At the luxurious resort of Marriotte, the staff lived by a single unofficial rule: don’t get involved with the guests. Not the gilded men, not the wives, and certainly not the daughters. One slip meant losing everything. But then you stepped too close, and Sunghoon couldn’t bring himself to care (not anymore)
a summer romance divided into two parts
PAIRING: lifeguard!Sunghoon x fem!reader
WARNINGS (for this part): poor!boy x rich!girl tropé, kinda forbidden love, Sunghoon is rude to you at the beginning, but we love a man who comes back and yearns, right? right?! slow-burnish, mentions of cuts and blood, alcohol consumption, cigarettes usage, reader almost drowns once, and Sunghoon has to save her
PART ONE｜21.6K｜STORY MASTERLIST
Park Sunghoon wouldn’t really describe himself as a waiter.
After all, when he had been hired at the luxurious resort of Marriotte, he had been hired as a lifeguard.
Mr. Hwang — or Mr. Grumpy, as Sunghoon came to know the staff members not so affectionately called their head manager — had been clear about Sunghoon’s part at the resort: for forty hours a week, he had to monitor the pool area, enforce rules, and respond to emergencies, ensuring the guests’ safety as if their lives were made of spun gold.
“Because they are,” Mr. Hwang said, his tone coming with a certainty so untroubled that Sunghoon had to clench his jaw to prevent the honest reply from rolling out of his mouth.
In another universe, he would’ve rolled his eyes and declined. In another universe, he wouldn’t have been born to a poor family on a small island in Jeju, and a job at eighteen wouldn’t have felt like a life raft you grabbed with both hands or drowned.
But this was not another universe.
In this one, he saw the contract with ten thousand won per hour in bold letters, and signed it as he had learned to sign his father’s hospital forms — fast, and without questions for which he couldn’t afford.
But not once — not even once — Mr. Hwang had mentioned that Sunghoon had to learn about French champagne and fill in for waiters, turning fragile crystal into another kind of hazard.
Yet — here he was.
Tray in hand, and wearing a shirt he had borrowed so many times that Jongseong had already stopped accepting it back.
In the few hours he had been given off his lifeguard duty, the deck had been completely altered. The beach chairs that usually angled toward the water were gone, replaced by long tables laid out with linen so white and crisp, they looked ironed — probably Mrs. Kye being ordered to do them along with the suite’s linens — only for the children to ruin everything, clutching it on their chubby hands as they kept on what Sunghoon suspected to be a game of tag.
On any other night, he would’ve told them not to run — not so close to the pool — but luxury was nimble and so was everything in Marriotte, and the pool was just another part of the grand decoration, and such warning was unnecessary. So Sunghoon walked past them instead, weaving between guests, and letting fragments of conversation brush against him like perfume: mergers, villa renovations, summers that lasted forever because this was what Marriotte guests sounded like — people perched so high on the social ladder they spoke as if they could negotiate with the sun.
Somewhere in there, a woman gestured for him to trade her empty glass for another one, her eyes never moving toward him — not even when she groaned a finally at him, and Sunghoon mumbled an excuse as if he had in fact been late for an appointment with her.
He moved away with his pulse tight, catching a blur of bare legs and pastel silk weaving between the chairs’ backs, but as he tried to move out of the way, another child darted through the narrow gap between two tables and bumped right into his thigh.
There was a gasp. A tiny oh no and Sunghoon was falling sideways, bringing the tray with him.
Crystal flutes exploded against the porcelain floor, and shards and golden champagne burst out, soaking through his clothes in a cold rush, instantly sour-sweet and expensive in a way his tongue didn’t understand. And for one terrible and infinite moment, everything seemed to halt.
The string quartet faltered, and conversations dissipated in the middle of a sentence — all the furor of the party suddenly replaced by a silence so complete that Sunghoon could hear his own ragged breathing and the tinkling sound of the crystal still settling against the floor.
He felt the weight of eyes on him, dozens of them, and his face burned with a shame so intense that he felt it like a physical force.
But worse than that was the immediate calculation.
How many glasses had he been carrying? Twelve? No. It surely was more than that, and the last time a staff member broke this amount of flutes, he had not only lost all his monthly salary, but owed the resort the subsequent one. And it wasn’t even filled with Krug Clos d’Ambonnay or any French shit that had been demanding that the staff members handle it with white gloves in the kitchen throughout the whole night.
Sunghoon would be lucky if he was going to manage to buy an ice pop by the end of the summer.
“Oh, my God!” He heard your voice cutting through the panic already spiraling in his mind, and it was enough to make Sunghoon gather himself, pushing up on his elbows. Crystal crunched beneath him with a sound that made him wince before he found himself staring up at you.
“I am so sorry, my cousin—” you began, but Sunghoon wasn’t really listening.
You were beautiful, and he hated that it was his first thought — he hated the way his breath caught despite the fury flooding through his veins like acid. Your hair was swept up in a twist that had probably required an hour and a professional to bring on the exact tendrils that now framed your face in that kind of perfection. Diamond earrings dangled from your ears, each one probably worth more than the whole set of flutes your cousin had just cost him, and catching all the fairy lights overhead, sending sparkles across your exposed collarbones as you knelt by his side. The skirts of your dress sank into the champagne, darkening at where it touched the floor, but you did not even look at it. Your face stayed on him — as if you couldn’t come to care about anything but him at this exact moment.
But Sunghoon wasn’t naive — not anymore — after years of serving people like you, he knew exactly how this would go.
People like you didn’t have to hold onto anything for long. Not objects. Not consequences. Not people.
The moment he left your sight, he would vanish from your life.
“Are you hurt?” you asked. “Oh no, you are.”
Sunghoon glanced down at his left hand, catching a glimpse of where a slice had opened across his palm, and allowed blood to gather too quickly, bright and shocking against his champagne-soaked sleeve.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw you reaching out to him.
“Don’t!” He snapped, the word cutting through the air louder than he expected
He pushed air into his lungs and did the only thing he could think to do: assess, contain, fix.
Perhaps if he moved fast enough, the damage would look smaller — it would cost less.
“I only meant to—”
“I’m fine,” he bit out, the words nipping as badly as where the shard had bitten him as he pressed it against the floor to push himself up. “Completely fine.”
“I—” you began again, but Sunghoon had already stood up, bowing at you in something between an acknowledgement and a dismissal.
“I’ll get it cleaned,” he said, turning and walking away.
You didn’t say anything this time, but merely stood still.
As Sunghoon walked toward the main building entrance, he caught sight of a waiter approaching you. She said something about getting you dry, and getting you up from the floor, which was a terrible floor, by the way, very slippery, she hushed as an apology, although everything Sunghoon saw was some type of premium porcelain and couldn’t remember it being truly slippery until now.
What a disaster, he thought. What an absolute disaster.
⋆˚꩜｡
By the time Sunghoon walked back onto the pool deck, the party had already resumed its glittering momentum.
The string quartet played on, and guests chatted in that same wash of careless sound as they did previously, moving through their conversation, their glasses of champagne — their effortlessly perfect lives — and leaving Sunghoon to kneel beside the shattered glass alone, cleaning up a mess that would cost him more than he could afford.
He worked methodically, sweeping and mopping until the deck shone again, and the cut on his palm burned hotter than his own shame.
He would need a cigarette tonight.
When he was walking back to the main building, a staff member intercepted him, her expression pinched with barely concealed irritation.
“Mr. Hwang wants to see you,” she said. “Now.”
Something cracked deeper in Sunghoon’s chest, something that felt dangerously close to breaking completely.
This was it, then. The scorn — if not the possible firing — he had been expecting.
He followed the woman through the last steps into the lobby, and behind the desk to the administrative area, each step heavier than the last, as if gravity itself were conspiring to make this walk as painful as possible.
Mr. Hwang’s office door was open.
The older man already sat behind his striking table, but he didn’t look up as Sunghoon entered. He just continued to review something on his computer screen with the kind of deliberate patience that was clearly meant to make Sunghoon suffer.
And it worked. Something within his stomach tightened as he stood there.
“Sit,” Mr. Hwang said, still not looking at him.
Sunghoon did as he said, and Mr. Hwang finally turned away from his screen, leaning back in his chair as he wove his fingers on the table in front of him.
“That was quite a performance tonight, don’t you agree?” Mr. Hwang asked. “Entertaining our guests by shattering a few million won’s worth of crystal.”
Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. “It was an accident. A child—”
“I’m aware of what happened,” Mr. Hwang cut in. “The young lady came to see me personally. Paid for every single glass, and insisted — no, begged — for nothing happen to you. That you were just doing your job and she was at fault for being negligent with her cousin—”
Mr. Hwang kept talking, but Sunghoon had already stopped listening after the word beg. Something had twisted in his chest then — a complicated knot of emotions he couldn’t quite begin to untangle.
If you paid, it meant that he wouldn’t lose his salary. He wouldn’t go back to his parents’ house empty-handed and be unable to help.
He wouldn’t drown — not this month, at least.
But then the moment soured, suddenly and irreversibly, because the rope had been thrown by you.
Sunghoon’s mind moved back to the pool deck before he could even stop himself, retracing the way you had dropped to your knees, champagne darkening the skirts of your dress like it didn’t matter — as if he mattered more.
He had thought it was pity — perhaps a performance — a rich girl’s impulse to feel good about being kind.
But begging wasn’t performative. Not when you could have just walked away, gone to your glimmering suite, and left him to deal with all the mess.
“She—” Sunghoon started, more in surprise than defense — the idea of you sitting in that exact same chair changed the shape of you in his head, and it startled him, the thought that he might actually like you — but Mr. Hwang had interpreted his intervention wrongly, holding up a hand.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” he said. “I should fire you for your attitude tonight. You seem to have forgotten something fundamental about this job. Those guests down there?” He turned, vaguely gesturing toward the window and the party still sparkling under them. “They pay more in a stay than you and I will earn in our entire lives combined.”
“This resort, your salary, my salary,” he continued. “It all exists because of them. So when they ask you to jump, you don’t question it — you surely don’t get angry at it — you ask how high and you smile while doing so. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Sunghoon said, the word coming before he could catch himself weighing them — before his pride could ride up and demand something impossible like fairness — because yes meant he would still be here in the morning, allowed to exist in this building that smelled like money, lemon, and polish.
The same citrus scent of this exact office, but as Sunghoon inhaled he could swear he caught champagne instead and — coconuts?
“Good,” Mr. Hwang said. “You’re not fired. But you’re being punished. Tomorrow you’re on yacht duty.”
Sunghoon halted. “I’m scheduled poolside, Jaeyun and I—”
“You’re scheduled wherever I tell you — and I am telling you that you’re on yacht duty tomorrow,” Mr. Hwang said, the corner of his lips moving upwards as if he was suddenly bemused. “The overnight charter with the corporate group. Departure at nine. Back at sunrise. I know how much you all love that.”
Actually, everyone knew.
Yacht duty was punishment dressed as scheduling.
It ran late into the night until dawn, the guests getting drunker and more difficult as the hours wore on. It was exhausting, demeaning, and occasionally dangerous — especially for lifeguards — and that was why Jaeyun and he always threw a coin for it, the loser getting the duty with a lot of complaints.
“Consider it a learning experience,” Mr. Hwang said, his voice suddenly dripping with a false benevolence. “A reminder of what happens when you forget your place. Now get out of my office. And Sunghoon?” He paused, allowing Sunghoon to take his moment to look back at him. “If I hear about another attitude problem from you — I don’t care which guest provoked it. You’re gone. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” he said, forcing himself to add, “Sir.”
⋆˚꩜｡
Sunghoon hadn’t realized how haggard his breath felt until the elevator doors opened at the staff floor and he inhaled for what felt like the first time in ages. His lungs filled with the scent of bleach and damp walls in a way that only happened in this particular poorly ventilated hallway.
While the rest of the resort glimmered in gold and navy carpets that smelled like lemon and polish, here — so under the ground — everything was slightly shoddy, and messy.
And perhaps that was why his brain tried to refuse the fact that you were here — here — just a few steps down the hallway, hair undone and in a dress simpler than the one he had seen you earlier on, but surely still, not fit to be under these humming fluorescent tubes, and surrounded by stacked boxes and off-white walls that had been scuffed by decades of carts, shoulders and hurried bodies.
The elevator dinged behind him as someone else called for it, and Sunghoon’s first instinct was to turn back at it, check if he had been the one to step into the wrong floor, but not only the peeling paint gave way that he didn’t, but the small sign with STAFF ONLY in bold letters.
“Excuse me,” you tried.
Sunghoon spun back at you, trying his best to don a neutral aspect, but as you walked in his direction he felt as if he was losing control of his own body. He suddenly didn’t know how to stand — he had done it his whole life but suddenly he didn’t know how to be on his own feet.
The harsh fluorescent lights should have been unflattering, but they only made the small details about you impossible to ignore. A few strands of hair clung at the skin of your neck, taken by a thin thread of sweat in that way that Jeju summers always managed in their early days, and the edge of your lipstick was smudged at one corner, as though you had been biting on it and couldn’t come to find the time to check it on a mirror, and he felt delirious, his heart thudding harder the longer he looked — not because you were still beautiful despite it all, but because it were evidences that you had lived through the last hours too.
All together with him.
“I brought this,” you said out of silence, extending your hand to him, and only then did he notice you had been holding something: a simple and stupid roll of gauze in a plastic wrapping with the resort’s logo. “I asked at the front desk for a first aid kit, but they said they could not give it to me — if I had some type of injury they could contact a doctor — I tried explaining it was not for me, bu—”
You paused, taking in a breath as though you had rehearsed this whole speech before coming, curating every word carefully through your way down here but something had escaped you and now you didn’t know how to restart without losing the thin thread of courage you used to start.
“You shouldn’t be here.” He heard himself saying.
Your fingers tightened around the gauze, your neat, pale, and perfect nails crinkling the plastic and making it seem even smaller compared to the world you came from.
“Well, I know — I had to bribe a bellhop—”
The elevator dinged again, this time announcing someone’s arrival and Sunghoon’s composure snapped in half. He couldn’t take another scene — not tonight — not when Mr. Hwang had been clear that he was on his last chance.
His body acted before his mind could, reaching out for your free hand. His fingers closed around yours as he pulled you through the cluttered hallway, catching and opening the first knob he had found before he pushed you both inside — he first, and then you — pressing your body against his as he closed the door and engulfed you both in the darkness.
It wasn’t a real room, he realized, but the makeshift cabinet the room attendants used to stock supplies. The space so cluttered and small that when you gasped he felt it against his neck, warm and sweet smelling, coconuts, and the scent of the champagne still stuck on your skin as if you had changed, but didn’t wash yourself in the hurry of coming after him.
Outside, a cart squeaked as someone wheeled it out of the elevator, and he prayed it was one of the room attendant just ending their shift early and not coming for a supply.
“What—” you began, but Sunghoon raised a finger to his lips, earning himself a wince as he did so. He had forgotten about the cut in his palm, and he suddenly wished he could forget again. But as his finger hovered by his lips for another moment, the throbbing only increased as if the cut itself had remembered its existence and couldn’t cease now.
“Your hand,” you whispered.
Sunghoon shook his head at your worry, but you were already reaching out for him, the tip of your fingers brushing against his fevered pulse.
Someone laughed outside — the sound being so close — it felt dangerous, and if anyone opened this door and found you here it would be the end for him.
It wouldn’t matter what you had to say to Mr. Hwang this time. You wouldn’t be able to save him.
Not that he wanted to be saved by you. One time had been more than he could owe you.
Your fingertips moved through him, finding the cut.
“Don’t—” he hissed, his voice coming louder than the cabinet could hold and it didn’t just land on you — but in the air within — breaking something he didn’t realize that even existed until now.
Your hand dropped back to your own chest as your eyes flickered to his name tag and then, around, your breathing shallower as though you were suddenly trying to become smaller. And in the silence that followed, Sunghoon felt the moment when you came to realize something too.
“I am sorry. I did not realize it could get you in trouble,” you said, and the softness of it made him sick with himself. “I—”
But whatever the rest of your phrase was supposed to be, Sunghoon would never know because you were shaking your head then, reaching for the knob behind you.
The door opened with the smallest complaint of its hinges, and the fluorescent hallway light cut across your shoulder, the pale line of your collarbone, the gleam of your diamond earring.
And then you were gone, taking your warmth back with you.
⋆˚꩜｡
Sunghoon wasn’t sure how long he stayed in that small cabinet, but by the time he stepped out of it, he had grown so accustomed to the darkness that the humming fluorescent tubes had acquired a brightness so intense that his eyes hurt the whole way to the locker room.
As he walked to his locker, he felt as if he wasn’t fully inside of his own skin — as if his mind was somewhere else apart from his whole body — hovering on every single second of this unending night, replaying them as if repetition could change the way he made you leave.
He took off the borrowed shirt and shoved it into his bag in an attempt to let go of everything, but the champagne scent rose anyway, sweet, sharp, and expensive in a way that made his stomach turn. And he was suddenly back at the pool deck, your dress soaking on that same disgusting thing — he was back at that small cabinet you both so close up together, he felt all of your reactions.
Sunghoon pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead and stood like that for a second — breathing and telling himself that if he just stayed still long enough his body would remember how to be normal again — one breath, then another, counting them the way he was used to count drags as he was trying not to think, the way smoke used to give his hands something to do other than shake, and for one humiliating moment, he wished he had a cigarette more than he wished he had a clean shirt.
Somewhere behind him, a locker door clanged.
“You look like you fought a chandelier.” Sunghoon heard, and he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Jaeyun had been raised in Australia, which gave him a peculiar accent that most girls called cute, but it only made Sunghoon certain that he could pick his best friend’s voice out from the whole island — perhaps the world.
“Wrong,” Sunghoon replied, finally looking at him. “The chandelier fought me.”
“Are you alright?”
“I have been worse.”
Jaeyun leaned against his open locker, his hair damp, and a towel curled around his neck as though he had just come in from a late dip — which he probably had. As Sunghoon had been unfortunate enough to be scheduled for the unusable pool tonight, Jaeyun had taken the small portion of the beach the resort claimed as theirs, and annually opened a debate online about whether they could.
“I’m fine,” Sunghoon confirmed.
“What happened?” Jaeyun asked, but Sunghoon only shrugged at the question.
“Champagne.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have,” Sunghoon replied, reaching out for his clean t-shirt, tugging it over his head. He winced as he did so, the cut reopening for the second time of the night as the fabric caught.
“Hoon—”
“I’m fine.”
“You said that already,” Jaeyun shot back. “And it was a lie.”
“A child ran into me,” Sunghoon said then. “Crystal flutes went everywhere, and then—”
“And then?” Jaeyun pressed.
And then there was you — you asking if he was hurt. You at Mr. Hwang’s office begging for nothing to happen to him. You down here with gauze in your hands, and lipstick smudged and all he did was shove you in a cabinet and be rude again.
Where had you even left the gauze? Sunghoon wondered. Had you dropped it in the cabinet? Somewhere in the hallways as he pushed you through?
He suddenly felt like checking.
Inside the locker room, Jaeyun exhaled at Sunghoon’s sayings, reaching out for his own first aid kit and extending it to Sunghoon, but when Sunghoon didn’t reach back to it, Jaeyun recoiled and opened it himself.
Sunghoon watched as his friend walked toward him, taking his hand, and cleaning the cut with the kind of methodical calm that only made him feel worse at everything.
“You panicked because you’re scared.”
“What?”
Jaeyun tilted his head, but he didn’t look up. He continued with his doings — now, pressing in a gauze against it. “You shoved a rich guest into a closet because someone might see you standing close to them. That’s fear, Sunghoon.”
“Congratulations. You just discovered that I’m employed.” Sunghoon let out a humorless laugh. “It’s not fear, Jae — it’s common sense—”
“Alright, let’s say it’s both then,” Jaeyun said. “Common sense because Mr. Grumpy’s an asshole and those policies are bullshit, and fear because you keep thinking if you breathe wrong, your whole life is going to collapse above you.”
The world seemed to halt then and there, the air suddenly too still and allowing Sunghoon to notice how he ached at these words, a sharp twinge that started at his chest and spread to his throat, tightening there and making him breathless because Jaeyun had said it too cleanly — too accurately — and naming it made it now undeniable.
“Find her,” Jaeyun said. “Talk to her.”
“No”
“Why?”
“Because if Mr. Hwang finds out, he’ll fire me,” Sunghoon said, his voice harsher than he intended. “Because if the other staff see me talking to her, they’ll talk. Because if people start talking, it will become a rumor, and rumors become problems.” He swallowed. “And I can’t afford problems.”
“I expected more from you, Sunghoon,” Jaeyun said, but Sunghoon could tell that his heart wasn’t in it — not really.
“No doubt that was your first mistake.”
“So can you afford being the kind of person who makes someone feel like they’re hated merely for trying to help?” Jaeyun asked, and it felt like a slap.
Sunghoon couldn’t, and that was what had been eating him since you left.
They finished changing in silence, Sunghoon shoving his things into his bag with more force than necessary while Jaeyun remained calm on the other side, closing his locker so carefully, Sunghoon hadn’t realized he did, until he was standing by his side, completely changed and his bag hanging on one of his shoulders.
“Motorcycle still broken?” Jaeyun asked.
“Yeah.”
Jaeyun’s expression softened, his lips curling into the type of smile that only appeared when Sunghoon made it sound like he didn’t care.
“So you are still stuck with me.”
⋆˚꩜｡
The service exit opened onto the staff lot, and immediately, Jeju’s night shrouded him. The humming fluorescent tubes of the interior were taken by the dimmer yellowish lights of the parking lot, and the smell of bleach was replaced by the sea wind cutting through the heat, carrying salt, tangerine, and earthy cedar forest.
Somewhere above, the party was still going on — laughter and music carried faintly across the breeze — but here it was all Jeju, rough and wild.
The parking lot was mostly empty, only a few staff cars lined up, including Jaeyun’s old Jeep at the far end, its paint sun-faded and stubbornly alive.
Sunghoon stopped for a second — just before they reached it.
“Do you mind if I have a smoke?”
“Of course, I do,” Jaeyun snapped. “This thing will kill you.”
Sunghoon pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his bag anyway, selecting a single one out and lighting it up.
The first drag hit him all at once. The ember brightened in the dark as he inhaled, a small orange circle reflecting faintly on his knuckles, and the taste of cheap tobacco bloomed bitter on his tongue before settling in his lungs.
He exhaled, watching the stream unravel and vanish into Jeju’s air, and for a moment he let himself believe that if he kept drawing in smoke and letting it go, he could empty his chest out of this night too.
Out of you.
“You lost the coin toss,” Jaeyun said then.
“What?”
“The yacht duty.” Jaeyun slid to him. “You didn’t mention it. Which means you’re trying to pretend it isn’t happening.”
Sunghoon dropped his hand out of his mouth, his fingers tightening. He wasn’t sure if he was intentionally pretending, but he surely didn’t want to bring this up.
“It’s happening.”
“Mr. Hwang is such a—” Jaeyun began, but he cut himself off, sighing deeply and dramatically as he pushed his hair out of his forehead. For a moment, Sunghoon was confused about whether Jaeyun understood that he was the one not going to the yacht tomorrow night. But he quickly realized that Jaeyun did understand — it was just that he felt everything too deeply, and he cared for Sunghoon too much to allow such an unfairness to go on as nothing. “Okay. You’ll survive — I’ll bring you food. I’ll bring you even this stupid pack of cigarettes if necessary. And I’ll come rescue you if some executive tries to throw you into the sea.”
The scenario made Sunghoon want to laugh and what a strange feeling it was because it had been months since Sunghoon wanted to laugh — perhaps years.
“See?” Jaeyun asked, his lips curling into a smile once again. “Park Sunghoon is still a human.”
Sunghoon rolled his eyes and dragged in again.
“So what are you going to do about it?” Jaeyun asked.
“About the yacht?”
“About her, Sunghoon.”
“What can I do? I don’t even know her name — and I’ll probably never see her again.”
“You work at a luxury resort where she’s not only staying, but attending events,” Jaeyun said. “I’m guessing if you actually tried to find her, you could,”
His voice dropped.
“Jongseong is only leaving for Seoul at the end of summer, he could—” Jaeyun raised his hand, typing on an invisible keyboard. “The question is whether you want to try.”
Did he? Sunghoon wasn’t sure. The thought of facing you again made him want to sink to the ground. But the idea of never seeing you again also sits as an open wound in his chest.
“Find her,” Jaeyun said out of silence. “Your angel in the form of a heiress.”
Sunghoon wanted to see you again. Thank you, at least, and say sorry for the closet situation. And Jaeyun grinned as though he had read it through Sunghoon’s mind.
“Come on,” Jaeyun said, unlocking the car with a single jingle of keys. “Let’s get out of here before Mr. Grumpy finds something else to punish you for — like breathing too loudly or existing in his general vicinity.”
Sunghoon pulled the passenger door open and climbed in, sinking into the familiar worn seat. The car smelled like salt water, suncream, and the cheap air freshener Jaeyun had hung on the front mirror which was supposed to smell like fresh pine, but mostly just smelled like chemicals.
As Jaeyun tried the engine — letting it catch and taking on three times before it finally started — Sunghoon found himself staring at his reflection in the side mirror. He was exhausted, in need of a shower and long hours of sleep, but surely, he was not drowning in debt and not fired.
All because of you.
“By the way,” Jaeyun said, glancing at him across the gearstick. “Your motorcycle is dead-dead, or is it just being dramatic?”
“Dramatic, I hope,” Sunghoon said. “Jihoon’s brother is still checking on it.”
Jaeyun hummed, his right hand reaching for the gearstick and putting it in the fourth, racing the car just enough to allow the breeze to brush in — the perfect blend of salty sea air, tangerine, and earthy cedar forest taking over the small vehicle — it was undeniable Jeju’s summer.
And for some reason, it made Sunghoon’s skin creep a little.
The summer of his twenty-two years had begun, although Sunghoon didn’t know what it truly meant.
Yet.
The next night came with the scent of sea air, salt, and teak wood floors.
The yacht sailed from the resort’s private dock at the sunset as Mr. Hwang had promised, its hull gleaming under the floodlights, and turning the water below into a black sheet of polished glass as the deck swarmed with men in tailored suits and women with hair pinned into effortless perfection, as if the wind itself had been instructed not to touch them too harshly — bribed, perhaps — something Sunghoon thought that rich people only did in movies, but then you came over and—
God.
He couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Sunghoon stood at the lifeguard’s designated spot, his eyes scanning the crowd for what felt like the millionth time.
He told himself he wasn’t looking for you — that it was only instinct — he was taking stock of guests, counting faces and risks as his job demanded, but his eyes kept hovering on silhouettes. On bare shoulders, and flash of jewelry. On the slope of necks, and twist of hairs that could have been yours until he stared for a moment too long and noticed that it wasn’t.
Perhaps you hadn’t come, he thought. Perhaps—
But then, he saw you.
Not full at first, but in pieces — as if his mind had somehow learned that he needed to recognize you in fragments because the whole was too much for him to handle at once — he saw the glint of an earring. The curve of your wrist as you lifted your hand to brush a stray strand of hair to the back of your ears.
Your dress was different tonight — simpler than the pool party’s silk, but cut in a way that felt almost deliberate. The thin fabric caught the yacht’s lights, and gave them back like it had been made for this exact setting, and your hair — God, your hair was down, spreading over the expanse of your shoulders, and moving only when the wind found it.
Sunghoon watched you for a second too long, hating himself for doing so because it gave you enough time to catch him on it.
Your gazes locked over, and for a brief moment — a moment so brief, he thought he had imagined it — you softened at him. Not a smile, but something in your eyes that recognized him, and remembered. Your hand rose halfway, fingers hovering in a hesitant greeting that seemed to have decided itself before you came to your senses and faltered, glancing down and lowering your hand to your side, folding into the fabric of your dress.
Sunghoon’s heart did something stupid and painful within his chest and he stood up without meaning to, giving a step toward you and then another, and another.
But before he could reach you, someone stepped into the space within.
A man around your age, tall in that clean and polished way that suggested that not only had he never been poor, but his father hadn’t, nor his grandfather, nor his grandfather’s father. His dyed hair was styled, but not stiff, his suit in perfect shape despite the hours within the yacht and he moved to your side as if he belonged there — as if your proximity was something granted to him by default.
And perhaps it had.
Perhaps the world was more unfair than Sunghoon had ever realized because as he felt unsure about stepping close to you, the man leaned in without a second thought, saying something into your ear, and earning a turn of your head toward him, altogether with a small smile appearing at the corner of your lips and causing something to flare in Sunghoon — hot, immediate, and humiliating.
It was ridiculous and Sunghoon knew that. He didn’t know your name. He had snapped at you twice and had shoved you into a closet like contraband when you were just trying to help. He had no right to want anything from you — not even your attention — yet his stomach tightened anyway, just as it had when Mr. Hwang said that you had begged for him to be spared because honestly, some part of him had decided that you were a story he knew he could not afford but he could not stop reading.
The man said something more, and you let out a breath that could have been a laugh if you allowed it to be. Your hand rose to brush his arm in a gesture so casual — it could have been even dismissal — but Sunghoon’s fingers closed on themselves until the cut from the night previous ached and he had to force his face into neutrality.
He was still trying to decide whether to approach you when the furor began.
It was not one single thing, but a chain of small ones that snapped too fast to catch: someone shouted near the bar, a glass tipped and bled its champagne in a thin gold spill across the teak, a laugh turned too sharp within the night air, and the music stuttered as if something had snagged the performers mid-song before he remembered they were being paid and forced the melody back into place.
Sunghoon’s head turned on instinct toward the commotion, his lifeguard training overriding and making his body already catalog risks, exits, water, the ways panic liked to masquerade as entertainment until it wasn’t.
In his periphery, Sunghoon caught you drifting closer to the railing, stepping away from a man drunkenly stumbling backwards, but it had been in vain. The man’s shoulder bumped into yours anyway and it was enough for your balance to break — enough for you to take one instinctive step to correct it, heel sliding back, searching for the deck to hold you the way it always had, but the teak beneath your heels betrayed you with a slickness you couldn’t have seen under the lights, and your foot slipped.
It wasn’t dramatic, but small, and almost quiet — the kind of slip that people recovered from all the time. You reached for the railing on reflex, fingers stretching out, a flash of jewelry, skin meeting metal. But your hand didn’t close right, didn’t clamp with the sure grip it needed; it caught and slid instead, palm skimming along polished steel like it had been oiled, and suddenly the correction became the fall, your weight tipping past the point where muscle could argue with gravity.
There was a pause that felt like the whole deck had held its breath before someone screamed what could have been your name and bodies surged toward the rail, leaning over as they peered down into the dark water that moved as if nothing had happened at all — as if it hadn’t just taken you — and Sunghoon ran, pushing through the guests with his shoulders, ignoring the outrage, the startled curses, the hands that grabbed at him as if he were the problem, until the railing came up in front of him, and the sea was just below, black and moving.
Sunghoon could not see you — not at first — the yacht’s lights did nothing to brighten up beyond its surface, and it was as dark as it was above, but then he did. A pale flickering shape, and he didn’t allow himself to consider anything before he vaulted the railing, diving into the water with a splash he didn’t hear.
It was late, and the night sea did not feel like summer, but winter — cold and heavy — dragging at Sunghoon’s uniform and pulling at him like it wanted to keep him for itself, too. Salt surged into his mouth as he broke the surface, and for a second his lungs stuttered, confused by the air that wasn’t clean.
Sunghoon had rescued drowning guests before. Of course, he had — Marriotte had a way of grinding the same disasters into repetition until one’s body learned them the way it learned to shape their names — but it always had been at the pool with its two meters of depth or the obedient edge of the resort’s stolen coast. But the sea was neither of them — it didn’t stay still — no matter how desperate someone was.
He heard shouting above, the deck erupting into chaos, but it faded fast, blurred by the rush of his own blood and the slap of waves against his face, and Sunghoon didn’t allow himself to think.
The water went colder as he went under, the world shrinking into nothing but darkness, pressure, and the frantic sweep of his hands through nothing again and again and again, until the tip of his fingers finally hit some fabric.
He grabbed hard, his fists tangling in what he hoped to be your dress, and yanked at it. You came to him limp and heavy, your hair floating around your face. And for one horrible second he couldn’t tell if you were conscious at all — if you were here with him — and he felt his heart weighing at the thought. It didn’t matter if you were one of those stupid rich guests. It didn’t matter if what you had been pulling at him was all an act — to lose you here felt like something he couldn’t handle.
Many hours later, Jaeyun was going to ask Sunghoon how it happened but he — under the aftermath of his panic — wouldn’t know how to.
He remembered how he hooked an arm under your shoulders and kicked upward, breaking the surface with a gasp for which you didn’t replicate, and how it broke the last threat of self-control on him.
He remembered keeping one arm around you and swimming with the other, fighting against the weight of your body, the drag of your dress, and the way the waves kept trying to pry you from him like greedy hands. He remembered how the yacht loomed above like a wall, all made of light, varnished wood, and people leaning over the edge with a mix of expressions. He remembered how his limbs were shaking by the time he reached the ladder and how he almost missed the first rung, having to force himself to jam his foot onto it, lifting you as best he could, bracing you against his chest. He remembered hauling, rung by rung, and getting you to the deck with the help of strangers’ hands, and then the world narrowed again into only you.
Only you and the way you lie on the wooden floor and soaked through. Your skin on a tone that seemed all wrong under the harsh yacht lights. But what horrified him the most was that your chest did not rise.
Someone shouted to call a doctor. Someone shouted to turn the yacht back — to do something — but no one seemed to be doing anything fast enough.
Sunghoon didn’t remember dropping himself onto his knees, but he remembered how his hands shook so badly he almost couldn’t place them. And once again, he had to force himself to take control — to press the heel of his palm to your sternum as the way he had been trained, and start the compressions, counting out loud because counting meant he would not fall apart.
“Come on,” he heard himself whispering between one compression and another. “Come on.”
The yacht rocked gently and the breeze brushed as if nothing was wrong, as if the night wasn’t holding a catastrophe on its teeth.
His hands began to hurt at some point and his arms burned. But he forced himself to keep the rhythm, to keep pressing. He forced himself to keep you here.
Sunghoon tilted your head back and pinched your nose, hesitating — just a fraction of a second — because you were you. And he didn’t know what it meant yet, only that it felt enormous within his chest already.
He bent close, mouth on yours, salt and fear thick in his throat, and strawberries on his lips.
“Breathe for me,” he whispered, the words spilling out like prayer, like command, like begging for which he didn’t have the right to, but did anyway. “Please, Angel. Please — breathe for me.”
You coughed.
Small at first. A weak shudder that made his heart lurch so hard it hurt. Water spilled from your mouth before you turned your head, choking, and dragging in air like it was something new you had to learn.
You were trembling and drenched, just as much as Sunghoon, but he couldn’t come to care about himself.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re alright.”
Your chin lifted at it, your gazes locking. It was only seconds that you studied each other, but it seemed a whole eternity to Sunghoon. His heart whipped against his ribs, and although he tried to, he couldn’t collect his thoughts. His lips parted as if he meant to tell you something, but he stopped, and by the time he tried again, the man from earlier was kneeling by your side.
He moved fast, shrugging off his suit with a practiced urgency. He didn’t look at Sunghoon — not really — not at all. His focus was on you, his hands already wrapping the piece around your shoulders, around your wet hair, and the parts of you exposed to the night wind before his hands molded against your arms with a steadiness that Sunghoon couldn’t feign even if he tried to.
“It is fine,” the man said to you. “It is fine. I have got you.”
I have got you.
The words rolled like theft in the air.
Sunghoon had hauled you out of the sea, he had breathed life into you, and still his mind went petty and sharp at a sentence that sounded like possession because the ocean had just tried to possess you first and Sunghoon was still in that wild part of himself that thought: mine to save, mine to keep safe, mine-
He swallowed.
You looked at the other man, dazed and lips parted as one of his arms slipped under your knees and the other rounded over your shoulders, bringing you into his arms before lifting you up.
“Give her some space,” he snapped at the people around and they did — tumbling into their own feet as they stepped back and opened space — because he sounded like someone who should be listened to.
Sunghoon rose as if to follow — as if his mind had once again forgotten that his role was done already — but a hand caught his elbow — someone steadying him, or stopping him. He wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter.
The night was all shapes and noise.
Your head turned slightly as you were taken away, hair dripping onto the other’s sleeve. And for a heartbeat — a small, burning heartbeat — your eyes found Sunghoon’s. They were unfocused, but they found him anyway, and something in them softened — recognition again, the same thin thread from earlier on. And Sunghoon’s throat tightened with the raw realization that he didn’t want to let you go again.
But then you were gone anyway, taken into the yacht’s interior, and swallowed by light and warmth that wasn’t his, and his eyes merely remained at the place you disappeared in, hardly feeling part of his own body.
His hands were red and raw from compressions, the cut from the night previous all open and bleeding into his bandage. His chest heaved too fast and sea tasted permanent in his throat as if it had moved in and decided to live there.
Around him, the guests’ fear had already begun to convert into a story that sounded pretty — something they could repeat later with dramatic pauses and glittering eyes — using it to make their own hearts feel brave. But Sunghoon didn’t hear any of it.
He only heard your first cough.
He only felt the moment your lungs had chosen to come back.
“Young man,” someone called.
Sunghoon didn’t turn at first — he couldn’t — he couldn’t come to gather himself enough to face another person because although he wasn’t in the water anymore, there was something inside of him fighting still.
Perhaps there would always be a part of him fighting from now on.
“Young man,” the person repeated, stepping closer and the scent of expensive cologne cut through the salt, awakening Sunghoon before the touch at his shoulders did and he forced himself to turn. “What is your name?”
“Sunghoon,” he heard himself saying. “Park Sunghoon.”
The man nodded as he echoed it, his face drawn tight in that kind of controlled expression that suggested he had learned too early how to control his emotions from showing in public.
And Sunghoon caught himself opening his mouth, ready to apologize before he even knew what for — an old instinct, perhaps, sharpened by employment and hierarchy and the knowledge that rich people’s anger was its own kind of weather. But the man’s voice came out rough.
“Thank you,” he said, and for a brief moment Sunghoon felt confused, but the man continued, “my daughter,” and the two words changed the air. The whole deck seemed to tilt into a new shape. “You—”
His voice broke just slightly before he paused, tightening his jaw as he forced it back into place.
“You brought her back.” Sunghoon’s lungs seized again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. It was from the sudden, horrible clarity that you weren’t a guest or a body or a problem.
You were someone’s daughter.
Someone’s world.
Sunghoon only nodded, because words felt too small then. Because if he spoke, his voice might crack open and reveal how close he had been to losing control.
Your father looked at him for another long second — memorizing his face, perhaps, or the uniform, or the fact that Sunghoon still looked like someone half-made out of seawater and shock.
“Thank you,” your father said again, quieter, as if the first time had been for pride and the second was for truth. “I will not forget it.”
Your father handed Sunghoon a business card and tapped his shoulder once — just once — a brief, human contact that felt almost unreal.
Sunghoon was shivering so violently that the bare push made him nearly drop the piece of paper on the yacht’s floor, but he forced himself to hold, his fingers closing so strongly that the cut from the night previous throbbed as a crease formed in the paper.
He didn’t think the card would come in use, yet — it felt soothing — because names were the first thing one reached for when they were trying to keep someone from vanishing, and he had your last name.
Sunghoon had your last name.
Sleep came so unwillingly to Sunghoon that it refused to last long.
Throughout the past three summers since he had been hired, he had been the one to get the yacht duty — not very lucky, yes — but it always gave him the best sleep of his life.
Sunghoon wasn’t an early bird. He didn’t request to be smoothed and tucked in bed at ten like Jaeyun, but he liked to sleep his nights away, so to be deprived of it always took something from him, but not today.
Sunghoon woke not even a full hour after he had laid himself on the bed, the shafts of light slipping through his curtainless windows and streaming over the place just as it had — yet, he couldn’t stay still anymore.
His body felt like it had been wound too tightly. His arms ached from the compressions. His throat tasted like the sea. And when he blinked, the deck lights flared behind his eyelids.
He swung his legs off the bed.
The small room was warm already, Jeju’s summer pressing through the thin walls with such insistence that the air clung on and the fan in the corner stuttered in vain. Somewhere outside, scooters whined down the road, and a bird shrieked the way birds did here — loud, territorial, unashamed.
Sunghoon washed his face with water that barely came cold, dragged a comb through his hair with more violence than care, and changed into the cleanest shirt he had, though clean didn’t mean much when his skin still remembered salt.
He looked at his hand. The cut had reopened under the bandage, a thin line of blood shimmering like a warning, but he only wrapped it again and left before his mind could catch up and tell him to be smart.
Because if Sunghoon paused long enough to think, he wouldn’t move at all.
⋆˚꩜｡
The resort sat above the road like it always did.
Marriotte didn’t belong to Jeju, but it pretended to, dressing itself in stone and dark wood and tasteful greenery, but it was too polished to be Jeju’s, and quiet in a way that didn’t come from the peace of the island, but from money making sure no one got loud unless paid to.
Sunghoon walked up the steps in the heat and felt the instant change the moment he crossed the threshold. Outside, it was Jeju’s summer, but inside it was Marriotte’s type of summer.
The lobby was not only large. It was layered.
It didn’t open itself like a normal room. It unfolded.
Walkways split from walkways. Corridors slipped away behind screens of dark wood and potted plants that looked so perfect it once led Jaeyun and Jongseong to bet if they were real. Stairs didn’t just lead upward — they led sideways, down, somewhere, dipping like secrets. Hallways branched from hallways, and then branched again, like the building had been designed by someone who enjoyed watching people get lost and pretend they weren’t.
There were walls of glass that gave the illusion of openness, but even those felt controlled because beyond them, the garden glimmered wet and green, water beading on leaves not only holding Jeju’s true nature, but turning it into decoration.
It was early, but the staff already moved through like ghosts in pressed uniforms and present only when summoned as the guests existed in the opposite. Guests floated as they made their check-ins, taking space without apologizing for it in the way only rich people could.
Sunghoon hated that he was here on his day off.
Sunghoon hated that he was here at all.
He walked past the concierge desk and felt eyes flick in his direction in recognition. Not only because they knew him, but because he looked like a staff. He moved like a staff. He carried himself like someone who had learned to keep his shoulders tight so the world couldn’t slip knives between his ribs.
He turned toward the reception.
Jongseong stood behind the desk, immaculate until he saw Sunghoon and something in his face cracked.
“What are you doing here?” Jongseong hissed through a smile that wasn’t meant for his friend, but the couple checking in beside him. His eyes didn’t leave Sunghoon’s face even as his hands moved through the motions of hospitality, tapping at the keyboard, sliding keycards over with practiced grace. “It’s your day off.”
The couple left, and before Jongseong could call the next guest to come, Sunghoon stepped in.
“I know — I need something.”
“No.”
Sunghoon blinked. “I didn’t even ask yet.”
“You don’t have to,” Jongseong murmured, his eyes flicking to the security camera in the corner, before it found Sunghoon again. “Whatever it is, the answer is no. Go home.”
Sunghoon’s throat tightened as he reached into the pocket of jeans, pulling out your father’s business card. The edges were damp-soft from having been clenched too long. He didn’t hand it over, not fully — he only let Jongseong read the last name.
And for a moment, Sunghoon saw it — the shift, the understanding snapping into place like a lock turning once Jongseong made sense of the letters.
Jongseong’s mouth parted, then closed. And when their eyes met again, He stared at Sunghoon as if he had just said he wanted to walk into fire because he missed the warmth.
“You can’t just—” Jongseong began, then stopped himself as guests walked by, their laughter trailing behind them like perfume. He lowered his voice further. “You can’t just ask for a suite. That’s not a thing.”
“I’m not asking you to tell her family’s suite,” Sunghoon lied.
He didn’t know what he was asking for.
“I’ll lose my job — we will lose our jobs,” Jongseong said, but despite the harshness with which his words came out, his expression didn’t match it for long.
“Are you okay?” Jongseong asked, but Sunghoon couldn’t come to answer.
Okay was a word for people who knew what they were, and he didn’t, or at least, he didn’t know anymore. Sunghoon had once believed that he had built himself into something durable and steady, yet you had come, and now, there was something different inside of him, something raw and unpracticed, and if he admitted it — even if just once — it would become real. Not an impulse. Not a passing stupidity. But something he was afraid that wouldn’t fit back inside his chest.
Jongseong exhaled slowly, looking down at his screen.
For one long second, Sunghoon thought he had silently been told to leave. But then, Jongseong’s shoulders sank — just slightly.
“Fine,” he breathed. “Fine, but if you ruin my life, I swear I’ll kill you myself.”
Sunghoon’s pulse jumped — not at the threat. He knew Jongseong would never — but at the view of his friend tapping at the keyboard, and then, tapping some more before he leaned forward, his voice turned into a whisper that scraped against the polished air.
“1512. Rooftop,” Jongseong said. “Go fast and I swear—”
“I know,” Sunghoon replied, already turning away.
He didn’t let himself thank him. He didn’t let himself hesitate. Gratitude was slow, and Sunghoon was running out of control.
His heart raced as he moved through the corridor, taking the elevator just as it was closing with an old couple that paid him no mind, and pressed the elevator’s buttons to the rooftop — rooftop, he had worked for years here and never once had he stepped there, and for a second he wondered if he truly could, if the elevator wouldn’t strangely stop operating and preventing him, but the doors slid shut, and the elevator began to rise. And with every floor it passed, Sunghoon felt like he was doing something he couldn’t undo. Like he was climbing toward a line he couldn’t uncross.
But still — he couldn’t stop.
⋆˚꩜｡
When the doors slid open for one last time, Sunghoon was surprised.
The rooftop had never been a place for the staff, but a rumor. A word whispered in the laundry room when the machines were loud enough to swallow the envy in their words. A direction pointed with a chin when a celebrity checked in and someone wanted to pretend they hadn’t looked because on the surface, they didn’t care. A level the elevator did not even list on the ordinary panel — but kept on a clean, discreet button because those who could afford the rooftop’s suites had lives that didn’t include asking.
Yet — it was exactly like the corridors below.
The same thick carpets and light colored walls.
In every few steps, there were doors and he found himself staring at the details because the more familiar it seemed, the less anxious he felt. The brushed gold trim on the wall. The line of orchids arranged in vases that had to be replaced every morning.
But then — absurdly — there was a vending machine.
It stood near the corner where the corridor split, sleek and silver, its glass front filled with neat rows of bottled water, imported teas, protein bars in minimalist packaging, tiny tins of nuts that probably cost more than the whole staff cafeteria’s lunch. But it was a vending machine — a vending machine up here.
Sunghoon slowed without meaning to stare at it.
He had grown up with vending machines that swallowed coins and didn’t always give anything back. Machines that smelled like dust and heat, that dispensed cheap coffee in paper cups, that sat near bus stops where men smoked and teenagers laughed too loudly because they had nothing else to do, but this one looked clean enough to eat off.
He imagined you for a moment — you, with your diamond earrings, your silk dresses and your life that seemed to exist beyond consequences — standing here, under that artificial light and pressing buttons for a bottle of water.
It didn’t fit.
He couldn’t imagine rich people needing something quick. And yet the machine existed, which meant someone up here had once been thirsty enough not to call room service.
The thought made him feel strangely dizzy, as if the world had tilted and revealed a seam that shouldn’t even exist.
He forced himself to move.
His bandaged hand throbbed with each swing of his arm.
When Sunghoon stood in front of your family’s suite door, he hesitated, feeling a disconcerting flutter in his chest with the realization that he had no idea what he was doing.
He brushed a hand over his face, the bandage pulling at his skin, but before he could do anything else, the door opened, the morning’s sunlight racing out and making him blink a few times before he got used to it.
But it wasn’t you at the door, nor your father, nor anyone related to you — it was Mrs. Kye, the old maid that Jaeyun once joked had perhaps been there since the foundation of the hotel, but Sunghoon never laughed about it. Mrs. Kye was one of the nicest staff members.
“Sunghoon?” she called. “What are you doing here?”
“I—” he began, not sure how he was supposed to explain everything. His throat felt too tight for words that weren’t rehearsed. “I was looking for someone. She is a guest, her family is staying in this suite—”
“Sunghoon,” Mrs. Kye cut in, and there it was — the edge of the rules in her tone, the weight of them. “You know the rules.”
He swallowed.
“She almost drowned yesterday,” he said. “I just — I just want to check if she is alright. In the hurry, I couldn’t tell her what symptoms she should watch out for.”
The lie came so easily it almost felt true. But Sunghoon knew Mrs. Kye wasn’t buying it by the way she sighed, shaking her head, and for a moment he thought it was over — that she would close the door and he would need to go back down the elevator and pretend this impulse had never happened. But Mrs. Kye’s eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, traveling through the worn bandage, the frayed edge of his shirt and his washed jeans. She took the way he stood like someone trying to take up less space than he was allowed, and he knew without knowing it hurt her. She had seen boys like him come through this resort every summer; she had seen which ones laughed, and which ones counted. And Sunghoon had always been the kind who counted and she knew.
“Playground,” she said then, her voice coming so low that Sunghoon took a while to notice she had really spoken. “She was with her cousin,” Mrs. Kye continued, glancing over her shoulder into the suite as if making sure no one was listening too closely. “Asked if there was anything like that in the hotel.”
His breath caught.
“Go.”
Sunghoon didn’t trust himself to answer and so, he only bowed, quick and deep, and before his gratitude could trip him into being seen.
⋆˚꩜｡
The playground was not really a playground.
It was a corner of the resort’s garden that had been dressed up for children the way Marriotte dressed up everything: carefully, expensively, and with the kind of effort that pretended to be effortless. The ground was padded with soft, springy flooring that looked like it had never met a scraped knee. A small slide curved like a ribbon beside a miniature climbing frame made of polished wood, the grain of it so perfect it felt staged — as if the trees had been grown for the singular purpose of becoming décor. Even the air smelled curated: sunscreen and cut grass, the resort’s citrus polish ghosting over it all, as though even childhood had to be sanitized before it could be permitted to exist.
Sunghoon approached slowly. And at first, he didn’t see you, but the children.
They sat cross-legged in a loose semicircle on the padded ground, faces tilted upward, eyes wide with the bright, unfiltered devotion that only children could offer. Sunghoon was used to it; spring was a great time for Jeju, but not for Marriotte, and he had taught swimming lessons at public pools when Marriotte’s rooms weren’t so full and the pool not so required that he needed to complete full hours. He knew the way children trusted without thinking, how they listened with their whole bodies, how easily they could be soothed by a voice that sounded sure.
What unsettled him was who they were listening to.
Sunghoon recognized your voice with a physical certainty, as though his body had memorized it before his mind could refuse, but how could he not? He had replayed the night of the pool party like a punishment: your gasp, your apologies. He had heard you in the staff elevator, in the locker room, in the thin, cruel moment before sleep took him and the crueler one after it abandoned him.
You had been a ghost to him through the past days, but now it was real — sat on the edge of a bench that looked too clean to have ever hosted a tired body — your hair looser than it had been on the yacht, darker at the ends as if you had showered and simply didn’t care about drying it. And a book rested open in your hands, spine broken in the middle the way books only were when someone actually read them.
Your cousin sat by your side, one fist balled in the fabric of your dress as though you were the only solid thing in the world, a plush toy trapped under her arm.
Sunghoon opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and for a heartbeat, he simply stood there, watching you.
A child noticed him first — then another — heads turning in a soft disturbance that spread through the group until their attention broke from you and stumbled toward him.
And you noticed him too.
It was barely anything — just your chin lifting, a slow blink like you didn’t trust your eyes — but still, it hit him anyway, sharp as a hook under the ribs and Sunghoon’s body reacted before his brain could file it away as harmless. His shoulders tightened, and his breath caught, every instinct screaming be still, be professional, don’t be seen wanting. But the garden was shifting out of place anyway, as if the world had tilted and decided you were the only thing worth keeping upright because God — you were.
You watched him for a moment — perhaps two — before you turned to the children, slipping a bookmark between the pages and excusing yourself with the seriousness of someone stepping out of a meeting — and stood up.
Your cousin clung harder for a second, startled by the motion, and you reached for her without even seeming to consider — one arm scooping her up against your side and letting her settle against you, cheek pressed to your shoulders, and fingers now locked in your hair — before you stepped forward, crossing the place toward him.
And for the second time he caught himself trying his best to don a neutral aspect, but as you walked in his direction he felt as if he was losing control of his own body. Sunghoon didn’t know what to do with his hands. He let them hang uselessly at his sides, then shoved them into his pockets, then pulled them out again because it looked rude, because it looked like he was nervous, because it looked like he was waiting for you.
Which he was.
But the truth didn’t seem that easy to admit.
“Hi,” you said, your voice coming breathless in a way that didn’t match the short distance you had walked, and Sunghoon’s mind snagged on the inconsistency like it was a safety hazard because well, it made no sense — but then it did – and that small understanding warmed him in a way he didn’t want to allow. His fingers flexed at his side, bandage tugging, and grounding him back into his body before he made himself remember how to speak.
“Hi,” Sunghoon echoed.
Your cousin shifted at the sound of him, her arms tightening around your shoulders as she hid herself into the crook of your neck. You murmured something in her ear, softly, and too low for Sunghoon to make sense of what it had been, but whatever it was, it got her lifting her head and looking at Sunghoon again, round-eyed and shiny with embarrassment.
“Sorry,” your cousin whispered. It had been so quiet that Sunghoon almost thought he had imagined it — but then, her lips continued shaped into the word, and his breath caught in surprise.
Sunghoon bent down a little, lowering himself to your cousin’s eye level in the way he did with the children at the public pool, his instincts taking over where his pride usually lived whenever he breathed Marriotte’s air.
“It’s okay,” he said, hesitating for a moment before he lifted his bandaged hand and gave her a small thumbs up, the gesture making the healing skin pinch, but he didn’t allow it to show. “I will survive.”
Your cousin blinked at him before she tried to hide again, her fingers twisting on the locks of your hair in a manner that should have been painful. But if anything, you gently patted her back.
And when Sunghoon straightened himself, he caught you smiling.
Not in that one polite and restrained way he had seen you wear the previous night, but something small and helpless at the edges, as if it had happened to you without your consent — as if your body had decided that because he had offered something of himself, you had to give something back.
And the fairness of it felt strange in his chest. Heat climbed up the back of his neck and into his ears. Sunghoon didn’t know what to do with the fact that you were looking at him like that, so he blinked, and glanced away, setting his mouth back into place as if it had betrayed him.
“Do you want to go back to the other children?” you asked your cousin, receiving a nod almost immediately.
The moment her feet touched the padded ground, she retreated — not far, not truly — choosing the safety of the other children in a blunt instinct Sunghoon understood too well.
And with her gone, there was nothing left to hone the moment into harmlessness — no child, no movement, no noise to hide behind — just you and him, with the air between you tightening into something quiet and dangerous despite the bright morning.
Sunghoon should have stepped back — he knew — but his feet didn’t listen. Something in him held, stubbornly, as if staying was a risk he recognized but chose anyway.
“I—” you began, at the same time as him.
“You first.”
“I had asked for you,” you said quietly. “At the reception, however, they said it was your day off.”
“It is,” he heard himself answering, but when he didn’t put in any further information, you continued:
“I wanted to thank you — for saving me last night.”
“It’s my job.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t—” His throat scraped. “Don’t thank me.”
You halted, surprised by his words. And for a moment Sunghoon was afraid he had been once again too rude without thinking, but then, a shadow of humor softened your mouth subtly, almost careful. Not a smile, exactly. But something that said you weren’t afraid to meet him where he stood — not anymore.
“Alright,” you said. “I take my formal thanks back. Yet still — I am grateful.”
Sunghoon swallowed. The morning was too bright for how fragile he suddenly felt, the air too clean for the way his chest still tasted like fear. And his hands-bandaged too roughly for what he wanted.
“Your turn,” you remembered.
“I’m grateful too,” he admitted. “For what you did the other night. It saved my month.”
“It just didn’t feel right,” you replied, your brows drawing together — that small divot returning like an old habit, and Sunghoon couldn’t help but feel that familiar heat rising anyway, quick and instinctive. Of course it didn’t. Things never did, and somehow the rich always had a way of smoothing the edges down — paying until the world agreed to look away.
The thought sharpened on his tongue, ready to become something ugly.
But then, he caught himself, almost startled by his own reflex because you were standing right in front of him, smaller in the sunlight than you had been under the pool lights and yacht’s dazzle, and looking at him like you meant it.
Sunghoon swallowed, letting the anger fold back into his chest where it belonged.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “After — all of it.”
“My throat hurts a bit,” you said. “And I am smelling water.”
“Smelling water?”
“Not like a wet breeze,” you clarified, almost apologetic for the strangeness of it. “Actual water. Like I am breathing it.”
“It’s normal,” he said. “But you should rest today. Be attentive. If you get a fever, if breathing gets worse, if you feel tired in a way that doesn’t make sense—”
“I know.”
Sunghoon halted then. Of course you did. Someone had already told you — a doctor, perhaps a private one, someone whose name you didn’t have to wait for. The thought put a sour edge on Sunghoon’s tongue, and he hated himself for it.
His gaze dropped instead to the book in your hands.
“You shouldn’t be reading out loud,” he said before he could stop himself. “Not if your throat hurts.”
Your gaze dropped to the book as well, only for a fraction of a second before your gaze encountered him again, and when you did, you smiled.
“Finish it for me, then.”
“What?”
“You said I shouldn’t be reading,” you countered, and he could hear the amusement threading your voice. “But the children will be disappointed if they don’t hear the end.”
You tilted the book toward him. “Finish it for me.”
Sunghoon glanced past you, catching the children still turned toward you both, eyes bright and hungry for gossip.
It was a trap, he knew it, perhaps your whole existence was a trap to him.
He had not come here to perform. He had not come here to sit in a garden playground and read to rich children while his heart tried to hammer itself out of his ribs. And yet — you looked at him as if you were trusting him with something small.
As if you weren’t afraid he would drop it.
He reached out. The bandage on his hand made the motion clumsy, and for the briefest second his fingers brushed against yours as he took the book — the touch more a delirium than a real thing — but it made his whole body go rigid for a moment too long before he walked to the children, sitting where you once did and cleared his throat.
The children stared.
You sat back, allowing your cousin to tumble into you once again, and watching him with the kind of patience that made him feel exposed.
Sunghoon began.
His voice came out awkward at first — too careful, too flat — and he hated the sound of himself in this setting. But soon he caught himself changing voices for the characters, letting a higher pitch slip for one, a rougher edge for another. A child giggled. Then another, a small sequence until your laugh broke through and something warm rose in Sunghoon’s chest, and it took him a long time to notice that it was pride — a foolish pride for making you laugh.
When he finished the book, the children groaned in protest, and he handed it back to you as if it might burn him.
“Thank you,” you said again. And time he didn’t tell you not to, but just nodded, because some refusals felt pointless against you.
Somewhere behind you, a nanny called, and the children broke apart the way children always did — all devotion, and then none at all — feet pattering off across the soft flooring, laughter dissolving into the garden as if it had never been held.
But you stayed — still as a held breath, hands quiet at your sides, your gaze fixed on him like you were waiting for something he hadn’t learned how to give and Sunghoon didn’t know what to do with that.
“I should go,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. His fingers found his jeans on instinct, smoothing at a crease that wasn’t there because perhaps — perhaps he could press order back into his body if he tried hard enough.
You nodded at his saying but as he turned away, you called out his name and he stopped.
He didn’t mean to but his feet simply listened.
It was the first time you had ever said his name, and it landed wrong in the best way, catching him under the ribs. Not only because of your accent, all made in the knottiness of Seoul, but because coming from your mouth it sounded softened and slower, drawn out as if you had stolen it and made it all yours.
“Wait,” you said.
And he did.
“My father,” you continued. “He is in hope that you are going to call — he wanted to thank you properly. And—” You hesitated, the same kind of hesitation you had in the staff hallway: bravery gathering itself again. “He wanted to make sure you are taken care of.”
Sunghoon’s throat tightened at your words. He didn’t want to be taken care of. Not by you. Not by anyone who could turn care into debt.
“I’m fine,” he said automatically, and you looked at him like you already knew it was a lie.
“Dinner,” you said.
Sunghoon blinked. “What?”
“You should come to have dinner,” you repeated. “With us.”
With us.
You didn’t say it, but the meaning was explicit: you were inviting him to have dinner with your family — your family who occupied one of the suites on the rooftop corridor with its vending machine, and it made his reality tilt.
The whole world you belonged to was being offered to him, yet he knew — it was a treasure that was never meant to be touched by him.
“I—” Sunghoon started. “I’m not sure if I can — there’s a policy.”
You nodded at him, and it should’ve been the end of it. But instead, you stepped in — careful as if you knew exactly where too close began and chose to stop just short of it. And the air between you tightened, charged in that quiet way Sunghoon hated because it made him aware of everything at once: your breath, the warmth of skin, the soft, loose strand of hair the breeze had freed.
His hand almost moved on instinct — one simple lift of fingers as if to tuck it back where it belonged but he caught himself and you did it yourself.
“Can I see your phone?” you asked.
“My phone?” he echoed, but his hands were already reaching, unlocking it, placing it in yours like surrender.
He watched you type quickly. He watched the ease of your fingers, the certainty of you — or at least, the way you fake it, because your hands held it too tightly and you were biting at the corner of your lip, smudging on your lipstick and leaving it on the way you had on the night of your first encounter.
“We always have dinner at the resort’s restaurant, I will send you the time,” you said, giving him the phone back. “If you feel like — just come. My father will be more than happy to do something about the policy.”
He stared down at his phone, finding the message you sent to yourself and your name, sitting there as if it belonged.
He looked up, but you were already moving away, as if you knew the moment was too dangerous to linger in.
“Goodbye,” you said, almost under your breath, and Sunghoon’s chest tightened at the sound.
“Bye,” he managed.
You held his gaze for a heartbeat too long, almost as if you were trying to memorize him in daylight, storing the version of him that existed under the sun instead of under dim lights and bad decisions before you finally turned and walked back to where your cousin sat, giving him just a single glance back as if you wanted to check whether he was still there.
Sunghoon found it adorable in a way that terrified him.
It made him want to follow you back — tug at the thin thread you had left behind and see if it would truly hold.
But instead, he ran. Sunghoon found the staff access and took the stairs — two at a time — fleeing so quickly that the encounter began to feel weightless behind him, unreal in that particular way of dreams: gone the moment you wake, but still warm in your skin.
⋆˚꩜｡
Jaeyun had barely arrived for his shift when Sunghoon found him. The air smelled like salt and sunscreen and the faint metallic tang of old engineers.
“I talked to her,” Sunghoon said before even greeting, and the urgency in his tone startled even himself.
“Who?” Jaeyun asked — more reflex than curiosity — because the moment his gaze landed on Sunghoon, the question dissolved on its own, understanding settling without needing an explanation. “Angel.”
Sunghoon corrected him by saying your name before he could even feel self-conscious about the syllables because if he thought about it, he would notice how they were intimate — as if saying them out loud was an admission. It was ridiculous, but it was also true: it felt like the moment he spoke your name, the thread between your lives tightened.
“You lost me,” Jaeyun said. “How did we go from not even knowing her name to you being invited to have dinner with her and her parents tonight?”
Sunghoon explained — or at least, tried to explain — about the yacht, the rescue, the strange gravity of you, the way his body seemed to move toward you before his mind could decide. And although Jaeyun listened with the amusement of someone watching a friend walk willingly into danger everything he said was:
“What are you wearing?”
Sunghoon looked down at himself.
“No,” Jaeyun cut him off immediately. “Tonight. What are you wearing to dinner?”
“I don’t even know if I should—” Sunghoon said.
“You can’t be fucking serious, Park Sunghoon,” Jaeyun cut. “You’re going.”
⋆˚꩜｡
It was around three in the afternoon when Sunghoon received Mr. Hwang’s message approving his dinner with your family, a brief and cold string of words that didn’t even try to hide the warning: this wasn’t a permission, but a leash — Mr. Hwang knew where Sunghoon was — and if he slipped, even if barely, it would not be an accident anymore. It would be a choice. Sunghoon knew the rules — God, he knew it so damn well that even with the approval all written on his phone screen, he felt unsure about it, but then he received your message with a tiny please at the end, and he couldn’t come to care about being smart.
By evening, Sunghoon was freshly showered, hair damp at the nape of his neck, and Jongseong’s suit pressed and scented with Mrs. Kye’s laundry soap like a borrowed dignity.
The host didn’t know him, but a few waiters did, and as he stepped inside, he felt their glances like something material at the back of his neck.
He wasn’t a staff at the moment, nor a guest, and it somehow felt more troublesome than being either.
But then, he saw you — and you saw him too, your lips parting in that one smile you had given him at the playground, and something within him misfired.
The windows were thrown open at your back and the last gold of the day cut through the room, catching on crystal glasses and expensive cutlery until everything glittered underneath it. And you — you looked like you belonged there. Not because of the dress, the jewelry, or the easy curve of your mouth, but because the light itself knew your worth and reached for you as much.
Sunghoon took one steadying breath — yet lost it the moment you stood up, saying something to your parents before you walked toward him, and he had the strange, irrational thought that for as long as he lived, he would know the scent of you and the sound of you approaching him.
“You came,” you whispered, and Sunghoon felt his breath hitching once again. His fingers flexed once at his sides, grounding him back into his body, but he couldn’t find a sentence that didn’t give too much away, so he didn’t give you any.
You didn’t seem to mind it as you led him to your family’s table and introduced him, your finger steady on the cover of his suit.
Your mother was the first to move. Not a polite nod from her chair, nor a measured smile meant for strangers and for which Sunghoon had been prepared — but a real reaction — immediate and strangely human. She stood from where she was, reaching for his hands before Sunghoon could decide what to do with his own, holding him so warmly yet carefully that it surprised him.
“Sunghoon,” your mother called. “I do not feel like I can thank you enough.”
“It was — it was my job, ma’am.”
“No,” she said, and for a moment her warmth sharpened into something almost fierce. “It was more than that to me.”
The words came out darker than she seemed to intend — too honest for a table set in crystal and gold — and she seemed to realize it the moment they landed because her expression shifted then. Embarrassment, perhaps, for letting too much truth rise to the surface in front of people who measured vulnerability like weakness.
“And please,” she added, voice gentler again, “no ma’am.”
She glanced toward your father then. “We are family friends after all.”
“She is right,” your father agreed. He seemed to want to say more, but before he could do so, his phone chimed.
“Byeongseok,” he said, stepping away with a brief excuse and a plea for them to sit before him, and for one moment, Sunghoon could swear he felt you stiffening by his side, your shoulders drawing inward as your hands closed too tightly on the arms of your chair as you sat down, but he couldn’t come to ask the reason behind it.
Not even when your father hung up and the person he supposed to be Byeongseok appeared and greeted your parents like old acquaintances.
Not even when your mother smiled at him with clear familiarity or your father clapped a hand against the younger man’s shoulder with the ease of habit.
Sunghoon didn’t dare to ask — not even when Byeongseok turned to you with a fond smile and bright eyes — simply unable to hide the irrational happiness of seeing you.
You stood up again, allowing Byeongseok to hug you, and when his arms wrapped around your waist, it happened with the ease of someone who had never had to wonder if he was allowed to touch the world like this — like proximity was a language he had been fluent in ever since his childhood. Byeongseok pulled you in without any further question, the fabric of your dress creasing under his grip and his cologne turning into a private air between you, and when his lips chased your temple, something settled inside of Sunghoon. Not a thought, exactly, but not a feeling he could name in a way that could make sense.
There was a sudden flare under his ribs, a reflex like pulling a hand away from the fire, except that there was nowhere to put it — nowhere to hide — and so, he only watched, understanding with a clarity so clean, it made him dizzy. It was what belonging looked like: not asked for, not earned, just assumed.
Byeongseok not only had the type of face women in this island would make lines for, but he knew how to wear his money well — Jongseong’s suit was great, honestly, the best people could find at Jeju’s malls, but anyone who said no one could tell the difference between a suit from the mall and a suit made by a clever designer had never seen the latter and Sunghoon was seeing one — not to mention that Byeongseok made a strange image near you, almost too fitting. Almost too perfect.
And Sunghoon hated the way that thought honed something in him.
The craving hit him suddenly then — sharp and familiar. Smoke at the back of his throat, something bitter enough to burn this feeling out before it rooted itself deeper. His fingers moved through his lips before he could even think about it, placing a cigarette that wasn’t even there.
“Byeongseok,” you said, drawing yourself back. “This is Sunghoon. You might remember him from last night — he was the one who saved me.”
Byeongseok frowned as his gaze fell on Sunghoon, confusion settling heavily over his features because he didn’t recall. But Sunghoon couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t have told this was the man who took you away until you mentioned it.
“Sunghoon — this is Byeongseok, son of my father’s business partner, and my classmate at the university. He was there last night as well.”
“Sunghoon has joined us per her request,” your father explained, nodding briefly toward you.
“Great,” Byeongseok replied immediately, but something about the brightness of his voice felt just half a beat too late, too polished to be entirely sincere.
Byeongseok sat down by your side, and soon enough, his parents arrived, quietly changing the shape of the evening.
Smiles settled into place as though rehearsed beforehand. Greetings were exchanged with the precise familiarity of people who had known each other long enough to stop performing enthusiasm and start performing balance instead.
Byeongseok’s mother smiled often, but Sunghoon quickly realized it was the kind of warmth that could never truly reach the room. And his father looked at the table the way businessmen looked at properties — assessing, categorizing, deciding what belonged naturally and what had merely been allowed inside.
Still, the beginning remained civil.
Byeongseok’s mother asked about Sunghoon’s life in Jeju, and he answered the way he had been trained to answer guests: politely, briefly, and with nothing that couldn’t be more than entertaining — even when she pressed again, head tilted as if she were fishing for a story he could be made into, Sunghoon didn’t give her one. He kept his smile soft and his words cleaner, guiding the conversation along familiar paths without offering anything that could be held too tightly.
But then, the menus arrived.
“Always so many good options,” Byeongseok’s father commented lightly, leaning back in his chair. “What would you recommend, Sunghoon? If staff were allowed to eat those, of course.”
Heat crawled through Sunghoon’s neck before he could even stop it and he had to force his face to keep still. No flinch, no tell, no satisfaction given.
He understood the tactic: Say it smiling, say it soft, and if Sunghoon reacted, Sunghoon would be the problem. Not the man who had said it. That was how this worked.
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened with the unfairness, and the urge to answer with something that would cut back grew bigger — but then, you spoke.
“Sunghoon is here as our guest,” you said, your eyes never even leaving the menu. “Perhaps it would be better to ask the chef.”
The words were light enough that someone outside the table may not even notice them, but Sunghoon did.
Your parents did.
As well as Byeongseok’s.
Byeongseok’s father gave a short laugh then, lifting his hands slightly in surrender.
“I was joking.”
“We know, however, my daughter is right,” your father cut. “Perhaps we should call the chef if we want recommendations — although Jeonbok is calling me tonight.”
He looked up through his menu to your mother.
“What do you think?”
Your mother hummed in agreement, visibly grateful for the shift.
“Would wine match?” she asked.
Sunghoon expected you to smile then, to claim victory, and let your eyes meet him with that one spark you had worn on the playground. Yet it never came. If anything, you turned even more still than before, shoulders drawn in as you had at the beginning of everything, and he understood then, that you were different near these people — quieter — if not non-existent. As if showing too much of yourself was something that could be used against you later, in a quieter room, with words that only sounded nice at the surface but sliced you open if listened to it more carefully.
And the realization settled in his chest like heat.
Protective wasn’t a word he had ever used for feelings. It sounded like something out of a movie, a pretty story for which he couldn’t afford. But whatever this was, it was real.
His knee bumped into yours, perhaps accidentally, or perhaps it was his body leading him to what he should do, but it caught your attention, and you looked at him.
It’s okay, he meant and you bumped him back as though you had understood.
⋆˚꩜｡
Nothing truly happened between the main course and dessert — or at least — nothing that Sunghoon could point to directly.
Every new plate earned a sound from Byeongseok’s mother — too loud for the room and too practiced to be true — but her husband hummed in agreement anyway, and by the time the dessert was served, the table’s volume had swelled because Byeongseok’s family didn’t just fill the room, but took it apart and rebuilt it around themselves, as if the air belonged to them by default.
Sunghoon kept his posture straight. His borrowed suit sat stiff across his shoulders, and his bandaged hand rested in his lap, where no one would ask questions. He nodded when addressed, and answered when appropriate, smiling cleanly and briefly — nothing that could be used later as proof that he had forgotten his place — but the exhaustion crept in anyway.
Not the kind that came from a late shift, but the kind that came from holding yourself still while other people moved freely.
By his side, you had gone even quieter than before, your eyes trained on your plate as if digging at your chocolate sphere required your full concentration.
Sunghoon watched you for a moment too long, his knee still angled toward yours under the table, close enough that he could feel the faintest shift when you moved.
“You are supposed to break it,” Sunghoon said, quiet enough that it couldn’t interfere with the conversation going around the table, but direct enough that it couldn’t be mistaken for nothing. “Not dig.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You break the layer above, not—” he paused, leaning in as if the rest of the table might steal the sentence.
You leaned forward too, almost instinctively — meeting him in the small space he had made until your shoulders nearly brushed and the world narrowed to the dessert between you.
Sunghoon reached out for you, his knuckles brushing yours as he took the spoon from your hand, and the contact short-circuited his brain for a fraction of a second because you were warm, soft, and close enough that he could catch your scent under the restaurant’s citrus polish and your mother’s selected wine — coconut and strawberries, just like the night you met.
His breath caught.
He brought the spoon down and cracked the chocolate shell with one clean press — the surface split neatly, revealing the cake beneath, darker and softer, steam barely rising.
“I knew,” you whispered.
Sunghoon halted then.
Of course you knew. Fancy desserts weren’t a novelty to you — you had probably broken a hundred chocolate shells in your life without thinking twice. You were digging not by ignorance, but because you were buying seconds — letting the chocolate shell and the soft cake beneath it become cover. Something small to hold onto, something to keep your hands moving so you didn’t have to lift your eyes to the furor of the table.
The realization made something in his chest hurt, sudden and sharp, like he had swallowed the wrong thing and it lodged in his throat.
His gaze flicked up to your face before he could stop himself.
You weren’t looking at the dessert anymore — not really — you were looking at him, eyes softened in a way that made the noise around the table feel suddenly far away. And Sunghoon knew he should lean back — put distance where it belonged, fold himself into his place again before anyone could notice.
But you were too close still and he didn’t want to be the one to let go.
He stayed as if staying could be harmless, as if the room couldn’t take this small thing and make it cost — even when your fingers brushed his again, taking in the spoon.
“Thank you regardless,” you said. “And I’m sorry.”
I’m — not I am — and he caught the slip just as you did, your voice already smoothing itself back into I am, back into etiquette, but it was already too late.
Byeongseok’s mother waved her spoon again, mid-story. “And then I told her, I said, ‘You cannot possibly wear that to the chairman’s event.’ Can you imagine? The girl looked like she had been dressed by a toddler—”
The rest of the table chuckled, but not you.
“It’s loud,” he said, and you huffed at him.
“Yes,” you agreed. “It is loud.”
The corner of Sunghoon’s mouth twitched in what could turn into a smile, but it was quickly taken by the way you went quiet again, folding inward until you were nothing but manners and stillness beside all that noise.
He could pretend he didn’t see it — he could — but he didn’t.
Sunghoon let his knee stay angled toward yours under the table, a small act of defiance no one could call out, and felt the decision settle in him with a steadiness that scared him.
“Do you want to leave?” he asked. Your eyebrows furrowed at his sudden question, your surprise flickering across your features, and Sunghoon rushed on before he could talk himself out of it. “Not now, but after — after the dinner is finished — if you want to, we can go somewhere else.”
Your chin dipped once, so small it could have been nothing, yet, it wasn’t.
His voice lowered.
“If you leave by the resort’s main entrance and turn right, you’ll see a park full of red flowers and a black bench — I’ll be there waiting for you.”
⋆˚꩜｡
The bench was colder than July should allow.
It sat at the edge of the small park like a leftover thought — the black paint worn thin by the number of sunsets. And above it, the red flowers flared under the streetlights, clustered and moving only when the wind picked up — Jeju’s sea air slipping in from somewhere beyond the resort’s polished boundaries and carrying salt, damp soil, and the faint sweetness of crushed petals.
Sunghoon sat with his hands clasped together so tight his knuckles ached with the pressure, and his cut pinched underneath the bandage, but even with such discomfort, he couldn’t come to release.
Perhaps because the night air kept biting at his skin, and his body was struggling to keep heat in. Or maybe it was dinner and the way the restaurant’s light had made everything sparkle — it was normal to feel wound too tightly after standing inside wealth for too long, after all — money was a room with no windows, and it made the lungs forget how to expand.
But his gaze kept flicking to the same stretch of road.
The resort’s main entrance was somewhere behind him, out of sight but too close still — and that was the problem. Every second that passed stretched longer, the way time did whenever someone stared at it too directly. And the idea of you not coming settled like a weight under his ribs, heavy enough to make his posture go stiller.
He had spoken too boldly — too recklessly — he had asked a question for which he had no right to ask, offered a door he didn’t even know if you could open. But now that the words were out in the air, he couldn’t pull them back.
Sunghoon couldn’t pretend they hadn’t existed.
He glanced down at his suit — Jongseong’s suit, actually — although it was supposed to have become his the moment he had put it on, but the fabric sat wrong across his shoulders, sleeves a centimeter too small because Jongseong had always been shorter, and it was clear now that he looked like someone he wasn’t — like someone who could sit at your father’s table without feeling the world shift under him.
The thought made his stomach twist.
He dragged in a breath, tasting the air — flowers, damp earth, and the distant trace of cigarette smoke from somewhere down the road and he wondered if he should smoke, but his pack was still in the locker room, safely hidden with his clothes.
And not to mention that he didn’t even know if you mind cigarettes. Perhaps you despite the smell of it as much as Jaeyun, and if you ever came—
God
Sunghoon leaned in, forehead resting against his clasped hands.
But then, he saw a movement in his periphery.
At first it was only a shape separating itself from the dark — a silhouette against the faint spill of light from the resort’s property, slow and hesitant as if the body itself wasn’t sure it was allowed to keep walking. And Sunghoon’s spine straightened before he could stop it, the motion too sudden for him to even have time to consider preventing it.
His heart didn’t leap, exactly — but shifted, like something inside him had been forgotten and finally remembered its existence.
Sunghoon rose. He didn’t mean to do it so quickly, but the bench seemed to push him up anyway, and by the time you reached the edge of the park, he was already standing there, hands useless at his sides, and the night suddenly too loud in his ears.
For a second you only looked at him, chest rising and falling just a bit faster than it should have from such a short walk, and your eyes bright in a way that didn’t match the dim light. As if you had been running internally even when your feet hadn’t.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Sunghoon heard himself say, and hated the way the honesty slipped out before he could catch it.
“I almost didn’t,” you admitted. “My parents were taking forever to go to their room. My mother kept asking if I was tired. If I wanted tea. If I wanted to sleep early.”
“And?”
“And I said yes,” you said, and something small changed in your expression, a flicker of the mischievous he had seen at the playground. “To all of it.”
Sunghoon nodded at you, only once — only because he understood and he didn’t want you to explain further. Explanations could turn into an apology, and he didn’t want your apology — not tonight, not anymore — not when the corners of your lips were already curling into a smile.
You glanced at the bench, and then, at him. “Is this—” you paused. “Is this where you always wait?”
“No,” he said. “Only tonight.”
The words sat between you — true enough to make the space feel thinner, but if anything, you stepped even closer — the red flowers behind you making your skin look warmer than it probably was.
Sunghoon’s hand lifted without his permission — not to touch you, not really, just hovering near your elbow like a reflex, like his body decided to lead you away from danger before his mind had agreed it was allowed. But he caught himself at the last second and dropped it back.
“We should go,” he said then. “Before someone sees.”
“Where?”
“Where do you want to go?”
You glanced toward the road first, watching the faint spill of the resort light that didn’t quite reach the park before you looked back — looked at him, the wind picking and shifting a strand of your hair across your cheek in the process, and he was thankful that you reached for it fastly, tucking it behind your own ear before his hand could mischief again.
“Somewhere,” you said. “Anywhere.”
⋆˚꩜｡
The resort disappeared behind you in trimmed hedges, stone paths, and the last spill of gold light thinning between the trees until it couldn’t reach. Even the air changed. Less citrus polish and more Jeju: salt threaded through the dark laced with tangerine, damp earth, cedar, and something sharp-green from the moss that climbed the trunks like it owned them. Even the sounds shifted as you kept walking, string music and fountain hush traded for insects, a burst of laughter somewhere down the road — the messy life of the island bleeding back in.
Sunghoon led you along a path that dipped and narrowed, the trees thinning until the sky opened. And then the beach was simply there — no staging, no chairs and parasols with Marriotte’s logo, but just the sea moving in slow, endless pulls toward the pale sand.
He stepped down first, shoes sinking just slightly, and you followed — until you didn’t.
You stopped at the line where pavement ended and sand began, staring at the sea for a quiet moment before your gaze dropped to your feet, to the heels that suddenly looked ridiculous here.
“I—” you started, already crouching to slip one off, but the sand shifted under you, breaking your balance.
It had been nothing more than a small slip, your ankle rolling in a way that could have passed unnoticed — but Sunghoon was watching, and before you could pretend it hadn’t happened, his hand had already closed around your forearm, firm and quick, saving you from a fall that would never really come.
Your skin was warm under his grip, summer still caught in you somewhere, and suddenly, you were so close and the night so still. All he could feel was the breeze on his cheeks, your breath feathering against his skin, and the sea hissing at the shore.
“Careful,” he whispered.
You steadied yourself, letting out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh — embarrassed and relieved all at once — before you slipped the heel off properly this time, then the other, holding them by the straps as you finally stepped further.
“Is this one of those beaches where you’re not allowed to go in the water at certain times?”
“Allowed,” he echoed. The word sounded strangely cute coming from you, but it was all wrong out here, too Marriotte, and he hated what that place had taught you to carry.
He bent down and unlaced his shoes, slipping them off before he stepped further, finding where the sea had already touched the sand and left it wet, but he stopped there then, looking over his shoulder at you, as if offering the path with his body.
“Come on,” he said. “This isn’t Marriotte. We can do what we like for a little while.”
You hesitated for a moment, lips parting as though you meant to say something else — but whatever it was, you let it go with a small shake of your head and followed.
Sunghoon kept his pace slower than normal, not looking back fully — just enough to confirm you were still there, a step behind him, heels hooked securely over your fingers — and matching your pace when it slowed, pretending he wasn’t listening to every change in your breathing like it could mean something.
The shoreline pulled in and out, foam thinning and retreating, leaving the sand dark and shining under the moonlight. A small wave slid up in a cold sheet and flattened at Sunghoon’s feet, soaking the hem of his trousers.
“I am sorry,” you said. “I had no idea that my father had invited Byeongseok and his parents. If I had, I would have told you to come some other time. I know they are—” but you never finished. There wasn’t anything you could say that they hadn’t already proven to be, and so, you merely shook your head, your gaze dropping back at your feet. “I am genuinely sorry.”
Sunghoon halted then, not realizing he had done it until you halted too, turning to find him a step behind. He never thought he had any problem with speaking and talking, but now he realized that perhaps whenever he had something serious to say, he needed to go still first.
“Byeongseok,” he began.
“What about him?”
“Are you both a — thing?”
“What?” you laughed, less because you were amused than because you knew you were supposed to be. “He is a friend — kind of, I don’t know.”
You shuddered.
“Our parents have known each other since university and co-founded their first company together,” you explained. “When our mothers got pregnant around the same time, it was already decided that Byeongseok and I should be friends too — actually, when they figured out our genders, even — even marriage was in the talks.”
The world didn’t stop then. The wind kept blowing, tucking loose strands of your hair and sending them through the night in thin ribbons of moonlight. The sea kept hissing at the shore in its slow, indifferent rhythm, as if it had never learned the meaning of names. But Sunghoon went painfully still.
It shouldn’t have made him feel anything — this truth of yours — but it did, because it carried the sharpest fact with it: you could slip away without anyone even touching you. You could turn back toward Marriotte’s gold light and be absorbed by it like you’d never stood here at all. Like this beach was only a pause between rules. Like the night had borrowed you and would have to give you back.
And the thought spiked so suddenly that it made him angry.
Sunghoon worked his jaw once and swallowed hard, as if he could force the feeling down to wherever he kept everything else. But it didn’t go. It stayed lodged in his throat, cold, heavy, and growing harder with every second he didn’t say it out loud: don’t go.
And in the hush of the moment, you continued, your voice slipping into the space before his could, soft and quick, like you were trying to save you both from something.
“It is not so terrible,” you told him, and for a moment he couldn’t tell what you were referring to. “I mean, I am not the type of person who did much — ever since childhood — as you can notice. I did not have much experience with anything. I do not know how to swim, and I only know how to ride a bike because one of my babysitters thought it was absurd that I did not know how at the age of twelve.”
“Twelve?” Sunghoon echoed, his voice softer than he expected. He tried to picture a twelve-year-old you and someone finally deciding you should know how to balance yourself on two wheels. “What else have you never tried?”
“Carnivals, arcades, street food,” you said, and it hurt Sunghoon to notice how you didn’t even seem to go very far into your mind before coming up with those, as if you had already listed all the things life had kept from you, holding it on a secret corner. “I’ve also never played in the rain.”
You didn’t look at him when you said it. You looked at the water instead, and the words hung there a moment — small and wrong against the sea.
“What else do children do?” you asked quietly.
“In Jeju?” Sunghoon echoed, and you shuddered a little because the problem wasn’t Jeju at all, but that you didn’t know what children did anywhere.
His gaze slid past you, down the shoreline, and toward where the harbor lights would be if you followed the coast far enough.
“Fishing boats,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
He glanced back at you. “Have you ever been on one?”
“No,” you laughed, and it sounded like surprise more than amusement. “Not even close.”
Sunghoon didn’t think. He just decided.
“Come.”
“Now?”
He nodded, already moving — already turning it into something inevitable before he could talk himself out of it. Sunghoon stepped into your space, reaching for you. His fingers closing around your wrist, as though he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t anchor you to the moment.
He didn’t look back as he led you along the shoreline. He only tightened his grip once — pulling you farther down the beach with the sound of the sea and his heart pounding against his ears.
⋆˚꩜｡
Sunghoon didn’t stop walking until the sand gave way to wood and damp rope, until the harbor opened up in front of you and it was too late to turn back.
Boats rested low in the water, tied close to the dock as their hulls knocked softly in the tide’s slow pull. The air here was thick with things the resort would’ve scrubbed away: seaweed gone sweet at the rocks, gasoline that never fully left the planks, fish in a way that didn’t come plated, and rope that held the day’s work in its fibers.
He stepped onto the dock and led you between the boats without slowing until he found one smaller than the rest — paint chipped, name faded to something half-forgotten, but still rocking with a stubborn kind of life.
“Is it yours?” you asked.
Sunghoon shook his head, letting go of your hand only so he could climb down first, one hand on the rail, knees bending on instinct as the boat dipped beneath his weight and steadied again.
“It was — is my father’s, but he doesn’t use it anymore,” Sunghoon answered, looking back up at you from the deck.
“It moves,” he warned. “Just — just step where I tell you.”
“You know,” you whispered. “The last time I was on something like this, I slipped and caused chaos — what if I slip again?”
“I’ll jump after you again,” he replied, taking a moment too long to notice how silly he had sounded, but you laughed then — real, and soft — cheeks growing a shade darker beneath the lights, and Sunghoon decided that he didn’t care. He could be as silly as he needed to be to see you like this.
“I am trusting you on this,” you said.
Sunghoon reached up toward you, not offering his hand like something romantic, but lifting his arms like he was preparing to catch you before you could fall.
“Come,” he said, and when you stepped closer, he didn’t give either of you time to second-guess it. His hands found your waist, fingers curling and holding onto as he lifted you.
The boat shifted under him as he brought you down, the deck dipping at the exact wrong moment, and making Sunghoon’s balance break — just a fraction — but he stumbled anyway, the two of you jolting together.
Your lips parted on a gasp, and you were suddenly too close again. The air between you thinned enough that Sunghoon could not only hear but feel it against his mouth, sweet with the strawberry cocktail you had been nursing at dinner and chocolate from the dessert he almost stole from you.
He wasn’t sure what had come to your mind, but your gaze dropped to his lips, and for one stupid second, he thought the deck had tilted again, some tide moving the boat beneath your feet, because he caught himself moving toward you — toward whatever it was.
It was absurd, honestly, how quickly his body betrayed him. How instinct moved first: the pull forward, the half-formed reach, the mind going blank in the same way it did right before a dive.
But then, his mind snapped back in with the same brutal timing it always had, and Sunghoon halted.
He forced his hands to stay where they were. Forced his feet to hold, and his gaze to move up and off your mouth — off the sweet stain of chocolate and strawberries on the air — because if he kept looking, he didn’t trust himself not to finish what his body had started.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The only still point in the middle of a harbor that continued to creak as it always had: water brushing softly against wood, rope shifting overhead, and the hull answering the tide with a slow, patient pull for which Sunghoon couldn’t bring himself to match. But then, you stepped aside, your gaze already skittering away, and searching for anything to hold onto that wasn’t this.
“It is a nice boat,” you said. “Why does your father not use it anymore?”
His fingers flexed once at his sides — a newfound habit to ground him back into his body — as he breathed in.
“He had a stroke a few years ago,” he said, and it came out with the same level of emotion the doctors had said back then, like a fact because well, it was what it was. “It interrupted the blood flow to his spinal cord for long enough — long enough for his legs to stop working.”
It made you turn back at him, your gaze settling on him with a softness Sunghoon didn’t know what to do with because it didn’t feel like pity, not really. It felt like you were staying. As if you’d reached for the ugly truth and, instead of handing it back to him, you were holding one corner of it with your bare hands, because you didn’t want to give it back to him, not when it weighed so much, and it made his breath catch.
He looked away on instinct, jaw tightening as if he could lock the reaction behind his teeth, but his throat still burned anyway, sudden and sharp. The harbor lights blurred for a second on the water’s surface, trembling lines turning softer as he blinked and forced his eyes to behave.
