ravenously destroyed," she says, flopping onto the couch like the dramatics are too heavy for her legs. "Okay. Tell me everything. Don't leave out any of the details. Did he talk? Was it intense? Slow burn? Did he like—say your name all rough and gravelly or was he like, all quiet and crazy about it?" You hesitate.

You want to tell her and you almost do, but something about that moment—about everything that happened last night, the hazy weight of his body pressed against yours, his breath in your ear, how he held you like you were a prayer and a ghost all at once—feels too delicate. Too personal. You can't even begin to explain the shift you felt inside yourself, let alone the strange ache in your chest when he said that name. You swallow, keeping your voice light. "It was... really good."

Jiyoon lifts a brow. "That's it? Good?" You shoot her a look. "I'm not giving you a full play-by-play." She gasps. "So it was insane." "I'm gonna be late," you deflect, brushing past her to grab your phone. "I told him I'd be there at seven." "Ugh. Seven is such a romantic time."

"What does that even mean?" "Like. Not too early, not too late. Right in the middle. Candlelight o'clock." She wiggles her eyebrows. "You gonna let him feed you and then fuck you again?""Jiyoon."

"You are. Oh my God. Are you shaving again or are we doing stubble and surrender tonight?" You groan. "I can't talk to you about this." "Yes, you can," she says, pulling her hair into a bun. "We signed a roommate agreement, remember? Emotional nudity clause." You smile despite yourself. "Just wish me luck, okay?" She softens then, eyes scanning your face. "You like him." You hesitate, fingers pausing on your necklace clasp. "I don't know what I feel," you say truthfully. "It's... fast. Messy." "You don't do messy."

"Exactly." Jiyoon walks over, squeezes your shoulder. "That shirt looks hot on you, by the way. Like dangerously I-was-just-fucked-by-a-mentally-ill-man hot." "Thanks, I think."

"Be safe. Don't let him tie you to anything unless there's a safe word. Call me if he tries to perform an exorcism." You laugh, heading for the bathroom door. "You're gonna fall for him," she calls behind you. "You already are, huh?" But you don't answer, because you don't know that yet, and if you do, you're not ready to say it out loud.

You check the time again when it's 6:38 PM. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back at you—doe-eyed, glossed lips parted slightly, a tiny knot of nerves cinched beneath your ribs. You smooth your hands down your dress for the fifth time, whispering to yourself under your breath like it might change something. "Okay," you murmur. "Just dinner. It's just... dinner." With Heeseung. At his penthouse. In a dress you specifically picked to walk the very fine line between I wanted to look nice for you and I definitely didn't spend two hours trying on everything I own. A dress that clings at your waist and floats at your knees and makes you feel pretty but also exposed. Not in a bad way, just... in a way that makes your skin feel watched. Known.

You hesitate in the doorway, staring down the hallway toward the stairs. And then you groan. "Nope. No way I'm taking the bus." You can already see it—you standing sandwiched between strangers, one arm clutching the overhead bar, the other yanking at your skirt, trying not to breathe too loud. You can feel the wrinkles forming just thinking about it. You'd show up looking like a disheveled little sandwich and Heeseung—Heeseung with his white linen shirts and leather watchbands—would tilt his head and maybe smile and maybe not say anything, but you'd know. You open your phone and call a cab.

It feels ridiculous. Extravagant even. But the moment you sink into the backseat, cool leather beneath your thighs and the city lights blinking past your window like slow breaths, something quiet settles inside you. You take a long, shaky inhale. Heeseung's face comes to mind. The way he looked last night—flushed and breathless and so terribly hungry for you, like you were the first and last thing he'd ever wanted. The way he whispered your name. Except—it wasn't your name. Not the first time. Your fingers tighten slightly on your bag and you push the thought away. You already made peace with it—told yourself it didn't mean anything. Not really. You'd seen the videos. You know what Rina is. And in some strange, abstract way, you think maybe you understand what happened better than you should.

Maybe he sees things in fragments—maybe he feels things in them too. Maybe last night, you reminded him of something he loved once so deeply he carved a home for it in his bones. And maybe tonight, you want him to start carving space for you instead. You glance atthe time on your phone, 6:53. Your stomach flutters. Are you nervous?

God—yes. Your knees won't stop bouncing, and your fingers keep picking at the edge of your dress. But you're also... excited.You don't know what's waiting for you on the other side of this ride—don't know if dinner will be awkward or sweet or laced with something heavier—but it feels like something real. Something different. And that terrifies you. Because you've never been looked at the way he looked at you last night. Not like you were music.

The cab pulls up to the building. You pay with shaky hands, thank the driver too softly, and walk inside. The elevator ride is a blur of breath-holding. The ding at the top floor even sends a jolt through your chest. And then you're standing in front of his penthouse door, your hand hovering, not sure whether to knock or just—. It's not locked. The knob turns and you step inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click, and you're met with... silence. You take one hesitant step forward into the quiet space. It's too quiet. The air feels still in a way it didn't the last time you were here—when it was thick with the scent of his skin, his hands, your gasps and moans echoing off the walls like confessions. Now it's like the space is holding its breath again.

"Heeseung?" you call, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance at the clock on the wall, 7:01. You chew on your lip, glancing around. The kitchen looks untouched. There's no trace of movement, no clatter of pans or scent of dinner in the air. There's a single light on in the far corner by the bookshelves, casting golden shadows across the couch where he held you just hours ago, his mouth in your hair and his arms locked around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear. You exhale softly. "Heeseung?" you try again, louder this time, taking cautious steps farther in. Still nothing.

And then it hits you—you don't even have his number. You came here like some wide-eyed idiot with your heart between your teeth, expecting him to just be there, waiting, arms outstretched. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not hear the door, or might be upstairs, or might have changed his mind entirely.

God. You sink down onto the arm of the couch and try not to panic. You won't text Jiyoon—not yet. She'd tease you mercilessly and then probably tell you to go snoop in case he was sleeping with other people or something absurd. You don't want to snoop. You just want to see him. You shift in your seat, smoothing your dress again, tugging at the edge of it and check the time again, 7:06. You blink, already feeling defeated and ready to leave but then a sharp loud sound echoes from upstairs that has you snapping your head towards the stairs. There's another thud—louder this time—followed by a crash that sends a sharp jolt through your chest. Something shattered. And then, unmistakably, screaming. Blood-curdling. Ragged. Like pain clawing itself out of a throat too raw to hold it anymore.

Your breath snags. Your heart kicks into high gear. Your body's moving before your mind can catch up, instinct overriding hesitation as you bolt through the living room, past the grand piano, toward the stairs. Breaking every rule you were given when you first started working here, but that's the last thing on your mind.

He's upstairs. That's him—him screaming.You take the stairs two at a time, heart pounding, fingers scrambling against the banister. When you reach the top, there's only one door that makes sense—tall and black, you sprint to it, chest heaving, and try the handle.

Locked.

Your fist slams against it before you can think. "Heeseung?!" There's no response—just another crash, something metallic this time, like a stand being thrown, maybe a chair. Your knuckles are pulsing against the wood. "Heeseung, open the door! Please!" Still no answer. Just a chorus of garbled words—frenzied, nonsensical, frantic.

"They changed the notes—don't you hear it? It's all wrong, out of key, they're inside the piano! Stop watching me! The rhythm's bleeding, I can't—" Another crash. "It's too loud in here, too loud in my head, make it stop!" Your blood runs cold. Something primal flickers inside you—panic morphing into something sharper, braver. You back up, brace your shoulder against the frame, and throw yourself forward.

Once. Twice—

CRACK.

The door flies open, and you stumble into the absolute chaos, the first thing you see is the floor, and at the center of it all; a piano or what's left of one. Splintered wood. Torn wires. Ivory keys cracked like teeth knocked from a skull. You recognize it instantly. Rina.

There more glass and splintered wood than floor beneath her. Crumpled sheet music. A chair lying on its side. Blood. Blood like paint streaked across the wooden floor, thin trails leading to—

Him. Heeseung.

Standing in the center of it all like a broken monument. There's a deep gash across his forearm, blood still dripping sluggishly onto his hand and down his knuckles. His chest rises and falls too fast, ribs pushing sharply beneath skin that gleams with sweat. His hair sticks to his face. His eyes—wide, unseeing, glazed with something far away and chaotic and terrifying—don't register you at first. He's breathing like he's drowning.

You try to speak, to talk to him, but your throat won't open. He moves before you can. Quick, jerky. Like his body's not entirely his own. He spins, stares at the wall like it's speaking to him, fingers twitching at his sides. "They changed the notes," he mutters. "They changed the fucking notes." His voice is shredded. Raw. Like he's been screaming for hours. Maybe he has. You take one step closer, and your heel lands on a snapped piano key. It clicks beneath your foot like a trigger. He whips around, eyes on you now, all wild, unhinged and unfocused. "Who are you?" he rasps.

You freeze. The question slices clean through you. Your mouth opens, but your voice won't come. Heeseung stares, pupils blown so wide you can barely see the brown. His hands curl and uncurl like he's not sure if he wants to reach for you or strangle you. "Who are you?" he repeats. "Why are you watching me? Are you one of them?"

Them? Your heart stutters. "Heeseung..." you whisper, finally finding your voice. "It's me." But he flinches like you've struck him. You take another step and watch as he instinctively steps back. "No," he whispers. "No—Rina? I'm so sorry. I hurt you. You were perfect and I ruined you. My perfect girl. Please forgive me." Your breath catches.

"It's okay, it's okay." You don't know where it comes from. Maybe instinct. Maybe desperation. Maybe the way his voice cracks like the word is a wound. "I forgive you," you say, voice steadier this time. "I came back for you." His mouth parts and his whole body stills. You can see the thought slotting into place behind his eyes, crooked and trembling and fragile. But it settles. "...Rina?" You nod. "I'm here."

He walks toward you slowly. So slow. Like every step might set him off again. And still, you don't move. His bloodied hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek—his touch clumsy and too hard at first, like he doesn't remember how to be gentle. But then it softens. His palm cups your jaw, and he leans in so close his breath skates across your lips. "I knew you'd come back," he murmurs. Your throat tightens and swallow around the ache, allowing him to press his forehead against yours. "I'm here now."

"Don't leave," he breathes. "Please don't leave me again. The music stops when you're gone. It stops and I can't breathe, I can't—"

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper. He leans back just enough to look at you. The way he's looking now—it breaks you, because there's no rage or wildness. Just pure, shivering exhaustion. He's unraveling at the seams, and you're the only thread keeping him together. "I want to play," he says softly. "Let me play you."

You nod. And when he tugs you toward the mangled piano, you follow. It's barely standing. The legs are cracked. One pedal's missing. The keys are uneven—some bloodied, some broken. It shouldn't work. It shouldn't sound. But he sits on the shattered bench, breath hitching, and gently pulls you onto his lap.

You settle there, straddling him, your dress bunching slightly against the rough edge of the wood. Your hands brace on his shoulders. His arms wrap around you, drawing you closer. And then—fingers trembling—Heeseung presses his hands to the keys. The sound is... haunting. Off. Warped. But he plays anyway. A melody, jagged and soft. A lullaby with broken bones. The piano cries beneath his touch, but he keeps playing. For you, because of you, it all makes your chest ache for him, you even feel your eyes sting. And all you can do is hold him, let him pour whatever's left of himself into the broken body of his piano—into you.

Because right now, in this room thick with blood and chaos and ghosts, you're the only thing anchoring him to earth. The music tumbles out of him in discordant bursts, crooked and aching like his mind, like his body—like whatever this is between you. And you swear, you'd let him play you forever. But then his fingers slip, not from the broken keys, but because your breath stutters against his jaw. He stills, drifting one hand away from the piano to find your waist instead, the other continues to play, the curve of your back—and then he's holding you so tight you feel the blood from his arm soak warm through your dress.

You don't flinch.

He tilts his face up, searching yours. Your lips part, not for words, but for the way his mouth captures yours the second you breathe in. It's so so desperate. A kiss that tastes like iron and sweat and the kind of madness that wants to be known, wants to be seen.

You whimper into him, clutching at the front of his shirt, and his hands are already moving—shaky, hurried, needing—grabbing at your dress, dragging it up your thighs as if he doesn't care it's stained now, doesn't care it's soft and new and something you wore for him.The keys beneath you clatter with each shift of your hips, and his fingers fumble at the zipper on your side like it's fighting him. He groans low in his throat, kissing you harder, tongue sliding hot against yours as if he's trying to crawl inside of you—trying to disappear there, to lose the noise in his head.

"You came back," he gasps against your mouth. "You really came back—" You nod, breathless, eyes wet, thighs tightening around his waist. "I told you I would." He tugs the dress down your shoulders, hands smeared with red, smearing it onto you, painting you with it. It sticks to your collarbones, your arms, a fever-warm trail of devotion and ruin, but you don't stop him.