“I am so sorry, Sunghoon,” you said, quietly. “I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for you.”
Something in his chest shifted at the way you said it — for him, not just his father — and it left him unsteady in a way the boat never could. He pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, swallowing once, and then again, as if he could force the feeling down into a place it wouldn’t show.
But he couldn’t — he never could, not with you.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon managed, rough around the edges. Then, after a beat, like the words had to be pried loose: “It was—”
“It was my last year in high school and suddenly I was having to get part-time jobs to help with the bills. University exams and everything that came with it became just a reality that couldn’t be mine,” he said, the words coming out in a rush, like now that he had started, he couldn’t stop. “I graduated by a miracle, I would say — and then I got the job at Marriotte, and it’s not like we are rich, but it gave us some breathing room. They pay well — I mean, not enough to cover a dozen of crystal glasses with one of the most expensive champagnes comfortably—”
“That is why you reacted that way,” you said.
“Desperate?”
“I wasn’t going to use this word.”
Sunghoon’s lips twitched.
“You can be harsh with me, Angel,” he said, and regretted the nickname the second it left his mouth. It sounded too familiar — too owned — but if anything, you smiled at him, ending the distance you had previously created and reaching for him, your thumb brushing the space between his brows.
“You are frowning,” you whispered.
Sunghoon hadn’t noticed it — he couldn’t come to care, actually — all he could think about was the warmth of your thumb, the faint smell of coconuts at your skin, and the sudden, odd urgency in him to keep you there and not let you slip away again.
“Do you want me to take her out a bit?” he asked, his voice lower than he intended. “It’s better once the lights are behind us.”
“The boat?” you asked, and he was surprised by how excited you sounded. “Can you?”
He moved before he could overthink it, reaching past you to the console by the cabin, fingers finding switches and knobs with the muscle memory of a childhood he didn’t talk about much.
The cabin itself crouched in the middle of the boat — small windows clouded with salt, paint chipped, a cheap string of bulbs hanging along a metal frame overhead from one decision he was too young to remember. Warm light spilled onto coiled rope and a cooler shoved against the cabin wall, onto a bucket with a cracked handle and nets bunched like shed skins.
The boat rocked in small answers as he worked, impatient, like it wanted to be out in the water too.
You stepped into the cabin’s shadow, close enough to watch without getting in the way.
The engine coughed when he turned it over, and Sunghoon coaxed it gently — hand steady, voice low under his breath as if the boat could hear him. It sputtered again, then finally caught, a rough vibration running through the deck and up his legs, swallowing the harbor’s quieter noises.
Sunghoon guided the boat out, slow at first, easing past the tighter line of docked vessels. The harbor lights stayed bright behind you for a moment — gold smearing across the water — before they began to thin.
And then, gradually, the world changed. The air opened. The smell of gasoline softened into salt and night. The noises of the docks dissolved into nothing but the sea’s quiet insistence and the boat’s engine thudding like a heartbeat.
You leaned a little, peering past the cabin.
“It is — dark,” you said.
“You aren’t supposed to be looking down.”
“I—”
Sunghoon killed the engine, and the sudden silence landed heavy and solemn, although the boat continued to drift, tide and current doing what they always did, and the hull continued to knock against the water.
“Come,” he said.
Sunghoon stepped out and moved toward the side passage between the cabin and the rail. It was narrow — barely enough for one person to pass without turning sideways, and you seemed to notice it right away.
“Is it — safe?” you asked, and Sunghoon snorted at it.
“Define safe,” he said, because it wasn’t, but there was no other way, and so, he merely turned sideways, giving in a few steps into the narrow patch before he glanced back at you.
“Like this,” he instructed. “Sideways — you can use the cabin for support.”
You did as he said, following him into the gap.
The cabin wall pressed close as you both moved, and only when you reached the bow, the space widened by a few inches — not much, but enough to feel like freedom. The cabin lights were dimmer here, allowing the sky to be everything.
Sunghoon looked at you for a second, taking in the way you stared upward, your lips parting in a gasp you didn’t quite release.
Sunghoon didn’t wait for you to decide. He lowered himself first, back meeting the wood, one arm tucked under his head like he belonged to the boat in a way he didn’t belong anywhere else.
You watched him as if you weren’t sure you were allowed to follow, but then you did anyway, lying down beside him.
Above, the stars were so bright they looked spilled — silver and white against a dark so deep, it swallowed the last memory of the harbor.
And it was so nice to just lie there with you — backs resting against the deck as you watched the stars — as if you both had shared something and were no longer alone with yourselves and your little secrets, because well, you had.
“You know,” you began. “You made me do two things I have never done in the span of a single hour — be in a fishing boat and watch the stars.”
“Have you never watched the stars?” he asked.
“Not really,” you said. “There are too many lights in Seoul, it’s almost impossible to see the stars.”
“That’s a waste.”
You laughed at that — so small and soft — as if the night had pulled it out of you without asking and Sunghoon’s mouth twitched at the sound. He kept his eyes on the sky, knowing it was safer than looking at you, but your laughter stayed in his chest anyway, warm, stubborn, and making something within him shift.
“We could do more,” he said, the words escaping before he could prevent them. “Not tonight, but while you are in Jeju — I could teach you how to swim — there is a public pool nearby, we could go there after my working hours at the resort.”
He was rambling at this point, trying to turn the thing he had just offered into something practical — something that could be scheduled and explained and, if necessary, defended. As if putting it into logistics could make it safer.
“I mean—”
“I would love to,” you cut in. “I genuinely would love to.”
“Tomorrow, if you can,” he said. “Let’s meet on the bench.”
“Tomorrow,” you said. “At our spot.”
“Our spot,” he heard himself agreeing.
Sunghoon couldn’t tell how long you stayed there, the boat drifting and rocking beneath your backs, but it was enough for the air to shift, the night cooling as if the morning had already started to gather itself somewhere out of his sight. And Sunghoon understood, with a clarity that made something within his chest tighten, that soon the world would wake up, and he would have to take you back. Tomorrow was going to come no matter what, and yet still — he wanted it to.
Somehow, in the middle of your semester break, you ended up with a new roommate. Your landlord rented out the second room in your flat without telling you, and now you’re living with Sunghoon. At first, your paths barely cross, you’re buried in work, and he’s always at the rink. But slowly, he slips into your routine in ways you never expected. And in one faithful night, everything shifts. Suddenly, living together isn't awkward anymore. You start looking forward to him coming home. Maybe, just maybe, home isn’t a place. Maybe it’s a person.
💿 SOUNDTRACK 〢🖇 SERIES MASTERLIST 〢⛸️ MORE coming soon
wc pt 1 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ 28,007
ᵎ!ᵎ WARNINGS ──── GRAPHIC CONTENT! Swearing, partying, consumption of alcohol, hospital visits, EATING DISORDER, mentions of date-rape drugs, being drugged, mentions of the police, vomiting !! Please refrain from reading this fic if themes like dieting, bulimia, and anorexia could be triggering for you. Please take care of yourself, lots of love <<3
# TAGS ──── SLOW-BURN Figure skater!Sunghoon, Architecture student!Y/N, college sports, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff
all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ
Hallucinating. You had to be hallucinating.
Maybe Jaemin was right. Maybe the sleep loss was catching up with you. You were starting to hallucinate.
You were pretty sure that there was a hot guy flipping through the first pages of one of your fashion magazines.
In your living room. Surrounded by moving boxes.
You cleared your throat. “Hi?”
The guy looked up and smiled at you.
Oh god.
“Hi, I’m Sunghoon.” Sunghoon set the magazine down on your sofa table. “I’m your new roommate. I don’t know if Mister Kang told you that I am moving in today instead of on the first. I had a more or less spontaneous change of plans.”
No.
No, Mr Kang did not.
You opened your mouth before closing it, willing your face into a small, tight smile.
“Hi,” your voice was pitched a notch too high, and you cringed. “I am Y/N. Are you sure you are in the right apartment? I mean, considering you probably got the keys from Mr Kang, yes, but he didn’t tell me anything about a roommate? I know Apartment 4B is a free room?”
Sunghoon scrunched his eyebrows. “This is Apartment 4D, right? I definitely signed a contract for the smaller room in Apartment 4D.”
“Oh,” you just said and blinked at him.
The smaller room in your apartment had been rented out for as long as you lived here. Not by you, but by some mystery girl that seemed to have no interest in living in this apartment. Mister Kang didn’t care if the other girl came or not, as long as the rent was paid on time, and told you you were free to use the room until she did indeed show up.
So that is what you did.
You transformed the small room into your studio.
And you knew for a fact that the desk and the floor were a cluttered mess at the moment.
Heat shot up your neck at the realisation.
“I–uhm–I didn't know you were moving in at all. I’ve been using the room as my studio. Just give me like an hour, and I’ll move all of my stuff into my room,” you sighed, already feeling a headache coming. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at your words, then glanced toward the hallway leading to his supposed new room. "You’ve been using it as a studio?"
You nodded, running a hand through your hair. "Yeah. I mean, it’s been empty since I moved in. Not technically empty? Someone rented it out, but she never came, and Mr Kang said I could use the room if my supposed roommate didn’t want it. So I just… took over? I’ll be really fast, so you can start putting all your stuff in there."
Sunghoon’s lips quirked up in amusement, arms crossing over his broad chest. "So, I’m kicking you out of your studio?"
"Technically, yes. But it’s not your fault. Mr Kang just kind of forgot to tell me you were coming? At all? So I didn’t know I had to clean it out."
He nodded, glancing back toward the hallway before looking at you again. "Well, if you need help moving your stuff, I don’t mind."
You shook your head, taking off your jacket, unceremoniously dropping it onto the sofa. "No, it’s fine. It’s mostly styrofoam, pens and sketches. It's fine."
Sunghoon shrugged. "Alright. Just let me know if you change your mind."
He moved toward the sofa, lifting a box and putting it onto the floor before flopping down on the green fabric. “Are you a design student?”
“Oh. No. I study architecture.” You shook your head and made your way through the maze of boxes and furniture in your living room towards the hallway that separated your room and now apparently Sunghoon's room.
“Oh, that's cool. I am in PE,” he grinned at you.
You just nodded again, not in the mood to talk with anyone right now, even less with the mysterious girl, well, boy, you now had to live together with. "Ah. That's nice. Just… make yourself at home while I clean, I guess?"
Sunghoon grinned. "Will do, roommate."
The word made you wince.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
You stood in the doorway of your studio, well, Sunghoon’s room, mentally preparing yourself for the hour of cleaning ahead. The small space was overflowing with architectural sketches, blueprint rolls, rulers, model pieces, and textbooks.
This was… embarrassing.
You usually were a really organised person, but with work and your deadline coming up, you just didn’t have the time and energy to clean up behind you. The last few weeks had been horrible; you were chasing one deadline after another, had worked endlessly on your projects and studied at the same time. Sleep was a luxury and cleaning was the last thing on your mind. The only thing you religiously did every day was cook.
With a tired nod, you started moving, piling all of the cut-up styrofoam and paper into a trash bin, carrying unused styrofoam into your room and getting a broom from the kitchen.
After around half an hour, Sunghoon slightly knocked on the doorframe to his room, startling you from where you were sorting through your sketches and designs.
“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” he asked, walking into the room, doing his best not to step on anything.
You swallowed, ignoring the crawling feeling under your skin while he looked around with a curious look on his face.
“No, it's fine,” you mumbled, tiredly smiling at him. “I usually am a really clean person. It’s just…exam season.”
Your head was aching, a slow pressure building behind your eyes, and you were hungry. You just wanted to eat something and roll up in your bed, but you weren’t about to make Sunghoon help you clean his room when it should have been clean from the get-go.
He let out a soft chuckle. “Mhm. No worries. If it’s just your space that you use for creative chaos, I don’t have any problem with that.”
You pressed your lips onto each other and gave him a small nod before turning back to the stacks of paper on the bed. Most of them were half-finished sketches and drafts you never bothered to throw away, in case you needed them again. It would not be the first time.
Sunghoon’s voice startled you. "What's this?” He gestured to a half-finished architectural model on his desk, a sleek modernist building carefully cut out of foam board and assembled with tiny, precise details. You spent countless hours on it, just for your professor to ask if you could start over since he didn’t think it was the best you could do.
You hesitated before replying. “It was supposed to be my final project. For my design class.”
Sunghoon bent down slightly, inspecting it.
“This is insane,” he murmured, his fingers hovering near the structure but not touching it. “It looks like something you’d see in an actual firm.”
You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you just gave a small nod. You watched him inspect the model for a second longer before he reached for a stack of your books.
“W-What are you doing?” Your hands stopped mid-motion, the papers in them unrolling slightly again.
“Helping,” he said simply, not looking up. “You’re going to take forever if you do this alone. I’ll just put them into your room, okay?”
“O…kay,” you mumbled, focusing back on your sketches.
An hour and a half later, the room was clean. Well, mostly clean. Your things were now safely in your room, and Sunghoon’s moving boxes were neatly stacked in the corner, ready to be unpacked.
After you gave Sunghoon a tour of the kitchen and went over the house rules, you found yourself standing awkwardly in the living room when you were done.
"Uhm… do you, uh, need anything else?"
Sunghoon looked up from where he was stacking his books on the shelf. "Nope. I think I got it."
"Okay, um, good. Well, uhm, goodnight then."
His lips curled slightly, amused at your awkwardness. "Goodnight, Y/N."
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
When you woke up and made your way to the kitchen at 6:30 am the next day, you felt like you had just risen from the dead. Your hair was a mess, your eyes were half-closed, and your body was running purely on muscle memory as you wandered towards the kitchen.
There was light spilling into the hallway from the kitchen, and for a second you wondered if you forgot to turn it off yesterday or if you were just hallucinating again. But when you rubbed your eyes and looked up, you realised something far worse than hallucination was happening.
There was a half-naked man in your kitchen.
Sunghoon stood by the counter, one hand resting on the counter, the other rubbing the back of his neck as he yawned. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and his bare upper body was exposed to the warm air in the kitchen.
He turned, his eyes heavy with sleep, and blinked at you, standing frozen in the doorway.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, he yawned again. "Morning."
"Uh", you cleared your throat, snapping your gaze away from his body. Ogling at your admittedly stupidly attractive new roommate was very inappropriate. "Morning."
Your voice sounded way too high-pitched.
Sunghoon didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he just poured himself a cup of coffee, completely unbothered.
You walked to the fridge, pretending not to care that he was standing next to it and grabbed one of your containers with porridge inside.
By the time you turned back around, Sunghoon had disappeared into the hallway. A few seconds later, he re-emerged, now wearing a T-shirt.
"Do you have any plans today?" he asked, casually leaning against the counter as he took a sip of his coffee.
You glanced at him, still feeling a bit weird to have seen him half-naked after knowing him for not even twenty-four hours. "Uh… yeah. I have work today."
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. "You work during the break?"
"Yes?" You frowned. "I mean, my scholarship covers a lot, but I still have to pay for food, transportation, materials, and extra costs. It adds up."
Sunghoon hummed, nodding. "What do you do?"
"I work as an intern at an architecture studio," you grabbed a spoon and honey, setting them on the counter. "I mostly organise files, scan documents, and do small tasks for the senior architects. I also make coffee and refill the printer paper, which is apparently the most important job in the entire office."
Sunghoon let out a small chuckle at that. "Sounds fun."
You shrugged. "It pays. Do you have plans for today?"
He leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking toward your food as you peeled off the lid of your porridge and took a small spoonful. "The only thing I’ll be doing today is train. Probably up until I get thrown out again."
You blinked at him. "Training?"
"Yeah." He took another sip of coffee. "The season ended, but I’m still training. I’m working to qualify for the Olympics."
You froze mid-bite.
"The…Olympics?"
"Yeah."
Your spoon slowly lowered. "You’re an athlete?"
Sunghoon nodded and took another sip of his coffee. “Yeah. I’m a figure skater.”
“Oh,” you just answered, not knowing what else to say.
Both of you went silent for a long moment until he cleared his throat again. “I’ll probably come home pretty late. Do you mind me showering here or should I shower at the rink? I don’t want to, like, wake you up or something.”
You hummed and shook your head. “No, that’s all right. I sleep well even if there is noise around me.”
“Okay,” he nodded again.
“Are you really training for the Olympics?” You asked after a bit of silence.
"Hopefully," Sunghoon shrugged. "If I qualify."
For a moment, you just stared at him and tried to imagine him in one of those pretty dresses the figure skaters wore. Then, you shook your head, trying to get rid of the thought. "That’s really impressive."
Sunghoon just shrugged, like it was no big deal.
You took another bite of your porridge, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. You never did anything that made you special. Or something impressive.
Your roommate took another sip of his coffee, watching you. "You always eat that little? I feel like if that was the only thing I ate for breakfast, I’d starve all day."
You swallowed, a bit caught off guard. "I meal-prep my portions."
He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Are you on a diet? Or just because it’s convenient?"
You hesitated for a second, the porridge suddenly heavy in your stomach, and just gave a tight smile. "It’s convenient."
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
The apartment was dark when Sunghoon came home.
It wasn’t unusual for him to come home to an empty apartment. In the last week that he had been living here, he had barely seen you around.
You were usually out of the house when he rolled himself out of bed, and aside from a few short greetings in the kitchen, when both of you were at home, you barely talked.
He figured you were just shy or maybe just didn’t like talking to people in general.
Not that he had a problem with that.
He himself wasn’t much of a talker either, and he really enjoyed the fact that you weren’t as noisy or nosy as his previous roommate.
Kicking off his shoes, he stretched his arms over his head, sighing as he made his way into the living room.
He poured himself a glass of water, hoping it would help him cool down a bit. Even though it was almost ten p.m., it was still unbearably hot outside, and the apartment wasn’t nearly as cold as he wished it to be. You rarely turned on the AC when you weren’t home. Sunghoon didn’t mind that; he was at the rink most of the time anyway, but today he felt like he was melting.
The remote for the AC was on top of the fridge, and it came to life with a small humming sound after he turned it on. His eyes flickered over the pictures and postcards that were held up by colourful magnets on the fridge doors. Most of them seemed to be from the same place, all of them portraying the beach.
Before he could stop himself, he had reached forward and carefully picked one of them up. He knew he shouldn’t be doing that, but he was curious. He really didn’t know much about you, even though you were living together. For all he knew, you could be a serial killer who would strangle him to death while he was asleep.
The thought made him chuckle.
You were more than a head smaller than him and didn’t look strong enough to do that; you were rather petite.
Sunghoon turned the postcard around.
Hi Bug! Busan is as beautiful as ever. I wish you were here. I hope you're doing well in Seoul. Take care. See you soon.- Love and miss you, Donghyuck :)
Oh.
He didn’t realise you had a boyfriend.
Not that it would make him think differently of you, but he thought you would have mentioned it to him at least once.
Donghyuck definitely sounded like a boyfriend's name.
Your hometown was close to Busan after all. Maybe he went to Busan to study, and you went to Seoul, and the two of you were sending postcards back and forth?
Sunghoon had asked around if someone might know you, and surprisingly, Jay recognised you after he had shown him your profile picture.
He knew your brother, or well, a very close friend of your brother, Jeno, who had dated one of Jay’s friends for a while. Jay had told Sunghoon that the three of you came from a small town near Busan, but couldn’t tell him more about you; he hadn’t met you in person and had only seen pictures.
Sunghoon shook his head and took another sip of water.
He should really get to know you a bit. He really didn’t want to stumble into you and your boyfriend without warning.
When he was just about to go to the bathroom to get ready for bed, the front door opened. Sunghoon’s fight-or-flight response immediately set in, but when he saw your figure walking into the hallway, he relaxed again.
You seemed exhausted; your shoulders dropped, and your head hung low as you let your bag fall onto the floor, kicking off your shoes. You rubbed at your temple and took a deep, audible breath before lifting your gaze to meet his. The dim kitchen light cast soft shadows over your face, emphasising the dark circles beneath your eyes.
“Hi,” he said, sounding surprised. “Were you at work until now?”
“Yeah, we were short-staffed in the cinema today,” you mumbled, walking past him to grab a glass from the cabinet.
“The cinema?” Sunghoon repeated. “I thought you worked at the architecture studio?”
"I do," you sighed, filling your glass with water just like he did a couple of minutes before. "This is my second job."
His eyebrows rose. "You have two jobs?"
You let out a small huff of laughter, but it was completely devoid of amusement. "Sadly, yeah."
Sunghoon blinked. “That sounds like a lot.”
You just nodded. “It is. But I get to stay in Seoul, and have at least a bit of money to spend on myself. So it’s worth it.”
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
The sunlight was drifting in through the sheer curtains in the living room, heating up the bare skin of your legs. You didn’t mind the sun or the heat; you preferred it over the artificial cold coming from the ACs that were everywhere. Now that you barely had time for anything but working and studying, even during the summer break, you were almost desperate to catch a bit of sunlight.
You were curled onto the sofa, reading a book from your to-be-read pile that accumulated during the semester, when Sunghoon shuffled into the living room, still half asleep. His hair was standing up in every direction, and he had red streaks on his face that came from sleeping on wrinkly fabric. He let himself fall next to you on the sofa, leaned back and closed his eyes again, grumbling sleepily. “Good morning, Y/N.”
"Good morning, Sunghoon," you said softly, turning your attention back to your book. You had noticed over the course of the last week that Sunghoon wasn’t a morning person. He was always grumpy in the morning, but still polite and nice to you.
For a long moment he just sat there, his eyes closed. The slow and soft breathing that came from Sunghoon made you think he had fallen asleep again, so you almost flinched when he suddenly spoke up. "Got any plans today?"
"Not really," you murmured, tucking your feet under yourself to make some more space for him.
Sunghoon opened one eye. “You don’t have work today?”
"The studio is closed on weekends, and since I usually work on weekdays in the cinema, I have weekends off. "
"Mm," he grunted. "At least two days of the week, you don’t have to run out the door at seven.”
You let out a small chuckle. "Yeah. It’s nice to sleep in."
The conversation faded into silence, and you shifted your focus back onto your book.
Just as you were finishing your chapter, his voice suddenly broke the silence in the living room again.
“Do you not like the AC?”
You looked up and blinked at him. "The AC?"
He hummed. “Yeah, you rarely turn it on.”
“Oh,” you shrugged. “I like to open the windows in the morning. I like it warm, so I only turn it on when it gets unbearably warm. We can switch it on if you’d like to?”
Sunghoon shook his head. "No, it’s fine. I was just wondering. Would you like me to open mine as well?”
You hesitated.
On the first day, you had thought about asking him if he could open his window, so there would be better airflow, but decided against it.
“You don’t have to. I don’t want to overstep."
He exhaled a soft laugh. "Don’t worry. I'll just open it myself. Then you can’t overstep anything."
You smiled faintly. "Thank you."
For a while, there was nothing but the occasional rustling of your pages and the sound of cars in the distance.
Then Sunghoon spoke again.
He didn’t seem like a person who talked a lot.
But apparently, he had the desire to talk to you sometimes.
He would come to your room or the kitchen when you were there and strike up conversations.
It was nice.
Sunghoon was nice.
You googled him and asked Jaemin about Sunghoon when you were working the Wednesday shift in the cinema together. Wednesday was always slow, not that you minded; it gave you plenty of time to talk to Jaemin.
According to him, Sunghoon was really nice.
"Do you miss home?"
The question caught you off guard. You looked at him again, only to find that he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling.
You hesitated before answering. "Sometimes. Tongyeong has a certain charm to itself."
Sunghoon nodded slowly. „It must be weird to move from such a small town to Seoul. I grew up in Suwon, but I think I spend more time in Seoul than anywhere else. My childhood and teenage years took place in ice rinks in Seoul.“
You thought for a second.
It was weird.
The house you grew up in was always loud. Either your brothers or the guests downstairs in the restaurant were constantly talking or making noises, and suddenly you were in this apartment, all alone, and it was silent.
You never realised how much you would miss your brothers until they weren’t just across the hall.
„Yeah. It’s weird,” you hummed. It’s so quiet and loud here at the same time. At home, you rarely hear this many cars passing by, but my family is quite loud, so living alone is very quiet,“ you put in a bookmark so you wouldn't lose your page.
You assumed Sunghoon was in the mood to talk right now.
„Really? Do you have siblings?“ He tilted his head slightly. His hair flopped down.
You hummed and nodded. “Three brothers. All older. Seven years, four years and two years. What about you?“
„I have one sister. Five years younger than me. And a dog,“ he chuckled.
„Oh, that’s nice. I always wanted a pet. But my parents wouldn’t allow it. They were busy enough with 4 kids and a restaurant.“
"Your parents have a restaurant?" Sunghoon asked.
"Yeah," you nodded
"Do you help out?" He sat up, turning fully to you, his arm coming to rest on the backrest of the sofa.
"Not really," you admitted. "My parents always told me to focus on my studies and made my brothers help them. I would help if they let me. I usually cleaned out the flat, though. I like the area I live in to be really clean, and growing up, my brothers weren’t the cleanest.“
Sunghoon hummed. „Yeah, I’ve noticed. I think that’s pretty nice. That you are such a clean person, I mean. I love my old roommate, but he left his shit everywhere and should be sued for noise complaints. That guy never shuts up.“
„Oh, that sounds annoying,“ you chuckled. You could see how that would annoy Sunghoon.
“It’s all right,” he hummed and lifted himself from the sofa. “Do you want some breakfast? I was thinking about going for a run and getting something from the Creek. My friend’s girlfriend works there, and I can get us free stuff?”
“I, uhm. I already ate. But thank you so much for offering,” you smiled at him.
“Sure, always.”
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
Sunghoon wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand as he stepped back into the apartment. By the time he finished his run and stepped into the small cafe across the campus, the sun had started blazing.
He peeled his shoes and socks off and had to stop himself from just ripping his drenched shirt off his body. Sure, you had seen him half naked once, but that was an accident, and he wasn’t keen on repeating it, so he sighed and moved towards the bathroom after dropping off the bag of baked goods in the kitchen.
Sunghoon had expected you to have gone back to your room, but when his gaze flickered toward the living room, he noticed the top of your head peeking over the sofa backrest.
“Y/N?” He stepped closer to the sofa.
You were asleep.
Your legs were slightly bent, and your arms were in awkward positions, one sprawled across your face, blocking your eyes from the light coming in through the living room windows, the other one resting loosely over your stomach. The book you had been reading was lying on the floor next to you, seemingly having slipped from your hand when you fell asleep.
Sunghoon reached down to pick it up, placing it onto the sofa table, before quietly wandering towards the bathroom to wash off the sweat still running down his back.
He made his way back to the kitchen twenty minutes later and cursed the architect who designed your flat for deciding on building an open-style kitchen. It was actually what sold him on the place, but now, with only a kitchen pass-through separating the two spaces, it also meant that if he used the coffee machine, it would definitely wake you up. He signed and grabbed the orange juice jug in the fridge instead.
As he poured himself a glass, his eyes landed on the vase near the window. The tulips inside were starting to wilt, slowly letting their heads hang down. A few petals had fallen onto the windowsill.
Without thinking, he got up, grabbed the vase and changed the water. Maybe that would keep them alive for a bit longer.
Sunghoon took another sip, glancing at your figure again.
He was thinking about waking you up, so you could go to your bed and get proper rest, but before he could move, you stirred.
At first, it was just a sleepy shift, a small stretch of your legs. But then, your eyelids fluttered, and with a deep breath, you slowly pushed yourself up, blinking blearily at the room.
“Hi.”
Your gaze flickered to him, still half-asleep.
“Hi,” you murmured back, your voice soft.
He hesitated for a second before nodding toward the counter. “I got you a salt bread.”
Your brows furrowed slightly, then you followed his gaze to the extra plate. You stared at it for a moment before looking back at him. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he said simply. “I got them for free, so I thought I’d just bring you one too.”
You hummed again before flopping back onto the sofa, stretching your arms above your head with a sleepy little sigh. Sunghoon watched you for a second, trying not to make it obvious that he was watching. You looked tired, even though you had just slept.
When you finally pushed yourself up from the couch, he glanced back down at his juice as if he had been doing that the whole time. He heard your soft footsteps on the floor and then watched you pad over to the kitchen again, yawning as you sank onto the stool across from him. Your hair was a little messy, one side pressed flatter than the other, and you still looked half asleep when you picked up the pastry and stared at it for a moment before tearing off a small piece.
“Thanks, Sunghoon,” you said quietly. “I really like these.”
He only hummed and leaned back slightly, watching as you took a bite.
“Me too. But I can’t really eat bread during the season,” he said. “So I have to stuff myself with anything gluten now, before I won’t be able to.”
You looked up at him, brows drawing together a little. “Why?”
He gave a small shrug. “I get stomach aches sometimes, and bloating is honestly the worst before practice. I really do not need to feel like I’ve swallowed a rock when I’m trying to jump on ice.”
You blinked once, then nodded slowly like you were processing that. “So it’s like a diet thing?”
He shook his head. “Not really. It’s just my stomach being dramatic.”
That seemed to ease something in your face, and you lowered your eyes back to the pastry in your hands. He watched you break off another piece, smaller this time.
“I kind of get that,” you said after a moment.
He tilted his head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you murmured. “My stomach is pretty sensitive, I guess. I kind of have to eat small portions more often; otherwise it gets upset.”
That made him look at you properly. “Really?”
You nodded, almost like you were apologising for it. “And gluten makes it worse sometimes. Not always, but enough that I usually just try not to have too much of it at once.”
“Hm,” he hummed, because he didn’t really know what else to say. That sounded annoying, honestly. “That sounds miserable.”
“It’s not that bad,” you said quickly, then seemed to catch how fast you had said it and softened a little. “I mean. It’s annoying, but I’ve had it for a while.”
He nodded once. That made sense enough.
“Do you meal prep because of that?” he asked.
You looked down at the pastry again. “Mostly. It’s easier that way. If I have small portions ready, I don’t have to think about it.”
“Fair,” he said. “I meal prep during the season as well.”
That got your attention. You looked up again, a little surprised. “Really?”
He gave you a look. “Of course. I have to eat a lot, but cooking every day is a pain.”
Your mouth curved slightly at that. “You hate cooking?”
“I don’t hate it,” he said, though that was being generous. “I just don’t want to do it after training. I need a lot of protein and carbohydrates every day, so meal prep is the only way I stay sane.”
You nodded slowly, like you were filing that away. “That makes sense.”
“It’s annoying that I have to eat the same thing three days in a row,” he added. “But it works.”
A small laugh slipped out of you, soft and warm, and he glanced up before he could stop himself. “I actually like cooking,” you said.
He blinked once. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you said, more certain this time. “It’s kind of one of the few things I don’t mind doing. I like making food for people. I like not eating alone.”
Sunghoon grinned at you. “That’s convenient.”
You frowned a little. “How is that convenient?”
He shrugged. “Because if you ever feel like cooking for me, I would definitely not stop you.”
That pulled a laugh out of you, soft and a little disbelieving. “You would want me to cook for you?”
“I might even sit still and not get in your way while you’re in the kitchen,” he said seriously.
Your eyes narrowed slightly, but he could tell you were amused. “Wow. Generous.”
“I know,” he said, completely deadpan.
You took another bite of the pastry.
“How often do you train?” you asked after a moment.
“Every day.”
Your brows lifted. “Every day?”
“Usually once,” he said. “Sometimes twice if Coach is being annoying.”
“That’s intense.”
“It’s normal for me,” he said, because it was. “But I burn a lot of calories, so I have to eat enough to stay at my weight.”
You tilted your head slightly, looking at him with that same thoughtful expression you always got when you were actually trying to understand something. “You really have to eat that much?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
That made you smile faintly. “You make it sound like a chore.”
“It kind of is,” he admitted. “I’d rather skate and then disappear into bed, but apparently my body disagrees.”
You laughed softly. “Oh no, poor you.”
“Well,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “if you ever feel like cooking, you can definitely make me something. I can’t promise I’ll be useful, but I can at least wash the dishes.”
Your eyes flicked to him. “That might actually be a good deal. I hate doing the dishes.”
“It is a good deal,” he said. “I’m very fair.”
The apartment was quiet for a moment, the sound of birds outside filtering in through the open windows.
“Sure,” you hummed and took another bite.
Sunghoon leaned onto his arms. “So what do you do on your day off?”
You shrugged. “Laundry. Grocery shopping. Paint sometimes, but most of the time I just sleep.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re really making the most of your free time.”
You let out a quiet laugh. “I don’t have much free time, so I have to use it well.”
Sunghoon thought about that for a second. It made sense. He understood what it was like to have every second of your day planned out, to always have something you were supposed to be doing.
His eyes wandered towards the framed canvas hanging against one of the kitchen walls. He had always thought it might have come with the apartment, just like the furniture in his room, but when he took a closer look, there was a stamp with your initials on it.
“Did you paint that one?” He asked, nodding towards it.
Your gaze flickered to the painting, and you pursed your lips, nodding slowly. “Oh, uh, yeah,” you mumbled. “Last summer break. It’s oil, so it took an eternity to dry. But, uh, the sun helped.”
He tilted his head back toward the painting. “Oh wow,” he said, genuinely impressed. “That’s so cool. Are the other ones yours, too?”
“Uh. Yeah,” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and nodded again. “I was feeling…really inspired last year. And my brother got me oil paints for my birthday so I just painted. But we can take them off the walls if you don’t like them? I don’t mind, and you live here too, so you should also feel comfortable and if–”
“Y/N,” Sunghoon chuckled, interrupting your rambling, and your gaze flickered up to his face before you pulled your lower lip between your teeth. “It’s fine. I like them. It makes the apartment feel a bit homier. You’re really talented.”
“I–,” you nodded again, and Sunghoon had to suppress a laugh. You suddenly seemed so flustered.
“I never really had the chance to paint with oils before since they’re super expensive. But, uh, money well spent, I guess?”
He looked back at the paintings again, his gaze lingering for a moment. It was really well done. “They are really well done. You should think about selling them, Y/N. Not many people are able to do this.”
You quickly looked away, avoiding his gaze. And then, you laughed. A weird, nervous little laugh, your cheeks flushing a bit.
“Oh, no, I mean–it’s just practice, really,” you blurted out, waving a hand in the air. “It’s not like–it’s not, like, some crazy talent or anything. It’s just… You do it enough, and it sort of, um, happens?”
“Still,” he said, amused now, “it’s really cool.”
You made a weird, stiff nod, then immediately picked up your water and took the smallest possible sip.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
You stepped into your apartment, shivering slightly at the cool air pressing against your skin.
Sunghoon must have turned on the AC again.
It was almost unbearably hot outside, the pavement heating up during the day and not cooling down even in the dark of the night, but inside, it was much colder.
You never really liked using the AC too much; the temperature drop always left you uncomfortable.
Unfortunately, Sunghoon didn’t seem to mind the cold.
You placed your shoes neatly next to his by the door and stepped further into the cool apartment. The sound of the television playing in the background hummed through the air. Sunghoon was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, eyes focused on the screen.
You hesitated for a second, not really sure what to say, if you should say anything at all. You didn’t want to disturb Sunghoon and make him miss something in his show, but before you could decide, Sunghoon reached for the remote and lowered the volume.
His head turned toward you. “Hey.”
You blinked, a little caught off guard. “Hi.”
He sat up slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest. “How was work?”
You sighed and shrugged, making your way into the kitchen. “It was fine. Busier than usual.”
You and Sunghoon had somehow become something like friends during the last two weeks; it was nice having him around, filling the silence whenever it became unbearable, but also staying quiet when the world was a bit too loud.
He tilted his head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you hummed and nodded before pulling the freezer open and shuffling through the bags of frozen food. “It’s usually not that packed during summer shifts, but today was weirdly busy.”
You found the familiar container of kolddugi muchim that you couldn’t stop thinking about all day, pulling it out underneath a bag of frozen broccoli Sunghoon had bought the day before. “At least Jaemin was there. It was fun with him.”
Sunghoon hummed in acknowledgement, his gaze flicking back to the screen for a moment. “Who’s Jaemin?”
You hesitated slightly before standing up from the crouching position you were in. “My friend and coworker, I guess. He works the counter with me.”
Sunghoon nodded slowly. “You work with him a lot?”
The question made you frown a bit. “Yeah. Why?”
“No reason,” he said, shrugging. “Just wondering. I’m just trying to keep on track with all of the names and people you tell me about.”
You nodded slowly before turning back to the counter to start defrosting your food. Your favourite pot was still in the dishwasher; it hadn’t been run today. There weren’t any new dishes in the sink either.
You hesitated for a second.
“Have you eaten today?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder.
Sunghoon looked at you, almost like he was caught off guard by the question. “Uh… no. I was too lazy to cook after I came from the gym, so I just had a protein shake.”
You frowned slightly.
A protein shake was not a meal, especially not if he had been training today.
You shifted your weight, debating for a second before clearing your throat. “Do you… Want some? I’m making kolddugi muchim and rice.”
His eyes lit up a little, his usual neutral expression shifting. “Oh, for sure. That sounds way better than another shake.”
With a nod, you turned back to the counter. “Okay.”
Sunghoon stood up, stretching slightly. “Need help with anything?”
“Um,” you thought for a second, going through the list of things you might need. “Could you go to the GS25 down the street and get some mu kimchi? Only if it’s no trouble. I can go too.”
He waved you off, already grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter. “Nah, I got it. I’ll be back in a sec.”
The apartment fell silent again as the door shut behind him.
You stood still for a moment, listening to the distant hum of the refrigerator and the faint dialogue from the drama still playing on TV. Then, shaking off the quiet, you turned back to the stove.
The scent of simmering garlic and gochugaru filled the air, thick and warm. It clung to the fabric of your clothes and seeped into the walls of the small kitchen.
You closed your eyes for a second.
It smelled like home.
Like summer afternoons in the restaurant, your mother’s voice drifting in from the kitchen. The sharp tang of kimchi mingling with the sweetness of caramelised fish sauce. The distant sound of seagulls outside, the heavy heat of the South pressing against the window screens.
You exhaled, opening your eyes again.
It had been a while since you were home.
You wanted to go home during the summer break, leave Seoul and all its stress behind for a couple of weeks, but then you were offered your internship and couldn’t go it.
Swallowing the sudden ache, you focused on stirring the sauce, watching the deep red paste thicken over the heat.
Cooking had always been something comforting, something familiar.
You never saw yourself working in the restaurant after you finished high school, but you missed living by the sea, close to your family.
Donghyuck had moved to Seoul a year after you did, and you were glad. He came to visit you a lot, claiming that he needed a break from seeing his roommate’s face from time to time, only to end up bringing Jeno along. He had been Donghyuck's best friend for so long, Jeno was basically your older brother as well, so it was a given that you cooked for him as well.
The sound of the door being unlocked ripped you from your thoughts, and your head snapped up to watch Sunghoon step back inside the apartment, a small plastic bag in his hand. “Got it.”
“That was fast.”
He shrugged, placing the bag on the counter. “I have long legs.”
You glanced inside, pulling out the package of mu kimchi. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he said, leaning against the counter. “If you’re cooking for me, it’s the least I can do, Y/N.”
His eyes flicked to the stove. “It smells really good.”
“It’s my mom’s. She gives me containers of this stuff every time I visit home. Sometimes I have to eat kolddugi muchim for days after I’ve been home because it won’t fit into the freezer,” you chuckled.
“Oh, I wouldn’t complain about eating kolddugi muchim for days. If it tastes as good as it smells, I’ll gladly help you eat some of the kolddugi muchim you can’t fit into the freezer.” Sunghoon grinned and reached up to grab two sets of plates and bowls from the cabinet.
You just nodded and smiled at him while dropping the still slightly frozen baby octopus into your mom’s premade sauce. The sizzling of the pan was the only sound for a few moments.
“I’ll go and turn off the TV. I’ll be right back,” Sunghoon said and disappeared into the living room. A few seconds later, the music box he placed in the kitchen made a sound, and Sunghoon’s playlist hummed through the speakers, while you finished cooking.
Somehow, the two of you had picked designated seats at the kitchen table across from each other, so whenever the two of you had eaten together, there was no question who would be sitting where.
You watched Sunghoon pile some of the baby octopus onto his plate. “It may be a bit spicy. I kinda put a lot of sauce in there.
He just shrugged. “That’s okay, I don’t mind the spice.”
“Okay,” you nodded, scooping some rice onto your spoon, trying to not obviously stare at him while he tried the food.
His brows lifted slightly, and he gave a small nod. “This is good.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. “Really?”
He hummed. “Yeah. This is nice.”
A strange sense of relief settled in your chest. You took a small bite yourself, humming in delight when it did taste good. Not as good as if your mom made it freshly, but it was still good.
You would have to call your mom later to thank her for cooking for you.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
Sunghoon stood outside your door, listening to the faint sound of music coming from inside.
He knocked once, then again when you didn’t answer right away.
When he had opened up the fridge this morning, both your shelve and his shelve were almost empty. He knew you would be going grocery shopping today as well, so he figured he could just ask if you wanted to go together.
A few moments later, the door opened just enough for him to see you standing there, paint smudged on one sleeve.
“Hey,” he said, glancing past you into your room. “You busy?”
You turned slightly, following his gaze back to the canvas on your desk. “Um. Just painting.”
He took that in for a second. It looked like another food painting, if the bowl that was already finished was any indicator. The room itself was a little messy in the way yours always was when you were working, brushes, paper and tubes of paint spread out over your desk.
“Right,” he said, then leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “I was gonna go grocery shopping for the week. Do you want to come with me?”
You looked at him like you were actually considering it, which made him wait instead of filling the silence.
“Yeah,” you said, glancing back into your room before your shoulders shifted and you gave a small nod. “Okay. Give me like twenty minutes to get ready?”
“Yeah, sure,” he hummed. “Take your time.”
You disappeared back into your room, and Sunghoon wandered over to the living room. He dropped onto the sofa and pulled out his phone, scrolling mindlessly through his TikTok while the apartment stayed quiet around him. Every now and then he glanced toward your room, half expecting to hear you rushing around, but there was only the soft thud of you closing your closet door and then nothing.
When you finally came out, he looked up almost automatically.
For a second he just stared.
Your hair was braided back neatly, the way it usually was, and you were wearing a white dress that fell loosely around you, soft and flowy.
Sunghoon blinked once and sat up a little straighter. “You always braid your hair.”
You glanced at him, your lips pursed. “Yeah?”
He pushed himself off the sofa and tucked his phone into his pocket. “No, I mean. Always always. I don’t think I’ve seen it open more than like once.”
You shrugged lightly, already reaching for your keys. “I just prefer it that way.”
He hummed as he followed you to the door, though he couldn’t stop looking at the braid. It was neat, simple. “Doesn’t it get annoying to braid every day?”
You shook your head. “Not really.”
Sunghoon let out a small breath through his nose, stepping out into the hallway after you. “I think you should leave it open; it’s pretty.”
You just hummed, keeping your face turned away from him. He knew there were certain things you didn’t like talking about, shutting down conversations before they could even begin, and apparently your hair was one of them. Sunghoon shook his head as the two of you started down the stairs together.
It was hot outside, the kind of heat that clung to your skin the second you stepped out of the building, and Sunghoon immediately regretted not waiting until later in the evening.
“It is so stupidly hot,” he muttered, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Why does Seoul have to feel like the inside of an oven in summer?”
You glanced at him, then back ahead. “It’s not that bad.”
He turned to look at you, offended. “What do you mean, not that bad?”
You gave the faintest shrug. “It’s warm.”
“Warm?” he repeated. “This is not warm. This is hostile.”
That got the smallest hint of a smile out of you, and he caught it just long enough to feel mildly satisfied with himself.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
The grocery store wasn’t far, but by the time you got there, Sunghoon’s t-shirt was drenched. You walked beside him without complaining once, hands relaxed at your sides, braid resting between your shoulder blades.
The doors to the store opened, and when the two of you stepped inside, Sunghoon sighed in relief, the cold from the AC washing over his body as he got a cart for the two of you. He steered the two of you deeper into the supermarket, one hand resting loosely on the handle while the other occasionally reached out to grab something from the shelves without really stopping.
You stayed beside him, quiet in the way you usually were when you were thinking, eyes moving over the rows of products without lingering anywhere for too long.
“Wait,” you said, stopping the cart when you passed the oatmeal section. “I think mine are almost done.”
Sunghoon hummed and followed you inside the aisle.
“I was thinking of getting these for the week,” you said, squatting down and grabbing a flashy box.
He hummed, reaching for it, reading the front of the package when you handed it to him.
It was a white oat, fruits and nuts mix.
“Which one do you usually buy?”
You shrugged. “Just the plain one.”
He made a face when he turned the box around in his hands. “You should get the protein one.”
You looked up at him. “Why?”
“Because it has more energy,” he said, pointing at the nutrition table on the back with a fingertip. “And better ingredients. See?”
He held the package out a little so you could look at it, before grabbing the one brand Wonyoung always raved about. “You said you’ve been feeling tired all the time; maybe you need some more protein. That helped a friend of mine, and she really likes that one.”
You reached forward, and your fingers closed around the cardboard before you turned it around once, then twice, before nodding and tossing it into the cart.
The two of you continued down the aisle, casually stacking more things into the cart. He kept filling his own side with random food. Rice, vegetables, eggs, protein drinks, a few snacks.
Your side looked different, a lot more specific. You spent a lot more time deciding between products, pondering the different choices, checking the list on your phone, checking the boxes whenever you added something to the cart.
He glanced at your list at some point and then at you. “Do you shop the same stuff every week?”
You looked up from your phone. “Most of the time, yeah.”
“That sounds boring.”
You gave a small shrug. “It’s not bad. There are a lot of things I can cook with that.”
“You mean loads of things you can drown in gochujang?”
You didn’t answer that, just moved to the next shelf and reached for another bar of dark chocolate. Sunghoon watched you for a second before stepping closer and taking one of the protein bars from the shelf.
“You should get these too,” he said, holding it out. “They’re good.”
You took it from him and turned it over in your hand, scanning the front before flipping it around to the back. You read the label for a second longer this time.
He watched you drop it towards your side of the cart before you put the dark chocolate back into the shelf.
The second you stepped into the frozen aisle, you started shivering, wrapping your arms around your body, while you followed him, so Sunghoon just grabbed a few packs of chicken breast off the shelf and dropped them into the cart one after another.
You glanced down at the pile of them, then back at him. “What are you gonna eat that with?”
He looked over his shoulder. “No idea.”
You blinked. “You just eat it plain?”
He gave you a look like that was a stupid question. “Most of the time, yeah.”
That made you hum softly to yourself, more thoughtful than amused, and you reached into the freezer case beside you before he could say anything else. A bag of frozen broccoli went into the cart, then another pack of vegetables, then some carrots.
Sunghoon looked down at what you were adding. “What are you doing?”
You shrugged. “I’m keeping my end of the deal, and I won’t let you eat plain chicken.”
He laughed at that, short and warm, and shook his head a little. “You wanna cook for me?”
You glanced at him, already reaching for another bag. “Well, yes. You’re the one paying. I’ll be the one cooking for the both of us. It’s convenient if we don’t get the kitchen dirty multiple times a day.”
That made him laugh again, a little louder this time, and he nodded once. “Fair.”
After a beat, you reached into the freezer again and added another pack of mixed vegetables to his side of the cart. He looked down at it, then at you.
“You’re spoiling me,” he said.
You hummed. “You’re paying.”
He laughed under his breath. “You’re enabling my laziness by cooking for me. How am I supposed to learn how to cook?”
“If you only want to cook, feel free. I won’t be stopping you.”
“I never said I don’t want to cook.”
“You did imply it.”
He gave you a long look, then broke into another grin and nodded once. “Okay, maybe I did.”
You were already looking away again, focused on the shelf in front of you, but the corner of his mouth stayed tilted up as he kept pushing the cart.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
You left the grocery store with more bags than Sunghoon had expected. He had ended up carrying most of them, insisting you took the smaller bags, ignoring how you complained about him thinking you were weak. Considering you asked him to open bottles sometimes, he was sure you would have handed him the heavy bags anyway.
The heat outside hit Sunghoon like a wall. He hated it: the warmth, the sweat and the clammy feeling all over his body that came with it. Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, shifting the bags higher in his grip.
“God, it’s still disgusting out here,” he muttered.
You only hummed, apparently unaffected in a way that made him feel slightly betrayed by his own body. The two of you were chatting, talking about nothing and everything while walking back to your apartment complex, before you went quiet for a moment.
“Can we stop by the flower shop?”
He turned his head. “The one you always talk about?”
You nodded. “If it’s okay.”
He shrugged, though the bags in his hands made the movement awkward. “Yeah, sure.”
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
The bell over the door chimed when the two of you stepped inside.
It smelled like water, leaves, and something soft he couldn’t quite place. Flowers lined the narrow room in neat clusters, some already wrapped and waiting near the counter, others still standing in buckets along the floor and tables.
The woman behind the counter looked up immediately and smiled when she saw you. “Y/N,” she said warmly, “what a lovely surprise.”
You brightened a little, your face easing in a way Sunghoon had never seen before. It was pretty.
“Hi.”
She came around the counter, hands wiping briefly against her apron before she reached for one of the buckets near the front. “You haven’t been here in a while. I was wondering when I’d see you again.”
“Work has been a bit much,” you admitted, shifting the bag in your arms.
The woman made a sympathetic noise and then glanced toward Sunghoon, her eyebrows raised, as she looked back towards you. "And who is this?”
You turned slightly. “Oh, this is Sunghoon. He’s my roommate.”
Sunghoon gave her a polite little bow, suddenly feeling nervous about making a bad impression. You and the lady seemed close. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”
Her expression softened instantly, as if the bow had been the correct answer to some invisible test. “Roommate,” she repeated, then looked at you again with a knowing sort of smile. “So you do have company at home now.”
You blinked at her, and Sunghoon noticed the red creeping up your neck. “Ajumma.”
She ignored that completely and waved a hand at the flowers. “Come, come. Let me show you what I have today.”
You followed her deeper into the shop, Sunghoon trailing after you a little awkwardly with the grocery bags still in hand. The woman moved around the buckets, looking for something specific, before lifting out flowers one by one and holding them toward you.
“These are lovely today,” she said, showing you a handful of blooms with pale petals that were slightly open already. “Not the freshest ones, but the shape is still very nice.”
Sunghoon frowned a little as he watched you take them in your hands and turn them gently from side to side. He wasn’t sure why, but he had expected you to reach for the brightest, newest ones. Instead, your attention seemed to settle on the flowers that looked a little less perfect, the ones with petals that had started to curl at the edges or lean slightly to one side.
"Why not buy fresh ones today, my child?" She asked, handing you another battered-looking one. "I got some beautiful tulips just this morning."
You looked up at that, then smiled a little sheepishly. “I think they’re also pretty.”
The woman shook her head fondly. “You and your strange taste."
You adjusted the flowers in your hands and gave a small shrug. “I like the ones that no one else would pick; you would throw them out anyway. And even if they just live for a day in my kitchen, at least they got some love, Ajumma. I'm sure someone will buy the tulips.”
The woman’s expression softened at that, and for a moment she just looked at you with more love and care in her eyes than a stranger should have for their customer. Then she let out a quiet hum and started wrapping the stems in paper.
You smiled, small and pleased, and Sunghoon had the strange feeling that he was seeing a piece of you that didn’t usually show itself anywhere else. Not at the apartment, not at the store, not when you were quietly making tea or sitting beside him on the sofa.
The woman finished tying the bouquet and pressed it into your hands with the kind of care that felt almost maternal. “There. These suit you better than the tulips would anyway.”
You looked down at the flowers, then up at her with a soft smile. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she said immediately, as if the thanks were unnecessary. “And don’t wait so long before coming again. Your face looks tired.”
“Ajumma,” you said again, but this time it was gentler.
She only waved you off. “Go home, eat properly, and come back soon."
“I will,” you promised.
Then the two of you stepped back outside, the flowers held carefully against your chest while Sunghoon adjusted the grocery bags again. You glanced down at the bouquet, then up at him, and there was a small smile pulling at your mouth.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
Sunghoon had just finished mixing his protein shake when he heard keys jingle and the front door swing open.
He frowned, setting the shaker bottle down. You weren’t supposed to be home yet. It wasn’t even 4 p.m. Had your class ended early?
Still, he greeted you out of habit. “Hey, Y/N–”
But the person standing in the doorway was definitely not you.
Sunghoon froze. The guy in the doorway froze, too.
For a long second, they just stared at each other, equally confused.
Sunghoon slowly lowered his shaker bottle. Who the hell–
“Uh…” the guy started, blinking a few times like he was trying to process the situation. Then, he pointed at Sunghoon. “You’re not Y/N.”
“No,” Sunghoon said flatly. “I’m not.”
The guy frowned, his head tilting slightly. “Then… who are you?”
Sunghoon crossed his arms. “I live here. Who are you?”
The guy’s face shifted as realisation dawned on him. His confusion melted into something amused.
“Oh,” he said, dragging out the word. Then, he grinned and stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. “I’m Donghyuck. Nice to meet you.”
Oh.
Oh.
Wait.
Donghyuck, as in your boyfriend Donghyuck?
Sunghoon’s gaze flicked toward the fridge before he could stop himself. The slightly curled postcard from Busan hung beside a few photos he had found himself staring at more than once in the past month. Donghyuck was in a lot of them. Always close to you, arms slung around your shoulders, laughing together.
Sunghoon quickly cleared his throat. “Nice to meet you, Donghyuck. I’m Sunghoon.”
Donghyuck hummed, already toeing off his sneakers. “Is Y/N still at class?” He dropped his bag by the door and strolled toward the kitchen.
Sunghoon, still trying to wrap his head around what was happening, hesitated before answering. “Uh… yeah? She usually gets home around 4:30. Sometimes a bit earlier.”
Then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, he reached into a cabinet, pulled out a glass, and filled it with water.
“How long have the two of you been together?”
Sunghoon nearly choked on air.
“What?” He spun around so fast that he nearly knocked over his protein shake.
Donghyuck just shrugged, sipping his water like this was a completely normal conversation. “Y/N didn’t tell me she was seeing someone. Or, well… seeing someone seriously enough to let him move in with her.”
Sunghoon’s brain stalled. What. The. Hell.
“I hope it’s been at least half a year and you didn’t just sweet-talk her into letting you move in after, like, two months.” Donghyuck narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Why–why would I be Y/N’s boyfriend?” Sunghoon blurted.
Isn’t Donghyuck the boyfriend?! What was happening?
The other gave him a look. “Dude,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You literally just said you live here.”
“Yeah, because I’m her roommate,” Sunghoon said, still trying to process this conversation. “I pay rent and shit to be here.”
Donghyuck blinked. “Wait. You’re her roommate?”
“Yes.” Sunghoon gestured vaguely at the apartment. “What else would I be?”
Donghyuck tilted his head, considering. Then he shrugged. “I dunno, her boyfriend?”
Sunghoon let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples. “Dude, I thought you were her boyfriend.”
Donghyuck burst out laughing.
“Me?” He pointed at himself, looking genuinely amused. “Oh, nah.” He shook his head, still grinning. “I’m her brother.”
Sunghoon’s brain short-circuited.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
Brother.
Oh. Okay.
Now that he really looked, Donghyuck did have similar features to you.
Your brother just grinned, clearly entertained by the situation. “Damn, you really thought we were dating? Siblings dating seems pretty weird, doesn’t it, Sunghoon?”
Sunghoon groaned, leaning against the counter. “I didn’t–”
Donghyuck cackled.
Before Sunghoon could come up with something to say, the front door suddenly swung open again.
“Oh my god,” your voice rang through the apartment, full of surprise and excitement. “Hyuck?!”
Sunghoon turned his head just in time to see you practically launch yourself at your brother. Donghyuck barely had time to put down his glass before you crashed into him, wrapping your arms around his waist.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming! I thought you were still at home!” You grinned up at him, eyes shining.
Donghyuck ruffled your hair like it. “I wanted to surprise you. Taeyong packed you a snack box from home. Mom and Johnny’s Mom added some stuff too. You know, since you can’t come home.”
Your face lit up. “No way.”
Donghyuck smirked. “Way.”
Sunghoon, still leaning against the counter, just watched as you glowed with excitement.
But before he could fully process how different you looked right now, so happy, so genuinely overjoyed, Donghyuck turned to you with an easy grin.
“So…” He dragged out the word, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”
Your expression twisted in confusion. “What?”
Donghyuck jerked his thumb toward Sunghoon. “You didn’t tell me you were dating your roommate.”
You were silent for a beat.
Then, your entire face went red.
Sunghoon could feel the heat radiating off you from where he stood.
“What?” you repeated, blinking rapidly.
Donghyuck just smirked, clearly enjoying this. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.” He gestured toward Sunghoon, who was just standing there like an idiot.
Your eyes darted towards him like you were expecting him to say something, but Sunghoon’s brain was still buffering.
Because all he could think about was how genuinely happy you had looked when you saw Donghyuck.
So expressive. So open.
The way your face had lit up, the way your voice had lifted into something bright and completely unfiltered. It was cute. And, selfishly, Sunghoon wondered why.
Why did you always hold back a little around him? The small, bashful smiles, the careful responses. Was he that intimidating? He was trying so hard to get to know you, to be a good roommate who would turn into a friend.
“We’re not dating.” Sunghoon finally managed, his voice a little more rushed than intended. “I’m just her roommate.”
You exhaled, pressing your hands to your very red cheeks. “Yes. He’s my roommate.”
Donghyuck raised a brow, clearly not convinced.
“Right,” he said slowly, crossing his arms. “So you just let random guys move in with you now?”
“I didn’t–it’s not–,” You groaned. “It’s a long story.”
Sunghoon, for some reason, felt the need to defend himself. “It’s not weird, okay? We barely even knew each other when I moved in. You don’t have to worry about us dating or anything.”
Donghyuck snorted. “That makes it sound so much worse.”
Sunghoon opened his mouth, then closed it.
You groaned again, looking like you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Mr Kang is renting the second room to Sunghoon.”
“No way. Your studio?” Donghyuck asked and looked at Sunghoon as if he had personally had the intention to steal your studio from you.
“Yeah. It’s all right, though. I always knew he could rent it out to someone who will show up,” you leaned against the counter next to Donghyuck.
Donghyuck was still looking at Sunghoon, but his facial expression had changed from accusation to something that looked like interest.
“Anyway,” he said, focusing back on you, “Do you wanna open the package? I am praying that Johnny put in some of those dope cookies from the bakery under his office. If he did, I am claiming one-half.”
At that, your face brightened again, and Sunghoon caught himself watching the shift in your expression again.
The way your eyes widened, the slight bounce in your stance, the way you leaned in just a little closer to Donghyuck.
Your brother unzipped the bag and pulled out a medium-sized cardboard box, setting it on the counter with a slight thud.
Your hands were already on the tape, peeling it open. “You had four weeks to eat the cookies from ppangjib. You get one. Or maybe two."
Donghyuck grinned. “Deal.”
Sunghoon, though still a little confused by the whole situation, couldn’t help but glance into the box as you pulled back the flaps. Inside were neatly packed bags of homemade snacks, a few small wrapped gifts, and a handwritten letter sitting on top.
You immediately grabbed the letter, unfolding it with the kind of excitement that was usually reserved for kids on Christmas morning.
While you skimmed it, Donghyuck reached into the box and pulled out a small bag of yakgwa, grinning. “Oh, sick. Mom made you some yakgwa.”
“No way.” You grabbed the bag from him, grinning just as wide.
Sunghoon glanced at the clock hanging above the kitchen door.
Shit.
He had to get to training.
With a sigh, he grabbed his shaker bottle and slung his bag over his shoulder.
“I gotta head out.”
You looked up from the letter. "Oh, right! You have training tonight.”
He nodded, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to eat something later, or will you eat somewhere else?” Your eyes were sparkling when you looked at him, and Sunghoon had to suddenly swallow dryly before being able to answer.
“I’ll eat with the others, thank you, Y/N." He nodded at your brother. “Nice to meet you, Donghyuck. Have a nice evening, you two.”
Donghyuck, already chewing on a piece of yakgwa, gave him a lazy salute. “Have fun, man.”
Sunghoon huffed a small laugh before turning toward the door.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
The bus stop was already fuller than you had hoped for.
You slowed when you got close, eyes briefly flicking over the small crowd waiting in the rain. Uni had already been enough on its own, and the thought of standing around in the wet for the next ten minutes did not exactly improve your mood.
With a sigh, you lined up behind a girl who was fully immersed in her phone, not looking up even when the line moved forward slightly.
“Y/N?”
You turned and found Sunghoon a few steps away, looking just as exhausted as you felt.
“Oh,” you said, a little flatly before you could stop yourself. “Hi.”
He gave you a small smile and stepped closer, shielding you from the rain by holding his umbrella over your head. For a second, neither of you said anything.
It was not exactly awkward in a bad way.
Just quiet.
Sunghoon glanced at you once before looking back at the road. “You got work later?”
You nodded, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “Yeah.”
He hummed. “Do you want me to cook then?”
That made you look at him. “You can if you want to?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I’ve wanted to try out a dish Wonyoung recommended. She’s been hyping it up for weeks now.”
“Wonyoung?” You asked, trying not to sound too curious. Sunghoon often talked about one of his girl space friends, but this was the first time he had mentioned a name.
“She’s one of the skaters I train with, and she’s pretty strict about her diet and eating healthy. She’s also the one that recommended the oatmeal I made you buy,” Sunghoon hummed and gave you a small smile. “Yours is empty, right? I’m gonna go grocery shopping before cooking. I could buy you some before you run out?”
“Oh,” you blinked once, a little caught off guard by how normal that sounded now. Apparently that was just what you were doing these days. Just cooking and buying groceries together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Yeah,” you said after a second, and then, a little quieter, “Thanks.”
He only nodded, like it was no big deal.
When the bus finally came, the two of you ended up standing through most of the ride, holding onto the railings and swaying slightly whenever the bus turned.
By the time your stop came up, you were both more than ready to get off.
The walk back to the apartment was quiet at first, Sunghoon holding his umbrella above both your heads, trying his best to keep you dry.
After a while, you glanced over at him. “How was your day?”
Sunghoon let out a small, humourless breath through his nose before answering. “Shit, honestly.”
You looked at him a little more closely. “Really?”
He nodded once, jaw tightening slightly. “This whole week’s been shit.”
You frowned. “Why?”
He looked ahead again and shrugged. “Coach is on my ass. Everything feels off. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get back on track for nationals at this point.”
His voice was flatter than usual, but there was frustration under it, thick enough that you could hear it anyway. He sounded genuinely upset, not just annoyed in the dramatic way he sometimes was when he complained about training.
You hesitated for a second, then said, “I’m sure you’ve been doing well.”
That got a quiet laugh out of him, though it did not sound amused. He shook his head slightly and looked over at you. “You haven’t seen me skate.”
You blinked, then shrugged one shoulder. “I know how much you train.”
He gave you a look at that, something tired and a little resigned in it. “Training a lot doesn’t mean I’m doing well.”
You frowned a little, looking down at the pavement as you walked. “Still. You’re probably doing better than you think.”
Sunghoon huffed again, but there was less edge to it now. “You know,” he said casually, “you should come to one of my competitions sometime.”
Your eyes flicked up to him. “Your competitions?”
“Yeah.” He nodded slightly. “There you could see me skate properly and then think about if I really am doing better than I think.”
You gave him a little smile. “I’ll think about it. I am sure you’re amazing on the ice, dear roommate.”
That made him smile, too.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
The cold had come quickly this year, creeping into your apartment and into your room.
You had spent your day at uni freezing and had been looking forward to just curling up on the sofa or your bed until you fell asleep. Sunghoon had picked up training for his competition, so it was almost rare that you got to see him during the evenings, but today he had been at home when you opened the front door.
He was studying at the kitchen table, his hair held up by one of his hair bands and a thick pair of glasses on his nose.
“Hi,” you greeted him, peeling your boots off your feet with your fingers stiff from the cold.
“Hello, Y/N,” he gave you a tired look, glancing up from his iPad.
“Don’t you have training today?” Your coat was wet from the rain, so you spread it over one of the kitchen chairs to dry before dropping your bag on top of it.
Sunghoon sighed and shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “They are doing some checks with the building, and we aren’t allowed inside, so no.”
“Oh,” you hummed, moving into the kitchen to heat up some water. “You don’t sound happy about that?”
He huffed and shrugged. “I wanted to train today. I still feel like shit about not being able to land my combo when I was able to before the summer break. I was off the ice for like two weeks, and it’s just gone.”
“Because of the break?”
"Yeah." Sunghoon nodded and watched as you got out your favourite mug. “That happens sometimes and is super annoying. If you lose a jump, you usually need double the time to relearn it again.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to get it again?”
Sunghoon shrugged again and let his head fall against the wall with a soft thud. “Yeah, it will just take time.”
You hummed and watched the kettle rattle as it brought the water for your tea to a boil.
"Y/N", he lifted his head, “a few of my friends want to come over and check out the apartment. Is that fine with you? I know you’ve got work tomorrow, but I promise we’ll keep it down when you want to head to bed.”
You smiled, the question barely making you think. “Oh, that's not a problem, Sunghoon. You live here, too. It’s not like I’m going to stop you from having friends over.”
He relaxed at your response, the tension in his posture easing as he gave a small, appreciative nod. “Thanks,” he said, looking genuinely relieved. “I’ll let them know we’ll keep it low-key.”
You nodded, offering a small smile. “No worries. You do you.” Then, as an afterthought, you added, “Just don’t be too loud around midnight. I haven’t really had parties here, so I don’t know if our neighbours are cool with noise or not?”
He chuckled again. “Yeah, I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen.” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at you. “You can come hang out later. If you want to. We’re gonna order pizza. I know you don’t do lactose or gluten, but if you want a piece just…you know join us?”
You nodded in acknowledgement, giving him a small wave. “Ah. Uhm. Thanks. But I think I’m good. I’ll go to sleep soon anyway.”
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
You did, in fact, not go to sleep soon.
It was almost eleven, and you were still reading, curled up in your duvet, a low light illuminating the room slightly. Your stomach had started growling a while back, and the more you tried to ignore it, the more urgent your hunger got.
With a long and annoyed sigh, you kicked the duvet off and begrudgingly put your book away before you stood up from your bed.
You hesitated for a moment when you reached your door.
Sunghoon and his friends were in the living room, playing something on the switch Sunghoon had brought with him when he moved in, so you would have to pass by them if you wanted to get to the kitchen.
You were wearing a pair of loose joggers and one of your brother's hoodies that he forgot at your apartment that you never bothered to return, so you were definitely not dressed for guests, let alone Sunghoon’s friends. But your stomach growled again, making you push the handle down and step into the hallway.
The laughter grew louder the closer you got to the living room. As soon as you entered, four pairs of eyes turned to look at you.
“Oh, hey!” one of them greeted you, giving you a smile, while his car came to a stop. “You must be Y/N.”
“Oh, uh–hi,” you said, your voice coming out slightly too high.
Sunghoon grinned at you. “This is Jay, Heeseung, and Jake,” he said, nodding toward each of them. “Guys, this is Y/N.”
Heeseung leaned back against the couch, abandoning his character as well. “Dude, your apartment is so nice,” he said. “Did you decorate it by yourself?”
You blinked. “Uh–what?”
“The apartment,” he repeated, still smiling. “It looks really good.”
“Oh! Um–yeah, I did?” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, shifting awkwardly. “I mean, I just… put some things together. I like interior stuff, so…”
“Man, Sunghoon lucked out,” Jay said, shaking his head. “My first roommate had, like, one folding chair and a mattress on the floor.”
“Hey!?” Heeseung said and turned to Jay, “I was your first roommate?”
“Yeah. And we have been living in our dorm for 3 years now. The only reason why we have a decent apartment now is that your mom insisted on helping decorate it,” Jay deadpanned. “And the main piece of decoration in your room is your keyboard shrine.”
Jake and Sunghoon snorted while Heeseung tried to defend himself: ”I asked her for help because you wouldn’t stop complaining, you stupid piece of shit.”
“See, I am really happy to have Y/N as my roommate. She has rugs and decorations. And a normal amount of keyboards.” Sunghoon grinned at you. “She is even painting the paintings to fit the vibe of our apartment.”
Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with betrayal. He just grinned.
“Did you paint all of them?” Jay asked, nodding toward the kitchen.
You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. Mostly last summer.”
“Damn,” Jake said, shaking his head. “That’s sick. I can barely draw a stick figure.”
You let out a small, awkward laugh. “Thank you.”
Before you could recover, Sunghoon gestured toward the pizza box. “Are you hungry? We ordered way too much.”
“Oh–no, no, it’s fine,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I was just going to warm up something from the fridge.”
He just raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“I swear this is so much, and we are all supposed to watch over our diets. You’d be doing a good thing by eating a slice or two,” Jake said before stealing a gummy bear from Jay.
“Maybe just one slice?” You mumbled.
Jake’s smile widened. “Sure, take as many as you want.”
He slid a plate toward you, and you shuffled over, still feeling painfully awkward. You perched on the arm of the couch next to Sunghoon, back stiff.
Your roommate glanced up at you, giving you a smile. “Have you finished your book?”
You hummed and took the plate Jake offered you, shaking your head. “Thank you, Jake. Almost? I need like three or four chapters. I’ll definitely finish it today.”
“So you’re going to read your vampire book?” Sunghoon teased. He had read the back of it and had been making fun of you ever since.
“No,” you took a bite and swallowed before continuing, watching the TV as they started another round of Mario Kart. “I’ll be waiting until Halloween. I have the morning shift, so I’ll have the whole evening to finish it.”
“Are you not gonna party on Halloween?” Heeseung asked, not taking his eyes from the TV.
You frowned, shrugging. “Not really? I’ve not been invited to any parties? And aside from that, I’m not really someone who goes to parties.”
“You’re just using that as an excuse to stay in bed to read your vampire steamy book, or what did you call it?” Sunghoon teased again, nudging your thigh with his shoulder. “I never thought you’d be one of those girls, Y/N.”
You felt heat rushing up your neck, your cheeks flushing, but before you could defend yourself, Jay already came to your aid.
ne,” he glanced at Sunghoon and regretted it mere seconds after, driving off the road. “Fuck.”
“I’m not even doing anything,” your roommate grinned.
Your stomach dropped at the words.
It was stupid, really.
He had only been teasing.
You knew that, but somehow it felt weird.
Your fingers tightened around the edge of the plate, and forced a small laugh through your nose before you looked back at the TV.
It was suddenly too loud in the room, too warm, too bright.
You could feel your pulse in your throat, fast and annoying, and every second that passed made you more aware of yourself.
Sunghoon shifted beside you.
He must have noticed the change in your mood, because when you glanced at him for half a second, he was already looking at you.
Not teasing, just watching.
His expression softened the moment he saw your face.
You looked away instantly.
No. No, it was fine. It was nothing.
He didn’t say anything right away, but the apology in his eyes was obvious enough that it made your chest tighten worse. He probably realised he had pushed too far.
It was all right. Nothing had happened; he didn’t mean it in a bad way.
You took another bite of pizza just so you would have something to do with your mouth, but it didn’t help. Not even a little. Your stomach felt weirdly hollow and too full at the same time, and you kept your face angled toward the TV while your entire body screamed at you to get up and leave before you embarrassed yourself any further.
Heeseung glanced between you and Sunghoon, clearly catching something in the air. For a second, the room went a little quieter, the game noises continuing in the background.
Then Heeseung spoke.
“Actually,” he said, a little more carefully now, “do you maybe want to give partying one more try?”
You looked over at him, caught off guard.
His expression was gentle, not pushy. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “I mean, instead of spending Halloween alone reading by yourself.”
Your mouth opened, then closed again.
“There’s gonna be a big Halloween party hosted by the swimmers,” Jake said from the floor, spinning his controller between his fingers. “You could come. If you don’t want to go alone, you can bring a friend too. Just tell the guards we invited you; they’ll know.”
You blinked at that. “A friend?”
He nodded. “Sure. If that makes it less weird.”
“Or safer,” Jay added, not looking at you but clearly trying to help in the least aggressive way possible. “Whatever works.”
You glanced down at your plate, your fingers suddenly very aware around the rim. The room was still buzzing with the game, but your pulse had not slowed.
You forced your shoulders to stay loose.
“I don’t know,” you said, and tried very hard for the words to sound normal. “I’m just… not really into parties.”
Jake nodded immediately, as he understood. “That’s fair.”
“But,” Heeseung said, still soft, “you don’t have to be into parties to come to one once.”
You hesitated.
“I haven’t been to one in forever,” you admitted, which was worse than saying no because now it sounded like a confession.
Jake’s face brightened a little, not in a mocking way, more like he had heard a challenge he wanted to win. “Then it’s definitely time.”
“No pressure,” Heeseung added quickly when you didn’t answer right away. “Seriously. But if you want to try it, we’ll look out for you.”
Jake leaned back and grinned at you. “Think about it, yeah?”
You nodded once.
Heeseung smiled, gentler than before. “And seriously, you can bring a friend if you want. No pressure.”
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
Except that it was pressure, and you couldn't stop thinking about it.
So the next day, Jaemin immediately noticed that something was off the second you clocked in. “Okay, spill.”
You frowned, wrapping your apron around your waist. “What?”
“You look weird. A bit constipated. What are you thinking so deeply about?
You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s nothing.”
Jaemin narrowed his eyes. “Liar.”
You exhaled, already knowing you weren’t going to get away with it. “Sunghoon’s friends came over last night.”
His eyebrows shot up. “The hockey players?”
You blinked, surprised. “How did you know?”
At the same time, you weren’t really surprised. Jaemin had a way of knowing everything and everyone. He was the definition of a social butterfly.
“Just a gut feeling", he grinned. “Tell me more.”
You sighed, opening the door towards the main room of the cinema. “It wasn’t a big deal. They just came over to see the apartment and hang out with Sunghoon. I ran into them when I went to the kitchen.”
“And?” Jaemin prompted, eyes gleaming with interest.
“And… they were nice,” you admitted. “They complimented the apartment and–” you hesitated, then added reluctantly, “my paintings.”
Jaemin gasped dramatically. “The beautiful paintings that are all over your apartment that everyone compliments? No way!”
You rolled your eyes. “Jaemin.”
“What? Am I lying?” he shrugged, grinning at you.
You groaned, covering your face. “Can you leave me alone?”
Jaemin cackled. “No.”
You shot him a glare. “I hate you.”
“You don’t. In fact, you love me enough to schedule your shift so they’d clash with mine and we have even more time to hang out," he said, waving a hand. “So what happened afterwards? Just meeting them wouldn’t make you this thoughtful.”
You hesitated for a moment before saying, “They… invited me to their Halloween party.”
Jaemin froze.
His expression went from shocked to utterly gobsmacked in less than a second. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Wait, like, the swimmers' Halloween party?”
“I think?”
He gawked at you. “You think? Y/N, do you even realise how exclusive those are?” He leaned in. “You have to know people to get in or be important enough to be invited.”
You shifted uncomfortably. “I guess… I know people now?”
Jaemin smacked your arm lightly. “Oh my god, this is huge.”
“It’s really not. They even offered that I could bring a friend.”
“Oh, my god.” He placed a hand over his heart. “You have to take me with you.”
You groaned. “Jaemin–”
“Please.” His eyes widened. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We’d be insane not to go.”
You chewed on your lip. “I don’t know… I feel like I’d just be awkward.”
Jaemin softened slightly. “You might. But you might also have fun.”
You sighed.
“If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll leave with you,” he promised. “I swear.”
You hesitated before finally mumbling, “I’ll think about it.”
Jaemin beamed. “That’s all I needed to hear. We’re going,” he said, gripping your wrist.
You groaned. “Jaemin.”
“Please.” His eyes widened dramatically. “Do you even understand what this means? This is like–like being invited to the Met Gala of frat parties.”
You gave him a look. “You are so dramatic.”
“Am I?” He scoffed. “Y/N, do you realise how hard it is to get into one of these? And you got invited. You!” He clutched his chest like he was about to faint.
You shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
Jaemin’s jaw dropped. “Not that big of a deal? Y/N, if I had even breathed in the direction of these parties before, I would’ve been escorted out.”
You bit your lip, hesitating. If not even Jaemin had been invited to one of these parties, they probably were a big thing. Johnny was always talking about how he enjoyed going to parties. You loved hearing his and Taeyong's stories every time they came home.
They did romanticise uni life a bit in your opinion.
Or maybe you were just doing something wrong.
Maybe you could try going to that party.
Jaemin's face softened slightly. “Look,” he said, “I get it. Big parties aren’t your thing. And, yeah, it might be overwhelming at first. But, Y/N, you deserve to have fun.”
“I do have fun,” you muttered.
Jaemin gave you a knowing look. “Working, studying, and just being in your apartment alone all the time doesn’t count.”
You sighed.
“If you don’t like it, we’ll leave,” he promised. “I swear. I won’t ditch you. But at least try.”
You hesitated, staring at the counter, before finally mumbling, “…Fine. I’ll think about it.”
Jaemin grinned as he had already won. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
Pushing open the door to your apartment felt like trying to push an elephant out of the way. Your arms were heavy, your brain was pulsing against your skull, and your eyes threatened to fall closed any second now. Somehow your shift at the cinema had been horrible today; it had been loud and hot and entirely overwhelming, so the only thing you wanted to do was to sleep.
But today was Halloween, and you had promised Jaemin and Sunghoon you would go to that stupid party.
Part of you, a very loud and insistent part of you, wanted to just cancel, tell them that you were too exhausted to go, that you were having a migraine, but another part wanted to go, almost desperately.
You knew they were right, Johnny, Taeyong, Jaemin, hell, even Sunghoon and his friends. You should try going out more, living life, meeting people, and experiencing things you would usually avoid; it was part of growing up, of living.
But it was hard. You hated crowds, you hated parties, and you hated being perceived, and that Halloween party would definitely get you to be perceived, especially with your stupid costume.
Somehow Sunghoon and Jaemin, who had almost immediately started forming a coalition against you as soon as you introduced them, convinced you to dress up as one of the puppets from Squid Game.
With a sigh, you peeled off your shoes and made a beeline straight to your room, shutting the door quietly behind you. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you let out a long sigh and closed your eyes, hoping you would feel better after a nap.
About two hours later, you reluctantly pulled yourself out of bed. Your head was still heavy, a constant throb beneath your temples.
You could feel your nerves creeping up as you walked out of your room, rubbing your eyes.
“Hey, Sunghoon.”
Your roommate was standing in the bathroom, the door open, as he styled his hair in the mirror.
He flinched at your voice, and his eyes flickered to your figure standing in the doorway. “Hi, Y/N. Are you good? You look tired.”
You hummed, leaning against the wooden frame. “My head is pounding. I think I have a migraine coming.”
Sunghon frowned, turning around to look at you properly. “Do you want to eat? Maybe it will get better if you get some food into your system."
“I’ve eaten,” you said, pursing your lips and shrugging. “Jaemin and I ate bibimbap during our lunch break, so my stomach is still pretty full, but I think I’ll take an ibuprofen. Sometimes it helps with the migraines.”
“It has been a while since you had your last one," Sunghoon stated, pushing away from the sink, moving towards and past you into the hallway. “Do you think you’ll be able to go to the party? If you’re not feeling well, you should stay home, Y/N.”
“No, it’s fine. Maybe I'll just leave earlier?”
"Sure, that’s no worries." He moved towards his room before coming back, holding up white face paint. You smiled, though it was still a little tight around the edges. Sunghoon caught your glance and, after a moment of silence, his expression softened into something more reassuring.
“Come on, it’s going to be okay, yeah? We’ll get there, and we’ll just hang out. You’ll be alright, I promise.”
You gave a reluctant nod, grateful for his words. You stretched out, trying to shake off the drowsiness, and took a deep breath. "Okay."
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
The moment you stepped into the house, the overwhelming mix of loud music, sweaty bodies, and flashing lights hit you all at once. The air smelled like alcohol, something vaguely fruity, and whatever cologne the guy who just stumbled past you had drenched himself in.
You were already regretting this.
You had been holding it together on the walk over, but now that you were actually inside, the migraine that had been sitting at the edge of your skull all evening seemed to sharpen all at once. The lights flashing across the room made your eyes sting, and the noise in your ears felt like it was pressing in from every direction.
Sunghoon was right beside you, guiding you deeper into the house with a hand hovering near your back so you didn’t lose him in the crowd. You kept your arms close to your body and did your best not to brush against anyone.
Before you could fully orient yourself, a voice cut through the music.
“Y/N!”
You barely had time to turn before Jake came crashing into you, arms thrown around your middle in a hug that was far too enthusiastic for your current state. You froze immediately.
Everything in you tensed.
Your arms stayed awkwardly at your sides while he rocked you a little, laughing into your shoulder.
“Oh my God,” he slurred happily. “I knew you’d come! I told Sunghoon you were gonna come!”
You stared past him, looking for Sunghoon without even meaning to.
He was standing a few steps away, arms crossed, watching the whole thing with a grin that was way too amused. You glared at him in silent betrayal.
He only smiled wider.
Hesitantly, you lifted one hand and gave Jake a few awkward pats on the back. He seemed delighted by that and finally let go.
Jay appeared a second later. He didn’t tackle you, thankfully. He just gave you a quick half-hug.
“Glad you came,” he said, easy and warm.
You managed a small nod.
“Uh. Yeah,” you said faintly. “Thanks.”
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
Sunghoon was leaning against the sofa, half-listening to Jay argue with Jake about their next beer pong shot. His own cup sat untouched beside him.
He was pacing himself, knowing he had practice tomorrow.
His coach was already on him for falling last week, so he didn’t want to even try his luck and skate hungover. The music thumped through the house, bass vibrating beneath his feet, and the heat of too many bodies in a small space was starting to get to him.
If he was completely honest, parties weren’t his thing either. Sure, he’d come along if he got invited, and it was fun most of the time, but he wasn’t as crazy as his friends. He didn’t understand how the hockey players were doing all of this after every game; his coach would kill him if he knew Sunghoon was drinking.
Sunghoon glanced over the table, watching you and Jaemin talk to a small group of baseball players.
He knew some of them from other parties or sports events but never really got around to getting to know any of them closely.
He watched as one of them, a little taller than the rest, leaned in slightly while talking to you.
Sunghoon wasn’t sure why, but something about it made his jaw tighten as he saw you taking a slight step back, your smile reverting back to the small, reserved ones you always had when you were uncomfortable or felt especially shy.
He hadn’t seen that in quite a while now, but it hadn’t left your face all evening.
The way you moved and glanced around made it clear that you weren’t too happy with the situation, and Sunghoon felt guilty. He knew he should have convinced you to stay at home when he saw you step out of your room, your face pale and your hair flattened from your nap. He knew you wouldn’t like being here, and he was sure the sound and the stuffy air inside the house weren’t helping your migraine get any better.
Sunghoon exhaled sharply, setting his cup down on the beerping table with a soft thud. He didn’t know if he was overthinking things, but he did promise you to help you out if you needed an out. So he slowly started making his way toward you. Sunghoon had barely taken a step toward you when a firm hand landed on his shoulder.
“Park,” a familiar voice drawled.
He turned to see Hyunjin, one of the more senior skaters. Despite the loud music and chaotic energy of the party, Hyunjin looked as relaxed as ever, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
“Haven’t seen you drink much,” Hyunjin noted, tilting his own half-empty cup toward Sunghoon. “You’re really out here being responsible?”
Sunghoon snorted. “Some of us have practice tomorrow.”
Hyunjin laughed, shaking his head. “Well, some were clever enough to tell Coach that they wouldn’t come tomorrow so they can drink.”
Sunghoon hummed in agreement, but his attention was already elsewhere. You seemed to suddenly have let loose, your shoulders sagging as you giggled, you giggled, at something the baseball player said. In the one and a half months that he had been living together with you, he never saw you giggle; laugh, sure, but giggle, never.
He shifted his weight, keeping one ear on whatever Hyunjin was saying while his eyes flickered back to you.
Hyunjin snapped his fingers in front of Sunghoon’s face. “Hello? Are you even listening?”
Sunghoon blinked, forcing himself to focus. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”
Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “You good?”
Sunghoon‘s eyes flickered back to you. „Yeah,“ he started, moving, patting Hyunjin's shoulder. „You know what, I’ll be back in a second.“
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
The music thudded in your chest, vibrating through your bones. Your head was pounding, your vision blurry, and there was a weird, giddy sensation bubbling up in you.
You tried to concentrate on his words, but the pounding in your head was intensifying, and you couldn’t grasp a clear thought; everything felt mulled over. It wasn’t unusual for you to get a migraine, especially with the noise and lights in a place like this, but this was different. It felt like your mouth was moving without you even thinking about it when you were answering whatever question Injang just asked.
“So, Y/N, do you have any plans for tomorrow? You know there’s an after-Halloween party for those who couldn’t come today,” he grinned at you, leaning in slightly, his voice a little too loud to make it easy to follow.
You could feel his eyes on you, more intent than necessary. “Um. I have to–I have to study? I can’t party.”
“Oh really? Jaemin mentioned you’re into architecture? It’s probably really hard. Especially for a pretty girl like you, right?" He said, his grin widening.
You nodded, and the room tilted for a second.
You blinked hard.
That wasn’t normal. Your migraines were awful, but they didn’t usually make your body feel this heavy.
“I–I don’t know, maybe?” you replied, your voice trailing off.
„Oh, but I‘m sure you‘re doing a good job, sweetheart.“
Somewhere in the back of your brain, you registered the condescending tone he was using, that he was making fun of you, but somehow your thoughts felt detached from everything else.
They were slow, fuzzy, and your vision started to swim a little as you tried your best to stay nice and polite and look at Injang while he was talking to you.
Maybe you should have eaten more or drunk more water.
“Hey, Y/N, you’re okay? You seemed a little drunk." he was suddenly standing closer to you, the heat radiating from his body making your body feel even more uncomfortable.
You blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the haze in your brain, but instead, the dizziness swirled, and the world started spinning around you.
“I... I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to reassure him, though you weren’t even sure you believed it. Your words were slurred, and your eyelids felt heavy as you tried to shake your head.
You couldn’t understand what was happening; the only thing you had been drinking all day was water. Why did you feel drunk all of a sudden?
Injang kept leaning in, his hand brushing a few strands that came loose from the ponytail you had tied your hair in behind your ear, his smirk growing wider. You tried to focus on him, but it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the pressure in your skull and the odd sense of lightness in your limbs.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Don’t you want to drink some more of your water? I’m sure it will help," he asked again, leaning even closer, and you could feel his breath on your face. His voice sounded like it was echoing from far away.
“I... yeah,” your hands almost automatically guided your cup to your mouth; maybe he was right, and water would help. “I’m just–I’m just a little tired, y’know? I think–I think I should go to my roommate?”
You glanced towards where you knew Sunghoon was standing, not seeing anything besides the stobling lights flickering over your blurry vision. Your legs felt unsteady, as though they weren’t entirely yours, when you tried to push past the baseball player.
You could hardly keep your balance, and the noise became so much louder, as if it were vibrating inside your skull. You placed a hand on the wall for support, just trying to stay on your feet.
The room was spinning, and you tried to focus, to remember where the kitchen was, where you were, but it felt like you had to move through molasses.
Injang's hands were on you again, and this time it wasn’t just a touch. He was almost painfully gripping your waist, pulling you back. You tried to tug away, but your body wasn’t listening.
“Hey, I’m just trying to help you out, alright? Just let me get you outside; I’m sure some fresh air would help.” Injang’s voice was thick now, too close for comfort.
His touch sent panic through you.
You couldn’t go outside with him; you shouldn’t. Everything felt wrong.
You knew you needed to get away from him, but every part of you felt so heavy, and your movements weren’t your own.
You were trapped in this slow, sluggish fog.
"Seriously, Y/N, you're so cute," he continued, stepping even closer until you could feel the heat of his body at your back. "I’m just worried about you. You sure you’re not feeling anything... weird?"
You flinched, trying to pull away, but he kept his grip, his fingers brushing down to your waist in a way that made you feel exposed and uncomfortable. “Come on baby, don't be shy. It's just a party. We’re just having fun, right?”
You tried again to shake him off, to get awy, but your hands wouldn’t cooperate.
Noise drung through he fog, it semed like someone was fighting, but you weren’t sure. They were muffled and you couldn’t understand what they were saying.
The next thing you knew, there was a quick movement and Injang’s hand left your waist.
Without his additional support, your knees buckled underneath your weight and the world tilted, before everything went black.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
The second you collapsed, it was like time stopped.
Sunghoon watched how Injang let go of your body, trying to defend himself, saying something about wanting to get you some water. He watched the way you swayed and, finally, how your knees seemed to give up underneath your weight.
He barely managed to catch you in time, feeling the weight of your body press into him as you fell limp in his arms. His heart slammed in his chest.
"Y/N?" He shook you gently, then a bit harder when you didn’t respond.
You felt like a rag doll, no resistance in your body as he went down to the floor, still trying to shake you awake. “Y/N, what’s going on? Wake up!”
Jaemin was suddenly kneeling next to him, helping him hold you up, keeping your head straight.
“Oh my god," he gasped, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts.
His eyes flickered between Sunghoon and you.
"What happened to her? What's wrong with her?" Jaemin’s voice was panicked. His gaze darted between your pale face and Sunghoon’s frantic movements.
Sunghoon's mind raced as he tried to figure out what could have happened. “She had–”, he combed his hair back in a frantic movement with one hand. "She said she’s having a migraine. She took some painkillers. Has she been drinking?” Sunghoon's eyes flickered towards Jaemin's face, still holding your body in his arms. “Has she been drinking, Jaemin?”
Jaemin shook his head, the panic in his face evident. “She didn’t. She only had water. There was nothing–we didn’t even do shots or anything. I–what's happening, Sunghoon? Has she been spiked? That has to be what's happened, right? She’s been spiked.”
Sunghoon looked around the room, eyes searching for the guy who had been sticking so damn close to you earlier. His hands were shaking as he tried to make sense of the situation.
“Call 911,” Sunghoon mumbled before repeating it louder. “Call 911!”
“Jay’s on it, Sunghoon,” Jake’s voice came from behind him. He hadn’t even realised that Jay and Jake had followed him and were now standing behind him, his sole focus on you. “They said help is on the way.”
Sunghoon barely heard him.
All he could focus on was how limp you felt in his arms, how wrong it was that your body had gone so still so fast. He shifted you more carefully against him, his heart slamming so hard it made everything else feel distant and blurry. “Y/N,” he said again, lower this time, as he could somehow pull you back with his voice alone. “Come on. Wake up.”