He's kissing you like he needs this to survive, like he'll lose his mind all over again if you pull away. Your fingers thread through his hair, and he groans at the way you pull, his mouth moving from your lips to your neck, your jaw, your shoulder—biting, tasting his blood smeared there, claiming. You tremble. And then his hand is between your legs, cupping you through your panties, a low, reverent moan tearing from his chest when he feels the heat there. "For me," he mutters, delirious. "You're like this for me."

"Yes," you breathe, rolling your hips into his hand, nails clawing at his back through his shirt. "Only for you." He groans again, like the words unmake him.

Your dress is halfway down your body, straps hanging off your arms, and you're so tangled together that it's hard to tell whose limbs are whose. He continues kissing you then like a vow. Like salvation. And everything else—the broken piano, the screaming from earlier, the sharp pain in your back from the cracked lid—fades to nothing. The music stutters beneath you—sharp, erratic keystrokes like a hymn being pulled apart at the seams.

But he doesn't stop playing. Even as his bloody fingers slip over the ivories, even as his other hand bunches your dress up around your hips, even as you gasp into his mouth and his teeth catch your bottom lip hard enough to sting. You're still straddling him, thighs trembling on either side of his lap, and he's shifting beneath you like he can't get close enough, like the distance between your bodies is an insult to the devotion he's shaking with.

"Heeseung," you whisper, breath hitching as his hand slides between your legs, the fabric of your panties clinging to you wet and ruined. "Please—" "Shh," he hushes, mouth dragging down your neck, blood and spit slick on your skin. "It's okay, it's okay—I got you, baby, I got you—" His fingers tremble as he pushes the fabric aside, clumsy and rushed, and you flinch when his knuckles brush over you. He groans against your throat, hand gripping your hip like he might break it, like it's the only anchor he has.

"Fuck, you're so warm—" he pants, "—I missed you so much, I missed you—" You don't know if he's talking to you or to her, to Rina, to whatever memory he's tangled you up with—but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he's freeing himself beneath you with frantic hands, moaning under his breath as he fumbles himself through his sweats, panting into your collarbone like he's on the verge of falling apart. And then he's there. Thick, flushed, already so hard it makes your head spin. He grips your thighs, pulling you up just enough—just enough to align—and then sinks you down onto him in one ragged, choking breath.

You cry out, clenching around him, thighs shaking. Heeseung's head snaps back, a guttural sound ripping from his throat, and his hands clamp down on your hips like he's afraid you'll vanish again. "Oh my God—" he gasps, "—move, baby, please, come on—come on—"

He's twitching inside you already, so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but he's begging for more. Encouraging you, pushing up into you while his hands guide your hips, while his fingers—still stained with his blood—return to the keys beneath him, pressing out that same broken melody. You try to move—hips rising, sinking—but it's messy. Desperate. Your thighs burn, your breath hitches, and your forehead presses to his as he whispers, "Just like that, just like that—don't stop—don't stop—" The piano groans beneath you both. His legs tremble. Your panties are barely hanging on, twisted and soaked, caught somewhere between you, and still—still—he keeps playing.

Keeps playing through the rise and fall of your bodies, through the wet slap of your hips, through the breathless moans and the ache and the madness. He's shaking beneath you. His mouth finds yours again, swallowing your sobs, blood smearing from his wrist to your waist as he holds you tighter—deeper—closer.

"I knew you'd come back," he whispers, forehead to yours. "You always come back to me." You can't answer. You can only cry out his name, again and again, as the notes beneath you unravel into chaos and crescendo Your fingers claw at his shoulders as you rock against him, pace faltering with every thick thrust. The bench groans beneath your bodies, protesting under the weight of it all, but you don't stop. Neither of you could if you tried.

His hands are all over you—up your back, into your hair, clawing at your waist like he doesn't know where to hold, just that he has to hold somewhere.

The piano is completely forgotten now. The keys he was so desperate to press—abandoned mid-chord, half-played notes frozen under bloodied fingertips. But Heeseung's mouth is moving and he's moaning something. At first it's a whisper, hoarse and uneven, barely above the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again. But then—clearer, louder— "Y/N... oh my god, Y/N—" You halt for a second. Barely. Just long enough to catch your breath. To hear him. Your name—your name, not his pianos—spilling from his lips like prayer, like apology, like it's the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Heeseung's head drops to your shoulder, and he's panting your name again, so sweet and unguarded it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. "Y/N," he gasps, "you feel so good, baby—fuck—so good—" It's like he sees you now. Really sees you. And his hands are softer now, less frantic, still trembling but reverent in how they hold you—his thumb brushing your waist, his other hand cradling your jaw as he lifts your face to his.

Your noses bump. His eyes search yours like he's never seen anything more precious. "It's you," he whispers, almost awed. "It's really you..."He leans in, kissing you like the world's finally slowed down, like he's finally returned to it. To you. And when you move again—hips grinding, slow now, deeper—he moans your name into your mouth, over and over like it's his undoing. Each syllable spills from him shakily, soaked with disbelief and want and something that almost sounds like worship.

Your hands find his cheeks, thumbs stroking where the dried tears have clung to his skin, and when you whisper his name back, soft and breathless, he shudders. Heeseung's forehead presses to yours. You feel him twitch inside you, thighs clenching around him as you both near that terrible, beautiful edge again, and he breathes your name one last time— "Y/N, I'm—fuck—I'm gonna cum, baby, please—stay with me—stay—" Your hips stutter. His hands seize. And then everything splinters—. Your name tears from his throat in a ragged moan, your own lips parted in soundless release as your body collapses forward, curling into his chest like instinct.

Heeseung's arms close around you immediately. One low on your spine, the other twisted into your hair, as if he can press you into him hard enough to keep you there forever. Your pulse throbs everywhere. Between your legs, in your throat, under your tongue. Heeseung is trembling beneath you, arms loose but shaking, chest heaving like he's run for miles and only now stopped to breathe.

He's still inside you. Still in you, cradled and connected and caught in the softness of what just happened. No piano. No ghosts. Just this.You shift slightly, just to catch your breath, and he shudders around you with a hoarse gasp. His head drops to your shoulder, face buried in the crook of your neck. You stay there a while. No words. No need. Just the sound of the wind against the high windows, the echo of your breathing, and the quiet creak of a broken piano bench holding two too-lost people.

Eventually, his fingers twitch against your waist. "Y/N," he breathes, voice scratchy and soft. You hum, stroking the sweaty strands of hair back from his temple. Your touch is gentle, slow, grounding. He lifts his head—eyes glassy, wide and wet around the edges. You watch them drop down, settle on the stains between you, the faint blood still smudged across his hands and chest. He catches your wrist.Brings your fingers—still trembling—to the mess of red streaked across his ribs. The open cuts from earlier have mostly clotted, but the wounds are still fresh, angry-looking, like they're still listening to the madness that tore them open. He presses your palm there, over his heart.

"This body..." he whispers, eyes still downcast. "It belongs to too many ghosts." Your chest tightens, but you don't pull away. Instead, your fingers spread gently over the damp skin of his chest, pressing softly, reverently. You guide his gaze up to meet yours. "It belongs to me tonight," you murmur, voice quiet but sure. "It's okay, Heeseung. I've got you."

He blinks hard and for a second, something in him flickers. Something soft. Almost boyish and safe. Then his forehead presses against yours again. He leans into the cradle of your hands like he's never been touched this way before—like he doesn't know what to do with it. "...Don't let go yet," he whispers. "I won't," you promise. "Not tonight." Heeseung's head is resting against yours, your hand still pressed to his chest, when he whispers it. So faint, it's nearly lost in your breathing.

"...Call her." You pull back a little, brushing your nose against his cheek. "Hm?" He blinks slowly, like the exhaustion is hitting him all at once. "Phone's somewhere here, on the shelf by the metronome. Just—tell her it's bad, she'll come." You stare back into his eyes cluelessly,

"My nurse".

You nod, slipping gently off his lap. He groans softly at the loss of you but doesn't stop you. Doesn't move at all, really—just tilts his head back against the edge of the bench, hair damp with blood sweat and tears. You find the phone where he said it would be, swipe up, and call the nurse. She picks up after one ring. You tell her to come and you don't have to say much more—she must be used to these calls by now. And as you're hanging up, you hear him say it behind you, low and soft, "Thanks... for coming upstairs."

You turn, heart squeezing. He's still sitting there, shirtless and smeared in blood, legs parted like he couldn't stand if he tried. But he's looking at you—really looking—and something about it makes your breath catch in your throat.

You walk over. Kiss his forehead. Then slip into the bathroom for towels, water, and cleaner. By the time the nurse arrives, you're back upstairs, on your knees by the piano, gently gathering the shattered ivory keys and splintered wood into a pile. You've scrubbed some of the blood from the floor, though the stains are stubborn. The piano looks gutted—her insides exposed, wires torn and twisted like veins. Your heart aches again. Not for the piano. But for him.

Heeseung, who stayed downstairs. Who let someone else tend to him while you tried to do what you could for the mess he left behind. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs, then his voice—calmer now, hoarse, but steady. "Leave it." You glance over your shoulder. He's standing there, freshly bandaged, a clean shirt half-buttoned and hanging loose on his frame. The nurse must have left quietly.

"I'm still your cleaner, remember?" you say lightly, trying to ease the air. "Let me do my job." His lips twitch. But there's something softer in his eyes now—something closer to sorrow than amusement.

"You're more than that." You pause and look down at the broken keys in your hands. "I know."

And he comes to you—sinks down beside you on the floor, still moving slowly like he's holding his bones together by sheer will—and rests his forehead to yours again. Neither of you says anything else, you just sit in the wreckage of something beautiful. Together.

*•*•*

It's hard to say how much time has passed. Days, maybe. Weeks. The kind that blur together, quiet and golden at the edges, like light filtered through gauze. The scar on Heeseung's arm is healing well—just a thin red seam now, barely visible when he rolls his sleeves up. He doesn't try to hide it anymore.

You're downstairs today. The sun is dipping low and warm across the windows, lighting up the dust motes dancing in the air. The piano stands rebuilt, restored—not the same one from upstairs, but something new. Something you picked out together.

You're sitting beside him on the bench, your knees touching. Heeseung's hands are guiding yours across the keys with quiet patience.

"No, baby, focus" he murmurs, laughing when you hit the wrong note again. "That's an A, not a G."

"I am focused," you argue, shoulders tensing in mock defense. "I just—I forgot which finger goes where." He leans closer, brushing his lips against your temple. "The one I showed you. Your third finger. C'mon. Try again." You exhale, pouting a little as you reposition your hands. Heeseung watches you with a softness that folds itself into the corners of his smile.

You press the keys again. It's still wrong. You groan dramatically. "Ugh, why is this so hard?" And he can't help it—he grabs your chin and kisses you mid-pout. Quick and warm. The kind of kiss that says you're the most precious thing I've ever ruined myself for.

Your lips curve into a grin beneath his. He chuckles. "You know what I think?"

"Hm?"

"I think you just like messing up so I'll kiss you."

You nudge him with your shoulder. "Maybe." Heeseung leans in again. A little slower this time. A little deeper. Then his hands return to the keys. And so do yours.

You sit like that a while—two shadows against the shine of the piano, laughter and missed notes echoing softly in the room. And if someone were to peek in just then, they might think it's a simple thing. A boy and a girl, and a piano between them. But it's not. It's an anchor. A promise. A world rebuilt from ash and ghosts and broken music.

And maybe you never learned to play perfectly, but he never stopped telling you you were the most beautiful song he'd ever heard.

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•taglist-

@immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

holy shit this is insanely good😭🙂‍↕️

[itendtothinkalot]

the checklist

summary: beomgyu swore he'd never get into a relationship. it’s cringe, it’s stupid. but when he starts getting nervous and flustered around you, his best friend huening kai creates a checklist to figure out if he’s into you.

genre: fluff

characters: beomgyu x f!reader

words: 5.1k

warnings:

a/n: im glad txt's hvg rest but oh i do miss them <3<33

Beomgyu was baffled. Relationships? Love? Please. He’d never been in one, much less fallen for anyone before. The whole concept of being in love sounded like a scam to him—a nightmare wrapped in pink ribbons. The idea of dating someone was even worse. What, he’s supposed to shower them with constant attention? What is this? A puppy adoption program? A full-time babysitting gig? No, thanks.

Every time his friends gushed about their latest romantic escapades—"Oh, we’re going to this cute little café together!" or "We stayed up all night just talking!"—Beomgyu would roll his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck in the back of his head. He didn’t get it. Why would anyone willingly sign up for this chaos?

But then, you happened. And suddenly, Beomgyu found himself staring at his reflection, wondering when the hell he became one of those people.

“Kai.” Beomgyu tapped his friend's shoulder insistently, desperate for some sort of wisdom. “Kai!” He repeated, louder this time, when his friend blatantly ignored him.

Kai sighed dramatically, pulling off his headphones with the kind of irritation reserved for someone whose game was going so well. “Beomgyu, I’m literally in the middle of a match. Can this wait?”