You didn’t move.
“Where is that guy?” Sunghoon’s head snapped up. He couldn’t let that guy go; it had to have been him. You had nursed one cup of water Sunghoon had personally given you, and that guy had been dancing around you all evening. It had to have been him.
“Jake, Jake, get that guy.” Sunghoon carefully moved your body, cradling you against his chest as he slowly stood up. “He can’t leave, do whatever is necessary. You’re a hockey player, you know how to throw punches.”
His friend looked between him and wherever the guy from just now had escaped towards. “I can’t just–”
“Yes, you can,” Sunghoon cut in, sharper now, eyes wild. “Do whatever you need to do to keep him there. He does not get to walk out.”
Jake opened his mouth again, then shut it when he saw the look on Sunghoon’s face. “Sunghoon–”
“Don’t,” Sunghoon said, more to keep himself from losing it than to silence Jake. “We have to keep him here until the police get him.”
He looked up at Jake again, anger and fear mixing into something almost unbearable. “Don’t let him go,” he repeated, voice rough. “If he moves, stop him.”
Jake’s expression tightened. “Let’s get Y/N out of here first. We’ll deal with Injang later, Sunghoon.”
“No. Get him now.”
That came out harsher than Sunghoon meant it to, but he didn’t know what to do if he escaped. His skin felt too hot, his pulse too fast, his hands shaking where they held you.
Jake stepped closer, one hand raised in a placating gesture. “Sunghoon, listen to me. Let’s get Y/N outside, let’s wait outside for the ambulance to come. We have enough witnesses to get Injang in trouble, okay?”
“What if he gets rid of the evidence?” Sunghoon shot back, eyes darting over the room again, searching for the guy who had been too close, too hands-on, too wrong. “He doesn’t get to do this and walk away as if nothing happened.”
“Sunghoon,” Jaemin said carefully, trying to get his attention, “we need to focus on Y/N right now.”
“I am focused on her.”
“No, you’re not! You’re focused on beating Injang senseless. Get her out of here.”
Sunghoon swallowed hard and forced himself to breathe once, then twice, but it did almost nothing. His chest was too tight, his hands were still shaking.
Then Jay appeared at the edge of the room, pushing through the crowd. “Ambulance is here,” he said quickly.
For a second, Sunghoon didn’t move.
Then his head snapped up. “Police?”
“On their way,” Jay said, voice clipped. “Let’s get Y/N outside.”
That finally broke through some of the haze. Sunghoon looked down at you again, still cradling you tightly, and his expression changed from furious to wrecked in the space of a breath. “Okay,” he said, though it sounded more like he was telling himself than anyone else. “Okay.”
He tightened his hold on you just a little and bent his head closer. “You’re okay,” he said, though it sounded like a promise he was trying to make true by force. “Help’s here. Just stay with me.”
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
Sunghoon sat in the back of the taxi, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His mind was racing while his pulse was hammering in his ears as the city lights blurred past the window. His body moved on autopilot when the taxi finally pulled up in front of the hospital. He couldn't get the image of you collapsing out of his head, the way you crumpled to the floor, lifeless in his arms.
He insisted on coming to the hospital but wanted Jaemin to be with you in the ambulance, just in case you woke up.
The chances were low, but he didn’t want you to be with him.
You barely knew each other.
You did, technically, he would say; you’ve grown to be something like friends, but he was sure Jaemin was the better, the safer choice for you.
He barely remembered paying the driver before rushing inside, the sterile scent of antiseptic and bright fluorescent lights making his head pound.
The waiting area was quiet except for the distant beeping of machines and the occasional murmur of nurses.
It didn't take much of an effort to find Jaemin.
He was curled up in one of the plastic chairs, elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands. His shoulders were hunched, and when he looked up at Sunghoon, his eyes were bloodshot.
Sunghoon hesitated before stepping closer. "Any news?"
Jaemin shook his head, wiping at his face with his sleeve. His voice was hoarse. "She's stable, but she's not awake. They said they would send some of her blood to get checked for drugs." His breath hitched slightly. "But it’s gonna take a while until they get the results."
Sunghoon felt his stomach twist. Before he could say anything else, the doors to the waiting room swung open, and Donghyuck rushed in, wearing a vampire costume, his hair swept by the wind and the blood that belonged to the costume smeared across his lower face.
His face was full of panic, darting from Jaemin to Sunghoon and back. "Where is she?"
Jaemin gestured toward the hallway leading to the ICU. "They're doing tests."
“Is she going to be okay? What did they say, Jaemin? Will she be okay?” Your brother shook Jaemin’s shoulders frantically.
Jaemin nodded, wrapping his hands around your brother’s arms. “She’ll be okay, Hyuck.”
A sob escaped your brother's lips, and he wrapped his arms around Jaemin, deflating against him, as a sob wracked through his body.
Sunghoon had to avert his gaze for a second.
He had never felt so helpless as when he was holding your lifeless body at that party, handing you over to the paramedic, watching you get loaded into the ambulance.
He knew he probably should stay composed, stay focused, but he felt panic run through his veins, his heart still thumping loudly in his chest.
"I don't know what happened, Donghyuck,” Jaemin's voice was shaking as he was pressing Donghyuck against his chest. “She was fine. We were just hanging out, talking to some of the baseball guys I know, and then she… she just collapsed. She was just drinking water. She didn’t drink any–any alcohol."
Donghyuck shook his head, pushing himself away from your friend, wiping a tear from his eye. "It's okay, Jaemin, it's not your fault that this happened."
A nurse approached them, and the attention of all three of the men snapped towards her. "Mr Lee?"
"Yes," Donghyuck straightened up immediately.
“The doctors had a few additional questions regarding Y/N,” she said gently. “Have you spent the day with her? Would you know her condition before she fainted?”
Donghyuck blinked at her, still breathing hard from crying, before he shook his head. "I didn't see her today."
The nurse glanced at Sunghoon and Jaemin. "What about either of you?"
“She’s had a migraine since this morning," Sunghoon cleared his throat. “She took painkillers earlier.”
The nurse’s gaze flicked toward him. “Do you know which painkillers?”
Sunghoon shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
The nurse hummed and made a note. “Did she eat anything with them? Any food or drink?”
“I don’t think so,” he frowned, trying to remember. "I don't think she ate dinner. She said she wasn't hungry because of the headache."
“Did she eat anything besides that?” The woman looked between the two of them
Jaemin straightened from his chair, rubbing at one of his eyes before answering. “Yeah. We had lunch at work, and she had snacks later too.”
“What did the two of you eat?” The woman looked at Jaemin expectantly. “Are you feeling unwell as well?”
“No? No, no, I’m okay, maybe a bit tipsy but like nothing besides that.” He went through his hair, bunching the pink strands together. “We ate bibimbap and mandu for lunch at like three pm.”
"Did she drink any alcohol?"
"No." Sunghoon’s answer came instantly, almost interrupting the nurse. "She only drank water."
"Any recreational drugs? Prescription medication besides the migraine tablets?"
"No."
The nurse looked between them all for a moment, then her eyes settled on Donghyuck again. “Mr Lee, would you like to come in and see her?”
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
Darkness.
That was the first thing you noticed.
Heavy, suffocating darkness clung to you like a thick fog, making it impossible to think, impossible to move.
Then came the sound. Distant at first, like you were hearing everything from underwater. A rhythmic beeping. The faint hum of voices. Rubber soles moving across the floor.
You tried to move, but your body refused to cooperate. Your fingers twitched slightly against the sheets, and a noise escaped your lips.
The footsteps stopped.
“Y/N?”
You forced your eyes open. Harsh white light flooded your vision, sending a sharp pain through your skull. You squeezed them shut again with a faint whimper.
“That’s okay,” the woman said, lowering her voice. “Take your time. You’re safe.”
Something shifted beside you, followed by the quiet click of a switch. The light behind your eyelids softened.
You tried again.
This time, you managed to keep your eyes open, although everything remained blurred around the edges. A woman in dark blue scrubs stood beside the bed, one hand resting near the monitor to your left.
“Can you hear me?”
You gave the smallest nod, blinking at her.
“Good. My name is Mina. I’m one of the nurses looking after you.” She leaned slightly closer. “Can you tell me your name?”
Your lips felt dry and strangely numb when you answered. “Y/N L/N.”
“And do you know where you are?”
Your gaze drifted around the space. You noticed a pale curtain surrounding the bed you were lying on, thin wires disappearing beneath the blanket covering you, tape against the inside of your arm, holding an IV line in place.
“Hospital,” you whispered.
“That’s right.” The nurse gave you a reassuring smile before reaching for the blood-pressure cuff around your arm. “Do you know what day it is?”
You stared at her, swallowing dryly when you realised you didn’t. You didn’t know what day it was.
The question should have been easy, but your thoughts scattered the moment you reached for an answer. You remembered getting dressed. Sunghoon standing in the bathroom with white paint smeared across his face. The heat inside the party. Flashing lights.
After that, there was only a blank stretch of nothing.
Your answer came out as a whisper, as your throat tightened. “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.” Her voice remained gentle. “Do you remember what happened tonight?”
You swallowed, your throat aching with the movement. “I went to a party.”
“Anything after that?”
You closed your eyes for a second, trying to push through the fog.
You remembered music, someone talking to you, the room tilting beneath your feet.
Then nothing.
“No.”
The nurse checked the monitor, then shone a small light briefly across each of your pupils.
“Are you in pain?”
“My head.” Your voice barely carried over the insistent beeping. “It hurts.”
“On a scale from zero to ten?”
You closed your eyes for a second, trying to gauge how painful the throbbing was, ignoring the feeling of panic flaring up in your chest. “Seven. Maybe. I get these migraines sometimes.”
“And do you feel nauseous?”
“A little.”
She nodded and made a note on the chart beside the bed.
“You were brought in after losing consciousness at a party. Your friends called an ambulance. Your vital signs are stable now, but you were very difficult to wake when you arrived, so we’ve been monitoring you closely.”
Your fingers tightened weakly around the blanket. “Why?”
“We’re still waiting for some of the laboratory results,” she explained, smiling gently at you. “The doctors are concerned that you may have been given something without your knowledge. One of them will speak with you now that you’re awake.”
Your stomach tightened.
Before you could ask anything else, the curtain shifted, and a doctor stepped inside. He introduced himself, then repeated several of the nurse’s questions. Your name. Where you were. What you remembered. Whether you had consumed alcohol or taken any medication.
“I took ibuprofen,” you murmured. “For a migraine.”
“Anything else?”
You shook your head carefully.
“Did you drink alcohol tonight?”
You blinked, trying your best to remember anything from the day before. “I…I don’t remember.”
The doctor nodded, his expression serious but not alarmed.
“Your initial blood work is reassuring. Your blood sugar and electrolyte levels are stable, and there are no immediate signs of a serious injury. We’re still waiting for the toxicology results, so I can’t tell you exactly what caused the loss of consciousness yet.”
You stared at him, trying to follow every word despite the fog pressing against your thoughts.
“Was I drugged?”
“It’s a possibility,” he said carefully. “Your symptoms and the account provided by your friends are concerning for that, but we need the laboratory results before we can be more certain.”
Your stomach twisted violently.
You’ve gotten drugged.
You went to that stupid party, and someone had mixed something into your water.
You blinked at the doctor, your brain feeling weirdly blank all of a sudden.
You’ve gotten drugged.
“Your brother is waiting outside,” the nurse added softly. “Would you like us to bring him in?”
Donghyuck.
The thought of him sitting somewhere beyond the curtain made something inside you loosen and tighten at the same time.
You nodded.
The nurse disappeared through the curtain. A few moments later, hurried footsteps approached, slowing only when Donghyuck stepped into view.
He was wearing part of a vampire costume. His dark shirt was wrinkled, and the fake blood around his mouth had smeared across one cheek. His eyes were swollen and red.
The sight of him made your chest ache.
“Hey,” he breathed.
He crossed the space between you in two steps and reached for your hand, holding it carefully between both of his.
“Hey, Bug.”
You stared at him.
“What happened?”
His expression crumpled for half a second before he forced it back under control.
“You collapsed at the party.” His thumbs moved nervously over your knuckles. “Jaemin came with you in the ambulance. They think someone put something in your drink.”
Your stomach twisted.
“My water?”
“We don’t know yet.”
The room felt strangely distant again. The monitor continued beeping beside you, steady and indifferent.
Someone had put something in your water.
You pulled in a shallow breath.
“Where’s Jaemin?”
“He’s outside.” Donghyuck glanced toward the curtain. “Sunghoon too. They’ve both been here the whole time.”
“Can they come in?”
Donghyuck studied your face for a moment.
“Are you sure?”
You nodded.
He squeezed your hand before stepping out to speak with the nurse. A few minutes passed before the curtain opened again.
Jaemin entered first.
His eyes were red-rimmed, and the moment he saw you awake, his hand flew to his mouth. He crossed the room quickly but stopped beside the bed as though he was afraid to touch you without permission.
“Oh, my God.”
You gave him a weak smile.
“Hi.”
His face twisted, and tears filled his eyes almost immediately.
Behind him, Sunghoon stepped through the opening in the curtain.
Most of his costume was gone, but traces of dark makeup remained around his eyes. His hair was dishevelled, and his face looked drained of everything except exhaustion.
He stayed near the end of the bed rather than approaching.
For several seconds, neither of you spoke.
You looked at him, searching through the missing pieces of the night.
“You caught me.”
It came out more like a question than a statement.
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened.
“Yeah,” his voice was rough. “You scared the hell out of us.”
The words were quiet, almost restrained, but something in his expression made your chest tighten.
The nurse returned before anyone could say more.
“I need to check her blood pressure again,” she said gently. “You can stay for a few minutes, but she needs rest, and the doctor will want to reassess her once the remaining results are available.”
Donghyuck immediately shifted aside. Jaemin wiped quickly at his face. Sunghoon remained where he was, one hand resting against the metal rail at the end of the bed.
The cuff tightened around your arm.
You stared at the ceiling while the machine hummed, trying to understand how the night had gone from flashing lights and music to a hospital bed surrounded by three frightened faces.
No matter how hard you tried, the space between those two moments remained completely empty.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
The hospital staff checked in on you frequently, making sure you were eating and drinking, and that the drug was fully leaving your system.
Your body still felt sluggish, like moving through water, and your head pounded in a dull, persistent ache.
By the time the evening rolled around, you were discharged with strict instructions to rest, stay hydrated, and come back if anything felt off.
Donghyuck refused to let you go home alone, ignoring the fact that you wouldn’t be, that Sunghoon would be there with you and insisted on coming to your apartment.
So Donghyuck, Sunghoon, and you settled into the couch in your living room, the TV casting a soft glow across the dimly lit living room. There was nothing particular you wanted to do or watch, everything feeling a bit over- and understimulating at the same time, but you knew your brother was worried.
So you just let him pull you onto the sofa, opening Netflix and starting the first show that was on your recently watched list.
You were looking at the TV, seeing the pictures, hearing the sounds, the music, the monologues, but you could barely focus on following the story.
Your whole body still felt off, heavy, sluggish.
Every movement required double the effort.
It felt like there was a fog over everything, making it impossible to think too hard or even process what had happened.
So you just sat there, curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped in one of the throw blankets.
They had given you medication against the nausea, so you could eat at least a bit. Your stomach felt upset nonetheless, no matter how much you drank or shifted your position, so at one point you had just given up, slumping into the sofa, willing yourself to stay awake for at least the first episode of whatever you were watching.
Donghyuck was chattering away, commenting on everything that was happening, even roping in Sunghoon into muttering a few comments here and there.
At one point, your brother turned to you, seemingly wanting to see if you agreed with what he had just said. “Right, Y/N?”
You blinked slowly, shifting your eyes to focus on his face instead of the TV. “Huh?”
Donghyuck’s teasing expression faltered slightly, and his eyes softened. “Never mind,” he said gently. “Are you tired?”
You nodded, barely holding back a yawn.
Donghyuck reached for the remote, lowering the volume. “You should sleep. You’ve had a long day.”
You were about to agree, but when you tried to move, your entire body protested. Even sitting up felt like too much effort. “Mhm, I’ll go after this episode.”
Donghyuck hummed in agreement and turned back to the TV.
Somewhere in the middle of the episode, your body gave in to exhaustion.
You woke up in the middle of the night. It took you a moment to realise you were curled into Donghyuck’s side, your head resting against his chest. His arm was draped over you protectively, his slow, steady breathing the only sound in the quiet room. You adjusted slightly and closed your eyes again.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
The apartment was quiet.
Sunghoon stood in the kitchen, rolling his shoulders back as he stared at the half-chopped apple sitting on the cutting board in front of him. His eyes kept flicking toward the living room, where you were curled up on the couch, asleep.
Again.
Donghyuck had left a few hours ago, only after making you swear you would be okay. He assured you and Sunghoon that he would be back in seconds if he was needed.
Now, it was just the two of you.
Sunghoon knew that you wouldn’t be on top of your game less than a day after being drugged, but his heart clenched every time he walked past your sleeping figure on the sofa.
You had dragged yourself from your room into the living room, claiming your room was too cold to be in, wrapping yourself in multiple layers of blankets before passing out not long after.
Donghyuck had insisted you ate lunch while he was there, wanting to see you eat at least a bit, seeming satisfied after you ate a whole bowl of rice and some soup before you took painkillers and suppressants against the nausea.
Sunghoon had called his mom after he had woken up today, having the desire to speak to someone who was truly adult about the whole situation. She had offered to come to Seoul, taking care of the two of you for a few days, or at least until you were feeling a bit better, when she learned that your mother couldn’t. He had declined her offer, but gratefully accepted her recipes for an upset stomach. Starting with serving you some vegetables that were easily digestible.
So he neatly arranged a banana, a few pieces of cucumber, carrots and some graham crackers before setting the plate down on the coffee table. Maybe you felt like eating a bit when you woke up, and the meds had kicked in.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
You jerked awake, shooting upright so quickly that the sudden movement sent a sharp pulse through your head.
For a few seconds, you didn’t know where you were.
The apartment was silent around you, the curtains pulled almost completely shut. Thin lines of sunlight filtered in around the edges of the fabric, cutting pale strips across the living room floor. The television had been turned off at some point, and the only sound came from the low hum of the air conditioner and your own uneven breathing.
You were sweating.
Your shirt clung uncomfortably to your back, and damp strands of hair stuck to your forehead and the side of your neck. At the same time, your skin felt cold beneath the blankets wrapped around you, a strange chill sitting deep inside your body despite the heat trapped underneath the fabric.
You slowly started peeling the blankets away.
Even that felt like too much effort.
Your arms were heavy, your fingers clumsy as they caught in the folds, and it took you much longer than it should have to free your legs. By the time the last blanket slipped onto the floor, your heart was beating too quickly for someone who had done nothing but sit up.
For a long moment, you stayed there.
Your feet rested against the cool floor while you leaned forward, elbows braced against your knees. You took one breath, then another, trying to orient yourself.
Your body felt wrong.
Heavy and hollow at the same time.
Your head still hurt, though the sharp migraine from the day before had softened into a dull, persistent pressure behind your eyes. Your muscles ached like you had been running for hours, and every part of you seemed to lag a second behind your thoughts.
Then your stomach growled.
The sound was loud in the quiet apartment, followed by an uncomfortable twist that made you place a hand against your middle.
You couldn’t remember the last time you had eaten properly.
You swallowed, but there was barely any moisture in your mouth. The movement scraped against the back of your throat and made you wince.
Water.
You needed water. Maybe something small to eat as well. Rice. Toast. Something plain enough that your stomach wouldn’t protest.
You placed both hands against the sofa and pushed yourself upright.
The world tilted immediately.
You tightened your grip on the backrest, your fingers digging into the fabric as the living room shifted sideways. Black spots flickered briefly at the edges of your vision. You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing slowly until the floor seemed to settle beneath you again.
When you opened them, the room was still.
Mostly.
You waited another few seconds before carefully letting go of the sofa.
Your legs felt unsteady, but they held.
The distance between the living room and the kitchen had never seemed particularly far before, but now every step required concentration. You moved slowly, one hand occasionally brushing against the wall or the edge of the furniture, as though your own apartment had become unfamiliar overnight.
A small Post-it note was stuck to the refrigerator door.
You stopped in front of it.
Sunghoon’s handwriting covered most of the yellow paper, neat but slightly tilted to one side.
I cut up some fruit and vegetables for you. It’s in the blue box you always use. My mom said you should get well soon.
A tiny smiley face had been drawn beneath the message.
You stared at it for longer than necessary.
Somehow you were weirdly touched and embarrassed at the same time that Sunghoon had told his mom, probably asked her what to do and then had taken the time to cut up fruit for you.
With a quiet huff, you pulled the refrigerator door open.
The light struck your eyes immediately.
Pain shot through your skull, sharp enough to make you recoil. You let the door fall closed again and raised one hand to cover your face, blinking rapidly against the burning behind your eyes.
For a moment, you stood there with your palm pressed against the counter.
The dizziness returned, softer this time but still enough to make your stomach shift unpleasantly.
Maybe food could wait.
Maybe you should drink something first.
The pounding in your head might be dehydration. The dry mouth definitely was. If you drank some water and sat down again, you might feel normal enough to eat the fruit afterwards.
A half-full bottle of water stood on the counter.
You reached for it, rubbing the heel of your free hand against one eye before twisting the cap open. Your fingers felt weaker than usual, and the thin plastic crumpled slightly beneath your grip.
You brought the bottle to your mouth and took three large swallows.
The water was lukewarm, but you didn’t care. It felt good against your throat, washing away some of the dryness.
For approximately two seconds.
Then it didn’t sit right.
Your stomach tightened so suddenly that you froze with the bottle still near your lips.
A hard, unpleasant twist pulled through your middle. Not quite pain. Something worse. Something shifting and unstable, as if the water had disturbed whatever fragile balance your stomach had managed to find while you were asleep.
You stopped breathing.
For a second, you simply stood there, staring at the cabinet in front of you.
Maybe it would pass.
You had drunk too quickly. That was all. Your stomach had been empty, and you had swallowed too much water at once. It would settle if you stayed still.
You lowered the bottle carefully.
Your mouth filled with saliva.
Your stomach rolled again, sharper this time.
No.
Your hand flew to your middle while the other placed the bottle onto the counter so quickly that it tipped onto its side. Water sloshed against the plastic, but you barely noticed.
No, that was not good.
You turned instinctively toward the sink, bending forward slightly as another wave passed through you.
Please, no.
The thought came before anything else.
You pressed your palm harder against your stomach, as though enough pressure might hold everything in place. Your breathing became shallow and careful. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slowly. Calmly.
It was nausea.
Just nausea.
You had been drugged. You had barely eaten. You had drunk too quickly.
There were a dozen reasonable explanations for why you felt sick.
This was different.
It had to be different.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
Your throat tightened every time you swallowed. The nausea rose and fell in unpredictable waves, and panic followed it immediately, hot and violent beneath your ribs.
You could not throw up.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt.
You didn’t want to.
You couldn’t allow yourself to.
The thought sounded irrational even inside your own head. People threw up when they were sick. It happened. It meant nothing. Your body was trying to protect itself after everything it had been through.
But your body did not seem to understand that this was supposed to be different.
It remembered.
The pressure beneath your ribs.
The saliva gathering beneath your tongue.
The instinctive way your body folded forward before you even decided to move.
You knew every step that would come next.
That knowledge terrified you more than the nausea itself.
You inhaled through your nose.
One.
Exhaled slowly.
Two.
Again.
In.
Out.
It would pass.
It had to pass.
You stayed perfectly still, one hand braced against the counter and the other pressed over your stomach.
Gradually, the pressure eased.
Only slightly, but enough that you could take a fuller breath.
You opened your eyes.
The kitchen came back into focus around you. The closed refrigerator. The tipped bottle. Sunghoon’s note fluttering faintly beneath the air from the vent.
You were okay.
You were getting through it.
Maybe if you stood there for another minute, the nausea would disappear completely. Then you could go back to the sofa. You could lie down, pull the blankets over yourself and pretend none of this had happened.
You lifted your head. The movement itself was small but still enough to set the next wave of nausea into motion.
Your stomach clenched so violently that your knees almost gave out beneath you. You covered your mouth, a broken sound catching in your throat as you stumbled away from the counter.
No.
No, no, no.
You barely made it into the bathroom.
Your shoulder collided with the doorframe on the way inside, but you barely registered the dull pain. One hand caught the edge of the sink while the other remained clamped over your mouth.
The cold porcelain pulled you back into reality for half a second.
Then your stomach twisted again.
You dropped to your knees in front of the toilet.
The position was too familiar.
That was the first clear thought that cut through the panic.
Your knees against the cold floor.
One hand gripping the toilet seat.
Your head bowed as your body prepared itself, completely ignoring every desperate command you gave it.
You stared down into the empty bowl.
Your breathing came too quickly now, shallow and uneven, and every inhale seemed to catch halfway into your lungs.
You were sick.
That was all.
You had been drugged. You had barely eaten. Your stomach was irritated. This was not something you had chosen.
This had nothing to do with before.
But the tiles beneath your knees felt the same.
The pressure behind your ribs felt the same.
The helpless, ugly awareness of what your body was about to do felt exactly the same.
Your fingers tightened around the edge of the toilet.
“No,” you whispered.
The word disappeared into the quiet bathroom.
Your mouth filled with saliva again.
You swallowed forcefully, fighting against the reflex, but that only made the nausea rise higher.
“No. Please.”
You pressed one hand against your stomach, trying to force your breathing back into something manageable.
A small, broken sound escaped your lips, and you bent forward further.
The worst part was that you knew what came afterwards.
The relief.
That brief emptiness. The sudden quiet after your body had stopped fighting itself.
You hated that your mind remembered it.
You hated that some distant, buried part of you anticipated it.
The bathroom door opened behind you.
“Y/N?”
Sunghoon’s voice was sharp, immediately awake despite the sleep still roughening its edges.
You froze.
Shame hit you so quickly that it almost drowned out the nausea.
He couldn’t see you like this.
You turned your head slightly, but not enough to look at him.
“Go.”
The word came out hoarse and weak.
There was a brief silence.
“What happened?” His footsteps moved closer.
“No.” You shook your head, though the motion immediately made the room tilt again. “Go away.”
He didn’t.
Of course he didn’t.
You heard him cross the bathroom in two quick steps before he crouched beside you. His presence seemed to take up the entire small space, warm and solid against the cold air.
“Hey, hey.” His hand hovered uncertainly near your back. “Are you going to be sick?”
You flinched away from him.
Your hand left the toilet long enough to press weakly against his chest. You tried to push him back, but there was barely any strength behind the movement.
“Go,” you rasped again. “Go away, Sunghoon. I’m fine.”
The lie sounded pathetic even to you.
His brows drew together.
“You’re not fine.”
“I am.”
You pushed at him once more, but he barely moved.
Everything about the situation became unbearable at once. His closeness. His worry. The fact that he was looking at you, taking in the sweat on your face and the tears already gathering in your eyes.
You were good.
You weren’t doing this anymore.
You hadn’t done this in years.
Sunghoon had to leave.
But before either of you could say anything else, another contraction pulled through your stomach.
You doubled over, both hands returning to the toilet seat as your throat tightened around a sob.
The nausea rose hard and fast, forcing your body forward.
Sunghoon’s hand landed carefully between your shoulder blades.
You tried to shrug him off.
“Don’t.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need help.” Your voice cracked at the end.
You hated this.
You hated how familiar the cold floor felt beneath your knees.
You hated that your body knew exactly what position to take, how to brace itself, how to wait for the inevitable.
Worse, you hated the small, traitorous thought moving beneath the panic.
If you threw up, you would feel better.
You knew that.
Throwing up always helped.
The nausea would disappear. The pressure would ease. The terrible fullness in your chest and stomach would finally be gone.
The thought was almost reassuring.
That realisation made terror flood through you all over again.
“Sunghoon,” you whispered.
You did not know whether you were asking him to stay or begging him to leave.
“I know,” he said quickly. His voice was tense. “I know. Just breathe, okay? Don’t fight it too hard.”
A miserable sound escaped you, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
He went still.
“No, I mean…” He shook his head rapidly, realising too late that he had said the wrong thing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
You squeezed your eyes shut and took a few laborious breaths, trying to get yourself under control, fighting your body even more.
“Do you want water?” he asked, panic creeping more openly into his voice. “Or your medication? Maybe the pills they gave you can still help.”
You shook your head.
The movement made your stomach lurch again.
You folded forward, one hand flying to your mouth as a choked, helpless noise tore out of you.
Sunghoon cursed under his breath.
“Okay. Okay.” His breathing was too quick now. “Don’t move. I’ll call the hospital.”
That sentence broke through the fog immediately. “No!”
Sunghoon had already started to stand, but he stopped halfway and looked down at you. “No?”
“Don’t call them.” Your voice shook so much, you weren’t sure he understood what you said.
“Y/N, you were discharged less than a day ago.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re crying on the bathroom floor.”
“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, moving away from him.
He stared at you for half a second, disbelief and fear moving across his face.
Then he crouched beside you again.
“You’re not fine,” his voice was quiet.
His hand reached toward your face, hesitating before carefully brushing the loose strands of hair away from your damp forehead.
“Let me call them. I can explain what’s happening and ask if this is normal. We don’t even have to go back unless they tell us to.”
Your chest tightened further.
The thought of the hospital made the humiliation burn hotter.
Doctors asking questions.
Someone writing down your weight again, discussing your body, telling you that this wasn’t healthy.
Donghyuck finding out.
Everyone watching.
Everyone knowing that you could not even be trusted to recover normally.
“If I could just…” You swallowed hard, another wave building beneath your ribs. “If I could just get it out, it would stop.”
The words left your mouth before you could catch them.
Sunghoon’s expression changed, only slightly, a small crease forming between his brows.
“What?”
Your entire body went cold.
You turned your face away from him.
“Nothing,” tears spilt down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.
Sunghoon’s hand stilled against your back. “For what?”
You shook your head.
For making him sit here.
For making him see you like this.
For knowing exactly what would make the nausea stop.
For the horrible, quiet relief that had already started forming in your mind before your body had even done anything.
“You shouldn’t have to…” Your voice broke. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“Don’t,” the word came out louder than he intended, but you flinched nonetheless.
His face changed immediately.
“Sorry.” He softened his voice, moving his hand more carefully over your back. “Don’t apologise. Okay? You don’t have to apologise to me.”
You stared down at the tile.
“You just got out of the hospital,” he continued. “You’re sick. That’s all. There’s nothing wrong with being sick.”
But there was.
He didn’t understand.
You weren’t doing this anymore.
A sob pushed its way out of your throat.
You covered your mouth, but it was too late.
You weren’t the girl who knelt on bathroom floors anymore.
You weren’t the girl who waited until everyone was asleep.
You weren’t the girl who planned how long to run the tap so nobody would hear.
You felt weak, embarrassed, dirty, wrong.
Sunghoon kept one hand between your shoulder blades while the other hovered uncertainly near your arm. He clearly did not know whether touching you was helping or making everything worse.
“Oh, Y/N.”
The pity you thought you heard in his voice made your throat close.
You hated it.
You hated the idea of him feeling sorry for you. You wanted to tell him to stop looking at you like that, but the nausea rose again before you could speak.
Sunghoon saw the change in your face.
“Shit.”
You turned toward the toilet. One hand caught the sink while your stomach contracted hard enough to make your entire body jerk forward.
Sunghoon’s hand returned to your back immediately.
The sound that escaped you was horrified and miserable, followed by the violent tightening of your stomach as what little remained inside it came up.
Your eyes burned.
Your throat burned.
Your fingers slipped against the cold porcelain, and Sunghoon moved closer, supporting your shoulder when you shook too hard to keep yourself steady.
“It’s okay,” he muttered, the words sounding more like something he was telling himself than something he expected you to believe. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
You hated that he was there.
You were grateful that he was there.
Both feelings existed so violently beside each other that you could barely separate them.
Your body contracted again.
Then again.
Each time, the pressure eased slightly.
And there it was.
Relief.
Small at first.
Then unmistakable.
The nausea retreated. The painful fullness beneath your ribs loosened. Your breathing became easier between the sobs catching in your throat.
You noticed it immediately.
That was the worst part.
The nausea had terrified you.
The relief terrified you more.
Your body remembered this.
Some part of you still recognised the emptiness afterwards as something clean and quiet.
You hated yourself for feeling it.
When it was over, you remained bent above the toilet for several seconds, trembling hard enough that your teeth almost knocked together.
Sunghoon’s hand moved slowly across your back.
You sat back on your heels.
A sob escaped you before you could stop it.
Sunghoon reached forward and flushed the toilet quickly.
“I’ll get you water,” he said. “Stay here. Don’t stand up.”
Before you could answer, he was gone.
You heard his footsteps hurry through the hallway, followed by the sound of drawers and cabinets opening in the kitchen.
The second he disappeared, you pushed yourself upright.
Your knees protested, and the room tilted again, but you grabbed the edge of the washing machine and forced yourself to stand.
Your mouth tasted awful.
Acid burned at the back of your throat. The bitter taste clung to your tongue, and you could still smell it in the small bathroom.
You needed it gone.
Immediately.
Your hand reached for your toothbrush before you had consciously decided to move.
You knew you were supposed to rinse first.
Some distant, reasonable part of your mind remembered being told that brushing immediately was bad for your teeth.
You did not care.
The taste made your skin crawl.
It made everything too real.
You squeezed toothpaste onto the brush with shaking fingers and started scrubbing.
The sharp mint burned against your tongue.
You brushed harder; the repetitive movement quieted something inside your head. Back and forth. Across the front. Along the sides. The taste of mint replacing the acid. The foam gathering in the sink.
For a second, it almost felt meditative.
Automatic.
Familiar.
That thought made your hand falter.
You spat into the sink and rinsed your mouth.
It wasn’t enough.
You could still feel it at the back of your throat, could still taste something sour beneath the mint.
You cleaned the toothbrush, squeezed more toothpaste onto it and started again.
Harder this time.
Your gums hurt, but you kept brushing.
You needed every trace of it gone.
After a minute or maybe more, you rinsed your mouth again, and cleaned the toothbrush more carefully than necessary before placing it back into its holder.
When you finally lifted your head, your reflection stared back at you.
You looked awful.
Your face was pale, almost grey beneath the bathroom light. Your hair had fallen loose around your shoulders, damp strands sticking to your cheeks and forehead. Your eyes were swollen and red from crying, your mouth trembling faintly even though the vomiting had stopped.
Your cheeks looked hollow.
You stared at them.
At least your face looked smaller.
The thought arrived before you could stop it.
Disgust rose through you so quickly that you almost gagged again.
What was wrong with you?
You had just been drugged.
You had spent the night in a hospital.
You had collapsed in front of a room full of people and woken up with no memory of how you had gotten there.
And this was what your brain chose to notice.
The shape of your face.
The emptiness in your stomach.
You gripped the edge of the sink.
Your stomach felt hollow now.
Not simply hungry.
Truly empty.
The sensation sat beneath your ribs, strange and familiar, making you aware of every angle of your body. The slight pull of your shirt against your waist. The bones beneath your hands. The absence of anything heavy inside you.
It had been years since you had felt like this.
Years since empty had meant more than hunger.
Years since you had treated that hollow ache like proof that you had done something right.
You stared at your reflection for too long.
Your hand remained braced against the sink, the other hanging uselessly beside you.
The girl in the mirror looked just as shocked as you felt.
Sunghoon shifted behind you. You had almost forgotten that he was there, but he was watching you quietly, holding a glass of water and a bucket in his hands.
You looked up and met his gaze through the mirror.
He wasn’t looking at you with disgust.
That almost made it worse.
His expression was soft and worried, his brows drawn together as he took in your shaking hands and tear-streaked face.
Heat spread across your face despite the cold sitting beneath your skin.
He placed the bucket carefully beside the sink, then he held the glass of water toward you.
“Rinse with this,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to drink it yet.”
You took it because refusing would require looking at him.
Your fingers brushed his, and you pulled your hand away too quickly, making some of the water spill over the rim.
“Sorry,” the word escaped you almost automatically.
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened. “Stop apologising.”
You stared into the glass.
He stood there for another second before clearing his throat.
“Do you want to sleep in my room?”
You looked up at him through the mirror. “What?”
His expression changed slightly, as though he immediately regretted the way he had phrased it.
“Not like…” He scratched the back of his neck, looking away for the first time. “I just mean so I can hear you if you need anything. If you get sick again.”
Your stomach dropped for a completely different reason.
Humiliation crashed through you so quickly that your eyes stung all over again.
To him, it was probably practical.
He was worried because you had been in the hospital. He wanted to make sure you did not faint or choke or need help while he was asleep.
But all you heard was that you could not be trusted alone.
That you looked bad enough to need watching.
That he had seen something in you that made him believe you were not safe in your own room.
You swallowed hard.
“I’m fine.”
The words came out thin and unconvincing.
Sunghoon looked at you. You could tell he did not believe you. He did not challenge you immediately, though.
“Okay,” he said carefully. “But if you’re not, you can say so.”
You nodded because you did not trust yourself to speak, before you drowned the glass and placed it back on the counter with shaky hands.
Sunghoon watched you for a moment, then he stepped a little closer, still far away that he couldn’t touch you.
“You don’t have to go back to your room,” he said quietly. “That’s all I meant.”
You folded the towel over the metal rail, smoothing it twice even though it was already straight.
“I know,” your voice was quiet, almost fragile as you answered.
Sunghoon glanced down at the bucket beside the sink before looking back at you.
“I can put this next to the bed,” he said. “Just in case.”
You nodded again.
He reached for it, then hesitated.
“Do you want me to call Donghyuck?”
“No.”
Your answer came so quickly, Sunghoon raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“No,” you repeated, softer this time. “Please don’t tell him.”
Something shifted in his expression, but he did not ask why. “Okay.”
He picked up the bucket and stepped into the hallway.
You stayed in front of the mirror for another second before you turned off the bathroom light and followed him outside.
⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔
Sunghoon’s room was darker than yours.
The curtains were pulled almost completely shut, only a thin strip of light slipping through where the fabric did not quite meet in the middle. His desk was cluttered with notebooks, tape, charger cables and one of his training jackets thrown carelessly over the back of the chair. A faint trace of his cologne still clung to the room, mixed with laundry detergent and the colder air from the AC.
You stood near the doorway for a second, suddenly feeling awkward.
It was strange, being in here.
You had helped him move into the room months ago. You had brought him coffee while he studied at his desk, stood in the doorway while talking to him, and occasionally walked in to steal one of his chargers after knocking. But you had never been inside his bed.
Sunghoon placed the bucket on the floor beside the nightstand and moved one of the pillows closer to the wall.
“You can take that side,” he said, gesturing toward it. “It’s closer to the bathroom.”
You nodded.
The practical explanation only made your embarrassment return.
He must have noticed something in your expression because he quickly added, “Not because I think you’re going to be sick again. Just in case you get dizzy when you stand up.”
“I know.”
Your voice sounded small in the quiet room.
You climbed onto the mattress carefully, trying not to move too quickly. Your body still felt weak and uncertain beneath you, as if even sitting down required more coordination than it should have.
Sunghoon pulled the blanket back for you before stepping away.
You lowered yourself onto the far side of the bed, turning onto your side with your back toward the wall. The mattress dipped beneath your weight and smelled faintly like him. Clean fabric, shampoo and something warmer you could not identify.
You pulled the blanket up to your chest.
Sunghoon remained standing beside the bed for a moment, clearly unsure what to do with himself.
“You can sleep,” you murmured. “You don’t have to watch me.”
“I wasn’t going to watch you.”
You turned your head enough to look at him.
He was already frowning slightly, as if he had only just realised how strange that sounded.
“I mean,” he added quickly, “I’m not going to sit there and stare at you.”
Despite everything, a small breath of laughter left you. It barely made a sound, but Sunghoon’s shoulders loosened when he heard it.
“Good,” you whispered.
He nodded, then walked around the bed and lay down on the other side.
The mattress shifted beneath him.
Sunghoon stayed as close to the edge as possible, leaving a wide strip of untouched bedding between the two of you. There was enough room for another person to lie comfortably in the space separating your bodies.
He turned onto his back and pulled the blanket up only as far as his waist.
You remained on your side, facing the room.
The room fell silent.
You could hear the low hum of the air conditioner and the faint ticking of the clock on his nightstand. Somewhere outside, a car drove past, its headlights briefly slipping through the gap in the curtains before disappearing again.
You closed your eyes.
Your body was exhausted.
Every muscle felt heavy, your head still ached, and the cold emptiness in your stomach had been replaced by a dull soreness. You should have fallen asleep immediately.
Instead, your mind refused to become quiet.
You could still feel the edge of the toilet beneath your fingers.
The bitter taste beneath the toothpaste.
Sunghoon’s hand against your back.
The way he had looked at you through the mirror.
You pulled the blanket a little higher, pressing your lips together as if that could stop the memories from moving through your head.
Minutes passed.
You were not sure how many.
Sunghoon shifted slightly on the other side of the bed. The movement was careful, almost hesitant, as though he was trying not to disturb you.
Then he spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
Your eyes opened.
For a second, you thought you might have imagined it.
You slowly turned your head toward him.
Sunghoon was still lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His arms rested stiffly at his sides, one hand gripping the edge of the blanket.
“For what?”
His jaw moved slightly before he answered.
“For convincing you to go.”
Your brows drew together.
“What?”
“To the party.” His voice was quiet. “You didn’t want to go.”
You turned onto your back so you could look at him properly.
His profile was barely visible in the darkness. The line of his nose, the slight tension in his jaw, his eyes fixed stubbornly above him instead of looking in your direction.
“You had a migraine,” he continued. “You looked exhausted before we even left, and I still told you it would be fine.”
“Sunghoon–”
“I should’ve told you to stay home.”
“No.”
The word came out more firmly than anything you had said since leaving the hospital.
Sunghoon finally looked at you.
You pushed yourself slightly higher against the pillow.
“No,” you repeated. “You didn’t do anything.”
“I convinced you to come.”
“And I’m glad you did.”
He stared at you.
You swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry your throat still felt.
“I mean it,” you said. “It was fun.”
His expression did not change.
“At the beginning,” you added quickly. “When I was with you and your friends. And Jaemin. I was having fun.”
Sunghoon’s brows pulled together. “You don’t have to make me feel better.”
“I’m not,” you turned more toward him, ignoring the way the room shifted faintly with the movement.
“I never go anywhere,” you said. “You know that. I work or study or stay at home. And I wanted to go. I was nervous, but I wanted to.”
He looked unconvinced. “You said yourself that you didn’t like parties.”
“I don’t usually.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is,” you took a breath, trying to arrange your thoughts into something that made sense. “I had fun when Jake hugged me even though it almost killed me,” you murmured. “And when Jay started arguing with Jaemin about music. And when you made your team lose at beer pong the whole time because you kept throwing the ball everywhere else instead of the table.”
Sunghoon’s mouth shifted faintly. “I wasn’t losing.”
“You were terrible.”
“I had one bad round.”
“You missed the table with like every shot.”
“It was crowded.”
A tiny smile pulled at your mouth despite yourself.
For a moment, the tension in the room eased.
Then Sunghoon looked away again, and it disappeared.
“You still wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t asked you.”
You stared at him.
“No,” you said softly. “But that doesn’t make it your fault.”
He remained silent. The guilt in his expression made something uncomfortable twist in your chest.
“It was mine.”
Sunghoon turned his head sharply.
“What?”
You looked down at the blanket gathered beneath your hands. “It was my fault.”
Sunghoon pushed himself onto one elbow.
“No.”
“I should have paid attention.”
“No.”
“I didn’t even think about having to watch my cup.”
“Y/N.”
“It was just water, right? Why would someone spike water?”
Your voice began moving faster, the thoughts spilling out now that you had started.
“Everyone knows you’re supposed to watch your drinks at parties. I was stupid. I wasn’t paying attention, and then everyone had to deal with it. You and Jaemin had to deal wth me being unconscious. You had to call the ambulance. Donghyuck left whatever party he was at and came in his costume. You missed training today and had to sit there all night because I–”
“Stop.”
Sunghoon’s voice cut through yours.
You froze.
He was fully turned toward you now, the empty space between you suddenly feeling smaller despite neither of you having moved closer.
“That is not what happened.”
You looked away.
“It is.”
“No,” his answer was immediate. “You had fun at a party and trusted the people around you to not have any bad intentions. That’s what you did.”
“I should’ve been more careful,” you pressed your lips together.
Sunghoon’s voice stayed controlled, but there was something sharp beneath it now. Not anger directed at you, but anger that seemed to fill the space around him.
“He put something in your drink,” he said. “He did that. You didn’t.”
“I still drank it.”
“Because you thought it was water.”
“I should’ve noticed.”
“How?”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
“How were you supposed to notice?” he asked again. “Was it supposed to smell different? Look different? Were you supposed to know what he was thinking?”
You stared down at your hands.
Sunghoon sat up slightly, his back resting against the headboard.
“You trusted someone not to poison you,” he continued. “That isn’t a mistake.”
Your throat tightened. “It feels like one.”
“I know,” his voice was firm. “But it wasn’t, Y/N. It wasn’t your fault.”
You blinked rapidly, refusing to look at him. “If I had been more careful–”
“Then he might have done it to someone else.”
You looked at him. Sunghoon’s face was difficult to read in the darkness, but his eyes were fixed on you.
“That doesn’t make it better,” he said. “And it doesn’t make you responsible. It means he made a choice to hurt someone.”
Your chest felt too tight“You don’t know that he wanted to hurt me.”
“He drugged you,” his voice hardened again. “He watched you get confused. He watched you lose control of your body, and he still kept touching you.”
Fragments flashed through your mind.
A hand at your waist.
A voice too close to your ear.
The wall beneath your palm.
Then Sunghoon’s voice cutting through the music.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
“That was his choice,” Sunghoon said. “Every part of it.”
The mattress shifted.
For a second, you thought he might move closer, but he did not. He remained on his side of the bed, leaving the space between you untouched.
“Not yours,” he continued. “You didn’t choose to be drugged. None of this is your fault. It's not mine or Jaemin’s. It’s Intak’s fault.”
You turned your face toward the wall again. The darkness blurred slightly as tears gathered in your eyes.
Sunghoon was quiet for a few seconds, then his voice softened.
“And you’re allowed to feel awful. You don’t have to be okay.”
Your fingers tightened against the fabric.
“You were drugged,” he said. “You woke up in a hospital without knowing what happened to you. You feel sick, and tired, and scared. You’re allowed to feel all of that.”
A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and disappeared into the pillow.
“You’re allowed to be angry,” he continued. “Or upset. Or disgusted. You’re allowed to hate everything right now.” His voice cracked slightly on the next sentence. “You don’t have to make it easier for us if it’s hard for you, Y/N.”
That hurt more than you expected.
You swallowed hard and tried to say something, anything, but nothing came out of your mouth, because what were you supposed to say? You were you fine?
The silence stretched between you, but he did not fill it immediately.
He did not ask whether you understood.
He did not make you promise that you believed him.
He simply remained there, close enough that you could hear his breathing but far enough that you did
not feel cornered.
You stared at the wall.
Your body still felt wrong.
Your stomach was hurting, your throat was burning, shame was still sitting heavily beneath your skin.
Nothing he had said made those feelings disappear.
But for the first time since waking in the hospital, you did not feel as though you had to argue with them.
You did not have to insist that you were fine.
You did not have to explain.
You could simply lie there and feel horrible.
A quiet sob caught in your chest.
You pressed your face further into the pillow, trying to hide it.
Sunghoon did not move closer.
He did not reach across the space between you without asking.
He did not try to fix it.
He did not ask you to stop crying.
He was simply there.
And eventually, with your body still trembling faintly and his breathing steady behind you, exhaustion pulled you under.
Thank you so much for reading!
Lots of Love,
Patty
⤷ ゛OTHER INSTALLMENTS OF THE SERIES ˎˊ˗
AN ──── FINALLY! ITS HERE! Thank you so much for waiting! I hope you all had a great time reading...at least the fluffy parts. The next parts could be tiggering even more to those suffering or healing from an ed, so i am advising you to not continue reading. Its gonna be very angsty. Also if anyone is wondering why this took so long, ill let you know tht just formatting this to tumrbl text format took me 3 hours and reading over the text before that took 2 1/2 hours 😀. So i'd be really gratefull to hear your thought, I need that lil dopaimne, please don't be a quiet reader 😔🫶🏻
At the luxurious resort of Marriotte, the staff lived by a single unofficial rule: don’t get involved with the guests. Not the gilded men, not the wives, and certainly not the daughters. One slip meant losing everything. But then you stepped too close, and Sunghoon couldn’t bring himself to care (not anymore)
a summer romance divided into two parts
PAIRING: lifeguard!Sunghoon x fem!reader
WARNINGS (for this part): poor!boy x rich!girl tropé, kinda forbidden love, Sunghoon is rude to you at the beginning, but we love a man who comes back and yearns, right? right?! slow-burnish, mentions of cuts and blood, alcohol consumption, cigarettes usage, reader almost drowns once, and Sunghoon has to save her
PART ONE｜21.6K｜STORY MASTERLIST
Park Sunghoon wouldn’t really describe himself as a waiter.
After all, when he had been hired at the luxurious resort of Marriotte, he had been hired as a lifeguard.
Mr. Hwang — or Mr. Grumpy as Sunghoon came to know the staff members not so affectionately called their head manager — had been clear about Sunghoon’s part at the resort: for forty hours a week, he had to monitor the pool area, enforce rules, and respond to emergencies, ensuring the guests’ safety as if their lives were made of spun gold.
“Because they are,” Mr. Hwang said, his tone coming with a certainty so untroubled that it forced Sunghoon to clench his jaw in an attempt to prevent the honest reply from rolling out of his mouth.
In another universe, he wouldn’t have been born in a poor family residing on the small island of Jeju, and could have used such a speech to decline the offer as jobs weren’t a matter of survival at the age of eighteen. But in this, he was born into a poor family residing on the small island of Jeju, and jobs were a matter of survival even before. So, when he saw the contract with ten thousand won per hour in bold letters, he signed it as he had learned to sign his father’s hospital forms — fast, and without questions for which he couldn’t afford.
But not once — not even once — Mr. Hwang had mentioned that Sunghoon had to learn about French champagne and fill in for waiters, turning fragile crystal into another kind of hazard.
Yet — here he was.
Tray in hand, and wearing a shirt he had borrowed so many times that Jongseong had already stopped accepting it back.
In the few hours he had been given off his lifeguard duty, the deck had been completely altered. The beach chairs that usually angled toward the water were gone, replaced by long tables laid out with linen so white and crisp, they looked ironed — probably Mrs. Kye being ordered to do them along with the suite’s linens — only for the children to ruin everything, clutching it on their chubby hands as they kept on what Sunghoon suspected to be a game of tag.
If it were any other night, he would have told them not to run — not so close to the pool — but luxury was nimble and so was everything in Marriotte, and the pool was not a pool tonight, but just another part of the grand decoration, and such warning was unnecessary. So, Sunghoon only walked past them, moving between the guests, and catching fragments of conversations as he passed: mergers, villa renovations, summers that last forever because this was the nature of the average Marriotte guests — people so high in the social ladder — that they could control the sun.
Somewhere in there, a woman gestured for him to trade her empty glass for another one, her eyes never moving toward him — not even when she groaned a finally at him, and Sunghoon mumbled an excuse as if he had in fact been late for an appointment with her.
By the corner of his eyes, he caught a blur of bare legs and pastel silk weaving between the chairs’ backs, and tried to move out of the way, but a child darted through the narrow gap between two tables and bumped right into his thigh.
There was a child’s gasp. A tiny oh no and Sunghoon was falling sideways, bringing the tray with him.
Crystal flutes exploded against the porcelain floor, and shards and golden champagne burst out, soaking through his clothes in a cold rush, instantly sour-sweet and expensive in a way his tongue didn’t understand. And for one terrible and infinite moment, everything seemed to halt.
The string quartet faltered, and conversations dissipated in the middle of a sentence — histories about Bali summers, and yachts that would never be completed because all the furor of the party was suddenly replaced by a silence so complete that Sunghoon could hear his own ragged breathing and the tinkling sound of the crystal still settling against the floor.
Sunghoon felt the weight of tens of eyes on him, and his face burned with a shame so intense that he felt it like a physical force.
But worse than that was the immediate calculation.
How many glasses had he been carrying? Twelve? No. It surely was more than that, and the last time a staff member broke this amount of flutes, he had not only lost all his monthly salary, but owed the resort the subsequent one. And it wasn’t even filled with Krug Clos d’Ambonnay or any French shit that had been demanding that the staff members handle it with white gloves in the kitchen throughout the whole night.
Sunghoon would be lucky if he was going to manage to buy an ice pop by the end of the summer.
“Oh, my God!” He heard your voice cutting through the panic already spiraling in his mind, and it was enough to make Sunghoon gather himself, pushing up on his elbows. Crystal crunched beneath him with a sound that made him wince before he found himself staring up at you.
“I am so sorry, my cousin—” you began, but Sunghoon wasn’t really listening.
You were beautiful, and he hated that it was his first thought — he hated the way his breath caught despite the fury flooding through his veins like acid. Your hair was swept up in a twist that had probably required an hour and a professional to bring on the exact tendrils that now framed your face in that kind of perfection. Diamond earrings dangled from your ears, each one probably worth more than the whole set of flutes your cousin had just cost him, and catching all the fairy lights overhead, sending sparkles across your exposed collarbones as you knelt by his side. The skirts of your dress sank into the champagne, darkening at where it touched the floor, but you did not even look at it. Your face stayed on him — as if you couldn’t come to care about anything but him at this exact moment.
But Sunghoon wasn’t naive — not anymore — after years of serving people like you, he knew exactly how this would go.
People like you didn’t have to hold onto anything for long. Not objects. Not consequences. Not people.
The moment he left your sight, he would vanish from your life.
“Are you hurt?” you asked. “Oh no, you are.”
Sunghoon glanced down at his left hand, catching a glimpse of where a slice had opened across his palm, and allowed blood to gather too quickly, bright and shocking against his champagne-soaked sleeve.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw you reaching out to him.
“Don’t!” He snapped, the word cutting through the air louder than he expected
He pushed air into his lungs and did the only thing he could think to do: assess, contain, fix.
Perhaps if he moved fast enough, the damage would look smaller — it would cost less.
“I only meant to—”
“I’m fine,” he bit out, the words nipping as badly as where the shard had bitten him as he pressed it against the floor to push himself up. “Completely fine.”
“I—” you began again, but Sunghoon had already stood up, bowing at you in something between an acknowledgement and a dismissal.
“I’ll get it cleaned,” he said, turning and walking away.
You didn’t say anything this time, but merely stood still.
As Sunghoon walked toward the main building entrance, he caught the sight of a waiter approaching you — a young girl who had been hired just for the summer and Sunghoon didn’t care about getting her name — she said something about getting you dry, and getting you up from the floor which was a terrible floor, by the way, very slippery, she hushed as an apology, although everything Sunghoon saw was some type of premium porcelain and couldn’t remember it being truly slippery until now.
What a disaster, he thought. What an absolute disaster.
⋆˚꩜｡
By the time Sunghoon walked back onto the pool deck, the party had already resumed its glittering momentum.
The string quartet played on, and guests chatted in that same wash of careless sound as they did previously, moving through their conversation, their glasses of champagne — their effortlessly perfect lives — and leaving Sunghoon to kneel beside the shattered glass alone, cleaning up a mess that would cost him more than he could afford.
He worked methodically, sweeping and mopping until the deck shone again, and the cut on his palm burned hotter than his own shame.
He would need a cigarette tonight.
When he was walking back to the main building, a staff member intercepted him, her expression pinched with barely concealed irritation.
“Mr. Hwang wants to see you,” she said. “Now.”
Something cracked deeper in Sunghoon’s chest, something that felt dangerously close to breaking completely.
This was it, then. The scorn — if not the possible firing — he had been expecting.
He followed the woman through the last steps into the lobby, and behind the desk to the administrative area, each step heavier than the last, as if gravity itself were conspiring to make this walk as painful as possible.
Mr. Hwang’s office door was open.
The older man already sat behind his striking table, but he didn’t look up as Sunghoon entered. He just continued to review something on his computer screen with the kind of deliberate patience that was clearly meant to make Sunghoon suffer.
And it worked. Something within his stomach tightened as he stood there.
“Sit,” Mr. Hwang said, still not looking at him.
Sunghoon did as he said, and Mr. Hwang finally turned away from his screen, leaning back in his chair as he wove his fingers on the table in front of him.
“That was quite a performance tonight, don’t you agree?” Mr. Hwang asked. “Entertaining our guests by shattering a few million won’s worth of crystal.”
Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. “It was an accident. A child—”
“I’m aware of what happened,” Mr. Hwang cut in. “The young lady came to see me personally. Paid for every single glass, and insisted — no, begged — for nothing happen to you. That you were just doing your job and she was at fault for being negligent with her cousin—”
Mr. Hwang kept talking, but Sunghoon had already stopped listening after the word beg. Something had twisted in his chest then — a complicated knot of emotions he couldn’t quite begin to untangle.
If you paid, it meant that he wouldn’t lose his salary. He wouldn’t go back to his parents’ house empty-handed and be unable to help.
He wouldn’t drown — not this month, at least.
But then the moment soured, suddenly and irreversibly, because the rope had been thrown by you.
Sunghoon’s mind moved back to the pool deck before he could even stop himself, retracing the way you had dropped to your knees, champagne darkening the skirts of your dress like it didn’t matter — as if he mattered more.
He had thought it was pity — perhaps a performance — a rich girl’s impulse to feel good about being kind.
But begging wasn’t performative. Not when you could have just walked away, gone to your glimmering suite, and left him to deal with all the mess.
“She—” Sunghoon started, more in surprise than defense — the idea of you sitting in that exact same chair changed the shape of you in his head, and it startled him, the thought that he might actually like you — but Mr. Hwang had interpreted his intervention wrongly, holding up a hand.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” he said. “I should fire you for your attitude tonight. You seem to have forgotten something fundamental about this job. Those guests down there?” He turned, vaguely gesturing toward the window and the party still sparkling under them. “They pay more in a stay than you and I will earn in our entire lives combined.”
“This resort, your salary, my salary,” he continued. “It all exists because of them. So when they ask you to jump, you don’t question it — you surely don’t get angry at it — you ask how high and you smile while doing so. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Sunghoon said, the word coming before he could catch himself weighing them — before his pride could ride up and demand something impossible like fairness — because yes meant he would still be here in the morning, allowed to exist in this building that smelled like money, lemon, and polish.
The same citrus scent of this exact office, but as Sunghoon inhaled he could swear he caught champagne instead and — coconuts?
“Good,” Mr. Hwang said. “You’re not fired. But you’re being punished. Tomorrow you’re on yacht duty.”
Sunghoon halted. “I’m scheduled poolside, Jaeyun and I—”
“You’re scheduled wherever I tell you — and I am telling you that you’re on yacht duty tomorrow,” Mr. Hwang said, the corner of his lips moving upwards as if he was suddenly bemused. “The overnight charter with the corporate group. Departure at nine. Back at sunrise. I know how much you all love that.”
Actually, everyone knew.
Yacht duty was punishment dressed as scheduling.
It ran late into the night until dawn, the guests getting drunker and more difficult as the hours wore on. It was exhausting, demeaning, and occasionally dangerous — especially for lifeguards — and that was why Jaeyun and he always threw a coin for it, the loser getting the duty with a lot of complaints.
“Consider it a learning experience,” Mr. Hwang said, his voice suddenly dripping with a false benevolence. “A reminder of what happens when you forget your place. Now get out of my office. And Sunghoon?” He paused, allowing Sunghoon to take his moment to look back at him. “If I hear about another attitude problem from you — I don’t care which guest provoked it. You’re gone. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” he said. “Sir.”
⋆˚꩜｡
Sunghoon hadn’t realized how haggard his breath felt until the elevator doors opened at the staff floor and he inhaled for what felt like the first time in ages. His lungs filled with the scent of bleach and damp walls in a way that only happened in this particular poorly ventilated hallway.
While the rest of the resort glimmered in gold and navy carpets that smelled like lemon and polish, here — so under the ground — everything was slightly shoddy, and messy.
And perhaps that was why his brain tried to refuse the fact that you were here — here — just a few steps down the hallway, hair undone and in a dress simpler than the one he had seen you earlier on, but surely still, not fit to be under these humming fluorescent tubes, and surrounded by stacked boxes and off-white walls that had been scuffed by decades of carts, shoulders and hurried bodies.
The elevator dinged behind him as someone else called for it, and Sunghoon’s first instinct was to turn back at it, check if he had been the one to step into the wrong floor, but not only the peeling paint gave way that he didn’t, but the small sign with STAFF ONLY in bold letters.
“Excuse me,” you tried.
Sunghoon spun back at you, trying his best to don a neutral aspect, but as you walked in his direction he felt as if he was losing control of his own body. He suddenly didn’t know how to stand — he had done it his whole life but suddenly he didn’t know how to be on his own feet.
The harsh fluorescent lights should have been unflattering, but they only made the small details about you impossible to ignore. A few strands of hair clung at the skin of your neck, taken by a thin thread of sweat in that way that Jeju summers always managed in their early days, and the edge of your lipstick was smudged at one corner, as though you had been biting on it and couldn’t come to find the time to check it on a mirror, and he felt delirious, his heart thudding harder the longer he looked — not because you were still beautiful despite it all, but because it were evidences that you had lived through the last hours too.
All together with him.
“I brought this,” you said out of silence, extending your hand to him, and only then did he notice you had been holding something: a simple and stupid roll of gauze in a plastic wrapping with the resort’s logo. “I asked at the front desk for a first aid kit, but they said they could not give it to me — if I had some type of injury they could contact a doctor — I tried explaining it was not for me, bu—”
You paused, taking in a breath as though you had rehearsed this whole speech before coming, curating every word carefully through your way down here but something had escaped you and now you didn’t know how to restart without losing the thin thread of courage you used to start.
“You shouldn’t be here.” He heard himself saying.
Your fingers tightened around the gauze, your neat, pale, and perfect nails crinkling the plastic and making it seem even smaller compared to the world you came from.
“Well, I know — I had to bribe a bellhop—”
The elevator dinged again, this time announcing someone’s arrival and Sunghoon’s composure snapped in half. He couldn’t take another scene — not tonight — not when Mr. Hwang had been clear that he was on his last chance.
His body acted before his mind could, reaching out for your free hand. His fingers closed around yours as he pulled you through the cluttered hallway, catching and opening the first knob he had found before he pushed you both inside — he first, and then you — pressing your body against his as he closed the door and engulfed you both in the darkness.
It wasn’t a real room, he realized, but the makeshift cabinet the room attendants used to stock supplies. The space so cluttered and small that when you gasped he felt it against his neck, warm and sweet smelling, coconuts, and the scent of the champagne still stuck on your skin as if you had changed, but didn’t wash yourself in the hurry of coming after him.
Outside, a cart squeaked as someone wheeled it out of the elevator, and he prayed it was one of the room attendant just ending their shift early and not coming for a supply.
“What—” you began, but Sunghoon raised a finger to his lips, earning himself a wince as he did so. He had forgotten about the cut in his palm, and he suddenly wished he could forget again. But as his finger hovered by his lips for another moment, the throbbing only increased as if the cut itself had remembered its existence and couldn’t cease now.
“Your hand,” you whispered.
Sunghoon shook his head at your worry, but you were already reaching out for him, the tip of your fingers brushing against his fevered pulse.
Someone laughed outside — the sound being so close — it felt dangerous, and if anyone opened this door and found you here it would be the end for him.
It wouldn’t matter what you had to say to Mr. Hwang this time. You wouldn’t be able to save him.
Not that he wanted to be saved by you. One time had been more than he could owe you.
Your fingertips moved through him, finding the cut.
“Don’t—” he hissed, his voice coming louder than the cabinet could hold and it didn’t just land on you — but in the air within — breaking something he didn’t realize that even existed until now.
Your hand dropped back to your own chest as your eyes flickered to his name tag and then, around, your breathing shallower as though you were suddenly trying to become smaller. And in the silence that followed, Sunghoon felt the moment when you came to realize something too.
“I am sorry. I did not realize it could get you in trouble,” you said, and the softness of it made him sick with himself. “I—”
But whatever the rest of your phrase was supposed to be, Sunghoon would never know because you were shaking your head then, reaching for the knob behind you.
The door opened with the smallest complaint of its hinges, and the fluorescent hallway light cut across your shoulder, the pale line of your collarbone, the gleam of your diamond earring.
And then you were gone, taking your warmth back with you.
⋆˚꩜｡
Sunghoon wasn’t sure how long he stayed in that small cabinet, but by the time he stepped out of it, he had grown so accustomed to the darkness that the humming fluorescent tubes had acquired a brightness so intense that his eyes hurt the whole way to the locker room.
As he walked to his locker, he felt as if he wasn’t fully inside of his own skin — as if his mind was somewhere else apart from his whole body — hovering on every single second of this unending night, replaying them as if repetition could change the way he made you leave.
He took off the borrowed shirt and shoved it into his bag in an attempt to let go of everything, but the champagne scent rose anyway, sweet, sharp, and expensive in a way that made his stomach turn. And he was suddenly back at the pool deck, your dress soaking on that same disgusting thing — he was back at that small cabinet you both so close up together, he felt all of your reactions.
Sunghoon pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead and stood like that for a second — breathing and telling himself that if he just stayed still long enough his body would remember how to be normal again — one breath, then another, counting them the way he was used to count drags as he was trying not to think, the way smoke used to give his hands something to do other than shake, and for one humiliating moment, he wished he had a cigarette more than he wished he had a clean shirt.
For as long as he lived, he feared champagne would remind him of you.
Somewhere behind him, a locker door clanged.
“You look like you fought a chandelier.” Sunghoon heard, and he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Jaeyun had been raised in Australia, which gave him a peculiar accent that most girls called cute, but it only made Sunghoon certain that he could pick his best friend’s voice out from the whole island — perhaps the world.
“Wrong,” Sunghoon replied, finally looking at him. “The chandelier fought me.”
“Are you alright?”
“I have been worse.”
Jaeyun leaned against his open locker, his hair damp, and a towel curled around his neck as though he had just come in from a late dip — which he probably had. As Sunghoon had been unfortunate enough to be scheduled for the unusable pool tonight, Jaeyun had taken the small portion of the beach the resort claimed as theirs, and annually opened a debate online about whether they could.
“I’m fine,” Sunghoon confirmed.
“What happened?” Jaeyun asked, but Sunghoon only shrugged at the question.
“Champagne.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have,” Sunghoon replied, reaching out for his clean t-shirt, tugging it over his head. He winced as he did so, the cut reopening for the second time of the night as the fabric caught.
“Hoon—”
“I’m fine.”
“You said that already,” Jaeyun shot back. “And it was a lie.”
“A child ran into me,” Sunghoon said then. “Crystal flutes went everywhere, and then—”
“And then?” Jaeyun pressed.
And then there was you — you asking if he was hurt. You at Mr. Hwang’s office begging for nothing to happen to him. You down here with gauze in your hands, and lipstick smudged and all he did was shove you in a cabinet and be rude again.
Where had you even left the gauze? Sunghoon wondered. Had you dropped it in the cabinet? Somewhere in the hallways as he pushed you through?
He suddenly felt like checking.
Inside the locker room, Jaeyun exhaled at Sunghoon’s sayings, reaching out for his own first aid kit and extending it to Sunghoon, but when Sunghoon didn’t reach back to it, Jaeyun recoiled and opened it himself.
Sunghoon watched as his friend walked toward him, taking his hand, and cleaning the cut with the kind of methodical calm that only made him feel worse at everything.
“You panicked because you’re scared.”
“What?”
Jaeyun tilted his head, but he didn’t look up. He continued with his doings — now, pressing in a gauze against it. “You shoved a rich guest into a closet because someone might see you standing close to them. That’s fear, Sunghoon.”
“Congratulations. You just discovered that I’m employed.” Sunghoon let out a humorless laugh. “It’s not fear, Jae — it’s common sense—”
“Alright, let’s say it’s both then,” Jaeyun said. “Common sense because Mr. Grumpy’s an asshole and those policies are bullshit, and fear because you keep thinking if you breathe wrong, your whole life is going to collapse above you.”
The world seemed to halt then and there, the air suddenly too still and allowing Sunghoon to notice how he ached at these words, a sharp twinge that started at his chest and spread to his throat, tightening there and making him breathless because Jaeyun had said it too cleanly — too accurately — and naming it made it now undeniable.
“Find her,” Jaeyun said. “Talk to her.”
“No”
“Why?”
“Because if Mr. Hwang finds out, he’ll fire me,” Sunghoon said, his voice harsher than he intended. “Because if the other staff see me talking to her, they’ll talk. Because if people start talking, it will become a rumor, and rumors become problems.” He swallowed. “And I can’t afford problems.”
“I expected more from you, Sunghoon,” Jaeyun said, but Sunghoon could tell that his heart wasn’t in it — not really.
“No doubt that was your first mistake.”
“So can you afford being the kind of person who makes someone feel like they’re hated merely for trying to help?” Jaeyun asked, and it felt like a slap.
Sunghoon couldn’t, and that was what had been eating him since you left.
They finished changing in silence, Sunghoon shoving his things into his bag with more force than necessary while Jaeyun remained calm on the other side, closing his locker so carefully, Sunghoon hadn’t realized he did, until he was standing by his side, completely changed and his bag hanging on one of his shoulders.
“Motorcycle still broken?” Jaeyun asked.
“Yeah.”
Jaeyun’s expression softened, his lips curling into the type of smile that only appeared when Sunghoon made it sound like he didn’t care.
“So you are still stuck with me.”
⋆˚꩜｡
The service exit opened onto the staff lot, and immediately, Jeju’s night shrouded him. The humming fluorescent tubes of the interior were taken by the dimmer yellowish lights of the parking lot, and the smell of bleach was replaced by the sea wind cutting through the heat, carrying salt, tangerine, and earthy cedar forest.
Somewhere above, the party was still going on — laughter and music carried faintly across the breeze — but here it was all Jeju, rough and wild.
The parking lot was mostly empty, only a few staff cars lined up, including Jaeyun’s old Jeep at the far end, its paint sun-faded and stubbornly alive.
Sunghoon stopped for a second — just before they reached it.
“Do you mind if I have a smoke?”
“Of course, I do,” Jaeyun snapped. “This thing will kill you.”
Sunghoon pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his bag anyway, selecting a single one out and lighting it up.
The first drag hit him all at once. The ember brightened in the dark as he inhaled, a small orange circle reflecting faintly on his knuckles, and the taste of cheap tobacco bloomed bitter on his tongue before settling in his lungs.
He exhaled, watching the stream unravel and vanish into Jeju’s air, and for a moment he let himself believe that if he kept drawing in smoke and letting it go, he could empty his chest out of this night too.
Out of you.
“You lost the coin toss,” Jaeyun said then.
“What?”
“The yacht duty.” Jaeyun slid to him. “You didn’t mention it. Which means you’re trying to pretend it isn’t happening.”
Sunghoon dropped his hand out of his mouth, his fingers tightening. He wasn’t sure if he was intentionally pretending, but he surely didn’t want to bring this up.
“It’s happening.”
“Mr. Hwang is such a—” Jaeyun began, but he cut himself off, sighing deeply and dramatically as he pushed his hair out of his forehead. For a moment, Sunghoon got confused if Jaeyun understood that he was the one not going to the yacht tomorrow night. But he quickly realized that the fact was — Jaeyun did understand — it was just that he felt everything too deeply, and he cared for Sunghoon too much to allow such an unfairness to go on as nothing. “Okay. You’ll survive — I’ll bring you food. I’ll bring you even this stupid pack of cigarettes if necessary. And I’ll come rescue you if some executive tries to throw you into the sea.”
The scenario made Sunghoon want to laugh and what a strange feeling it was because it had been months since Sunghoon wanted to laugh — perhaps years.
“See?” Jaeyun asked, his lips curling into a smile once again. “Park Sunghoon is still a human.”
Sunghoon rolled his eyes and dragged in again.
“So what are you going to do about it?” Jaeyun asked.
“About the yacht?”
“About her, Sunghoon.”
“What can I do? I don’t even know her name — and I’ll probably never see her again.”
“You work at a luxury resort where she’s not only staying, but attending events,” Jaeyun said. “I’m guessing if you actually tried to find her, you could,”
His voice dropped.
“Jongseong is only leaving for Seoul at the end of summer, he could—” Jaeyun raised his hand, typing on an invisible keyboard. “The question is whether you want to try.”
Did he? Sunghoon wasn’t sure. The thought of facing you again made him want to sink to the ground. But the idea of never seeing you again also sits as an open wound in his chest.
“Find her,” Jaeyun said out of silence. “Your angel in the form of a heiress.”
Sunghoon wanted to see you again. Thank you, at least, and say sorry for the closet situation. And Jaeyun grinned as though he had read it through Sunghoon’s mind.
“Come on,” Jaeyun said, unlocking the car with a single jingle of keys. “Let’s get out of here before Mr. Grumpy finds something else to punish you for — like breathing too loudly or existing in his general vicinity.”
Sunghoon pulled the passenger door open and climbed in, sinking into the familiar worn seat. The car smelled like salt water, suncream, and the cheap air freshener Jaeyun had hung on the front mirror which was supposed to smell like fresh pine, but mostly just smelled like chemicals.
As Jaeyun tried the engine — letting it catch and taking on three times before it finally started — Sunghoon found himself staring at his reflection in the side mirror. He was exhausted, in need of a shower and long hours of sleep, but surely, he was not drowning in debt and not fired.
All because of you.
“By the way,” Jaeyun said, glancing at him across the gearstick. “Your motorcycle is dead-dead, or is it just being dramatic?”
“Dramatic, I hope,” Sunghoon said. “Jihoon’s brother is still checking on it.”
Jaeyun hummed, his right hand reaching for the gearstick and putting it in the fourth, racing the car just enough to allow the breeze to brush in — the perfect blend of salty sea air, tangerine, and earthy cedar forest taking over the small vehicle — it was undeniable Jeju’s summer.
And for some reason, it made Sunghoon’s skin creep a little.
The summer of his twenty-two years had begun, although Sunghoon didn’t know what it truly meant.
Yet.
The next night came with the scent of sea air, salt, and teak wood floors.
The yacht sailed from the resort’s private dock at the sunset as Mr. Hwang had promised, its hull gleaming under the floodlights, and turning the water below into a black sheet of polished glass as the deck swarmed with men in tailored suits and women with hair pinned into effortless perfection, as if the wind itself had been instructed not to touch them too harshly — bribed, perhaps — something Sunghoon thought that rich people only did in movies, but then you came over and—
God.
He couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Sunghoon stood at the lifeguard’s designated spot, his eyes scanning the crowd for what felt like the millionth time.
He told himself he wasn’t looking for you — that it was only instinct — he was taking stock of guests, counting faces and risks as his job demanded, but his eyes kept hovering on silhouettes. On bare shoulders, and flash of jewelry. On the slope of necks, and twist of hairs that could have been yours until he stared for a moment too long and noticed that it wasn’t.
Perhaps you hadn’t come, he thought. Perhaps—
But then, he saw you.
Not full at first, but in pieces — as if his mind had somehow learned that he needed to recognize you in fragments because the whole was too much for him to handle at once — he saw the glint of an earring. The curve of your wrist as you lifted your hand to brush a stray strand of hair to the back of your ears.
Your dress was different tonight — simpler than the pool party’s silk, but cut in a way that felt almost deliberate. The thin fabric caught the yacht’s lights, and gave them back like it had been made for this exact setting, and your hair — God, your hair was down, spreading over the expanse of your shoulders, and moving only when the wind found it.
Sunghoon watched you for a second too long, hating himself for doing so because it gave you enough time to catch him on it.
Your gazes locked over, and for a brief moment — a moment so brief, he thought he had imagined it — you softened at him. Not a smile, but something in your eyes that recognized him, and remembered. Your hand rose halfway, fingers hovering in a hesitant greeting that seemed to have decided itself before you came to your senses and faltered, glancing down and lowering your hand to your side, folding into the fabric of your dress.
Sunghoon’s heart did something stupid and painful within his chest and he stood up without meaning to, giving a step toward you and then another, and another.
But before he could reach you, someone stepped into the space within.
A man around your age, tall in that clean and polished way that suggested that not only had he never been poor, but his father hadn’t, nor his grandfather, nor his grandfather’s father. His dyed hair was styled, but not stiff, his suit in perfect shape despite the hours within the yacht and he moved to your side as if he belonged there — as if your proximity was something granted to him by default.
And perhaps it had.
Perhaps the world was more unfair than Sunghoon had ever realized because as he felt unsure about stepping close to you, the man leaned in without a second thought, saying something into your ear, and earning a turn of your head toward him, altogether with a small smile appearing at the corner of your lips and causing something to flare in Sunghoon — hot, immediate, and humiliating.
It was ridiculous and Sunghoon knew that. He didn’t know your name. He had snapped at you twice and had shoved you into a closet like contraband when you were just trying to help. He had no right to want anything from you — not even your attention — yet his stomach tightened anyway, just as it had when Mr. Hwang said that you had begged for him to be spared because honestly, some part of him had decided that you were a story he knew he could not afford but he could not stop reading.
The man said something more, and you let out a breath that could have been a laugh if you allowed it to be. Your hand rose to brush his arm in a gesture so casual — it could have been even dismissal — but Sunghoon’s fingers closed on themselves until the cut from the night previous ached and he had to force his face into neutrality.
He was still trying to decide whether to approach you when the furor began.
It was not one single thing, but a chain of small ones that snapped too fast to catch: someone shouted near the bar, a glass tipped and bled its champagne in a thin gold spill across the teak, a laugh turned too sharp within the night air, and the music stuttered as if something had snagged the performers mid-song before he remembered they were being paid and forced the melody back into place.
Sunghoon’s head turned on instinct toward the commotion, his lifeguard training overriding and making his body already catalog risks, exits, water, the ways panic liked to masquerade as entertainment until it wasn’t.
In his periphery, Sunghoon caught you drifting closer to the railing, stepping away from a man drunkenly stumbling backwards, but it had been in vain. The man’s shoulder bumped into yours anyway and it was enough for your balance to break — enough for you to take one instinctive step to correct it, heel sliding back, searching for the deck to hold you the way it always had, but the teak beneath your heels betrayed you with a slickness you couldn’t have seen under the lights, and your foot slipped.
It wasn’t dramatic, but small, and almost quiet — the kind of slip that people recovered from all the time. You reached for the railing on reflex, fingers stretching out, a flash of jewelry, skin meeting metal. But your hand didn’t close right, didn’t clamp with the sure grip it needed; it caught and slid instead, palm skimming along polished steel like it had been oiled, and suddenly the correction became the fall, your weight tipping past the point where muscle could argue with gravity.
There was a pause that felt like the whole deck had held its breath before someone screamed what could have been your name and bodies surged toward the rail, leaning over as they peered down into the dark water that moved as if nothing had happened at all — as if it hadn’t just taken you — and Sunghoon ran, pushing through the guests with his shoulders, ignoring the outrage, the startled curses, the hands that grabbed at him as if he were the problem, until the railing came up in front of him, and the sea was just below, black and moving.
Sunghoon could not see you — not at first — the yacht’s lights did nothing to brighten up beyond its surface, and it was as dark as it was above, but then he did. A pale flickering shape, and he didn’t allow himself to consider anything before he vaulted the railing, diving into the water with a splash he didn’t hear.
It was late, and the night sea did not feel like summer, but winter — cold and heavy — dragging at Sunghoon’s uniform and pulling at him like it wanted to keep him for itself, too. Salt surged into his mouth as he broke the surface, and for a second his lungs stuttered, confused by the air that wasn’t clean.
Sunghoon had rescued drowning guests before. Of course, he had — Marriotte had a way of grinding the same disasters into repetition until one’s body learned them the way it learned to shape their names — but it always had been at the pool with its two meters of depth or the obedient edge of the resort’s stolen coast. But the sea was neither of them — it didn’t stay still — no matter how desperate someone was.
He heard shouting above, the deck erupting into chaos, but it faded fast, blurred by the rush of his own blood and the slap of waves against his face, and Sunghoon didn’t allow himself to think.
The water went colder as he went under, the world shrinking into nothing but darkness, pressure, and the frantic sweep of his hands through nothing again and again and again, until the tip of his fingers finally hit some fabric.
He grabbed hard, his fists tangling in what he hoped to be your dress, and yanked at it. You came to him limp and heavy, your hair floating around your face. And for one horrible second he couldn’t tell if you were conscious at all — if you were here with him — and he felt his heart weighing at the thought. It didn’t matter if you were one of those stupid rich guests. It didn’t matter if what you had been pulling at him was all an act — to lose you here felt like something he couldn’t handle.
Many hours later, Jaeyun was going to ask Sunghoon how it happened but he — under the aftermath of his panic — wouldn’t know how to.
He remembered how he hooked an arm under your shoulders and kicked upward, breaking the surface with a gasp for which you didn’t replicate, and how it broke the last threat of self-control on him.
He remembered keeping one arm around you and swimming with the other, fighting against the weight of your body, the drag of your dress, and the way the waves kept trying to pry you from him like greedy hands. He remembered how the yacht loomed above like a wall, all made of light, varnished wood, and people leaning over the edge with a mix of expressions. He remembered how his limbs were shaking by the time he reached the ladder and how he almost missed the first rung, having to force himself to jam his foot onto it, lifting you as best he could, bracing you against his chest. He remembered hauling, rung by rung, and getting you to the deck with the help of strangers’ hands, and then the world narrowed again into only you.
Only you and the way you lie on the wooden floor and soaked through. Your skin on a tone that seemed all wrong under the harsh yacht lights. But what horrified him the most was that your chest did not rise.
Someone shouted to call a doctor. Someone shouted to turn the yacht back — to do something — but no one seemed to be doing anything fast enough.
Sunghoon didn’t remember dropping himself onto his knees, but he remembered how his hands shook so badly he almost couldn’t place them. And once again, he had to force himself to take control — to press the heel of his palm to your sternum as the way he had been trained, and start the compressions, counting out loud because counting meant he would not fall apart.
“Come on,” he heard himself whispering between one compression and another. “Come on.”
The yacht rocked gently and the breeze brushed as if nothing was wrong, as if the night wasn’t holding a catastrophe on its teeth.
His hands began to hurt at some point and his arms burned. But he forced himself to keep the rhythm, to keep pressing. He forced himself to keep you here.
Sunghoon tilted your head back and pinched your nose, hesitating — just a fraction of a second — because you were you. And he didn’t know what it meant yet, only that it felt enormous within his chest already.
He bent close, mouth on yours, salt and fear thick in his throat, and strawberries on his lips.
“Breathe for me,” he whispered, the words spilling out like prayer, like command, like begging for which he didn’t have the right to, but did anyway. “Please, Angel. Please — breathe for me.”
You coughed.
Small at first. A weak shudder that made his heart lurch so hard it hurt. Water spilled from your mouth before you turned your head, choking, and dragging in air like it was something new you had to learn.
You were trembling and drenched, just as much as Sunghoon, but he couldn’t come to care about himself.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re alright.”
Your chin lifted at it, your gazes locking. It was only seconds that you studied each other, but it seemed a whole eternity to Sunghoon. His heart whipped against his ribs, and although he tried to, he couldn’t collect his thoughts. His lips parted as if he meant to tell you something, but he stopped, and by the time he tried again, the man from earlier was kneeling by your side.
He moved fast, shrugging off his suit with a practiced urgency. He didn’t look at Sunghoon — not really — not at all. His focus was on you, his hands already wrapping the piece around your shoulders, around your wet hair, and the parts of you exposed to the night wind before his hands molded against your arms with a steadiness that Sunghoon couldn’t feign even if he tried to.
“It is fine,” the man said to you. “It is fine. I have got you.”
I have got you.
The words rolled like theft in the air.
Sunghoon had hauled you out of the sea, he had breathed life into you, and still his mind went petty and sharp at a sentence that sounded like possession because the ocean had just tried to possess you first and Sunghoon was still in that wild part of himself that thought: mine to save, mine to keep safe, mine-
He swallowed.
You looked at the other man, dazed and lips parted as one of his arms slipped under your knees and the other rounded over your shoulders, bringing you into his arms before lifting you up.
“Give her some space,” he snapped at the people around and they did — tumbling into their own feet as they stepped back and opened space — because he sounded like someone who should be listened to.
Sunghoon rose as if to follow — as if his mind had once again forgotten that his role was done already — but a hand caught his elbow — someone steadying him, or stopping him. He wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter.
The night was all shapes and noise.
Your head turned slightly as you were taken away, hair dripping onto the other’s sleeve. And for a heartbeat — a small, burning heartbeat — your eyes found Sunghoon’s. They were unfocused, but they found him anyway, and something in them softened — recognition again, the same thin thread from earlier on. And Sunghoon’s throat tightened with the raw realization that he didn’t want to let you go again.
But then you were gone anyway, taken into the yacht’s interior, and swallowed by light and warmth that wasn’t his, and his eyes merely remained at the place you disappeared in, hardly feeling part of his own body.
His hands were red and raw from compressions, the cut from the night previous all open and bleeding into his bandage. His chest heaved too fast and sea tasted permanent in his throat as if it had moved in and decided to live there.
Around him, the guests’ fear had already begun to convert into a story that sounded pretty — something they could repeat later with dramatic pauses and glittering eyes — using it to make their own hearts feel brave. But Sunghoon didn’t hear any of it.
He only heard your first cough.
He only felt the moment your lungs had chosen to come back.
“Young man,” someone called.
Sunghoon didn’t turn at first — he couldn’t — he couldn’t come to gather himself enough to face another person because although he wasn’t in the water anymore, there was something inside of him fighting still.
Perhaps there would always be a part of him fighting from now on.
“Young man,” the person repeated, stepping closer and the scent of expensive cologne cut through the salt, awakening Sunghoon before the touch at his shoulders did and he forced himself to turn. “What is your name?”
“Sunghoon,” he heard himself saying. “Park Sunghoon.”
The man nodded as he echoed it, his face drawn tight in that kind of controlled expression that suggested he had learned too early how to control his emotions from showing in public.
And Sunghoon caught himself opening his mouth, ready to apologize before he even knew what for — an old instinct, perhaps, sharpened by employment and hierarchy and the knowledge that rich people’s anger was its own kind of weather. But the man’s voice came out rough.
“Thank you,” he said, and for a brief moment Sunghoon felt confused, but the man continued, “my daughter,” and the two words changed the air. The whole deck seemed to tilt into a new shape. “You—”
His voice broke just slightly before he paused, tightening his jaw as he forced it back into place.
“You brought her back.” Sunghoon’s lungs seized again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. It was from the sudden, horrible clarity that you weren’t a guest or a body or a problem.
You were someone’s daughter.
Someone’s world.
Sunghoon only nodded, because words felt too small then. Because if he spoke, his voice might crack open and reveal how close he had been to losing control.
Your father looked at him for another long second — memorizing his face, perhaps, or the uniform, or the fact that Sunghoon still looked like someone half-made out of seawater and shock.
“Thank you,” your father said again, quieter, as if the first time had been for pride and the second was for truth. “I will not forget it.”
Your father handed Sunghoon a business card and tapped his shoulder once — just once — a brief, human contact that felt almost unreal.
Sunghoon was shivering so violently that the bare push made him nearly drop the piece of paper on the yacht’s floor, but he forced himself to hold, his fingers closing so strongly that the cut from the night previous throbbed as a crease formed in the paper.
He didn’t think the card would come in use, yet — it felt soothing — because names were the first thing one reached for when they were trying to keep someone from vanishing, and he had your last name.
Sunghoon had your last name.
Sleep came so unwillingly to Sunghoon that it refused to last long.
Throughout the past three summers since he had been hired, he had been the one to get the yacht duty — not very lucky, yes — but it always gave him the best sleep of his life.
Sunghoon wasn’t an early bird. He didn’t request to be smoothed and tucked in bed at ten like Jaeyun, but he liked to sleep his nights away, so to be deprived of it always took something from him, but not today.
Sunghoon woke not even a full hour after he had laid himself on the bed, the shafts of light slipping through his curtainless windows and streaming over the place just as it had — yet, he couldn’t stay still anymore.
His body felt like it had been wound too tightly. His arms ached from the compressions. His throat tasted like the sea. And when he blinked, the deck lights flared behind his eyelids.
He swung his legs off the bed.
The small room was warm already, Jeju’s summer pressing through the thin walls with such insistence that the air clung on and the fan in the corner stuttered in vain. Somewhere outside, scooters whined down the road, and a bird shrieked the way birds did here — loud, territorial, unashamed.
Sunghoon washed his face with water that barely came cold, dragged a comb through his hair with more violence than care, and changed into the cleanest shirt he had, though clean didn’t mean much when his skin still remembered salt.
He looked at his hand. The cut had reopened under the bandage, a thin line of blood shimmering like a warning, but he only wrapped it again and left before his mind could catch up and tell him to be smart.
Because if Sunghoon paused long enough to think, he wouldn’t move at all.
⋆˚꩜｡
The resort sat above the road like it always did.
Marriotte didn’t belong to Jeju, but it pretended to, dressing itself in stone and dark wood and tasteful greenery, but it was too polished to be Jeju’s, and quiet in a way that didn’t come from the peace of the island, but from money making sure no one got loud unless paid to.
Sunghoon walked up the steps in the heat and felt the instant change the moment he crossed the threshold. Outside, it was Jeju’s summer, but inside it was Marriotte’s type of summer.
The lobby was not only large. It was layered.
It didn’t open itself like a normal room. It unfolded.
Walkways split from walkways. Corridors slipped away behind screens of dark wood and potted plants that looked so perfect it once led Jaeyun and Jongseong to bet if they were real. Stairs didn’t just lead upward — they led sideways, down, somewhere, dipping like secrets. Hallways branched from hallways, and then branched again, like the building had been designed by someone who enjoyed watching people get lost and pretend they weren’t.
There were walls of glass that gave the illusion of openness, but even those felt controlled because beyond them, the garden glimmered wet and green, water beading on leaves not only holding Jeju’s true nature, but turning it into decoration.
It was early, but the staff already moved through like ghosts in pressed uniforms and present only when summoned as the guests existed in the opposite. Guests floated as they made their check-ins, taking space without apologizing for it in the way only rich people could.
Sunghoon hated that he was here on his day off.
Sunghoon hated that he was here at all.
He walked past the concierge desk and felt eyes flick in his direction in recognition. Not only because they knew him, but because he looked like a staff. He moved like a staff. He carried himself like someone who had learned to keep his shoulders tight so the world couldn’t slip knives between his ribs.
He turned toward the reception.
Jongseong stood behind the desk, immaculate until he saw Sunghoon and something in his face cracked.
“What are you doing here?” Jongseong hissed through a smile that wasn’t meant for his friend, but the couple checking in beside him. His eyes didn’t leave Sunghoon’s face even as his hands moved through the motions of hospitality, tapping at the keyboard, sliding keycards over with practiced grace. “It’s your day off.”
The couple left, and before Jongseong could call the next guest to come, Sunghoon stepped in.
“I know — I need something.”
“No.”
Sunghoon blinked. “I didn’t even ask yet.”
“You don’t have to,” Jongseong murmured, his eyes flicking to the security camera in the corner, before it found Sunghoon again. “Whatever it is, the answer is no. Go home.”
Sunghoon’s throat tightened as he reached into the pocket of jeans, pulling out your father’s business card. The edges were damp-soft from having been clenched too long. He didn’t hand it over, not fully — he only let Jongseong read the last name.
And for a moment, Sunghoon saw it — the shift, the understanding snapping into place like a lock turning once Jongseong made sense of the letters.
Jongseong’s mouth parted, then closed. And when their eyes met again, He stared at Sunghoon as if he had just said he wanted to walk into fire because he missed the warmth.
“You can’t just—” Jongseong began, then stopped himself as guests walked by, their laughter trailing behind them like perfume. He lowered his voice further. “You can’t just ask for a suite. That’s not a thing.”
“I’m not asking you to tell her family’s suite,” Sunghoon lied.
He didn’t know what he was asking for.
“I’ll lose my job — we will lose our jobs,” Jongseong said, but despite the harshness with which his words came out, his expression didn’t match it for long.
“Are you okay?” Jongseong asked, but Sunghoon couldn’t come to answer.
Okay was a word for people who knew what they were, and he didn’t, or at least, he didn’t know anymore. Sunghoon had once believed that he had built himself into something durable and steady, yet you had come, and now, there was something different inside of him, something raw and unpracticed, and if he admitted it — even if just once — it would become real. Not an impulse. Not a passing stupidity. But something he was afraid that wouldn’t fit back inside his chest.
Jongseong exhaled slowly, looking down at his screen.
For one long second, Sunghoon thought he had silently been told to leave. But then, Jongseong’s shoulders sank — just slightly.
“Fine,” he breathed. “Fine, but if you ruin my life, I swear I’ll kill you myself.”
Sunghoon’s pulse jumped — not at the threat. He knew Jongseong would never — but at the view of his friend tapping at the keyboard, and then, tapping some more before he leaned forward, his voice turned into a whisper that scraped against the polished air.
“1512. Rooftop,” Jongseong said. “Go fast and I swear—”
“I know,” Sunghoon replied, already turning away.
He didn’t let himself thank him. He didn’t let himself hesitate. Gratitude was slow, and Sunghoon was running out of control.
His heart raced as he moved through the corridor, taking the elevator just as it was closing with an old couple that paid him no mind, and pressed the elevator’s buttons to the rooftop — rooftop, he had worked for years here and never once had he stepped there, and for a second he wondered if he truly could, if the elevator wouldn’t strangely stop operating and preventing him, but the doors slid shut, and the elevator began to rise. And with every floor it passed, Sunghoon felt like he was doing something he couldn’t undo. Like he was climbing toward a line he couldn’t uncross.
But still — he couldn’t stop.
⋆˚꩜｡
When the doors slid open for one last time, Sunghoon was surprised.
The rooftop had never been a place for the staff, but a rumor. A word whispered in the laundry room when the machines were loud enough to swallow the envy in their words. A direction pointed with a chin when a celebrity checked in and someone wanted to pretend they hadn’t looked because on the surface, they didn’t care. A level the elevator did not even list on the ordinary panel — but kept on a clean, discreet button because those who could afford the rooftop’s suites had lives that didn’t include asking.
Yet — it was exactly like the corridors below.
The same thick carpets and light colored walls.
In every few steps, there were doors and he found himself staring at the details because the more familiar it seemed, the less anxious he felt. The brushed gold trim on the wall. The line of orchids arranged in vases that had to be replaced every morning.
But then — absurdly — there was a vending machine.
It stood near the corner where the corridor split, sleek and silver, its glass front filled with neat rows of bottled water, imported teas, protein bars in minimalist packaging, tiny tins of nuts that probably cost more than the whole staff cafeteria’s lunch. But it was a vending machine — a vending machine up here.
Sunghoon slowed without meaning to stare at it.
He had grown up with vending machines that swallowed coins and didn’t always give anything back. Machines that smelled like dust and heat, that dispensed cheap coffee in paper cups, that sat near bus stops where men smoked and teenagers laughed too loudly because they had nothing else to do, but this one looked clean enough to eat off.
He imagined you for a moment — you, with your diamond earrings, your silk dresses and your life that seemed to exist beyond consequences — standing here, under that artificial light and pressing buttons for a bottle of water.
It didn’t fit.
He couldn’t imagine rich people needing something quick. And yet the machine existed, which meant someone up here had once been thirsty enough not to call room service.
The thought made him feel strangely dizzy, as if the world had tilted and revealed a seam that shouldn’t even exist.
He forced himself to move.
His bandaged hand throbbed with each swing of his arm.
When Sunghoon stood in front of your family’s suite door, he hesitated, feeling a disconcerting flutter in his chest with the realization that he had no idea what he was doing.
He brushed a hand over his face, the bandage pulling at his skin, but before he could do anything else, the door opened, the morning’s sunlight racing out and making him blink a few times before he got used to it.
But it wasn’t you at the door, nor your father, nor anyone related to you — it was Mrs. Kye, the old maid that Jaeyun once joked had perhaps been there since the foundation of the hotel, but Sunghoon never laughed about it. Mrs. Kye was one of the nicest staff members.
“Sunghoon?” she called. “What are you doing here?”
“I—” he began, not sure how he was supposed to explain everything. His throat felt too tight for words that weren’t rehearsed. “I was looking for someone. She is a guest, her family is staying in this suite—”
“Sunghoon,” Mrs. Kye cut in, and there it was — the edge of the rules in her tone, the weight of them. “You know the rules.”
He swallowed.
“She almost drowned yesterday,” he said. “I just — I just want to check if she is alright. In the hurry, I couldn’t tell her what symptoms she should watch out for.”
The lie came so easily it almost felt true. But Sunghoon knew Mrs. Kye wasn’t buying it by the way she sighed, shaking her head, and for a moment he thought it was over — that she would close the door and he would need to go back down the elevator and pretend this impulse had never happened. But Mrs. Kye’s eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, traveling through the worn bandage, the frayed edge of his shirt and his washed jeans. She took the way he stood like someone trying to take up less space than he was allowed, and he knew without knowing it hurt her. She had seen boys like him come through this resort every summer; she had seen which ones laughed, and which ones counted. And Sunghoon had always been the kind who counted and she knew.
“Playground,” she said then, her voice coming so low that Sunghoon took a while to notice she had really spoken. “She was with her cousin,” Mrs. Kye continued, glancing over her shoulder into the suite as if making sure no one was listening too closely. “Asked if there was anything like that in the hotel.”
His breath caught.
“Go.”
Sunghoon didn’t trust himself to answer and so, he only bowed, quick and deep, and before his gratitude could trip him into being seen.
⋆˚꩜｡
The playground was not really a playground.
It was a corner of the resort’s garden that had been dressed up for children the way Marriotte dressed up everything: carefully, expensively, and with the kind of effort that pretended to be effortless. The ground was padded with soft, springy flooring that looked like it had never met a scraped knee. A small slide curved like a ribbon beside a miniature climbing frame made of polished wood, the grain of it so perfect it felt staged — as if the trees had been grown for the singular purpose of becoming décor. Even the air smelled curated: sunscreen and cut grass, the resort’s citrus polish ghosting over it all, as though even childhood had to be sanitized before it could be permitted to exist.
Sunghoon approached slowly. And at first, he didn’t see you, but the children.
They sat cross-legged in a loose semicircle on the padded ground, faces tilted upward, eyes wide with the bright, unfiltered devotion that only children could offer. Sunghoon was used to it; spring was a great time for Jeju, but not for Marriotte, and he had taught swimming lessons at public pools when Marriotte’s rooms weren’t so full and the pool not so required that he needed to complete full hours. He knew the way children trusted without thinking, how they listened with their whole bodies, how easily they could be soothed by a voice that sounded sure.
What unsettled him was who they were listening to.
Sunghoon recognized your voice with a physical certainty, as though his body had memorized it before his mind could refuse, but how could he not? He had replayed the night of the pool party like a punishment: your gasp, your apologies. He had heard you in the staff elevator, in the locker room, in the thin, cruel moment before sleep took him and the crueler one after it abandoned him.
You had been a ghost to him through the past days, but now it was real — sat on the edge of a bench that looked too clean to have ever hosted a tired body — your hair looser than it had been on the yacht, darker at the ends as if you had showered and simply didn’t care about drying it. And a book rested open in your hands, spine broken in the middle the way books only were when someone actually read them.
Your cousin sat by your side, one fist balled in the fabric of your dress as though you were the only solid thing in the world, a plush toy trapped under her arm.
Sunghoon opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and for a heartbeat, he simply stood there, watching you.
A child noticed him first — then another — heads turning in a soft disturbance that spread through the group until their attention broke from you and stumbled toward him.
And you noticed him too.
It was barely anything — just your chin lifting, a slow blink like you didn’t trust your eyes — but still, it hit him anyway, sharp as a hook under the ribs and Sunghoon’s body reacted before his brain could file it away as harmless. His shoulders tightened, and his breath caught, every instinct screaming be still, be professional, don’t be seen wanting. But the garden was shifting out of place anyway, as if the world had tilted and decided you were the only thing worth keeping upright because God — you were.
You watched him for a moment — perhaps two — before you turned to the children, slipping a bookmark between the pages and excusing yourself with the seriousness of someone stepping out of a meeting — and stood up.
Your cousin clung harder for a second, startled by the motion, and you reached for her without even seeming to consider — one arm scooping her up against your side and letting her settle against you, cheek pressed to your shoulders, and fingers now locked in your hair — before you stepped forward, crossing the place toward him.
And for the second time he caught himself trying his best to don a neutral aspect, but as you walked in his direction he felt as if he was losing control of his own body. Sunghoon didn’t know what to do with his hands. He let them hang uselessly at his sides, then shoved them into his pockets, then pulled them out again because it looked rude, because it looked like he was nervous, because it looked like he was waiting for you.
Which he was.
But the truth didn’t seem that easy to admit.
“Hi,” you said, your voice coming breathless in a way that didn’t match the short distance you had walked, and Sunghoon’s mind snagged on the inconsistency like it was a safety hazard because well, it made no sense — but then it did – and that small understanding warmed him in a way he didn’t want to allow. His fingers flexed at his side, bandage tugging, and grounding him back into his body before he made himself remember how to speak.
“Hi,” Sunghoon echoed.
Your cousin shifted at the sound of him, her arms tightening around your shoulders as she hid herself into the crook of your neck. You murmured something in her ear, softly, and too low for Sunghoon to make sense of what it had been, but whatever it was, it got her lifting her head and looking at Sunghoon again, round-eyed and shiny with embarrassment.
“Sorry,” your cousin whispered. It had been so quiet that Sunghoon almost thought he had imagined it — but then, her lips continued shaped into the word, and his breath caught in surprise.
Sunghoon bent down a little, lowering himself to your cousin’s eye level in the way he did with the children at the public pool, his instincts taking over where his pride usually lived whenever he breathed Marriotte’s air.
“It’s okay,” he said, hesitating for a moment before he lifted his bandaged hand and gave her a small thumbs up, the gesture making the healing skin pinch, but he didn’t allow it to show. “I will survive.”
Your cousin blinked at him before she tried to hide again, her fingers twisting on the locks of your hair in a manner that should have been painful. But if anything, you gently patted her back.
And when Sunghoon straightened himself, he caught you smiling.
Not in that one polite and restrained way he had seen you wear the previous night, but something small and helpless at the edges, as if it had happened to you without your consent — as if your body had decided that because he had offered something of himself, you had to give something back.
And the fairness of it felt strange in his chest. Heat climbed up the back of his neck and into his ears. Sunghoon didn’t know what to do with the fact that you were looking at him like that, so he blinked, and glanced away, setting his mouth back into place as if it had betrayed him.
“Do you want to go back to the other children?” you asked your cousin, receiving a nod almost immediately.
The moment her feet touched the padded ground, she retreated — not far, not truly — choosing the safety of the other children in a blunt instinct Sunghoon understood too well.
And with her gone, there was nothing left to hone the moment into harmlessness — no child, no movement, no noise to hide behind — just you and him, with the air between you tightening into something quiet and dangerous despite the bright morning.
Sunghoon should have stepped back — he knew — but his feet didn’t listen. Something in him held, stubbornly, as if staying was a risk he recognized but chose anyway.
“I—” you began, at the same time as him.
“You first.”
“I had asked for you,” you said quietly. “At the reception, however, they said it was your day off.”
“It is,” he heard himself answering, but when he didn’t put in any further information, you continued:
“I wanted to thank you — for saving me last night.”
“It’s my job.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t—” His throat scraped. “Don’t thank me.”
You halted, surprised by his words. And for a moment Sunghoon was afraid he had been once again too rude without thinking, but then, a shadow of humor softened your mouth subtly, almost careful. Not a smile, exactly. But something that said you weren’t afraid to meet him where he stood — not anymore.
“Alright,” you said. “I take my formal thanks back. Yet still — I am grateful.”
Sunghoon swallowed. The morning was too bright for how fragile he suddenly felt, the air too clean for the way his chest still tasted like fear. And his hands-bandaged too roughly for what he wanted.
“Your turn,” you remembered.
“I’m grateful too,” he admitted. “For what you did the other night. It saved my month.”
“It just didn’t feel right,” you replied, your brows drawing together — that small divot returning like an old habit, and Sunghoon couldn’t help but feel that familiar heat rising anyway, quick and instinctive. Of course it didn’t. Things never did, and somehow the rich always had a way of smoothing the edges down — paying until the world agreed to look away.
The thought sharpened on his tongue, ready to become something ugly.
But then, he caught himself, almost startled by his own reflex because you were standing right in front of him, smaller in the sunlight than you had been under the pool lights and yacht’s dazzle, and looking at him like you meant it.
Sunghoon swallowed, letting the anger fold back into his chest where it belonged.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “After — all of it.”
“My throat hurts a bit,” you said. “And I am smelling water.”
“Smelling water?”
“Not like a wet breeze,” you clarified, almost apologetic for the strangeness of it. “Actual water. Like I am breathing it.”
“It’s normal,” he said. “But you should rest today. Be attentive. If you get a fever, if breathing gets worse, if you feel tired in a way that doesn’t make sense—”
“I know.”
Sunghoon halted then. Of course you did. Someone had already told you — a doctor, perhaps a private one, someone whose name you didn’t have to wait for. The thought put a sour edge on Sunghoon’s tongue, and he hated himself for it.
His gaze dropped instead to the book in your hands.
“You shouldn’t be reading out loud,” he said before he could stop himself. “Not if your throat hurts.”
Your gaze dropped to the book as well, only for a fraction of a second before your gaze encountered him again, and when you did, you smiled.
“Finish it for me, then.”
“What?”
“You said I shouldn’t be reading,” you countered, and he could hear the amusement threading your voice. “But the children will be disappointed if they don’t hear the end.”
You tilted the book toward him. “Finish it for me.”
Sunghoon glanced past you, catching the children still turned toward you both, eyes bright and hungry for gossip.
It was a trap, he knew it, perhaps your whole existence was a trap to him.
He had not come here to perform. He had not come here to sit in a garden playground and read to rich children while his heart tried to hammer itself out of his ribs. And yet — you looked at him as if you were trusting him with something small.
As if you weren’t afraid he would drop it.
He reached out. The bandage on his hand made the motion clumsy, and for the briefest second his fingers brushed against yours as he took the book — the touch more a delirium than a real thing — but it made his whole body go rigid for a moment too long before he walked to the children, sitting where you once did and cleared his throat.
The children stared.
You sat back, allowing your cousin to tumble into you once again, and watching him with the kind of patience that made him feel exposed.
Sunghoon began.
His voice came out awkward at first — too careful, too flat — and he hated the sound of himself in this setting. But soon he caught himself changing voices for the characters, letting a higher pitch slip for one, a rougher edge for another. A child giggled. Then another, a small sequence until your laugh broke through and something warm rose in Sunghoon’s chest, and it took him a long time to notice that it was pride — a foolish pride for making you laugh.
When he finished the book, the children groaned in protest, and he handed it back to you as if it might burn him.
“Thank you,” you said again. And time he didn’t tell you not to, but just nodded, because some refusals felt pointless against you.
Somewhere behind you, a nanny called, and the children broke apart the way children always did — all devotion, and then none at all — feet pattering off across the soft flooring, laughter dissolving into the garden as if it had never been held.
But you stayed — still as a held breath, hands quiet at your sides, your gaze fixed on him like you were waiting for something he hadn’t learned how to give and Sunghoon didn’t know what to do with that.
“I should go,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. His fingers found his jeans on instinct, smoothing at a crease that wasn’t there because perhaps — perhaps he could press order back into his body if he tried hard enough.
You nodded at his saying but as he turned away, you called out his name and he stopped.
He didn’t mean to but his feet simply listened.
It was the first time you had ever said his name, and it landed wrong in the best way, catching him under the ribs. Not only because of your accent, all made in the knottiness of Seoul, but because coming from your mouth it sounded softened and slower, drawn out as if you had stolen it and made it all yours.
“Wait,” you said.
And he did.
“My father,” you continued. “He is in hope that you are going to call — he wanted to thank you properly. And—” You hesitated, the same kind of hesitation you had in the staff hallway: bravery gathering itself again. “He wanted to make sure you are taken care of.”
Sunghoon’s throat tightened at your words. He didn’t want to be taken care of. Not by you. Not by anyone who could turn care into debt.
“I’m fine,” he said automatically, and you looked at him like you already knew it was a lie.
“Dinner,” you said.
Sunghoon blinked. “What?”
“You should come to have dinner,” you repeated. “With us.”
With us.
You didn’t say it, but the meaning was explicit: you were inviting him to have dinner with your family — your family who occupied one of the suites on the rooftop corridor with its vending machine, and it made his reality tilt.
The whole world you belonged to was being offered to him, yet he knew — it was a treasure that was never meant to be touched by him.
“I—” Sunghoon started. “I’m not sure if I can — there’s a policy.”
You nodded at him, and it should’ve been the end of it. But instead, you stepped in — careful as if you knew exactly where too close began and chose to stop just short of it. And the air between you tightened, charged in that quiet way Sunghoon hated because it made him aware of everything at once: your breath, the warmth of skin, the soft, loose strand of hair the breeze had freed.
His hand almost moved on instinct — one simple lift of fingers as if to tuck it back where it belonged but he caught himself and you did it yourself.
“Can I see your phone?” you asked.
“My phone?” he echoed, but his hands were already reaching, unlocking it, placing it in yours like surrender.
He watched you type quickly. He watched the ease of your fingers, the certainty of you — or at least, the way you fake it, because your hands held it too tightly and you were biting at the corner of your lip, smudging on your lipstick and leaving it on the way you had on the night of your first encounter.
“We always have dinner at the resort’s restaurant, I will send you the time,” you said, giving him the phone back. “If you feel like — just come. My father will be more than happy to do something about the policy.”
He stared down at his phone, finding the message you sent to yourself and your name, sitting there as if it belonged.
He looked up, but you were already moving away, as if you knew the moment was too dangerous to linger in.
“Goodbye,” you said, almost under your breath, and Sunghoon’s chest tightened at the sound.
“Bye,” he managed.
You held his gaze for a heartbeat too long, almost as if you were trying to memorize him in daylight, storing the version of him that existed under the sun instead of under dim lights and bad decisions before you finally turned and walked back to where your cousin sat, giving him just a single glance back as if you wanted to check whether he was still there.
Sunghoon found it adorable in a way that terrified him.
It made him want to follow you back — tug at the thin thread you had left behind and see if it would truly hold.
But instead, he ran. Sunghoon found the staff access and took the stairs — two at a time — fleeing so quickly that the encounter began to feel weightless behind him, unreal in that particular way of dreams: gone the moment you wake, but still warm in your skin.
⋆˚꩜｡
Jaeyun had barely arrived for his shift when Sunghoon found him. The air smelled like salt and sunscreen and the faint metallic tang of old engineers.
“I talked to her,” Sunghoon said before even greeting, and the urgency in his tone startled even himself.
“Who?” Jaeyun asked — more reflex than curiosity — because the moment his gaze landed on Sunghoon, the question dissolved on its own, understanding settling without needing an explanation. “Angel.”
Sunghoon corrected him by saying your name before he could even feel self-conscious about the syllables because if he thought about it, he would notice how they were intimate — as if saying them out loud was an admission. It was ridiculous, but it was also true: it felt like the moment he spoke your name, the thread between your lives tightened.
“You lost me,” Jaeyun said. “How did we go from not even knowing her name to you being invited to have dinner with her and her parents tonight?”
Sunghoon explained — or at least, tried to explain — about the yacht, the rescue, the strange gravity of you, the way his body seemed to move toward you before his mind could decide. And although Jaeyun listened with the amusement of someone watching a friend walk willingly into danger everything he said was:
“What are you wearing?”
Sunghoon looked down at himself.
“No,” Jaeyun cut him off immediately. “Tonight. What are you wearing to dinner?”
“I don’t even know if I should—” Sunghoon said.
“You can’t be fucking serious, Park Sunghoon,” Jaeyun cut. “You’re going.”
⋆˚꩜｡
It was around three in the afternoon when Sunghoon received Mr. Hwang’s message approving his dinner with your family, a brief and cold string of words that didn’t even try to hide the warning: this wasn’t a permission, but a leash — Mr. Hwang knew where Sunghoon was — and if he slipped, even if barely, it would not be an accident anymore. It would be a choice. Sunghoon knew the rules — God, he knew it so damn well that even with the approval all written on his phone screen, he felt unsure about it, but then he received your message with a tiny please at the end, and he couldn’t come to care about being smart.
By evening, Sunghoon was freshly showered, hair damp at the nape of his neck, and Jongseong’s suit pressed and scented with Mrs. Kye’s laundry soap like a borrowed dignity.
The host didn’t know him, but a few waiters did, and as he stepped inside, he felt their glances like something material at the back of his neck.
He wasn’t a staff at the moment, nor a guest, and it somehow felt more troublesome than being either.
But then, he saw you — and you saw him too, your lips parting in that one smile you had given him at the playground, and something within him misfired.
The windows were thrown open at your back and the last gold of the day cut through the room, catching on crystal glasses and expensive cutlery until everything glittered underneath it. And you — you looked like you belonged there. Not because of the dress, the jewelry, or the easy curve of your mouth, but because the light itself knew your worth and reached for you as much.
Sunghoon took one steadying breath — yet lost it the moment you stood up, saying something to your parents before you walked toward him, and he had the strange, irrational thought that for as long as he lived, he would know the scent of you and the sound of you approaching him.
“You came,” you whispered, and Sunghoon felt his breath hitching once again. His fingers flexed once at his sides, grounding him back into his body, but he couldn’t find a sentence that didn’t give too much away, so he didn’t give you any.
You didn’t seem to mind it as you led him to your family’s table and introduced him, your finger steady on the cover of his suit.
Your mother was the first to move. Not a polite nod from her chair, nor a measured smile meant for strangers and for which Sunghoon had been prepared — but a real reaction — immediate and strangely human. She stood from where she was, reaching for his hands before Sunghoon could decide what to do with his own, holding him so warmly yet carefully that it surprised him.
“Sunghoon,” your mother called. “I do not feel like I can thank you enough.”
“It was — it was my job, ma’am.”
“No,” she said, and for a moment her warmth sharpened into something almost fierce. “It was more than that to me.”
The words came out darker than she seemed to intend — too honest for a table set in crystal and gold — and she seemed to realize it the moment they landed because her expression shifted then. Embarrassment, perhaps, for letting too much truth rise to the surface in front of people who measured vulnerability like weakness.
“And please,” she added, voice gentler again, “no ma’am.”
She glanced toward your father then. “We are family friends after all.”
“She is right,” your father agreed. He seemed to want to say more, but before he could do so, his phone chimed.
“Byeongseok,” he said, stepping away with a brief excuse and a plea for them to sit before him, and for one moment, Sunghoon could swear he felt you stiffening by his side, your shoulders drawing inward as your hands closed too tightly on the arms of your chair as you sat down, but he couldn’t come to ask the reason behind it.
Not even when your father hung up and the person he supposed to be Byeongseok appeared and greeted your parents like old acquaintances.
Not even when your mother smiled at him with clear familiarity or your father clapped a hand against the younger man’s shoulder with the ease of habit.
Sunghoon didn’t dare to ask — not even when Byeongseok turned to you with a fond smile and bright eyes — simply unable to hide the irrational happiness of seeing you.
You stood up again, allowing Byeongseok to hug you, and when his arms wrapped around your waist, it happened with the ease of someone who had never had to wonder if he was allowed to touch the world like this — like proximity was a language he had been fluent in ever since his childhood. Byeongseok pulled you in without any further question, the fabric of your dress creasing under his grip and his cologne turning into a private air between you, and when his lips chased your temple, something settled inside of Sunghoon. Not a thought, exactly, but not a feeling he could name in a way that could make sense.
There was a sudden flare under his ribs, a reflex like pulling a hand away from the fire, except that there was nowhere to put it — nowhere to hide — and so, he only watched, understanding with a clarity so clean, it made him dizzy. It was what belonging looked like: not asked for, not earned, just assumed.
Byeongseok not only had the type of face women in this island would make lines for, but he knew how to wear his money well — Jongseong’s suit was great, honestly, the best people could find at Jeju’s malls, but anyone who said no one could tell the difference between a suit from the mall and a suit made by a clever designer had never seen the latter and Sunghoon was seeing one — not to mention that Byeongseok made a strange image near you, almost too fitting. Almost too perfect.
And Sunghoon hated the way that thought honed something in him.
The craving hit him suddenly then — sharp and familiar. Smoke at the back of his throat, something bitter enough to burn this feeling out before it rooted itself deeper. His fingers moved through his lips before he could even think about it, placing a cigarette that wasn’t even there.
“Byeongseok,” you said, drawing yourself back. “This is Sunghoon. You might remember him from last night — he was the one who saved me.”
Byeongseok frowned as his gaze fell on Sunghoon, confusion settling heavily over his features because he didn’t recall. But Sunghoon couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t have told this was the man who took you away until you mentioned it.
“Sunghoon — this is Byeongseok, son of my father’s business partner, and my classmate at the university. He was there last night as well.”
“Sunghoon has joined us per her request,” your father explained, nodding briefly toward you.
“Great,” Byeongseok replied immediately, but something about the brightness of his voice felt just half a beat too late, too polished to be entirely sincere.
Byeongseok sat down by your side, and soon enough, his parents arrived, quietly changing the shape of the evening.
Smiles settled into place as though rehearsed beforehand. Greetings were exchanged with the precise familiarity of people who had known each other long enough to stop performing enthusiasm and start performing balance instead.
Byeongseok’s mother smiled often, but Sunghoon quickly realized it was the kind of warmth that could never truly reach the room. And his father looked at the table the way businessmen looked at properties — assessing, categorizing, deciding what belonged naturally and what had merely been allowed inside.
Still, the beginning remained civil.
Byeongseok’s mother asked about Sunghoon’s life in Jeju, and he answered the way he had been trained to answer guests: politely, briefly, and with nothing that couldn’t be more than entertaining — even when she pressed again, head tilted as if she were fishing for a story he could be made into, Sunghoon didn’t give her one. He kept his smile soft and his words cleaner, guiding the conversation along familiar paths without offering anything that could be held too tightly.
But then, the menus arrived.
“Always so many good options,” Byeongseok’s father commented lightly, leaning back in his chair. “What would you recommend, Sunghoon? If staff were allowed to eat those, of course.”
Heat crawled through Sunghoon’s neck before he could even stop it and he had to force his face to keep still. No flinch, no tell, no satisfaction given.
He understood the tactic: Say it smiling, say it soft, and if Sunghoon reacted, Sunghoon would be the problem. Not the man who had said it. That was how this worked.
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened with the unfairness, and the urge to answer with something that would cut back grew bigger — but then, you spoke.
“Sunghoon is here as our guest,” you said, your eyes never even leaving the menu. “Perhaps it would be better to ask the chef.”
The words were light enough that someone outside the table may not even notice them, but Sunghoon did.
Your parents did.
As well as Byeongseok’s.
Byeongseok’s father gave a short laugh then, lifting his hands slightly in surrender.
“I was joking.”
“We know, however, my daughter is right,” your father cut. “Perhaps we should call the chef if we want recommendations — although Jeonbok is calling me tonight.”
He looked up through his menu to your mother.
“What do you think?”
Your mother hummed in agreement, visibly grateful for the shift.
“Would wine match?” she asked.
Sunghoon expected you to smile then, to claim victory, and let your eyes meet him with that one spark you had worn on the playground. Yet it never came. If anything, you turned even more still than before, shoulders drawn in as you had at the beginning of everything, and he understood then, that you were different near these people — quieter — if not non-existent. As if showing too much of yourself was something that could be used against you later, in a quieter room, with words that only sounded nice at the surface but sliced you open if listened to it more carefully.
And the realization settled in his chest like heat.
Protective wasn’t a word he had ever used for feelings. It sounded like something out of a movie, a pretty story for which he couldn’t afford. But whatever this was, it was real.
His knee bumped into yours, perhaps accidentally, or perhaps it was his body leading him to what he should do, but it caught your attention, and you looked at him.
It’s okay, he meant and you bumped him back as though you had understood.
⋆˚꩜｡
Nothing truly happened between the main course and dessert — or at least — nothing that Sunghoon could point to directly.
Every new plate earned a sound from Byeongseok’s mother — too loud for the room and too practiced to be true — but her husband hummed in agreement anyway, and by the time the dessert was served, the table’s volume had swelled because Byeongseok’s family didn’t just fill the room, but took it apart and rebuilt it around themselves, as if the air belonged to them by default.
Sunghoon kept his posture straight. His borrowed suit sat stiff across his shoulders, and his bandaged hand rested in his lap, where no one would ask questions. He nodded when addressed, and answered when appropriate, smiling cleanly and briefly — nothing that could be used later as proof that he had forgotten his place — but the exhaustion crept in anyway.
Not the kind that came from a late shift, but the kind that came from holding yourself still while other people moved freely.
By his side, you had gone even quieter than before, your eyes trained on your plate as if digging at your chocolate sphere required your full concentration.
Sunghoon watched you for a moment too long, his knee still angled toward yours under the table, close enough that he could feel the faintest shift when you moved.
“You are supposed to break it,” Sunghoon said, quiet enough that it couldn’t interfere with the conversation going around the table, but direct enough that it couldn’t be mistaken for nothing. “Not dig.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You break the layer above, not—” he paused, leaning in as if the rest of the table might steal the sentence.
You leaned forward too, almost instinctively — meeting him in the small space he had made until your shoulders nearly brushed and the world narrowed to the dessert between you.
Sunghoon reached out for you, his knuckles brushing yours as he took the spoon from your hand, and the contact short-circuited his brain for a fraction of a second because you were warm, soft, and close enough that he could catch your scent under the restaurant’s citrus polish and your mother’s selected wine — coconut and strawberries, just like the night you met.
His breath caught.
He brought the spoon down and cracked the chocolate shell with one clean press — the surface split neatly, revealing the cake beneath, darker and softer, steam barely rising.
“I knew,” you whispered.
Sunghoon halted then.
Of course you knew. Fancy desserts weren’t a novelty to you — you had probably broken a hundred chocolate shells in your life without thinking twice. You were digging not by ignorance, but because you were buying seconds — letting the chocolate shell and the soft cake beneath it become cover. Something small to hold onto, something to keep your hands moving so you didn’t have to lift your eyes to the furor of the table.
The realization made something in his chest hurt, sudden and sharp, like he had swallowed the wrong thing and it lodged in his throat.
His gaze flicked up to your face before he could stop himself.
You weren’t looking at the dessert anymore — not really — you were looking at him, eyes softened in a way that made the noise around the table feel suddenly far away. And Sunghoon knew he should lean back — put distance where it belonged, fold himself into his place again before anyone could notice.
But you were too close still and he didn’t want to be the one to let go.
He stayed as if staying could be harmless, as if the room couldn’t take this small thing and make it cost — even when your fingers brushed his again, taking in the spoon.
“Thank you regardless,” you said. “And I’m sorry.”
I’m — not I am — and he caught the slip just as you did, your voice already smoothing itself back into I am, back into etiquette, but it was already too late.
Byeongseok’s mother waved her spoon again, mid-story. “And then I told her, I said, ‘You cannot possibly wear that to the chairman’s event.’ Can you imagine? The girl looked like she had been dressed by a toddler—”
The rest of the table chuckled, but not you.
“It’s loud,” he said, and you huffed at him.
“Yes,” you agreed. “It is loud.”
The corner of Sunghoon’s mouth twitched in what could turn into a smile, but it was quickly taken by the way you went quiet again, folding inward until you were nothing but manners and stillness beside all that noise.
He could pretend he didn’t see it — he could — but he didn’t.
Sunghoon let his knee stay angled toward yours under the table, a small act of defiance no one could call out, and felt the decision settle in him with a steadiness that scared him.
“Do you want to leave?” he asked. Your eyebrows furrowed at his sudden question, your surprise flickering across your features, and Sunghoon rushed on before he could talk himself out of it. “Not now, but after — after the dinner is finished — if you want to, we can go somewhere else.”
Your chin dipped once, so small it could have been nothing, yet, it wasn’t.
His voice lowered.
“If you leave by the resort’s main entrance and turn right, you’ll see a park full of red flowers and a black bench — I’ll be there waiting for you.”
⋆˚꩜｡
The bench was colder than July should allow.
It sat at the edge of the small park like a leftover thought — the black paint worn thin by the number of sunsets. And above it, the red flowers flared under the streetlights, clustered and moving only when the wind picked up — Jeju’s sea air slipping in from somewhere beyond the resort’s polished boundaries and carrying salt, damp soil, and the faint sweetness of crushed petals.
Sunghoon sat with his hands clasped together so tight his knuckles ached with the pressure, and his cut pinched underneath the bandage, but even with such discomfort, he couldn’t come to release.
Perhaps because the night air kept biting at his skin, and his body was struggling to keep heat in. Or maybe it was dinner and the way the restaurant’s light had made everything sparkle — it was normal to feel wound too tightly after standing inside wealth for too long, after all — money was a room with no windows, and it made the lungs forget how to expand.
But his gaze kept flicking to the same stretch of road.
The resort’s main entrance was somewhere behind him, out of sight but too close still — and that was the problem. Every second that passed stretched longer, the way time did whenever someone stared at it too directly. And the idea of you not coming settled like a weight under his ribs, heavy enough to make his posture go stiller.
He had spoken too boldly — too recklessly — he had asked a question for which he had no right to ask, offered a door he didn’t even know if you could open. But now that the words were out in the air, he couldn’t pull them back.
Sunghoon couldn’t pretend they hadn’t existed.
He glanced down at his suit — Jongseong’s suit, actually — although it was supposed to have become his the moment he had put it on, but the fabric sat wrong across his shoulders, sleeves a centimeter too small because Jongseong had always been shorter, and it was clear now that he looked like someone he wasn’t — like someone who could sit at your father’s table without feeling the world shift under him.
The thought made his stomach twist.
He dragged in a breath, tasting the air — flowers, damp earth, and the distant trace of cigarette smoke from somewhere down the road and he wondered if he should smoke, but his pack was still in the locker room, safely hidden with his clothes.
And not to mention that he didn’t even know if you mind cigarettes. Perhaps you despite the smell of it as much as Jaeyun, and if you ever came—
God
Sunghoon leaned in, forehead resting against his clasped hands.
But then, he saw a movement in his periphery.
At first it was only a shape separating itself from the dark — a silhouette against the faint spill of light from the resort’s property, slow and hesitant as if the body itself wasn’t sure it was allowed to keep walking. And Sunghoon’s spine straightened before he could stop it, the motion too sudden for him to even have time to consider preventing it.
His heart didn’t leap, exactly — but shifted, like something inside him had been forgotten and finally remembered its existence.
Sunghoon rose. He didn’t mean to do it so quickly, but the bench seemed to push him up anyway, and by the time you reached the edge of the park, he was already standing there, hands useless at his sides, and the night suddenly too loud in his ears.
For a second you only looked at him, chest rising and falling just a bit faster than it should have from such a short walk, and your eyes bright in a way that didn’t match the dim light. As if you had been running internally even when your feet hadn’t.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Sunghoon heard himself say, and hated the way the honesty slipped out before he could catch it.
“I almost didn’t,” you admitted. “My parents were taking forever to go to their room. My mother kept asking if I was tired. If I wanted tea. If I wanted to sleep early.”
“And?”
“And I said yes,” you said, and something small changed in your expression, a flicker of the mischievous he had seen at the playground. “To all of it.”
Sunghoon nodded at you, only once — only because he understood and he didn’t want you to explain further. Explanations could turn into an apology, and he didn’t want your apology — not tonight, not anymore — not when the corners of your lips were already curling into a smile.
You glanced at the bench, and then, at him. “Is this—” you paused. “Is this where you always wait?”
“No,” he said. “Only tonight.”
The words sat between you — true enough to make the space feel thinner, but if anything, you stepped even closer — the red flowers behind you making your skin look warmer than it probably was.
Sunghoon’s hand lifted without his permission — not to touch you, not really, just hovering near your elbow like a reflex, like his body decided to lead you away from danger before his mind had agreed it was allowed. But he caught himself at the last second and dropped it back.
“We should go,” he said then. “Before someone sees.”
“Where?”
“Where do you want to go?”
You glanced toward the road first, watching the faint spill of the resort light that didn’t quite reach the park before you looked back — looked at him, the wind picking and shifting a strand of your hair across your cheek in the process, and he was thankful that you reached for it fastly, tucking it behind your own ear before his hand could mischief again.
“Somewhere,” you said. “Anywhere.”
⋆˚꩜｡
The resort disappeared behind you in trimmed hedges, stone paths, and the last spill of gold light thinning between the trees until it couldn’t reach. Even the air changed. Less citrus polish and more Jeju: salt threaded through the dark laced with tangerine, damp earth, cedar, and something sharp-green from the moss that climbed the trunks like it owned them. Even the sounds shifted as you kept walking, string music and fountain hush traded for insects, a burst of laughter somewhere down the road — the messy life of the island bleeding back in.
Sunghoon led you along a path that dipped and narrowed, the trees thinning until the sky opened. And then the beach was simply there — no staging, no chairs and parasols with Marriotte’s logo, but just the sea moving in slow, endless pulls toward the pale sand.
He stepped down first, shoes sinking just slightly, and you followed — until you didn’t.
You stopped at the line where pavement ended and sand began, staring at the sea for a quiet moment before your gaze dropped to your feet, to the heels that suddenly looked ridiculous here.
“I—” you started, already crouching to slip one off, but the sand shifted under you, breaking your balance.
It had been nothing more than a small slip, your ankle rolling in a way that could have passed unnoticed — but Sunghoon was watching, and before you could pretend it hadn’t happened, his hand had already closed around your forearm, firm and quick, saving you from a fall that would never really come.
Your skin was warm under his grip, summer still caught in you somewhere, and suddenly, you were so close and the night so still. All he could feel was the breeze on his cheeks, your breath feathering against his skin, and the sea hissing at the shore.
“Careful,” he whispered.
You steadied yourself, letting out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh — embarrassed and relieved all at once — before you slipped the heel off properly this time, then the other, holding them by the straps as you finally stepped further.
“Is this one of those beaches where you’re not allowed to go in the water at certain times?”
“Allowed,” he echoed. The word sounded strangely cute coming from you, but it was all wrong out here, too Marriotte, and he hated what that place had taught you to carry.
He bent down and unlaced his shoes, slipping them off before he stepped further, finding where the sea had already touched the sand and left it wet, but he stopped there then, looking over his shoulder at you, as if offering the path with his body.
“Come on,” he said. “This isn’t Marriotte. We can do what we like for a little while.”
You hesitated for a moment, lips parting as though you meant to say something else — but whatever it was, you let it go with a small shake of your head and followed.
Sunghoon kept his pace slower than normal, not looking back fully — just enough to confirm you were still there, a step behind him, heels hooked securely over your fingers — and matching your pace when it slowed, pretending he wasn’t listening to every change in your breathing like it could mean something.
The shoreline pulled in and out, foam thinning and retreating, leaving the sand dark and shining under the moonlight. A small wave slid up in a cold sheet and flattened at Sunghoon’s feet, soaking the hem of his trousers.
“I am sorry,” you said. “I had no idea that my father had invited Byeongseok and his parents. If I had, I would have told you to come some other time. I know they are—” but you never finished. There wasn’t anything you could say that they hadn’t already proven to be, and so, you merely shook your head, your gaze dropping back at your feet. “I am genuinely sorry.”
Sunghoon halted then, not realizing he had done it until you halted too, turning to find him a step behind. He never thought he had any problem with speaking and talking, but now he realized that perhaps whenever he had something serious to say, he needed to go still first.
“Byeongseok,” he began.
“What about him?”
“Are you both a — thing?”
“What?” you laughed, less because you were amused than because you knew you were supposed to be. “He is a friend — kind of, I don’t know.”
You shuddered.
“Our parents have known each other since university and co-founded their first company together,” you explained. “When our mothers got pregnant around the same time, it was already decided that Byeongseok and I should be friends too — actually, when they figured out our genders, even — even marriage was in the talks.”
The world didn’t stop then. The wind kept blowing, tucking loose strands of your hair and sending them through the night in thin ribbons of moonlight. The sea kept hissing at the shore in its slow, indifferent rhythm, as if it had never learned the meaning of names. But Sunghoon went painfully still.
It shouldn’t have made him feel anything — this truth of yours — but it did, because it carried the sharpest fact with it: you could slip away without anyone even touching you. You could turn back toward Marriotte’s gold light and be absorbed by it like you’d never stood here at all. Like this beach was only a pause between rules. Like the night had borrowed you and would have to give you back.
And the thought spiked so suddenly that it made him angry.
Sunghoon worked his jaw once and swallowed hard, as if he could force the feeling down to wherever he kept everything else. But it didn’t go. It stayed lodged in his throat, cold, heavy, and growing harder with every second he didn’t say it out loud: don’t go.
And in the hush of the moment, you continued, your voice slipping into the space before his could, soft and quick, like you were trying to save you both from something.
“It is not so terrible,” you told him, and for a moment he couldn’t tell what you were referring to. “I mean, I am not the type of person who did much — ever since childhood — as you can notice. I did not have much experience with anything. I do not know how to swim, and I only know how to ride a bike because one of my babysitters thought it was absurd that I did not know how at the age of twelve.”
“Twelve?” Sunghoon echoed, his voice softer than he expected. He tried to picture a twelve-year-old you and someone finally deciding you should know how to balance yourself on two wheels. “What else have you never tried?”
“Carnivals, arcades, street food,” you said, and it hurt Sunghoon to notice how you didn’t even seem to go very far into your mind before coming up with those, as if you had already listed all the things life had kept from you, holding it on a secret corner. “I’ve also never played in the rain.”
You didn’t look at him when you said it. You looked at the water instead, and the words hung there a moment — small and wrong against the sea.
“What else do children do?” you asked quietly.
“In Jeju?” Sunghoon echoed, and you shuddered a little because the problem wasn’t Jeju at all, but that you didn’t know what children did anywhere.
His gaze slid past you, down the shoreline, and toward where the harbor lights would be if you followed the coast far enough.
“Fishing boats,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
He glanced back at you. “Have you ever been on one?”
“No,” you laughed, and it sounded like surprise more than amusement. “Not even close.”
Sunghoon didn’t think. He just decided.
“Come.”
“Now?”
He nodded, already moving — already turning it into something inevitable before he could talk himself out of it. Sunghoon stepped into your space, reaching for you. His fingers closing around your wrist, as though he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t anchor you to the moment.
He didn’t look back as he led you along the shoreline. He only tightened his grip once — pulling you farther down the beach with the sound of the sea and his heart pounding against his ears.
⋆˚꩜｡
Sunghoon didn’t stop walking until the sand gave way to wood and damp rope, until the harbor opened up in front of you and it was too late to turn back.
Boats rested low in the water, tied close to the dock as their hulls knocked softly in the tide’s slow pull. The air here was thick with things the resort would’ve scrubbed away: seaweed gone sweet at the rocks, gasoline that never fully left the planks, fish in a way that didn’t come plated, and rope that held the day’s work in its fibers.
He stepped onto the dock and led you between the boats without slowing until he found one smaller than the rest — paint chipped, name faded to something half-forgotten, but still rocking with a stubborn kind of life.
“Is it yours?” you asked.
Sunghoon shook his head, letting go of your hand only so he could climb down first, one hand on the rail, knees bending on instinct as the boat dipped beneath his weight and steadied again.
“It was — is my father’s, but he doesn’t use it anymore,” Sunghoon answered, looking back up at you from the deck.
“It moves,” he warned. “Just — just step where I tell you.”
“You know,” you whispered. “The last time I was on something like this, I slipped and caused chaos — what if I slip again?”
“I’ll jump after you again,” he replied, taking a moment too long to notice how silly he had sounded, but you laughed then — real, and soft — cheeks growing a shade darker beneath the lights, and Sunghoon decided that he didn’t care. He could be as silly as he needed to be to see you like this.
“I am trusting you on this,” you said.
Sunghoon reached up toward you, not offering his hand like something romantic, but lifting his arms like he was preparing to catch you before you could fall.
“Come,” he said, and when you stepped closer, he didn’t give either of you time to second-guess it. His hands found your waist, fingers curling and holding onto as he lifted you.
The boat shifted under him as he brought you down, the deck dipping at the exact wrong moment, and making Sunghoon’s balance break — just a fraction — but he stumbled anyway, the two of you jolting together.
Your lips parted on a gasp, and you were suddenly too close again. The air between you thinned enough that Sunghoon could not only hear but feel it against his mouth, sweet with the strawberry cocktail you had been nursing at dinner and chocolate from the dessert he almost stole from you.
He wasn’t sure what had come to your mind, but your gaze dropped to his lips, and for one stupid second, he thought the deck had tilted again, some tide moving the boat beneath your feet, because he caught himself moving toward you — toward whatever it was.
It was absurd, honestly, how quickly his body betrayed him. How instinct moved first: the pull forward, the half-formed reach, the mind going blank in the same way it did right before a dive.
But then, his mind snapped back in with the same brutal timing it always had, and Sunghoon halted.
He forced his hands to stay where they were. Forced his feet to hold, and his gaze to move up and off your mouth — off the sweet stain of chocolate and strawberries on the air — because if he kept looking, he didn’t trust himself not to finish what his body had started.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The only still point in the middle of a harbor that continued to creak as it always had: water brushing softly against wood, rope shifting overhead, and the hull answering the tide with a slow, patient pull for which Sunghoon couldn’t bring himself to match. But then, you stepped aside, your gaze already skittering away, and searching for anything to hold onto that wasn’t this.
“It is a nice boat,” you said. “Why does your father not use it anymore?”
His fingers flexed once at his sides — a newfound habit to ground him back into his body — as he breathed in.
“He had a stroke a few years ago,” he said, and it came out with the same level of emotion the doctors had said back then, like a fact because well, it was what it was. “It interrupted the blood flow to his spinal cord for long enough — long enough for his legs to stop working.”
It made you turn back at him, your gaze settling on him with a softness Sunghoon didn’t know what to do with because it didn’t feel like pity, not really. It felt like you were staying. As if you’d reached for the ugly truth and, instead of handing it back to him, you were holding one corner of it with your bare hands, because you didn’t want to give it back to him, not when it weighed so much, and it made his breath catch.
He looked away on instinct, jaw tightening as if he could lock the reaction behind his teeth, but his throat still burned anyway, sudden and sharp. The harbor lights blurred for a second on the water’s surface, trembling lines turning softer as he blinked and forced his eyes to behave.
“I am so sorry, Sunghoon,” you said, quietly. “I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for you.”
Something in his chest shifted at the way you said it — for him, not just his father — and it left him unsteady in a way the boat never could. He pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, swallowing once, and then again, as if he could force the feeling down into a place it wouldn’t show.
But he couldn’t — he never could, not with you.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon managed, rough around the edges. Then, after a beat, like the words had to be pried loose: “It was—”
“It was my last year in high school and suddenly I was having to get part-time jobs to help with the bills. University exams and everything that came with it became just a reality that couldn’t be mine,” he said, the words coming out in a rush, like now that he had started, he couldn’t stop. “I graduated by a miracle, I would say — and then I got the job at Marriotte, and it’s not like we are rich, but it gave us some breathing room. They pay well — I mean, not enough to cover a dozen of crystal glasses with one of the most expensive champagnes comfortably—”
“That is why you reacted that way,” you said.
“Desperate?”
“I wasn’t going to use this word.”
Sunghoon’s lips twitched.
“You can be harsh with me, Angel,” he said, and regretted the nickname the second it left his mouth. It sounded too familiar — too owned — but if anything, you smiled at him, ending the distance you had previously created and reaching for him, your thumb brushing the space between his brows.
“You are frowning,” you whispered.
Sunghoon hadn’t noticed it — he couldn’t come to care, actually — all he could think about was the warmth of your thumb, the faint smell of coconuts at your skin, and the sudden, odd urgency in him to keep you there and not let you slip away again.
“Do you want me to take her out a bit?” he asked, his voice lower than he intended. “It’s better once the lights are behind us.”
“The boat?” you asked, and he was surprised by how excited you sounded. “Can you?”
He moved before he could overthink it, reaching past you to the console by the cabin, fingers finding switches and knobs with the muscle memory of a childhood he didn’t talk about much.
The cabin itself crouched in the middle of the boat — small windows clouded with salt, paint chipped, a cheap string of bulbs hanging along a metal frame overhead from one decision he was too young to remember. Warm light spilled onto coiled rope and a cooler shoved against the cabin wall, onto a bucket with a cracked handle and nets bunched like shed skins.
The boat rocked in small answers as he worked, impatient, like it wanted to be out in the water too.
You stepped into the cabin’s shadow, close enough to watch without getting in the way.
The engine coughed when he turned it over, and Sunghoon coaxed it gently — hand steady, voice low under his breath as if the boat could hear him. It sputtered again, then finally caught, a rough vibration running through the deck and up his legs, swallowing the harbor’s quieter noises.
Sunghoon guided the boat out, slow at first, easing past the tighter line of docked vessels. The harbor lights stayed bright behind you for a moment — gold smearing across the water — before they began to thin.
And then, gradually, the world changed. The air opened. The smell of gasoline softened into salt and night. The noises of the docks dissolved into nothing but the sea’s quiet insistence and the boat’s engine thudding like a heartbeat.
You leaned a little, peering past the cabin.
“It is — dark,” you said.
“You aren’t supposed to be looking down.”
“I—”
Sunghoon killed the engine, and the sudden silence landed heavy and solemn, although the boat continued to drift, tide and current doing what they always did, and the hull continued to knock against the water.
“Come,” he said.
Sunghoon stepped out and moved toward the side passage between the cabin and the rail. It was narrow — barely enough for one person to pass without turning sideways, and you seemed to notice it right away.
“Is it — safe?” you asked, and Sunghoon snorted at it.
“Define safe,” he said, because it wasn’t, but there was no other way, and so, he merely turned sideways, giving in a few steps into the narrow patch before he glanced back at you.
“Like this,” he instructed. “Sideways — you can use the cabin for support.”
You did as he said, following him into the gap.
The cabin wall pressed close as you both moved, and only when you reached the bow, the space widened by a few inches — not much, but enough to feel like freedom. The cabin lights were dimmer here, allowing the sky to be everything.
Sunghoon looked at you for a second, taking in the way you stared upward, your lips parting in a gasp you didn’t quite release.
Sunghoon didn’t wait for you to decide. He lowered himself first, back meeting the wood, one arm tucked under his head like he belonged to the boat in a way he didn’t belong anywhere else.
You watched him as if you weren’t sure you were allowed to follow, but then you did anyway, lying down beside him.
Above, the stars were so bright they looked spilled — silver and white against a dark so deep, it swallowed the last memory of the harbor.
And it was so nice to just lie there with you — backs resting against the deck as you watched the stars — as if you both had shared something and were no longer alone with yourselves and your little secrets, because well, you had.
“You know,” you began. “You made me do two things I have never done in the span of a single hour — be in a fishing boat and watch the stars.”
“Have you never watched the stars?” he asked.
“Not really,” you said. “There are too many lights in Seoul, it’s almost impossible to see the stars.”
“That’s a waste.”
You laughed at that — so small and soft — as if the night had pulled it out of you without asking and Sunghoon’s mouth twitched at the sound. He kept his eyes on the sky, knowing it was safer than looking at you, but your laughter stayed in his chest anyway, warm, stubborn, and making something within him shift.
“We could do more,” he said, the words escaping before he could prevent them. “Not tonight, but while you are in Jeju — I could teach you how to swim — there is a public pool nearby, we could go there after my working hours at the resort.”
He was rambling at this point, trying to turn the thing he had just offered into something practical — something that could be scheduled and explained and, if necessary, defended. As if putting it into logistics could make it safer.
“I mean—”
“I would love to,” you cut in. “I genuinely would love to.”
“Tomorrow, if you can,” he said. “Let’s meet on the bench.”
“Tomorrow,” you said. “At our spot.”
“Our spot,” he heard himself agreeing.
Sunghoon couldn’t tell how long you stayed there, the boat drifting and rocking beneath your backs, but it was enough for the air to shift, the night cooling as if the morning had already started to gather itself somewhere out of his sight. And Sunghoon understood, with a clarity that made something within his chest tighten, that soon the world would wake up, and he would have to take you back. Tomorrow was going to come no matter what, and yet still — he wanted it to.
At the luxurious resort of Marriotte, the staff lived by a single unofficial rule: don’t get involved with the guests. Not the gilded men, not the wives, and certainly not the daughters. One slip meant losing everything. But then you stepped too close, and Sunghoon couldn’t bring himself to care (not anymore)
a summer romance divided into two parts｜40K+
PAIRING: lifeguard!Sunghoon x fem!reader
PINTEREST MOODBOARD
PART ONE｜coming soon｜WARNINGS (for this part): poor!boy x rich!girl tropé, kinda forbidden love, Sunghoon is rude to you at the beginning, but we love a man who comes back and yearns, right? right?! slow-burnish, mentions of cuts and blood, alcohol consumption, cigarettes usage, reader almost drowns once, and Sunghoon has to save her
PART TWO｜coming soon｜WARNINGS (for this part): still slow-burnish, but we are finally getting the lovers part, swimming lessons written by a person who doesn’t know how to swim at all (me), skinny dipping, smut, unprotected sex, nipple play, fingering and oral (f. receiving), handjob (m. receiving), shower and semi-public sex (they do it on a boat?!)
When a friendship comes with too much history, rules become necessary. It’s easier to stay safe when you can name the lines you refuse to cross. That’s why Jaeyun has always been so strict about his secret little guide, or at least, he was, until the moment you asked him to sleep with you, and everything started to shatter in his hands like it was never real at all.
a friends to lovers oneshot｜27.7K
PAIRING: Jaeyun x fem!reader
WARNINGS: university au, Jaeyun is an electronic engineer student, kinda nerdy, and too down bad for the reader even though she is a bit of a brat, i am not sure if there’s a plot aside from the smut, nipple play, fingering and oral (f. receiving), handjob, virginity loss, protected and unprotected sex, there’s a fwb situation within, one fight scene between Jaeyun and reader’s ex, and Jayhoon being the most chaotic roommates
PINTEREST MOODBOARD
RULE ZERO: DO NOT RUIN THE FRIENDSHIP
When you were twelve, Jaeyun got you both grounded.
He had the brilliant idea of bringing a bottle of whiskey home — something one of his soccer teammates had stolen from his father’s cabinet and hadn’t known how to get away with now that it had been opened and already had a swig taken from it.
Jaeyun didn’t know why he decided to take charge of it, much less bring it home — he could have just let his teammate deal with it alone, for God’s sake. But perhaps because he liked the thrill of secretly carrying it and the astonishment in your eyes when he took it out of his backpack, he did bring it home.
But the fact was — neither of you drank any of it, yet his brother — the Mr. Perfect, as you used to whisper in each other’s ears — had caught you with your hands on it, and in the end it didn’t matter.
You were grounded for four weeks. No phones, video games, or allowances. You were only allowed to go to school and straight back to your homes — Jaeyun having only the small detour of dropping you off before going to his.
It made you miss the Seoul Annual International Book Fair. A major literary gathering with author events, book markets, and cultural programs that you had been looking forward to.
Nerdy, he had told you, which only made your tears flow even harder, and he felt so bad about it that he gave you a voucher the next morning, a handmade thing that got you laughing when he handed it to you.
Jaeyun had never been much of an artsy type. The voucher was irregular, and his handwriting was so bad you could barely decipher the words free wish — but it was his way of trying, and so, you took it, promising you would use it well.
That was probably when it started: the first page of a guide he would never mean to write, on how not to ruin a friendship that felt bigger than him because as he watched you folding the paper and tucking it into the front pocket of your sweater like a keepsake, he had a sudden clarity that he would do anything not to lose you.
You never really used the voucher.
Eleven years into your friendship, you never once brought it up.
Perhaps because Jaeyun always did everything for you, the voucher seemed useless.
When you got asked for a date for the first time in your life, Jaeyun agreed to go shopping with you without much fanfare, although he despised every second of it. And when you called him afterwards, telling him to come over so you could rant about it, he once again was there without the voucher having even passed through your minds. He simply came and stayed there, listening to you, your backs side to side on the hardwood floor of your bedroom until the walls had turned orange and pink with the sunrise.
When you crashed your father’s car and called him crying, he asked where it had happened with his jacket already on and searching for his keys.
And when you moved out of the university dorms somewhere around your second semester, Jaeyun was carrying your boxes and luggage without you even glancing at his side.
So it felt a bit weird now, seeing you pushing the little thing through the counter — its edges turned so yellow with the advance of the years that he could see it even in the bar’s reddish light — and especially with the words that followed:
“Sleep with me,” you said.
RULE #1: DO NOT ACCEPT RECKLESS REQUESTS
Don’t answer requests she makes when she’s drunk, mad, or sad — that’s when she turns reckless. I’m supposed to get her home, get her water, and let time take the sharp edges off whatever she thought she wanted. If I do my job right, she’ll wake up with a headache — maybe puffy eyes — but no regrets. At least not the kind that have my name on them.
Arcano wasn’t as fierce as the name made it seem.
If Jaeyun were being honest, it was, in fact, a terrible bar. Awful, actually.
The seats were constantly sticky, and the tables were permanently stained with something spilled too long ago. The restrooms always smelled like weed and sex, and there was writing on the walls telling you who to call for a good time — but, awful as it was, it was the only bar on the outskirts of the university, and the drinks were cheap, which made it a reasonable choice for anyone who wanted to get drunk in the middle of a weekday.
Which, apparently, was what you were doing.
You had called him, your voice softened and a little slurred at the edges, even as you tried to keep it brief — trusting him to hear the truth between your words, as he always did — and his body went tight, that low instinct already moving beneath his skin with the need to make it better.
Jaeyun came in without question, his eyes scanning through the dim room. Tables first, booths next, then the bar counter, because putting things in order always helped him keep control — but then he saw you, and his heart hitched hard enough to make his hands unreliable.
Arcano was nearly dark, red bulbs offering more irritation than light, and yet whatever sheen clung to its corners now seemed to gather around you; the glint of bottles, the thin neon humming above the bar. Even the noise shifted, bending your way subtly, as if the room itself couldn’t help but want to be near you.
Or perhaps it was only him — caught on you like gravity, a quiet flaw built into his body that only ever showed itself in your presence.
Across the bar, the music shifted, and someone laughed too loudly as a glass hit the counter with a wet little sound, but none of it reached him the right way, not while you were there, bent toward the counter with your hair falling forward and your shoulders loose with drink and something sharper underneath it.
Jaeyun swallowed and pushed his hair back off his forehead — the gesture automatic in the way habits were — as he closed the last steps in.
You shifted on your stool as he stopped behind you, small and unthinking, leaning back into him as if it was the most natural thing in the world to put your weight onto his chest merely because you trusted him to catch it without ever asking. And he did, his body reacting before his mind did, his arms raising and settling just enough to keep you upright.
He didn’t understand how you did it — how you could recognize him without looking. If your bones had memorized the shape of him and refused to forget even here, in a terrible bar, with alcohol in the air and the whole world pretending not to watch, or if you merely felt the same gravity as him, because you, too, had been built with some quiet flaw that only ever showed itself in his presence.
“Hello,” you said, tipping your head back to look at him.
“Hello, Princess,” he said, leaning in just to drop a kiss on your forehead. But you smelled like vanilla and white flowers — the kind of soft sweetness you always insisted on having threaded through every perfume you owned — and he allowed himself to breathe you for a second more before he let go, sliding onto the stool beside you.
His jeans brushed your bare thigh, and when you turned toward him, he had no other option than to spread his legs further apart, opening space so your knees fit between his; and for a second, Jaeyun’s brain focused on the image, slowly and cruelly, taking the stark line of your skin against denim, the heat of you seeping through a fabric barrier that suddenly felt too thin to be decent. Your knees fit perfectly between his, and the placement was so intimate it might’ve been accidental if he hadn’t felt how quickly his body registered it as right.
He went still.
Not because he didn’t want more contact, but because he did. Because he wanted it in a way that made him feel juvenile, and his restraint could turn into nothing but a costume you’d just tugged at the seam.
So he forced himself to look up, his gaze finding your face like it was the only safe thing left, but it only turned to be worse.
You were flushed from the alcohol, color blooming across your cheeks and the bridge of your nose as if you’d been kissed too many times already. And your eyes were bright in that unfocused way that made his whole body ache with protectiveness and something he refused to name.
Jaeyun swallowed, dropping his gaze before he could stop it — but that was when he saw the dress.
Low-cut, and reckless in the quietest way, exposing your skin in a soft curve that made his throat tighten, not because it wasn’t vulgar or blaring, but merely because it was you — warm, real, and too close.
And resting there, right in the center of it all, was the necklace he’d given you on your fifteenth birthday, the thin chain catching what little light Arcano offered and holding it like a secret. Jaeyun felt something in his chest twist — sharp and familiar. A gift, a promise, a piece of him you’d kept on your skin for years without making a thing of it.
He blinked, dragging his eyes back up, back to your face, as though that could undo what he’d seen. As though looking anywhere else could turn his thoughts into something normal again, but it didn’t.
“You called me,” he said in the end, voice light on purpose, aiming his gaze at the safe edge of your hairline instead of your eyes.
“Is there a question in this statement?” you asked, your head tipping to the side the way it always did when you were teasing him, letting a strand of hair slip loose and rest against your cheek.
Jaeyun huffed a quiet breath through his nose, something that almost counted as a laugh if anyone else had been listening. The bar noise swelled and dipped around you — ice clinking in glasses, a burst of laughter from a booth, the bass thudding like a distant heartbeat — and for a second it made the moment feel ordinary. Like this was just the two of you, playing the same game you’d played a hundred times.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You’re the linguistics genius among us.”
His hand lifted without thinking and brushed the strand away — quick, familiar, and thoughtless — the kind of gesture that belonged to years of friendship, not whatever else was crouched under tonight. He didn’t linger. He didn’t let it become a thing. He just tucked it back like he’d done it before and would do it again. Still, you felt the contact anyway, blinking at him, and it took you a moment to speak again.
“I think there was,” you said, your voice more serious than he expected. “I need to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
You turned halfway on your stool to reach into your purse, and Jaeyun took the moment to breathe — really breathe, looking across the room as his hands found and pushed at his hair, steadying himself.
Overhead, a red bulb faltered, and the neon hissed in — thin, stubborn light clinging on.
“Yun,” you called.
He turned to you again, catching as you slipped the voucher toward him, the piece yellowed into something that didn’t belong to the present. His own handwriting stared up at him, crooked and absurd in the way only a teenage promise could be.
Jaeyun’s lips parted around a question, but the words slipped before they could reach his mouth.
“I’m using it,” you announced, slurring just enough for the words to snag on each other — but not enough to take the weight of the words that followed:
“Sleep with me.”
Jaeyun inhaled too fast and choked on the air, like the sentence had gone straight for his throat and his body refused to swallow it. He coughed once, twice, eyes watering, and hated himself for how obvious it was.
“Drink,” you said, lifting your glass toward him — offering it with the careless kindness of someone who had no understanding of the damage they were capable of causing.
Jaeyun pictured you rummaging through your drawers for the voucher, trying to guess when the decision had formed. Whether it had been planned. Whether it had been impulsive. Whether the dress had been chosen with him in mind-
He didn’t get to finish the thought.
He took the glass too fast, his thumb grazing your knuckle — more an echo of a touch than a touch itself — but his whole body registered it like a confession. And he forced himself to bring it to his mouth and swallow it. The liquor burned his throat, cheap and harsh and useless, and then — for one horrifying second — he tasted you there, sweet and faint beneath the sting.
He set it down.
“What—” he tried, and his voice came out wrong. He cleared his throat. “Where’s Baekhyeon?”
Because it felt reasonable to ask where your boyfriend was when you were asking him to sleep with you.
Your eyes gleamed at the name and then cleared just as quickly. Whatever that feeling was, it was banished with a blink before you reached for your glass again, considering the few drops he’d left.
“We broke up,” you said.
“When?”
“Today — or yesterday.” Your brow creased. “I’m not sure. What time is it?”
“But why?”
You shuddered, already turning toward the bartender for another drink, but Jaeyun reached for your wrist and drew you back in. His hands were cold against your warm skin, and a shiver danced across you, strong enough to make your shoulders tremble.
He let go.
“Princess, talk to me,” he said. “What happened?”
And so you told him, your words coming rushed and messed up, one long stream being pulled out of you because now that you’d started, you couldn’t afford to stop. You told him how Baekhyeon had gotten quieter ever since he started his internship. How he’d been thinking, whatever that meant. How he wasn’t so sure anymore, like your relationship was a class he could drop mid-semester. And when you’d asked where it put you, all you got were half-answers and that look people had when they were already gone but didn’t want to be the villain.
“And it is so humiliating, Yun,” you said, your hands dragging down your face, hiding it as you folded forward and rested on him again — forehead against his shoulder, your whole body fitting into the space between his thighs like it had always known where to go.
Jaeyun reached out without thinking, one hand settling at the small of your back as the other slid into your hair, fingers tangling gently there — holding you together in the only way he knew how.
“It’s not like I thought he was going to be my forever one,” you said. “But I thought that — God, I’m — I’m a virgin in university, Jaeyun. Do you know how insane that sounds? Especially after having a boyfriend? It’s like I’m — defective.”
The whole sentence hit and sank in with a dull ache, shifting a fault line in him so sharply his whole body twitched. His fingers flexed against you, tightening at your back before he could stop himself, because this was simply his first instinct: pull you in, hold you tighter, so perhaps he could keep you from breaking by sheer force of his will.
But then he hated himself for it — for the greedy relief that came with the feeling of you against him, for the way wanting and protecting acquired the same face in his body — and he loosened his grip immediately, forcing his touch back into something safer, something that could still pass as friendship.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“I’m feeling terrible,” you muttered. “Like I might have done something wrong in my life.”
“Princess,” he said again, the nickname rolling softly through the air, and for a moment, it didn’t feel like a joke at all. “Look at me.”
You shook your head, stubborn even like this, forehead still pressed where you’d chosen to hide. And Jaeyun exhaled through his nose, trying to sand the edge off himself before it could cut you.
“You’re drunk,” he told you. “And you’re not thinking straight.”
You didn’t react this time — which somehow made it worse.
“Come on,” he said, his hands slipping away only so they could find you again, but this time, somewhere safer. His palms spread on the bare skin of your arms to guide you up. “I’m taking you home.”
“But—” you began, your gaze sliding to the voucher.
Jaeyun reached for it and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans, taking it out of your sight as though he could make the exchange never happen — like merely hiding it could erase the fact that something had moved inside his chest with your ask, and now refused to calm down.
“I’ll keep it safe,” he said, and the promise tasted like something older than tonight.
He helped you off the stool with one hand at your waist as the other caught your purse, looping it around his wrist before he returned it to your elbow — steadying and guiding, making sure your feet landed where they were supposed to.
You swayed into him, coming so close that when you spoke, he not only heard you, but felt it through his skin.
“You always do.”
Jaeyun’s fingers flexed once again at your side.
“Yeah,” he said, looking ahead as he led you through the mess of bodies and sticky tables. “I know.”
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Outside, it was already spring in theory, but in practice, Arcano’s door swung shut behind you, and the night folded over — winter still pressing into April nights, and making it chilly.
The sidewalk out in front was uneven in that neglected-university-outskirts way, broken slabs and hairline cracks waiting for someone careless, and tonight, that someone was you.
Jaeyun watched as you made it three steps before you stumbled. It had been nothing significant, just your ankle rolling in a way that could have passed unnoticed — but he was watching, and before you could pretend that it hadn’t happened, his hand had already closed around your forearm, firm and quickly, holding you.
He brought you closer to him on instinct, the lines of your bodies collapsing and melting under the same yellow wash of streetlight, and when you looked up at him, it gathered in your eyes in tiny gold flashes, softening you at the edges, and making you look heartbreakingly close; the tiny gasp you released warming his mouth.
“Easy,” he muttered.
“I am being easy,” you argued, but you made no effort to disengage yourself from him, and so, neither did he — letting you both stay in the dim hush of the night for a moment more before he finally eased back, shrugging out of his jacket and easing you into it, one sleeve first and then the other.
Jaeyun gave your purse back, and only when your fingers closed around it did he turn and drop into a crouch in front of you — shoulders broad and steady on purpose.
“What are you doing?” you asked.
“Taking you home,” he replied. “Get on.”
“I can walk.”
“You can barely negotiate a curb,” he argued. “Get on.”
Jaeyun waited then, bracing himself for another surge of protest, but instead, you leaned forward, your arms sliding around his shoulders, automatic, and with the kind of trust that never failed to set a quiet ache behind his ribs.
But if anything, he hooked his hands under your thighs and stood, letting your weight settle against him and your cheek to press into the side of his neck, warm and familiar.
“This is a bit embarrassing.”
“This is practical,” Jaeyun said. “Better than having to take you to the hospital over an ankle you refuse to admit you could break.”
You hummed, and he huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, tightening his hold as if you could slip out of his hands.
As if he would let you.
“Princess,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, “you’re going to be the death of me someday.”
You didn’t react this time — either because you didn’t hear it, or because your hazy mind had already filed it somewhere dangerous for tomorrow — but in any case, Jaeyun kept walking.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Jaeyun’s apartment building greeted you in the same failing way it always did. The hallway light flickered with stubborn inconsistency, always seeming one second away from burning out, and the front door still refused to open unless someone met it with a shoulder and a certain amount of conviction.
He did it one-handed, you still on his back and refusing to let go even when he had to fumble for the key, his free hand going to his pockets once, twice, while the other kept you anchored against him, steadying you with the same absent care, as though you were simply part of the equation.
Inside, the living room looked exactly the way it always did — dim, cramped, familiar in the ugly way cheap rent always was. Sneakers lay abandoned near the entrance like they’d given up halfway through the day. A laundry basket sat in the corner with the quiet menace of something that had been ignored too long.
And a few steps in, Sunghoon was there — barefoot, hair damp, skin still carrying that clean, just-showered warmth, as if he’d stepped out of steam and decided the world could handle itself for a while.
His gaze flicked to you, draped over Jaeyun, then back to him, and his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“She really can do whatever she wants to you,” he said, flat as anything.
At the sound of his roommate’s voice, Jaeyun felt you shift against him, lifting your head just enough for the night’s air to slip into the space you’d made.
“Hello, Hoon,” you said.
“Hello, Princess.”
The hallway light blinked out, wiping your shadows clean for a quiet beat before Sunghoon shifted, and the sensor caught it, coaxing the bulb back to life. Jaeyun adjusted his grip like it meant nothing, like you weren’t warm against him in all the places he worked hardest not to think about. You shifted at his back once more, settling and slipping, and his shoulders tightened on reflex — prepared to steady you, prepared for anything — except your next words.
“If Yun doesn’t, would you do it with me, Hoon?”
“Do wh—”
“Nothing,” Jaeyun snapped. “She’s drunk, and I’m taking her to my room.”
Sunghoon’s brows rose at his roommate’s urgency, his mouth twitching deeper, but he didn’t push. If anything, he stepped back, clearing the way like Jaeyun needed permission at all.
“Tell me tomorrow, Princess,” Sunghoon called after you, loud enough to be heard down the hall. “Though I’m pretty sure Jaeyun will do it for you.”
Jaeyun didn’t give you the chance to answer.
He was already moving, turning down the hall. And when he reached his room, he shifted your weight higher with a small, efficient jerk of his arms, then shoved the door open with his shoulder.
The motion-sensor light in the hallway faltered again behind you, a brief blink of dark, and then the room swallowed you whole — quieter, warmer, smelling faintly of detergent, old cologne and whatever Jaeyun used to pretend he didn’t care about.
He stepped into his room and kicked the door shut with his heel, shutting the rest of the apartment out — Sunghoon’s smugness, the hallway’s flicker, all of it cut off as if it had never happened.
Yet still, he didn’t set you down. Jaeyun carried you the last few steps to his bed, and when he finally tried to set you down, you clung tighter — arms locking around his shoulders as your thighs pressed against his sides.
“No,” you said, and there was no explanation required. It didn’t matter that it had been six months since you last shared a bed. He knew your rules just as much as he knew his: you didn’t do beds before a shower — much less in outside clothes. You didn’t even sit on them in anything that had been out in public.
“Princess,” he sighed. “It’s my bed. I don’t have that rule.”
“Your bed is contaminated,” you decided.
Jaeyun went still for a second, like sheer willpower might make you reasonable. But it didn’t. You stayed latched onto him, stubborn as a vow, and he realized — again — how useless he’d always been at saying no to you.
He sighed again.
“Fine,” he said. “Fine — let’s take a shower first.”
He tried to lower you, shifting his hands to set you down properly, but the moment your heels brushed the floor, you stiffened in protest, clinging harder.
“No shoes inside,” you reminded him, as if he were the one being difficult.
Jaeyun’s eyes shut for a brief beat — his surrender arriving the way it always did with you, tender and doomed.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”
He crouched carefully, still keeping one arm hooked around your legs so you wouldn’t tip, and reached for the thin strap of your heel. His fingers worked quickly and practiced, undoing what he could without looking like he was paying attention.
Only when both heels had slipped free did he straighten again — and only then did you finally loosen, sliding down from his back. Jaeyun kept his hands on you the whole time, steadying you through the transfer, guiding you down until your bare feet found the floor without a stumble.
“There,” he said. “Now cooperate.”
Jaeyun went to his drawer and pulled out a t-shirt so old it had softened past saving, turned into the kind of thing that should’ve been discarded a long time ago. But it was the one you always chose when you slept over, and so it stayed — stupidly and hopefully, waiting for you.
He pushed his hair back off his forehead, his hand lingering there for a beat before he reached for a towel and stood up.
“Come,” he said then, placing his hand behind his back to encourage you to catch up and grab it.
You held hands across the apartment and into the bathroom, letting go only when Jaeyun reached for the switch and snapped the light on — white and harsh in a way that suddenly made the night tangible.
“The lock is broken,” Jaeyun said.
“Wasn’t Jongseong going to fix it months ago?” you asked.
Jongseong had, but it broke again and again, and by the fourth time, the three of them had decided it was what it was and left it to its habits.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said. “Can you handle yourself?”
You leaned against the sink, head tipping to the side. Your necklace sparkled with the movement, catching the bathroom light in thin, bright flickers, and all at once, he regretted asking.
It all felt too real, too reckless. What if you asked him to stay and help you, as it had happened a dozen times before Baekhyeon?
He couldn’t trust himself to make good decisions — couldn’t trust himself to help you out of your dress without looking. Not with the voucher still in the pocket of his jeans and your words coiling through his mind, slowly displacing all his other thoughts.
He was suddenly wild under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom.
“I’ll be right outside,” he said, reaching past you to set the towel on the counter, then the shirt beside it — lining them up like order could keep the night under control. “Take your time.”
“Okay.”
Jaeyun didn’t say anything as he stepped out. He merely pulled the door shut and folded himself down in front of it — knees up, forearms crossed above them, and his fingers tightening against the sides of his jeans for a quiet moment before he let go.
From inside the bathroom came the soft shift of fabric. Then the small, telltale clink of something against porcelain — your necklace, surely your necklace — before the water finally started to run. And Jaeyun let out a slow breath he couldn’t quite believe in.
It wasn’t the first time he’d guarded a door for you, and he should’ve known how to breathe through it by now.
But tonight had reached in and rearranged all the defenses he’d built, and now he was back at the beginning with nothing solid to brace against. His fingers flexed once again, anchoring himself to the pressure and the bone, and making him almost miss the complaint of a floorboard down the hall.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jongseong’s voice carried from the hallway. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“The lock doesn’t work,” Jaeyun said.
“It never worked.”
“She’s inside.”
“Who?” Jongseong asked — more reflex than curiosity — because the moment his gaze landed on Jaeyun, the question dissolved on its own, understanding settling without needing a name.
“Oh, it’s been a while,” he said, and Jaeyun’s mouth tightened, the words pressing an old bruise.
It had been six months since you last slept there, to be exact — the same amount of time you’d been with Baekhyeon, and the same amount of time Jaeyun had been pretending the distance was natural. Reasonable. Maybe even healthy.
It wasn’t as if Baekhyeon had forbidden your friendship with him, or your sleepovers at this apartment. Baekhyeon was—
Jaeyun’s mind halted.
For a second, he tried to call him nice, the word rising up like it wanted to be fair, but then he recoiled from the generosity of it.
Nice didn’t matter. Nice didn’t change what it meant to watch you choose someone else. Nice didn’t stop the humiliating clarity of memory: the shape of you curled into his bed like you belonged there, the way you’d mutter his name half-asleep when you couldn’t find the edge of the blanket — then the way he’d learned, almost overnight, how to live without it. And so, he said nothing, merely breathing out, real slow, between barely parted lips, which ended up being louder than anything he could have said.
Jongseong leaned back against the opposite wall and crossed his arms, staking out the space without saying a word because that was how he always did. He didn’t press — never that. Jongseong just stayed, letting the world breathe between them until it started to feel like an invitation people never knew how to refuse.
Jaeyun looked away.
“She called,” he said. “She was at Arcano. Drunk — not falling-over drunk — but enough.”
“Baekhyeon?” Jongseong asked, not because he was looking for gossip, but because it was logistics. It was the obvious missing piece.
“They broke up — he broke up with her,” he said. “Something about not being sure anymore now that he met someone else.”
“Damn.”
Jaeyun hummed in agreement, and because he didn’t know how to bring up the topic, he merely said: “She asked me to sleep with her.”
Jongseong blinked — actually blinked, like his brain had dropped a piece on the floor.
“She asked you,” he repeated.
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed. “Yeah.”
“To sleep with her.”
The words hung there between them, obscene in how plainly they fit the shape of the night. Jaeyun breathed out slowly through his nose, like the air itself didn’t want to make room for them.
“And you said?” Jongseong asked, though his tone already suggested he knew the answer. Everyone knew Jaeyun’s reputation. Everyone knew he didn’t say no to much — especially not to you.
“I said no,” Jaeyun replied.
Jongseong stared at him, then let out a low whistle like he couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or concerned.
“Don’t make it weird,” Jaeyun muttered.
“I’m not making it weird,” Jongseong said. “I’m just—” He paused, pondering what his next words should be. “You’re kind of famous for not being the guy who says no. Not to her.”
Jaeyun’s lips parted, his tongue already rolling in to say something, but the words stuttered and stammered, refusing to leave immediately, and Jongseong shifted his weight, glancing down the hallway once as if checking whether Sunghoon would appear and make this worse. But when no one did, he looked back at Jaeyun and waited again.
Of course he did.
Behind the door, the shower shifted pitch — water on tile instead of skin, the soft scrape of movement as you’d turned under the stream — and Jaeyun’s shoulders tightened at the sound, reflexive and stupid, like his body wanted to go in there and steady you with his hands.
He forced himself to stay where he was.
“You know what the problem is?” Jaeyun asked.
“Tell me.”
“I know her,” he said, and he hated himself for how quickly it came out, like a confession that had been waiting all night. “I know she meant it.”
Jongseong’s expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“But what if it changes something?” he asked. “I could say yes, and for one night I’d get—”
He cut himself off, shoving his hair back as if he could physically push the thought out of his head.
“Fuck — I’d get something I’ve wanted for a long time.”
“And then?”
“And then she’d wake up, and something could flick.” Jaeyun said. “Like she’d look at me and realize she made a mistake. Like she’d hate me for letting her.” His grip tightened once, then loosened. “Like I’d lose the only part of her I’m allowed to have.”
The hallway seemed to draw in around him, the air thickening as if it could listen. And Jaeyun lowered his voice in response.
“I’d rather have just a part of her forever than have her entirely for a night and lose her in the morning.”
“That’s — that’s more honest than I expected.”
Jaeyun let out a humorless breath. “Thank you.”
“I’m not done,” Jongseong said, because of course he wasn’t. “You’re treating having her like it’s one thing.”
Jaeyun frowned, irritation returning on instinct because it was safer than admitting Jongseong was right.
“It’s either you stay in the safe version of your friendship forever — half-measures, unsaid things — or you sleep with her and blow it up.”
“But it could happen.”
“But it also couldn’t — not if you do it in the right way.”
“In the right way,” Jaeyun scoffed. “That clears everything up.”
“When she’s sober,” Jongseong continued, ignoring the sarcasm like it was a symptom. “You tell her the truth she can use.”
“Like what?”
“You tell her you said no because she was drunk.”
“Obviously.”
“And you tell her you care about her too much to risk the friendship over a night.”
Jaeyun’s stomach tightened. The sentence was clean in the way apologies were clean — neat edges, no mess, nothing anyone could accuse him of — and it sounded like something he was allowed to say.
But it wasn’t the real reason, though. The real reason lived lower in him, hot and humiliating because of the selfishness of it.
Jaeyun cared too much to let you choose him with alcohol blurring the corners, too much to wake up and find your eyes clear and horrified — he cared much to have his name become the sharpest part of your regret.
He didn’t want a night he’d have to defend. He wanted a tomorrow that didn’t require forgiveness.
“And if she guarantees nothing will change?” he asked, and his voice sounded small there, drowned out by the fantasy of it.
“You decide,” Jongseong said. “You do it, or you don’t. But don’t lie to yourself that you can keep something by freezing it.”
“I can keep it by not touching it.”
“And you can lose it that way too,” Jongseong said, immediately and all at once making Jaeyun halt. “You’re already changing. She’s already changing. Baekhyeon happened. Tonight happened.”
“So what?” Jaeyun asked. “You think I should accept?”
“I think you should accept the conversation,” Jongseong corrected. “Not the drunk proposal. Not the chaos. Not the one-night disaster you’re picturing.”
He paused, just long enough for Jaeyun to swallow.
“It’s the best way,” Jongseong added. “Because it’s the only way she gets to choose you with a clear head — and you get to be chosen without feeling like you stole it.”
“Fine,” he said. “I will talk to her tomorrow — when she’s sober.”
“Good.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, but then Jongseong nodded toward the bathroom door with a faint grimace that tried to pass for humor. “Rap on my door when she’s done, yeah? I need to use the bathroom, and I don’t feel like getting murdered for walking in on — whatever this is.”
Jaeyun shot him a look, but if anything, Jongseong’s mouth quirked, teasing and mean, as he turned and started back toward his room, leaving Jaeyun alone with the thin shaft of light coming from under the door, the broken lock, and the sound of you moving on the other side — alive, breathing, and close enough to ruin him if he let himself reach.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
The bathroom door opened with a tiny complaint from its hinges. Your figure momentarily silhouetted against the spill of light before he blinked and put you into focus, barefoot, hair slicked back and tucked behind your ears, cheeks still flushed from the shower, alcohol, and something that didn’t belong to soap or steam. His old shirt hung off you all wrong and yet perfectly: too big in the shoulders, too long in the hem, but familiar in a way that made Jaeyun’s chest tighten.
Perhaps he was dreaming this night.
“I thought I heard someone,” you whispered.
“It was Jongseong,” he replied, smoothing his tone into something casual, in the hope that you wouldn’t notice the way Jongseong’s appearance now sat warm and heavy beneath his ribs, pulsing each time he breathed, threatening to spill.
“Did we wake him up?”
Jaeyun shook his head and pushed himself up, his joints protesting with stiffness from the position and from the sheer act of not moving every time his instincts had told him to go in and make sure you were okay. “No. He just needed the bathroom.”
You nodded at him, and Jaeyun reached his hand to you, the gesture so unconscious, he didn’t notice he had done it until you reached back to him, fingers finding the slots between his, and intertwining your hands.
“Let’s go,” he murmured, already turning and guiding you down the short stretch of hall.
He wasn’t sure what time it was, but when he opened the door to his room, the world outside seemed vivid in comparison, a mist of light blue and purple coming through his open window, and spilling across the rumpled sheets and the scatter of things that made the space undeniably his: a jacket draped over the chair like it had been forgotten mid-thought, a half-open book, and a glass of water caught a thin slice of shine. The air was warmer in here, carrying the faint, familiar mix of laundry soap and skin and something clean underneath everything that had happened.
“Lie down,” Jaeyun said, swinging your interlaced hands toward the bed even though he expected you to refuse, saying something about contamination or demanding clean sheets, and forcing him into the familiar rhythm of your rules because that was how it always went — he was already halfway bracing for it, already planning how to humor you through it without letting his hands linger where they shouldn’t — but you moved then, slipping from his touch and laying on the mattress without protest. And it was somehow worse than anything.
“Princess,” he called, not really sure what the rest of the phrase was supposed to be, and the nickname hung in the air longer than it was necessary.
“Aren’t you coming?” you asked, and he was caught by the simplicity of it.
“Close your eyes,” Jaeyun said. “I’m going to get changed first.”
You made a small sound that almost counted as a snort, like the idea of him needing you not to look was ridiculous. But you did it anyway — eyes shut, face turned into his pillow, going still with the kind of obedience you only ever gave him when you didn’t want to argue.
Jaeyun changed quickly, like speed could make him safer. Jeans off. Sweatpants on. Shirt pulled over his head and tossed it somewhere he refused to look at. He kept his movements efficient, controlled — all about angles and purpose — because he couldn’t afford softness. Couldn’t afford the way tenderness turned reckless when it had nowhere to go.
By the time he finished, you hadn’t moved, and for a moment, he thought you’d fallen asleep, your body finally ceasing. But when he stepped closer, you opened your eyes, the dim light catching in them like a held secret, glazing along your lashes, turning your gaze into something soft and deep, as if whatever remained of the light had found a way to live inside you.
And Jaeyun hovered at the edge, forgetting for a beat how to be anything but pulled in.
He sat on the bed, and you shifted closer, cheek pressing deeper into his pillow like it belonged there — like you belonged there.
And the fact that you were smelling like him didn’t help. His shampoo was tangled in your damp hair. His soap clinging to your skin. The boring smell of him with something sweet underneath — vanilla and white flowers — threaded through it all. Like the night had taken the parts of him that were supposed to be private and braided them through you.
He wouldn’t sleep tonight.
“Yun,” you called. “About what I said—”
“Just sleep,” he cut in. “We can talk tomorrow.”
Your mouth parted as if you wanted to argue on principle. But your body betrayed you in the softest way: your breathing deepened, your fingers loosened on the sheet, your forehead sank into his pillow as if it was the only safe thing left in the world.
Jaeyun lay down beside you before he could think too hard about it, keeping the space between your bodies like a rule — a boundary he could hold — but you drifted closer inch by inch, pulled by some instinct that had never learned to be afraid of him. Your knee brushed his leg. Your hand settled near his, warm and lax, fingers curved like they might reach if you dreamed the right dream.
Jaeyun didn’t move. He only stared at the ceiling and listened to you breathe — slow and even — trying not to count it.
Tomorrow, he told himself.
Tomorrow, he would be brave. Tomorrow he would say the right things — the usable truth, as Jongseong had called — the truth you could hold without cutting yourself on it.
Tomorrow, he would not ruin you, or the fragile shape of a friendship he’d carried for years like a glass of water.
But tonight—
He turned his head just enough to look at you, and stayed awake anyway — guarding the morning like it was the most dangerous thing he’d ever faced.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Jaeyun woke up to the morning sunlight filtering through the still-open window of his bedroom, and you curled into him, cheek on his shoulder, as your hand rested on his chest.
He didn’t move — he couldn’t bring himself to move — he didn’t even let his breath deepen because his first thought was the same one it had always been, old as instinct and just as merciless: don’t wake you. Don’t jolt you out of whatever gentle, thoughtless trust had guided you here in the dark and kept you here in the light. He merely stared at your hand on his chest.
Your fingers were loose, resting over his heartbeat like they’d found it by memory. Like your body had reached for the most familiar thing in the room and settled before your mind could intervene.
He swallowed.
The sunlight was falling in slow stripes across the sheets and across the line of your shoulder beneath his shirt, turning the old cotton into something almost translucent, and catching on your necklace. Dust drifted through the brightness like the morning was innocent — like the world hadn’t heard what you’d asked for last night, hadn’t seen the way his restraint had shaken under the skin.