“Sure,” Beomgyu replied with an unusually calm nod, flopping onto Kai’s bed and staring at the ceiling like he’d just been hit by an existential crisis.

That’s when Kai froze. Something wasn’t right. Beomgyu wasn’t whining, nagging, or hovering over his screen like a bratty sibling waiting for their turn to play. This was weird. Alarm bells went off in Kai’s head.

“Wait…” Kai spun around, yanking his headphones off completely. “You’re not being annoying? You’re not rushing me? What the hell happened?” He plopped down next to Beomgyu, who looked suspiciously… deflated. “Okay, who hurt you?”

“No one.” Beomgyu sighed dramatically, staring at the ceiling as if it held all the answers. “I was just… thinking.”

Kai raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “You think?”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes and flicked Kai’s forehead without hesitation. “Occasionally. Yes. Shocking, I know.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Kai said, rubbing his forehead with a smirk. “Continue.”

Beomgyu hesitated, then sat up slightly, his voice quieter now. “It’s just… you see… there’s this girl.”

Kai’s eyes lit up, his tone immediately shifting from curious to obnoxiously teasing. “Ooooh, a girl, huh?”

“Shut up.” Beomgyu groaned, shoving him lightly. “It’s not even like that. I don’t like her like that. Or vice versa. Or—whatever. It’s complicated.” He sighed again, the weight of his confusion palpable.

Kai leaned back, crossing his arms with an amused grin. “You sound real upset for someone who doesn’t care.”

“Can you just listen to me for once? Please!” Beomgyu groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Okay, fine! I’m sorry!” Kai held his hands up defensively. “I’m listening now. Go ahead, Romeo.”

“Thank you.” Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So… there’s this girl.”

Kai smirked. “Yeah, I got that part.”

Beomgyu shot him a warning glare before continuing. “She’s new at the café. Yeonjun told me to, y’know, mentor her on the drinks. So, I’ve been doing that. It’s been a couple of weeks, and, well… she’s just this normal girl. She’s studying at the same school as us, but I think she’s in a different building.”

Kai tilted his head, squinting. “Right. A totally normal girl who you’ve been thinking about so much, she’s made you think.”

Beomgyu let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “And lately… I don’t know. Yeonjun’s been putting our schedules together, and I… I don’t know how to feel about it. Like, all I know is I like working with her. I enjoy being around her. But I hate what this feeling is doing to me. It’s like—what’s the word—annoying.”

Kai raised an eyebrow, leaning back smugly. “Not gonna lie, Beomgyu, it sounds a lot like you kinda… like her.”

“That’s impossible.” Beomgyu threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t like anyone. I don’t want to be in a relationship. You know me! I couldn't care less about dating, romance, or whatever nonsense everyone seems obsessed with.”

——

One Month Ago

“And of course, this is Beomgyu,” Yeonjun said with a teasing smirk as he gestured to the tall, ridiculously attractive guy standing in front of you. “Do not be charmed by his good looks—he’s not interested in anyone. Except himself, of course.”

You blinked, gulping down the sudden lump in your throat. Okay, Yeonjun wasn’t lying—this guy was good-looking. Too good-looking. Like, unfairly good-looking. But "off-limits"? Perfect. You weren’t exactly in the market for romance anyway, not with your recent breakup looming over your head like a bad rom-com cliché.

This job was supposed to be your escape—a way to distract yourself from your ex and maybe stop scraping together couch change for instant ramen. A few shifts, some good times, and some side cash—easy, right? Except now, you were standing face-to-face with someone who looked like he belonged on a billboard instead of behind a café counter.

It would be fine. Totally fine. You weren’t interested in him. And according to Yeonjun, he wasn’t interested in anyone. Which meant you had nothing to worry about. Right?

“Hey!” you said with a small smile, offering it to the brooding guy standing before you. But instead of the moody half-nod you were expecting, he returned your smile—a sweet, disarming one that completely threw you off.

Well. Scratch “emo” off your presumptuous first impressions.

“Y’know,” you said, tilting your head curiously, “you look super familiar. Are you from the university across the street?”

Beomgyu’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your question. He nodded quickly. “Uh, yeah! Have you seen me around?”

“No,” you said, grinning as you delivered the punchline, “but I’ve seen the posters…”

Ah, the posters. A wave of embarrassment immediately washed over Beomgyu. Back in his first year, he’d been strong-armed recruited by the university’s marketing team to pose for promotional posters plastered around campus. At the time, the promise of a couple hundred bucks had been too tempting for a broke freshman to pass up. But now? Those same posters felt like his own personal humiliation tour.

“Oh. Those posters,” he mumbled, cheeks reddening as he scratched the back of his neck. “Right. Darn things…”

You laughed—a sweet, melodic sound that tugged at something unfamiliar in his chest. “It’s okay! They turned out great.”

And just like that, you walked away, following Yeonjun into the staff pantry, completely unaware of the tiny earthquake you’d just triggered in Beomgyu’s world.

He stood frozen in place, replaying the interaction in his head. The way your eyes lit up when you spoke to him, like you’d known each other forever. The way your laugh lingered in his ears, soft and warm. The way your hair bounced as you walked, catching the light in a way that felt almost cinematic.

Beautiful. That was the only word his brain could come up with. You were beautiful—too much for him to process, let alone admit. And it wasn’t just how you looked. It was the ease, the effortless charm you carried, like you’d just walked into his life to flip it upside down.

It hit him like a punch to the gut: if he did have a type, you would be it. Except…

He didn’t have a type. He didn’t want a type. He didn’t want to date anyone. Absolutely not.

So why was his heart doing cartwheels in his chest?

——

Present

“You literally like her,” Huening Kai groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it looked like they might stay that way. “Dude, you’re just in denial at this point.”

“I don’t like her!” Beomgyu shot back, glaring daggers at his best friend, hands clenched, this close to shoving Kai off the bed.

“Okay,” Kai said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Then let’s do a quick little checklist, shall we?”

Beomgyu narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

“How do you feel when she’s this—” Kai leaned in obnoxiously close, practically nose-to-nose with Beomgyu, “—close to you?”

“Uh…” Beomgyu faltered, his face heating up faster than he could come up with a retort.

——

2 Weeks Ago

“Beom, can you pass me the sugar, please?” you asked, glancing up at him.

Standing almost two heads taller than you, Beomgyu had become your unofficial ladder. Need something on a high shelf? Just call Beomgyu. And honestly? He didn’t seem to mind.

Working with him was surprisingly easy. Too easy, actually. Everyone said earning money was tough, but when Beomgyu was around, the shifts flew by, lighthearted banter here and there, and the occasional spilled drink, it was just like kindergarten. 

“Beom?” Beomgyu blinked at the nickname, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You’d only started calling him that a few days ago, but hearing it felt… weirdly nice.

“Here,” he said, reaching for the sugar. “Just don’t drop it like last time.”

“Hey!” You protested, pouting. “That’s unfair. If I recall correctly, you made me laugh, and that’s why I dropped it. So technically, it was your fault.”

“Oh, so now being charming and funny is my fault?” Beomgyu quipped, a teasing smirk dancing on his face.

“Yes,” you said with a playful nod. “But also, thank you for taking the blame for me.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, handing the sugar container to you. “It's not like Yeonjun can fire me. He needs me more than he thinks.”

Just as you reached for the sugar, your hand brushed against his. It was brief—barely a second—but it sent a jolt through Beomgyu like he’d grabbed a live wire. His grip faltered, and the container slipped from his hands.

“Beomgyu!” you laughed, not realizing that the simple touch had completely short-circuited him.

He mumbled an apology, crouching to pick up the container, but his mind was still reeling. Why was his heart suddenly pounding? Why couldn’t he stop staring at the way your smile lit up the entire room?

You. Your hands brushing against his. Your laugh ringing in his ears. Your eyes meeting his and holding his gaze just a second longer than necessary.

Perfection.

And he hated it. Absolutely hated it. Because it made him feel things he swore he’d never feel. But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the truth was painfully obvious.

He was in trouble.

——

Present

“It feels… funny,” Beomgyu muttered, struggling to find the right word. But even as he said it, he knew "funny" didn’t even come close to describing what you did to him.

“Funny?” Huening Kai snorted with laughter. “That’s the best you can do? Alright, let’s get into the details. Do you ever... get nervous around her?”

“Does the feeling of needing to take a shit every time she’s near me count?” Beomgyu asked, his brain still scrambling for the right words.

Kai slapped his forehead, groaning. “You’re hopeless.”

——

1.5 Weeks Ago

For the past week, Beomgyu had been stuck opening the café. Normally, Yeonjun handled mornings, but some emergency had left Beomgyu in charge. He hated the added responsibility. But if he was being honest—though he’d never admit it—it also gave him an excuse to tweak the schedule so that your shifts overlapped with his. Taehyun would be okay with working late shifts for 2 weeks, right?

This morning, he found himself nervously fidgeting in front of the shiny coffee machine, using its reflection as a makeshift mirror. Was his hair okay? Maybe the little bit of gel he’d added was too much. Should he spritz on more cologne? No, too obvious.

The café was quiet, only a handful of early-morning customers scattered across tables. The clock ticked toward 9 a.m., and Beomgyu felt his heart rate pick up. Any second now.

And then the door chimed.

“Morning, Beomie!” you called cheerfully, your voice like sunshine cutting through the morning haze.

Beomgyu froze, his breath hitching as he turned to see you. You were radiant. Effortlessly glowing, even in your simple two-piece outfit that hugged you just right. Your smile was enough to knock the wind out of him.

“M-Morning!” he stammered, barely able to string two words together.

You cocked your head at him, a giggle escaping your lips. “You alright there?”

Walking over to the counter, you placed your bag down and grabbed the apron you’d left the night before. Without hesitation, you slipped it on and turned toward him, pulling the strings into your hands.

“Can you help me tie this?”

Beomgyu nodded stiffly, stepping closer. His fingers fumbled with the strings, brushing against the soft skin of your lower back. His heart skipped a beat. Why did she have to wear a crop top today? he thought miserably, trying not to combust on the spot. The warmth of your skin sent shivers racing up his spine.

“Thanks!” you chirped, spinning around to face him. But your brows furrowed as you studied him more closely.

“Gosh, Beomie, are you sure you’re okay?” you asked, leaning in and placing your hands gently on his forehead as if checking for a fever.

The sudden closeness made Beomgyu’s brain short-circuit. His knees felt weak, and his entire body betrayed him, a blush creeping up his neck.

“I—uh—I gotta use the washroom,” he blurted, stepping back awkwardly. “Be right back.”

And before you could respond, he was gone, leaving you to shake your head with an amused smile. Meanwhile, in the restroom, Beomgyu leaned against the sink, staring at his reflection.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. But deep down, he already knew the answer.

——

Present

“I hate to break it to you,” Huening Kai said, deadpan, “but that literally sounds like you’re in love with her.”

“No! It can’t be that. I’m probably just… sick,” Beomgyu stammered, shaking his head as if that would banish the thought.

Kai raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, so you’re only ‘sick’ when she’s around? Sure, Beomgyu. Totally normal. You’re absolutely fine.” He rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck.

“I shouldn’t have asked you,” Beomgyu muttered. “Should’ve gone to Soobin. He’s less… devilish.”

Kai smirked, leaning back against the wall. “Oh yeah, Soobin. Because he’d totally never make fun of you. Not at all.”

“You’re right. I need to make new friends.” Beomgyu stood up abruptly, pretending to walk away.

Kai grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Aww, come on! Don’t be like that. I’m serious. I’m here to help. I can do this, I swear.”

“Kai,” Beomgyu groaned, “I think we should just call it a day.”

“No!” Kai exclaimed, holding up a finger like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci Code. “We’re this close. Once you admit whatever it is you’re avoiding, life will be so much easier. Trust me. I can see the future.”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Just answer me one last final question.”

“What?”

“Does your heart… race? When you’re with her?”

——

2 Days Ago

“Choi Yeonjun, you stupid little shit,” Beomgyu muttered under his breath, blowing into his hands to keep warm. Sending him and you to run errands in the middle of winter felt like some kind of cruel prank.

Next to him, you were bundled up in a cozy puffer jacket, scarf, and beanie, your nose red from the cold. Beomgyu had to bite back a grin. You looked like the cutest Pop Mart figurine he’d ever seen.

You pouted, your breath visible in the freezing air. “Why couldn’t Yeonjun be more accurate with the timing? I’m freezing my ass off.”

Beomgyu crossed his arms, scowling. “I’m killing him later.”

You shook your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Or… we could always take revenge.”

Beomgyu’s brows lifted. “Oh, my sweet genius. How?”

You grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “We can replace all the coffee beans in the grinder with decaf tomorrow morning. Let’s see how Yeonjun functions without caffeine.”

Beomgyu blinked, then burst out laughing. “You’re dangerous. I didn’t realize you were as devious as you are adorable.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, but you didn’t seem to notice. You just smiled, giggling. “I got it from my mom.”