He’d stayed the whole night trying to remain as far as he could tell. And still, here you were — curled into him like this was allowed. Like this was fine. Like you belonged in the hollow of his shoulder with your palm over his heart, claiming the one part of him he’d never learned how to hide.
You made a small sound in your throat, barely more than a breath, and nudged closer, your knee tucking nearer, your fingers flexing once against his shirt, and the heat of you spread through him like something inevitable.
His gaze drifted to your face.
Sleep had unmade you cruel in its sweetness; your lashes cast a faint shadow under your eyes; your mouth was parted just slightly, softened by the quiet. There was no teasing there, no armor, no bright deflection — only you, unguarded, and breathing against his shoulder like you trusted him to hold.
Because he would — he always would.
Jaeyun swallowed and very carefully — so carefully it bordered on absurd — slid his arm out from beneath your head, immediately receiving a small sound of protest from you, brows drawing together, and for one panicked second, he thought you’d wake.
But if anything, you only turned your face further into his pillow, drifting your hand from his chest to the sheet between you.
Jaeyun sat up slowly, pushing his hair back off his forehead as if he could physically push the feeling out, and looked at you once more.
Then he reached for the blanket and pulled it higher, covering you with a tenderness that felt dangerously close to a confession — tucking the edge beneath your arm, smoothing it down over your ribs, restoring order because order was the only thing that kept him from doing something reckless — before he stood up, crossing the room barefoot.
Jaeyun left the room, pulling the door nearly shut behind him, careful not to let the latch click.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
The kitchen met him as it always did on weekdays.
The sink was crowded with his roommate’s morning small evasions — a cup abandoned to the drying rack, a plate left half-rinsed as if someone had set it down and decided they couldn’t be bothered to finish. Old coffee grounds sat in the filter, gone cold and sour, and the air held that faint, stubborn bitterness like it had seeped into the walls.
Jaeyun stood in the middle of it all for a moment, then two — trying to make his brain behave.
Tomorrow, he had said, and it was tomorrow.
He exhaled through his nose and opened the fridge, scanning the shelves as if the answer to what to do with his hands might be hiding behind the milk, but not even this they had. There were eggs, half a loaf of bread, butter, something green that had once been vegetables in a kinder timeline, and the strawberries he bought weekly and kept in the back, pretending it wasn’t for you.
He closed the door on impulse, pushing his hair back off his forehead before he reopened it and grabbed the eggs.
Jaeyun had never been a breakfast person, but he needed something to do with his hands that morning, and so, he warmed the pan, melting the butter as he had seen you do a dozen times.
He cracked the first egg too hard, and a piece of shell fell in, forcing him to fish it out with the edge of a fork with a curse under his breath. The second one cracked clean. And he caught himself staring at it for a second, mildly offended by success.
He scrambled the eggs like he was negotiating with them — low heat, constant movement, refusing to let them burn. The toast popped up too dark on one side, and he had scraped it with a knife.
He got strawberries in the back of the fridge, rinsed them, and set them on a plate.
And by the time it started to look like something someone might eat, he heard you, softly coming down the hall and making the air shift, the apartment itself holding its breath.
Jaeyun turned, and there you were in the doorway — his shirt hanging off you, hair a mess, eyes brighter than they had any right to be.
Your gaze landed on the plates — on the counter, catching the eggshells still on it, the crumbs of his burned toast, and the strawberry tops before it moved to him.
“You made breakfast,” you said, the corner of your lips shifting into a smile.
“I’m aware.”
You padded toward him, bare feet on the kitchen tile, and suddenly you were so close, he could smell you, his soap still clinging to your skin. Your eyes were puffy, your cheeks still a little flushed, but the embarrassment had already arrived; Jaeyun could see it in the way you held your shoulders, in the way your gaze didn’t stay on his for too long.
“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly.
Jaeyun leaned his hip against the counter, arms crossing because if he didn’t put his body in order, his face might betray him. “You were drunk. You called me. I picked you up. That’s not like it never happened.”
“I remember what I said.”
Jaeyun went still.
“I’m not going to pretend I don’t,” you said. “Or that I said it only because I was drunk — I mean, I was drunk.”
You paused, heat creeping up to your cheeks and making it a tone warmer.
“Jaeyun, I’m—” You pressed your palm to your forehead briefly, as if you could push the shame back inside. “I’m in university. I’m still a virgin. And it’s not even because I’m some — saint. It’s because I kept waiting for the right moment.”
Your voice dropped. “But now it just feels like I’ve been standing still while everyone else moved.”
Something moved in Jaeyun’s chest then — sharp, protective, and making him push himself off the counter before he meant to, closing the space between you in a step he didn’t ask permission for.
“Princess,” he called, his voice as soft as the way his arms eased apart, but he didn’t touch you. Didn’t put his hands on your shoulders or tuck your hair back or do any of the things his body begged him to do on autopilot — because this was morning, and you were sober, and this mattered.
“You don’t owe anyone a timeline,” he said. “And you don’t have to make it some performance to prove something.”
“I know, Yun, it’s just that—” Your mouth tightened, lips pressing as you searched for the shape of the truth. “When I think about it, I keep coming to the conclusion that it would be safe if it were with you.”
“Do you remember that party at Seoyeon’s where they did that stupid bottle game, and we both had our first kisses in her parents’ closet?” you asked. Jaeyun blinked at the sudden turn of topic, but nodded anyway. “It was awful and so awkward. The guy made it so awkward. And the whole time I remember — the whole time I remember wishing it had been you on the other side of the bottle, because it would’ve been easier if it were you.” You swallowed. “If it were you, I’d be safe — and it’s still true, I know it would be okay with you,”
“You’re the person I trust the most in this world.”
The whole sentence went straight through his ribs and sank there, spreading through the parts of Jaeyun that had learned to stay careful until his restraint loosened another notch, and his chest went tender with it, so sudden it almost hurt.
In his mind, he was back at Seoyeon’s party, you laughing and brushing the situation off in front of him, cheeks flushed even in the low light with what he thought was shyness. And perhaps it had been. Perhaps he hadn’t been completely wrong: you’d been shy there, but not because you’d just had your first kiss, but because you’d wished he was the one there. He, your best friend — and the thought came so suddenly he couldn’t prevent it — he wanted it to be him, too. He wanted to be your first in every way that counted.
And that was exactly what you were offering to him.
Jaeyun swallowed, his fingers flexing on the counter.
“Do you truly want it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“But nothing can change between us,” Jaeyun said. “We start as best friends. And even if this — if this thing doesn’t work and we turn out to be awkward, we end as that. Best friends. No matter what.”
You stared at him for a second.
“Are you afraid of losing me?” you asked, teasing like you could make this lighter if you tried hard enough.
Jaeyun could hear the invitation in it. The offer to laugh. To dissolve the moment back into something safe. But when he looked at you, his eyes were solemn. So solemn that whatever retort you’d been about to throw at him got stuck somewhere between your lips and your courage.
“Yes,” Jaeyun said, and the teasing fell away.
Your breath caught for a moment before you exhaled, your face softening into something older than jokes.
“Okay,” you whispered.
“Okay,” he echoed.
Your gaze flicked to the counter again, to the two plates resting there, and he felt like it was some type of evidence. Proof this wasn’t only shame and late-night chaos, but morning too. Domestic, ordinary, real.
“So,” you said, voice a little too bright, “we’re doing this?”
Jaeyun’s mouth twitched. “Eat.”
“That was not an answer.”
He reached past you, grabbing a fork, and placing it in your hand with exaggerated seriousness.
“Eat,” he repeated. “Then we talk.”
“Jaeyun.”
He held your gaze, and the air between you tightened with something that had nothing to do with breakfast.
“Yes,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he wanted it to. “We’re doing it.”
“Good,” you said, and then, because you were you, because you couldn’t help yourself: “When are we doing it?”
Jaeyun stared at you.
“Are you—” he began. “Are you trying to schedule sex?”
“Seems reasonable.” You shuddered. “Or do you want us to do it now—”
“No,” he cut in, eyes narrowing, but the fondness in it betrayed him. He leaned in a fraction, just enough to make your breath hitch, just enough to remind both of you that he could close the distance whenever he wanted.
“Tonight,” he said.
“Don’t you have classes?”
“Are you having second thoughts?” he countered.
“Tonight,” you agreed. “My place?”
“That makes more sense,” he said, not only because he didn’t want his roommates hovering around, but because if he kept you here, if he kept you in his bed again, he didn’t trust the part of him that wanted to pretend you didn’t already belong.
“Okay,” you said.
“Okay,” he echoed.
Jaeyun straightened, grabbed his own plate, and turned away from the counter as if he hadn’t just scheduled the end of the life he’d been carefully maintaining like a lie. As if he’d invited you to the movies instead of into the most dangerous part of him.
“Eat,” he said again, voice rough. “Before I change my mind.”
You took a bite of eggs, crunching your nose. “These are terrible.”
“They’re edible,” he argued.
You smiled around your bite, and in the brilliance of it, Jaeyun noticed with sudden clarity that you might not be drunk, you might not be mad, but it had been a reckless request.
And he had just said yes.
He should’ve panicked.
He should’ve backed out and clung to his rules until they cut him open.
But he only watched you — standing in his kitchen with his shirt draped around you, alive and real and trusting him with clear eyes, and he couldn’t make himself care about the danger.
RULE #2: DO NOT TOUCH HER IMPROPERLY
Some touches are allowed because they keep her safe — elbow, shoulder, wrist, maybe her waist; small steadying things I can explain without it sounding like a lie. Improper is anything I do for myself. Improper is touching her like I’m owed something just because I’ve been here a long time.
Jaeyun liked electrical engineering — he really liked it — perhaps more than he’d ever admitted out loud.
There was something about how he could take a mess of a problem — wires crossing like arguments, values that looked meaningless until he stopped panicking and actually looked — and reduce it to rules that held. KCL. KVL. The calm mathematics of not lying to himself. Find the reference. Label the nodes. Define the direction. Solve.
If he couldn’t control other things — timing, people’s feelings, the way you could laugh like nothing was wrong while something in him quietly broke — then at least he could control this.
At least here, the world had edges. Here, the answer existed, and he found some calmness in it.
But not tonight.
Jaeyun sat in the last row with his book open and his pen in hand, trying to make his body obey.
But the professor’s voice moved through the room, muffled by the low hum of the projector and the whisper of AC that never quite cooled the lecture hall. Something about the transient response. Something about step inputs and settling time. Jaeyun stared at the diagram on the slide until it started to blur, because all he could see was you in his kitchen, barefoot on his tile. His shirt on your body. Your mouth around the word tonight like it was a dare and a promise and a joke all at once.
He wrote a line of notes, realizing a moment too late that it didn’t make sense; it was just a string of symbols that meant nothing. His jaw tightened. He scratched it out so hard the paper tore, then froze, breathing through his nose like he could sand himself back into something normal.
He tried to listen again, forcing his gaze to the board, and his brain into the shape of equations.
But the truth was: he wasn’t there anymore.
He was already walking to your studio apartment. He was already at your door, pressing the code of your keypad as he had done a thousand times.
He was already hearing your voice say his name the way you always did when you wanted something — and he hated that the wanting in him answered like a trained dog.
His leg bounced under the desk as his eyes moved to the clock.
The second hand dragged itself forward like it was doing it on purpose, like time had decided to become cruel just to prove it could. Jaeyun forced himself to look back down at the board. Forced his jaw to unclench. Forced his foot to stop bouncing.
It didn’t work.
He dragged a hand through his hair, knuckles scraping his scalp, and stared at the open page like he could threaten it into giving him peace.
Step response.
Damping ratio.
Overshoot — his chest felt like overshoot.
Jaeyun exhaled slowly, then made a decision, closing his book with a sound sharper than it should’ve been in the lecture hall, a final clap that made the person in front of him glance back, but Jaeyun didn’t care. If anything, he slid the book into his bag, capped his pen, and stood.
Outside, the late afternoon air hit him with a faint bite — winter pretending it hadn’t left yet. And the campus was loud in the way it always got near the end of the day: students spilling out of buildings, scooters whining by, laughter too bright, life too easy.
Jaeyun walked straight through it, taking the quickest route off campus, cutting between two buildings, and down the narrow street that always smelled like fried food and stale cigarette smoke.
He didn’t stop to think — didn’t even breathe; he only followed the line to your apartment complex, pushing the door open and taking the stairs, two at a time.
At your door, the keypad was there, small and impersonal, a little square of plastic and numbers that shouldn’t mean anything. But Jaeyun had always been stupidly good at remembering what mattered, and your passcode was one of those things he picked up without asking, without naming it as intimacy — the way he learned strawberry was your favorite fruit when you were both twelve, the way he memorized the sound of your laugh before he realized he was paying attention. Four digits. He knew it — he had used it a dozen times, but as his finger found the first digit, he froze because him knowing it all too well, suddenly felt like trespassing.
Jaeyun stared at the numbers. His hand still in the air, suspended, and ridiculously caught between two versions of himself. The one that had always been allowed inside your life, the one that had walked into your space carrying groceries and textbooks and your bad moods like they were part of his schedule, and the one standing here now, with the taste of tonight still sharp in his mouth, and the knowledge that tonight is not errands or emergencies.
He exhaled, slowly, trying to make his body act normal — trying to make his hand stop trembling with the sheer idiocy of wanting.
But couldn’t, and when he raised his hand again, he only knocked at the door and waited, hearing his own pulse in his ears, a stupid, loyal metronome that refused to slow down.
And then — movement.
The smallest sound from inside. Footsteps. A shift of air through the crack of the frame, like your apartment exhaled before the door even opened.
Jaeyun straightened without meaning to, shoulders going back like he’s bracing for impact. His hand dropped to his sides, finding his pockets because he refused to be caught halfway through panic.
Warm light spilled through the gap, and the scent of your place followed it — something clean and faintly floral, the trace of whatever you always used that made you smell like comfort when you hugged him goodbye. And there you were, framed in the doorway as if you’d been waiting in the exact spot where he would have to see you all at once.
For half a second, Jaeyun couldn’t breathe, his lungs catching, devastated by you.
“Hi,” you said. It was the same word you’d always used, yet it didn’t sound the same. “Did you forget the code?”
Jaeyun swallowed, forcing his face into something neutral.
“No,” he managed, his voice coming out rougher than he wanted it to. But if anything, you hummed at him, requiring no further explanation, as you opened the door a little wider so he could come in.
Jaeyun had molded the moment when he would step into your place in his mind enough times to believe he would be prepared when it finally came into reality.
Yet it didn’t.
He tried to don a neutral aspect, tried to speak — make some joke — but the words stayed in, hooked into years, and yanked, allowing nothing but air to pass through his lips.
Your apartment was small in the way studios always were — everything close enough to touch from the same spot, everything bearing the faint imprint of your routines. A blanket was folded too neatly on the end of the bed. A mug sat on the counter that looked like it had been rinsed and set down without being fully put away. A stack of books with their spines cracked in the middle like they’d been loved, not displayed.
And there was you — too close, too real.
You’d changed since he’d last been here, but at the same time, you were the same girl he had known his whole life, and the combination of both made something in him tighten until it felt sharp.
Jaeyun shut the door behind him with his foot, careful not to let it slam, yet the click of the latch sounded louder than it should’ve, and he stood there for a beat too long, backpack strap still across his shoulder, hands in his pockets.
“Shoes,” you remembered, because you couldn’t help yourself, and a laugh escaped through him, familiar enough to settle him.
Jaeyun bent, unlaced his sneakers, slipped them off with quick, efficient motions before he lined them near the door and dropped his backpack.
When he straightened, you were still watching him, draped in a dress that didn’t try to be subtle.
It hugged you way too prettily, clinging to your waist and hips like it had been made with the sole purpose of making him forget he’d ever learned how to breathe. The neckline dipped just enough to show skin, and right there — resting against it like a quiet, years-old claim — was the necklace he’d given you.
“Jaeyun,” you called. And he knew this tone — he knew it so damn well. It was your do something.
And so he did, striding in your direction, his hands already reaching for your face, cradling it on his palms before he looked down at you with a small question that he couldn’t come to pronounce because you were already replying by closing your eyes, tipping your head up so he didn’t need to do much to catch your top lip within his.
It was your first kiss. Jaeyun had known you for his whole life, but it was the first time he had come to know your mouth, and it felt almost like a travesty of the universe.
You tasted like strawberries, sugar, and something so familiar that his chest ached, threatening to break open and groan escaped him when you parted your lips, allowing him to dip his tongue inside, pressing against yours until he couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t you.
You and the way your hands found the front of his t-shirt and curled on it.
You and the way you pulled him along with you as you stepped back — and back, until the back of your knees had hit the mattress, and you had no other option but to fall on it, his hands bracing around your face, one knee bent and pressed where the skirts of your dress had pooled in too high.
You didn’t say anything as you reached for him, rushing your hands beneath the blue shirt and pushing it over his shoulders.
“Wait, Princess, wait,” he asked. “Slow down.”
“Is this how you always do it?”
And he could have lied, could have merely said yes, that was how he took all the other girls, but he didn’t.
“No,” he said. “It’s because it’s you and me.”
You stared at him, and suddenly the room felt too small for your heartbeats, too quiet for how loud everything inside of him turned.
But then, you leaned in and kissed him again — slower this time — giving him space to meet you properly.
His hand slid from your jaw to the side of your neck, his thumb pressing and feeling your pulse through the tip of it as his other hand followed the line of your shoulders, moving further and further until his palm had found your waist, his fingers spreading on you the way he always did to anchor you — except that now it was less anchoring than keeping you.
You shifted beneath him, your leg sliding close enough to brush the inside of his thigh, and Jaeyun felt it like a jolt — small, accidental, and devastating — traveling straight through his length, and making his breath catch.
He forced himself to hinder — force himself to keep his head clear. But his body was already answering you, heat gathering with every centimeter of contact, the novelty of it turning molten and bright in his blood — wanting to move, to press in, to take what you were offering without thinking.
“Tell me if—” he started, then stopped, trying to rearrange his thoughts.
“If what?”
“If you want me to stop,” he managed. “Say it if you—”
“I won’t,” you said, and the certainty in it hit him like a punch.
Jaeyun exhaled, pressing his forehead to yours — not kissing, not moving — just breathing the sweet scent of you, vanilla and white flowers, the same he always had as he counted the seconds like he could make them behave through the sheer force of his want.
“You’re sure?” he asked — because he had to — because he knew that this was the line where everything became real, and everything before this was going to feel small in comparison.
“Yes, Sim Jaeyun,” you whispered. “I’m sure.”
“Okay,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “Okay.”
Jaeyun’s fingers found the strap of your dress, sliding it with a gentleness that didn’t match the way his pulse was climbing, easing it down through your shoulder slow enough that it felt like a question you could stop without words — yet you didn’t — and the dress shifted with a soft whisper through your body.
He leaned in and pressed his mouth to the skin he’s uncovered — one brief kiss, then another — until the dress loosened and pooled lower, until he could guide it away and reveal your lingerie set, pinkish in a way that only made your skin warmer under the lights of your apartment.
His breath hitched.
You were beautiful in a way he’d always known, but also in a way he’d never allowed himself to study — never this close, never with permission. Never with the soft spill of your skin under his hands, much less with the heat of you turning every familiar detail into something obscene and new.
His hand splayed over your belly, the tips of his fingers skimming the lower edge of your bra before he slid down, finding the band of your panties and hooking it lightly.
“You’re—” he began.
“Don’t get too full of yourself, Jaeyun,” you murmured. “I dress like this because I just happen to have no bad sets.”
The laugh that left him was helpless, more air than sound, relief threading through it because you were still you, even here, even now, just in your lingerie set and with skin turning reddish because of his kisses, and it truly didn’t matter that you interpreted him wrongly this time.
“Right,” he managed. He couldn’t argue with anything you said — not right now — not never. “Of course.”
Your fingers curled in his shirt, pulling him closer — not frantic, not desperate — just needy, and Jaeyun went still for one beat to let himself feel it: the pull, the permission, the way your hands on him turned his years of restraint into something soft and breakable.
“Of course,” he whispered again, bending down and kissing you, your temples first, and then your cheeks — his lips pestering over your face with soft pecks before he moved lower, discovering that one sensitive spot underneath your jaw, and when you gasped, he took it as an incentive to move to the column of your neck, his mouth parting as his tongue slipped out in a tiny tease that got you gasping softly — almost silently, hands closing at the shoulders of his shirt as if you couldn’t help yourself.
“You’re sensitive,” he murmured, tucking his discovery carefully alongside all the other details he’d collected about you over the years.
You called for him, but if it had been a warning or a submission, you lost interest in the rest of your thought as he kissed you again, open mouth and tongue rolling against your skin, surely leaving a mark, and making a moan to rumble through your lips instead.
Jaeyun’s eyes flicked up to your face, and he didn’t let go — not even when his hands slipped to your back, the tips of his fingers finding and curling on the clasps of your bra. Not even as he opened it and slid further into you, kissing the tip of your breast and sending goosebumps through your skin.
He never let go.
And when his lips parted, tipping his tongue out, and making your hands move to the back of his head, fisting at his hair almost bitterly, he only smiled against you, the movement adding another coating to the sensation and making your arch against him.
He licked you softly, licked you hard, covered the areola with his lips and pulled the tip into his mouth, pulled more and harder, until your back arched even more and created a gap between the mattress that his hands took no time to fill, his fingers spraying through your skin and holding you still as his mouth moved, leaving your nipple just to create a path through your body, trailing down to your sternum, your stomach — taking in every piece of your skin in between his lips.
Jaeyun lifted his head then, just enough to look at your face properly, catching the flush on your cheeks, the way your lips had parted because your breath had turned pant, your chest moving too fast and allowing your necklace to sparkle.
The room was suddenly too small for how loud his blood had gotten.
For a moment, he didn’t kiss, didn’t lick, didn’t give either of you the mercy of motion; he only held still and watched, like he needed to see what he was doing to you before he let himself do more.
“Princess,” he breathed, the word slipping out before he could decide on anything else.
You looked at him, and your gazes locked as they had done a dozen times across the existence of you, yet the moment acquired that dream quality because you were here, bare in a way he’d only imagined in the abstract — late at night, in the quietness of his room, in the version of his imagination he kept locked away like contraband — and the distance between wanting and having had narrowed to a single breath.
Jaeyun swallowed, trying to steady himself, before let the moment break by degrees — his palm slid down the slope of your stomach, slow enough to feel like asking, fingertips grazing your skin as if he were relearning it; as if touching you like this rewired something in him that had always been too careful until his fingers finally found the band and paused there, hooked lightly under the elastic.
He looked back up at you then, thumb stroking once along your hip as his other hand held you steady at the small of your back, refusing to let you drift away from him — from this.
“You okay?” he murmured, and it sounded like he meant all of it.
You nodded at him, and he moved — quietly relentless — his knuckles brushed your thighs on the way, accidental touches that weren’t accidental at all, and the sound you made hit him physically.
He had never been so hard in his whole life.
He guided the panties lower, and lower, until they slipped free; and for a beat, he just held them, as though the simplest thing in his hand had become proof that the night had finally crossed into real.
Then he set them aside without looking, his attention snapping back to you immediately — hand returning to your inner thigh with a firmer hold than before.
“If I do anything you don’t like — you tell me, okay? We have to communicate.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoed.
His thumb drew one more slow line along your inner thigh, watching the way you answered it before he allowed himself to lower his head again, kissing the inside of your knee this time — soft — almost innocent, if the moment hadn’t been burning at the edges. Then another kiss, slower, lingering, his mouth warming you as his hands guided you open with a care that felt reverent.
“You are just — beautiful,” he heard himself say.
You let out a small sound that wasn’t quite a breath and wasn’t quite a laugh, startled by how earnest he was being. Your cheeks warmed, and you turned your face just slightly, like you could hide behind the angle.
“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, aiming for teasing, but it came out too soft for anything but shyness.
And Jaeyun’s mouth twitched, a helpless curve that didn’t reach humor so much as relief. And his hand tightened once at your thigh, then gentled, thumb stroking a quiet line as if to soothe the flush he’d put in you.
“Yeah?” he said. “But is it okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, the word threaded through the quiet laugh that escaped you. You didn’t dress it up, didn’t offer an explanation, didn’t hand him the because — you just let the answer be simple. But it wasn’t simple at all, not to him because he heard the rest in the way your gaze found his and held: yeah, you said, because it’s you.
The first touch of his mouth against your folds was light enough that he didn’t even taste you, but your body still reacted: a sharp inhale, a pull through your spine, the instinctive arch that made his own breath break low in his throat.
And when you tipped your hips to him, he mouthed you again, his hands sliding further into you, thumbs finding the tender flesh of your hood and lifting it — leaving your clit in full exposure for him to lean in, the tip of his tongue kneading the sensitive flesh around, slightly rubbing before he pressed it, unable to prevent the sound that escaped his throat then — something between reverence and desperation.
It took your smile away — your lips parting in a gasp as your fingers met and wove through his hair, pulling him in a demand that he had no second thoughts before obeying, giving you another lick — a harder one.
His tongue twirled all around the edge, then he pressed a kiss over it — a long, tender wet kiss before he lowered his head and licked at the entrance of your body because you were clenching around nothing, and it suddenly felt too evil, and Jaeyun would never be evil to you.
He pushed his tongue against your hole, and then, he pushed again until his tip went inside it, and he had to control his will to roll his eyes back.
Even his boldest fantasy hadn’t come close to how sweet you actually were. And the thought landed too tender to survive, cracking him open into something darker because being careful had started to feel like another kind of denial, and he couldn’t come to continue to restrain himself when you had given him all the permission. Jaeyun lifted his head just long enough to look at you, eyes blown wide and honest, as if he was giving you one last chance to pull him back. To tell him to stop. To make him good again.
Yet you didn’t. And something within him shifted. His hands held you firmer, spreading you open as he went back to you no longer soft-edged, and decided to stop hovering at the threshold, giving you what you were asking for.
Jaeyun’s grip tightened as he worked on you, alternating between broad strokes and precise licks on that one spot that never failed to make you cry out his name.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me hear you.”
Your response came almost immediately — a broken moan that seemed to come from somewhere so deeply inside of you, Jaeyun felt your own desperation reverberating through his entire body.
You were getting closer, he could tell by the way your thighs kept quivering under his hands, your breathing becoming more and more ragged with each pass of his tongue, but it wasn’t enough — he needed to see it: the moment pleasure turned undeniable, the moment he could stop wondering if he was reading you wrong.
Jaeyun retreated with a torturous care, pressing a final kiss to your folds as he pushed himself back onto his knees and earned a protest from you.
“Jaeyun—”
“Not yet,” he said. “For now, I need you to hold yourself open for me. Can you do that, Princess?”
You nodded despite yourself, spreading your legs further apart — pushing the soles of your feet against your sheets for some leverage and fuck.
The sight of you like this — glistening with your fluids and remnants of his saliva — the sight of you so ready for him.
He could hardly breathe.
He brought one hand down through your thigh, his thumb resuming the circular motions on your clit while his other hand moved to your seam, teasingly brushing the tips of his fingers through before he slid a single one inside.
You were so wet already, he slipped with no resistance, and it was so dizzying — everything about it was so dizzying — he hardly heard you panting as he began to move his finger in and out, your stomach tightening and giving a small convulsion, but you kept your legs apart as he had asked you to.
It was a false deed, honestly — as if Jaeyun could command anything when both of you knew — he was the one to always follow.
But he really didn’t care.
When Jaeyun felt you opening up to him, he added a second finger in, curling them slightly to discover that one spot that soon enough got you into a mess — squeezing him with your release as your hands grabbed at your sheets. Your lips parted around his name, and your hair turned wilder as your head pushed against your pillows, arching your back in that one beautiful bow before you melted again.
“Princess,” he called, and you clenched at the endearing name, a velvet heat that he felt in his very soul.
You hadn’t done anything to him, but Jaeyun felt utterly undone by you. His breath was coming in short, ragged gasps just by watching you.
God — he could come just by watching you.
You were so wet. His hand was coated with you, white slick dribble coming out of your cunt, making each of his moves obscenely loud in the quiet night, yet — all he could think was how stunning you were like this, so lovely and so his.
He wanted to keep looking — to hold the moment still, to learn it by heart, and make it something real enough to survive the morning. But he wanted to look away, too, all at once — startled by the sheer size of his wanting.
You had so much power over him, it was terrifying even to examine the way you owned his soul. When your gazes caught, his heart seemed to burst in his chest.
Was he doing it for you, or doing it for him? He couldn’t tell anymore.
He curled his fingers deeper inside of you, making you mumble something unintelligible, a sob ripping through your chest and already threatening to turn into a release. Jaeyun couldn’t help but grin at the sound, reveling in the way your body trembled and arched underneath his touch.
You thrashed and thrashed as he still tended you the way you needed, stroking the spots inside that made you shudder and rubbing at your clit until he heard you panting, his own name falling from your lips in a breathless moan before it turned into whimpers, and when you came around him, he leaned in to kiss you.
Jaeyun stayed close through the last shiver, like he didn’t trust the world not to startle you out of it. He kissed you again — slower now, softer — catching your mouth as your breathing stuttered, and pretending that he could take the edge off the intensity just by holding you there. His hand eased from its grip into a gentler touch, smoothing along your thigh.
“Hey,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
His forehead brushed against yours as his hands smoothed over your body, taking you through until he could cup your face, and his thumb could reach for the corner of your mouth, wiping away the evidence of his kiss with a tenderness that didn’t match how wrecked he looked. He swallowed, chest rising and falling too fast, and forced himself to slow his breathing until yours started to follow.
“Still okay?” he asked again, softer, as if the question mattered more now than it had before.
You nodded at him, managing a flimsy sound that might’ve been yes, and Jaeyun pressed another kiss to your temple, then your cheek, unhurried, almost devotional, as if he needed to apologize for his own intensity.
“You did so well,” he whispered. “Tell me what you need. Water? A minute? Do you want me to hold you, or-?”
“Jaeyun,” you cut.
“Yes, Princess?”
Your hands slid to the back of his neck, fingers curling and weaving through his hair, holding him still.
“I need you.”
It might have been the words, the small plea that took Jaeyun anew because he would never refuse anything you asked him, or perhaps it was the way you said them, a bit flimsy because you couldn’t control it still, but either way, he gave in, slipping from your hold only so he could take his t-shirt off.
He almost choked when you stood with him, your hands reaching for his lower abdomen, nails scraping his skin slightly before you took his belt and unbuckled it.
“Princess,” he called, the questions already on his tongue, shaped by habit, and the need to do this right.
But you didn’t give him time.
Your hands moved for his jeans, unzipping them as if you’d decided you were done waiting, easing them down in one smooth, impatient motion. The room seemed to go hushed around the sound of it — denim shifting, breath catching — until the only thing left was the sudden, helpless awareness of his length slapping against his abdomen.
Your hand found him, fingers curling around him almost beautifully, closing and molding with a care that didn’t match, and making his whole body go taut, breath pulling tight in his chest like it had nowhere to go. Not because he didn’t want it — God, he wanted it — but because he did, too much, too fast, the kind of wanting that threatened to ruin the rest of the night by sheer impatience.
He caught your wrist gently, holding you as his forehead dipped toward yours again, his eyes shutting.
“If you do that,” he began. “I’m not going to last.”
The honesty of it landed between you, sharp with embarrassment. And when he opened his eyes again, there was something almost pleading in the way he looked at you — like he was asking you not to laugh, not to make him feel small for how quickly you could undo him.
“Another time,” he promised, realizing the implications of his words a fraction too late. Not just later tonight. Not just when you feel like it. But again. As if he’d already decided that there was going to be a future where he got to learn you — and be learned — without rushing.
But you didn’t tease him. When you looked at him, your gaze holding his until the heat in his face had nowhere to hide, you merely nodded.
“Okay,” you said.
You were no warmer than Jaeyun was, but when he touched your waist, your skin shivered, a fine tremor running under his fingertips.
“Okay,” he echoed.
You let him ease you down onto the sheets, smoothing you into place as he followed you down, bracing himself over you without crushing you, and kissed you — slow, mouth soft, reverent in a way that made the moment feel almost holy.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he whispered. “Tell me if—”
“I know,” you breathed, and the words sounded so much like trust — Jaeyun’s throat worked, and he kissed you again and again and again, only letting go to reach down beside the bed for his jeans, fingers finding the pocket by feel — clumsy in a way he never remembered being. His breath caught when you made the smallest sound behind him, and he hurried to get his wallet free, forcing it out with a practical shuffle before the faint and quick tear of foil came in the hush.
He slid it on with shaky hands that he hoped you wouldn’t notice.
But you did — of course you did.
When he climbed back over you, you reached for his arms, your fingers brushing down until you found his hands.
“You’re shaking,” you whispered, your brows knitted, and searching his face like you were afraid you’d pushed him somewhere he didn’t want to go.
Jaeyun went still.
“Because it’s you,” he replied, not giving himself time to consider how much he had exposed with this mere phrase.
Of course he was shaking. He’d wanted you for so long it had grown into something foundational, something he’d learned to live around and never touch. And now you were here beneath him, looking at him like he was allowed — like he was chosen — and his wanting hadn’t been foolish after all.
His throat worked. He tightened his fingers around yours, trying to make the shaking stop by force.
“If I mess this up, you won’t ever let me hear the end of this,” he smoothed.
You laughed at him — familiar in a way that loosened something in his chest, easing everything inside him as if the sound of you had always known where to press to make him breathe again.
“Don’t worry,” you said. “I’ll keep it all as another of our secrets.”
“What other secrets do we have?”
“What you had under your bed when we were teenagers,” you began. “That you couldn’t sleep without a lampshade until you were twelve. Where we were on your eighteenth birthday. That you cried watching The Notebook—”
“Everyone cried watching The Notebook at least once.”
“Baekhyeon didn’t—”
“Did you watch it with him?”
“It’s my favorite movie, of course I did,” you said. “But don’t worry, it was just once — it’s funnier with you anyway.”
“Obviously,” he said. “Everything is funnier with me — and we are about to have a lot of fun.”
You laughed again, softer and only because he was allowed to — he kissed you again, his hands smoothing your thighs, your calves, his fingers moving and curling around your ankles and pulling you to him, lifting your legs to his hips.
You stiffened as his tip made contact, your body going taut beneath him and he stopped like he’d been trained for it, like every instinct he had rewired itself around not hurting you. His grip shifted back from your ankles to your thighs — his thumbs stroking small, steady circles as if he could coax your muscles out of panic.
“Princess, look at me,” he murmured. “Do you want me to stop?”
You shook your head, a little bit too frantically as if you were afraid he would really stop it, and Jaeyun exhaled through his nose, a sound that stood somewhere between a laugh and a prayer. He kissed you once, slow and grounding, then another at the corner of your mouth.
“Okay,” he said. “Then we go slow. I’m right here.”
He shifted — barely enough to change the angle, but you seemed to feel it and his thumb reached for you seam, wetting the tip of it with your fluids, and finding your clitoris, rubbing it in slow and deliberate circles that got you closing your eyes, moving your hips, and welcoming whatever he was giving.
Jaeyun made himself still enough to read you, his eyes tracking your face with the kind of focus that might’ve felt clinical, if it hadn’t been so tender. He watched your breathing first, then your mouth, then the tiny shifts in your shoulders before he slowed and it eased again.
He moved in careful increments, pausing whenever your breath changed. Waiting whenever your brows pinched. His hands steadied you — firm at your thighs, gentle at your waist, and holding you through the newness of it.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “Is it okay?”
You nodded and he lowered his forehead toward yours.
It was slow at first, all about him discovering the new shape of you, but soon enough, it was confident and knowing. When he drew back, he knew exactly how to move back in, how to make you tighten around him, and his name to escape from your lips a little bit more frantically as his rhythm increased.
Your fingers spread through the back of his neck, fingers twisting at the hair at his nape and bringing him closer and closer, as if you couldn’t help it. And when your breath turned ragged and your fingers tightened, Jaeyun pressed his mouth to your temple, whispering your name like a promise he could finally keep.
Even if only temporarily.
“Yun, I’m going—”
“It’s okay, Princess,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
And this time he meant it in every way.
“Come for me, babe.”
You twisted under his body, even as he kept you pinned in place with his hands on your hips, squirming and whimpering your way through it, finishing with an almighty shudder as you came a second time, and it was so beautiful, and overwhelming — he tried to stay careful. He tried to keep his breathing even. But you said his name like you needed him, and something in him cracked clean through.
He buried his face against your neck, a shaky sound trapped in his throat. “Princess—”
He didn’t have room for anything except you.
No thought. No control. Just the force of feeling, cresting too high and too fast, until it dragged a groan from him with your name inside it — like that was the only thing he could say when he finally lost himself — and with a final, deep thrust, his body tensed and spilled inside of you — groaning your name. The echo of it carved into your skin as he buried himself, his fingers molding into your skin with an intensity that left behind indentations as the waves of his pleasure washed over.
Jaeyun hadn’t realized how noisy you both had been, but the room felt suddenly too quiet after.
And for a beat, he only stayed still — his forehead tucked against the curve of your neck, breathing you in like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of the air between you, the feeling of your pulse under his mouth, your fingers still lost in his hair, and your bodies so tangled, he couldn’t quite tell where he ended and you began — his whole soul afraid that the moment would slip away the second he admitted it had happened.
But then, you made a small sound, and it made him force his head up — just enough to look at you.
He brushed his knuckles along your cheek, then paused, thumb hovering at your lips because he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you like this now that the moment was gone.
“You okay?” he asked, the question already worn thin by the number of times he had used it through the night, but it felt heavier somehow, meaning more than any of the earlier ones ever had.
But if anything, you only nodded — leaning into his touch as your lashes fluttered shut.
“Just stay,” you whispered.
And so, he stayed — rolling you both through your bed, his back sinking into the mattress as he drew you to his chest, giving you a place to rest as if it was any other night and you were merely best friends falling asleep together. He stayed until your heartbeat evened out against him and the room turned orange and pink with sunrise, dust motes catching in the full light like glittering hush, and the night had inevitably bent itself into morning.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Jaeyun lay on your bed, holding a breath in his chest as if it could keep the morning from happening. The sun slipped through your parted curtains and spilled across the room — patient and indisputable — turning everything into proof.
Your dress was still pooled on the hardwood, your panties right above it, and his jeans were so close it could’ve been one thing. Your bra was still at the edge of the bed, pink, half-tucked into the sheets he couldn’t remember tangling.
He let the breath go, and the mattress answered, making you stir — just a little — your head rolling off his chest until your chin found him again.
When your eyes opened, the light caught and held — as if it had nowhere else to be.
Jaeyun felt the instinct to speak. Something practical. Something safe. Something that could be filed under morning conversation and good friend behavior.
Are you okay? he thought. Do you need water?
Do you want me to make breakfast again and pretend I don’t care when you mock me for it?
But you didn’t give him time.
You lifted your head — sleepy as it was certain — brushing your nose against his before you caught his lower lip between yours and kissed him in a way that made teasing feel like a promise.
Jaeyun went utterly still, his hands hovering, useless with hesitation. He had spent years learning which parts of you he was allowed to hold — elbow, shoulder, wrist; the small, steadying touches that could be explained without telling on himself.
But this was your room.
Your bed.
Your morning.
And you were kissing him like you’d never once needed an explanation, catching his lower lip — so gentle it hardly counted as a bite — holding it for one heartbeat longer before you let him go and eased back.
Jaeyun blinked, and the muted morning light dazed him — your room pressing in with a kind of hush that made it feel like a dream: sun-warm sheets, the sound of breath, the closeness of you like something he hadn’t earned but had been given anyway. He let it hold him for a suspended moment before he leaned in and kissed you again, this time with more feeling than thought — one hand found your waist, as the other slid behind your neck, tilting you up to him.
Your breath caught at that, and for a moment, Jaeyun feared he had gone too far — too fast. He’d finally slipped enough to not be able to lie and pretend he hadn’t broken his second rule, but then you shifted, sliding a leg over his hips, straddling him like it was the most natural place in the world to be, and something in him went quiet with the rightness of it.
He didn’t move first. He didn’t take. He only held where you’d placed him.
And when you parted — pulling back just enough for you to breathe — it carried the kind of practicality that had always been your shared language.
“I need a shower,” you said.
For a beat, Jaeyun blinked at you, incapable of understanding the words. But then, his brain latched onto it, and he felt thankful. A shower meant tiles. Water. Soap. Clean lines. A task that could be completed. A thing he could do without interpreting your mouth, your eyes, the way your kiss had said stay.
“Okay,” he heard himself say. “Okay, yeah.”
Jaeyun shifted carefully, guiding you off him with hands that tried to remember what permitted felt like — waist, ribs, shoulder — anywhere that could still pass as gentle logistics instead of want. His gaze skated away from your face on instinct, as if looking at it too directly might pull him back under, and slipped out of the bed.
You followed, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, slightly swaying — more due to sleepiness than weakness, but Jaeyun’s body reacted anyway. He reached for you, his hands steady on your arms.
He helped you up. Guided you through your studio: past the small table with the stack of books, past the mug you never fully put away, and into the narrow bathroom where the tiles were warm and the mirror caught the gold of morning and gave it back to him as evidence.
Your skin carried so many marks from the night before that his breath caught.
He looked away so fast it felt like a flinch.
Jaeyun moved like he was trying to fix the world.
He turned on the light first. Then the fan. Then the tap — hot first, then cold, adjusting in small increments until the water felt right because putting things in order always helped him keep control.
He watched the water steam faintly as it ran, watched it like it was a system he could calibrate.
He set a towel within your reach. Folded it once, then unfolded it because the fold looked too neat and he didn’t want you to notice how nervous he was. Then he reached for your shampoo and put it back where it already was, because he suddenly ran out of things to do, but his hands still sought for something.
You leaned your hip against the sink and watched him with that quiet softness that made his chest feel too full. The bathroom was suddenly too bright for how careful he was trying to be.
“Yun,” you called, and he turned to you like a man answering a question in class — focused, braced, trying to keep his face neutral.
“Yeah?”
You tilted your head, gaze flicking once before you merely stepped past him, your hands brushing and taking his, pulling him to the shower with you.
The steam gathered immediately, beading on his skin, blurring the sharp edges of the morning until the world became smaller and quieter.
“Sometimes, I can hear you thinking,” you said. “Did you know that?”
“I’m sorry,” he replied.
You laughed at that, but didn’t say anything. You merely turned around, reaching for the shampoo bottle he had previously rummaged and gave it to him.
“Wash my hair,” you said.
And so, he did.
Jaeyun took the bottle, pouring shampoo into his palm — more than he needed, because his hands were unsteady — and rubbed it between them until it warmed and foamed. Then his fingers slid into your hair, working the suds in small circles at the crown of your head, careful and thorough, moving outward as the steam gathered and the water ran down your spine. His knuckles grazed your ear once. An accident, maybe. But you let out a sound — more a sigh than anything, and something in Jaeyun tightened anyway, a flare that made his chest feel too warm. His jaw flexed at it, and he forced his hands to stay where they belonged — his attention to stay on the sequence, because sequence meant control: lather, rinse, repeat.
He rinsed you with his palm shielding your forehead, water sluicing through your hair in clear sheets. The gesture was intimate in the most domestic way — protective, practiced — as if he’d been doing it for years.
And maybe that was why it did him in.
You must have felt the pause in him, the way his body went too still behind you, because when he finally finished, you turned to him, reaching for the bottle, and pouring shampoo into your own palm as you stepped closer — the warm line of you almost meeting the warm line of him, and slid your fingers into his hair.
Jaeyun didn’t know what to do with himself.
He merely bent a little so you could reach, letting your hands take over with a quiet competence that made his throat work. Water ran down his temples, traced the line of his jaw, caught at his lashes. He kept his eyes on the tile like a prayer — like if he looked at you, he’d lose the last clean edge of himself.
You rinsed him, and only when you tapped his hands — did he straighten again.
Then you smoothed soap over his bare skin, starting at his shoulders, your palms unhurried and warm. Down his collarbones. Over his chest.
Jaeyun’s breath broke when you reached his lower abdomen, your fingertips hovering dangerously close to the ache he’d been holding back, and making a sound slip from him — low, involuntary — rushing before he could trap it.
“Princess,” he said, but the word carried no warning at all, and you merely allowed your fingers to rest there, steady as the way your gaze met his.
“You said another time,” you remembered.
Jaeyun froze.
Not because he didn’t understand. Because he did. Because the memory arrived with humiliating clarity: your hand curled on him in a way that made his honesty slip out raw and breathless last night.
He dragged in a slow breath through his nose. Steam beaded along his lashes; water traced the line of his jaw. He still didn’t look at you — not fully — like eye contact might knock the last brace out from under him while he was still negotiating with himself. Like he was trying to find the border between permitted and improper and realizing you’d moved it with one sentence.
“Are you asking me?” he began. “Or—”
“I’m asking,” you said.
His gaze found yours.
“Okay,” he said, and this time the word didn’t sound like procedure, but like agreement. Like trust.
He took your wrist and guided your hand, not down, not yet, but to his jaw, to his throat, to a place he could handle without losing himself.
“Slow,” he said, and you nodded at him, letting your fingers linger.
Your thumb brushed the hinge of his jaw first — testing, almost absent — before your hand slid lower and lower, following the line of his throat, his collar bones. Water ran between your knuckles and his skin, warm and constant, making every touch feel softened at the edges, as if the steam had filed down the danger until it could pass for tenderness, but Jaeyun’s pulse changed immediately, his heart racing as though it too wanted to reach for you through his skin, meeting where your fingers brushed against his chest.
Jaeyun’s lips parted in a soft gasp as you reached for him, tentatively brushing through his extension. Starting from the already flushed tip and moving to the prominent veins all over him and then, all the way back, receiving an almost imperceptible buck of his hips in response.
“Okay?” you asked, and he nodded, but it wasn’t an answer so much as a reflex — his body trying to behave when his mind had gone helpless and searched for something to say — something small enough to fit inside a bathroom, inside steam, inside the ordinary noise of water hitting tile.
But there was no small word that fit because how could he say that anything you did with him would be okay?
How could he say that if you asked for his heart, he would open his ribs for you? If you reached in and took it, he would hold still and even tender you if you faltered.
Jaeyun swallowed, throat tight, breath catching on the way out as he reached for you, his fingers splaying over your cheek as his thumb reached for where a drop had taken place on your skin.
“I’m okay,” he said then, the closest answer he could give for what he meant. If you could feel the shape of the unspoken right alongside the spoken, you didn’t show it.
Your hand merely closed around his length, fingertips tracing the same places his mind had traced a thousand times in private, and every pass of your hand felt like it rewrote him — like your touch didn’t just touch, but claimed a truth he’d been denying for years.
Jaeyun’s breath hitched as you guided him closer, his eyes shutting as his forehead tipped to the curve of your neck.
“Princess,” he whispered, not really sure if he intended to say something, but the sudden call made you pause, your hand motionless enough to make his breath hitch again, his hips bucking and chasing for the friction still.
“Don’t stop,” he said, and perhaps it had been the words, perhaps it had been the way he said it, more like a plea than a request. But you didn’t — even when his grip tightened on you, his finger shaping bruises on your hips, and his lips parted, leaving a matching one at your neck.
You didn’t stop, even when he came into your hand. You merely gentled him, moving to his stomach, his chest, smoothing him down until his breath wasn’t so ragged and his heart had come into peace beneath your touch.
“Yun,” you called, and he hummed at you, still pressed close, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted like he’d forgotten what to do with the air. Water clung to his lashes. Steam softened the hard lines of him into something boyish, something undone. For once, he wasn’t braced for impact — he was simply there, breathing, and letting you see him, and it was strange how it made your kiss just even better.
How he could simply melt into you.
You smiled at that — small, warm — kissing the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then a place beneath his jaw that made Jaeyun’s eyes flutter shut, his head tipping just slightly to give you access, like his body wanted to cooperate even when his mind still tried to keep score.
“Princess,” he breathed again, and this time it sounded less like a plea and more like disbelief.
Your hands found him at your hips, guiding it down through your body, the swell of your ass, giving him enough time to grow on it, and take the lead, brushing over warm skin, following curves with a care that made it feel devotional rather than desperate.
“Okay?” he murmured, because he couldn’t help — he couldn’t ease — not until you had nodded, brushing your noses and making something within settle with the gentleness of it.
Jaeyun exhaled and stepped closer. One hand halted at your waist while the other slid down and around, his fingers tightening briefly against your skin before he shifted, and lifted one of your legs — guiding it up to rest against his hip.
His tip brushed against your seam with the new position, barely anything, but you drew in a breath that didn’t quite make it back out to you, and a faint, trembling noise escaped through your lips instead, and he couldn’t help the soft, almost-gentle smugness that warmed his smile.
He rolled his hips against yours, and your head tipped back, eyes closing and lips still parted on that same faltered breath, allowing sunlight to catch on your skin in the shift, warm and liquid-gold along the lines of you.
“Bed,” you whined, and you didn’t need to tell him twice.
Jaeyun turned the taps off, not really checking if he had done it properly, before he took you in his arms again, folding your legs around his waist as he walked you back down the short stretch of your place. Water tumbled from you both — tiny drops trembling loose with each step, catching the light before they fell in a thin, gleaming trail on your floorboards.
But you didn’t complain, you didn’t even say anything. When he placed you on the mattress; you merely spread your legs further — wordlessly making room for him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Condom,” you reminded him. “Do you have more?”
For a moment, the question didn’t make sense, but then, he nodded at you, slipping from your touch — just enough to reach for the wallet still tossed on your floor.
“How many did you bring?” you asked, and although Jaeyun had listened to it and understood, he didn’t reply, he allowed the question to hang in the air, a flush of warmth spreading up to his cheeks because the memory of him piling it at the chaser before he went to his classes last evening was too fresh still.
Just enough, he had thought like he wasn’t, in fact, hoping.
Hoping that it wouldn’t be a one-time thing.
Jaeyun’s fingers fumbled once at the wallet before he forced them steady. He didn’t let himself look at you while he did it; if he looked, he’d lose the last clean thread of control he had left, and so, he merely tore the foil, the sound too loud in the quiet room, and the practical motions that followed felt like an anchor — something procedural to keep him from drowning in the fact that you were watching.
He climbed back onto the mattress, moving slowly, knees sinking into the sheets between your thighs. The bed dipped under his weight, and you shifted automatically to make space for him, your body already well known in the shape of him.
Jaeyun paused above you.
Water still clung to your hair, darkening the strands where they stuck to your neck. Your skin gleamed in the soft light — warm, flushed, kissed by steam and morning and the evidence of him. You looked up at him with your mouth slightly parted, breath uneven, eyes steady and it hit him so hard it almost made him gentle to the point of breaking.
“Princess,” he said, but if anything, you reached up, fingers catching at the back of his neck — not pulling him down, only holding him there — close enough to feel your breath on his mouth. Close enough that he couldn’t lie to himself about how much he wanted it.
Jaeyun lowered his forehead to yours and breathed once, then twice, as if he was counting himself into calm.
“Tell me if—”
“I know,” you cut, and he snorted at that, his hands finding your thighs, and spreading there with care — measuring you, reading you, bracing you the way he always did when something mattered and he couldn’t afford to do it wrong.
He pulled in slowly, pausing each time your breath changed. Waiting when your fingers tightened in his hair. Listening like your body was the only language he trusted.
“Okay?” he murmured against your mouth.
“Okay.”
Jaeyun exhaled, giving himself a moment before he shifted his weight and settled in deeper.
You made a small sound at that, and Jaeyun halted — caught mid-motion as his eyes stayed on your face, searching for the smallest crack of discomfort, for anything he might have missed and could never forgive himself for.
“Talk to me, Princess,” he said. “Is it too much?”
“No,” you whispered. “It’s — good.”
That answer landed somewhere under his ribs and stayed.
Jaeyun’s eyes shut for a beat. And when he opened them again, he looked wrecked in the quietest way.
He kissed you once more, slower, lingering at the corner of your mouth, your cheek, beneath your jaw — mapping comfort into you the way he mapped calm into circuits, the way he tried to fix the world when it was too big.
And then he moved again, careful and deliberate, letting the moment become real one breath at a time.
The sheets gathered under your fingers. The room narrowed to heat and the sound of his name caught in your throat. Jaeyun held you like he could keep you safe simply by refusing to rush, like tenderness was the only rule he needed now.
“Look at me,” he whispered, and you did, blinking under the morning light and making him swallow, his chest swelling then, big enough to break open with love for you. And perhaps, you had felt it too — heard it in his voice, this sickening desperation, because your hands found his face, cupping it with a tenderness that didn’t match the way he was burying deep inside of you, his tip forming an eminence on the lower part of your belly as he worked on you with slow, long thrusts, and making you come in the morning haze.
Jaeyun collapsed beside you, his back sinking into the mattress as you followed rolling so you rested over his chest.
“Always,” you whispered, the word coming so suddenly, Jaeyun blinked down at you, his head rolling so he could search your face, confused if he had asked you something in his own haze. But sunlight picked strands of your hair, reflected through your damp skin. And he couldn’t make sense of anything.
“What?”
“I’m always okay when I’m with you,” you said.
He knew that he shouldn’t — but Jaeyun felt so right about it.
He felt so right when you called him Sunday afternoon, a tiny can you help me with something? rolling from your tongue and making him sprint to your place, being greeted with you already in your lingerie and you didn’t lie — you had no bad pairs.
When he brought you down onto the bed, he didn’t even care about taking it out of you; his fingers merely reached in between your thighs, holding the piece as he slid inside of you.
He didn’t know then, if his hands were still doing their job or if they’d defected. If he was still keeping you safe — or if he’d finally started touching you like he’d wanted to for years, and breaking one more rule.
But as he held you, listening to you breathe quickening and setting against the curve of his neck, he couldn’t make himself care.
Again.
RULE #3: DO NOT BE POSSESSIVE
I’m her best friend. I always have been. That doesn’t give me the right to be possessive. If I can’t be calm about her, I at least have to be kind. If I touch her, it has to feel like a question she can stop — not a claim. And if someday she chooses someone else, I have to accept it. I have to accept it like it won’t split me in half.
Jaeyun woke to movement.
Not the slow, sleep-warm kind he’d grown used to in the past weeks, but something quicker — restless. Drawers scraped open and knocked shut again in the same nervous motion; fabric whispered against fabric, and hangers clacked as they were shoved aside.
He didn’t open his eyes — not yet. He listened to you instead: your bare feet skimming the floor, the breath you kept trying to hush, the tiny hitch of frustration when something wasn’t unfolding the way you needed it to.
And that — that was what pulled his eyes open at last. You sounded wound tight with it, and Jaeyun couldn’t stand the idea of you being anything but fine.
You were half-dressed — shorts on, bra, hair still messy in the way only the mornings after managed, the frizz denoting the number of times he had made you come the night before, arching and pushing your head against the sheets — one of his t-shirts clutched in your hands like it belonged to you more than it belonged to him.
“What—”
You looked over your shoulder at him, guilty only for the fraction of a second it took before your face rearranged into something else.
“Sorry,” you whispered. “I’m late.”
Jaeyun pushed himself up on his elbows, the sheets slipping down his waist. He blinked slowly, trying to coax his mind into one piece through the morning haze.
“Late for what?” he asked — voice rough with sleep and something worse.
“My exam,” you said, already turning and moving another hanger. This time you pulled a blue plaid shirt free — the kind you’d been loving to borrow and make him come to collect it himself, your scent worked into the fabric like a quiet claim disguised as comfort.
“You’re stealing that,” he said.
You didn’t even bother to look guilty. “Borrowing.”
“My wardrobe is becoming empty.”
“And yet,” you said, turning to him with that familiar tilt of your mouth, “you really don’t hate it.”
Jaeyun didn’t answer. He merely watched as you stepped in close again, stealing the air from between you, as you pressed a kiss to his mouth — soft, swift, like a blessing you left behind on purpose.
And the second you pulled away, he moved. Jeans in his fists, he dragged them on as he went, stumbling through the doorway — desperate to be the first thing at your heels.
He caught you at the exact moment his roommates did — both of them lingering in the living room, their backpacks slung over one shoulder, caught in their coffee-stained routines — until the second they saw you and stopped like they’d walked into an invisible wall.
Sunghoon’s gaze went straight to the shirt.
Then to Jaeyun.
Then back to you, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile.
Jongseong’s eyebrows lifted, slow and serene — the kind of calm that only existed because he liked chaos best when it belonged to someone else.
“Morning,” Jongseong said.
“Morning,” you replied — too bright. “I’m late.”
“Exam?” Jongseong offered, easing into conversation the way he always did: polite, steady, giving everyone an out.
Jaeyun cleared his throat. “She’s late.”
“I am late,” you echoed, pointing at him like it was somehow his fault you’d woken up tangled in his sheets instead of your own — in a room with no alarm clock at all, because Jaeyun despised morning obligations. “But yes.”
You crouched by the door, fingers quick on your laces, and slipping your shoes on.
Sunghoon’s eyes tracked you the whole time, amusement sharpening at the edges of his expression as Jongseong, bless him, kept the conversation where it belonged — safe, ordinary.
“Good luck,” he said.
“Thank you,” you chirped, already halfway upright again. “Do you have exams too?”
“We’re finishing our exams too,” Sunghoon said. “We should go out after. Celebrate.”
Jaeyun’s jaw worked, like he was chewing down whatever sound wanted to come out of him.
“Arcano?” you asked, and Jongseong’s expression tightened into immediate refusal. He despised the bar, convinced it was what got him hospitalized during his first semester. “I know it’s terrible, but Yun has classes until late tonight — it’s the most reasonable for him.”
For a moment, the room went strangely quiet.
Jaeyun’s gaze found yours and held, warmth rising in him — quiet, disarming — and he went still with it, not knowing where to put the feeling. His mouth parted on a reflex, then he swallowed it back.
Jongseong’s eyes flicked to Jaeyun, then back to you.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But if anyone ends up in the ER again, I’m haunting all of you.”
“That’s fair,” Sunghoon said.
“You don’t have to—” Jaeyun began.
“I — we want to,” you cut in, the words coming as gentle as it was final before you stood and took the knob. “Text me the time!”
You slipped out with a bright, hurried smile, the borrowed shirt hanging off you like a secret, and making Jaeyun step forward, holding the door open so he could stand in the doorway, lingering in the shape of you leaving, and the way you’d arranged the world so he could follow.
When Jaeyun finally clicked the door shut, silence filled the hallway for exactly two seconds before Sunghoon whistled.
“So,” he began, but Jaeyun didn’t look at him; his gaze stayed on the closed door. “Friends-with-benefits?”
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed. “Don’t.”
“Oh, it is that.”
“It’s not—” Jaeyun started, pushing his hair back off his forehead before he turned to his roommates. “I mean, I don’t know! We haven’t talked about it.”
“But you should,” Jongseong said, his voice neutral enough for Jaeyun not to hear the warning it carried until the air in the room shifted.
“Baekhyeon talked to me yesterday,” Sunghoon said.
“What?” Jaeyun asked, more as a reflex than in fact, understanding what it meant. “Why?”
Sunghoon’s gaze flicked to the door before it moved to Jongseong. And Jaeyun didn’t need anyone to spell it out — his roommates had already talked about this when he wasn’t there.
“He wanted to ask about her,” Sunghoon said. “He didn’t come in aggressive — just pathetic.”
Jongseong’s mouth flattened. “Careful.”
“I’m not being cruel,” Sunghoon replied. “I’m telling the vibe. He was clearly bothered, like he knew what he’s doing was humiliating.”
“What did he say?” Jaeyun asked, his voice warped to his own ears. “Exactly.”
“That was it,” Sunghoon said. “He just asked if I’d been seeing her around.”
He paused.
“And if she was with someone else.”
Jongseong’s eyes cut to Jaeyun, concern flashing there before he forced his expression back into stillness.
“And?” Jaeyun asked.
Sunghoon’s mouth twitched. “I am not stupid, I didn’t say you both have been acting like bunnies over the past few weeks.”
“Do you think she told him something?”
“No,” Sunghoon cut. “That’s the thing — I think he has been trying to contact her, but she has been ignoring him.”
And suddenly, it made sense — all those times he’d watched you skim your phone, thumb hovering over the screen, before you set it aside and you looked back at him, a smile forced into place.
God — he’d been so silly for overlooking it.
“He broke up with her,” Jaeyun said.
“We are not telling you this to make you stressed,” Jongseong cut in. “We are just telling you so you can decide — this thing of yours is working for now, and I am glad for you — she apparently doesn’t want Baekhyeon back, which is great, but it might be someone else someday, and you will have to decide if you are okay with having only a part of her again.”
The apartment fell silent at this, and only then did Jaeyun notice how fast his heart was beating. It hummed against his ears, so loud he couldn’t even think.
When you were both younger — ten, maybe eleven — you had camped in your parents’ garden, your backs side by side on a too-thin blanket and a tent that never stopped letting the wind in. The world had been so silent, you’d whispered that it felt like there were only the two of you in the world, wouldn’t it be nice? You had asked. Back then, he’d rolled his eyes and said something dumb to make you grin, too young to consider anything.
Now, in his hallway with your perfume still on his skin and your borrowed shirt still bright in his mind, he understood what you’d meant. It would be so nice — so nice — if the world really could narrow down to just the two of you, and choosing you didn’t mean risking everything else. And he didn’t know whether that thought made him in love or made him dangerous.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
By the time Jaeyun arrived at Arcano, you were already on the dance floor with Jongseong and Sunghoon.
And it was stupid, honestly, how whenever he thought he was getting used to your existence, you managed to surprise him — newly lit, newly impossible — you stood between his roommates, eyes sparkling, arms half around Sunghoon’s shoulders as you both shouted the lyrics of a song that was too loud and too familiar, and Sunghoon was singing like he meant it, even if he was off-key on purpose. Jongseong yelled the chorus at your back, his face turned upwards as if the ceiling had personally offended him.
Arcano was the same as it had always been — red bulbs that made everyone look like a rumor, sticky floors that clung to the soles of your shoes like the place didn’t want anyone leaving sober, and bass so loud it turned thought into vibration. The air smelled like cheap liquor and perfume and sweat and the faint bite of citrus from a just-spilled drink.
And it’s too much — everything was too much.
But the moment he stepped further, you turned to him — not searching, but sure — as though you knew he was going to be standing there.
Gravity, he thought.
He moved through the bodies like he’d done it a hundred times — shoulders angled, hands careful, a quiet apology here and there, never shoving, never rushing. The bass beat against his ribs and still he stayed steady, eyes on you the whole time as if the rest of the room was just static.
You didn’t meet him halfway — you never did — you stayed where you were, your body turned subtly toward him, and only when he got close enough, your hand lifted, fingers finding his. And the moment you held him, the noise of Arcano seemed to dull around the edges, like the room had agreed to give you a fraction of quiet.
His hand was cold while yours was warm, and a shiver danced across you, strong enough to make your shoulders tremble.
And God — he wanted to kiss it.
You had changed since the morning, trading the shorts and t-shirt for a white dress, but his shirt remained, draped around your shoulders, and making his breath catch — he tightened his grip only enough to be sure you felt him back.
“Hi,” you said, loud enough to be heard over the music, but soft in the way you always became with him.
“Hi,” he replied.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Sunghoon shouted. “We were about to file a missing person report.”
Jaeyun huffed a breath that almost counted as a laugh. He had gone to the apartment after his classes to drop off his backpack, but he didn’t feel like explaining, not when you were squeezing his hand — small, and private.
“Did you eat?” you asked, and Jaeyun felt the absurd tenderness of it. The fact that you could be in a bar, sweating and laughing and alive, and still your first instinct with him was care.
“Yes,” he lied automatically.
Your eyes narrowed. “Yun.”
“I ate.”
“You ate what?” you asked, and Jaeyun opened his mouth, but his words stalled, and so he closed it again.
“He didn’t eat,” Jongseong said.
“He did that thing where he decides worrying is a food group,” Sunghoon agreed.
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed, but his hand stayed linked with yours like the connection mattered more than winning. “I’m fine.”
You didn’t argue, or at least, not right away. You just watched him for a second, your expression shifting into something softer and knowing, like you could see through him even in red light and bass.
“I am getting you something,” you said. “Stay here — don’t wander.”
Sunghoon leaned in. “He literally can’t. He’s on a leash.”
Jongseong barked a laugh. “Be nice.”
Jaeyun opened his mouth to protest, but you were already gone — your smile tossed back at him before you turned toward the bar and leaving him to stand there, eyes following, and tracking the small obstacles: the drunk guy who swayed too wide, the table edge that could catch your hip, the slick patch of floor near the booths. All the little risks the world liked to place in your path, as if daring him not to rush up and fix it before it could hurt you.
You barely had reached the counter when he approached you.
For a moment, Jaeyun thought it was a guy merely trying his luck with you, but then he shifted, red light catching on his features and Jaeyun recognized him immediately.
Baekhyeon.
Your body stiffened as he leaned in, his mouth close to your ear for a moment before you shifted sideways, trying to create space. Jaeyun couldn’t hear the words leaving your mouth, but your body was speaking loudly enough: no.
Yet Baekhyeon didn’t step back; when you seemed to be about to leave, he reached out, his hand closing around your wrist, and forcing you to stay.
Jaeyun didn’t even think, Sunghoon shouted something behind him, but he was already moving, shoving through people, and cutting a direct line toward you.
“Just listen.” Jaeyun heard Baekhyeon say, his grip still on you. “Just for a second.”
“I said no,” you said. “Let go—”
“Let her go.”
Baekhyeon turned at the sound of his voice, eyes unfocused and caught in that ugly space between sober and drunk. For a second he only stared, his brain having to wade through the noise to understand what he was seeing. But then, something in his face tightened, reading the truth between the lines and understanding, all at once, that you weren’t alone here. That you weren’t waiting to be won back. That whatever space he thought he still had in your life had been filled.
Or worse — that it never existed at all.
Jaeyun inhaled, his chest filling with a silly compassion toward Baekhyeon because he, too, wouldn’t know what to do if he ever found himself being dismissed from your life like this, but then Baekhyeon’s hand tightened on your wrist, making your fingers contract in pain, and Jaeyun exhaled, letting it all go.
He would crawl through hell, cut himself open until his body had become numb to pain, but Jaeyun surely would never hurt you — never.
“Let her go,” Jaeyun repeated.
Baekhyeon’s laugh echoed oddly loud in Arcano’s air.
“Here he is,” he said. “Always showing up like a good little — what is it? Lap dog?”
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed once. He’d been called worse — he could take worse — but then Baekhyeon’s gaze slid over you again, slow and mean, taking in your dress, your flushed cheeks, the smile you’d been wearing five minutes ago like it was a crime, and Jaeyun couldn’t stand it.
He stepped forward.
“Baekhyeon,” Jaeyun warned, and the other released your wrist, flicking his hand in a dismissive gesture as he looked around the bar.
For a moment, Jaeyun believed Baekhyeon had given up, putting an end to it, but then he turned back at you again, eyes brighter than ever.
“Tell me,” he said, loud enough that people nearby started to glance. “Did you ever actually care about me? Or was I just—”
He looked at Jaeyun.
“—filling time until your lap dog finally got his reward?”
Jaeyun didn’t decide to shove him — he didn’t plan it — his body merely moved like it had been waiting for permission from something older than thought.
His hands drove into Baekhyeon’s chest, making him stumble back, hard, and knocking into someone behind him.
Drink spilled onto the floor, and the scent of it rose almost immediately — sharp citrus and cheap sugar, muddled by the stale sweetness already living in the boards. It cut through the sweat and perfume for half a second, bright as a peel torn open, before the warmth of the room swallowed it again and left only the sour bite of liquor drying in the air.
“What the fuck—?” Baekhyeon barked.
“Yun,” you called, but it was already too late.
Baekhyeon launched himself at Jaeyun, his knuckles across Jaeyun’s cheekbone with a hot, skidding sting.
For a beat, the impact didn’t hurt the way it should’ve — it was just information — pressure, heat, the metallic taste of adrenaline flooding his mouth.
But then, something in him snapped.
The image of Baekhyeon’s hand around your wrist flashed behind his eyes like a match struck in dry tinder, and Jaeyun moved before his mind could catch up.
His fist drove forward on instinct, a short, brutal arc — no finesse, no warning — just the need to hit back, to end it, to make Baekhyeon understand with his body what his brain refused to learn.
The punch connected.
Jaeyun felt it in his knuckles, in the jolt up his arm, in the startled give of flesh beneath bone — and the sound that left Baekhyeon was small, shocked, as if he hadn’t expected consequences to be real. Jaeyun didn’t wait to see what it did to his face. He only stepped in closer and did it again.
Baekhyeon fell on the dirty floor, Jaeyun above him, fist in the middle of another throw, when someone hooked an arm around Jaeyun’s chest from behind and hauled him up.
“Stop it,” Jongseong snapped. “You’re going to ruin your damn face.”
But Jaeyun barely heard him. He was still leaning forward, still straining toward the floor like if he just landed one more hit, the feeling in his chest would finally loosen, and make sense.
Jongseong tightened his hold, bracing his weight behind Jaeyun’s back like an anchor.
“Yun,” you called.
Your voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
Jaeyun froze like you’d put a hand straight on his spine. His fist hovered, trembling with leftover momentum, and then your hands were on his face — warm palms cupping his jaw, thumbs brushing his cheekbones as if you could physically pull him back into himself.
“Yun,” you said again, closer now, eyes searching his like you were trying to find the part of him that still knew you.
And just like that, the fight drained out of him in a shuddering rush. His shoulders sagged. His breath broke. He let Jongseong hold him up for a second longer than he should’ve needed before he leaned on your touch.
“Princess, I—”
“Come with me,” you said. “Can you?”
For a second, Jaeyun couldn’t find the shape of an answer. Not because he didn’t have one — but because he had too many, a lifetime of yeses he’d never said out loud. His body was still buzzing with violence, his knuckles still singing, but your hands on his face made the world narrow into something he could survive. You were asking like it was a choice, like he was a person with options, when the truth was simpler than that: he had been following you since he was old enough to recognize your voice in a crowd. Since gardens and tents and school hallways. Since the first time you turned and expected him to be there — and he was.
“Yes,” he breathed, and the word came out rough, almost broken with how easy it was. Because you could’ve asked him to walk through fire and he would’ve stepped forward without thinking, just because you were the place his instinct went when the world got sharp. His hand rose, uncertain at first, then settled at your wrist like a question he’d spend his whole life answering the same way.
Always.
You looked past him to Jongseong and nodded, a quiet reassurance, and Jongseong finally released Jaeyun.
“Come,” you said, your fingers slipping into his.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Arcano’s neon shrank behind you with every step, its red glow thinning into something distant and irrelevant, but Jaeyun’s body hadn’t gotten the memo yet. The adrenaline still sat high in his chest, making his breath feel too big for his lungs, his heart beating like it was trying to outrun what had happened. He kept swallowing like he could force it down.
You didn’t talk much at first. You didn’t need to. You just walked — your fingers laced through his.
And every time his grip tightened without meaning to, you squeezed back once, small and reassuring. It’s okay. I’m here.
The street was cooler than it had any right to be, so closer to the summer, late-night air cutting cleanly through the smell of booze still clinging to him. The city sounded normal — cars passing, a laugh from someone’s balcony, a distant siren that didn’t belong to you. It was strange, how quickly the world returned to ordinary after a fight. As if nothing could be important for more than a few minutes.
Jaeyun glanced at you once, then again.
You looked furious in a contained way, like your anger had somewhere to go now that you’d gotten him out. Your mouth was set, your brow faintly pinched. Your thumb brushed the side of his hand, absent and grounding, like you couldn’t help checking he was still there.
Jaeyun’s chest tightened.
He wanted to say something useful. He wanted to apologize in a way that would actually fix it. But every sentence he tried to build collapsed into the same thing: I saw him touch you and I lost my mind.
Instead, he stayed quiet and let you lead.
You pushed the code into the keypad of your door with muscle memory, the little beep sounding too loud in the stairwell before it buzzed open and revealed your apartment.
Quiet in the specific way your place always was — soft, contained, familiar, smelling like clean laundry, faint florals, the lived-in warmth of your routines. The small lamp near your bed cast a gentle yellow glow that made everything look calmer than it felt. Books stacked neatly where they always were. A mug by the sink. A blanket folded too precisely at the end of the bed like you’d been trying to keep your life in order by force.
“Shoes,” you remembered. “Then sit by the counter.”
Jaeyun did as you said, slipping out of his shoes before he went to your counter and sat down on a chair, his hands on his thighs, and palms down, like he was trying to behave as you rummaged around — drawers, cabinet, a small basket you moved too roughly — the soft clack of objects knocking together filling the silence between you.
“First aid,” you muttered. “I know I have it.”
“Princess,” he said quietly.
“Don’t move.”
“I wasn’t going—” he began, but stopped, suddenly understanding. You weren’t being dramatic, but practical, anchoring the night into tasks: disinfectant, gauze, bandage. The same way he always did when his emotions got too big to hold comfortably.
You found the kit with a little gasp before you crossed back to him and set it on the table with a soft thud, kneeling slightly so you could see him properly.
“Give me your hand,” you said.
Jaeyun hesitated for a fraction of a second — then extended it.
Your hand closed around his, gently turning it over in the light, and beneath this sudden clarity, you frowned, eyebrows knitted, lips pressing into a thin line. The wounds were worse than it seemed. There was a cut over his fingers, bleeding as a darker bruise spread over. You reached for them, the tips of your fingers wandering through his skin as if you could erase them with your bare touch.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
Jaeyun went still, your words reaching past the cuts and hitting something deeper.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say you’re sorry for that.”
“It’s my fault—” you started.
“No,” Jaeyun cut in. “No. He did that. Not you.”
You turned to the aid kit on the kitchen counter, dropping your gaze like you could hide behind the small, practical motions of it — like if you focused hard enough on gauze and antiseptic, he wouldn’t see the way your eyes had gone wet. But Jaeyun did. He always did, in the quiet, unfair way he noticed everything about you.
“I hate that you got hurt because of me,” you said.
Something in Jaeyun’s chest tightened — sharp and aching.
He leaned forward in the chair before he fully knew he was doing it, his uninjured hand sliding to your wrist, fingers curling gently around your skin as he pulled you onto his lap.
The motion was clumsy with the chair and the counter and the first aid kit half-open, but the moment you settled, your thighs bracketing his hips, the world narrowed into something that made painful sense.
His hands came up to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as his thumbs brushed along your cheekbones, cleaning your tears like he had done when he got you both grounded at twelve, and like he’d done again years later, on the night you crashed your father’s car — your hands shaking on his wrists, as he told you to breathe.
He made you look at him.
Your eyes were wet and bright, with tears, the shine gathering at the lower lid until it spilled and traced down your cheek, and his chest ached at that low instinct already moving with the need to make it better.
“Don’t take the blame,” he said. “I can’t stand it when you do that.”
Your breath hitched.
“It wasn’t your fault — he grabbed you and said those things. He—” Jaeyun’s throat worked, and for a second his voice broke. “I heard the way he talked to you, and I didn’t know how to be calm about it. If there’s someone to blame here, it isn’t you. It’s me.”
You stared at him for a second before your hands lifted, your fingers finding and resting at his wrists as they always had.
“Yun,” you whispered.
Jaeyun’s breath shuddered out, and he leaned forward without thinking.
You met him halfway.
Your kiss was soft at first — careful, like checking whether he was still Jaeyun, whether you were still you. Like asking permission in the only language that didn’t require words.
But Jaeyun answered too eagerly.
His grip tightened at your cheeks, desperately — like he needed the proof of you. His mouth moved against yours with a yearning that felt out of proportion to the moment, and he hated himself for it even as he did it.
He kissed you like he was still at Arcano.
Like he was still shaking.
Like the only way to stop the night from replaying was to overwrite it with you.
This wasn’t protection anymore. It was possession.
He wanted proof that you were still here.
Your hands slid into his t-shirt, fingers curling at the thin material the way they always did when you wanted him close, and it was enough to steal a sound from him — quiet, and yet completely wrecked — his arms slipped, and tightened around your waist, pulling you nearer until there was no space left to misunderstand.
“I’ve been trying to be good. I keep failing when it’s you,” he heard himself say. “I don’t know how to be only your friend anymore.”
There was a lost moment — a second where none of you moved, and Jaeyun thought that he finally did it — he had finally ruined the friendship, but then, you leaned in again, lips on his as your knees tightening around his hips, your weight settling into him like you’d chosen the place on purpose.
And it made him exhale like relief.
His uninjured hand slid along your side, finding you. The curve of your waist. The line of your ribs. The warmth of you under your dress like a living proof he couldn’t talk himself out of. He paused every time your breath changed, as if he was listening for the smallest no, for any flicker of doubt.
But you didn’t give him one. Instead, you tipped your forehead to his, noses brushing, and whispered his name in that soft, wrecked way that always pulled something honest out of him.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, the words rough around the edges. “Tell me and I—”
You kissed him before he could finish, fingers threading into his hair, holding him so close, he not only heard the next word, but felt them. “You.”
Jaeyun’s throat worked.
He lifted you — not smoothly, not perfectly, because the chair was in the way and the table was too close and the first aid kit lay open like a dirty evidence — but he did it anyway, with a gentleness that didn’t match the violence still humming under his skin. He carried you those few steps like it mattered, like the distance between your kitchen and your bed was a threshold he needed to cross carefully.
When he set you down, you caught the back of his t-shirt and pulled him after you. His restraint cracked in the smallest way — enough to let a kiss turn deeper, enough to let want show itself without becoming rough.
He braced his weight so he wouldn’t crush you, forearms on either side of your shoulders, head dipping until his mouth you again, again and again, pressing kisses along your cheek, your throat, the place beneath your ear that always made your breath hitch and he made a question of always finding it. His hand slid down your arm to your fingers, lacing them together above your head for a moment like a question, like an offering, and when you squeezed back, he let himself believe you.
His shirt went first, easing off your shoulders like a last, familiar layer — then your dress, and then your bra, quietly as the breath you released when he leaned in again and kissed the tip of your breasts, one at a time before he moved to your sternum, your stomach — taking in every piece of your skin in between his lips.
When he reached your panties, he didn’t care about taking them off; he merely kissed you over them, the thin lace not doing much to dull the feel of his mouth over your cunt and making you shiver, hands coming to his hair and threading almost bitterly, but if anything, he hummed, giving you another kiss and then, another. Open mouthed and tongue sneaking out every now and then to bump against your covered clit, and making you squirm in his hands, head thrown back, and sliding away a bit.
He pulled you into him, hands grabbing at your thighs so he could push his face back between them, licking a flat, slow stripe over your cunt. The lace did nothing to hold your fluid this time, and he tasted you through, his eyes closing almost instinctively to savor it better.
“You taste so good,” he couldn’t help but say. “So fucking good.”
A grin broke across your face — bright, and disarming — and Jaeyun forced his arms to push him up, kissing it like he could keep it there, among your already flushed cheeks, and your hair messy against the sheets because God — he was so in love with you.
“Princess,” he called, not really sure if he had something to say. But you hummed at him anyway, hands reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, and slipping your fingers underneath it.
His abdomen tensed and contracted as you wandered through, your trembling fingertips grazing through the lines long memorized, and pushing the piece up and up, until he had no other option but to lift his arms and help you take it off.
Jaeyun groaned as you moved to his belt, unbuckling it with the same ease you unzipped his jeans.
“Shit,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Condoms,” he whispered. “I — we used the last one yesterday. I was going to buy after Arcano.”
“That’s okay.”
It was his turn to halt, your words catching somewhere between sound and meaning. “What?”
“That’s okay,” you repeated, and when he didn’t move, you arched up beneath him, lips finding his ear. “I am saying that you can hit it raw, Yun.”
He made a sound — small and involuntary — the kind of honest noise his body made when his mind was still trying to pretend it had control.
You blinked up at him for half a second — then a laugh slipped out of you, warm and bright, the exact laugh you’d always used to turn moments into something survivable. Not mocking. Just delighted, but Jaeyun’s face heated immediately, color climbing up his neck.
“Don’t,” he managed, as if the word could stop you from seeing him like this — undone by you, made soft by a sentence and the brush of your mouth near his ear.
But you only smiled wider, eyes shining with the kind of fondness that hurt.
And Jaeyun — God, Jaeyun — looked at you like he didn’t know what to do with how much he felt. Like love had taken up residence in him years ago and never once paid rent, and now it was everywhere: in his breath, in the way his hand hovered and then settled, careful, as if touching you was a question he wanted to keep asking for the rest of his life.
He exhaled, a little shaky. Then, because he couldn’t help it — because you were laughing and alive beneath him, and he was hopeless — his mouth twitched.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Princess,” he whispered, the words rough with tenderness.
You shook your head, not quite dismissively, but more like you couldn’t believe how silly he was — how silly he was for you.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Hips up, babe,” he instructed, and you met him there, your body moving on a quiet arch, as you pushed at your feet, and allowed him to curl his fingers at the band of your panties, sliding them away.
His attention snapped back to you immediately — hands returning to your inner thigh, your calves, taking over your ankles, and pulling you toward him.
You shivered as he pushed himself inside of you, your fingers digging into his back as your lips parted on a quiet moan that he made up for you — Jaeyun simply not being able to be quiet at the feeling of you around him with no limitation and groaning loudly.
Jaeyun never thought he would be the type of guy to be emotional over taking a girl without a condom, but it was you with him, and when he started moving again, it was slow and deep, each thrust deliberate as if he wanted to memorize every sound you made, every way your body responded to his. The friction was different, he could feel every ridge, every pulse of you around. And it was almost too much, the intimacy of it making his chest tight with emotion he couldn’t name.
Jaeyun hissed, looking down between your bodies, eyes all warm and glazed as he watched how you fit together for a quiet moment before his forehead dipped and rested against your shoulder, his breathing uneven, as if he was trying to keep the night from turning reckless again.
He was so careful with you it felt like devotion.
But then, you drew him closer — insistent — and he finally let his body answer with the same honesty his voice had tried to avoid. Jaeyun kissed you until you tasted like him. Until your hands clung. Until the space between your bodies stopped feeling like a rule and started feeling like a lie. Each thrust of his hips pronounced with a wet clash, and the sound of your headboard hitting the wall.
And it was too much, honestly — you were too much.
When you came, he followed — quietly, inevitably, his breath breaking as if your body had taken his and led it somewhere he’d never learned to survive. Yet still, he didn’t punish you; he stayed close, slowly towing your climaxes for as long as he could. And when he finally stilled, he pulled back with a tenderness that looked almost like it broke him to let you go.
Jaeyun eased down and let his head rest against your lower stomach, breathing there for a second — then another — almost as if his lungs needed to relearn how to work. Your hand found him, threading into his hair, fingers combing gently until his face softened and his eyes fell shut. And, for the first time all night, his body stopped bracing.
RULE #4: DO NOT LET HER KNOW YOUR TRUE FEELINGS
If I say it out loud, I make it her problem. I put something heavy in her hands when she never asked to carry me. And I’m afraid — plain and simple — that if she knows, everything changes. And if everything changes, she might step back. She might leave. I can survive wanting her. I can survive swallowing it. I can’t survive losing her. So I’ll keep it useful: jokes, rides home, answers at 2 a.m., the kind of loyalty that looks harmless from the outside. I won’t say I love her. I won’t say I’ve always loved her. I won’t turn our friendship into a question she has to solve.
Jaeyun stayed where he was a little longer than he ought to have, his palms splayed at your sides, lips parted against the skin of your stomach as he pressed a kiss there, and then, at your hips, your thighs, covering all the way to your knees and back up again.
You shivered as he nipped at the tender skin just inside your hip, your fingers tightening in his hair for a moment before you eased again — slow, and unconsciously, keeping time with your breath.
“Jaeyun,” you whispered, and perhaps it had been the way your breath changed then, caught on something that he couldn’t quite hear, but his heart wavered in his chest.
He knew you enough to know it was the beginning of a confession. He just didn’t know what kind. And that was what scared him: not the truth itself, but the possibility of it. That you might be about to ask for distance. That you might be about to reach for a word that would make him either the safest thing in your life — or the mistake.
“Could you turn the lights off?” you asked.
It could have sounded silly then. But it was something old between you — something you’d done as kids when you needed to confess something embarrassing, something heavy. As if darkness could make secrets smaller. As if not seeing each other’s faces could make bravery easier.
Jaeyun propped himself up, knees pressed against your mattress as he reached for your lampshade and turned it off.
The room darkened instantly, but not completely — not with your curtains still open and the city’s light streaming in, painting the walls in soft silver and distant neon, scattering stripes on your sheets.
Jaeyun hadn’t noticed how still you both had become until a car passed outside, its tires whispering over the asphalt before it was gone, and the room held onto the quiet that followed, too complete, too attentive.
The sheets rustled softly as Jaeyun lay back down beside you, not touching you — not yet. He just stayed close enough that when you turned to him, he could feel you through the dark, but then you reached for his hand, interlacing your fingers as you had done when you were nine and whispering that you’d heard your parents arguing and didn’t know where to put the feeling, you were thirteen and admitting you were terrified that one day you’d grow up and he wouldn’t be yours to keep.
“Talk to me, Princess,” he whispered.
“Baekhyeon wasn’t wrong,” you said, the words scattering through the space of your bodies so quickly, Jaeyun took a moment to catch it all, and when he did, he went very still, eyes sharpening on your face.
“Not about you,” you added. “But about me — he wasn’t wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember my first date?” you asked.
Jaeyun let out a breath that was almost a laugh, except it didn’t contain humor. Of course he remembered. He remembered the outfit. He remembered your perfume. He remembered how a strand of hair didn’t quite stay on your pins and he kept fixing it while you paced through your room. He remembered how his fingers lingered there for one last time before you slipped through the door.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I remember.”
You stared at your hands for a beat, thumb brushing against his knuckles.
“I thought you would tell me not to go,” you admitted. “But you didn’t, and so I went, and through the whole day I kept thinking oh, it would have been so much better if Yun was here,”
“The same thing happened with Baekhyeon — I kept wishing you were there with me instead, and I thought it was just because you’re my best friend and everything is funnier when it’s just us. I thought it was just because I feel safer when I’m with you, but—” you paused. “But through these last weeks, I just realized that I truly wished you had asked me to stay.”
Nothing in the room moved, but something in him did, his internal footing slipping, the world turning unstable while his body stayed perfectly still beside you.
You weren’t saying I wanted you to forbid me. But I wanted you to want me enough to risk it.
Jaeyun’s mouth parted, but his body acted like it was still losing its footing. His breath snagging, throat tightening, the words jamming as if speech required solid ground he no longer had. And in the middle of his silence, you created your own answer.
“Never mind, I just—” you began, slipping from his touch and slipping away, but he caught you then, fingers closing around yours again and keeping you there.
“I’ve wanted to tell you to stay a thousand times.”
Your breath caught at his words, your gaze lifting to his and holding, steady and unblinking, the kind of eye contact that made everything feel suddenly too honest to survive. His grip tightened on your fingers, then gentled again, careful not to turn it into a claim — only a question he was asking with his whole body.
“I wanted to,” he said. “When you had that first date. When you called me after and tried to laugh about it, like it didn’t get under your skin. When you—” His breath caught. “When you started seeing Baekhyeon, when he called when we were together. Every time — every time damn time — I wanted to ask you to stay.”
Jaeyun lifted your joined hands to his face, turning them slightly so the backs of your fingers brushed his cheek.
“But I didn’t,” he whispered. “Because I thought if I told you to stay, that was when I was going to lose you entirely — and you know, Princess, I can handle being your best friend forever. I can handle being the one you call when you’re sad or drunk or mad — even if it’s just for you to leave once the moment passes. I can handle having only parts of you.”
His voice lowered. “But I can’t handle losing you.”
You turned toward him properly then, shifting until your faces were close enough that when you spoke, he didn’t just hear the words that followed, but he felt them.
“I would have stayed,” you said. “Every damn time — I would have stayed.”
Jaeyun made a sound that didn’t belong to him — small and raw — the sentence going straight through his ribs and lodging there.
His grip on your hand tightened — and his forehead dipped toward yours, hovering there as if he didn’t trust the space between you not to change its mind.
“Stay, Princess,” he asked.
“I’m going nowhere.”
FINAL RULE: NO MORE RULES
I wrote rules that were supposed to keep me from ruining us. I thought that if I could define every boundary, I could pretend I could control the outcome. Don’t accept reckless requests. Don’t touch her like I’m owed. Don’t be possessive. Don’t say the words that might make her leave.
A small guide for surviving her without losing her.
But I’m not losing her.
She’s here. She’s not a maybe, not a mistake, not something I have to handle with gloves on. She’s with me — clear-eyed, chosen, real. And for the first time, the future doesn’t feel like a threat I need to solve. It feels like something we’re walking into together.
So this is the last rule: no more rules.
Not because I’ve stopped being careful with her — fuck, I’ll always be careful with her. But because I don’t need rules to keep her close when she’s already choosing to stay. Because I don’t have to hide love inside procedure anymore. Because I can finally stop bracing, and start living in the simplest truth I’ve ever had:
my loves, I have a question 🤓☝️🏻 considering this story has a lot of smut, do you guys prefer it as a one-shot, or should I split it into four parts? (it has to be in four parts)
⭑.ᐟ A rainy Highschool reunion trip with Exes Med Student!Y/N and Lawyer!Sunghoon
You knew Sunghoon would be there. Of course, he would be. You had made your peace with it. You’re friends now, kind of. It’s fine. Really. Seeing him at your high school reunion was kind of a given. Agreeing to go on a trip with your friends, including him, later that year, however, surprised yourself.
Sunghoon can somehow still read you like an open book. Of course, he could. He was the person you once planned to marry...until life got in the way. You buried yourself in work, in reaching your goals. Between helping out with Jay's toddler, pretending you're not running on empty, and trying to avoid old feelings during the trip, you start to realise something: Somewhere along the way, you stopped living the life you actually wanted. And maybe, just maybe, there’s still time to fix it.