He laughed along with you, his heart feeling lighter despite the cold.

“Gosh, is it coming yet?” you sighed, your voice trembling. The icy air seemed to suck all the energy from your words.

“Yeonjun said it’ll be here around 3:15,” Beomgyu replied, glancing at his watch. “So… about ten more minutes.”

You groaned, shivering as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “O-okay.”

“Hold on.”

You blinked, watching as Beomgyu walked away without explanation. Confused but not wanting to leave in case the truck arrived, you stayed put, hopping in place to keep warm.

A few minutes later, Beomgyu returned, holding two steaming, foil-wrapped sweet potatoes.

“Here,” he said, handing one to you.

Your face lit up, your smile bright despite the cold. You pressed the warm sweet potato to your face, sighing in relief. “I can’t feel my face.”

Beomgyu chuckled, stepping closer. “Here.” He pressed his own sweet potatoes against your cheeks, squishing them gently. “Better?”

You blinked up at him, your cheeks squished in his hands, making you look even more adorable.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stop. Beomgyu’s heart pounded in his chest as the warmth of your skin and the softness of your smile hit him like a freight train.

Then you reached up, stopping him from pulling his hands away. “Aw, no, come on. Keep them there. I’m freezing.”

Beomgyu’s cheeks burned, and for once, he was grateful for the cold air, it gave him an excuse. But even as he tried to steady his breathing, he could feel it. His heart was racing faster than ever.

——

Present

“I have feelings for her, don’t I?”

Huening popped a chip into his mouth, “I hate to say it but I told you so.”

“Well, what do I do now?”

“You’ve gotta tell her. And after you do, let Soobin know that I’ve officially won the title of Beomgyu’s top best friend this month.”

“And how am I supposed to ask her?”

“Well, just a suggestion, but you could text her?”

“That’s not romantic!” Beomgyu deadpanned.

“Oh, sorry for trying to help. You’re the same guy who once swore he’d never, in a million years, tell a girl she looks pretty because apparently, that’s basically signing up to be chained to a cage like a love-struck animal.”

“That was the old me.”

Huening smirked, popping another chip into his mouth. “Sure, that’s the ‘old you,’ but the new you is in love with her.”

Beomgyu ran a hand through his hair, pacing around the room. “I don’t even know how to start.”

Huening leaned back, watching his best friend spiral. “Well, look at it this way: if you’re already thinking of telling her, you're in the right direction.”

“I want something memorable, you know?” Beomgyu muttered. “Something more… romantic. Something she won’t forget.”

Huening raised an eyebrow. “And you think a dramatic speech in the middle of the cafe is the answer?”

Beomgyu froze. “That... actually might work.”

“Wow, you really are whipped,” Huening said, sarcastically.

“I’m serious! I’ll walk in, tell her how I feel, and let her know how much she means to me. I’m going all in, no holding back,” Beomgyu said, determination lighting up his face.

Huening sighed, shaking his head dramatically. “Alright, but just so you know, you asked me for help. And when she swoons, don’t forget to tell Soobin I won the ‘Best Friend of the Month’ award.”

Beomgyu shot him a deadpan look. “I’ll make it happen. Thanks, Best Friend.”

“Could I get that in writing? You know, so Soobin doesn’t think I’m just making stuff up.”

Beomgyu’s heart pounded in his chest as he thought about it. Texting was out of the question. He’d have to make his feelings known the right way—face-to-face, just like in the movies. He was ready for this.

——

"Okay. You’ve got this, Beomgyu," he muttered to himself, giving himself a thumbs-up. "Just say something smooth... something charming. You’re Beomgyu, the irresistible coffee god. You can do this."

He looked around, making sure no one was watching, then smiled at his reflection in the window.

“Hey, I think you’re really cool, and I like you. Wait—no, that’s too casual. Let me try again.”

He put a hand to his chin dramatically, thinking for a moment.

"How about… ‘I think you're the most beautiful person I’ve ever met and I can’t stop thinking about you.’" He immediately cringed. "Nope, nope. That sounds fucking disgusting."

Just as he was about to try again, a voice from behind him interrupted.

“Dude, just go in,” Yeonjun said, raising an eyebrow as he walked up. He'd been watching from across the street for the past ten minutes, taking in Beomgyu's solo performance with mild amusement (and taking a couple of short videos to fill his stories with).

“Yeonjun! What the hell? You scared me!” Beomgyu jumped, heart leaping into his throat.

“Stop talking to yourself like a loser and just go in already. You’re getting weird looks from the store across us," Yeonjun scoffed. “Also, I’m pretty sure the entire neighborhood has seen your failed rehearsals by now.”

Beomgyu grimaced. “I just don’t want to mess it up, okay? I need to make it perfect.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “You’ve been here for 20 minutes and the only thing you’ve perfected is looking like a robber who's about to rob MY café. Get it together. It’s just a confession. You’re fine, she’s into you. Go!”

Beomgyu shot him a glare. “I’m not a robber, Yeonjun. I’m a man with feelings... and a very fragile ego.”

“Oh, please,” Yeonjun chuckled, pushing him toward the door. “If I had a dollar for every time someone said they were ‘fragile’ before a confession, I could buy this entire block. Just go in there and stop making it a bigger deal than it is.

Beomgyu hesitated for a moment, then turned to face the door of Junnie’s, which was now just a few steps away. He took a deep breath and shot Yeonjun a look that screamed ‘I’m regretting this already.’

“You’re really doing this,” Yeonjun said, an exaggerated smirk on his face. “Alright, Beomie, go make history.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Beomgyu sighed, taking a step toward the door. “I’m going... but if I faint in there, you’re taking the blame.”

With a last nervous glance at Yeonjun, Beomgyu shoved the door open. The bell above it jingled as he walked in, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, and that's when he found you behind the counter, waiting.

“Welcome to Junnie’s! How may I help you—Beomgyu? What are you doing here today?” you laughed, wiping your hands on your apron as you looked up from behind the counter.

Beomgyu leaned against the counter with a grin that could melt the coldest of hearts. “I came here to see you.”

You blinked, trying to process his words. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he said, suddenly looking everywhere except at you. His hands were twitching like he was about to do a dance routine.

“Should I be on my break for this?” you asked, genuinely puzzled.

Beomgyu shook his head quickly, as if trying to shake off his nerves. “No, no. It’ll be quick. I think. Probably.”

You chuckled, unable to hide your confusion. “Okay, you’re acting like you’re about to tell me you robbed a bank or something. Is everything alright?”

Beomgyu froze for a second, his eyes wide. “I'm getting rid of this stupid black beanie tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, sighing.