💿 SOUNDTRACK 〢🖇 SERIES MASTERLIST 〢INSPIRATION 'Love Next Door'
wc ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ pt 1 25,378 〢pt 2 ᵎᵎ 19,882
ᵎ!ᵎ WARNINGS ──── GRAPHIC CONTENT! burnout, chronic exhaustion, grief, unresolved trauma, emotional breakdowns, insomnia, academic/work stress, self-isolation, guilt, anxiety, car accident & death, friend loss, overwork, crying, hurt/comfort, kissing, lots of pining, Y/N is self-manipulating and needs a good psychologist, and Sunghoon is just very, very gentle
# TAGS ──── SLOW-BURN exes to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance, bed-sharing, late-night talks, emotional vulnerability, burnout recovery, grief processing, comfort, soft angst, happy ending
❝ AN ❞ ──── To everyone who had told me that Y/N feels a bit too relatable: I hope, no i know, that there is a future out there in which we won't be able to relate to her, at all. Even if we don't have a Sunghoon to stitch our hearts together. Stay strong and take care of yourself <33
all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ
You were tired.
God, you were tired.
But your brain… your brain was still ticking. It didn’t matter how warm the blanket was, how silent the house had gone once everyone scattered to bed. It didn’t matter that Sunghoon was across the room, already passed out, snoring softly into his pillow.
Your eyes stayed open. You lay there staring at the ceiling for ten minutes. Then twenty. Then maybe thirty.
And still, your thoughts didn’t quiet down.
Your eyes wandered to Sunghoon's sleeping figure; you knew he would scold you if you got up now, but you didn’t know what else to do to finally shut your brain up.
So you slipped out of bed and crept down the stairs to curl up in the armchair in the winter garden.
You told yourself you would just review a bit more.
Just enough to stop your brain from chewing itself alive.
But ten minutes in, you were still reading the same sentence.
Something about estrogen receptor profiles.
It might as well have been written in Greek.
You read it. Then reread it. Then again.
Your fingers clenched around the edges of your iPad.
Frustration was simmering somewhere between your sternum and your throat.
You knew this topic.
You had studied it three times already.
Why wasn’t it sticking?
You didn’t even hear his footsteps until a voice broke through your haze.
“Y/N?”
You flinched so hard you nearly dropped the iPad.
“Jesus,” you gasped, clutching it to your chest.
Sunghoon stepped inside, his hoodie tugged over his hair. It felt like a deja vu moment. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
You gave him a look and pouted. “Maybe don't sneak on at me then.”
“Sorry,” he said, coming closer to peer onto the glowing screen. “Are you…coming back to bed? You’ve been here for a while.”
You nodded, ignoring the question. “Yeah, I know,” with a sigh, you leaned back. ”I just…couldn’t sleep.”
He looked at you, brow furrowed gently. “So you decided to study?”
“I had to,” you mumbled. “I didn’t finish everything I wanted to finish today.”
“You studied like 4 hours in that cafe today, Y/N.”
“I know.”
He didn’t say anything to that, just let himself sink down on the chair opposite yours, watching you.
You tried to go back to the flashcards, but your fingers were trembling slightly now.
“You do this often?” he asked after a while, voice quieter.
You hesitated. “Sometimes. It feels like my brain just empties while I study. If I only focus on that, I can’t be overthinking other things.”
He nodded slowly, eyes soft. “I get that.”
There was a long pause, the only sound in the room coming from the clock quietly ticking in the back of the kitchen.
After a while, he wordlessly leaned forward and gently pulled the iPad from your hand. Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t stop him.
“You’re done for today,” he said.
“Sunghoon–”
“You’re done,” he repeated. “Come on.”
You blinked at him, heart thudding. “But I haven’t finished–”
“I know you haven’t,” his voice stayed calm. “But you look like you’re about to cry, and that’s when it stops being useful.”
You stared at him for a second longer.
Then finally, with a tiny exhale, you let him take your hand and pull you up.
He was right, this was just a waste of time at this point.
“We can go on a walk or watch TV, but nothing is going into your brain, Y/N. You’re tired and exhausted, no matter how much you want to pretend to yourself you could still be productive, you won’t be.” he gave you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
You just looked at him, really looked at him, at the small stubble on his chin, the beauty marks you have kissed countless times before, his tired, worried eyes.
“Bed,” you said after a long moment. “Let’s go to bed.”
He nodded, and his long fingers gently intertwined with yours, pulling you towards the staircase and through the hallway. Neither of you said a word as you crawled back into your beds.
You turned to face the wall and closed your eyes, trying your best to fall asleep.
You knew he was still awake, lying in the bed across from you. He shifted a bit, rustling his blanket in the process.
After a few moments, he softly said your name.
“Y/N?”
He moved again, and his bed creaked. “Would it help… if we shared one bed?”
You blinked against the darkness of the room but didn’t answer him.
“I mean–” he cleared his throat, voice careful. “It still helps you sleep, right?”
Your fingers curled tighter into the edge of the blanket.
It did. You knew that it did.
But you couldn’t.
You couldn’t curl into him, share a blanket with him, share a bed, or wake up next to him. You simply couldn’t do that to your heart.
You never realised how much you had missed him, how much you had missed this, the comfort he brought.
The safety.
The worst part was that you knew it was your fault; it was you who pushed him away, who pushed everyone away and for what? For med school, rotations and board exams.
You closed your eyes and pretended to sleep.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
The small market Yunjin made you go to the next morning was filled with noise and way too many people.
You weaved your way past a stall selling steamed buns, following your friends.
The air was sticky and warm in the alleyway the market was located in, thick with the scent of frying oil and sweet batter, fresh fruit and grilled meat. You slowed down a bit to ask Sunghoon if he would like to get some tangerines for his mom.
She loved tangerines, especially those from the South of the country, claiming they taste sweeter. Whenever you were on trips, Sunghoon and you always brought some for her.
“Sung–”, you turned around halfway only to realise he wasn't behind you anymore, “–hoon?”
Instead of having followed you, he had stopped walking a couple of steps ago, standing in front of fish tanks, big plastic tubs filled with live octopus and silver fish. Haneul was slumped against his shoulder, a purple pacifier in her mouth, red-eyed and sniffly.
Her face was pressed against Sunghoon's shoulder, little hands fisted in the back of his shirt. His free hand was gently supporting her back, rocking her ever so slightly as they watched the fish dart around in the shallow water.
You frowned. Haneul had been off all morning, a bit clingier, a bit paler. Her usual chatter had been reduced to sleepy murmurs. The market noise and heat couldn’t have been helping.
“She didn’t want to be set down,” Sunghoon muttered when you approached the two of them, his voice quiet. “She started crying when I tried.”
You stepped closer and softly reached out to stroke her cheek with the back of your finger. “Oh no, Haneulie. Don’t cry, pretty girl,” you murmured.
The toddler blinked at you, her lower lip wobbling around the purple piece of plastic in her mouth.
You turned to Sunghoon. “Do you think she’d be okay with a little sugar?”
He glanced down at Haneul, then up at you. “Sure. I’m not her dad. Why would I say no to sugar? We will just give her back to Jay if she has a sugar high.”
You laughed under your breath. “Good point. I'll be back in a second. Don't move.”
With that, you turned on your heel and started weaving through the crowd again, dodging a group of elderly women with shopping trolleys to reach the fried snack stall.
You came back with three twisted dough sticks wrapped in parchment, still warm in your hands.
"Here," you said, already in motion to hand Sunghoon one of the kwwaebggis, when you realised he had his hands full of a toddler, "I thought you'd like one as well."
"Thank you, Y/N", he said and tried to lower Haneul to the ground. She made an unhappy noise and strengthened her grip on Sunghoon's shirt.
He paused mid-motion. “Okay, okay, I got you,” he murmured, adjusting her on his hip again. “No setting you down today.”
With an exaggerated sigh through her pacifier she dropped her head against his shoulder.
“She’s really attached to you, huh?” you asked, watching them both with an amused smile as you tore off a piece of the warm kwabaegi.
Sunghoon gave you a helpless little shrug. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this loyalty, but I’m not complaining.”
You laughed softly and stepped a bit closer to the two of them. “Look what I got you,” you said, holding out a piece of the kwabaegi to the toddler.
She looked at it and shook her head, burying it more in Sunghoon's shoulder.
"Would you like to give me your pacifier to try? I promise it's very yummy, Haneul," you said, offering the piece again, but she pushed it away with her tiny palm.
You ate the piece to demonstrate to her that it really is yummy. "Mhm. I really like kwabaegi, Haneul. Uncle Sunghoon does too."
He nodded and adjusted her in his arms. "You should really try one, baby. I am sure you'll feel better afterwards."
She just whined a ‘no’ again.
“Look, Haneul-ah,” you cooed, exaggerating your tone, ripping a piece of kwabaegi off and making an aeroplane motion towards Sunghoon's mouth. “Uncle Hoonie says this is soooo yummy. Right, Uncle?”
Sunghoon’s eyes widened for a beat before he caught on. “Oh, yes. Delicious.” He leaned forward slightly and opened his mouth like a child, eyes wide and dramatic. “Mmm! So yummy!” he moaned, chewing the tiny piece you gave him like it was the best thing he had ever tasted.
You snorted and ate a piece as well. “See? ”
Then you held out a small piece toward Haneul, who had lifted her head just a little, eyes watching closely.
“Wanna try, baby?” you asked softly.
She hesitated then grabbed her pacifier, letting it fall to her shirt and opening her mouth.
You placed the kwabaegi gently on her tongue. She blinked, chewed slowly and then reached for another piece from your hand.
Sunghoon chuckled. “I see how it is. You trust Auntie Y/N, but not me.”
“She just knows I am the cooler one between the two of us,” you replied sweetly.
“That's unfair and a lie. I did the dramatic chewing and everything!”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face as you broke off another bit and handed it to her. Haneul leaned forward eagerly this time, her little fingers brushing yours as she took it.
You continued to feed her and Sunghoon the rest of the kwabaegi before fishing out a small pack of wet wipes out of your bag to gently wipe the powdered sugar from the corner of Haneul’s mouth.
“Here, have a sip,” you said, coaxing the toddler into taking a few careful gulps of your water bottle after cleaning her face. She wriggled on Sunghoon’s hip but didn’t protest much. The toddler was already visibly more content, her cheeks flushed from the heat and her earlier tears, but she was neither pouting nor asking for her pacifier, so you took that as a win.
When you glanced up from her face you realized SUnghoon was staring at you, not just looking, but staring, his eyes focused solely on you.
“What?” you asked, a teasing lilt in your voice as you dabbed Haneul’s sticky fingers.
He blinked, then immediately looked away, letting out a small laugh, the awkward kind he did when he was trying to downplay something.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, taking a step back only to bump into a lady browsing dried squid behind him.
“Ah, sorry!” he murmured, half-bowing in apology, before shuffling back toward you with a sheepish wince.
You raised a brow. “Sunghoon. What was that?”
“Nothing,” he repeated, but his ears were turning red.
You didn’t drop it. “Seriously. What?”
He hesitated, then gave a tiny shrug, eyes darting to the toddler in his arms and back to you.
“It’s just… I don’t know.” His voice dipped lower. “That was really cute. You, with her.”
You blinked.
He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, clearly regretting saying it out loud. “I mean…seeing you with kids. Your whole face just lights up. It’s…yeah. That.”
For a moment, all the noise of the market faded.
You swallowed, caught off guard by the softness of his tone, by how gently he was looking at you now.
Clearing your throat, you quickly turned back to fish another tissue out of your bag, trying not to read too much into what he just said.
“Well, good thing I’m not completely useless,” you said, half under your breath.
Sunghoon smiled at that, and Haneul reached forward again, tugging on your sleeve.
“Aunt Y/N carry me?” she asked softly, rubbing her cheek against Sunghoon’s shirt.
You blinked, momentarily stunned. “Me?” you asked gently. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not nearly as strong as your uncle. I think he’s better for the job.”
Haneul frowned in protest, her bottom lip wobbling.
“But,” you added quickly, holding out your hand, “I can hold your hand while Uncle Honnie carries you, if that’s okay with you.”
She sniffled once, then nodded solemnly, her tiny fingers curling around yours.
You nodded and smiled at Haneul, who slumped back down onto Sunghoon's shoulder, again, her hand clasped in yours between you.
And when you glanced up, Sunghoon was looking at you again.
Not at the toddler, not at the path ahead you were walking on. At you.
With a look so full of fondness it nearly knocked the breath from your chest.
You knew that expression. It was the same one he used to wear during study sessions in your kitchen, when you were half-asleep in your shared bed in the morning, when you would laugh too hard at something dumb, and he would just… stare.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
By the time you got back to the house, everyone was exhausted.
Haneul had refused to let go of either of you since the market. She clung to Sunghoon during the cable car ride, her tiny fingers twisted into his jacket. And when the buggy proved too slow and bumpy, she whined until you picked her up, only to eventually find her way right back into Sunghoon’s arms, where she dozed off on his chest for most of the walk back from the skywalk.
Now, sprawled out across the largest sofa, she lay curled into Sunghoon’s chest, half-asleep again, one small hand still gripping yours with determined force. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks pink from the sun, and her other fist clutched the sleeve of Sunghoon’s hoodie like a lifeline.
Knowing bros was quietly filling the silence in the living room, some of your friends sleeping, others on their phones. Your eyes were closed as you rested your head on the backrest of the sofa.
Heeseung jostled you slightly as he turned around next to you, his back now facing you.
“Heeseung,” you groaned, cracking one eye open as you felt your entire side get squashed into Sunghoon.
"Just continue sleeping, Y/N. I'll just get comfortable here," he mumbled, curling around his fiancée and stealing part of your blanket.
“You're stealing my space and my blanket,” you muttered, elbowing Heeseung without much force. There was nowhere to go except closer to Sunghoon. He didn’t say anything, just adjusted the blanket around Haneul’s little body to cover you as well and let her keep dozing on his chest.
You scoffed and tried to get comfortable again, before closing your eyes and letting your body relax back into the cushions, while still holding the toddler's hand to your best extent.
You were so tired.
Not the normal kind.
Not the kind that could be fixed with one decent night of sleep or a long shower or even caffeine if you were desperate enough.
You had slept plenty tonight, or well, more than you usually did, yet you still felt exhausted to your bones.
But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't fall asleep.
So even when the second episode came to an end, you were still wide awake, your body slumped into the sofa.
“Is she asleep?” Yujin’s voice was soft and careful as you heard her shuffle towards your sofa.
Sunghoon hummed quietly. “Yeah.”
“She looks exhausted,” she said, while she sat down in the spot Heeseung and Ningning sat in before they went to bed.
“She is,” Sunghoon said, his voice low and quiet. “I don’t think she’s sleeping a lot. I found her studying down here yesterday. And today. At two in the morning.”
Yujin sighed, and you could hear the worry in it even without seeing her face. “Did she talk to you about it? She’s always been working and studying a lot, but I feel like she’s not doing anything aside from that.”
“Not really,” he answered. “She told me she’s studying to get her brain to shut up. I think she’s been doing that a lot. Whenever she’s home, there is light burning up deep into the night, no matter what day.”
“Do you think she's having sleep paralysis?” Yunjin asked, and your chest tightened at that hard enough that it almost hurt.
Of course, they knew.
Of course, it had been obvious.
You had never been good at lying or hiding how you were feeling.
“I think she’s having a burnout,” Sunghoon said, his voice tense. “I think the excessive studying is a way for her to get control of something she can control, even if it's incredibly ineffective.”
Yuunjin hummed. “As if she’s developing an eating disorder, but she’s just studying?”
Sunghoon made an agreeing sound.
Your stomach sank.
Because yes, that was exactly what you had been doing.
Sitting in the dark with your iPad, trying to force your brain into obedience.
Trying to outrun whatever was catching up to you.
Trying to be the version of yourself that still got things done, no matter how tired she was.
It didn’t work.
It was insulting, really, how little it had worked.
You had to handle this.
You only had a year left.
One year. That was all. One year until boards, until things got easier, until the pressure shifted, until you could breathe again. You just had to get there. You had to.
Even if you wanted to, you didn’t know how to stop.
You did not know how to rest without feeling useless.
You did not know how to be a person who was allowed to fall apart.
Both of them were silent for a bit, the sound coming from the TV filling the silence, your heartbeat loud in your ears.
“She’s been so off lately. No matter what we did, she just seemed so down,” Yunjin said after a while. “I thought she might be depressed and just…didn’t want to tell me. I mean, we are close, but sometimes I feel like we really aren’t. Sometimes I feel like she’s hiding herself from me.”
You wanted to disappear at that.
Not because she was wrong. Because she was right.
You hated how much effort it took to appear fine. How much effort did it take to keep from falling apart in front of people who loved you enough to notice when you were doing badly? You didn’t want them worrying. There wasn’t anything dramatic enough to justify it anyway.
You felt a hand brush gently over your hair, careful and familiar. A stray strand tucked back from your face.
Sunghoon.
He answered her, though you only caught pieces at first, because your mind was starting to race in that awful, breathless way it did whenever you felt uncomfortable lately.
“She’s been like this before,” he said quietly. “Back when we were together.”
Your heart gave a hard, ugly twist.
“She got really focused on uni,” Sunghoon continued. “To the point where it wasn’t just focus anymore. It was everything. She was always irritated. Always tired. Snapping at the smallest things.”
Your throat tightened.
He was right. You had been so focused on surviving then, so determined to keep going that you had not noticed how much of yourself you were leaving behind.
Or maybe you had noticed.
Maybe you had just not cared enough to stop.
The thought made nausea rise in your stomach.
A new voice joined in, Jay, low and heavy. The sound of it made your stomach tighten.
“I think she hasn’t dealt with Minhee’s death,” he said quietly.
The words stole your breath.
You felt it like a blow.
“What do you mean?” Yunjin sounded alarmed, and you felt the cushion dip under her weight as she turned towards Jay.
“We’ve met on Hanuel's birthday at Minhee’s grave and–,” Jay took a deep breath, “she wasn’t doing well. I think she’s feeling guilty for Minhee’s death.” His voice broke at the end of the sentence, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. “I think she isolated herself because of that. Because of me and Haneul.”
Your chest hurt. A dull, numbing kind of sensation spread from your heart to your lungs, engulfing your upper body.
Sunghoon sighed quietly. “I know.”
Two words.
That was all.
I know.
Not “I’m surprised.”
Not “I didn’t realise.”
Just: I know.
You stayed perfectly still, while your brain started running in circles.
Your face remained relaxed, or at least you hoped it did. Your breathing stayed slow and even as you listened to them talk around you as if you were not there, as if you were only sleeping deeply. About giving you space. About not pushing. About not letting you disappear again.
You felt Sunghoon’s hand move once more, so gently you might have imagined it, brushing hair off your face again.
You wanted to sit up.
You wanted to say something. To laugh it off. To tell them all to stop treating you like a fragile thing. To insist that yes, you were tired, yes, you had been sleeping badly, yes, maybe you had been a little overwhelmed, but that did not mean your life was coming apart.
You wanted to say all of that.
Instead, you lay still and listened.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
Hours later, you sat curled in the corner of the bench on the small terrace of the Airbnb, your legs tucked beneath you, staring into the dark.
So much of your life has been made up of early mornings, late nights, bright lights, white coats, and cold coffee. You wondered if you had ever truly lived at all.
Or if you just... worked.
You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, tucking your knees to your chest, trying to chase away the cold.
A quiet shuffle of feet behind you made you blink.
You didn’t have to look.
You knew it was him.
Sunghoon sat beside you, close enough for your shoulders to brush. The bench shifted under his weight.
“Penny for a thought?” he asked gently.
You didn’t answer at first. Just stared out into the night.
“I always thought we’d get married,” you said eventually, your voice smaller than you meant it to be. “I thought we’d have a kid by now.”
He didn’t answer for a long moment, just let his gaze follow yours into the wet dark.
“I know,” he said. “I thought that too.”
You turned to look at him. His profile was shadowed, the dim lights of the living room catching in his lashes, in the soft fall of his hair.
“I had a whole proposal planned,” he continued. “In Vietnam. You remember that trip we were planning? I was gonna pretend we were just taking pictures at sunset, hand you the camera, and when you turned around… I’d be on one knee.”
You let out a shaky breath. “That sounds like something you’d do.”
“Cheesy?”
“Yeah. I would have loved it.”
He laughed under his breath. “I thought so.”
You were quiet for a long moment, then said, “I’m sorry.”
He looked at you, brows drawing slightly together.
“I’m sorry for putting work ahead of everything. For choosing my studies over us. For shutting you out.” You paused, your breath catching in your chest. “I thought I could balance it all. But I couldn’t. And then I didn’t know how to tell you that without feeling like I was failing at everything.”
His gaze softened. “Y/N…”
Your throat tightened at the tone of his voice.
“I never stopped being proud of you,” he said quietly. “Even after everything. Even when you disappeared on us, I admired the hell out of what you’re doing. You’re literally helping people survive. I could never do what you do.”
You shook your head. “You don’t understand. I’m not–” You swallowed. “Jay. I let Jay down. I let Minhee down.”
He turned to face you more fully. “What?”
Your fingers twisted into the edge of the blanket. “He’s right. Minhee. I–” You exhaled shakily. “I know it wasn’t my fault, I know that rationally. But every time I see Haneul, all I can think is how it's my fault–”
“Y/N.”
“–how she would be alive if–”
“Y/N,” he said again, firmer this time, but not unkind. “You know it wasn’t your fault.”
“I do,” you whispered. “But that doesn’t make it feel any less like it is.”
He was quiet for a long moment before speaking up again. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because we had just broken up,” you answered. “Like, just. And I didn’t want to burden you. You were trying to move on. And I felt like I was breaking into a thousand pieces. I kept telling myself I deserved it. That I couldn’t hold onto you and try to be this version of myself I thought I had to become. And you had to be there for Jay. His girlfriend just died, and he had a newborn at home. And I couldn't bear being around him or her. I just couldn’t.”
“I would’ve dropped everything,” Sunghoon said, and his voice cracked slightly. “If I had known, I would’ve been there. No questions asked. Heeseung was there for Jay. Jake was, too. His and Minhee's parents. I could have been there for you.”
You closed your eyes. “I wanted to call you. I did. A hundred times. But I thought… it would just make it worse.”
Sunghoon exhaled slowly. He didn’t look at you right away, just kept his eyes on the rain, like he was gathering himself. When he finally spoke, his voice came out cautious, careful, like he was stepping onto thin ice.
“Jay told me,” he said quietly. “About the graveyard. How he found you there… breaking down. Talking to her.”
You chuckled dryly and rested your cheek on your knees. “I know. I wasn’t sleeping.”
“I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve fucking called you,” he took a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair, his voice cracking at the edges. “I was too petty back then. I thought it was your fault that we grew apart, because you let me go. I felt like you picked work over us. I was so angry,” he laughed bitterly. “So I didn’t reach out. Even though I knew. I knew Minhee’s death had to hit you hard. You were right there in the room when your best friend died from complications after the crash. I didn’t see her body, but I knew it was horrible, that her body was not recognizable. I saw you at the funeral. And I just… did nothing.”
His eyes met yours, eyes glistening. “I should’ve been there. For you.”
You watched a single tear tracking down his face, and before he could stop it, more and more spilt over.
He was crying.
He was crying because of you.
Your mind started racing as you stared at him, almost unmoving.
He thought he was the reason why you were doing this badly.
He thought he failed.
You couldn’t understand why he was saying that. He didn’t fail; he didn’t do anything wrong. You were the one who ruined everything. Who chose to break both of your hearts, who chose not to speak to anyone for almost three years.
The first gasp rattled through you, deep, wrenching, like your body had been holding its breath for years. Your hands flew to your face, pressing your palms into your eyes so hard it hurt. With a sob, your body bend forward over your knees.
“I–didn’t know,” you choked, your body curled tightly into itself while your shoulder shook violently. “What to do. Uni–the residency–it was so hard. I hated everything. Hated myself. Didn’t know how to–how to hold that and us. It was too much. Everything was too much.”
Your voice cracked, high and broken, another sob ripping through you. You rocked forward slightly, hands fisting in your hair as your chest carved into itself.
“I came home at 3 a.m. Every night. And you–you were asleep on the sofa. Waiting. And I hated it. Hated that you worried about me. Your back–your health. You were still always cooking. You made something for me to eat. But we were always fighting because I was so stressed.”
From the corner of your eyes, you saw his hand reach for you, but you jerked back, shrinking away from the touch, curling smaller into the bench. “Don’t,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Don’t–please.”
He froze, his hands hovering in the air just above your shoulder while hurt flashed across his face before he dropped them to his lap.
Your breath came in ragged gasps, tears streaming hot down your face, soaking your palms as you pressed them harder against your eyes. Sunghoon stayed frozen next to you, face wet, eyes red.
“Then–Minhee–” the name broke something inside you, a wail escaping before you could stop it. “Holding her crying, baby. While doctors tried to save her. Her blood was everywhere. Sunghoon, it was so bad. I knew she wouldn’t make it. I knew.” Another sob rocked your body. “She–she was on her way to get me– to get me from the hospital. Because she knew I wasn’t handling the breakup well. And then she–she died in front of me. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever–it’s burned in my head. Every night. Every shift. Maybe–if I’d–”
Sunghoon held back a sob, a choked sound escaping his mouth, where he had one hand pressed to while he averted his head.
“Maybe things could’ve been different. If I hadn’t ruined it. Ruined us. Our perfect life. She would be alive.” Your body shuddered, sobs turning to hiccuping gasps, your hands trembling against your face. The weight of it all, three years of silence, grief and regret crushed down at you at once. “I threw it away. For what?”
Sunghoon’s hands twitched toward you once, then fell back, respecting the boundary even as tears tracked silently down his own face.
He opened his mouth, once, twice, like the words were there but wouldn’t come. His hand swiped roughly across his eyes, smearing his tears over his face.
He tried again, his voice raw and shaking when it finally broke free.
“I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I knew it was hard for you. The workload, residency. I knew you were suffering under it. And I still expected you to have time for me. Like it was that easy.”
He swallowed hard, breath hitching. “I had my own insane stress. I was working at that horrible firm bullshit, and had to do endless hours. But I was there for you. So why couldn’t you–” He cut himself off, shaking his head, fresh tears spilling over. “I’m sorry. I made it worse. I started fights over nothing. I pushed when you knew you were already breaking. I just… wanted you to react. To do something. Anything. To show me I still mattered.”
His voice cracked on the last word, hands fisting in his lap. He looked up at you then, eyes red and desperate. “Can I hold you?”
You nodded, as a fresh wave of tears made their way down your face.
He moved carefully, pulling you into his chest, one arm wrapped firm around your back, the other cradling your head as you folded against him, face buried in his hoodie. His fingers brushed your cheeks, wiping your tears with shaking thumbs. You clung to him, your cries muffled against his shoulder.
After a while, your sobs quieted into shuddering breaths against his chest, his thumbs still tracing slow, careful paths over your damp cheeks.
“It’s so hard being here,” you whispered, the words spilling out between hiccups. “With everyone. I hate how much I resent Seol. She’s nice. So kind. But every time I see her with Jay, with Haneul… it should’ve been Minhee.”
Your fingers twisted into his hoodie, clinging tighter. “And Haneul… god, today. Taking care of her. Braiding her hair, reading that stupid book about the duck. I loved it. But looking at her… it hurts. Every smile, every laugh. She’s all that’s left of Minhee, and I wasn’t there. Every time her eyes meet mine, it’s like a knife. And it fucking breaks me. I wish I could be there for her, but it’s so hard.”
Sunghoon’s arms tightened around you, his breath uneven against your hair.
You pressed your face harder into his shoulder. “I don’t want to feel this way. But I do, and I hate it,” you choked out, voice muffled against his shoulder, tears soaking through his hoodie. “I hate that everyone’s worried. I don’t get why they even wanted me here. After everything. I’ve been a horrible friend. But you all knew. You all knew. I thought I was hiding it better. I thought I seemed fine,” your breath hitched, another sob bubbling up. “I wasn’t. Was I?”
Sunghoon pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his thumbs still framing your face, wiping tears that wouldn’t stop. “No,” he said softly, unflinching. “But you shouldn’t force yourself to laugh when you feel sad or like breaking down.”
The words cracked you wider.
“You’re our friend,” he continued, voice steady through his own tears. “We will always love you. No matter how much time passes between seeing each other. That’s not conditional.”
Fresh sobs wracked through you, deep, ugly, chest-shaking sobs. “My heart hurts so much,” you gasped between them, raw and desperate. “I’m so fucking sad all the time. I don’t know what to do. I can’t fix it. And I miss you. So much. Everything about you.”
He crushed you to his chest, his arms iron-tight, chin resting on your head. “I know,” he whispered, voice thick, cracking. “I miss you too.”
Your sobs slowed eventually, ebbing into shaky breaths, hiccups fading against his chest. The rain kept falling, steady and soft, matching the rhythm of his hand on your back. He didn’t pull away. Just held you there, chin resting lightly on your head.
“Do you think…” Your voice came out small and hoarse. “If we’d done things differently… Do you think we might’ve made it?”
Sunghoon stilled for a second, then nodded against your hair, the motion soft but certain. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “I think we would’ve.”
You exhaled shakily, fingers still twisted in his hoodie.
“I tried,” he continued quietly, almost hesitantly. “To love someone else. After us. Dated a bit. But it was never… it wasn’t the same. Not like with you.”
Your chest tightened.
“I’ll never stop,” he added, softer still. “Not completely. There’ll always be a part of me that loves you.”
You went silent after that, thoughts racing wild behind your eyes, your heartbeat picking up as you tried to get your breathing under control.
Sunghoon shifted slightly. “Do you want to try going to sleep? I don’t want to leave you alone like this.”
You nodded against him, small and tired, but neither of you moved right away.
The rain filled the quiet, your breathing syncing with his, before you pulled back just enough to stand, slow and unsteady. Your hand extended toward him, shaking slightly, in an unspoken question.
He took it without hesitation, lacing his fingers through yours.
Together, you walked back inside to your bedroom.
You let go of his fingers and came to a stop in front of your bed, staring at the unmade blanket, the crumpled up pillow, and your chest carved in at the thought of actually trying to sleep now.
“Can you…”, You cleared your throat, “Would it be okay for you if we slept in one bed?”
“Of course,” he nodded slowly and waited for you to climb into his bed before following you.
When he settled beside you, it didn’t feel weird or strange.
Just… familiar.
Familiar in the way bodies remember what minds forget. Your head found his chest without thinking, cheek settling against the soft give of his shirt. His arm curved around you and settled at the small of your back, as it has always done.
Under your ear, his heartbeat tripped, quick, unsteady.
You blinked slowly against the fabric. “Your heart…”
There was a pause, then a small, sheepish laugh. “I’m a little nervous, okay? It’s my first time being in bed with my ex, cut me some slack.”
You rolled your eyes and smacked his stomach lightly, before sniffling softly. “You’re so annoying.”
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound rumbling under your cheek. “And yet you still chose my bed.”
“Shut up, Park Sunghoon.”
“Alright, alright.” He held up his free hand in mock surrender, then shifted again, settling more comfortably against the pillow. You closed your eyes again, letting the silence wash over you.
You weren’t sure when his fingers started moving again.
At first, you barely noticed it. Just the faintest drag of skin on skin, slow, barely-there motions on your back where your shirt had ridden up slightly.
You stayed still, breathing shallow and quiet.
But then he began tracing shapes. Letters.
You tensed slightly.
H
Your brows knit together in the dark.
I
You bit the inside of your cheek. It took all your focus not to turn your head and answer.
S
T
I
L
L
Still.
He paused for a second. You weren’t sure if he thought you had fallen asleep or if he just needed a breath.
Then more.
H
E
RE
Still here.
You closed your eyes. Squeezing them shut to stop them from watering again.
He kept going, slower now. His fingers drifted over your spine, across your shoulder blade, gentle and soft. He traced small hearts once. A spiral. A star.
You tried to focus on the feeling, on the shapes he was drawing, to decipher any letters he might have written, but instead of figuring out if he just wrote a letter or a very wonky dog, your thoughts were racing around your head, replaying your conversation.
I’ll never stop.Not completely.There’ll always be a part of me that loves you.
That's what he said, right?
That he would never stop loving you, that he couldn’t love someone else, no matter how much you wanted him to.
It didn’t feel romantic. It didn’t feel tender. It was scary.
You didn’t know what frightened you more: that he still loved you, or that some part of you still wanted him to.
Because how could you want that when you were like this? When your life was a constant cycle of work, deadlines, exhaustion, and trying not to fall apart? How could you imagine loving him properly when you barely had enough left in you to function?
You had nothing to offer him.
He deserved someone better than the version of you that existed now.
Someone who knew how to be present.
Someone who wasn’t always halfway out the door in her own head.
Someone who didn’t live as if her only purpose was to keep going until she collapsed.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
When you woke up, the room was quiet and warm, dust dancing in the sunlight coming in through the gaps in the curtains.
Sunghoon’s side of the bed was empty, the sheets slightly rumpled. The sound of water splashing against the shower walls and floor filled the small room. You stared at the ceiling for a second, blinking the sleep from your eyes.
Your body felt heavy and sore in the way it only ever was after crying yourself to sleep.
The sound of the shower stopped, and you heard him hum to himself as he stepped out of it, the low sound of the hairdryer starting a few seconds later.
You took a deep breath and closed your eyes again, squeezing them shut before opening them and sitting up slowly. The banked that was wrapped around your shoulders slipped down slowly, and you just sat there listening to the sounds coming from the bathroom.
After a few minutes, the door creaked open slowly, and Sunghoon's head appeared in the doorway. His eyes lit up when he saw that you were awake.
“Morning,” he said quietly.
You smiled, small and sleepy. “Morning.”
His gaze lingered on you for a second too long, warm and gentle. “Did you sleep well?”
You gave a soft hum and nodded. “Yeah.”
He seemed to accept that, though his expression stayed tender in that quiet, worried way of his. He watched as you untangled yourself from his blanket and stepped aside so you could pass. As you brushed by him, his fingers caught lightly at your wrist for just a second. It was barely a touch. You stopped and looked back at him.
His thumb brushed once over the inside of your wrist, slow and absent-minded, and then he let go with a little half-smile.
“Come downstairs when you’re ready,” he said.
Your eyes flickered over his face, taking in the almost sad expression on his face.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I‘ll do that.“
He nodded and turned around. You stared at the back of his head for a few seconds before continuing your way to the bathroom.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
By the time you made it downstairs, the cold water from the shower had worked enough to clear the fog from your head. It didn’t erase the puffiness around your eyes or the lingering tightness in your throat, but that was okay. There wasn’t much you could do about it anyway.
Jay and Sunghoon were on the sofa, Haneul curled against Jay’s chest with her cheek pressed into his shirt, while Bluey played in a low murmur on the TV. She looked pale and sleepy, her little face flushed, one hand curled tightly around Jay’s collar.
“Good morning,” you said gently, lowering yourself onto the sofa beside them.
Jay smiled at you, tired but warm. “Morning, Y/N.”
You looked at Haneul, then frowned a little. “Is she okay?”
Jay’s hand moved through her hair, careful and slow. “She’s a bit warm,” he admitted. “She woke us up a couple of times last night.”
You leaned closer, reaching out to rest the back of your hand against her forehead. “She definitely has a mild fever.”
Jay let out a quiet breath. “Yeah, I think so too.”
You glanced up at him, already slipping into that calm, practised part of yourself. “Did you bring medicine? I can go to the pharmacy if you want.”
Before he could answer, Haneul stirred with a tiny whimper, burrowing deeper into Jay’s chest. He tightened his hold around her automatically. “No, don’t worry. I’ll go when she wakes up again. I just don’t want to move her right now.”
You smiled softly, already standing up again. “That’s fine. I can grab something for her.”
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
Jay, Sunghoon and Haneul were still curled together on the sofa when you returned to the Airbnb. You had stumbled into the rest of your group, who had decided the day before to go on another hike today. You had declined their invitation to come along, your legs still hurting from your first day but had wished them a fun time before slipping back into the house.
Jay and his daughter were asleep, their breathing soft and calm, while Sunghoon was sitting in the corner of the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him, hair still slightly tousled.
You walked in quietly, the door clicking shut behind you. He turned toward the sound instinctively, eyes softening when they landed on you.
“Mission successful?” he asked.
You lifted the paper bag triumphantly. “She’ll be back to bossing us around in no time.”
“I knew we could count on you, Doctor Y/N,” he said, giving you a small smile.
“Well, if not me, who else?” Your lips quirked into a grin as you put the small bag onto the kitchen counter and grabbed your iPad from the sofa table before dropping onto the sofa next to Sunghoon.
He didn’t say anything, just shifted slightly and handed you a part of the blanket he had thrown over his legs.
You didn’t say anything, either. Just opened your iPad and flipped through a few pages of a medical casebook, pretending to read.
Truthfully, your attention was split, maybe 30% on the text, and the rest on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way your body fit so easily against his again, the quiet intimacy that still lingered despite everything unspoken. You probably should really speak about what was happening right now, how you just shared a bed for the night, how you almost automatically curled back into him here on the sofa. About what you and what he said yesterday.
But you couldn’t get yourself to burst whatever bubble of calm you were living in right now.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
You were half-curled into Sunghoon’s side, iPad balanced against your thigh, when Haneul woke up. She sluggishly opened her eyes and unclenched her hands from Jay's t-shirt, before sitting up with a pout. Her hair was flattened to one side, and her cheeks were still flushed.
Jay almost automatically ripped his eyes open when he felt her move. It was almost funny if she didn’t look like she was about to start crying.
“Appa,” she sniffled, and let her head drop back onto his chest.
“Good morning, my love,” he mumbled, starting to move. He seemingly needed a second to realise where he was, his eyes finding your figure.
You gave him a small smile before putting your iPad and the blanket to the side. “Haneulie, Auntie bought you some medicine to make you feel less warm and for your head to hurt less. Do you want to eat something and try it out? I promise I picked the yummy ones.”
She sniffed and shook her head, mumbling something into Jay's chest that you couldn’t understand.
“Don’t you want to feel better, love?” Jay said his hand was petting her hair. “Auntie is a doctor and knows how to get you healthy very quickly. She’s like Doctor McStuffins.”
That got a dry chuckle out of Sunghoon, who was still typing away on his laptop, his eyes not leaving the screen.
“Wait, I’ll get it,” you heaved yourself from the sofa to grab the bag from the pharmacy and a shot glass.
“Look, Haneulie,” your knees popped loudly when you squatted down in front of the two of them. “I bought you some chocolate bread and juice that tastes like strawberries, to get you healthy again.”
You were pretty sure she would outright refuse to drink the fever syrup if you told her what it was, so you filled it into a shot glass, something she knew adults used to drink and prayed for the best.
She sniffled but sat up and reached for the bread first, a quiet thank you coming from her before she took a careful bite. You had to physically hold yourself back from cooing and petting her cheek while she ate.
“Take another one,” Jay encouraged her, his gaze flickering up to your face, and he gave you a soft smile, mouthing ‘thank you’.
You nodded at him, mouthing a ‘no problem’ back while handing his daughter, your goddaughter, another piece. The chocolate inside the bread had melted under the warmth of your fingers, leaving them sticky and gooey.
You handed her the shot glass with your clean hand, letting her chew and swallow the bread before asking her to drink the fever syrup.
She did as asked but wrinkled her nose afterwards. “Yuk,” she said, her other hand gesturing for more of the bread.
You and Jay laughed at that, but you obediently gave her the last piece left before licking the remaining chocolate off your fingers.
“Well done, baby,” you cooed, your free hand coming up to caress her small cheek. Her skin was warm and soft under your fingers.
“Auntie, can you read?”
You blinked in confusion, your fingers stilling for a second. “Can I read?”
“She’s asking if you could read her a book,” Jay clarified as Haneul nodded up at you, pouting.
Your heart fluttered for a second, and you swallowed, your gaze wandering from Jay to his daughter again.
“Yes, sure,” you gave her a small smile. “Do you have a book you want to read? Should we read the one with the ducks again?”
She nodded and moved, wiggling out of Jay's hold to stand up next to you. “Ducks.”
“Okay, let’s get the book with the ducks,” you said, reaching forward to pick her up, but Jay stopped you.
“I’ll get it. I’m sure Seol is still sleeping, and it’s in our bedroom,” he sat up, and it was almost funny how much he resembled his three-year-old toddler while doing so.
You nodded and ignored the weird feeling that spread in your chest at the thought that you should be close enough friends with Seol to get a book while she is sleeping.
It wouldn’t be weird if you did that for anyone else on this trip.
With a sigh you sat down next to Sunghoon again, Haneul now curled into you.
She pressed herself against your chest and sighed, her thumb wandering to her mouth, before being taken out from there by Sunghoon, while he draped his blanket over the two of you.
The toddler turned around in your hold, grabbing his hand and pressing it against her face. “Uncle Sunghoonie.”
He smiled at her and gently caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Hmh?”, he hummed. “What’s up, Haneul?”
“Fishies,” she said, before sniffing.
“What about fishies?” He asked, his sole focus on her.
“Can we go to fishies?” She peeled his hand from her face, looking at you, with big, watery eyes. “Auntie, I want to see fishies.”
You cooed at her before looking up at Sunghoon, knowing that the toddler should not go out or be near a market where groceries were sold, but you somehow hoped he would support you with the irrational decision of still going with her if she felt better by the afternoon.
Sunghoon's gaze flickered up, and his eyes caught yours, an amused glimpse in them as he shook his head, while a grin spread on his face. “We can’t go, baby. You’re sick.”
She whined and threw her head back into your chest, forcing a huff out of your mouth at the vigour of the impact. “Fishies.”
You looked from her to Sunghoon, a pout creeping to your face, but he shook his head at your silent plea. “We can go see fish in Seoul, Haneul. There is something called an aquarium, where fish live, so we can watch them. It’s like a zoo.”
She lifted her head from your chest again. “Really?”
He hummed. “Yeah. Maybe Aunt Y/N would like to come along as well?”
Haneul whined again, while you blinked at Sunghoon. Your eyes flickering between his while your brain wracked itself searching for an answer. Yes, you would love to, but you shouldn’t. You knew that when all of this was over, when you were back at home, when this bubble had burst, your heart would break. You loved this here, you loved being with your friends, you loved being with Sunghoon, but in Seoul…in Seoul, you couldn’t let that happen. You had to focus on studying and not give your heart and head space to mourn.
“I–I–...yes,” your mouth spoke faster than your thoughts. “Yeah, I’d love to come, Haneul.”
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
You hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
But between the warmth of the blanket, Haneul’s little body curled into your chest, and the rhythmic clacking of Sunghoon’s keyboard next to you, your eyes had fluttered shut.
When you woke again, the light had shifted. It bathed the whole room with a softer, dimmer glow.
Your head felt heavy against the sofa cushion when you woke up. One of your arms was wrapped around the toddler's body, while the other one rested on the sofa, still holding the book in a loose grasp. You took a deep breath through your nose, Haneul's head being lifted on your chest. Carefully, you wrapped your second arm around her and turned the two of you to the side, bumping into Sunghoon in the process.
His fingers stopped moving for a second before you felt him pull your blanket up your shoulder, where it had slipped during your sleep.
“How late is it?” you mumbled against the crown of Haneul’s head, slowly peeling one eye open to look at Sunghoon.
He hummed quietly before leaning forward and, with gentle fingers, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your cheek.
“Almost two,” he murmured. “You should go back to sleep.”
You made a low noise in your throat, the closest thing to a protest you could muster, but closed your eyes again. “No. I gotta… study. A little.”
He clicked his tongue in disapproval, and his hand wandered over your cheek, still caressing it gently. A pleased hum escaped your throat at the feeling.“You’re here to relax, not to work continuously.”
You cracked one eye open. “You’re working too, Park. Don’t throw stones from your glass house.”
That earned a small, reluctant laugh from him. “Touché.”
Without moving too much, careful not to jostle Haneul, you reached to your side and grabbed your iPad, placing it on the throw pillow next to you. Your thumb opened your note app with practised ease, screen glowing softly in the dim room.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything more. Just returned to his laptop, fingers dancing across the keys, the occasional sigh slipping through his nose.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
It was past midnight again, and the house had long since gone quiet. The others had gone upstairs hours ago. You followed them, got ready for bed, bruising your teeth, washing your face and curling into your bed.
But sleep just wouldn’t come.
So when Sunghoon's soft snores filled the silence in your bedroom, you silently removed the thick blanket from your body and crept out of the room, hoping he would stay asleep tonight.
The tiles of the wintergarden were cold under your legs. It had been raining for a few hours now, the sun disappearing behind thick, dark clouds just after you finished eating dinner.
Your iPad glowed dimly in your lap, the same sentence still open in front of you, your eyes moving over the words again and again without taking them in. You had been staring at them for so long that they had stopped being words at all.
The rain tapped softly against the glass roof above you, a muted and steady sound that should have been calming. Instead, it only made the silence feel sharper.
The screen faded to black, and instead of opening it, typing in your passcode, reading those four sentences again, you left it be.
You heard the stairs creak quietly, followed by the sound of footsteps coming your way.
You didn’t look up until he dropped beside you on the stairs, a water bottle in one hand, his sweatshirt pulled on backwards.
“I thought you were asleep,” you said quietly.
“I was,” he replied, voice even quieter. “Until I wasn’t.”
You hummed and stared back at your reflection of the two of you in the window.
Your studying had been fruitless from the very start. Your mind was too busy thinking. Not about what you should be doing, what you were doing, but about a person.
About the very person sitting next to you.
About the way he was speaking to you, the way he was looking at you.
You caught his eyes in the glass, his expression gentle, so so gentle.
He was not looking at you like an ex, treating you like one. He was not treating you like a friend. He was treating you like a lover, and you were painfully, achingly aware of it. Every time his hand brushed yours. Every time he leaned in to speak softly so he wouldn’t wake Haneul. Every time he looked at you for just a second too long. Every time he came down here with you. You knew exactly what it meant.
And you wanted it.
That was the worst part.
You wanted him to keep looking at you like that. You wanted him to keep touching you like that. You wanted him to keep being worried like that. You wanted to be someone he loved again, wanted to love him back without hesitation, without guilt, without all the ruined years sitting between you like broken glass. You wanted to lean into him without remembering how badly you had hurt him.
Because you had hurt him.
You knew that.
You had hurt him with your silence, with your stubbornness, with the sharp things you had said when you were drowning and didn’t know how to ask for help. You had hurt him when you pushed him away and chose work instead of the people who loved you.
And the horrible truth was that nothing had changed.
Not really.
Jay had been right, and you hated it so much. You had not dealt with Minhee’s death. Not properly. You had not dealt with the breakup. You had not dealt with losing your friends, with the way your life had quietly splintered after everything fell apart. You had just kept moving forward because stopping would have meant looking at it all directly, and that had always felt impossible.
So you had shoved it aside.
Work. Exams. Rotations. More shifts. More reading. More doing.
Anything but feeling.
Even when you had tried to deal with it, you really didn’t.
But you knew, you hadn’t just missed Sunghoon.
You had missed the part of yourself that had existed with him.
Sunghoon had been part of your life since kindergarten. You had grown up side by side until the shape of your life had almost become one shared thing. He had been part of everything for so long that you had never had to think about him being there. He simply was.
And then for the last three years, he wasn’t.
Three years should have been a long time, but for some reason, when you tried to think back, they felt strangely hollow.
Blurry around the edges.
Not because nothing had happened, but because everything had happened in a way your mind had refused to fully keep.
You could remember the major things, exams, holding Gaeun for the first time, your sister's wedding, but the actual days blurred together when you tried to hold them still.
What had you done two years ago? Two months ago? Two weeks ago? You couldn’t say.
It was like those years had all been the same: work, study, sleep too little, keep moving, repeat. Wake up. Survive. Do it again.
There had been no real markers, no moments that had felt worth remembering, because you had been too busy trying not to break apart to notice that your life had narrowed into something almost colourless.
And maybe that was why Sunghoon felt so overwhelmed now.
You swallowed hard, staring at nothing in the dim light, and the realisation sat heavy in your chest.
Maybe that was what scared you most.
Not that you had missed him.
But that you had never really stopped belonging to the version of yourself that had loved him.
And that was the part you had never wanted to admit.
Because if he had been there for that long, if he had been part of every version of your life since childhood, then losing him had not just meant losing him. It meant losing the shape of yourself that only existed when he was beside you.
You tried to think of who you had been before him, and nothing came.
Not because you had been born loving him, not because your life had never belonged to you, but because he had been there through so much of it that your memories no longer felt separate from his. He was in the background of everything, in the unremarkable moments, in the ordinary days that should have been easy to remember. And yet the last three years were a smear in your mind.
You knew there had been days. You knew you had lived them.
But they didn’t feel like yours.
Work had taken them. Studying had taken them. Exhaustion had taken the rest. Every day had folded into the next until time lost all shape, until the only thing that mattered was getting through the next lecture, the next shift, the next deadline, the next problem. You had become so used to that rhythm that you barely noticed how empty it was.
Sitting here now, with the rain above you and your friends asleep around you, it was obvious, so so obvious that you missed out on so much. That not only had you not lived your life, but that a part of yourself had gone missing on that one fateful day three years ago.
And maybe that was why everything with Sunghoon felt so hard now. Because this wasn’t some clean, healed version of you that could meet him halfway. This was the same damaged, half-avoiding girl who had broken his heart and then spent three years pretending that being busy meant being okay.
You swallowed hard and stared down at the screen again, but the words wouldn’t hold still.
You shouldn’t have come here.
You shouldn’t have let yourself get pulled back into this. You shouldn’t have let his kindness make you feel safe. You shouldn’t have fallen asleep with Haneul on your chest and Sunghoon’s voice in the background and then woken up feeling like you were back inside a life you had no right to want anymore.
Because now you knew how good it felt.
And now it would hurt that much more when it would inevitably end tomorrow after you drove home.
You pressed your lips together and tried to breathe through the tightness in your chest, but all you could think of was how much you wanted him, and how unfair that was.
How unfair it was to him.
How unfair it was to you.
How could you want him this badly when you still didn’t even know how to be honest with yourself?
How could you look at the man who had been so gentle with you all day and not ache for the life you had lost with him?
The answer, cruelly, was that you already did.
You ached for it constantly.
You ached for him.
“After we broke up,” you said, your voice low, hesitant, “I was at the hospital.”
He blinked, seemingly surprised that you broke the silence between the two of you. “Yeah, I know. You worked there even before we broke up.”
“No,” you said, still staring ahead. “Not as an employee. I was in the ER. I fainted during a shift. They diagnosed me with burnout.”
His head turned toward you sharply. “You what?”
“I fainted. In the middle of rounds,” you said softly. “One second I was standing, next thing I know, I was in a hospital bed with an IV.”
“Jesus, Y/N…” he whispered.
You gave a small, humourless smile. “I think I knew it was coming. I just didn’t want to admit it.”
His brows furrowed, his jaw tense.
“It wasn’t just the job,” you continued, staring outside. “It was the exams, the night shifts, the pressure, that one asshole attending who made my life hell,l and still trying to be a good girlfriend and friend.”
You drew a shaky breath. “And then we broke up, because I couldn’t handle it. And a few days later…Minhee.”
His head turned at you, but you shook your head, not wanting to look at him.
“That night…” You said slowly. “I think that broke something in me. I’ve never lost anyone before. Not like…that. I mean, I’ve lost patients, yeah. But no one I knew personally. And then suddenly I was holding her baby, watching my colleagues trying to save her life. And she just…went. Her heart just stopped.” A disbelieving laugh escaped your mouth. “She was unrecognisable, Sunghoon. It’s a miracle Haneul survived, it really, really is.”
Sunghoon took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
You continued, your voice higher. “I think everything that had been stacking up just… collapsed after that. I checked out. I barely remember anything since, if I am honest. The last three years, just,” you mimicked an explosion with your hands. “puff. Are gone.”
His voice was barely above a whisper. “Why didn't you tell me, Y/N? About how you felt before we broke up. I–we,” he went through his hair with one hand. “I am sure we could have found a solution.”
“I didn't know how to,” you said, shrugging. “We barely even saw each other, and if we did, every conversation we had was around school or my residency or we fought.”
Both of you went silent, staring into the darkness outside, listening to the rain now drumming harder against the roof.
“I’ve never stopped worrying about you,” he said eventually, voice thick. “Not once since we broke up. We’ve known each other since kindergarten, Y/N. I thought I knew you better than anyone.”
You closed your eyes. You knew. You thought the same, but instead of saying that, you answered something else. “You did, probably still do.”
“I didn’t know you were collapsing at work,” he said. “I didn’t know you were–fuck, I didn’t help. I kept pushing you to spend time with me when you clearly weren’t doing okay, and I didn’t even see it.”
“Sunghoon.” You finally turned to him. “You were going through the same thing. You were studying for your bar exam. Your internship. Your parents were on your ass about everything. You weren’t supposed to fix me.”
“I should’ve seen it,” he shook his head.
You exhaled slowly, your head tipping just enough to rest against his shoulder.
“It wasn’t your fault,” you said. “It wasn’t mine either. It just… happened. Life just happened.”
There was a long pause until he broke the silence.
“I’m sorry.”
You didn’t open your eyes, just giving him the space he gave you before.
“And I hated myself for how things ended,” he said, his voice wavering a bit. “For how I let it get to the point where we couldn’t even talk without hurting each other.”
Your throat tightened.
“I knew you weren’t okay. Not really,” he went on, a little steadier now. “And then…then you just… disappeared. You didn’t speak to anyone, no one saw you, no one knew how you were doing,” He huffed out a short breath. “I asked my mom about you a few times. But I stopped. I didn’t want to get her hopes up, you know how she is. She would’ve started preparing wedding invitations. She always wanted us to get back together. She hated every other girl I dated. None were reaching her high standards, aside from you, and she kept reminding me how I failed miserably when we broke up. How my life was perfect, how you were perfect.”
You let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sigh.
He didn’t laugh.
“I just didn’t want to believe we’d gone from everything to nothing. But I didn’t know how to reach you without making it worse. So I stayed away.”
You were quiet once more, letting the sound of rain falling against the windows of the wintergarden fill the silence.
"I think it's happening again," you said after a long moment. “Me burning out. I’m–” you closed your eyes. “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I’m always irritated or sad or am feeling nothing, everything is just numb, and I don’t know what to do. I hate working in the hospital. I fucking hate it. My last shift was in the NICU. We lost two babies. Two. I had to tell the parents. And I fucking hate that part. You never get used to it. How could I? Their whole world just…” You exhaled sharply. “It’s gone. And I can never stop thinking about how, maybe I did something wrong, maybe I’m wrong with this, but it was hard enough to get this position. Working in the ER broke me, and I don’t think the NICU is helping fix me either.”
His hand found yours, and he intertwined your fingers, softly squeezing them.
“I love this job,” you went on, voice thinner now. “Or I used to think I did. But lately… I don’t know. I feel like I’m barely surviving. Like I’m pretending really hard every day. And no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.”
You stared out into the dark garden without really seeing it. The glass reflected a ghost of your own face back at you, pale and tired and distant. You felt oddly detached from it, from everything. Like you were sitting a little too far away from your own body, watching yourself from somewhere just outside the edges.
“I’ve tried everything. Sleeping more, sleeping less. Taking walks. Taking time off. Pretending I’m fine. Being honest. Being quiet. Nothing works for long,” your voice was so quiet it barely carried over the rain.
“Ironcailly,” you chuckled in disbelief at what you were going to say. “Being with you helped. I’ve slept more and… confusing. You’re confusing me.”
That made him move.
Sunghoon straightened a little, then quietly slipped down from the step above and sat in front of you on the floor, close enough that your knees nearly touched. The movement was careful, almost reverent.
His face was soft in the low light, but there was concern there too, deeper than before. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly. “Why am I confusing you?”
You let out a shaky breath and looked away again. It was easier than holding his gaze. “Because you make me feel things I don’t know what to do with,” you admitted. “And I don’t know if it’s because I’m tired, or broken, or just lonely, or if it’s actually you.”
You felt his eyes bore into the side of your face.
“I don’t know how to tell anymore,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I’m attached to you because you’re familiar, or because you make me feel safe, or because I still–” You stopped yourself, jaw tightening. “I don’t know.”
Sunghoon’s thumbs brushed slowly over your knuckles, warm and grounding. “Have you seen a therapist?” he asked after a moment, his voice careful, not pushing, just asking.
You let out a short laugh with no humour in it. “Yeah.”
He watched you closely.
“I did. For a while.” Your shoulders sagged a little. “It helped some. I guess. But not enough. Or maybe I just stopped letting it help. I don’t know.”
“That’s still something,” he said softly.
You shook your head, too tired to argue but not fully convinced. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“No,” he admitted, “it probably doesn’t feel like enough right now.”
His honesty made something in your chest twist.
You stared down at your joined hands. “I’m numb all the time,” you said. “And then suddenly I’m not, and it all hits me at once. I can’t keep up with myself. I keep thinking if I just change one thing, maybe I’ll be okay again, but I don’t even know what that one thing is.”
He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the low light except for the worry that never really left his face. “And the confusing part?” he asked gently.
You looked up at him then, and the hurt in his eyes made your stomach twist. Not because he seemed offended, but because he was trying so hard not to be.
You swallowed. “It’s just that… when I’m with you, I notice everything more. I notice how tired I am. How empty I feel. How much I’ve been pretending. And then sometimes I also feel–” You stopped, pressing your lips together.
“Feel what?” he asked.
Your gaze dropped to your hands. “Less numb.”
That made him go very still.
“I think that’s why it scares me,” you admitted. “Because if you make me feel things again, then I can’t just keep hiding inside all this nothing. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
Sunghoon looked at you for a long moment, his face softening in a way that almost hurt to see.
“Y/N,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to be ready all at once.”
You let out a shaky breath. “It feels like I should be.”
“Why?”
Because everyone else seemed to be moving. Because the world kept asking for more than you had. Because you were tired of feeling broken in ways you couldn’t fix fast enough. Because being near him made you want things you had no room for.
You didn’t say any of that.
Instead, you whispered, “I don’t know.”
Sunghoon gave a small nod, as if that answer was enough for now. Then, after a pause, he asked, “When was the last time you saw your therapist?”
You frowned a little, trying to remember. “A while ago.”
“Too long ago?”
“Probably.”
He nodded, not judging. “Would you go back?”
You looked away toward the dark window again. “Maybe,” you said, though it sounded more like a guess than a promise. “If I could make it fit into my schedule. If I could find the energy.”
“I don’t want to tell you what to do. I know you are an adult who can make your own decisions,” he said. “But you’ve always been incredibly incapable of realising and accepting that you may need help. I had to practically force you to go to the nurse, back when you broke your toe because you claimed it was normal to be this swollen, even though it grew almost double in size. Maybe everything else had also grown double in size, and a therapist is going to be the one to give you a pair of crutches, you then refuse to use until my and your father forced you.”
That made you chuckle wetly, a tear escaping your eye, dripping onto your sleeve, leaving a dark stain. “You say that like it’s easy.”
“I know it isn’t.” His thumbs moved once over your knuckles. “I’m just saying you don’t have to do this alone. I’ll gladly carry your bag, Yunjin will bring you as much of that horrible grape juice you love, Jay and Jake will come over and watch that show you used to watch, and your parents will be there for you. I will be.”
Your throat tightened again.
For a moment, you just stared at him, at the quiet seriousness in his face, at the way he looked like he meant every word.
“Why are you like this?” you murmured, sniffing, another tear making its way down your face.
He let one of your hands go, reaching up to your face, gently brushing the wetness away. “Like what?”
“Kind,” you said, almost accusingly, almost helplessly. “Patient. Annoyingly calm.”
That pulled the faintest smile from him, but it didn’t last long. “Maybe because someone has to be.”
You looked at him then, really looked at him, and something in your chest pinched painfully.
“Why do you still care?” you asked quietly.
Sunghoon’s expression shifted, concern deepening into something more immediate. “What?”
“Why do you still care?” you repeated, your voice thinner this time. “Why does Jay care? Why does Jake care? Why do any of you want me here after everything I’ve done? I was the reason everything went to hell.”
His brows drew together. “Y/N–”
“No, seriously.” Your laugh came out small and broken, more breath than sound. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand why you keep letting me stay like this, why you keep looking at me like–like that.”
Sunghoon tipped your chin up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes.
“Because you are important to me,” he said, very quietly. “And because I’m not going to let you drive yourself into hospitalisation. Not again, Y/N. I know you need someone to tell you to stop. I know that you are hurting. But I also know that you can fix this.”
Your throat tightened immediately.
You looked away for half a second. “I can’t.”
“You do.”
“No,” you said, and now your voice was shaking. “I won’t be able to fix this until I have this stupid degree.”
He opened his mouth to say something to tell you off, but you didn’t give him the chance to. With a sudden movement, you gently grasped his wrists before pulling them away from your face, suddenly unable to stay still any longer. The room felt too small, too full, too warm. His presence felt too much.
You had to get away from this, from him.
“I’m going for a walk,” you said quietly.
Sunghoon looked up at you, startled. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“It’s raining, Y/N.”
“I know.”
He got to his feet, too. “Y/N you’ll get sick.”
“I just need to breathe for a second,” you said, your voice sounding desperate even to your own ears.
Sunghoon looked like he wanted to stop you, but the worry on his face softened into something more helpless when he realised how badly you needed the distance.
“Then at least take a jacket,” he said, quieter now.
You nodded and moved towards the door, pulling on the first jacket you could find before stepping into the rain.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
You didn’t go far.
You only stepped out onto the porch and sat down on the bottom step, pulling your knees up for a second before letting them fall open again.
The rain was colder than you expected, sharp against your bare legs and face, soaking into your hair within moments.
You stayed there without moving.
You weren’t even sure what you were hoping for. Clarity, maybe. Relief. Anything that might…stop them. Stop your racing thoughts, the nauseous feeling bubbling up in your stomach, the sting in your eyes.
You didn’t deserve this, did you?
His love, his care, his worry.
It felt so unfair.
Missing him felt unfair, because he was right there, close enough to touch, and still somehow out of reach. Or at least he should be.
He shouldn’t have to deal with you being…like this. You knew Jaemin, heck, even Jeno, were worried, were on your back all the time to sleep, to eat, both of them were taking care of you as if you were a moody teen.
Telling Sunghoon about the hospital, about the burnout, about the last three years that have simply vanished into work and numbness should have been comforting you. Speaking about it should be helpful, right? Finally admitting you weren’t doing as well as you wished to someone who would listen and care should have comforted you.
Instead, it left you feeling exposed.
Because now he knew.
Now he had looked directly at the wreckage you had spent years trying not to see. And worse than that, he had admitted he still cared, still worried about you, still…loved you.
You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a shaky breath.
It felt unfair.
Unfair that he still had that kind of power over you. Unfair that his tenderness made you want to break open. Unfair that you had come here thinking you could keep this all contained, when in reality you knew that it was impossible, with your friends around, with him around.
The cold sank deeper into your bones as the minutes passed.
Your arms started to prickle first, then your legs. The rain had soaked through your clothes and with a quiet breath, you pushed yourself up and stepped inside through the porch.
Sunghoon had left the living room light burning, the soft glow guiding you, as you peeled off your shoes and the jacket you had stolen. You carefully draped it over the heater in the bathroom downstairs in hopes it would dry before you all would say goodbye and drive back to Seoul.
When you shuffled into the living room, wanting to turn off the ceiling light, you stopped mid-movement.
Sunghoon was sitting on the sofa, his head tipped slightly to the side, a towel thrown carelessly over one arm, while he was softly snoring.
You closed your eyes and did your best to ignore the stinging behind your eyes.
For a second, you actually considered leaving him there. Letting him sleep. Letting the night stay quiet. Letting yourself disappear into your room and pretend the whole thing had never happened.
But then your body moved before your mind could catch up.
You crossed the room softly, each step muffled by the floor, and crouched beside the sofa. His face looked looser in sleep, less guarded, the hard edges of worry gone for the moment. He looked younger like this, and somehow that made it hurt more.
You reached out and touched his shoulder lightly.
“Sunghoon.”
His eyelids fluttered, then opened slowly. “Y/N?” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.
You nodded, a few drops of water landing on the floor at the movement. “Yeah.”
One of his hands came up to his face, and he rather violently rubbed over it. “You’re wet.”
You chuckled at that and nodded again, humming softly. “It’s raining.”
He reached for the towel beside him and spread it out before gently dropping it on your head. “Let's get you dried off and go to bed.”
“I don't think I can fall asleep today,” you murmured, closing your eyes while he carefully worked the towel through your hair. “You should go upstairs.”
Sunghoon looked down at you, his hands stilling, and he shook his head almost immediately. “Y/N no, it’s almost 3 am. You should at least try to sleep. You’re working a night shift tomorrow.”
You averted your eyes from his, looking at the puddles around you.
“Go to bed, Sunghoon,” you said quietly, voice muffled through the fabric. “You need sleep.”
His brows knit tighter. “Do you want to sleep here? If you’re uncomfortable with me upstairs-”
You lowered the towel slowly, pulling it from his grasp, interrupting him. “It’s not you. I won’t be able to sleep anyway. Might as well study a bit. Get my head to shut up.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you for a long moment, his expression gentling. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” he asked quietly.
You huffed out a small breath and rubbed at your damp hair. “Probably not. But what else can I do?”
Sunghoon’s gaze flicked over your face, over the wet strands clinging to your cheeks, and something in his expression shifted again, softer this time, more worried than before. He stood up in one easy motion, taking the towel from your hands again before you could argue.
“Then let me help first,” he murmured.
Before you could say anything, he was gently patting your arms dry with the towel, careful and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. The touch was so simple it almost undid you. Not because it was dramatic, but because it was normal. Familiar. Thoughtful in that quiet way he had always been with you.
“I’ll wait until you’re ready to sleep,” he said, still drying the water from your sleeves. “You can change, come back down, study a little until you get tired.”
You stared at him, then shook your head immediately. “No. Definitely not.”
His mouth quirked faintly, though his eyes stayed serious. “Why not?”
“Because you should sleep,” you said, your voice tightening. “You’re tired too.”
He paused, the towel still in his hands. Then he gave you a small, tired exhale. “Yeah. I probably should. I just wish you would do too.”
You looked up at him then, and that was when your eyes started to sting.
You tried to stop it. You really did.
Your lashes fluttered shut, and before you could pull yourself back together, you let your forehead drop against his chest.
He pulled you in immediately.
His arms wrapped around you, one of his hands settling at the back of your head, the other across your shoulders, holding you close. You didn’t cry, but your whole body felt heavy and almost lethargic, and after a second, you hugged him back, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you let yourself lean into the warmth.
His hand moved slowly over your back, steady and soothing, and his head tipped down until his cheek rested lightly against yours.
“Come upstairs,” he murmured, barely louder than breath. “Please.”
You shook your head against his chest, though you didn’t pull away.
“No,” you whispered, the word rough and fragile. “I can’t.”
He didn’t let go.
“Y/N,” he said softly, not unkind, but with that quiet firmness.
You breathed in, then out, trying to steady the ache in your throat. You couldn’t bear going up with him, sleeping in a room with him, pretending that that was normal, that the last three years changed nothing.
Because this wasn’t back then, and it should not have felt like it could be. You should not be in an Airbnb in the middle of the night, soaked and exhausted and falling apart in his arms. You should not be here with him at all, not like this, not when everything had changed, and none of it could ever go back.
“It’s not like back then,” you said.
His hand kept moving over your back, slow and warm. “I know.”
“It can’t be.”
“I know,” he repeated, gentler now.
But he still didn’t move.
And when you tried to shift back, to create space, he only held on a little more firmly, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you where you were.
“It might not be like back then,” he said quietly, his voice low against your hair. “Some things have changed. But I’m…still worried about you.”
“Stop worrying,” you whispered, the words coming out sharper than you meant. You pressed your forehead harder into his chest. “Just stop.”
He went still, his hand pausing mid-motion on your back. When he finally spoke, it was after a long, heavy silence, his gaze holding yours when you dared to glance up. You could feel the intensity of it even before your eyes met his.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “I still love you.” His hand came up to your face, tentatively caressing your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t noticed escaping your eye. “I want you to be happy. Healthy. Not like this. And I want to help. I can’t just… not care.”
Your throat closed up tighter, the air feeling too thick to pull in. Static started to fill the silence between the two of you, a faint ringing piercing through your head. You broke eye contact first, turning your face into his shirt because looking at him hurt too much. “We can’t,” you repeated, voice cracking on the edge of it.
Sunghoon stayed quiet for a long moment, just holding you there in the dim light of the living room, the rain still tapping steadily against the windows. Then, slowly, he pulled you closer again, resting his chin lightly on top of your head.
“Please,” he murmured after a while, barely above a breath. “Just for tonight. Pretend it’s okay. Pretend we’re still us. Let me make sure you sleep.”
You let out a shaky exhale against his chest, your hands fisting loosely in his shirt. Part of you wanted to push him away, to insist on the distance, on the reality of everything that had happened between you. But another part was already leaning in, letting the warmth of him seep through the cold still clinging to your skin.
“Go to bed,” you said softly, pulling away. “I’ll come up. I promise.”
He looked at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours in the dim light, something pained and unguarded lingering there. Then he nodded once, quiet and accepting.
“Okay,” he murmured.
He turned toward the stairs without another word, his steps soft on the creaking wood, leaving you behind. The house swallowed the sound of him going up, and then it was just you again, standing in the middle of the living room with rain still dripping from your hair.
You sank onto the sofa, curling into yourself as the ache in your chest sharpened into something unbearable. Your hands pressed against your face, and the tears came quietly at first, silent shakes that built until your shoulders were trembling, your breaths hitching in the dark.
How had it come to this?
How had you let your life pass by and ruin his life in the process?
After a while, minutes, maybe longer, you ran out of tears to cry. With a soft sniffle, you wiped your face with the edge of your sleeve, pulling up your knees to your chest, curling up on the sofa, ignoring the water stains your clothes might leave.
The room slowly changed around you as the night wore on.
By the time the clock had crept past four, the house felt even more still, the silence almost hollow.
By five, the dark had started to soften.
A pale grey crept in behind the curtains, then a faint wash of blue.
Eventually, you pushed yourself up.
The others were still asleep as you quietly made your way upstairs, each step careful so the old wood wouldn’t creak too loudly beneath you. When you reached your room, the sight of your bed almost made you laugh tiredly. He had neatly folded up your bedding, placing your PJs and one of his hoodies on top. It made your eyes sting again, and you almost turned back around before actually stepping inside.
Sunghoon was asleep in the other bed, turned slightly toward the wall. His breathing was slow and even. He shifted once when he heard the faint sound of you moving in the room, but he didn’t wake. After a second, he settled again.
You stood there for a long moment, just looking at him.
Then, quietly, you climbed into your own bed and pulled the blanket over yourself. You kept your eyes on his shape in the dark for a while, the first light of morning beginning to shine through the drawn curtains.
You stared at him until your eyes finally gave in.
And then, at last, you slept.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
Seoul greeted you with dull skies and relentless rain.
The drive back had been quiet.
You had slept for an hour or two before waking up to pack and leave the Airbnb. Your eyes felt swollen, and you were sure everyone could tell you had spent a good part of the night crying, so you tried to avoid looking at any of the others for too long.
The smooth glass of Jay's car window was cold under your skin when you rested your forehead against it, closing your eyes, trying to sleep for the three-hour drive. The hum of the road and Sunghoon’s soft, absent-minded humming from the driver’s seat pulls you into a fragile calm. Jay was sitting next to you, holding Haneul’s hand obediently, after she asked for her daddy to sit next to her. You had offered Seol to sit next to her boyfriend, but she had declined, explaining that she would get motion sickness in the back. You accepted it with a nod and slid in beside Jay, giving him a tired smile before getting comfortable.
The car slowed in front of your apartment building, tyres hissing on wet pavement.
Jay followed you out, unloading your bag from the trunk with a frown that lingered a beat too long on your face. “You sure you’re okay getting in alone?” he asked, voice low.
“I’m fine,” you said, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You ignored the worry creasing his brow.
You were fine.
Or at least you would be after a bit of distance from all of this.
Sunghoon stood by the car, his hands jammed deep in his jacket pockets. He looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but held back. Haneul stirred awake at the commotion and reached for you with a sleepy whine from her seat. You leaned in, kissing her warm cheek and brushing her fever-damp curls from her forehead, letting her tiny hand cling to your finger for a second longer than necessary.
“Text me if she gets worse,” you murmured to Jay, and he nodded.
“I will. But… call us too, yeah? If you need anything,” his voice dropped even lower.
You nodded vaguely, already turning away from the concern in his eyes.
Sunghoon lingered even after Jay had gotten back into the car, his gaze fixed on you.
“I’ll see you soon?” he asked, voice quiet but edged with hope, like he was afraid of the answer.
You nodded, quick and detached. “Yeah. Soon.”
He gave you a small smile, and you gave him one back, before you turned towards your building.
The rain-slick door clicked shut behind you.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
A few hours later, the fluorescent lights buzzed above you.
The ward was quiet tonight.
You had just made your rounds, charted vitals, answered two sleepy buzzers, and checked one incision site. Everything was fine. Calm.
And yet, you felt like you weren’t calm at all.
You blinked, slowly. Your limbs were heavy, but your head was running in circles. You felt like you were about to go crazy; there was a constant buzzing in your ears, your thoughts overlapping, and the next second, there was blankness, only for the whirlwind to return.
Sunghoon.
Jay.
Haneul.
Seol.
Minhee.
Those five names were circling around in your head constantly.
You sighed and closed your eyes, pressing the back of your palms into them, hoping it might stop your brain somehow.
Being with him had felt so easy. So natural. His hand against your spine, his voice calling you inside, his quiet laugh when Haneul demanded your attention. His warmth at night.
You swallowed thickly. You had rested. Really rested.
The thought of going home to your apartment, to Jaemin and the cats, made your stomach twist.
You weren't alone, no, but you still felt so lonely.
No matter how many people were there, you still felt like there was no one. No one who knew you, no one who would understand, no one who could stop you from drowning.
You were longing. For the life you hadn’t let yourself have.
You could’ve had this.
You could’ve had him.
If only you hadn’t kept choosing the next task. The next round. The next shift. The next exam. You kept saying later, later, later. And then later became never.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
It’s been almost a month since you came back from your trip, almost a month since you reacted to any text message or calls, almost a month since everything had become so much worse.
You couldn’t eat or sleep, and your heart felt like it was losing its steady rhythm from time to time.
You knew you had to stop, knew that if you didn’t, your body would force you to.
The IVs you were administering yourself from time to time during breaks were helping, but you knew that wasn’t a long-term solution.
Your shift dragged to its end under the same fluorescent hum, every minute stretching like taffy. You watched yourself clock out, your hands moving on their own accord, as they slung your bag over your shoulder, swiped your card over the reader, and waved goodbye to the head nurse. Watched your feet carry you through sterile corridors and out into the rain-slick night until the familiar outline of your apartment complex appeared in your view.
The lock of your front door beeped before the sound of the lock clicking open sounded through the hallway. It was warm and cosy inside, familiar, but it felt so distant.
You stood in the entryway, your umbrella dripping onto the shoemat. For a long moment, you couldn’t get yourself to move; even the thought of it feels exhausting.
“Y/N?” Jeno was coming out of the bathroom door, holding Luc in one of his arms.
You blinked at him, needing a second to process seeing him there. You didn’t know he would be visiting today. Usually, Jaemin let you know when his boyfriend was here, but you seem to have forgotten it.
“Are you alright?” His smile faltered, concern creasing his brow as he took in your face, the hollow eyes, the damp hair clinging to your skin.
You nodded once, short and mechanical.
“Do you want something to eat? We’ve ordered mandu and gimbap?” Jeno asked carefully, letting down the cat, before coming closer to you.
Just the mere thought of him touching you made your skin prickle.
Your bag hit the floor with a soft thud. “I’m–I will be home later.”
You turned on your heel and walked out, the door clicking shut behind you again.
The subway platform was a haze of late-night commuters and flickering ads. You moved with the crowd, letting it guide you through the station, towards the open train doors, letting the rhythmic clatter pull you under.
You had no real destination in mind at first; you just wanted to get away, to escape all of this.
The train spat you out in a quieter part of Seoul, rain still pattering on your hood as you walked the streets. After a while, you realised that you were in your parents' neighbourhood, the streets familiar, etched into your brain.
You came to a stop in front of the house you had spent your childhood in, the hood of your jacket drenched in water now, cold streams of rainwater flowing down your neck. It was just past 11 PM, so it wasn’t uncommon for your parents to be awake, but you wished they weren’t. You wanted to go inside, to sit down on the sofa, stare into nothing before curling up in your bed, pretending that everything was fine, that you were fine. But instead of doing that, you found yourself in the middle of the street, staring up at the familiar windows. A soft light glowed from the living room, warm and steady, cutting through the dark as it had always done. You watched it without moving, without really seeing, your mind blank.
Your name cut through the haze.
“Y/N.”
The voice startled you, sharp and close. You turned slowly, blinking rain from your lashes, and there he was.
Sunghoon.
He was standing just a few steps away in a dark suit, tie loosened, holding up an umbrella, shielding him from the downpour, water pooling at his feet. His eyes, those stupid, pretty eyes, locked onto yours, his thick eyebrows scrunched into a deep frown, worry etched so clearly it almost hurt to look at.
“Y/N,” he said again, softer this time, stepping closer.
You swallowed hard, your throat tight and raw. “Yes?”
“What are you doing here in the rain?” He asked carefully, his gaze searching your face in the dim light.
Something in you cracked wide open.
You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, but almost ran the last step into him, arms wrapping tightly around his waist as a sob tore from your throat, raw and desperate. His umbrella clattered to the ground as he caught you immediately, one arm wrapping around your back, the other cradling your head. Rain soaked you both, but you didn’t care.
“I miss you,” you choked out against his shirt, the words spilling messy and fast. “I miss you so fucking much, Sunghoon.”
His hold tightened, breath hitching quietly above you.
“I want you to love someone healthy,” you went on, voice breaking as tears mixed with the rain on your face. “Someone happy, who doesn’t fall apart like this. I want you to be happy. Healthy. But I still love you.” A sob tore from your throat. “I love you so much it hurts. It hurts all the time.”
He didn’t say anything at first, just held you there on the wet pavement, his cheek pressed to your hair, his chest hitching under your head. His suit was cold and damp against you, but his warmth cut through it, steady and unshakable.
“I know,” he whispered finally, voice thick. “I know.”
You clung to him tighter, face buried in his damp suit jacket, the rain falling in relentless sheets around you both.
“I want to go back,” you choked. “I want to go back in time so fucking bad, Sunghoon. I hate what I am doing. I hate myself so much for the choices I’ve made.”
He stiffened slightly, arms still locked around you, and you felt the tremor in his chest.
“I want to meet my friends without feeling like it’s you or them,” you went on, words tumbling wet and desperate. “I want them not to have to choose. But God, I want to be selfish for once. I want it back. I want my life back. My friends. You. All of it. I miss it so much it’s killing me.”
Your tears turned into full sobs then, ugly and unrestrained, your fists twisting in his jacket as the rain plastered your hair to your face.
Sunghoon’s breath shuddered.
You felt it first, the damp warmth on your temple, then your cheek. He was crying too. Quietly at first, his shoulders started to shake as he pressed his forehead harder against your hair, one hand cradling the back of your head.
“I know,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I want it back, too. Fuck, Y/N. I want you back.”
Your knees buckled softly, the world tilting as exhaustion and grief pulled you down. Sunghoon caught you before you could sink too far, his arms wrapping around you with that same steady warmth, holding you up against his chest like you weighed nothing.
You looked up at him then, rain blurring everything, and your breath caught.
His face was flushed red and blotchy from tears and the cold, his eyes glassy and raw, thick lashes clumped together. Tears traced down his cheeks, mixing with the downpour, but it was the unguarded ache in his expression that undid you completely.
Your eyes fluttered shut as another sob climbed your throat.
“We should go inside,” he whispered, voice tender and cracked, his forehead resting briefly against yours.
You nodded, too tired to argue. “Don’t want my parents to see…”
He glanced back at his own house across the street. “Mine aren’t home,” he murmured. “Come on.”
He kept you close as you moved together, his arm around your waist, steps slow and quiet on the wet path. The front door opened with a familiar creak, and you slipped inside.
It was as if you stepped into a portal that took you back in time.
Nothing had changed.
The expensive marble floors gleamed under soft recessed lights, the expensive, ugly, crystal vase, his mother loved so much, was still on the console table with its perfect cascade of lilies, and the weird abstract art hanging in precise rows. Every book spine was aligned, every throw pillow was fluffed up.
Perfect. Everything about the Park house had to be perfect; she needed it, needed him to be perfect, and you destroyed it, destroyed his perfectly curated life.
Upstairs felt the same. You peeled off your soaked clothes in the bathroom, your movements heavy and automatic, dropping them in a sad pile on the heated tile. Sunghoon handed you a hoodie and sweats, and you pulled them on, the fabric swallowing you whole. You didn’t even realise how much weight you must have lost; his clothing never felt this big on you before.
He passed you the hairdryer with a gentle nudge after you gave him the okay to come back to the bathroom. “Here.”
You nodded and took it from him, but your arms felt like lead. The dryer sat heavy in your lap as you sank onto the closed toilet seat, your eyes drooping, fighting the pull of sleep that blurred your vision.
Sunghoon knelt in front of you, his own towel forgotten, his hand warm on your knee. “Y/N,” he whispered, so soft it barely stirred the air. He gently pried the dryer from your fingers. “Let me.”
Before you could protest, he guided you down to sit on the bathmat, your back against the cool tub edge. You folded your legs under you, too drained to resist. He knelt behind you, close enough that his knees bracketed your hips, his warmth seeping through the damp hoodie.
The hairdryer hummed to life, low, soothing, like white noise from a distant room. Warm air blew over your scalp as his fingers combed gently through your wet strands, parting them carefully, working from roots to ends.
Your eyelids grew heavier with each pass, and your head dipped forward once, then twice, chin dipping toward your chest as sleep tugged relentlessly. You caught yourself, blinking slowly, but he only made a quiet sound and kept going.
When your hair was almost completely dry, he clicked the dryer off.
“Come on,” he whispered, sliding his arms under yours to pull you up. You swayed against him, boneless, and he steadied you with a hand at your waist, the other across your shoulders, before he steered you out of the bathroom, down the familiar hall to his old room.
He eased you down onto the mattress, pulling the duvet over you before you could fully register it. The pillow smelled like him, and your eyes fluttered shut as the bed dipped beside you.
“Sunghoon–” you mumbled, sluggishly.
“Shh. Just sleep.” His voice was close, his hand settling lightly on your arm. “I’m here.”
And for the first time in days, the blankness finally let go.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
You woke slowly, caught somewhere between dreams and reality. For a moment, you couldn’t tell where you were; the bed was too narrow, the air was too stuffy, and the weight across your waist was too heavy to be one of the cats. You blinked, willing your brain to comprehend what was happening until you recognised the room, the warmth.
Sunghoon.
You were in Sunghoon's room.
He was still there.
Curled behind you, one arm draped loosely over your hip, his breathing deep and even against the back of your neck. His chest rose and fell steadily, pressing gently into your back with each breath.
Your eyes adjusted to the dim morning haze. His room hadn’t changed: his skating trophies were gathering dust on the top shelf, the stupid fish tank he hated so much was still filled with water and animals floating around, and his open closet was neat and clean.
You shifted slightly, and his arm tightened instinctively before he stirred. A soft hum rumbled from his chest, his nose brushing your hair as he blinked awake.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice gravelly with sleep.
You swallowed, heart thudding too loud in the quiet. “Hi.”
His hand flattened warm against your stomach, thumb tracing one lazy circle before stilling. Neither of you moved further. The rain had stopped sometime in the night, leaving only the faint drip from the eaves outside.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded against the pillow, eyes drifting shut again. “Yeah. First time in… a while.”
“Good.” His breath ghosted your neck, lips not quite touching but close enough to feel the intent. “Stay a little longer?”
The question hung soft, tempting. Part of you wanted to curl back into him, let the world wait another hour. But you had to go to work. It was god knows how late already.
“I should–” you started, but he shifted closer, chin tucking over your shoulder.
“Just five more minutes,” he whispered, half-pleading. “Please.”
You let out a small, tired laugh and turned your face into the pillow. “Fine. Five.”
His smile pressed warm against your skin. “That’s my girl.”
You let the ‘five minutes’ stretch into something timeless, the morning light filtering through the gauzy curtains in soft, forgiving greys. His arm stayed draped warm across your waist, fingers splayed gently against the oversized hoodie he had given you, his breath a steady rhythm at the nape of your neck. It felt like stealing time, like the world outside this narrow bed, this childhood room, didn’t exist. After a while, his voice broke the stillness, low and careful.
“Last night… when you said you didn’t want the others choosing between you and me. What did you mean?”
You tensed under his touch, eyes fixed on the faded band poster across the room, its edges curling from years of neglect. “After the breakup,” you murmured, voice barely above the sheets, “everything got… divided. I know they would say it never was, but I knew. They had to pick sides, yours or mine. I pulled away so they wouldn’t have to choose. So you wouldn’t lose them.”
His thumb stilled on your stomach, a beat of silence stretching before he exhaled slowly. “Y/N… I never wanted that.”
“I know.” Your words came out smaller, scraped raw. “But I wanted you to be happy, to live your life as you had always done. Just without me being in the way.”
He shifted then, rolling you gently onto your back so you faced him fully. The mattress dipped under his weight, bringing him closer, close enough to see the faint shadows under his eyes, still red-rimmed from last night’s tears, the thick lashes clumped together. His hair fell messy across his forehead, and those stupid, pretty eyes searched yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You weren’t in the way, Y/N,” he said quietly, voice thick. “You were part of that group, of that life, just as much as I was. It was your life just as much as it was mine. None of us had any claim on it.”
You swallowed, throat tight, but he wasn’t done. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing the line of your jaw like he was memorising it. “
I hated it. I couldn’t understand what was happening, why you just… disappeared. Every day after… I kept waiting for you to come back. Kept checking my phone like some lovesick loser, hoping for a text. Anything.” He chuckled lowly. “I never stopped worrying about you. Not once. I’d ask around. ‘How’s Y/N doing at the hospital?’ ‘Heard she aced her exams?’ ‘Oh, Imu shes now working close to home?’ I tried not to sound desperate, but fuck, I was.”
A tear slipped down his cheek, and you reached up, brushing it away with your thumb, your heart twisting. He turned into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm, soft, reverent, before his lips found yours. It was tender at first, a brush of warmth, testing, like he was afraid you would pull back. But when he realised you wouldn’t, he kissed you deeper, unhurried, his mouth moving against yours with all the longing he had held back for years. Salt from his tears mixed with the taste of him, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you there like you would slip away otherwise. You melted into it, fingers threading through his hair.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, noses brushing. “I missed everything else too,” he whispered, voice rough. “Missed watching you grow into this beautiful woman. A doctor, for fuck’s sake. The girl who used to steal my hoodies and fall asleep during movie nights is saving lives now. I’m so proud it hurts. But it kills me that I wasn’t there for it. That I can’t go back and be the one you leaned on.”
You laughed wetly, sniffling a bit.
“What if we try again?” he asked then, raw hope threading through the words.
You shook your head faintly, the ache resurfacing. “Sunghoon… I’m not fine. I’m sick. I’m so burned out, I don’t even know how to do the most basic tasks. I can’t drag you into this mess.”
He smiled then, small, sad, but unwavering, and his thumb stroked your cheek. “My dad’s a doctor. We’ll figure it out. I’ll make him fix you up as good as new.”
A watery laugh escaped you. “I’m a doctor too, you know.”
“I know.” His expression turned serious. “And I’m so fucking proud of you. Everything you’ve become… It’s incredible. But you can’t keep sacrificing yourself for it. Not your health, not us. You’ve given enough.” He paused, voice dropping even softer. “I will never be able to love anyone as I love you. No one else. Just you.”
You looked away, tears spilling free now, silent tracks down your temples. He kissed them away, one on each cheek, soft as breathing, then your lips again, even gentler, a promise sealed in warmth. “Let me help,” he murmured against your skin. “Let us help. You’re not alone.”
Your throat closed up completely, the weight of his words, of him, settling heavy inside your chest. You nodded into his, small and shaky, fingers curling into his shirt. “Okay,” you breathed, voice breaking. “We’ll try.”
His arms came around you fully then, pulling you flush against him, one hand cradling the back of your head as he tucked your face into the crook of his neck. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice thick with relief, lips brushing your hair. “We’ll try. Together.”
Thank you so much for reading!
Lots of Love,
Patty
-ˋˏ⚘ genre: neighbors to lovers · single dad au · fluff · angst · smut · found family · slow burn
-ˋˏ⚘ summary: You have lived in apartment 3B for two years. You know your neighbors the way you know background characters — familiar, unremarkable, just part of the scenery. Which is why it’s strange that you’ve never properly noticed the man in 3A. Until 6:58 on a Tuesday morning when someone knocks on your door and you open it to find not him, but her. Small. Round-cheeked. Duck pajamas. Absolutely certain of herself. You fall for his daughter first. Jake is just the complication that comes after. But god, what a complication.
-ˋˏ⚘ word count: 21.1k
-ˋˏ⚘ content warnings: explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, oral sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, praise kink, soft dom/sub undertones, strong language, single parent theme, child abandonment (mother leaving), brief parental guilt, an absent parent reappearing, emotional manipulation attempt, jealousy, mention of custody, legal procedure, alcohol, crying, found family theme, a toddler who will ruin your life in the best way
-ˋˏ⚘ song: You Are The Best Thing by Ray LaMontage
-ˋˏ⚘ authors note: i started this fic because i wanted to write a soft single dad jake but the mia took over everything, she was supposed to be a supporting character but how can i make someone that cute not a main. she picked reader first and she always knew and i think that’s the whole story. jake deserved softness. reader deserved to be chosen. mia deserved a mama who showed up. everyone got what they deserved. if you’re reading this — thank you. comments, reblogs, feedback and likes keep me writing and i am so serious about that. enjoy💛
-ˋˏ⚘ my masterlist
You have lived in Apartment 3B of Wattle Grove Building for two years. You know Mrs. Kim in 1A leaves her recycling out on the wrong day every single week without fail. You know the guy in 2C plays guitar badly but enthusiastically every Sunday morning. You know the building super Danny will fix anything you need as long as you leave a coffee outside your door first.
You know your neighbors the way you know background characters in a movie you’ve seen too many times. Familiar. Unremarkable. Just part of the scenery.
Which is why it’s strange that you’ve never properly noticed the man in 3A. You’ve seen him, obviously. In passing. At the mailboxes. Once in the car park when you were both leaving at the same time and did that awkward thing where you both reached for the door simultaneously and then laughed and said sorry at the same time. He’s tall. Dark hair. Has a nice face in the vague way that you register nice faces without really looking at them.
He moved in about eight months ago. Keeps to himself. Quiet. You’ve never heard a peep through the wall you share, which you appreciate deeply after two years of listening to the previous tenant’s aggressive taste in late night television. You know his name is Jake because it’s on the mailbox.
That’s it. That’s the extent of your knowledge of the man in 3A. Until 6:58 on a Tuesday morning when someone knocks on your door.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
You are not a morning person. You are, in fact, the opposite of a morning person. You are someone who sets four alarms and ignores three of them and considers getting out of bed before eight a personal attack. Your first class doesn’t start until ten. You were planning to sleep until at least eight thirty, mainline coffee until nine, and leave with approximately four minutes to spare.
So when someone knocks on your door at 6:58 AM you lie there for a full thirty seconds convincing yourself you imagined it. Then it happens again. Small. Rhythmic. Insistent. knock knock knock
You groan into your pillow. Drag yourself upright. Pull on the hoodie hanging off your desk chair and shuffle to the door, hair catastrophic, eyes barely open, prepared to be deeply unpleasant to whoever is on the other side.
You open the door. There is no one there. You blink. Look left. Look right. The hallway is empty and quiet and— “Hi.”
You look down. There is a child sitting on the floor outside your door. She is approximately three years old, round-cheeked and bright-eyed, wearing a yellow pajama set covered in tiny ducks. Her dark hair is escaping from two lopsided pigtails. She has a serious expression on her face like she has somewhere important to be and is merely pausing here briefly.
She is, without any competition, the most adorable thing you have ever seen in your entire life. You stare at her. She stares back. “Hi,” she says again, very patient, like she’s giving you time to catch up.
“Hi,” you manage. “Um. Who are you?”
She considers this question with great seriousness. “Mia.”
“Okay. Hi Mia.” You look up and down the empty hallway again. “Where did you come from?” She points at the door directly across from yours. 3A. “Are you—” You crouch down to her level. “Did you come out of your apartment by yourself?”
“Mr. Bunny is lost,” she explains, as if this answers everything. And apparently, in her world, it does. She stands up, remarkably steady on her feet for someone so small, and peers past you into your apartment with undisguised curiosity. “Is he in there?”
“Is who— Mr. Bunny? I don’t think so, sweetheart. I haven’t seen any—”
“Can I look?”
“I— well—” She’s already walking past you into your apartment.
You stand in your doorway, blinking slowly, watching a three year old you have never met toddle into your living room and start investigating with the focused energy of a tiny detective. She checks under the coffee table. Behind the couch cushions. She picks up one of your throw pillows, examines it, puts it back. “He’s not here,” she announces, sounding genuinely disappointed.
“I’m sorry.” You’re fully awake now, adrenaline doing what four alarms couldn’t. “Mia, does your dad know where you are?”
She looks at you. Blinks. And then, for the first time, something flickers across her face that isn’t complete confidence. Something small and uncertain. “Daddy’s sleeping,” she says quietly.
Oh no. Oh no.
“Okay,” you say, very carefully, going into full calm adult mode even though internally you are having a minor crisis. “Okay, that’s okay. Let’s go wake daddy up, yeah?”
You take her hand — she gives it to you immediately, tiny fingers wrapping around yours with complete trust, and something in your chest does something weird and unexpected — and you walk her across the hall to 3A.
You knock. Nothing. You knock louder. A crash. Muffled swearing. Footsteps. The door flies open.
Jake Sim, your neighbor from 3A, looks absolutely terrible. He’s in gray sweatpants and no shirt, hair destroyed, eyes wild with the specific panic of a parent who has woken up to find their child missing. There’s a pillow crease down his left cheek. He looks like a man who has just experienced the worst thirty seconds of his life.
He looks down at Mia standing beside you, her hand still in yours, looking up at him with the expression of someone who has done absolutely nothing wrong. The relief that crosses his face is so profound it’s almost painful to witness. “Mia.” His voice comes out wrecked. He drops to his knees right there in the doorway, gathering her up, holding her against his chest. She pats his back tolerantly. “Mia, I— you can’t— how did you—”
“I was looking for Mr. Bunny,” she explains into his shoulder, very reasonable.
“You can’t leave the apartment by yourself, baby, I’ve told you—”
“But Mr. Bunny—”
“I don’t care about Mr. Bunny right now—”
“Daddy.” She pulls back to look at him, deeply offended. “Mr. Bunny cares.”
You press your lips together very hard to keep from smiling. Jake looks up at you over Mia’s head, and he looks so mortified you almost feel sorry for him. Almost. It would be easier to feel sorry for him if he didn’t look — even rumpled and panicked and creased from sleep — really quite unfairly attractive. You file that observation away to examine later, when a child is not present.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so, so sorry, she’s never done this before, I don’t know how she got the door open—”
“She knocked,” you tell him. “Very politely.”
He closes his eyes briefly. “Oh god.”
“I used my reaching stool,” Mia informs him helpfully. “For the handle.”
“We’re getting rid of the reaching stool,” Jake tells her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Daddy, no—”
“Mia.” He pulls back to look at her properly, and his voice goes soft but serious. “You scared me. Really scared me, okay? You cannot leave without waking me up first. Ever. Do you understand?”
She looks at him. Her lip wobbles, just slightly. “I just wanted Mr. Bunny.”
“I know, baby.” He pulls her back in, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I know. But you have to wake me up. Promise me.”
“Promise,” she mumbles into his neck.
He holds her for another moment, and you feel like you’re witnessing something private. Something that belongs to them. You take a small step back. “I’ll let you—”
“Wait.” Jake stands, Mia on his hip, and looks at you with an expression that’s somehow equal parts exhausted and sincere. “I really am sorry. And thank you. Genuinely, thank you for— I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if she’d gone downstairs instead of just across the hall.”
“She was perfectly safe,” you say. “She was very focused on her investigation.”
“Mr. Bunny is lost,” Mia reminds both of you gravely.
“We’ll find him,” Jake tells her. Then to you: “I’m Jake, by the way. Since apparently we’ve been neighbors for eight months and I’ve never actually introduced myself, which is—”
“Terrible,” you supply.
“Yeah.” He winces. “Yeah, it really is. I’m sorry about that too.”
“Y/N,” you tell him. “3B.”
“I know. I’ve seen your name on the mailbox.” He shifts Mia on his hip. She has turned to look at you with renewed interest, the Mr. Bunny crisis temporarily suspended. “I kept meaning to knock and introduce myself properly but then time just—”
“It does that,” you agree.
He smiles. It’s a tired smile, still coming down from the panic, but it’s genuine. It does something to his face that you also file away for later. Mia is still staring at you. “You have pretty hair,” she announces.
“Mia—” Jake starts.
“Thank you,” you tell her seriously. “Yours is very pretty too.”
She reaches up and touches one of her lopsided pigtails, considering. “Daddy did it,” she says, with the tone of someone being very diplomatic about a disappointing situation.
You look at Jake. He looks back at you. The pigtails are genuinely quite bad. “I’m working on it,” he says.
“We could—” You stop yourself. You don’t even know this man. You’ve spoken to him for approximately four minutes. “Never mind.”
“No, what?”
“I was just going to say I could show you. If you wanted. It’s not— it’s easy once you know the trick.” You gesture vaguely. “But you probably have things to—”
“I would love that,” Jake says immediately. “Genuinely. Every morning is a disaster. She came home from daycare last week and her teacher had written a note that said ‘we love Mia’s creative hairstyles’ and I’m pretty sure that was a polite way of saying—”
“Daddy can’t do hair,” Mia explains to you, very straightforward.
“I cannot do hair,” Jake confirms.
You laugh. Actually laugh, fully awake now, standing in the hallway at seven in the morning in your old hoodie with your own hair catastrophic, and it surprises you a little. How easy it is. How natural. “Come over tomorrow morning,” you find yourself saying. “Before daycare. I’ll show you a couple of things.”
Jake looks at you like you’ve offered him something much more significant than a hair tutorial. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.” You crouch down to Mia’s level. “I hope you find Mr. Bunny.”
She studies you with those serious dark eyes. Then she reaches out and puts her small hand on your cheek, very gentle, the way toddlers sometimes do when they’re deciding something important about you. “You’re nice,” she declares.
“So are you,” you tell her. She nods, satisfied, like this has confirmed something she already suspected.
Then she tucks her face back into Jake’s neck, done with the interaction, and Jake gives you a helpless sort of smile over her head. “Thank you,” he says again. “Really.”
“Anytime.” You stand up and take a step back toward your own door. “And Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe put a chain lock on. Up high. Before tonight.”
He looks at the door. Looks at Mia. Looks back at you with the expression of a man who has just realized how many things there are to think about when you’re doing this alone. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, good call.”
You don’t go back to sleep. You make coffee and sit on your couch and think about the way Mia put her hand on your cheek like she was taking your measure. The way she gave you her hand without hesitating, tiny fingers trusting yours completely.
The way Jake held her when he found her safe. Like she was the most important thing in the world, which she obviously was, which was obvious in every single line of his body.
You think about his apartment, which you caught a glimpse of through the open door. The small pair of shoes by the entrance. The sticker on the light switch at toddler height. The general chaos of someone who is managing, but only just. You think about the note from the daycare teacher and the terrible pigtails and the way he said I’m working on it without a single drop of self pity.
You finish your coffee. Make another one. You have a feeling that next door is going to become a lot more complicated than background noise and a name on a mailbox.
You’re not sure yet if that’s a good thing. But when you close your eyes you can still feel the ghost of small fingers wrapped around yours and you think— yeah. Yeah, you’re probably already in trouble.
Mr. Bunny turns up two days later. He is in the freezer. Neither Jake nor Mia can explain how he got there.
You laugh about it for five minutes straight when Jake texts you, and then you look at your phone and realize you’ve been texting your neighbor for two days like it’s completely normal and you’ve known him for years. You put your phone down. Pick it up again. Type back: at least he’s preserved.
Jake sends back a string of crying laughing emojis and then: Mia wants me to tell you that Mr. Bunny says thank you for looking for him
You smile so hard your face hurts. You are, you realize, completely and utterly done for. And you haven’t even properly met him yet.
The hair tutorial happens on Wednesday morning. You hear them before you see them — Mia’s voice carrying clearly through the wall at seven fifteen, a stream of cheerful commentary about something, Jake’s lower voice responding, the particular domestic chaos of someone trying to get a toddler ready for daycare on a schedule. Then a knock at your door.
You open it to find Jake holding Mia like a football under one arm, a hairbrush in his free hand, and the expression of a man who has already lost this morning’s battle comprehensively.
Mia is upside down and completely unbothered. “Hi,” she says, from her inverted position.
“Hi,” you say. You step back and open the door wider. “Come in.”
They troop inside, Jake setting Mia down on her feet in your living room where she immediately begins a thorough reinvestigation of the space, picking up where she left off two days ago. She examines your bookshelf. Touches the small succulent on your windowsill very gently with one finger. “Plant,” she observes.
“His name is Gerald,” you tell her.
She looks at you. Looks at Gerald. Looks back at you with the gravity of someone receiving important information. “Hi Gerald,” she says politely. Jake makes a sound that might be him trying not to laugh.
“Okay.” You take the hairbrush from him. “Sit her up on the couch and I’ll show you.”
What follows is twenty minutes that you will think about for the rest of the week for reasons you can’t entirely explain.
Mia sits between your knees on the couch, remarkably patient once she’s settled, holding Gerald the succulent in her lap because she asked and you said yes and Jake gave you a look that suggested he has learned to pick his battles. You work through her hair slowly, showing Jake each step — how to section it, how to hold the hair so it doesn’t pull, how to make the pigtails sit even.
He watches with the focused attention of someone who is genuinely trying to learn this. Not just nodding along but asking questions, asking you to slow down, watching your hands. At one point he leans in close to see what you’re doing and you’re very aware of how near he is and the fact that he smells like clean laundry and something warm underneath.
You focus on Mia’s hair. “The trick,” you tell him, “is that you do both sides before you tie either one off. Otherwise the first one pulls when you do the second.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing wrong,” he says. He sounds genuinely relieved, like you’ve solved something that’s been bothering him for months. Which, apparently, you have. “I couldn’t work out why they always went lopsided.”
“They were very lopsided,” Mia agrees pleasantly.
“Thanks, Mia.”
“You’re welcome, Daddy.”
You finish, tying off the second pigtail with the elastic, and smooth a hand over her hair. Perfect and even and neat. She reaches up and touches them carefully. “Pretty?” she asks.
“Very pretty,” you confirm.
She twists to look up at you, satisfied. Then she holds Gerald out. “You can have him back.”
“Thank you for taking care of him.”
“He was scared,” she explains seriously. “He doesn’t know me yet.” She places him very carefully back on the windowsill, patting the pot once. “It’s okay Gerald. I’m nice.”
Jake is watching his daughter with this expression — quiet and soft and a little undone at the edges — and when he catches you looking at him he clears his throat and looks away. Picks up the hairbrush from the cushion beside him. “Right,” he says. “We should get going. Daycare at eight.”
“Nooooo,” Mia says, without any real conviction. She’s already moving toward the door with the pragmatic acceptance of someone who knows the schedule.
“Thank you,” Jake says to you. He means it. You can tell he means it in that way where the words are bigger than they sound. “Seriously. This was—”
“It’s just pigtails.”
“It’s not just—” He stops. Starts again. “She talks about you. Since Tuesday. You’re the pretty lady from across the hall.”
Your face warms. “That’s very generous of her.”
“She’s got good taste.” He says it simply, matter of fact, and then looks slightly like he didn’t mean to say it quite like that. “I mean— she’s a good judge of character. Generally.”
“Y/N,” Mia calls from the doorway where she is putting her shoes on the wrong feet with great confidence.
“Yeah?”
She looks up at you. “Will you be here tomorrow?”
Something squeezes in your chest. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”
She nods, satisfied, like this is settled. Like you have made a commitment and she is holding you to it. Then she holds her foot up at Jake. “Daddy. Shoes.”
Jake crouches down to fix them, and you lean against your doorframe and watch, and you think about what Liv said to you once about knowing when something is going to change your life. How you can feel it sometimes. The specific weight of a moment that’s about to matter.
You feel it now, watching Jake tie his daughter’s shoes in your doorway at seven forty in the morning while she holds your door handle for balance and hums something tuneless to herself. You feel it, and you file it away with everything else, and you tell yourself it’s too early for any of this and you need coffee.
You leave cookies outside 3A that afternoon. You don’t examine why. You made a batch because you were stress baking about an assignment and you made too many and they were just sitting there and Jake mentioned once — in the mailbox, months ago, one of those nothing conversations you’d forgotten until now — that Mia liked anything with chocolate.
You leave them outside the door in a container with a post it note that says for Mia (and you, if you want) and then you go back inside and finish your assignment and don’t think about it.
At nine fifteen that night your phone buzzes: jake 3a: she ate four before I could stop her and is now absolutely feral and won’t sleep. I’m blaming you
You grin at your phone. you: that’s fair
jake 3a: they were really good though like genuinely really good. Did you make them from scratch?
you: yes
jake 3a: of course you did
jake 3a: I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means, that came out weird. I just mean they were better than anything I could make. I’m a terrible baker.
you: how terrible?
jake 3a: I made Mia a birthday cake in August and it came out flat and she cried
you: oh no
jake 3a: not because of the cake. She thought it was funny. She cried laughing. It was actually one of the best moments of my life which probably tells you everything about my standards right now
You’re smiling at your phone like an idiot. you: I’ll make the cake next time. You send it before you’ve fully decided to, and then stare at it. It’s October. You’ve just committed to being in this man’s life until at least next August.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. jake 3a: you really don’t have to
you: I want to. she told Gerald not to be scared because she was nice. I feel like she deserves a good birthday cake.
jake 3a: yeah she really does
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
The drawing appears under your door on Thursday morning. You almost step on it when you come out of your bedroom, a folded piece of paper on your doormat. You pick it up and unfold it and find a crayon drawing — several figures of varying heights and proportions, all labeled in Jake’s handwriting because Mia clearly directed and he transcribed.
Mia. Daddy. Gerald. Mr Bunny. And then, on the end, slightly larger than the others, with yellow crayon hair: Y/N. She’s drawn you into her family portrait.
You stand in your kitchen holding a crayon drawing with yellow-haired you standing next to a rectangle that is apparently Gerald and you feel something crack open in your chest so softly and so completely that you have to sit down.
You take a photo of it. You put the original on your fridge. You text Jake a photo of it on the fridge and he doesn’t respond for ten minutes and when he does it just says: jake 3a: she worked on it for an hour last night
jake 3a: kept starting over because she wanted to get your hair right
You stare at that message for a long time. you: tell her I love it
jake 3a: she’s going to lose her mind. also she asked if you want to come to the park with us Saturday
Three dots. Then: jake 3a: I want that too, for what it’s worth. If you’re free.
You look at the drawing on your fridge. Yellow-haired you, standing in a row with Mia and Daddy and Gerald and Mr. Bunny like you’ve always been there. you: I’m free Saturday
Saturday at the park is easy in a way that surprises you. You’d half expected it to be awkward — the three of you, still essentially strangers, trying to fill silence in an open space. But Mia eliminates the possibility of silence entirely. She has opinions about the swings (good), the slide (excellent, requires multiple repetitions), and the ducks by the small pond at the park’s edge (deeply suspicious, do not approach).
“They’re just ducks,” Jake tells her.
“They’re watching,” she says.
“They’re not watching.”
“Daddy.” She gives him a very patient look. “They are watching.”
Jake looks at you. You shrug. “They do look pretty focused,” you offer.
He points at you. “Don’t encourage her.”
Mia takes your hand and pulls you toward the swings, away from the ducks and away from Jake’s protests, and you go because she’s three and determined and her hand is in yours and you’ve decided that’s reason enough for basically anything at this point.
You push her on the swings while Jake sits on the bench nearby, and you watch him watching the two of you. He has his elbows on his knees and his face is open in a way you’re starting to learn is rare for him — in a crowd or with strangers he goes carefully neutral, pleasant but contained. But here, watching Mia go higher and higher and shriek with delight, he looks unguarded. Younger, somehow. Like something in him relaxes when it’s just the three of you. “Higher!” Mia demands.
“You’re already very high,” you tell her.
“Higher.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please.”
“Nice try.”
She cackles. Pure delighted toddler sound, head thrown back. And you find yourself laughing too, pushing her at this very reasonable height, and when you look over at Jake he’s smiling at you with an expression you don’t quite have a name for yet. You look away first.
After the swings, Mia finds a stick, which becomes the most important object in the world for the next twenty minutes. She examines rocks. She makes Jake carry her on his shoulders. She falls asleep on the walk home with her cheek on his head and one fist clutching his jacket, completely unconscious, utterly trusting.
Jake walks carefully, holding her legs, talking to you in a low voice so he doesn’t wake her. “She doesn’t do this with many people,” he says.
“Fall asleep?”
“Trust people.” He adjusts his grip on her. “She’s friendly, obviously, she’ll talk to anyone. But she doesn’t— she doesn’t hold hands with people she doesn’t know. She doesn’t draw people.” He pauses. “She drew you in four days.”
You don’t know what to say to that. So you say, “she’s special.”
“Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “She really is.”
You walk in silence for a moment, the easy kind. “How long has it been?” you ask. “Just the two of you.”
He doesn’t tense the way you half expect him to. Just exhales, slow and steady. “Since she was four months old. Her mom left.” He says it flat, without bitterness, which somehow makes it worse. Like he’s had a long time to practice saying it that way. “Just— left. Packed a bag while I was at work. By the time I got home it was just us.”
“Jake—”
“It’s fine now.” He glances at you sideways. “It wasn’t, for a long time. But it’s fine now. It’s good, actually. It’s really good.” He looks up at Mia’s sleeping face. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much.”
You look at him. At the way he holds her. At the careful tenderness of it. “She knows,” you say softly. He looks at you. “That she’s loved like that. You can tell.” You hold his gaze. “She knows.”
Something moves through his expression. Quick and unguarded and gone before you can name it. “Thanks,” he says quietly.
You walk the rest of the way home in comfortable silence, Mia asleep above you, the afternoon sun going golden through the trees lining the street. It is, you think, a very good Saturday.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
It becomes a routine without either of you deciding it should. Wednesday mornings, Jake knocks with the hairbrush. You do Mia’s hair while she holds Gerald and narrates her thoughts about the day ahead. Jake makes coffee in your kitchen like he knows where everything is, which after three weeks he does.
Saturdays are the park, or the farmers market two streets over, or just the three of you on one of your balconies eating whatever Jake has cooked because it turns out that while he cannot bake to save his life he is an genuinely excellent cook and he seems to enjoy having someone to cook for.
Evenings sometimes, when Mia’s in bed and Jake knocks quietly and you sit on his couch and watch something and talk about nothing in particular until one of you falls asleep.
It is domestic and soft and easy. It is also, you are increasingly aware, becoming something that would hurt to lose.
Mia calls you her Y/N now. Not just Y/N. Her Y/N, possessive and certain, the way she says her daddy and her Mr. Bunny and her Gerald. You are hers in her taxonomy of the world and the certainty of it does something to your chest every single time.
She tells the woman at the bakery you buy her the jam scroll she likes every Saturday. She tells a child at the park. She tells Mrs. Kim from 1A who coos and looks between you and Jake with an expression that makes Jake find something fascinating to look at on the middle distance.
You’re folding laundry in your apartment on a Thursday evening, three weeks in, when Jake knocks. You open the door. He’s holding two containers of leftover pasta, still warm. He holds one out. “Made too much,” he says.
You take it. Step back to let him in. This is how it goes now. “Mia asleep?” you ask.
“Out cold. She had daycare and then apparently spent an hour reorganizing her stuffed animals by color.” He sits on your couch. “It took everything she had.”
You sit beside him, open the pasta. It’s good — it’s always good. “Did the reorganization meet her standards?”
“She made me come and approve it before bed.” He pauses. “Mr. Bunny is in the orange section even though he’s gray.”
“He has warm undertones,” you say seriously.
Jake looks at you. Starts laughing. Not the polite laugh of someone being friendly but the real one, the one that takes over his whole face, and you’ve been cataloguing that laugh for weeks now, the way it comes out surprised sometimes like he forgot he was allowed to do it.
You’re laughing too, both of you over toddler stuffed animal color theory at eight PM with pasta containers in your laps, and when the laughter settles it leaves something warm and quiet in its place.
Jake is looking at you. Not the quick sideways glances you’ve been trading for weeks. Really looking, steady and open, and you feel it the way you feel a change in weather. The pressure of it. The way the air shifts. “Y/N,” he says.
“Yeah?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks down at his pasta container, turning it in his hands. “Nothing. Never mind. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
He looks at you again and this time he doesn’t look away. “I really like spending time with you.”
You hold his gaze. “I really like spending time with you too.”
“I haven’t—” He exhales. “I haven’t wanted to spend time with someone like this in a long time. Maybe ever. And I don’t know what to do with that.”
The honesty of it lands softly. No performance, no deflection. Just him, telling you the truth. “I don’t either,” you say. “But I don’t think I want to stop.”
He looks at you for a long moment. Then he leans in, slow and deliberate, giving you every opportunity to pull back. You don’t pull back.
His mouth finds yours, gentle at first, questioning, and then you lean into it and it stops being a question. It’s warm and unhurried and it tastes like the pasta and something underneath that is just him, and when you finally break apart you’re both quiet, foreheads almost touching.
“Okay,” he says softly.
“Okay,” you agree.
He pulls back just slightly. His expression is open and a little nervous and more serious than the moment requires, or maybe exactly as serious as it requires. “I need to say something,” he says.
“Okay.”
“If we—” He pauses, choosing his words. “Whatever this is. Whatever it becomes. Mia comes first. Always. That’s non negotiable for me. I need you to know that going in.”
You look at him. At the set of his jaw, the quiet certainty in his eyes. A man who has built his whole life around a three year old with lopsided pigtails and a stuffed rabbit and absolute confidence in the people she decides are hers. “Jake,” you say.
“Yeah.”
“I know.” You hold his gaze. “I love her. She’s— she put her hand on my face the first morning and I was gone. I was completely gone.” You shake your head a little. “I think I fell for her before I even fell for you.”
Something moves across his face. Deep and quiet and undone.“Yeah?” he says, and his voice is rough at the edges.
“Yeah.” He kisses you again. Softer this time. Like something has been settled, like the last lock has clicked open. His hand comes up to cup your jaw and you lean into it and outside the window the city is doing whatever cities do at eight o’clock on a Thursday and in here it is warm and quiet and it feels, very specifically, like the beginning of something.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
The first time Mia is at the babysitter’s overnight, it’s an accident.
Not the overnight part — that’s planned. Sandy, Mia’s regular babysitter three streets over, has been asking for weeks if she can have Mia for a sleepover because her own grandchildren are visiting and Mia and the youngest, a boy named Theo, have formed the specific intense friendship that only exists between toddlers who have decided they are best friends after forty five minutes together at a playground.
Jake agrees because Mia asks with her whole body, bouncing on her toes, and because Sandy has been his lifeline for two and a half years and he trusts her completely. What’s accidental is what happens after.
He drops Mia off at four on a Friday afternoon. You’re not there — you have a late class — but when you get home at six thirty and knock on 3A because it’s become reflex, Jake opens the door and the apartment is quiet in a way it never is.
You’ve been in this apartment dozens of times now. You know its sounds. The particular creak of the second floorboard in the hall. The way the kitchen tap needs an extra turn to stop dripping. The constant ambient noise of Mia — her commentary, her singing, her negotiations with various stuffed animals about bedtime.
The silence is enormous. “Weird, right?” Jake says, reading your face.
“Really weird.” You step inside. “How long has she been gone?”
“Two hours.” He closes the door. “I’ve cleaned the whole apartment and reorganized the pantry and I don’t know what to do with myself.”
You look at the pantry, which is indeed immaculate. You look at Jake, who is in dark jeans and a simple white t-shirt and looks simultaneously very attractive and genuinely a little lost. “Have you eaten?” you ask.
“No.”
“Cook me something.”
Something in him settles. He moves into the kitchen, and you sit on the counter the way you’ve started doing, and he makes pasta — different from the other night, something with lemon and herbs — and you open the wine you brought from your apartment and it is easy, it is so easy, the way everything with him has become easy without you noticing it happening.
You eat at his kitchen table. You talk about your classes and his current project — branding for a new café opening in the city — and the book you’ve both apparently been meaning to read for months and never have. You talk about Mia, because you always talk about Mia, about the things she’s said recently that have floored you both. “She told me yesterday,” Jake says, “that she wants to be a paleontologist.”
“She’s three.”
“I know. I asked her what a paleontologist was and she said ‘a person who finds old bones’ and I have no idea where she learned that word.”
“That’s— that’s genuinely impressive.”
“She then said she also wants to be a cat.” He takes a sip of wine. “So. Range.” You’re laughing, and he’s laughing, and the kitchen is warm and the wine is good and at some point the laughter fades and you’re just looking at each other in the quiet.
It’s been two weeks since the kiss on your couch. Two weeks of nothing changing and everything changing — the same routine, the same easy rhythm, but with this new current running underneath it. His hand finding yours sometimes. The way he says goodbye now, at the door, that takes longer than it used to. The awareness of him that hums in your chest constantly, warm and insistent.
You haven’t had a night without Mia before. You’re both aware of it. “Y/N,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“Can I—” He stops. Starts again. His jaw works slightly, that tell you’ve learned. “I’ve been thinking about this. About us. And I want to— I want to do this properly. Take you on an actual date, not just—” He gestures at the table, the apartment, the comfortable domesticity of it. “Not just this. You deserve—”
“Jake.” You set down your glass. “I like this.”
“I know, but—”
“I mean I really like this.” You hold his gaze. “I don’t need a restaurant. I don’t need— I just want you. This. Whatever this is.” He looks at you for a long moment.
Then he pushes back from the table and crosses to you and kisses you like he’s been thinking about it all evening, one hand cupping your jaw, the other finding your waist. You slide off the counter and into him and he makes a low sound against your mouth that does something devastating to your concentration. “Stay tonight,” he says against your lips.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay.”
You end up on his bed.
It happens slowly, the way things happen when there’s no rush, when the whole night stretches ahead and neither of you is going anywhere. He takes his time, unhurried and thorough, like he wants to learn you. Like you’re something worth learning.
He lays you back against his pillows and looks at you for a moment, just looks, and something about being seen like that — careful and wanting and completely focused — makes heat pool low in your stomach before he’s even touched you. “Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi,” you say back.
He leans down and kisses you again, and it’s different from the doorway kisses and the couch kisses. Deeper. More deliberate. His hand slides up your side, pushing your shirt up, warm palm against your skin, and you shiver.“Cold?” he murmurs.
“Opposite.” He smiles against your mouth. Keeps moving, finding the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms and let him pull it off. He sits back to look at you, and his expression is so openly appreciative, so uncomplicated in its wanting, that you feel heat rise to your face.
“Don’t,” he says quietly.
“Don’t what?”
“Look away.” His thumb traces your collarbone. “I want to look at you.” You keep his gaze. He keeps his.
He gets rid of his own shirt and you run your hands up his chest, his stomach, the way you’ve been wanting to since— longer than you’ll admit. He’s warm and solid and he watches your face as you touch him like your expression is telling him something important.
“What?” you ask.
“Nothing.” He catches your hands, pins them gently above your head, leans down to press his mouth to your jaw. Your neck. The soft skin below your ear. “Just thinking about how long I’ve been wanting this.”
“How long?”
He mouths at your pulse point and you gasp, arching up. “Longer than I should admit,” he murmurs. “Probably since the morning with Mia. You opened the door half asleep with terrible hair and you crouched down and talked to her like she was a real person and I thought—” He lifts his head to look at you. “I thought I was in serious trouble.”
“Your daughter was upside down under your arm,” you manage.
“I know. Terrible timing.” He releases your wrists, hands moving to the button of your jeans. “Is this okay?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
He undresses you slowly, pressing his mouth to each new piece of skin like punctuation. The inside of your wrist. Your hip. The soft skin of your inner thigh that makes you grip the sheets and breathe out his name. He looks up at you from there, chin resting on your thigh, expression somewhere between fond and wrecked. “Jake—”
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly. “Okay? I’ve got you.” And then his mouth is on you and your head falls back and you stop being able to think in complete sentences.
He takes his time the way he does everything — with complete attention, reading every sound you make, every shift of your hips, adjusting until he finds exactly what makes you come apart. He slides one finger inside you and then two, curling them just right while his tongue works your clit in slow, devastating circles, and you fist your hand in his hair and try to remember how to breathe.
“Jake— fuck— I’m—”
He doesn’t speed up. Doesn’t change what he’s doing. Just keeps that perfect steady rhythm like he has all the time in the world, like getting you there is the only thing on his agenda, and you come with your thighs clamped around his head and his name on your lips and it crashes through you in waves that don’t seem to stop.
He works you through every second of it, only easing off when you tug at his hair, oversensitive and shaking.
He moves up your body, pressing a kiss to your stomach, your sternum, your mouth. You can taste yourself on him and somehow that makes heat flare through you all over again. “Hi,” he says again, soft and amused.
“You,” you manage, “are very good at that.”
“Yeah?” He looks pleased.
“Don’t get smug about it.”
“I’m not smug.” He is a little smug. You find you don’t mind. “You okay?”
“More than okay.” You reach up, pull him down to kiss him properly, deep and unhurried. “Your turn.”
You get his jeans off, and his boxers, and you wrap your hand around him and he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking slightly.“Sorry—”
“Don’t apologize,” you tell him. You stroke him slowly, learning the weight of him, and he drops his forehead to yours and just breathes. “Tell me what you like.”
“That,” he says roughly. “Exactly that. Just—” He covers your hand with his, adjusts the pressure slightly. “Yeah. Like that.”
You watch his face — the way his jaw goes tight, the way his eyes flutter. He’s trying to stay composed and not quite managing it and you find that incredibly satisfying. “Y/N.” His voice has gone rough. “I want— can I—”
“Yes,” you say. “Please.”
He reaches into his nightstand drawer. You take the condom from him and roll it on yourself, slowly, which makes him close his eyes and exhale hard through his nose.“You’re going to kill me,” he says.
“You’ll be fine.”
He settles between your thighs and you feel him there, pressing in, and you both go still for a moment. He pushes forward, slow and careful, watching your face, and the stretch of him makes you exhale hard, fingers pressing into his shoulders. He stops halfway, checking. “Good?” he asks.
“So good.” You shift your hips, urging him on. “Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t stop. He seats himself fully and you both breathe through it, foreheads together, and then he starts to move and everything else falls away.
He fucks you slowly at first, deep and thorough, finding the angle that makes you gasp and then staying with it. His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, and you make a sound that you’d be embarrassed about in any other context.“There?” he asks.
“There,” you confirm breathlessly.
He keeps going. Steady and focused and impossibly good, hitting that spot inside you on every stroke while his thumb works you in tight circles, and you can already feel it building again, embarrassingly fast. “Jake— fuck— already—”
“Let go,” he says against your temple. “I want to feel you.”
You come clenching around him, and he groans deep in his chest, the rhythm stuttering, and you feel him follow you over with your name on his lips, buried deep, shaking.
Afterward you lie tangled together in the quiet. He traces absent patterns on your arm. You listen to his heartbeat slow. “Hey,” he says eventually.
“Hey.”
“That was—”
“Yeah.” You tilt your head up. “It really was.” He presses a kiss to your hair. You feel him smile against it.
Outside, the city is doing its Friday night thing, indifferent and ongoing. In here the lamp is warm and the sheets are soft and Jake’s heartbeat is steady under your cheek and you think about the drawing on your fridge and the hand on your cheek and Mr. Bunny in the freezer and all the ordinary extraordinary things that have built this without you quite realizing. “Stay,” he says.
“I’m already here.”
“I mean—” He tightens his arm around you. “Stay. Not just tonight.”
You’re quiet for a moment. “You’re going to have to define that.”
“I know.” His thumb moves slow on your arm. “I’m working up to it.”
“Okay.” You settle back against him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Mia comes home at eleven the next morning. You’re still there.
You’re in Jake’s kitchen making coffee, wearing his hoodie and your underwear, when the front door opens and Sandy’s voice floats through — “here we are, my love, home sweet home” — and small feet thunder down the hall.
Mia appears in the kitchen doorway. She takes in the scene. You, in her daddy’s hoodie. The two coffee cups. The general evidence of your presence. Her face does something complicated and then completely simple. “My Y/N,” she says, delighted, and launches herself at your legs.
You crouch down and catch her, and she wraps around you like a koala, warm and sleep-soft and smelling like Sandy’s house, and you hold her and look up at Jake in the doorway and he’s looking at the two of you with that expression again. The one that’s bigger than his face can hold.
“Hi baby,” you say into Mia’s hair. “How was Theo’s?”
“We found a worm,” she says. “His name is Dave.”
“Did you bring Dave home?”
“Sandy said no.” A pause. “I think that was wrong.”
“Dave is probably very happy in Sandy’s garden.”
She considers this. “Okay.” Then, muffled against your shoulder: “Are you staying for breakfast?”
You look at Jake. He holds your gaze, steady and warm. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m staying for breakfast.”
Mia pulls back, satisfied. “Daddy makes good eggs.”
“I know he does.”
“You can sit next to me.”
“I would love that.”
She takes your hand and tows you toward the table with the authority of someone who has decided how this morning is going to go, and Jake moves to the stove, and outside the kitchen window the Saturday morning is doing its soft unhurried thing, and this— this is everything.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
The weeks that follow are the best of your life. You don’t say that out loud. It feels too large, too exposed. But it’s true in the quiet way that the truest things are — not dramatic, not announced, just sitting solidly in your chest every time you’re aware of it.
The three of you fall into a rhythm so natural it’s almost hard to remember the before. Jake knocks on your door with the hairbrush and leaves with coffee. You come to theirs for dinner more nights than not. Mia insists on showing you everything — every drawing, every discovery, every development in the ongoing organization of her stuffed animal collection.
The farmers market becomes yours. Every Saturday, the three of you. Mia on Jake’s shoulders, small hands wrapped in his hair, pointing imperiously at things she wants to examine. You buy her a sunflower from the flower stall in week two and she carries it home with both hands like it’s precious, and after that it becomes the thing — every week, a sunflower for Mia, who has decided they are her favorite and cannot be argued with on this point.
Jake watches you with her constantly. You catch him doing it — that soft unguarded look — and he doesn’t stop when you catch him, just holds your gaze until you look away first, which you always do because the directness of it does something to your chest that you haven’t found words for yet.
Mia tells her daycare teacher about you. You know this because Jake texts you a screenshot of a drawing she brought home — the same configuration as before, Mia Daddy Gerald Mr Bunny Y/N, but this time you and Jake are holding hands.
jake 3a: her teacher asked who the people were, she said ‘that’s my daddy and my Y/N they’re in love’
You stare at the message. you: she’s three
jake 3a: three and apparently very perceptive
you: what did you tell the teacher
jake 3a: I said she wasn’t wrong
You put your phone face down on the desk and press both hands over your face and sit there for a full minute. Then you pick it up. you: jake
jake 3a: yeah?
you: are you in love with me
A pause. Longer than usual. Your heart does something complicated in the silence. jake 3a: I’ve been trying to find the right moment to say it properly not over text but yes, very much yes. I have been for a while
jake 3a: is that okay?
You read it three times. you: yes, it’s very okay. also I love you too
jake 3a: yeah?
you: yeah
jake 3a: okay, good. I’m going to say it properly tonight with Mia asleep so she doesn’t narrate it
you: she would absolutely narrate it
jake 3a: she would make it about herself somehow
you: she would bring Mr Bunny as a witness
jake 3a: he’d be very moved
You’re smiling so hard your face hurts, alone in your apartment at two in the afternoon, and you think about the morning you opened your door and found a small person sitting on your doormat in duck pajamas looking for her rabbit.
You think about tiny fingers in yours on the way back across the hall. You think about you’re nice delivered with complete certainty by someone who had known you for four minutes.
That night, after Mia is asleep, Jake says it properly. Standing in the kitchen, cup of tea going cold on the counter, both of you knowing it’s coming and neither of you in any rush because there’s no need to rush anymore.
“I love you,” he says. Simple and direct. “I love you and I love that she loves you and I don’t want to do any of this without you.”
“I love you too,” you say. “Both of you. The whole— all of it. Everything.”
He kisses you there in the kitchen and it tastes like coming home, which is a thing you didn’t know kitchens could taste like until now.
Later, in his bed, you press your face into his shoulder and listen to the particular quiet of the apartment at night — the creak of the building, the distant city, the soft sound of Mia breathing through the baby monitor on the nightstand. “Hey,” Jake says quietly. “You know what Mia asked me today?”
“What?”
“She asked if you were going to live with us.”
Your heart turns over. “What did you tell her?”
“I said I hoped so.” He tilts his head to look down at you. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” you say softly. “That’s okay.” He pulls you closer. You close your eyes. Outside, a siren somewhere. The building settling. Mia’s breathing through the monitor, slow and even and completely safe.
In here, you think. Everything is in here. You never see it coming. That’s the thing about a knock at the door when you’re happy. You don’t brace for it. You don’t clock the risk. You’re just— there. In the warm. Thinking about nothing that isn’t good.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
It’s a Sunday. Mia is at Sandy’s. Not overnight this time — just the afternoon, a regular arrangement while Jake works on a deadline.
Except Jake finished his deadline by noon and texted you and you came over and the afternoon became the best kind of afternoon, the kind that starts with coffee and talking and turns into something else entirely when Mia isn’t home, when there’s nowhere to be and no particular reason to leave the bedroom.
You’re in his bed. Late afternoon light coming gold through the curtains. His hand on your back tracing lazy patterns on your spine. You’re boneless and warm and half thinking about nothing and half thinking about whether Mia will want to show you the worm situation at Sandy’s when Jake picks her up.
“Sandy said she asked to bring Dave home three more times,” Jake says, like he’s reading your mind.
“Persistent.”
“She gets it from somewhere.” His hand moves up to the back of your neck, squeezing gently. “You hungry?” “Not yet.”
“Okay.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “We’ve got a couple of hours before I pick her up.” You hum. He pulls you closer. The afternoon light shifts.
Then someone knocks at the door. Jake’s hand stills on your back. “Expecting anyone?” you ask.
“No.” He frowns slightly. “Sandy would call.” He sits up, reaching for his t-shirt. “Probably Danny about the tap.”
You stretch out across the warm space he’s left, drowsy and content, listening to his footsteps down the hall. The sound of the door opening. Silence.
Not the brief silence of oh hi Danny it’s fine. A longer silence. A loaded one.
Then a voice you don’t recognize — a woman’s voice, careful and slightly uncertain — saying his name. “Jake.”
You go very still.
Jake says nothing for a long moment. When he speaks his voice is completely flat in a way you’ve never heard from him before. Like all the warmth has been removed surgically. “What are you doing here?”
“I just— I wanted to—” The woman’s voice. “Can I come in?”
“No. How did you find me?”
“Your mum. She didn’t— she thought I knew the address, I think. I don’t think she realized—”
“Why are you here.” Not a question. A demand.
A pause. “I want to see her,” the woman says. “I want to see Mia.”
The name lands in the apartment like something dropped. You sit up slowly, pulling the sheet around yourself, and the drowsy warmth of the afternoon has gone completely. In its place something cold and alert.
“You need to leave,” Jake says.
“I know I don’t have the right to—”
“You left,” Jake says, and his voice is still flat, but underneath the flatness there is something enormous being held very carefully in check. “She was four months old and you left. You’ve been gone for three years. You don’t get to knock on my door and say you want to see her like it’s a reasonable thing to say.”
“I know.” The woman’s voice cracks slightly. “I know that. I just— Jake, please, I just want—”
“To see her? Or to see me?” Silence. “Yeah,” Jake says quietly. “That’s what I thought.”
You get up. Quietly. You find your clothes in the soft afternoon mess of the room, pull them on, and you stand in the hallway outside his bedroom door and you look at the front door.
She’s standing in the doorway. Tall, dark-haired, pretty in a way that might have been beautiful before whatever she’s been carrying got into her face. She’s looking at Jake with an expression that mixes guilt and want in proportions you don’t have to be a genius to read.
She sees you. Her eyes move over you — your rumpled clothes, Jake’s apartment behind you, the obvious geography of the afternoon — and something hardens in her expression that you recognize. The specific hardening of someone who wanted to find a door open and has found it closed.
Jake turns. He sees you in the hallway. Something moves through his face — protective, apologetic, something else underneath that you don’t have time to read. “Y/N,” he says. “Hi.” You keep your voice steady. “I’ll— I can go.”
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s okay.” You look at him clearly, trying to say with your eyes what you can’t say in front of her: I’m fine. I’m not going far. Handle this. “I’ll be across the hall.”
He holds your gaze. His jaw is set, his eyes tight at the corners, but he gives you the smallest nod.
You pick up your keys from the bowl by the door — yours, in the bowl by Jake’s door, which happened so gradually you can’t remember it beginning — and you step past the woman in the doorway without looking at her.
You go into 3B. You close the door. You sit on your couch and you listen to the muffled sound of voices through the wall, and you hold yourself very carefully together, and you wait.
You sit on your couch for forty minutes. You know because you watch the clock. Not obsessively — you’re not counting seconds — but every time your eyes drift to it another chunk of time has passed and the voices through the wall have not stopped.
You make tea you don’t drink. You open your laptop and close it again. You pick up your phone three times and put it down without texting anyone because what would you even say.
My boyfriend’s ex showed up. The one who left when their daughter was four months old. She’s been there forty minutes and I’m sitting in my apartment trying not to think about the way she looked at him.
You put your phone face down on the cushion beside you.
The thing is — and you know this, you do — you trust Jake. That’s not the part that’s making your chest tight. You’ve watched him for months now. You know who he is. You know the way he holds his daughter and the way he laughs and the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. You know he means what he says.
The part that’s making your chest tight is her face when she saw you. Not guilt. Not embarrassment at the intrusion. Something proprietary. Something that said what are you doing in my space even though she is the one who left. Even though she forfeited any claim to this apartment and this life and this man the day she packed a bag while her four month old daughter slept.
You’re familiar with that expression. You’ve worn it yourself, briefly, watching other women talk to Jake at the market or at the park. You know what it means. She wants him back. Mia is the reason she knocked. But she wants Jake back.
You’re still sitting with that when your phone buzzes. jake 3a: she’s gone, can you come back?
You’re across the hall before you’ve fully decided to move. He opens the door before you knock. He looks terrible. Not falling apart — Jake doesn’t fall apart, you’ve figured that out, he goes very still and very controlled when things get bad, which is almost worse — but there are lines around his eyes that weren’t there this morning and his jaw is set in that way that means he’s been holding something in for a while.
He steps back to let you in. Closes the door. You turn to face him and he looks at you for a moment like he’s checking that you’re real, that you’re still here, that the afternoon hasn’t completely dismantled itself. “You okay?” you ask.
“I should be asking you that.”
“I’m fine. I was across the hall.” You hold his gaze. “Are you okay?”
He exhales. Long and slow. Runs a hand through his hair. “She wants to see Mia. She says she’s been in therapy. That she’s been— working through things. That she made a mistake and she knows that and she just wants—” He stops. His jaw works. “She was here for forty minutes and Mia’s name came up maybe three times.”
Your stomach tightens. “What did the rest of it cover?” He looks at you with an expression that answers the question without words. “Jake—”
“I told her no,” he says. “To all of it. I told her— Mia doesn’t know her. She’s three years old, she has no memory of her, and showing up out of nowhere and announcing herself as her mother would be— I’m not doing that to her. I’m not letting someone walk in and blow up her world because they’ve decided they’re ready now.”
“That’s right,” you say quietly.
“Is it?” He looks genuinely uncertain, and that more than anything tells you how rattled he is. Jake is not an uncertain man. He’s careful, he’s considered, but when he’s decided something he holds it steady. Watching him doubt himself is unfamiliar and uncomfortable. “Because part of me thinks— she’s her mother. Biologically. Does Mia have a right to know her? At some point? And am I—”
“Jake.” You cross to him. Put your hand on his chest, flat over his heart, and look up at him. “You are the most present, devoted, thoughtful parent I have ever seen. You have been both of them for three years. Whatever you decide about this, it comes from that. Not from fear, not from jealousy. From knowing your daughter.” He looks down at you. His hand comes up to cover yours. “She’s not here because of Mia,” you say gently. “You know that.”
“Yeah.” His voice is rough. “Yeah, I know that.”
“So you handle the Mia question in your own time, with proper advice, on your terms. Not because she showed up at your door on a Sunday afternoon.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “When did you get so—”
“Wise?”
“I was going to say steady.”
“Same thing.” You press your palm flatter against his chest. “You’re okay. Mia’s okay. This is just— a thing that happened on a Sunday. It doesn’t have to be more than that right now.”
He looks at you for a long moment. Something in his face shifts — the held-in thing loosening slightly, the lines around his eyes easing. “I really love you,” he says quietly.
“I know.” You reach up, press your hand briefly to his jaw. “I love you too. Go get your daughter.”
He comes back with Mia at five thirty. You’re in his kitchen making dinner — you’d found pasta and vegetables and half a block of good parmesan and it seemed like the right thing to do, to be here, to have something warm happening when they got home.
Mia comes through the door at full speed, as always, and finds you at the stove and absolutely loses her mind with delight. “My Y/N is here!”
“Hi, my Mia.” She barrels into your legs and you crouch down and catch her, and over her head you watch Jake close the front door and lean against it for just a second, eyes closed. Like he’s taking a breath. Like he’s counting the things still here and finding them all present.
Then he opens his eyes and sees you watching him and something in his face goes soft. “Dave update,” Mia says urgently against your neck.
“Tell me everything.”
“Sandy said he moved.” Her voice is full of significance. “She doesn’t know where he went.”
“Dave is living his life.”
“That’s what Sandy said.” She pulls back to look at you. “I think he went to find his family.”
“That’s a very hopeful interpretation.”
“Worms have families,” she tells you solemnly. “Probably.”
“Definitely,” you agree.
Jake has moved into the kitchen. He comes up behind you — Mia still in your arms — and presses a kiss to the side of your head. Quick and quiet. Gratitude and love in a single gesture. “Smells good,” he says.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Can I help?”
“You can set the table.”
“I want to help,” Mia announces.
“You can put the napkins out,” you tell her, and she accepts this responsibility with great seriousness, and Jake sets her down and gets the napkins and she carries them to the table one at a time with both hands like they’re fragile, and Jake catches your eye across the kitchen and mouths thank you and you shake your head slightly because there’s nothing to thank you for.
You’re exactly where you want to be.
Later, after dinner, after Mia’s bath, after two bedtime stories and one negotiation about the structural integrity of a fort she wants to construct in the living room (tomorrow, baby, it’s bedtime), after small arms around your neck and a kiss pressed very seriously to your cheek and night my Y/N into the dark—
You and Jake sit on his couch in the quiet. He has his legs stretched out on the coffee table. You’re tucked into his side, his arm around you. The lamp is the only light. The apartment has the particular peace of a small child asleep in the next room. “She’s going to come back,” Jake says quietly.
“Probably.”
“I’m going to talk to a lawyer. Get clear on where things stand legally before she does.” His thumb moves on your arm. “She signed over custody voluntarily. I don’t think she has grounds for anything. But I want to know for certain.”
“That’s smart.”
“I don’t want Mia to know about this until I do. I don’t want her picking up on anything.”
“She won’t hear it from me.”
He turns his head to press a kiss to your hair. “I know.” You sit in the quiet for a moment. “She looked at you,” he says. “The way she looked at you when she saw you there.” His arm tightens slightly. “I need you to know that whatever she came here wanting, it was never going to— she left, Y/N. She made her choice. There’s nothing there.”
“I know that too.”
“I just—” He exhales. “I don’t want you to have any doubt. About this. About us.”
You lift your head to look at him. His face in the lamplight, tired and earnest and completely, simply honest. “I don’t,” you tell him. “Not even a little.”
He holds your gaze. “Good,” he says quietly. He kisses you softly, and you let yourself melt into it, and outside the window the night is doing its ordinary thing, indifferent and ongoing.
When you break apart you settle back against his shoulder. “Stay,” he says.
“Obviously,” you say. He pulls you closer.
In the next room, Mia sleeps, completely safe, completely loved, completely unaware that someone knocked on the door today and was turned away.
She’ll know, eventually. Jake will tell her, carefully, at the right time, in the right way. That’s the kind of father he is. But tonight she just sleeps. And you and Jake stay on the couch until you both drift off, warm and quiet and whole.
The lawyer’s name is Ms. Park and she is very thorough.
Jake comes back from the meeting on a Wednesday looking lighter than he has all week. He finds you in his kitchen — where you are most afternoons now, it’s become accepted fact — and he leans in the doorway and says:
“She has no legal standing. She relinquished custody voluntarily and completely. If she wants any kind of access she would have to apply through the courts and demonstrate sustained rehabilitation and it would be a long process with no guarantee.”
You set down the mug you’re washing. “Okay.”
“She came here once and I turned her away and she hasn’t come back.” He exhales. “I don’t think she’s going to pursue it. I think she came here for me and when that didn’t work—”
“She has no reason to stay.” You cross the kitchen to him. Put your hands on his chest. “How do you feel?”
He thinks about it genuinely, the way he does. “Relieved,” he says. “And— sad, a little. That it’s this way. That Mia doesn’t have—” He stops.
“She has you,” you say. “She has Sandy and Mrs. Kim and the daycare teachers who love her and Theo the worm friend and—” You meet his eyes. “She has me. For as long as you’ll both have me.”
Something moves through his face. “Forever, then,” he says simply.
Your heart turns over. “Yeah,” you say softly. “Forever works.”
He kisses you there in the kitchen and it tastes like relief and sunlight and something settled and permanent. From the doorway comes a small voice. “Are you kissing again?”
You break apart to find Mia standing in the hallway in her socks, Mr. Bunny under her arm, regarding you both with the patient exhaustion of someone who has seen this many times and has opinions. “Sorry,” Jake says, not sounding sorry at all.
“It’s fine,” Mia says, generous. “You can kiss. But after can we do the fort?”
“We can do the fort,” you confirm. She nods, satisfied. Turns and toddles back down the hall.
Jake looks at you. You look at Jake.“The fort,” he says. You nod in agreement and follow him and your daughter down the hall.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Three months later, Mia stops calling you my Y/N. She starts calling you mama.
It happens on a Tuesday. Not a special Tuesday. Not a significant one. Just an ordinary Tuesday in February where the sky is doing that flat grey thing it does in late summer when the heat hasn’t broken yet and everything feels slightly sticky and slow.
You’re doing her hair. The Wednesday morning routine has migrated — it’s every morning now, most mornings, because somewhere between October and February the question of which apartment are you sleeping in stopped being a real question. You’re here. You live here, functionally, in every way that matters except the technical one. Your toothbrush is here. A drawer is yours. Gerald the succulent has been relocated to the kitchen windowsill where he gets better light and Mia waters him every second day with great ceremony.
Jake is in the kitchen. Coffee is happening. Mia is between your knees on the couch, holding Mr. Bunny, and you’re doing two neat braids because she has decided braids are her preference this week and you’ve been practicing. “Tighter,” she instructs.
“If I go tighter it’ll pull.”
“I want tight braids.”
“You want braids that feel comfortable and also look good.”
She considers this negotiation. “Okay,” she concedes.
You keep going. She hums something to herself, swinging her feet, and you work through the second braid, and it’s quiet in the good way, the way that only exists when everyone in a space is completely comfortable. “Mama,” Mia says.
“Hmm?” You tie off the braid.
“Can I wear the yellow dress today?”
You’re reaching for the second hair tie when it lands.
Mama.
She said it like it was nothing. Like it was the most natural word in the world. Like she’s been saying it her whole life, which — you realize, with your heart doing something enormous and unsteady in your chest — maybe in her head she has been.
“Yeah,” you manage, and your voice comes out almost normal. “Yeah, baby, we can find the yellow dress.”
She scrambles off the couch and heads to her room, completely unbothered, Mr. Bunny trailing from one hand. You sit there. In the kitchen, the coffee maker finishes its cycle.
Jake appears in the doorway with two mugs, takes one look at your face, and stops. “What happened? Are you okay? What—”
“She called me mama,” you say.
The mugs go onto the coffee table. Jake sits beside you and looks at you with an expression that is doing the same enormous unsteady thing yours probably is. “Just now?”
“Just now.” Your voice is not quite steady. “She asked if she could wear the yellow dress and she called me mama and then she just— walked off. Like it was nothing.”
“Y/N—”
“I’m not upset.” You turn to him, urgent, needing him to understand. “I’m not— I’m not upset, Jake, I just—” You press a hand to your chest. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
He looks at you for a long moment. Then he takes your face in both hands, careful and deliberate, and presses his forehead to yours. “I do,” he says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He pulls back just enough to look at you. “You say yes. That’s what you do. You just— say yes.”
From down the hall: “Found it!” A pause. “Mama, can you do the buttons?”
You close your eyes. “Okay,” you breathe. Yeah.” You open your eyes. Look at him. “Yeah. Okay.”
He kisses you, quick and soft, and then you get up and go down the hall to do the buttons on a yellow dress, and Jake stands in the living room doorway watching and the expression on his face is the most complete thing you’ve ever seen on a human being.
That night, after Mia is asleep, Jake asks you to move in. Not impulsively. Not as a reaction to the morning. You can tell he’s been thinking about it for a while — there’s a particular quality to his stillness when he’s been working up to something, and you’ve learned it the way you’ve learned all of him, gradually and permanently.
You’re on the couch. Late. The lamp on, the city quiet outside. His hand in yours. “Move in,” he says. You look at him. “Properly,” he says. “Not the drawer and the toothbrush. All of it. Gerald and everything.”
“Gerald’s already here.”
“I know.” The corner of his mouth moves. “Consider it a trial run.”
You look at your joined hands. At the apartment that has been yours in every meaningful sense for months. At the hallway where Mia is sleeping with Mr. Bunny and her color-organized stuffed animals and absolute certainty that you will be here in the morning. “Yeah,” you say.
“Yeah?”
“Obviously yeah, Jake.” You lean over and kiss him. “Obviously.”
He pulls you in and holds you there, and you feel him exhale slowly against your hair. “She’s going to lose her mind,” he says.
“She’s going to tell Gerald first.”
“She’s going to tell Gerald, then Mrs. Kim, then Sandy, then everyone at daycare.”
“In that order.”
“In that exact order.”
You’re both laughing, quiet so you don’t wake her, and it settles into something warm and certain. “Hey,” Jake says. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You press your face into his shoulder. “Both of you. The whole thing.”
“The whole thing loves you back,” he says simply.
You tell Mia in the morning. Jake does it, at breakfast, with the careful measured approach of a man who has learned that toddlers receive important news better when they’re eating something. “Hey Mia. You know how Y/N stays here a lot?”
Mia looks up from her toast. Looks at you. Looks back at Jake. “Yes.”
“How would you feel if she stayed here all the time? Like, lived here. With us.”
Mia blinks. Puts down her toast. Looks at you with enormous serious eyes. “Like forever?” she asks.
“Like forever,” Jake confirms.
She stares at you for a long moment with the focused intensity of someone making a very important assessment.
Then she gets down from her chair, crosses to you, climbs into your lap uninvited and completely certain of her welcome, and wraps both arms around your neck. “Okay,” she says into your shoulder. “You can live here.”
“Thank you,” you manage, arms tight around her.
“Gerald will be happy,” she adds.
“He really will.”
She pulls back. Looks at your face. Puts her small hand on your cheek exactly the way she did on the very first morning, in the hallway, four months ago when she was looking for her rabbit. “Don’t cry,” she says kindly. “It’s good news.”
“I know.” You laugh, wet at the edges. “Happy tears.”
“Oh.” She considers this. “Okay.” Then, satisfied, she climbs back down, retrieves her toast, and resumes breakfast.
Jake is looking at you over her head with an expression that could power something. “Told you,” he mouths. You shake your head, still smiling, still blinking hard.
The whole thing loves you back. Yeah. Yeah it really does.
The move takes a weekend. It’s not a big move — your apartment was small and you’ve been migrating things gradually for months without meaning to — but there’s something significant about doing it officially. Carrying boxes across the hall. Hanging your clothes properly in the wardrobe. Arranging your books on the shelves beside Jake’s.
Mia supervises. She is a very involved supervisor, offering opinions on where everything should go and occasionally redirecting items she feels would be better placed in her room. You negotiate firmly on the throw blanket. You surrender the small lamp without a fight because she’s put it next to Mr. Bunny and it does look good there, objectively.
By Sunday evening the apartment is a comfortable chaos of rearrangement and you’re all sitting on the living room floor eating pizza from the box because no one has the energy to locate the table under the moving debris.
Mia is in your lap. Jake is beside you, shoulder to shoulder, pizza slice in hand, looking around the apartment that has shifted and expanded and settled into something new. “Looks different,” he says.
“Good different?”
He looks at you. “Yeah. Really good different.”
Mia tilts her head back to look up at you from your lap. “Can we build the fort now?”
“We live in a fort,” you tell her, gesturing at the surrounding box landscape.
Her eyes go wide. She looks around. Looks back at you. “We live in a fort,” she breathes.
“We live in a fort,” Jake confirms solemnly. She is overcome.
You and Jake look at each other over her head, laughing, and it is — this moment exactly, pizza and boxes and a delighted three year old and the lamp in the wrong place and Gerald on the windowsill — it is everything. Absolutely everything.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
A year later
The morning of the wedding, Mia wakes up at five forty-three AM. You know this because she comes and stands beside the bed and breathes on your face until you open your eyes. “It’s today,” she whispers.
“It is,” you confirm.
“I’m the flower girl.”
“You are.”
She absorbs this with great seriousness. Then: “I need to practice.”
“Mia, it’s not even six—”
“I need to practice.”
Jake makes a sound beside you that is him absolutely not laughing. You elbow him. “Okay,” you say. “But quietly. So we don’t wake the neighbors.”
She nods, solemn and focused, and turns and walks very slowly back down the hallway, scattering invisible petals with great ceremony, narrating under her breath — and then I walk here, and then here, and then I find mama—
You lie there in the early morning grey and stare at the ceiling and think about the word mama the way you have thought about it every day for the past year and a half. The way it still does something enormous to your chest. The way you don’t think it will ever stop.
Jake rolls toward you. Presses his face into your neck. “Morning,” he murmurs.
“Your daughter is practicing flower girl technique in the hallway.”
“She’s been planning this since we told her.” His arm comes around you. “She asked Sandy if she could practice at her house. She practiced at daycare. She made Theo be the groom so she could practice walking toward someone.”
“She’s extremely prepared.”
“She’s extremely her.” He presses a kiss to your jaw. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.” You turn to face him. His face in the early light, sleep-soft and certain and completely, permanently yours. “Really good. You?”
“Best day of my life,” he says simply. “After the day she was born. And the day you moved in. And the day you said yes when I asked.” He pauses. “Top five, at minimum.”
“That’s very good company.”
“You’re very good company.” He kisses you properly, slow and warm, and from the hallway comes the sound of small feet completing another practice lap.
“…and then I find mama, and she’s the prettiest—” You pull back from Jake, blinking hard. He looks at you. Reaches up and brushes his thumb under your eye, gentle.
“She’s not wrong,” he says.
“It’s five forty-five in the morning, I look terrible—”
“You look like the person I’m marrying today.” He holds your gaze. “Which means you look perfect.” You press your face into his shoulder and hold on for a moment.
From the hallway: “Okay I’m ready. Can we have breakfast now?”
Sandy comes at nine to take Mia for hair and getting dressed — a situation Mia has been anticipating with the focused excitement of someone who has been told she gets curls and a flower in her hair and has not stopped thinking about it since.
She submits to the process with remarkable patience, sitting very still while Sandy works, only turning her head twice to update you on developments. “It’s getting curlier,” she reports.
“I can see that.”
“Do I look like a princess?”
“You look exactly like a princess.” She nods, satisfied, and returns to stillness.
When it’s done she stands in front of the mirror in her small white dress — simple, with a yellow sash, because she requested yellow and you would move mountains before you’d say no to that — and looks at herself for a long, serious moment.“I look nice,” she concludes.
“You look incredible,” Sandy says.
“Yeah.” She turns to look at you. Her eyes go wide. “Mama. You look so pretty.”
You’re in your dress — simple, exactly what you wanted, nothing complicated — and your hair is done and you’re holding your bouquet and you’re trying very hard not to cry and failing slightly.“So do you,” you tell her.
She crosses to you. Reaches up and takes your hand, the way she did in a hallway a long time ago, completely certain of her welcome.“Don’t be nervous,” she tells you.
“I’m not nervous.”
“Good.” She squeezes your fingers. “Daddy loves you the most.”
“He loves you the most.”
She considers this with genuine fairness. “He loves us the same,” she decides. “Equal. Like a tie.”
“That’s exactly right.”
She nods. Pats your hand once, settling the matter. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go get married.”
The venue is small and warm and full of people who love you.
Mrs. Kim is in the third row in her best jacket, already dabbing her eyes. Sandy is beside her. Jake’s parents flew in from Brisbane — his mother cried when she met you and his father shook your hand for a very long time and said thank you for making them happy and you’d had to excuse yourself to the bathroom for five minutes after that.
Your own family. Your friends. The people who have been the walls of your life. And at the end of the aisle, Jake.
In a dark suit, hands clasped in front of him, hair the way you like it. He’s talking quietly to the celebrant and then someone touches his arm and he looks up and sees Mia in the doorway.
His face does what it always does when he sees her. That open, completely unguarded thing. She waves at him. He waves back.
Then he sees you behind her and his face does something else entirely.
The music starts. Mia goes first. She has been told, approximately as many times as you can tell a four and a half year old anything, that flower girls walk slowly. Measured. Elegant. She lasts four steps.
Then she spots Jake at the end of the aisle and she goes — there is no other word for it — feral with excitement, sunflowers clutched in both fists, petals going in every direction except down, grinning so hard her whole face is the grin, half walking half skipping half something entirely her own.
“DADDY I FOUND HER” she announces at full volume to the entire assembled gathering. “I FOUND HER SHE’S HERE”
The room erupts. Not polite wedding laughter. Real laughter, the kind that comes from somewhere genuine, rippling through every row. Mrs. Kim is crying laughing. Sandy has her hand over her mouth. Jake’s mother is gripping his father’s arm.
Jake is crouching down to catch Mia as she reaches him, scooping her up, pressing a kiss to her chaotic curls, the flower in her hair somehow surviving the sprint. “Good job,” you hear him tell her.
“I practiced,” she says, very serious.
“I know you did, baby.” He sets her down. She takes her position with great dignity, as though the sprint did not happen, as though she has been standing here elegantly the entire time.
And then Jake looks up at you. You walk toward him. The room goes soft around the edges — not blurred, just quiet, the way things go when you’re paying attention to the only thing that matters. The faces on either side are warm and familiar and you see them without seeing them because you’re looking at Jake.
Jake, who opened his door on a panicked Tuesday morning and showed you his worst fear and his whole heart in the same thirty seconds.
Jake, who makes coffee before you ask and remembers every small thing and says what he means with a simplicity that still sometimes catches you off guard.
Jake, who watched you fall in love with his daughter before you fell in love with him and let it happen without trying to manage or protect or preempt it, because he trusted you, because he looked at you and knew.
You reach him. He takes your hand and holds it like he’s been holding it his whole life. “Hi,” he says quietly.
“Hi,” you say back.
Beside him, Mia has taken your other hand. She holds it with both of hers, feet planted, present and accounted for, witnessing this with the gravity it deserves.
The celebrant begins. The vows are Jake’s own words. You knew this. You wrote yours too, separately, privately, the way you’d agreed. But hearing them — in his voice, in this room, looking at his face — is different from knowing.
He talks about the morning Mia escaped into the hallway and how he stood in your doorway afterward watching you crouch down to his daughter’s level and felt something shift that he couldn’t name yet and didn’t try to.
He talks about Wednesday mornings with the hairbrush. About leftover pasta and late night texting and the drawing on the fridge.
He talks about the way you love Mia — not as a condition of loving him, not as an extension of it, but first, entirely and separately first, because that’s who you are.
She picked you, he says, before I had a chance to. And she has never once been wrong about anything important. Beside you, Mia straightens slightly at this. You feel her grip on your hand tighten.
I’m not a man who believed in easy, Jake says. I thought love was supposed to be something you work and worry at. And then you moved in across the hall and you were just — easy. Everything with you has just been easy. Not without difficulty. Not without fear. But easy the way breathing is easy. The way I can’t imagine not doing it. His voice has gone rough at the edges.
I love you. I loved you in October and I loved you in February and I love you today and I’m going to love you when Mia is grown and gone and it’s just us and I’m going to love you in every ordinary Tuesday that comes after this one because that’s where you live. In the ordinary Tuesdays. And I want every single one of them.
The room is very quiet. You are absolutely crying. You decided before today that you weren’t going to cry until after the vows at the earliest and you have failed completely. “Don’t cry,” Mia whispers, helpful. “It’s good news.”
Laughter moves through the room like a wave. Jake laughs too, wiping his eyes, and you laugh through yours, and it breaks the solemnity just enough, the way the best moments always do — serious and true and then suddenly full of light.
Your vows. You talk about duck pajamas and a stuffed rabbit and a small hand in yours in a hallway. You talk about a crayon drawing on a fridge and a child who put you in her family portrait before you knew you belonged there.
You talk about a man who carried his daughter on his shoulders through a farmers market and came home to make dinner and knocked on your door with leftover pasta and showed you what it looked like when someone decided that loving people well was the most important thing they could do.
You taught me that, you say. Both of you. You showed me what it looks like when love is a decision someone makes every single day without drama and without conditions. Mia does it for everyone she meets. You do it quietly and completely and I want to spend the rest of my life doing it back. You look at Jake.
I love you. I love our ordinary Tuesdays. I love Wednesday mornings and Saturday markets and bedtime stories and all the Gerald updates and every single version of this life we’ve built in an apartment across the hall from where I used to live alone. I love your daughter.
You look down at Mia. She is watching you with her whole face. Completely still, completely focused, taking this in with the seriousness it deserves.
She is the best thing, you say. She is the absolute best thing, and I promise her, today, in front of everyone who loves us, that I am here. I am not going anywhere. She is mine and I am hers and that is permanent and unconditional and nothing will ever change it.
Mia’s lip wobbles. Just slightly. You watch her decide, with great effort, not to cry, because she is a flower girl and flower girls are professionals and she has a reputation to maintain. She squeezes your hand instead. Very hard. You squeeze back.
I now pronounce you married.
Jake kisses you, and the room rises, and somewhere in the noise you hear Mia announce to no one in particular and everyone simultaneously:
“THAT’S MY MAMA NOW. THAT’S OFFICIALLY MY MAMA.”
And then, apparently satisfied that this has been adequately communicated, she inserts herself between the two of you and takes both your hands and holds on.
Jake looks at you over her head. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.
The reception is everything. Mrs. Kim dances with Mia for forty-five minutes straight and neither of them stops. Sandy cries every time someone gives a speech. Jake’s father gives a toast that makes the whole room laugh and then immediately cry. Your own people hold you and tell you they knew, they always knew, from the moment you started talking about the little girl next door like she’d hung the moon.
Jake dances with Mia first — tradition, he’d decided, she gets the first dance — and you stand at the edge of the floor and watch her stand on his feet, both of them swaying to something slow, her head against his chest, his hand spanning her whole back.
You take a photo. You will look at that photo for the rest of your life.
Then he passes her off to his mother and comes to find you, hand extended, and you take it and let him pull you out onto the floor. “Hi wife,” he says, like he’s trying the word out.
“Hi husband.”
He smiles. Pulls you closer. “How’s it feel?”
“Same,” you say honestly. “Exactly the same. Just— more settled.”
“Yeah.” His hand moves on your back. “Like it’s been true for a while and now the paperwork caught up.”
“Exactly like that.”
You dance. The room moves around you, warm and full of people you love, and Mia is somewhere in it, probably telling someone about Dave the worm or Gerald or the structural integrity of forts, and it is — all of it, every piece — everything. All of it everything.
She falls asleep at nine fifteen. Mid-sentence, apparently — Jake’s mother told you later she was explaining the color organization system for the stuffed animals and then she simply stopped explaining and was asleep, curled in the chair with her flower crown half off and her shoes long since abandoned and the last of her sunflowers still in her hand.
Jake carries her out to the car at the end of the night, limp and certain and completely trusting the way only sleeping children are, and you tuck the seatbelt around her and push the flower crown gently back from her face. She doesn’t wake up.
She won’t remember being carried, won’t remember the drive home, won’t remember being tucked in. But in the morning she’ll wake up and come and stand at the side of your bed and breathe on your face until you open your eyes, and you’ll ask her how she slept and she’ll say good and you’ll ask if she had fun at the wedding and she’ll say yes I was the flower girl with the proprietary satisfaction of someone who performed their role excellently and knows it. And she’ll be right. She was, without any competition, the best part.
Later. Much later. His penthouse — your penthouse, it still catches you sometimes — quiet and dark except for the city light through the windows. Mia asleep down the hall. The flower crown on the kitchen counter. Your bouquet in a glass of water because you couldn’t throw it, it was too pretty.
Jake’s jacket over the chair. Your heels by the door. You and Jake on the couch the way you’ve been a hundred times before, his arm around you, your head on his shoulder, the easy comfortable weight of each other. “Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey.”
“Mia told Theo’s mum today that she picked you.”
You lift your head. “What?”
“At the reception. Apparently she walked up to Theo’s mum completely unprompted and said—” He’s smiling. “She said I picked her first. Before Daddy even knew.”
You stare at him. “She’s four and a half,” you say.
“I know. She’s extremely perceptive,” Jake says. “Always has been.”
You think about a Tuesday morning and duck pajamas and the end of a hallway. The hand on your cheek. You’re nice. The absolute certainty of it. The way she gave you her fingers without hesitating like she already knew. “She did pick me first,” you say softly.
“Yeah.” Jake presses a kiss to your hair. “She really did.”
The city does its quiet nighttime thing outside the windows. Down the hall, Mia sleeps. You and Jake stay where you are, warm and settled, in the ordinary extraordinary life you built one Tuesday at a time.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Three weeks later, on an ordinary Wednesday morning, Mia sits between your knees on the couch.
You’re doing her braids. Jake is in the kitchen. Coffee is happening. Gerald is on the windowsill. Mr. Bunny is in the orange section of the stuffed animal shelf. Everything exactly where it should be. “Mama,” Mia says.
“Hmm?”
“When I’m big can I be a flower girl again?”
“When you’re big you can be whatever you want.”
She considers this carefully. “I want to be a flower girl and a paleontologist and a cat.”
“All three?”
“On different days.”
“That seems manageable.” She nods, satisfied. Swings her feet.
From the kitchen, Jake: “Braids today?”
“Braids,” Mia confirms, with the authority of someone whose hair decisions are final. You finish the first one. Start the second. The morning does its ordinary thing around you.
Mia tilts her head back to look up at you, upside down, grinning. “I love you, mama.”
You smooth a hand over her hair. “I love you too, baby,” you say. “So much.” She rights herself. Goes back to swinging her feet.
Outside the window the morning is doing what mornings do, indifferent and ongoing and full of ordinary things.
In here it is warm. In here everyone is exactly where they are supposed to be. This is just the beginning. And it is everything.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Hi lovelies! If you made it all the way to the end I hope you enjoyed. I’ve had a few people ask for a drabble or two based off this. if you want to see this click this and comment below your suggestions and what you want to see.
At the luxurious resort of Marriotte, the staff lived by a single unofficial rule: don’t get involved with the guests. Not the gilded men, not the wives, and certainly not the daughters. One slip meant losing everything. But then you stepped too close, and Sunghoon couldn’t bring himself to care (not anymore)
╰ a summer romance divided into two parts｜expected 40K+
PAIRING: lifeguard!Sunghoon x fem!reader
WARNINGS: poor!boy x rich!girl tropé, kinda forbidden love, Sunghoon is rude to you at the beginning, but we love a man who comes back and yearns, right?! slow-burnish, alcohol consumption, cigarettes usage, reader almost drowns once and Sunghoon has to save her, skinny dipping, smut, unprotected sex, nipple play, fingering and oral (f. receiving), handjob (m. receiving), shower sex
TAGLIST IS OPEN! if you would like to be tagged, feel free to send me an ask, or simply leave a comment down below! ♡
⭑.ᐟ A rainy Highschool reunion trip with Exes Med Student!Y/N and Lawyer!Sunghoon
You knew Sunghoon would be there. Of course, he would be. You had made your peace with it. You’re friends now, kind of. It’s fine. Really. Seeing him at your high school reunion was kind of a given. Agreeing to go on a trip with your friends, including him, later that year, however, surprised yourself.
Sunghoon can somehow still read you like an open book. Of course, he could. He was the person you once planned to marry...until life got in the way. You buried yourself in work, in reaching your goals. Between helping out with Jay's toddler, pretending you're not running on empty, and trying to avoid old feelings during the trip, you start to realise something: Somewhere along the way, you stopped living the life you actually wanted. And maybe, just maybe, there’s still time to fix it.
ᵎ!ᵎ WARNINGS ──── GRAPHIC CONTENT! burnout, chronic exhaustion, grief, unresolved trauma, emotional breakdowns, insomnia, academic/work stress, self-isolation, guilt, anxiety, car accident & death, friend loss, overwork, crying, hurt/comfort, kissing, lots of pining, Y/N is self-manipulating and needs a good psychologist, and Sunghoon is just very, very gentle, Y/N also might be depressed? I think?
# TAGS ──── SLOW-BURN exes to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance, bed-sharing, late-night talks, emotional vulnerability, burnout recovery, grief processing, comfort, soft angst, many scenes in the rain, happy ending
❝ AN ❞ ──── I made myself cry with this multiple times. I am very sorry for any emotional distress I might cause (here are some tissues 🧻). I do encourage you to listen to the playlist I linked, I think it might have been the reason for my crying lmao. Pt 2 will come at the end of this week. Tumblr is a pain and isn't letting me upload the almost 40k at once. This will be beta read, I am just too excited to finally publish it lmao (thank you @heeseungiess hihi)
all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ
“Y/N. You have to come”, Yunjin whined into the phone loud enough for you to lower the volume of your phone with your free hand.
“I don’t know Yu” The emart you were in was fuller than you expected it to be on a Thursday morning at 8 am. Usually, it was pretty calm when you came here after your night shifts; not many people wanted to go grocery shopping this early in the morning. “I really don’t see the point in going. We are still in contact, aren’t we? All the people that I want to see, I do, and there are way too many I am glad to not see ever again.” With a big step to the side, you dodged an elderly lady mindlessly pushing her cart, almost running into you.
“Y/N that's the whole point! What about Chaehyun? Or Jake and Jay? Or, oh, I don't know, Gaeul? You haven’t met up with her in months?”
A sigh escaped you before you could stop it as you walked towards the frozen section in the supermarket. Lately, you didn’t really feel like cooking, nor did you have the time to do so, so heating up some frozen veggies and some pre-cooked chicken breast had to be enough.
“I called her pretty recently?” You hesitated a bit before continuing. “I really…don’t want to be...you know, present in the boys' lives? It’s weird, after everything that happened with Sunghoon and with…Jay.”
“First of all, you called Gaeul like two months ago, that's not recent,” Yujin huffed. “And I don't think it’s weird? We are all friends, even if the two of you broke up. For us nothing changed.”
“I know. I just…”, you really didn’t know why the thought of meeting everyone made you feel so queasy. Yunjin was right; they were your friends, or at least close acquaintances. “I don’t know Yu, I feel like it would be weird. I mean, I am really a shit friend. I don’t keep up with everyone's life, and I never have much to talk about except work or uni right now. That's all my life is.”
“Oh, I know. I’ve never seen a worse texter than you, Y/N. But I don’t think the others would mind. They would probably all be excited to see you,” she said, her voice much more gentle than before. ”It’s been a while, and you really deserve a break, Y/N. Even if it’s just one evening.”
You swallowed and stopped in front of the big freezers, looking at row after row of frozen products.
“I know. I know.”, you sighed again. “Look, Yu, I’ll see what I can do. Maybe someone can switch shifts with me, but don’t get your hopes too high.”
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
The late afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains in your childhood bedroom, bathing everything in warm light. Not much had changed in your room over the last decade; your parents merely used it as a walk-in closet and a guest bedroom, if they needed an additional bed.
So they just left it be.
It was like walking into a different world, your trinkets, your decorations, everything still there where you left them after you moved out.
You knew you should hurry, that your mom was probably waiting for you, but you couldn’t get yourself to look away.
The girl in the mirror looked so different from the one you remembered her to be, how most of your old classmates probably remembered you.
You seemed so...tired, so exhausted.
Your eyes flickered to the pictures you had glued to your mirror 10 years ago when you just graduated high school.
A disbelieving chuckle escaped your lips.
The girl in the picture, beaming into the camera, had so much life in her eyes, so much ambition.
You were so excited for the future that was to come, not fully realising that the path you chose to take would be harder than you and anyone else back then could have imagined.
You were proud of the woman you had become, and you knew that eighteen-year-old Y/N was too, knowing you’ve almost reached your dream. You were so close you could almost taste it. But you had sacrificed so much for it.
With a sigh, you tore your gaze away from the dusty mirror, opening your makeup pouch to unceremoniously drop its contents onto the counter.
You just wanted to finally be done studying, work in an office outside the hospital until you had enough to open your own, give care to mothers and young girls and whoever else has to go to a Gyno.
But you were still stuck in that endless cycle of studying, day after day, year after year.
As you applied a generous amount of concealer across your face, your eyes wandered back to the photos.
The picture of Sunghoon and you at your high school graduation was fading in the sunlight, the colours slowly losing their vibrance.
You reached up and straightened the corners where the paper lifted from the tape and smiled.
Sunghoon was really handsome back then.
The way he looked at you instead of the camera made you feel so bittersweet. You always thought he would be the one you would marry, that you would have your first and only love forever.
But life was weird sometimes, and it didn’t work out.
With the breakup and your life at uni getting more stressful, you never really had much time for anyone but yourself and your friends, maybe. Dating wasn’t really on your mind for a long time after you’ve overcome the heartbreak.
You hoped he did date.
That today he would come to the reunion telling you about his wife, his kids, and how great his life was.
He deserved nothing less.
The paper curled back into itself again, and you sighed. Maybe it was better that way, slowly fading in a place where the memory belonged.
The outfit you, Jaemin, your roommate, and Jeno, his boyfriend, who did not have a choice but to help, spent almost an hour piecing together, was sitting neatly folded on your bed, the silver jewellery you picked out glimmering in the sunlight.
The fabric of the blouse was soft against your skin when you draped it over your head. You couldn’t remember wearing it out; it was one of your favourite shirts for evenings out when you were still together with Sunghoon, but it hadn’t seen the light of day in a while. Jaemin loved it, Jeno agreed with him and picked out the pants afterwards, convincing you that this was the perfect outfit. It felt wrong, like trying to seem like you would want to impress your ex with an outfit he liked, but the other two assured you that no one would think so. Apparently, your name was ‘no one’.
“Y/N?”, your mother's voice startled you out of your thoughts, “Are you ready yet, darling? If you want to be on time, we have to go now.”
“Oh”, you turned around and looked at your mother, who was standing in the doorway to your room. She herself was attending a work dinner and offered to take you with her. She was styled impeccably, her grey hair in a strict bun, and she was wearing a stunning one-piece.
You could gladly say you inherited her beauty and grace, and annoyingly, her work ethic.
„I‘m done, Mom,“ you nodded and grabbed your purse.
„Oh, look how pretty you look!“ She rubbed her hands up and down your arms when you passed her in the doorway. „My beautiful, beautiful daughter. Let’s hurry! I don’t want you to be late!“
She ushered you towards the entryway.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
The restaurant that had been picked out for the reunion was rather luxurious, or at least it gave the impression of being luxurious. The tables were covered in thick white cloth, decked with wine glasses and multiple plates. Classical music was gently playing in the background when you made your way inside.
It was fuller than you anticipated it to be; various groups of people, some familiar, some not, were standing at the entrance to the main room.
You spotted your old friend group pretty quickly.
A weird feeling welled up in your chest, and you slowly came to a halt a few meters away from them.
They looked so similar, yet so different.
Three years was not that much time, but it felt like an eternity now that you saw them again. You had spent every day together in high school, knowing everything about each other, staying close even though all of you went to different universities later on. You were a close-knit group for years, and then suddenly everything stopped.
At least for you.
When you and Sunghoon broke up, your world shattered into a million pieces.
You couldn’t bear to keep in contact with anyone when you knew they were all Sunghoon's friends as well. You hated the thought that it might get awkward for him, for them, that they would have to choose whom to invite, so you just…stopped coming.
For a second, you thought about turning around, about going home, interrupting Jaemin and Jeno’s movie date to curl up with Luna on your bed and watch videos until sleep overcame you, but before you could move, Heeseung spotted you.
His face broke out into a grin, and he waved at you, redirecting the focus of the rest of the group towards your figure. His mouth moved in something that looked like ‘Y/N is here!’ and you swallowed, before willing your face to mirror his expression, giving him a weak smile.
You knew that you should at least pretend to be happy about seeing them, but the knot in your chest was winding tighter and tighter as you made your way through the crowd.
“Y/N!” Chaehyun was the first to properly greet you, pulling you into a tight hug the moment you were close enough. “You look so good! You cut your hair!”
“Oh. Yeah. A few months ago,” you mumbled, glancing at your hair.
“It looks fantastic, right? Do you know how long I had to endure her going back and forth about cutting it? Horrible!”, Yunjin whined and wrapped her arms around yours.
“I wanted to cut enough to donate it, but it wasn’t long enough, and I also desperately wanted to get rid of the hair”, you grumbled and gently shoved her away.
You actually didn’t want to get rid of your hair, but it was falling out in chunks, the dark strands being everywhere in your apartment. Jaemin joked about how you lost more than his three ragdolls together, which gave you the final nudge to finally get it cut.
“Did you have enough to donate in the end?” Chaehyun asked and passed you a flute of champagne from the table you were standing around.
“Yeah. I cut around 25 cm off.”
“Oh shit, that's a lot,” Jake whistled and threw his arm around your shoulder, “Hi Y/N.”
“Hi, Jake,” you laughed and boxed him into his side to get off you.
Jake had always been one of your closest friends; your mother was convinced he was your boyfriend until you officially announced your relationship with Sunghoon, his best friend at the time.
The three of you were inseparable up until you and Sunghoon ended things.
“My mom told me you're almost done with your residency. Will we be calling you Doctor Y/L/N soon?” he asked and stole the flute out of your hand.
You gladly let him take it.
You haven’t had a sip of alcohol in a while, and you’ve always been a lightweight, so starting with champagne was probably not a good idea.
“I already am, Doctor Y/L/N, if I might correct you. I’m done with my residency in a few months, and then I have to study for the board certification exam. So sometime next year I’ll be done with everything, yeah,” you gave him another smile and raised your eyebrows.
“It’s so crazy you are pulling this through. You’ve got my deepest respect for that, Y/N.” Jake tutted and shook his head.
“I’ve always wanted to be a doctor”, you shrugged and smiled at him, despite the feeling of pure despair that overcame you at just the thought of having to study for that exam. The amount of stress that came with that exam and working at the same time was nothing anyone looked forward to.
Jake was about to reply, but Daewhi, your former class president, interrupted him. “Everyone!”, he was standing on a stage further into the room, “It’s lovely to see you all. Please take a seat, as we would like to start with ordering food. You’ll have enough time to mingle later on.”
“Let’s go,” Jake pulled you with him toward one of the tables in the middle of the room, not even giving you the chance to try to leave somehow, so you just settled down next to him. Yunjin dramatically sighed and rested her chin in her hand, glancing down the table.
“I can’t believe it’s been ten years since we graduated. When was the last time we were all together?”
Jay answered without looking up. “The funeral.”
Your breath caught in your throat for a second before you could breathe out normally again.
He was right; that was the last time you saw most of them. Your gaze snapped to your hands, your fingers slowly curling into your palm to stop them from shaking. The knot in your chest now pressing down even more.
You couldn’t help but feel guilty.
Even so much time later, so many patients later.
“Yeah,” Yunjin murmured. “That wasn’t exactly the best time to catch up.”
Jay looked up and gave her a small smile. “It wasn’t. I’m still glad you all came. It meant a lot to me to have your support.”
You felt his gaze on your figure. It didn’t take a genius to know that he was referring to you, that he knew how much you struggled with the decision of whether coming was appropriate. In the end, you did go, taking the day off, standing at the end of the crowd, him spotting you anyway.
“Of course,” you said, your voice a bit hoarse, when you finally met his eyes. “How is Haneul doing? She should be in kindergarten by now, right?”
Jay nodded and gave you a small smile. “She is, yes. Would you like to see some pictures? I would have loved to bring her here, but my girlfriend insisted on having a girls' evening with her.”
You gave him a small smile, hearing that he had found love again eased the feeling of nausea in your chest. “Yeah. I’d love to.”
Jay shifted slightly in his seat, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. He unlocked his phone, his thumb moving swiftly until he turned the screen toward you. “Here, this was last month. She dressed up as a tangerine for kindergarten.”
You leaned in, your smile slowly growing. “Oh my god… she’s huge already. And her hair’s gotten so long.”
“Right?” He grinned softly, flicking to the next picture. “This one’s my favourite.”
You let out a soft laugh, watching his screen as he kept scrolling, birthday parties, park visits, messy dinner selfies. Her in a doctor's costume, holding a stethoscope upside down.
“She’s really cute,” you said, smile tugging at your lips as Jay tapped through another photo. “She looks like trouble.”
“She is,” Jay answered, clearly proud of his daughter. “My genes did not have a chance against Minhees. She was such a troublemaker, and it went straight to Haneulie.”
You smiled again, this time more to yourself, and leaned back in your chair. Your gaze wandered to a very familiar figure making its way towards your table, and it felt like your heart did a quick jump under your ribcage.
Sunghoon looked immaculate.
He was wearing a navy suit, with his hair styled neatly and a bag slung over his shoulder. Your eyes met for a second, and without any hesitation, he gave you a small smile. You returned it almost automatically and then looked back at Jay, who showed you another picture on his phone, but you weren’t really comprehending anything.
With each second and each meter that he came closer, your heart started racing more and more.
Sunghoon greeted Jay and Jake with a handshake before hugging Yunjin. You were unsure if you should stand up or not, but before you could do anything, he leaned down, and one of his arms came around your shoulder in a quick hug. You weren’t fast enough to return the hug, your arms frozen halfway up. He didn’t seem to mind and slid into the empty seat next to you.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said lightly, setting down his bag before removing his coat. “My client wouldn’t stop talking.”
“Do they ever?” Heeseung, who had made his way over to Sunghoon, asked, clapping his shoulder.
Sunghoon laughed, low and tired. “I don’t mind as long as they keep on paying.”
Heeseung said something else that made the table laugh, but you didn’t hear what he said, just laughing along. Your eyes were raking over Sunghoon's face, over his shoulders, to the few grey strands in his dark hair. He always joked about going grey early, as his father did. You didn’t realise that three years were enough for that to actually happen.
The waiter interrupted the conversation, asking Heeseung to sit down again as they were now starting to take everyone's orders. You almost wished he hadn’t, because now Sunghoon's focus shifted to your figure.
“Hi Y/N,” he was almost beaming at you. “It’s been so long. How are you doing?”
You blinked at him for a second. “Good? Good. I’m doing well.”
“That’s so nice to hear.” Sunghoon gave you a soft smile, the one he always gave you when he knew you were uncomfortable. You cursed him for being able to read you so well, but you assumed that just came with being together for as long as you were.
“How…how have you been?”, you asked, averting your gaze, opening the menu, the waiter had just placed down next to you, trying to seem casual.
“I’m doing well as well,” Sunghoon leaned back slightly in his chair, resting an arm casually along the back of yours. “This year has been good. I made it to partner in February.”
You blinked, your head snapping to him, the menu forgotten. “Already?”
He gave a small smile. “Yeah. I mean, it’s brutal hours, and my phone might actually be fused to my hand now, but… I like it. Most days.”