Getting called a robber for the second time today wasn’t exactly on his to-do list.

“Then why are you sweating?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not sweating!” he replied, wiping his hands on his pants—clearly in denial. “Okay, maybe I'm a little nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” You genuinely didn’t understand, your head tilting to the side in bewilderment. “You’ve literally seen me like... a hundred times.”

“I just—” Beomgyu paused, and the silence between you two felt like forever. “Okay, maybe more than a hundred... but—”

“So, you’ve been nervous about seeing me a hundred times?” you asked, trying to piece it together.

“Definitely not,” Beomgyu said quickly, then muttered, “Well, kind of...”

“Okay, I’m lost,” you said, eyes wide, still trying to figure out why he was so flustered.

Beomgyu nodded, “Well…this is gonna be awkward, and I’m not really sure how to do this or what I’m supposed to say because I don’t want to ruin things between us—but, well, here it is.”

You immediately put your hands up, practically begging for mercy. “Oh, no, please don’t say it. Don’t say you’re not interested in me or anything like that, please.”

Beomgyu froze, looking absolutely panicked. “Huh?”

“Listen,” you said, starting to pace behind the counter like you were preparing for some dramatic monologue. “If you’re going to let me down easy, you don’t have to say anything. I know you’re not really into relationships, and I totally get it, okay? You’re the independent type. I respect that. Honestly, I wasn’t planning on doing anything crazy with my feelings. It’s all good, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Beomgyu’s face went from confused to deeply distressed. His eyes were wide, and his shoulders slumped as if someone had just stolen his favorite hoodie. “Wait, what? No! No, that’s not what I came here to say! I—”

You sighed dramatically, crossing your arms. “I mean, it’s okay. Yeonjun told me you weren’t interested in relationships. And hey, it’s fine. I’ll just stay in my lane and respect that you want to focus on… I don’t know… life, or being a free spirit or whatever. Like, I get it. I’m totally cool.”

Beomgyu blinked, frozen in place for a second, like you’d just dropped a bombshell on him. He quickly stepped forward, eyes wide with determination. “Hold on! That’s not— I’m not saying what you think!”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “Really? Because I’m getting the vibe you’re not, you know, in the relationship market. Like, at all.”

He inhaled deeply, as if trying to muster all his courage to say the right thing. “I swear, I came all the way down here to tell you something completely different. Look, if I’m being honest, I… I really like you. Like, really, really like you.”

Your jaw dropped. You were completely taken aback. “You… You like me?” you stammered, suddenly feeling all kinds of flustered.

Beomgyu nodded, looking at you like you were the most beautiful person in the entire world. “Yeah. I do. A lot. Like, so much that it’s kinda scary sometimes, but also really exciting. I’m not great with words and I’ve never been good at this, but… I want to try. I know I said that I’m not interested in relationships but I don’t know…with you it just seems easy. I like you. And I want to figure out whatever this is with you, if you’ll let me.”

There was a moment of silence, your heart racing from the sheer intensity of his words. And then, like a switch flipped, you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Wow, so all this time I was thinking I had to keep my feelings to myself..”

Beomgyu flushed red, looking both nervous and utterly adorable. “Well…you’re different.”

You leaned across the counter, smiling, as you finally met his eyes. “So, wait… does this mean you’re actually asking me out? Like, for real?”

Beomgyu’s face lit up, nodding expectantly, “ Yes. I want to take you out. If you’ll let me.”

You grinned, your heart doing little flips. “Well, that’s a relief, because you’ve been driving me crazy. And I was starting to think I was gonna have to ask you out first. But of course, I wouldn’t, y’know, the whole off-the-market thing did catch me off guard at first.”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Well, a cute guy like you—who’s charming and funny—charms my ass off and apparently is off the market. Huge bummer, no?” You leaned forward slightly, making your playful tone even more obvious, but a hint of real affection crept through.

Beomgyu chuckled, his smile wide and warm. “Well, you’re in luck, because I’m officially back on the market.”

Your smile widened even more. “Hopefully not for long,” you teased, winking at him. “I’m a go-getter.”

“Oh really?” Beomgyu’s grin was teasing as he leaned just a little bit closer, eyes locked with yours. “Weren’t you the one who just said you’d respect it if I wanted to be independent?”

Your chest tightened, the playful back-and-forth somehow turning into something more serious. “Do you?”

He took another step forward, practically in your personal space now. His voice softened, but the warmth in his eyes was undeniable. “Not if it means I can’t go out with you.” 

You felt the space between you both shrink with every second. He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath just barely brushing your skin. The intensity of the moment wrapped around you both as your eyes flickered between his lips and his eyes, unsure whether it was the right moment to do what he wanted to.

Then, just as Beomgyu’s hand was hovering almost instinctively near your arm, his head slightly tilting to get a better angle, the door to the café swung open with a sharp "ding!" and Yeonjun walked in, looking around casually until his eyes landed on the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Oh no, no, no,” Yeonjun groaned loudly, immediately striding over. “Beomgyu, you’re not even supposed to be here. It’s not your shift. You’re killing the vibe. Like, really killing it.” He grabbed Beomgyu by the shoulder and pulled him away, literally lifting him off the ground as if he were a rag doll. “C’mon, man. Move it. You’re ruining the whole romantic café ambiance with all this sexual tension. Get outta here.”

Beomgyu sputtered, his face going bright red. “I wasn’t— I mean, we were—”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you were doing,” Yeonjun interrupted, giving him a smirk. “And I’m putting an end to it before things get too heated in here. Don’t think I didn’t see those looks. You two are about two seconds away from having an impromptu makeout session right in front of all the customers.” He turned to you with a grin. “No offense, but you’re about to turn this café into something disgusting, and I can’t handle that right now.”

“There’s only one customer!” 

“And he has two eyes!” 

You tried to hide your grin but failed miserably as you watched Beomgyu attempt to protest while being dragged out. “Fine, fine, I’ll go,” Beomgyu grumbled. “But you’re not getting rid of me for good.” He shot you one last flirty smile before Yeonjun practically shoved him out the door.

You stood there, stunned and flustered, trying to regain your composure as the moment you thought might just happen slipped away. As Beomgyu’s laughter faded down the street, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. Yeonjun shot you an apologetic look. “I know, I know, I’m a buzzkill. But don’t worry. Knowing how annoying he is, he’ll probably be back in a couple of minutes.”

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. “He’s lucky you stopped him, or I’d have kissed him right there.”

Yeonjun’s grin was full of mischief. “Why do you think I stopped the both of you?”

[whatwasthatpipsqueak]

i love this😭🫶