You laughed in disbelief. “That’s… wow. That’s impressive, Sunghoon. Your mom must be over the moon.”
Sunghoon actually laughed out loud at that, and you felt warmth rushing to your cheeks. It was unfair, truly unfair, that he had this effect on you, when it was entirely inappropriate.
“She truly is. It’s even more annoying than I thought it would be. I can’t go anywhere without being recognised as Eunkyung's son, who is a lawyer under the age of thirty. Even the rude lady from the dalgona stand knew and gave me some for free,” he chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. “For free, Y/N. I felt like a celebrity.”
You chuckled. “You might be. Your mom always loved boasting about you and Yeji's accomplishments around.”
“She does, yeah,” Sunghoon said, focusing back onto the menu. You swallowed and did the same, willing your brain to actually read the different options this time.
The dishes actually sounded really nice, surprising you somehow and making it hard to decide. It’s been a while since you had the opportunity to eat out like this, so you wanted to eat something you would actually enjoy.
With a small sigh, you flipped between two pages, trying to figure out what you wanted when Sunghoon leaned a little closer. “Take the fish. You’ll like it.”
You glanced at him, surprised. “The fish?”
“I’ve been here before. It’s good. Not too heavy either. You’ll like it.”
You gave him a small nod. “Okay.”
A moment passed before he gently closed his menu and turned towards you again. “Are you still at SN?”
You hummed, remembering that when the two of you spoke to each other the last time, you were actually considering moving to another hospital. “Yeah. I didn’t think changing hospitals would have changed my workload after all.”
“Do you still like it?” he asked with a small hum.
You hesitated.
Your residence was one of the main reasons why you and Sunghoon broke up.
Somehow it felt like a touchy topic. “Most days, yes. Some days are just hard. But every job is like that, right?”
“Mhm. That’s true”, he turned aback towards the table, reaching for the wine card. “Are you still living with Jaemin?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “He adopted three cats a few months ago.”
He laughed, eyes flicking back to you. “Three?”
“Yep. And of course, Kai’s allergic, so now when we want to study, we have to meet at his place or at a cafe or something.”
That made Sunghoon pause, his brow ticking up slightly. “Kai? The tall one?”
“Yeah, we have a lot of shifts together, and when we’re off, we use the time to hang out, which results in us studying most of the time”, you shrugged.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded a little before he asked his next question. “So you started studying for the board already?”
Yunjin snorted, bursting your small bubble, reminding you that you weren’t alone with Sunghoon. “She is driving everyone crazy with the exam, and it’s like a year and a half until she has to take it.”
You blinked, your cheeks flooding with warmth. “I’m not. I mean, yes, I am…studying.”
“Y/N,” he said with a grin, not even pretending to be subtle about how funny he thought your embarrassment was. “I'm sure you won’t be able to remember anything if you’re studying already. That didn’t work in school, nor when you were doing your bachelor's. ”
“I–I know,” you said, blinking rapidly, curling your hands into a fist again, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. “It’s just a lot. And I want to be prepared. You know?”
“Oh,” Sunghoo laughed, reaching for a champagne flute on the table. “I am well aware, Y/N. You like to plan and prepare everything to the smallest detail.”
Before you could try to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t let you sound like an offended toddler, the waiter interrupted you, taking the table's order.
You ordered the fish.
“And your parents?” Sunghoon asked once the waiter stepped away again. “Still working?”
You smiled a little. “Yeah. My mom’s been talking about retiring for three years now, but we both know she’d go crazy without it. She seriously has to find a hobby. My dad is still working in the hospital, but not as chief physician anymore. He said he was too old for that amount of stress.”
Sunghoon laughed quietly. “Sounds about right.”
You glanced down at your hands and chuckled. “I try to visit when I can. Usually, it’s whenever Yoona brings my niece to my parents. My mom complains about me visiting the baby more than I do her."
“Well, are you?”
“I’m just very strategic about my days off,” you deadpanned, and he laughed again.
You let yourself look at him, really look. His hair was a little longer than you remembered, styled neatly. There was a soft crease between his brows you hadn’t noticed when he first walked in. Tiredness, maybe.
“Do you still live around Gangnam?” you asked, deciding that it was your turn to ask questions. “Or did you move for work?”
“I moved,” he hesitated for a second. “Actually, I moved back in with my parents. Just a couple of months ago.”
You blinked. “Didn’t your sister move back in as well?"
“She did,” he said, then glanced down at his watch for a beat too long. “She and her husband divorced last year. But she’s back in Busan now.”
“Oh.” You paused, not sure what to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Sunghoon never really liked his brother-in-law. They fought hard when she told him she would marry him; he told her he wouldn’t give him his blessing, only for his sister to tell him she didn’t need his blessing. Sunghoon and Yeji didn’t talk for months afterwards, and he was devastated by it.
He shrugged lightly. “It’s alright. She’s doing better now.”
“Why did you move back?” you asked softly, after a beat of silence between the two of you.
He tilted his head slightly. “Mhm. I was living with my girlfriend. For about a year. We broke up in the spring, and I moved into her apartment when we got together.”
You felt a soft pang in your heart. As much as you wished for him to be happy, to have found love, it hurt a bit to hear that he actually did. “Oh. I’m sorry, Sunghoon.”
“It’s fine. I am over her. She was nice, but…it just… wasn’t working. I was always gone. And when I wasn’t, I wasn’t really there, you know?” He looked at you then, and you knew exactly what he meant. “We were both too tired to argue about it. It felt like deja vu,” he chuckled softly at that and took a sip of his champagne.
You nodded silently, trying to turn your attention to the rest of your friends. Jake was animatedly telling a story about something that happened at his workplace, but before you could find a point to join the conversation, Sunghoon spoke up again.
“Is Jaemin still together with Jeno?”
The question caught you a bit off guard. “Yeah,” you nodded. “Why?”
“Oh, just,” he gestured with his hand dismissively. “I just wanted to know if someone is getting the two of you into shape. He was always cooking for Jaemin, wasn’t he?”
You chuckled, his face being full of faux calmness, but you knew he was never a fan of you being this close with a male friend, even when Jaemin stated, multiple times, that he was gay and not into girls. Only when Jeno came into the picture, Sunghoon relaxed whenever the topic came up. “He still is, yeah. But Nana and I have been cooking as well. Occasionally.”
“As in ramyeon?” Sunghoon raised his eyebrows, and he gave you a disbelieving look.
You nodded slowly, pouting a bit. “And…like meat and other proteins, and..vegetables.”
Frozen vegetables and packaged tofu in your ramyeon, but Sunghoon didn’t need to know that.
“Damn,” Jake, who had apparently finished his story and had been listening to the two of you, interrupted you. “Did you just say you're eating proteins?”
You nodded, humming, before taking another sip of your water. “Yeah, why?”
“Y/N, you have been eating the most unhealthy shit for our whole life, and you hate ninety nine percent of all vegetables. What changed?” he said, chuckling.
“I… realised the benefits of eating healthy, and I put MSG on everything. I still have nightmares of unseasoned chicken.”
“My chicken,” Sunghoon injected, “was not unseasoned, Y/N. Your taste buds are just weird.”
“Hell nah man,” Jay snickered from across the table. “You were either eating white chicken or those nasty protein shakes. No flavour or seasoning in sight for like six months.”
You were shaking your head. “I swear to god, if you’d asked me to meal prep plain chicken breast one more time, I would have used my anatomical knowledge for some illegal activities, Sunghoon.”
He gave a sheepish grin. “I was trying to hit macros. And you yourself claimed to appreciate my biceps.”
“I still have nightmares about our air fryer,” you deadpanned. “For weeks, the entire apartment smelled like chicken and eggs.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Sunghoon said, nudging you gently with his elbow.
“I am not,” you insisted. “You once brought chicken breast to brunch with our parents cause you were afraid they wouldn’t prep anything with proteins in it.”
“You were unbearable,” you muttered, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed as you gave him a narrowed look.
Sunghoon didn’t even blink. “I was bulking.”
“You were insane,” you shot back. “Do you remember the protein powder in your coffee?”
“It tasted fine.”
“You mixed it with my expensive vanilla almond milk. And you made the entire kitchen smell like dirty socks.”
He grinned. “And yet you still ate my chicken.”
“Because I was too tired to cook my own, you menace”, you said flatly.
You took a sip of your water, the conversation around you dissolving into background noise as Sunghoon leaned a little closer, resting one arm on the back of your chair again.
“I still don’t get how you survived my meal prep,” he said casually, eyes flicking to yours.
You gave him a look. “Oh, I suffered.”
He grinned. “That dramatic streak of yours hasn’t changed, huh?”
“Park Sunghoon,” you warned, narrowing your eyes slightly, “I swear, if you say one more thing about me being dramatic, I will curse you out so thoroughly you’ll have flashbacks to every anatomy study session I ever made you suffer through.”
“Oh, jeez, please not. I don’t think I would survive that. You were so mean.”
“I was under a lot of pressure!” you said, biting back a smile. “Do you know what it’s like to come home after a 28-hour shift just to find someone boiling chicken again at midnight?”
He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. “I said I’d cook for you.”
“Yes, but like a soup or I don’t know some rice, but not plain chicken, Sunghoon!”
“You did eat it?” He said, giving you a teasing smile.
You exhaled, amused, tipping your head slightly toward him. “Do you still eat like that? Or have your taste buds evolved?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “But my mom doesn’t curse me out if I stink up the kitchen.”
You hummed. “Tragic. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
He smirked. “Ah, you and your endless compassion.”
“Oh shut up,” you muttered, lips twitching. “I’m about to be compassionate all over your fancy suit.”
He laughed again, quieter this time, and nudged your knee under the table.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
Since the reunion, Sunghoon somehow slithered his way back into your life.
You’ve seen him at least three times in the last month, which is more than in the last three years. It was probably due to the new outbound clinic you were transferred to, being close to your parents' house, which caused you, much to your parents' delight, to sleep at home. And considering Sunghoon is living just over the street, meeting him after work was somehow something that happened now.
Miraculously, it hasn’t been awkward at all.
Talking to him felt like it did in high school, easy, almost refreshing. It was weird, but it was as if nothing had happened, as if you were…friends. It was even weirder that you loved it.
You loved spending time with him, even if it were conversations when bringing out the trash or walking home at the same time, you loved being around him.
You knew you shouldn’t, that it wasn’t good for your heart, that you weren’t over him, even three long years after your breakup. People always said one never forgets their first love; it seemed like your heart refused to let go and forget that it’s not his anymore.
You were taking your time walking home from work a few weeks after the reunion, trying to take in the last few rays of sunshine, before the sun would disappear again.
A familiar figure hurried past you, almost brushing your shoulder, when the two of you crossed the main street. You recognised him almost immediately, even though his face was turned towards his phone as he was typing furiously on his phone.
You accelerated your speed, stepping in sync next to him: “Sir, do you perhaps live in this neighbourhood? I'm in dire need of directions; I might be a bit lost here.”
He flinched, and his head snapped in your direction.
“Jesus, you just scared the shit out of me, Y/N,” he said, breathless, holding his phone against his chest.
“Sorry, Sunghoon,” you laughed and patted his shoulder.
“I am afraid I can't offer you directions, though. I might be equally lost right now. It seems like we are in dire need of a guide that guides us towards a certain GS25 to buy some ice cream, perhaps?" he said, raising his shoulders in faux confusion.
“Oh! I think I saw a particular GS25 on my way here, but I am afraid I really want to get home! It appears like my niece has been brought to my mother's, and I really want to cuddle my very adorable niece, perhaps an ice to go?” You nodded and walked backwards up the hill.
“That’s a noble excuse,” he said, adjusting his bag and shifting his jacket to the other arm. “But would you accept delivery instead? My mom’s in a bad mood today, and if I go home, I might spontaneously combust.”
You tilted your head, thinking of the consequences of what you were about to do, before ignoring every logical thought in your brain. “Hmm. I suppose if you’re fleeing maternal wrath, I can offer sanctuary. My mom will probably force-feed you the second you walk through the door.”
“I’m counting on it,” he said, grinning as he fell into step beside you.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
The second you stepped through the front door, your mom peeked around the corner from the kitchen, eyes lighting up.
“Y/N-ah! Oh, you brought a surprise with you!” she said, hands dripping wet. “How lovely!”
You sighed dramatically, kicking off your shoes. “I found Sunghoon on the street and had to rescue him. Auntie is in a bad mood today, and he needs shelter.”
Your mom tutted but looked pleased. “Come in, come in. Look at you! So skinny! You need to eat something.”
She reached up without warning and patted his cheek affectionately, as she used to when you were teenagers. Sunghoon just blinked and let it happen, offering a half-bow and a sheepish smile, ignoring how much he must have hated that she touched his face.
“Hi, Aunty. Sorry to show up uninvited.”
“Nonsense. You’re always welcome here,” she said, already turning back toward the kitchen. “Sit, sit! I just made some jeon. Do you still like that?”
"Sure, Aunty!" Sunghoon said, and his eyes wandered to you before he carefully wiped his cheek with his sleeve. You had to stifle a laugh at the view, but shook your head and slipped out of your shoes to follow your mother into the kitchen.
“Is Gaeun awake?”
She was already reaching for an additional plate for Sunghoon. “She fell asleep a few minutes ago.”
You were about to turn around when she stopped you. “Let her sleep, Y/N. You can go and feed her when she is awake later.”
You groaned, deflating and pouting. “I’m just gonna check on her. I’m not gonna wake her up, I promise, Mom. Sunghoon hasn’t seen her, so I’ll just…you know, show her off.”
“Hey, don’t pull me into this,” Sunghoon protested, pushing you out of the way to enter the kitchen. “Thank you for letting me eat with you, Auntie.”
“Oh my boy,” she waved her hand, diminishing in the air, handing him his glass. “You’re always invited here. I haven’t seen you in so long. I want to hear from Eunkyung's golden son himself how well he is doing.”
Sunghoon chuckled at that, and you watched his ears flush a slight red hue as he cleared his throat. “Yeah…well..I’ve been doing well, Auntie.”
“Okay, so I'm gonna go to Gaeun, come on Sunghoon,” you said, not giving your mother the option to embarrass him, before your dad would come for dinner and do the job properly. Your hands closed around his biceps, and you guided him towards the living room.
Sunghoon let you pull him with you. “Didn’t spend enough time with babies today?”
You shot him a look. “Not the cuddly kind.”
He raised a brow as you crossed to the blanket pile on the couch and gently peeked in at the sleeping baby. “Weren’t you at the clinic today?”
“I’m on outbound rotation,” you explained, your voice hushed. “So lots of prenatal consults. It’s mostly OB-GYN. So yeah, technically babies, but unborn babies.”
“Ah,” he hummed. “Makes sense.”
You knelt beside Gaeun and ran your fingers softly through her hair. “She’s my one and only baby, though.”
Sunghoon leaned over you to get a glimpse of the baby as well. “Do you have another niece I missed out on?”
You shook your head. “Nope. Just Gaeun.”
She shifted in her sleep, one chubby fist curled near her cheek.
“She’s literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” you cooed, doing your best not to wake her up.
Sunghoon crouched beside you, resting his arms on his knees. “You say that every time you see a baby or a dog.”
“Because it’s true every time,” you said, gently pulling her blanket up. “Look at her cheeks. I want to bite them. Is that weird?”
“A little.”
You gave him a side-eye. “She smells so good as well. I would die for her.”
He laughed under his breath. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m in love, Sunghoon. You wouldn’t understand.”
He just shook his head, smiling. “I wouldn’t, no.”
“She’s going to grow up thinking I’m the cool aunt.”
“She only has one aunt.”
“Exactly.”
You watched her for another long beat, her tiny chest rising and falling steadily, while the smell of jeon slowly drifted into the room, followed by your mom’s distant voice calling your name.
You sighed. “Let’s go eat before she decides we’re both too skinny and starts force-feeding us.”
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
When the two of you entered the kitchen, it felt weirdly nostalgic, as if time had stopped one day ten years ago and you weren’t lawyer Sunghoon and gynaecologist Y/N but high schoolers again. From the way your mom decked the table to the way you were seated in your usual seats, to the plate of jeon in the middle of the old oak table, everything was the same but so different.
“So, Sunghoon,” your dad began, leaning back slightly in his chair, while you poured water into everyone's glasses. “Are you still working yourself to death?”
Sunghoon let out a small laugh, accepting his with a small nod. “Trying not to. But yeah, now that I’m a partner, I’m working a lot.”
“I’m so proud of you, Sunghoonie. Partner! The little boy from across the street is so successful,” your mom said, smiling warmly at him. “I’m sure your parents have told you plenty of times how incredibly proud they are of their son.”
Sunghoon nodded sheepishly, the smile on his face deepening a fraction. “Thank you so much for saying that, Auntie.”
Your parents started grilling him with questions you were pretty sure they already knew the answers to. It was coming from a good place and very lighthearted. After all, Sunghoon had practically grown up in this kitchen, so it was a given they wanted to hear from the man himself where he was now in life.
You couldn’t count how many times he had skipped out on dinners at his own house to crash yours instead.
He answered patiently, a bit sheepish but not uncomfortable.
You could tell he didn’t mind it.
By the time your dad had moved on from work questions to retelling the same story about your high school prank war for the third time, Sunghoon had finally settled deeper into his seat.
His sleeves were rumpled, he had unfastened the top button of his shirt at some point and rolled his shoulders back, laughing at something your mom had said about his childhood appetite.
You couldn’t stop watching him.
It wasn’t intentional; you weren’t even sure what had pulled your gaze back to him in the first place.
You couldn’t stop thinking about how familiar it all felt.
How natural it still was to have him here.
Like nothing had changed at all.
Maybe not everything had.
Your parents still looked at him like he was the son they never had. Your mom still offered him second servings before anyone else. He still used the honorifics around your dad even though he had been told not to twenty years ago. He still looked like the same boy who had come over three or four nights a week in high school, when his own house felt cold. Unforgiving of the imperfect.
Sunghoon had always been the golden boy: top grades, varsity athlete, polite to a fault.
Your teachers loved him, which was why he was able to get you and Jake out of sticky situations almost easily back when you were in high school.
He was admired by everyone.
You couldn't remember a single person who didn't like him.
But at home, he had never been enough.
He learned to be charming because being himself was never quite the right answer.
You have always hated his mother for doing that.
He could have brought home the moon, and his mom still would’ve asked why it had craters.
And yet your mom loved him the second you brought him home at age 5. She gave him as much food as he wanted, gave him all the attention he needed, and came to every skating event, even if his parents couldn’t make the time. She somehow managed to get off work every time, sitting in the bleachers of those ice rinks, cheering for Sunghoon together with you.
She had treated him like a teenage boy, like a kid, deserved to be treated: not perfectly, just kindly.
You always dreamt of becoming a mother like yours was, loving, warm, heartfelt.
Sunghoon was laughing at something your dad said, his hands working through the perfectly styled hair, messing it up in the process.
That was the version of him you fell in love with so many years back.
Not the one in suits or figure skating costumes. Not the teen winning competition after competition, or the successful lawyer. Not the perfect golden Park boy.
But Sunghoon.
Just Sunghoon.
The one who grinned with his whole face. Who passed side dishes to your dad before being asked, who muttered sarcastic little asides only you would catch. The one who used to steal bites from your plate and fall asleep on the living room floor with his head resting against your knee.
The version of him you thought you knew forever.
The version you thought you would always have.
Sunghoon looked over, just briefly, catching your eye mid-laugh.
“What?” he asked, mouth still curled into a smile.
You blinked, startled. “Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m digesting and looking at nothing. My brain is tired.”
He narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion, but let it go.
You glanced down at your plate, heart suddenly too full and too tired at once.
You were wrong.
So much had changed.
You weren’t the two carefree teens you once were; too many things have happened for those to ever come back, no matter how much your heart wished for it.
Just then, a sharp wail echoed from the living room.
You were already halfway out of your chair, mentally thanking Gaeun for choosing now to wake up. “It’s okay, I got her–”
“Y/N, sit–” your mom began, but you were already waving her off.
“I got her,” you said again, as you darted out of the kitchen.
In the living room, Gaeun’s face was red and scrunched, tiny fists balled up near her cheeks, her cry high-pitched and frantic.
You knelt beside her, scooping her up in one smooth motion, pressing soft kisses to her temple.
“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” you whispered, rocking her gently as you reached for the bottle your mom had prepped earlier. “You’re hungry, huh?”
She latched on instantly, her cries quieting between gulps.
You sat down with her in your lap, humming softly under your breath as she fed, your hand gently stroking her soft hair. No matter how many babies you’ve met in the course of your career, none had ever triggered your maternal instincts as much as she had. You had loved being there for her sister during her pregnancy, during all the trials and errors she made in the beginning. It made your heart feel so full and heavy at the same time.
You didn’t hear Sunghoon approach, his voice startling you slightly when he spoke up from the doorframe. “Impressive diagnosis, Dr Auntie.”
You turned to look at him, bouncing Gaeun gently. “Years of clinical experience. And also I just… really love her.”
He tilted his head slightly, watching you cradle the tiny baby. “I can tell.”
You chuckled. “Why do you sound surprised?”
“I’m not,” he said, but his voice had gone quieter. “You’re just… good at this.”
You glanced down at Gaeun, who had started to calm a little, blinking up at you with watery eyes.
It was silent for a long moment before Sunghoon stepped into the room, lowering himself onto the sofa next to you. When he did speak again, his voice was softer than before.
“You’ve always loved kids.”
“Yeah,” you murmured.
He nodded slowly. “You used to say you wanted three.”
You laughed under your breath. “I did. I also said I wanted a dog that talks and a husband who bakes soufflés. And for most of my life, I knew I would never be able to have that. I don’t think you could have made soufflés. And a baby is just as impossible right now, I have no one who could make me bad sufflés, nor do I have time to get pregnant within the next few years.”
“That’s so sad,” he said quietly. “You always wanted this.”
You didn’t answer right away, just rocked the baby gently and let the silence stretch between you. He was right, you wanted this, you had desperately wished for this to be your shared future.
“I don’t know. The older I get, the more it feels… unreachable. Like, even if I wanted a kid right now, I couldn’t. I’ve spent so long working toward this career… I’m just now getting to the part where all of it might pay off.” You took a breath. “Having a baby would derail everything.”
After a few beats, you glanced at him sideways, wanting to change the topic.
“How was your day?”
He blinked at you at the sudden switch, but leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he answered your question. “Oh, you know. Same circus, different set of clowns.”
You raised a brow. “That bad?”
He let out a quiet laugh. “I spent my whole morning fixing a report someone else screwed up, then got blamed for responding ‘too bluntly’ in an email. And someone scheduled a meeting over lunch. Again.”
“Oh,” you knew the frustration of not being able to get out of work in time for lunch or in time in general, all too well. “That’s shit.”
“Hey, no bad words in front of your niece,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t mind the job. Honestly, I like it. I worked my ass off to get here. It’s just…some of these people make me question humanity.”
You laughed. “That bad, huh?”
He turned to you with a dry smile. “If natural selection applied to PowerPoint formatting, I’d have peace.”
You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Am I wrong, though?”
You shook your head, a little smile playing on your lips. “I don’t know. I've not opened PowerPoint in like a decade.”
Gaeun finished her bottle and made a sound, turning both your and Sunghoon's attention to her. You cooed softly. “Oh, are you done, my love?”
With a soft pop, you pulled the bottle from her mouth and set it down on the sofa table. You felt Sunghoon's gaze on you when you gently lifted the small baby up to burp her.
His voice came out soft and quiet when he continued speaking. “But really... I’m lucky. I know that. I’ve got a solid team, a good salary, and stability. I just wish I didn’t have to babysit full-grown adults while pretending to care about their feelings.”
You nodded slowly, gently tapping Gaeun's back, waiting for her to release the air trapped in her stomach. “Sounds exhausting.”
“It is. But…” he paused, his eyes catching yours. “You kinda just accept it. Like, this is what it looks like. Being a grown-up.”
You were quiet for a second.
“Yeah,” you murmured, without breaking eye contact. You both sat in silence for a bit, looking at each other until a quiet series of burps made you avert your eyes.
You gently moved your niece into a lying position, not wanting to put her down. Her fingers reached for your hair, the strands only centimetres away from where her chubby fingers would reach.
“You know,” Sunghoon said after a long moment, “your mom… she really did take me in like a son.”
You turned to look at him.
“I don’t think I ever said it out loud, but I’m so grateful for her. And for your dad, too. They’re such–” He paused, trying to find the right word. “They’re just… really good people.”
Your heart tightened a little. He wasn’t the kind of person to say things like that unless he truly meant them.
A beat passed before he added, more quietly, “And you… You’re turning out just like them, you know?”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. You opened your mouth, unsure of what to say, but before you could respond, your mom’s voice came from the hallway.
“Sunghoon-ah, my son,” she called warmly, stepping into the room in her worn slippers and a floral apron still tied around her waist. “I’m heading to bed. You should go home too, it’s getting late, you look tired.”
Sunghoon stood, his posture straightening instinctively, whatever moment you just shared broken. “Yes, of course. Thank you for having me.”
She waved him off, already moving to turn off the lights and tidy a stray cushion. “Oh, don’t you worry about that! Come over more often, please, even if Y/N isn’t here.”
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll do that, Auntie.”
With a soft goodnight, your mom disappeared down the hallway, the floor creaking familiarly under her steps.
The room was quiet again, save for Gaeun’s babbling.
Sunghoon turned to you, his smile lopsided. “Guess I'd better go before she packs me leftovers for the whole week.”
You gave him a weak grin, standing to walk him to the door. “You know she probably already did.”
At the door, he slipped on his shoes and turned back toward you.
“Thanks for letting me crash dinner.”
“No worries,” you said, leaning against the frame. “You apparently needed it.”
He nodded, then paused, as if he wanted to say something else, but didn’t.
Instead, he gave you a little wave. “Night, Y/N.”
“Night, Sunghoon.”
The door closed with a quiet click.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty hallway.
Gaeun had stopped talking and had snuggled against your chest. Her tiny breaths warmed the fabric of your shirt as you stood in front of your door, not wanting to move, to break the illusion of this being normal, of everything being back to normal.
After a few minutes, she started to get a bit fussy, and you brought her into your room, gently lowering her into the crib your mom had set up in there.
She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake up.
You watched her, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the little sigh she gave as her fingers curled near her cheek.
Then, slowly, you turned and climbed into bed without changing or going to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth.
The ceiling hadn’t changed.
Neither had the sound of cicadas outside the window nor the way the floor creaked when someone walked down the hallway.
But you had.
And lying there, in the same room you used to stay up in texting Sunghoon under the covers, you felt the quiet ache of time slipping past.
So many things had changed.
And yet tonight, for just a few moments, it had felt like nothing had.
You turned onto your side, pulling the blanket up over your shoulder, your gaze drifting toward the crib in the corner.
“Night, Gaeun,” you whispered.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
The monitor wouldn’t stop.
The slow, persistent beeping was too loud and not loud enough at the same time. You wished it wouldn’t be here at all, that you wouldn’t be here at all, but you couldn’t go. You couldn’t leave him.
Your fingers moved in slow, practised motions, tracing the outline of a cheek you couldn’t feel, a stomach you couldn’t warm.
There was no feedback.
No softness.
Just resistance and the faint drag of latex against the skin.
You wondered if the baby could feel any of it.
Probably not.
Your eyes burned so badly that it felt like you had been staring into the wind for hours. Maybe you had. Time didn’t make sense on night shifts; everything blurred into dim lights, humming machines, and the constant, suffocating awareness that every second mattered to someone too small to understand it.
The baby moved, its hand reaching for your fingers in a weak movement. It was so fragile, so sick.
“I know,” you whispered, your voice dry, cracking slightly. “It’s fine, I’m still here.”
The baby didn’t know. That was the worst part.
It cried a thin, strained sound escaping its mouth. It sounded so wrong. It wasn’t the loud, angry cry of a baby demanding to be fed, to be held, to be burped; it was a cry for help. For something to make the pain stop.
You knew his pain would stop, and there was nothing you could do about it, no medicine in the world, no love, no attention could save him. He has been fighting all day long, so so much, but you knew he would lose this battle tonight.
Your jaw tightened.
God, you hated this place.
Not because it was loud. It was never loud enough. The NICU wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to be hope, wasn’t it? Small victories. First breaths. Fighting chances.
But all you ever saw was how fragile it all was.
How easily everything just came…to a stop.
Your fingers slowed.
They didn’t even get a chance.
The thought hit harder tonight. Maybe because you were too tired to keep pushing it away. Maybe because it was your third night in a row, and you didn’t have the energy to rebuild the walls you usually kept in place. Maybe because tomorrow, three years ago, you stood in this very place, holding the baby of your best friend, before you couldn’t anymore. Because it was going to be three long years tomorrow.
The baby’s tiny chest stuttered under the blanket, uneven, like it couldn’t quite decide on a rhythm.
You swallowed hard, your throat tight.
Life wasn’t fair. You knew that. You had known that long before this job, long before these shifts and these rooms and these tiny, impossibly fragile bodies.
But this, this felt wrong in a way you couldn’t rationalise.
These small creatures, these small humans, didn’t get the chance to live, to get outside, to feel the sunlight on their skin, to figure out what their favourite song, their favourite taste, their favourite colour was. Things so normal to you, some of them would never experience.
Your hand pressed a little firmer against the plastic.
Could he feel that?
Did it hurt?
Did he feel alone?
Or did he feel nothing at all?
Your stomach twisted.
The glove suddenly felt unbearable. Too smooth, too artificial.
You were touching without touching, comforting without warmth, present without really being there.
“I’m here,” you said again, but it sounded hollow this time. Thin. Unconvincing.
Because what did that even mean here?
‘Here’ didn’t promise anything.
'Here’ didn’t guarantee he would make it to the morning.
You leaned your forehead briefly against the incubator, the surface cool against your skin as you tried to blink away your tears.
“I hate this,” you whispered, the words so quiet you barely even heard them yourself.
The baby’s hitched in his sleep again, the beeping of the monitor coming in a slower rhythm.
Your head lifted immediately.
“No, no, no. Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft but urgent now, your hand moving again, tracing the same slow pattern. “Stay with me, okay? Just… just stay.”
As if you had any control over that.
As if wanting was enough.
Your hand didn’t stop moving.
It couldn’t.
Because even if you hated this place, even if you hated what it showed you, over and over again, you couldn’t be the person who walked away.
“I’ve got you,” you whispered, hoping he would understand somehow.
The baby’s breathing evened out again under your fingers.
You exhaled shakily, your shoulders dropping just a fraction.
For now, that had to be enough.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
The sun felt wrong.
Too warm, too bright.
You stood there anyway, letting the rays of sunlight hit your skin. Her dress clung to you in a way that made you hyper-aware of your own body, of the fact that you were still here, still breathing, still existing in a world that had kept going without her.
She would’ve loved it if she knew you had worn her favourite dress today.
She always claimed you looked better in it than she did.
That thought alone almost made you turn around.
But you didn’t.
You just stared.
At the grave.
At her name.
At the dates that didn’t make sense, no matter how many times you read them.
Too short.
Everything about it was too short.
You had almost not come.
But you had to. You owed it to her; at least one time a year, you had to come.
And now you were here.
Alone.
You swallowed, your throat tight, your chest heavy in that familiar, suffocating way that had followed you everywhere lately.
There were already so many flowers.
More than you expected.
They framed the grave in soft colours, carefully arranged bouquets, ribbons, and notes tucked in between. Thoughtful. Beautiful. Intentional.
Loved.
Of course she was.
Your grip on your own flowers tightened slightly.
They suddenly felt… small.
Unimpressive.
Almost embarrassing.
Your throat tightened. You swallowed, but it didn’t help.
“I–” Your voice broke before you even started, forcing you to stop, to breathe and try again. “I didn’t know what to bring,” a weak, breathless exhale left you, something between a laugh and a sob. “That’s stupid, right?”
The only answer you got was the faint sound of the traffic outside the graveyard and the crunch of the gravel underneath your feet.
Your vision blurred as you spoke up again. “I’m sorry.”
Careful not to disturb the other arrangements, you stepped forward slowly and crouched down. For a moment, you just hovered there, unsure where to put yours, like there wasn’t really space for them.
Like, there wasn’t really space for you.
“They’re your favourites,” you murmured finally, placing them down anyway, your hands lingering there.
“I almost didn’t come,” the words slipped out before you could stop them. “But I–” you exhaled shakily, your shoulders dropping. “I had to. I think I had to. It’s been so long.”
You sat back slightly on your heels, your eyes tracing over her name again, like you were trying to force your brain to accept it.
It still didn’t. Three long years later, it still didn’t feel real, as if she had just forgotten to read her texts again, too busy doing other things.
“I miss you,” you said, your lips turning into a small quivering smile, before the first tear rolled down your face. “I miss you so much, it’s–”
Your voice gave out completely. Your vision blurred, more tears slipped down your face, slow at first, then faster, your throat tightening to the point where it almost hurt to breathe.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, between tiny sobs. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”
Your hands fell into your lap, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress.
“I feel like I’m living my life and… and I’m not at the same time,” you continued, your words uneven, stumbling over each other. “Like everything’s still happening, but I’m not really there for it. I’m just…watching it pass.”
Your chest ached when you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down.
“I hate it. You’re supposed to be here,” another shaky breath rattled your chest. “You’re supposed to be part of this. All of it.”
The wind shifted slightly, brushing against your skin.“He shares your day now.” Your brows pulled together, your gaze dropping to the ground.
“A little boy,” you added, your voice barely above a whisper. “I met him yesterday. In the NICU.”
Your stomach twisted when you thought about it, about the sound stopping, about the silence afterwards. “He didn’t make it.”
You pressed your lips together, trying to steady yourself, but it didn’t work.
“Your death day,” you murmured, the words feeling wrong in your mouth. “It’s not just yours anymore. I think it’s the reason why I came today,” your breath hitched, “because I was scared you would be lonely and scared. You were so scared, Minhee. And I couldn’t do anything. I just–”
Your voice broke off into a sob, and you just left the sentence unfinished. Saying it out loud made it so much worse. You wiped at your face, but it was useless; the tears wouldn’t stop.
“I saw them,” you went on after a moment. “Jay… and the others.”
A few birds passed over your head, chirping loudly.
“For the first time since your funeral.”
Your lips trembled slightly.
“I forgot what that felt like,” you admitted. “Just… being there. With them. Like before,“ your gaze dropped, your voice lowering even more. “I missed that. I miss that version of me. I think–” your voice broke and more tears dropped down your face, hot and heavy drops hitting the stones. “I think a part of me died when you did.”
Your hands shook slightly as you curled them into a fist.
“I wasn’t there,” you whispered. “I wasn’t there for any of it. For him. For you. For–” your voice broke again. “For her.”
Your chest tightened painfully at the thought. “She’s all that’s left of you. And I just– disappeared.”
The guilt you felt for years surged up, overwhelming you, suffocating you.
“I was supposed to be her godmother,” you choked out. “I was supposed to be there. I was supposed to help him, to be around, to show up, and I just–”
You shook your head, unclenching your fingers.
“I didn’t answer texts. I didn’t call. I didn’t…do anything. I–” A hiccup interrupted you. “I left him alone. He lost you, and then he had a daughter to take care of, and I just– I just vanished like it was nothing. What kind of person does that?”
The question hung there, unanswered.
You pressed your lips together, trying to hold back the sob building in your chest, but it didn’t work. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, weaker this time. “I’m so, so sorry.”
A soft sound broke the silence behind you, someone clearing their throat.
You froze, and your heart dropped instantly.
Slowly, you turned.
And there he was.
Jay.
For a second, everything in you went cold.
Your hands moved instinctively, wiping at your face, trying to pull yourself together.
“I–”
He didn’t let you finish.
Jay stepped forward and pulled you into a hug.
Your body tensed for half a second, caught off guard, but then it gave in. Completely.
A broken sound left you as your hands clutched onto him, gripping the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” you sobbed into him, the words rushing out, tangled and desperate. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t there, I should’ve been there for you, for her, I should’ve–”
“Hey,” he murmured, holding you tighter. “It’s okay.”
“No,” you shook your head immediately, your voice cracking against him. “No, it’s not okay.”
Your grip tightened against his back.
“I left you alone,” you cried. “You needed help–you had her, and everything was–everything was falling apart, and I just disappeared.”
Your breath hitched violently.
“I was supposed to be there,” you repeated. “I was supposed to be her godmother. I was supposed to–love her, take care of her, be part of her life, and I just–”
You couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Because there was nothing to justify it.
Nothing to soften it.
“I missed everything,” you whispered. “Her first months, her first years. I missed all of it because I couldn’t handle it.”
Your shoulders shook harder in his grip, his hands slowly rubbing against your back. “I couldn’t even answer a text,” you admitted, shame lacing every word. “What kind of person does that?”
“You were grieving,” Jay said quietly.
“That doesn’t excuse it,” you shot back immediately, your voice breaking. “You were grieving too.”
Your hands loosened slightly in his shirt, but you didn’t let go.
“I just left.”
Silence stretched between you for a second, filled only by your uneven breathing.
“You didn’t leave,” he said. “You just… got lost.”
You let out a weak, disbelieving breath.
“It’s the same thing.”
“It’s not.”
You didn’t argue. Because you didn’t have the energy to. Because part of you didn’t believe him anyway.
Your grip tightened again, just slightly.
“I missed her,” you whispered. “I missed your daughter.”
Saying it out loud made it worse.
Real.
It had been real since the reunion, since you saw her, actually saw pictures of her, of how much she looked like Minhee, of how old she was.
“I don’t even know her.”
Jay’s hold softened; he wasn’t letting you go, but he was also not pressing you against him as much as before. He was just holding you gently now, as if you were something fragile, something breakable.
“You can,” he said quietly. “It’s not too late to get to know Haneul.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your vision still blurred, your face still wet with tears.
“You think so?” you asked, your voice small, uncertain.
He nodded. “Yeah,” Jay paused for a second. “We were thinking about going on a trip. All of us.”
Your brows knit together faintly.
“What?”
“We’re going on a trip,” he repeated. “We talked about it a few weeks back. Heeseung wanted to text something into our group chat in a few days about it. I want to bring Haneul. You can meet her there, spend time with her.”
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
You were lying in your bed, your blanket pulled up to your chin, one arm shielding your eyes from the light bleeding through your half-closed blinds. Everything was either too bright or too loud.
It was almost 1 a.m., and you were acutely aware that in just under four hours, your alarm would go off.
You really, really needed to sleep.
But you hadn’t been able to, not properly, for a few nights now.
Ever since you met Jay a few days ago, and Heeseung had sent the official invite for the trip into the group, you just couldn’t sleep.
You wanted to go.
But you weren’t sure.
If you could get the time off.
If you could afford to take the time off.
You gave up trying to fall asleep. Tossing your blanket aside, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and shuffled out of your room.
The apartment was dark, the only light coming from the kitchen. You padded in barefoot and found Jaemin hunched over the microwave, heating leftover curry. He was still wearing his scrubs, and his hair was a mess.
For a moment, you stood there, just watching him. Then, without a word, you stepped forward and dropped your forehead onto his back.
“Jesus,” he jolted slightly, startled. “You scared me.”
You didn’t say anything, just stayed there, your face pressed between his shoulder blades. He let out a breath, softening immediately.
“Long day?” he asked, turning around and opening his arms automatically.
You nodded and stepped into the hug, arms wrapping around his middle. He smelled faintly like antiseptic, the fabric of his scrubs soft against your face. Jaemin rested his head on top of yours, while his hand started rubbing slowly up and down your back. “You’re warm,” he mumbled.
You nodded into his shirt.
“Can’t sleep again?” he asked after a beat, his voice gentle now.
You pulled back slightly but didn’t let go. “My friends from school are planning a trip. In October.”
Jaemin leaned back just enough to look at your face. “That sounds fun.”
“It does,” you admitted. “But I don’t know if I can get the time off. And even if I do... I should probably be studying.”
“You’ve been studying since July,” he said, deadpan.
You sighed. “I just… don’t know if I can justify it.”
He gave you a look.
“Take your books with you. Study there. Wake up early and do your flashcards while everyone else is making pancakes or whatever. I am sure no one would be mad if you did a bit of revising.”
You pressed your forehead against his collarbone again, muttering, “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
He smiled into your hair. “You always say that.”
“Because I always do,” you mumbled.
The microwave beeped, and the smell of curry wafted up between you. He reached behind you blindly to open it, still holding you with one arm.
“I’ll warm you some up too,” he said, already grabbing a second bowl.
You just hummed and closed your eyes, not moving from where your arms were wrapped around his torso. He set the curry down on the counter with one hand and petted your hair softly with the other one.
“Don’t you think it would be weird?”, you said against his chest. “I’ve not really been a good friend to anyone since Minhee died.”
“You know,” he said slowly, “you were so excited when you came back from the reunion. You kept talking about how good it was to see them again, how you missed them, how you didn’t realise how much time had passed until you were sitting next to them.”
You blinked, but stayed silent.
“It might be weird, but it might also be really great, Y/N. It’s alright if you want to go,” he added. “I know you do. You just feel guilty about it, even though there is nothing to feel guilty about.”
Your silence must’ve been enough of an answer, because Jaemin gently pushed you away from his chest so he could look into your eyes properly.
“You know it’s not your fault. No one thinks that, Y/N,” he said, softer now. “You’re allowed to miss people. And you’re allowed to want something that isn’t hospital walls and emergency pages and OB rounds at 3 a.m. You can take your books. You can wake up early and study. Hell, you’ll probably shame everyone into feeling productive.”
That earned a small, reluctant laugh from you.
“But you can also sit on a porch with your friends and a cup of tea and just be for a few days,” he said. “You’re burning yourself out again at this rate, Y/N. You deserve a break.”
You looked down, chewing on your bottom lip.
He tilted his head and gave you a knowing smile. “And don't pretend like you're not already halfway convinced. You wouldn’t be standing here with your head on my spine at 1 a.m. if you weren’t.”
“Traitor,” you muttered.
He grinned. “Guilty.”
You huffed, then finally gave a slow nod.
Jaemin slid a bowl across the counter toward you and sat down beside you, spoon clinking lazily in his curry.
“I mean,” he said between bites, “if I play my cards right, pull a few strings here and there… maybe sweet-talk your boss…”
You snorted. “You’ve never even met my boss.”
“I’ve seen him once. He looks like the type who caves when someone brings good snacks and compliments his hairline.”
You gave him a look. “He’s bald.”
“Exactly. Low bar.”
You rolled your eyes, but the edge of your lips tugged upward despite yourself.
Jaemin shrugged. “Just use like… two vacation days. Plan your night shift compensation properly. Worst case, you stack five NICU shifts and hate yourself for a week?”
“But wouldn’t I hate myself during the trip then? You know, the week after five NICU shifts?”, you asked, blowing the curry on your spoon to cool it down slightly.
He grinned into his food. “When don’t you hate yourself? I’m just saying: go. Take the trip. Drag your flashcards along, torture everyone with study sessions if you must. But don’t skip it. You’ll regret it.”
He was right. You would regret it. You would regret missing out again.
You didn’t look up, but your voice came out a little smaller. “What if I get behind?”
“You’re already ahead. You’re always ahead. For God's sake, I haven't even bought the books I’ll need Y/N. You started two months ago. And you still have 7 to go.”
There was a long pause.
Then you murmured, “Okay. I’ll go.”
Jaemin smiled, finishing his last bite. “Good girl.”
You lifted your head just to smack his arm with your spoon.
He winced dramatically. “Are you assaulting your emotional support roommate? Unbelievable.”
“Three cats are my emotional support. You just do the dishes.”
He gave you a lopsided grin. “Then let me earn my keep and make sure you don’t work yourself into an early grave.”
You sighed. But this time, you were smiling.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
You were sniffling slightly when you stepped into your apartment two months later.
It was quiet except for the soft clicking of claws on the hardwood floor when Luna wandered to the door to greet you.
Her fur was soft against your hand. “Hi, love,” you whispered, and she nudged her head against your palm, purring loudly.
You closed your eyes for a second and took a deep breath before standing up again. The hallway mirror caught your attention when you looked up. Your eyes were puffy, your skin sickly pale, and your once neat braid was slipping out of its tie, hair clinging to the back of your neck.
With a groan, you rubbed your hands over your face, ripping your gaze away from the mirror.
Jay would be here in less than thirty minutes, and you still had to shower and finish packing the rest of your clothing. You figured you could ask him to stop at a rest area on the way and get something to eat and a coffee there.
After all, the others wanted to hike today, so caffeine sounded reasonable to keep you awake.
You rolled your shoulders back and padded to the bathroom. Setting the water to the coldest temperature you could bear, you quickly washed off the hospital. You didn’t even bother applying makeup or properly styling your hair, only blow-drying it.
Right now, standing barefoot and with wet hair in your bedroom, the idea of spending four days around people felt overwhelming.
You got dressed anyway, pulled on a random hoodie that was draped over your chair and sank down on your bed.
Today had been heavy.
The last week had been heavy.
Jaemin was right, you were able to get the week off by getting more nightshifts, but you hated every second of it. You had to drag yourself to work, to get dressed in your scrubs, to see your patients, even though you loved that part of the job.
Lucy had followed you from the bathroom into your bedroom. The soft padding of her paws against the floor broke the heavy silence in the room. She jumped onto the bed with a small meow and curled up next to you, expecting you to go to sleep as you would usually do, wanting to bask in your body heat. You reached out and gently scratched behind her ears, the fur soft under your fingers. For a second, you closed your eyes, trying not to think about the hospital or the certification.
You thought about calling your mom, telling her how tired and exhausted you were, how you wanted to come home to her having cooked lunch, how you just wanted to spend time with her, be her little girl for a day, but it was early, and she always rushed through morning phone calls with too many things on her plate. Maybe you would find some time to call her when you were at the house later.
Your stomach started to grumble as you stayed curled up on the bed. The rest of the cats had followed Lucy's example, draping themselves onto the bed next to you, while you waited for your body to gather just enough energy to stand again. After almost fifteen minutes, you finally heaved yourself out of your bed.
You finished packing the rest of your clothing and fed the cats before slinging your laptop bag over one shoulder and wheeling your small suitcase out the door.
The elevator was surprisingly empty on your way down compared to how full the streets were. Traffic had started up when you had just arrived at home, so you weren’t surprised when Jay’s car pulled up a few minutes later than he had originally planned.
You straightened a little as he stepped out, smiling that big, comforting Jay-smile that hadn't changed since high school. His girlfriend was in the passenger seat, stretching backwards to hand Haneul, who was sitting in a booster seat, a piece of apple. Sunghoon sat next to her in the middle seat. He waved at you, and you plastered on a tired smile.
You’ve met Haneul a few times in the last two months. She was a nice child, very energetic and talkative. It took you a while before you could just go up to her and play, but Jay had conveniently picked places where she would be distracted easily and had something to show him and you all of the time. He never pushed either of you to interact, giving you the space and time to do so yourself.
“Hey,” Jay said as he popped the trunk. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” you murmured, lifting your suitcase in before he could. “I came straight from the hospital.”
He blinked. “You serious?”
You shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Did you work a night shift?” he asked while closing the trunk door.
“Man, I worked five nightshifts in a row for this trip. Just to see all of you losers,” you joked as you followed him around the car, sliding into the seat next to Sunghoon. Before you could greet any of the others, Haneul screeched: “Kitty!”
“Kitty?” You said, blinking at her and then Sunghoon, who was looking at the toddler with an equally confused face.
“Kitty!” She just said again and pointed at you.
“Oh,” Sunghoon laughed lowly. “On your hoodie.” He gestured to the two cats that were printed on the front of your hoodie. “She really loves cats.”
“Oh,” you said and smiled at the child, “Yeah, kitties, you’re right, Haneul.”
Sunghoon's whole side was pressed into yours in the tight space of the backseat of the car.
“Good morning, Y/N,” he said softly.
“Hi,” you answered just as softly as you adjusted your bag in your lap. You had stumbled into him more times than you could count since the reunion, your mother inviting him for dinner every time.
“Y/N, this is Seol,” Jay’s girlfriend turned around from the front, a warm smile on her face.
“Nice to meet you,” you said, giving her a small smile.
“Yeah! It’s so nice to finally meet you as well! I’ve been told a lot about you by the rest,” she said and laughed gently.
“Only good stuff, I hope!” You nudged Sunghoon's shoulder with yours, hoping you were quick enough to hide the hurt on your face. You hated that she had to be told about you, that she hadn’t been able to meet you, because you couldn’t bear being near any person sitting in this car.
“Nah, I exclusively told her about how you’re an awful cook and are obsessive about cleaning and hate chicken,” he shrugged and smirked.
“Okay Seol. Those are lies, and he is exaggerating. I can cook decently, and he is just as obsessive with cleanliness!", you exclaimed and punched him this time.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
You stirred as the car slowed to a stop, the rumble of the tyres on gravel pulling you halfway out of sleep. A moment later, a hand brushed your shoulder and gently nudged you awake. You blinked one eye open.
“Y/N,” Sunghoon said softly. “We’re at a rest stop. Do you wanna stretch, pee, get something to eat?”
You squinted at him, brain lagging behind.
“Mhm,” you murmured, not even sure what you were agreeing to.
He huffed a quiet laugh, and the sound made you smile for a split second before your eyelids slid shut again.
“I’ll get you something,” he said under his breath, already manoeuvring himself out of the car. You caught a glimpse of him awkwardly twisting his long legs past Haneul’s booster seat on the other side before the door shut with a thud.
The warmth of his body left with him.
You must’ve dozed off again, because the next thing you knew, the door creaked open, cool air slipping inside. Something cold and wet pressed lightly against your arm.
“Hey.” Sunghoon's voice was closer this time. “Here.”
You peered your eyes open and blinked up at him. He was standing just outside the car, holding out a plastic container and a bottle of water. His hair was a little messy from the wind, his sleeves pushed up. For a moment, your gazes met, and you saw him softening, his shoulders sinking a bit as he exhaled.
“Will you let me in? I really don’t feel like climbing over Haneul's seat again”, he asked, his voice low.
You hummed and unbuckled your seatbelt to make your way outside of the car, taking the bowls and the bottles Sunghoon was holding. He climbed in and waited for you to hand him your breakfast back before returning to your original position.
When you were seated and had wrapped yourself in the blanket Jay had stored in the car again, he gave you the plastic container.
It was an acai bowl.
The same one you used to get back in med school when you had early study mornings.
He bought them every time he went grocery shopping. You haven’t eaten them since the breakup.
The lid was already cracked open slightly.
There were no banana slices, not a single one. His bowl had what looked like an excessive amount of bananas inside.
You hated bananas.
You swallowed dryly, avoiding looking at Sunghoon as he handed you a spoon he carefully wrapped in a tissue. “Thank you.”
“Always.”
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
“Y/N,” a voice said softly near your ear. “We’re here.”
As you blinked awake, your vision was slow to adjust to the bright light in the car. You closed your eyes, again, bracing yourself to actually wake up and moved your head slightly. A groan escaped your lips. Your neck was stiff from the awkward position you slept in. Sunghoon chuckled underneath you, his shoulder shaking your head slightly.
Oh.
Oh no.
His shoulder.
You jerked upright, barely catching yourself with your hand against the door, before hitting your head. Heat rose fast in your chest and flushed up your neck.
You had slept on Sunghoon's shoulder.
“I–” you stammered, brushing hair out of your face, “sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
He interrupted you, laughing quietly as he unclipped his seatbelt. “It’s fine.”
“But I–seriously, I didn’t realise I–”
“Y/N,” he looked at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Shut up and get out. We both know you needed the sleep, and I was not about to wake you because you used me as a pillow.” He slid out of the seat with practised grace and stretched his arms out.
You nodded, trying to move your legs to get out of the car without making all of this even more embarrassing, “Right. Okay. Thanks.”
Outside the car, the mountain air was noticeably cooler than the air in Seoul.
The morning fog hadn’t lifted completely yet, and the gravel crunched as you all moved toward the house you had rented out. Haneul was skipping ahead to Seol, her tiny backpack bouncing with every step.
At the base of the staircase, Sunghoon paused and turned halfway to you. “Let me carry your bag upstairs.”
You blinked at him. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” you gave him a smile, raising your eyebrows. “I might be dead tired, but I’m not weak.”
He nodded once and reached for your suitcase anyway, the stairs creaking under his steps.
The house was bigger than you expected.
It was a two-level cabin-style place with warm wooden siding, wide windows, and enough rooms for each couple…and one for you and Sunghoon. Yunjin and Ningning both offered to room with you while Sunghoon slept in their room with Heeseung or Taesung.
You declined.
You didn’t want them to sleep in a room with you when they could be spending time with their partners, just because you might feel a bit awkward.
The hallway upstairs was lined with doors. Sunghoon led the way, peeking into rooms, mumbling under his breath about finding the one with two beds. When he finally found it at the end of the hall, he stepped aside so you could see inside.
"Looks like this is us," he said, nudging the door open, revealing a small room with two single beds, pushed against opposite walls, facing each other. You stepped in and dropped your backpack on the closest bed with a sigh.
“I’m so tired,” you mumbled, kicking off your shoes and letting yourself fall face-first into the mattress.
Sunghoon let out a low chuckle behind you, the familiar sound making your shoulders unclench just a little.
“Then sleep,” he said, dropping your suitcase beside the dresser and his own against the far wall. “No one’s gonna judge you. We’ve all been in the car for hours, and you came straight from work.”
You rolled onto your back with a groan, one arm over your eyes. “No, no. It’s fine. I’ll just power through.”
“Y/N,” he said flatly, crossing his arms. “Sleep. I am not dealing with a grumpy you just because you want to prove a point.”
You cracked one eye open and squinted at him. “I’m not grumpy.”
He gave you a look. “Y/N.”
“What?”
“Sleep.”
You huffed and repeated yourself. “I’m not grumpy.”
He snorted. “Yeah. Right. You’re worse than a toddler.”
Your jaw dropped. “Liar.”
“I’ve dealt with an actual toddler. Extensively.”
You grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at his head. “You absolute menace.”
He caught it midair, smug as ever. “I lived with you for almost seven years. You were sleep-deprived for at least four of them.”
“Exactly, and I was very pleasant.”
“You were annoying.”
You squinted at him. “Say that again, and I’ll smother you with your pillow tonight.”
He just laughed, tossing the pillow back at the foot of your bed. “I’d like to see you try, Y/N.”
You stared at him. “I could definitely do that. I would be fast and efficient.”
He raised a brow. “Really?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Absolutely.”
“I don’t think so,” he said with a chuckle, catching the pillow again, when you tried to hit him square in the face this time. “Just sleep. We’re gonna wake you up later. Jay and I are just gonna go grocery shopping until the others come. You won’t miss anything.”
You flopped back down dramatically with a heavy sigh. “Fine. I guess ”
“That’s what I thought.”
You rolled onto your side, hugging the pillow. “Go away.”
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
Light was bleeding through the curtains when someone was gently shaking your shoulder.
“Y/N,” Yujin’s voice was soft, as she woke you up.
You made a small sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a groan, burying your face deeper into the pillow.
“Hey,” she said again, a little brighter this time. “Do you want to come with us on the hike, or do you want to take a taxi and meet us at the restaurant later?”
It took you a second to process the words.
Your brain felt sticky with sleep, slow and heavy, but the answer came before you had fully thought it through.
“Yeah,” you mumbled, blinking one eye open. “Yeah, I’ll come.”
Yujin smiled, like she had expected that. “Okay, then you gotta get up and get changed. We have to leave soon.”
You pushed yourself up with a long sigh, your limbs protesting immediately. The room was still warm from the midday sun, but your skin felt cold. You rubbed at your face and blinked toward the window, already exhausted by the idea of having to move.
Yujin sat patiently on the edge of Sunghoon’s bed while you slowly dragged yourself into motion. She watched quietly while you sat up, found your clothes, and changed with sluggish, half-awake movements.
When you finally tugged on your hiking clothes, she glanced at Sunghoon’s side of the room and then back at you.
“Are you really okay with sleeping in here?” she asked gently.
You looked up at her, a little confused by the question.
Then you understood.
You let out a small breath and shrugged. “Yeah,” you said. “It’s fine.”
She tilted her head, not quite convinced. “Really?”
You nodded, fumbling with the hem of your shirt as you pulled it over your head, fighting the sleeve that caught awkwardly on your elbow for a second. “We’ve met up a bunch since the reunion. Multiple times. It’s rarely awkward.”
Yujin raised a brow. “Rarely?”
“If anyone makes it awkward, it’s his mom,” you said, finally freeing your arm with a small huff. You smoothed the shirt down, avoiding her eyes. “She still talks about me every time. Last time, she straight-up said she wished I would give her ‘sturdy grandchildren’.”
You rolled your eyes, trying for a laugh, but it came out dry.
Yujin snorted. “Sturdy grandchildren?”
“Yeah, well.” You tugged your hoodie on next, the fabric muffling your voice for a second. “She doesn’t like her son-in-law, or ex-son-in-law, and doesn’t want Yeji to get pregnant from him. She loved me, so she wanted me to carry her golden child's children. Aside from that, it’s not weird between Sunghoon and me. We’re civilised adults.”
It was weird, though.
So weird.
You and Sunghoon got along too well, like no time had passed, like the breakup hadn’t happened. Your mom had pulled him in for dinner plenty of times; you feared she might eat with him more times a week than his own mother did. But you had started looking forward to it. Started counting down shifts until you would work in the outbound clinics again, could see him again, and joke around with him.
It felt… normal.
Too normal.
And it scared you, sometimes, how easy it was.
Yujin smiled softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m just glad you decided to come on the trip,” she said, voice low and steady. “I know how exhausted you must be.”
You hummed, not quite meeting her eyes as you tugged your laces tight. “I didn’t want to miss out again.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her face soften, her brows pulling together just slightly. She stood and crossed the small space between you, pulling you into a hug before you could brace yourself.
You stiffened for half a second, then let your arms come up around her.
“I love you,” she murmured against your shoulder, holding on a little longer than usual. “And listen, if you’re not feeling up for the hike, we can stay back and take a taxi to the restaurant later. Just you and me. No pressure.”
Her voice stayed gentle, but firm. She wasn’t asking, she was offering a way out, clear as day.
You felt your throat tighten, the guilt hitting fast and sharp. She knew. Of course, she knew. She had always been able to tell when you were fraying at the edges.
“I’m okay,” you mumbled into her shoulder, even though it sounded weak.
She pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands still on your arms, while her eyes searched yours. “You sure? I don’t mind. Seriously.”
You nodded, forcing the words out. “Yeah. I want to go.”
She studied you for a beat longer, then squeezed your arms once before letting go. “Okay. But say the word, and we’re out.”
“No, let’s go with the others. I’ll be fine.”
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
This was a mistake. You weren’t fine.
You were maybe an hour into the hike, and you already regretted every life decision that had led to this moment.
The incline was steeper than you remembered from Yunjin’s very casual description of the hike, and your thighs were burning. Your hoodie stuck uncomfortably to your back, your water bottle was nearly empty, and you still had almost an hour to go, if not more.
With an exasperated sigh, you wiped your sweat-slicked forehead with the back of your hand. Maybe you should have taken the taxi.
You were never a really athletic person, and considering you have been spending your time studying or working, this ‘small hike up the hill’ was a bigger workout than you anticipated. “Who the hell thought walking uphill for two hours to eat dinner was a good idea?” you muttered, mostly to yourself.
Sunghoon glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. He and Jay were just a few feet ahead of you, the latter carrying his exhausted toddler. Sunghoon turned around and started walking backwards now with infuriating ease.
“You okay?”
You gave him a flat look. “Do I look okay?”
“Honestly?” He tilted his head. “You look like you’re about to just lie down on the floor and wait until someone is going to pick you up, like Haneul just did.”
You exhaled sharply. “I’m tired, my feet hurt, I am sweaty and hungry, and instead of taking that stupid taxi up to that restaurant, I’m out here, climbing hills. So I’m not okay.”
He laughed. A real, full laugh that pulled his shoulders up and crinkled his eyes.
“Want me to carry you like the toddler you are?” he offered, already half-turning like he actually meant it.
You knew he could and would if you asked, but you waved him off. “Absolutely not. If I’m dying, I’m dying with dignity.”
“Noted,” he nodded and slowed down, matching your pace without a word as the rest of the group drifted further ahead.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
Much to your dismay, the hike was worth it. The view was ridiculous.
Golden light spilt over the horizon, washing the mountains in soft warmth and making the little patio of the restaurant glow like something out of a movie. The food was incredible: grilled meat, fresh vegetables, and jjigae bubbling in the middle of the table.
You leaned back in your chair, a half-full bowl cradled in your hands, as you watched the rest for a second. Trying to take the scene in, to burn it and this feeling into your brain.
Heeseung and Ningning were teasing Yujin’s boyfriend, who looked overwhelmed but pleased. Jake was narrating a story about a ski trip you did a few years ago to Seol, while Jay kept adjusting the blanket wrapped around Haneul’s shoulders, where she was now curled up asleep in his lap, her tiny face smushed against his chest.
This was the sort of evening you used to dream about. Being around them even when your lives had changed, even when you were no longer high schoolers anymore.
You blinked slowly, staring down into your bowl of rice.
You really should have been there.
You should have taken the time out of your schedule when it wasn’t as stressful as it is now to stay in contact with your friends, to see Haneul grow up.
To help Jay whenever he struggled.
For God's sake, if someone knew how to handle kids, or well, newborns, it was you.
Your gaze lifted again before you could stop it.
Back to them.
To Jay.
To Haneul, small and warm and safe against his chest, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. To the way his hand moved absentmindedly over her back.
And then–
To her.
Seol sat close to him, her shoulder brushing his, her hand resting lightly on Haneul’s leg as if it belonged there. As if she belonged there.
Like this was normal.
Like this was how it was always supposed to be.
Something in your chest twisted sharply.
It should’ve been Minhee.
It was unfair of you to think that.
You knew that.
You knew it the second it crossed your mind. Seol hadn’t done anything wrong. She was kind. Careful. Gentle in the way she spoke to Haneul, in the way she looked at Jay.
You should’ve been grateful that he found love again, that Haneul had a mom when her own couldn’t be here, that Seol loved both of them just as fiercely as Minhee had.
You were grateful.
But it still felt wrong.
Like something had been replaced that couldn’t be replaced.
Your grip on your bowl tightened slightly.
The rice in your bowl was still hot, steam rising from the white grain. You haven’t even eaten half the bowl yet, but your appetite was gone.
Your stomach turned, nausea creeping up slowly but steadily, tightening your throat until even swallowing felt like an effort. The warmth from the food, the laughter around you, the soft golden light, it all felt distant now. Like you were sitting just outside of it.
Watching.
Not part of it.
You set the bowl down carefully, your hands slower than they needed to be.
You kept your eyes on the table.
On anything but them.
Because every time your gaze drifted back, it hit you all over again–
That it wasn’t Minhee sitting there.
That it was a stranger instead.
That life had… continued.
Without her.
Without you.
Your jaw tightened slightly.
You hated that thought. Hated what it implied. Hated the sharp edge of something that felt too close to resentment.
Because Seol didn’t deserve that.
Jay didn’t either.
He deserved to move on. To be happy. To not be stuck in the same place you were.
You knew that.
You really did.
But knowing didn’t stop the feeling.
Didn’t stop the quiet, ugly twist in your chest.
Didn’t stop the guilt.
Because where had you been?
Not here.
Not with him.
Not with Haneul.
You swallowed, your throat dry.
“Hey.”
Sunghoon’s voice cut through your thoughts.
You blinked, your head turning slightly toward him, pulled out of the spiral just enough to respond. “Yeah?”
He tilted his head, studying you for a second longer than you liked. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, nodding immediately. Your voice came out rougher than you intended.
“I’m fine. Just–” you gestured vaguely toward your bowl. “Not that hungry, I guess.”
Sunghoon’s brows pulled together slightly.
“Oh, really?” he said, a hint of scepticism slipping into his tone. “You said you were starving like twenty minutes ago.”
Your throat tightened.
“Yeah,” you croaked, nodding again. “I guess it just passed.”
It sounded weak.
You knew it did.
He knew it too.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything for a second, then he reached over.
A piece of grilled meat appeared in front of you, held out expectantly.
“Eat,” he said simply. “Protein.”
The bluntness of it caught you off guard.
A small, surprised laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.
“Protein?” you echoed weakly.
He nodded, completely serious.
“Yeah. Even if you’re not that hungry, you should still eat some more protein. I know you don’t usually do so.”
That made it worse, in a good way.
Another soft huff of laughter left you as you shook your head slightly.
You didn’t argue with him; you knew it was pointless anyway. So you just leaned forward a little and took the piece from him. As you did, his knee nudged yours lightly under the table.
It was just a small, almost gentle push.
You glanced at him for a second. He didn’t look at you directly, just tilted his head slightly toward the food in your hand.
You rolled your eyes faintly but put the meat into your mouth, chewing it slowly.
Your phone vibrated on the table, the screen lighting up with a message from Jaemin. You reached for it before you even thought about it.
It was a picture of him being surrounded by the cats and a simple ‚we miss you‘ message afterwards. With a small smile, you send him a heart emoji, telling him you missed him more. As you left Kakaotalk, your thumb hovered over your phone screen for a second before you opened Anki almost by instinct.
Sunghoon noticed immediately.
Of course he did. He probably hated that app more than you did.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low, careful, as if he didn’t know the answer already.
You didn’t look up right away.
“Anki,” you muttered, staring down at the screen as if that might make it less embarrassing. “Just for a second.”
There was a pause.
“Can’t you study later?” he asked.
You swallowed.
“No,” you said too quickly. “I–now. I need to do it now.”
He blinked at you, just once, like he was trying to understand whether you were serious or not. You were serious.
You could feel it in your bones. The sudden restless, crawling urge under your skin. Sunghoon’s face shifted, his eyes flickering from your hand that was tightly gripping your phone to your face and back.
“Are you feeling fine?” he asked carefully. “You’re a bit pale.”
You looked down at your phone, then forced out the first thing that sounded remotely like a reason to get yourself out of this conversation. “I have a headache,” you said. “I’m just gonna go to bed when we get home, so I have to study now.”
Even as you said it, you knew how thin it sounded.
Sunghoon kept looking at you, his expression unreadable for a second, and then you felt the old, sharp panic rise in your chest.
If he was annoyed, you could just go outside.
You always could. Get away. Disappear.
You pushed your chair back too quickly, its legs scraping against the floor. The sound cut through the conversation enough that the table quieted for a beat.
A few heads turned.
You hated that instantly.
“I’m gonna go out for a breather,” you said, the words coming out tight and abrupt. “I just…yeah. I’ll be right back.”
And before anyone could say anything else, you turned and headed away from the table.
The air outside was cold against your face, and you only realised then how horrible you actually felt. A dry laugh left your mouth as you made your way down the parking lot.
You wanted to get out of the light, out of the noise; everything just felt too much for a second.
Even from here, the view down the mountain was ridiculously pretty. The trees were slightly swaying in the wind, and the cicadas were still humming in the background.
It was almost peaceful.
You wished you could enjoy it, you wanted to do so almost desperately, but your thoughts were moving too fast and too slow at the same time, colliding with each other in a way that made your stomach turn.
One second, you were thinking about Minhee, the next about Jay, then Haneul, then Seol, then the way Sunghoon had looked at you across the table, then suddenly it was all too much and too little, and you could not hold on to any of it properly.
You found a big rock near the side of the lot and sat down on it without really thinking.
Your phone was still in your hand.
You stared at the screen without seeing it.
A faint ringing started in your right ear; it grew quickly into a sharp, high sound that seemed to fill your whole head until everything else blurred around it.
You chucked again, this time out of annoyance. If it started this early in the day already, you knew there was no way you would be able to sleep tonight.
You rubbed a hand over your face, then dragged it down over your mouth and jaw, trying to relax yourself at least a bit, trying to ease the tension from your jaw, the base of your neck.
After a while of massaging yourself, it got better; the ringing went down enough for you to hear footsteps approaching your stone.
You looked up too fast and instantly regretted it.
Yujin stood a few steps away, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket. She was watching you, her expression soft but careful. She had clearly followed after you, but she was giving you space.
For a second, you felt embarrassed. Then the embarrassment twisted into irritation, because of course she had followed you, and of course you were being seen like this, and of course she would be worried, but she wouldn’t understand. No one did.
“What?” you snapped before you could stop yourself. The word came out sharper than you meant it to.
Yujin blinked, clearly caught off guard, but she did not react badly. That somehow made you feel worse. You looked away immediately and dragged both hands over your face again, harder this time.
“I’m tired,” you said, your voice flatter now, rough around the edges. “It’s the night shifts. I’m just tired.”
The ringing in your ears sharpened again, almost drowning out the quiet.
Yujin took one small step closer, then stopped.
“Hey,” she said gently. “You don’t have to–”
“I’m fine,” you cut in, too fast again. “Just–just give me ten minutes.”
You pressed your palms into your eyes for a second until little spots flashed behind your eyelids. When you lowered your hands, your breathing had gone uneven.
Yujin’s face shifted with concern.
You hated that.
Not her concern. Just the fact that you needed it. You were supposed to be the strong one, the reliable one, the one who always knew what to do, but you haven’t been that version of yourself for a while now.
“Please,” you said, ignoring how helpless it sounded. You just needed to be alone; you knew you would be alright.
Yujin stayed where she was. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth, just to close it again. After a moment, she nodded. “Okay,” she only said, very quietly, “just…just come back when you’re better.”
That almost made you break. You swallowed hard and looked back down at your phone.
“I just need a minute,” you muttered.
Yujin nodded again and turned around, her figure growing smaller and smaller as she walked back to the restaurant. You averted your gaze the second she disappeared in the building, just staring at the trees softly moving, trying to ignore the faint ringing in your ears.
After a while, you looked down at your phone again. The Anki reminder was almost mocking you when the lock screen came to life.
You should have studied by now.
You should have done at least something productive, something that proved you were still on top of things, still sharp enough, still worth the place you had fought so hard to keep.
If you did not keep studying, if you let yourself sit too long, if you lost focus for even a little while, then what? Someone would get hurt because you missed something. Because you were too tired. Because you were too slow. Because you were stupid enough to think you could ever afford to relax.
The thought made your stomach twist.
There would be blood on your hands.
You swallowed, your throat tight.
It was stupid.
You knew it was stupid.
You hated that your mind went there so quickly, hated that grief and fear had twisted themselves into the same thing over the years. Hated that you could feel ridiculous and terrified at the same time.
You were not in the hospital right now.
You were not holding anyone’s life in your hands.
You were sitting on a rock outside a restaurant, shaking over a study app.
You hated how small and incompetent that made you feel.
How your brain could turn every mistake into proof that you were failing.
Your head started hurting for real now, a deep, throbbing ache that seemed to spread behind your eyes and into your temples. You pressed your fingers there, hard enough to make yourself wince, but it barely helped.
You knew what this was.
Stress.
Exhaustion.
You were so exhausted.
And yet, you still felt like you were not doing enough. You never were.
Your phone buzzed in your hand, lighting up.
For a second, you just stared at the screen, not really seeing the words until they sharpened.
Sunghoon: You alright? Want someone to come back out?
Your throat tightened.
You stared at the message for a moment too long, the ache in your head pulsing harder with every heartbeat.
You were not alright.
You were tired. Overstimulated. Guilty. Stupidly close to crying in a parking lot over the fact that your own mind would not leave you alone long enough to breathe.
Still, you forced your fingers to move.
I’m fine, you typed, then deleted it.
You tried again.
Y/N: No, it’s okay. I’m coming back in.
That was believable enough. Sort of.
You shoved your phone into your pocket and pushed yourself upright from the rock, steadying yourself for a second before you started back toward the restaurant. The air outside felt cooler now, but your head was still pounding, and your thoughts were still too loud, too messy, too much.
You just needed to get back in.
Sit down.
Act normal.
Maybe study later. When your head stopped trying to split open.
You had taken only a few steps when you collided with someone coming the other way.
“Whoa–”
Hands closed around your shoulders immediately, stopping you from stumbling backwards. You blinked up, your vision catching on dark hair, familiar eyes, the startled expression already shifting into concern.
Sunghoon.
He steadied you without thinking, his grip firm but careful.
“You okay?” he asked, low and immediate.
“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “Yeah, I just–”
He looked at you for a second longer, clearly not buying it, but he did not press right away. Instead, he stepped slightly to the side with you, guiding you toward the entrance as the sounds from inside grew louder again.
“We’re gonna pay now,” he said. “Then we’re heading back. Some of the others are walking, some are taking a taxi.”
Your brain caught on to the one part it could handle.
Taxi.
That sounded easier. But you were sure Jay would be in there, that Haneul and Seol were there. Maybe you should walk with the others, even though you were tired.
Sunghoon was still watching you. “Do you want the taxi?” he asked.
You nodded almost immediately. “Yeah,” you said. “Taxi. Yeah.”
The words came out a little flat, a little distant. Sunghoon’s expression softened as his eyes wandered over your face.
“Alright,” he said gently.
You gave him a small nod and let him lead you back inside, your shoulders still tense under his hands.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
When you arrived at the house, you immediately made your way to the bathroom.
You moved on autopilot while you brushed your teeth, washed your face and tied your hair up in a sloppy braid, before walking downstairs to get some water and to prepare your probiotics for the following morning.
Sunghoon, who surprisingly also took the taxi, was already in bed when you slipped back into your shared room.
The air inside was warm, a little stuffy, but somehow very familiar, a faint mix of detergent and something you couldn’t name but had always been his.
“Goodnight,” you mumbled, tugging your phone charger to your side of the room.
“Night,” he said, his voice already thick with sleep and not even five minutes later, his soft, uneven snores rumbled gently through the quiet.
He always snored when he was dead tired.
But somehow you weren’t even close to being dead tired. Your body ached everywhere. Every muscle screamed for rest, your eyes burned like they had been rubbed with sandpaper, and still you just couldn't fall asleep.
So you just lie there with your eyes open, staring at the slats in the ceiling, tracing the boards until they blurred together. Your blanket was bunched at your waist, your legs too warm to be under it, and your arms too cold to be free. The soft rise and fall of Sunghoon's breath should have been comforting; it always was when you couldn’t sleep, but all it did today was echo in your chest.
You gave up just before 2 am.
Silently, carefully, you slid out of bed, grabbed your iPad from the tote near the door, and crept into the hallway.
The house was quiet.
Not the hospital quiet you were used to, filled with beeping and heavy footsteps, but real quiet, not a single sound to be heard.
You made your way into the main room and curled up in the corner of the couch, dragging your hoodie sleeve over your hands to warm them.
With a sigh, you opened Anki and tried to focus, but the flashcards blurred together almost immediately. Your brain wouldn’t latch onto anything, not the pharmacology pathways, the fetal monitoring patterns or the drug interactions you had memorised a hundred times before. No matter what topic you started studying, your brain couldn’t recall anything.
Your eyelids drooped, then snapped open again.
Tired.
You were so tired.
But you knew sleep wouldn’t come, and you wouldn't get yourself to focus any time soon. There was just that persistent, restless, crawling buzz under your skin, accompanied by the silent ringing in your ears.
“Y/N?” Sunghoon’s voice, low and rough from sleep, cut through the silence.
You stiffened, your thumb hovering over the screen. “Yeah?”
He padded closer, barefoot against the wood floor, and dropped onto the arm of the couch beside you. You could feel his gaze on the side of your face.
“Are you studying?” he asked quietly, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. “Aren’t you tired?”
“I…am,” you nodded slowly. “But my body is still on night shift mode, so I’ll not be able to fall asleep any time soon.”
“Why are you studying then?” he asked, glancing at the iPad. “You can’t catch a break even here?”
Something snapped in your chest before you could stop it.
“It’s fine,” you bit out, sharper than you meant, your voice cracking at the edges.
The room went still for a second, and you decided to try going over fetal positions again, something you were usually doing with ease.
“You were weird at the restaurant,” he said quietly.
“I wasn’t weird,” your voice was still harsher than you wanted it to be, but you felt irritated. Why didn’t he understand that you wanted to be left alone? Why did he follow you outside? Why was he here? “I just need some quiet, and I don’t need you hovering over me,” you snapped, the words spilling out hot and jagged. “I can make my own decisions just fine.”
He had never understood.
He would never understand that taking a break in your field meant losing human lives, that one minor mistake could cost someone their life.
Your voice trembled with resentment you hadn’t let yourself feel in years. Not since the breakup. Not since you had both walked away heartbroken but civil. „Just go back to sleep, Sunghoon.“
Sunghoon’s face flickered, hurt flashing clear in his eyes before he banked it down, jaw tightening.
“I‘m not hovering, Y/N,” he said quietly, voice even. “I saw you like this before, Y/N. Right under my nose. And I didn’t–” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “I know you’re not feeling well, okay. I just want to help.”
“You‘re not,” you shot back instantly. You didn’t want to let out your frustration on Sunghoon, but somehow you couldn’t stop yourself. With a sigh, you pressed your hands against your eyes.
“I’m–I–“ your voice came out in a broken whisper. “Please. Just go back to sleep.”
He didn’t move right away. His gaze dropped for a second, then lifted back to you, steady but pained.
“How many night shifts?” he asked, softer now.
“Five,” you said, not moving your hands from your eyes. “In a row.”
“And how much did you sleep?”
Your throat closed up, and you let your hands fall into your lap. “Not much. Fifteen hours? This week.”
He nodded.
You rubbed your temple, the ache there pulsing harder. “I had to. Getting time off as a resident is basically impossible.”
Sunghoon tilted his head slightly. “I know.”
“You don’t,” you shot back before you could stop yourself, the meanness slipping out like it had been waiting there. “You never did. You’d get annoyed when I’d cancel plans, when I’d pick shifts over…us. Like it was that easy to just say no.”
Your voice cracked on the last word.
You hated it instantly. Hated how it sounded like blame. Hated how tired and small you felt dragging up something that should’ve stayed buried.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, barely audible, eyes dropping to your lap. “I didn’t mean–”
He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping. “Y/N. I know you’re tired. Please go to bed.”
You swallowed hard, the fight draining out of you as fast as it had come. “I’m just… I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. It’s like my brain won’t turn off, but I’m so tired I can’t think straight. I’ve got one year left,” you said, quieter now. “I can make it.”
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened, just barely, but his voice stayed even. “You don’t have to make it like this.”
You took a deep breath, pulling your lower lip into your mouth. Your teeth bit into the soft flesh as you kept staring at your lap. Sunghoon stood up and kneeled down in front of you, his eyes searching yours.
“I worried, Y/N,” he whispered. “I know you don’t want to talk to me as much as I wish you would,” he went on. “But… I hope you’re talking to someone. Because something isn’t right. And I know you know.”
He held your gaze for a few more seconds, then straightened his knees, standing with a small sigh. You listened to his footsteps as he walked back upstairs.
Your thoughts exploded the second he was gone.
You did know something wasn’t right.
And you knew exactly what it was.
Burnout.
The word sat there, heavy and obvious, like it had been waiting for you to name it. The exhaustion that didn’t end with sleep. The way everything felt too loud, too close, too pointless. The studying that didn’t stick anymore.
But how were you supposed to stop?
You didn’t want to.
One year.
Just one more year until boards, until you could breathe, until you proved you hadn’t ruined everything by getting this far.
You could handle it.
You had handled worse.
You could keep going.
Right?
He just didn’t get it. Had never gotten it.
Maybe if he did, your life would be different now. Maybe if he had noticed back then how you were feeling, if he’d been this attentive during that first burnout you had hidden right under his nose. If he had pushed just a little harder instead of letting you drown in shifts and silence. Maybe it would’ve been you two now. Maybe a child. Maybe a life that didn’t feel like constant survival.
Your head throbbed harder.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
You didn’t remember closing your eyes.
One moment you were sitting there, head tipped back against the couch, the next, a faint grey light was seeping through the windows, pulling you halfway out of sleep.
You blinked slowly.
The room was empty.
Your iPad sat dark beside you, your neck ached from the awkward angle it was in while you slept, and your mouth felt dry, cottony, like you had been breathing through it all night.
You squinted at the clock on the wall, trying to figure out how late it was without your glasses or contacts on.
Just before 6 am.
The house was still quiet around you; there were no footsteps, no voices, just the soft hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Your body still felt heavy, uncooperative.
You stood up anyway.
It was as if someone else was in control of your body when you were slipping on your sneakers, the leather sole inside feeling weird against your bare feet. You grabbed one of the keys lying on the kitchen counter and opened the front door.
The air was cold, cutting through your thin pyjama pants. You stood on the wooden porch for a second before you stepped onto the gravel path, then the dirt trail that wound behind the house.
Numbness spread from your fingers to your chest to the edges of your thoughts. Everything felt distant. Muffled. Like you were walking through fog.
The mountains loomed dark against the pale sky, mist clinging low in the valleys. Your breath fogged in front of you when you exhaled.
You didn’t go far, just a loop around the property, past the trees, back toward the house. You didn’t have a real goal or destination in mind. You just had the overwhelming desire to move, to trick your body into feeling less stuck.
By the time you pushed the door open again, your skin prickled with cold. Your fingers were stiff and red-tipped as you fumbled the keys into the lock of the door.
You peeled off your sneakers and dropped the keys back onto the kitchen counter.
When you passed the living room, you stopped in your tracks for a second.
The light was on, casting everything into a soft, yellow light.
Sunghoon sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring out the window. Haneul was curled beside him, eyes glued to some cartoon on the TV, a blanket half-draped over her lap.
You stood there for a second, taking in the scene. Whoever did the interior did a good job in capturing a very nostalgic vibe with the warm wood, the green sofa, and the plants scattered around. You nodded slightly, continuing your way towards the staircase at the end of the room. One of the floorboards creaked under your weight.
Sunghoon turned around at the sound.
“Y/N–” His voice came out tight, relief sharp under the worry. He stood fast, crossing the room in two strides.
“Where were you?” he asked, eyes flicking over you, your bare feet, your rumpled clothes, the way you stood there shivering slightly but not really feeling it. “I woke up, you weren’t there. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”
You blinked at him, slowly.
“Yeah,” you said, voice flat, distant. Nodding once like that explained everything.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw worked for a second, concern etching deeper lines around his eyes.
“Y/N. What's going on? Are you okay?” he tried again, softer.
“Yeah,” you repeated, already turning toward the stairs. Your feet dragged on the wood floor, heavy now that warmth was seeping back in.
Sunghoon watched you go, hand half-raised like he wanted to stop you, but he didn’t.
You didn’t look back.
Upstairs, the room was still dark, the curtains drawn tight. You crawled into bed without changing, pulling the covers over your head, the cold finally registering as shivers chased down your spine.
For the first time in days, sleep came fast.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
When you woke up again, it was well past ten.
You took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes harshly before making your way into the bathroom.
It was cold inside.
Sungoon had left the window open after showering.
Soft morning light filtered into the room while you washed your face and brushed your teeth, ignoring how the cold seeped into your bones.
The house smelled like food when you stepped into the hallway. Your stomach gave a small growling sound as you shuffled into the kitchen, pulling yesterday's hoodie over your head again.
A plate of fried eggs and toast stood on the kitchen counter, a sticky note glued to the marble next to it.
‘We took Haneul to the petting zoo! Didn’t want to wake you. We’ll be back around lunch. Text if you need anything ♡’You stared at the note for a moment, rubbing at the sleep still clinging to your face.
They left without you.
You reached for the sticky note.
Somehow, you were glad that they let you sleep in, but you were missing out.
Again.
Even though you had finally come along, they left without you.
You took a deep breath and shook your head.
They meant well.
You knew that.
Sunghoon had probably told them that you didn't sleep last night, and they let you wake up naturally.
That thought made your stomach churn a bit.
It was bad enough that Yunjin and Sunghoon were worried; you didn't want the rest to worry as well. You hated it when people worried for you. You’ve always been the reliable one, the reliable friend, the reliable daughter, the reliable lover. You didn’t need help; you were fine.
You realised that them not being there until lunch meant you could maybe be a bit more productive than last night.
With a sign, you made your way back to your room to take a shower.
The warm water cascaded down your body, relaxing your neck and back a bit as it heated the muscles.
The sight of Sunghoon's expensive shampoo made you chuckle.
He really hated it when anybody used it, but always wanted to use it, so you would smell like him.
Without a second thought, you reached forward and opened the cap. A single bubble escaped and made its way into the air while you held the bottle against your nose, smelling the shampoo, only to put it down immediately.
Heat crept up your neck; you were feeling like a creep.
You set it back to the rest of your shampoos and turned around, trying to avoid even looking at it for the rest of your shower.
The mirror in the small bathroom was fogged up when you finished showering. You swiped the condensation away and took a deep breath when you saw yourself. Your face was sunken in, your eyes swollen, dark circles underneath, with your wet hair framing it, you seemed even more pale than you actually were.
You gave your reflection a grim smile before you started styling your hair.
You had actually brought an outfit that was decent enough to wear out in the city near your Airbnb, so you decided to get dressed up and search for a cafe to study at. Maybe being out could get your brain to actually work in a more productive way today.
The air outside was crisp and smelled like rain when you stepped outside for the second time that day.
You wandered without much direction, letting your feet carry you past a few small shops before finding a little cafe on the edge of the city. Its windows were fogged up, and it seemed like half of the town was squeezed into the little space, so you concluded that it must be good.
The bell above the door chimed quietly when you made your way in. A couple sitting near the window stood up the moment you entered,d so you settled into their seat as soon as they gathered their used cutlery.
You ordered a coffee and one cookie and let Yujin know where you were. The waitress brought your order after a few minutes, and you pulled your iPad out of your bag. It was almost embarrassing how much comfort you found in pharmacology charts.
You stared at the screen, forcing your eyes to track the words, but it was useless.
Nothing stuck.
Just like it hadn’t for the last few weeks at this point. It was so frustrating how your brain felt so thick and slow. It felt like you were trying to read through fog.
You didn’t notice the footsteps behind you, didn’t notice anything until two coffees were set down in front of you, one in front of your iPad, one beside it.
You blinked up, confused, already opening your mouth to tell the waitress it was a mistake, that you didn’t order another, even less another two coffees.
Except it wasn’t the waitress.
Sunghoon stood there, one hand still on the extra coffee, the other holding his laptop bag.
“Sunghoon? What are you doing here?” you blinked at him in confusion, your fingers frozen mid-swipe.
He shrugged, almost causally. “I thought you might want company while you study. I’ve got some work anyway. A client’s been harassing me nonstop, so I have to answer a few emails.”
You stared at him for a second, then down at the coffee and back at him while he sat down on the chair opposite you.
Why was he here?
He unpacked his laptop, setting it down on the table after pushing your coffees out of the way. The startup chime of his Mac pulled your attention away from him, as you watched his fingers type in his password, before you blinked and averted your gaze.
Whatever was left of your ability to concentrate on your flashcards was gone.
Completely.
You tried to go back and at least try to get something into your head, tried to understand what you were reading, but it was as if your head had been wiped empty. Your eyes flickered up to him, to the way he was sitting across from you with his hair down, a little bit damp from the rain outside, to the way his fingers moved over the keys. The faint crease between his brows when he read something frustrating. The easy way he took a sip of his coffee without looking up, like this was normal. Like sitting across from you in a cafe, pretending everything was fine, was just another Thursday.
It was, it should be. This was normal. You were in a cafe studying while your friend worked; there was nothing weird about this. Except it was, because you weren’t friends, it didn’t feel like you were to you, at least.
It would never feel like Sunghoon was your friend, no matter when or where, too much had happened for that.
You had loved him too long, too much, to ever see him as just a…friend.
“Are you done studying?” His voice ripped you from your thoughts, and you realised belatedly that you had been staring at him long enough for your screen to grow dark. Heat rushed up your neck, and you opened your mouth to find something to say, but your brain wouldn’t cooperate. “I-I’m not? I–” your voice died in your throat, and you closed your eyes for a second, exhaling loudly. “Sorry, I’m just tired. I didn’t mean to stare at you.”
“Mhm,” he hummed and reached for his coffee. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
You nodded, pursing your lips. “Yeah. I think I fell asleep on the sofa and slept for an hour or two. And then I went to sleep after we…ran into each other. I slept until ten or so?”
He took a sip from his glass, setting it down with a soft thud, before he looked up, his dark eyes searching yours. “Did your walk help?”
“Yeah,” you said, your eyes flickering away from him. For a long moment, both of you grew silent. It felt heavy and pressing, nothing like the comfortable silence you were used to from him.
Your thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the edge of a card you weren’t reading.
“I’m sorry,” you said finally, voice low, eyes still fixed on the iPad. “For yesterday. I didn’t mean to be so rude. I was just… tired.”
He paused, mid-type, fingers stilling over the keys. You didn’t look up, but you could feel the shift in the air, the way he set his hands deliberately on the table.
“It’s okay,” he said after a beat, voice gentle but firm. “I get it.”
You risked glancing at him.
His eyes were soft, understanding in a way that made your chest ache.
“You don’t have to apologise,” he added quietly. “You were exhausted. I saw it.”
You swallowed, nodding once, the tension in your shoulders easing just a fraction. “Still. I shouldn’t have–”
“Hey.” He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s fine. You’ve said worse things.”
You closed your eyes for a second, clenching your teeth as you processed what he just said.
“Not in a bad way,” Sunghoon chuckled. “You’re not nearly as scary as you think you are when you’re mad, Y/N.”
You looked back at him then, and the teasing in his face was so familiar it nearly undid you.
“What?” you asked, wary.
He tilted his head, eyes warm. “You made me study anatomy with you for hours back then. I’ve got vast knowledge now. Things I definitely didn’t want to know. And you did not hold yourself back from cursing or snapping at me when you were days away from exams, so I’ve been through worse.”
A surprised laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “You did that because you wanted to.”
Sunghoon grinned, leaning forward on his elbows. “Only because you looked so pathetic begging for help. Those big eyes. Irresistible.”
“Shut up,” you said, kicking his foot under the table.
He laughed, dodging halfheartedly, the sound low and easy, filling the space between you like it used to. His knee bumped yours again as he straightened up, but neither of you moved away.
“I know you’re exhausted, Y/N,” he said, his voice gentle. “Your mom complains a lot about you overworking yourself to mine. She’s worried.”
You took a deep breath, leaning back in your chair as you bit onto your lower lip hard enough for it to sting.
You knew she was worried; she wasn’t stupid, your father, a literal doctor, wasn’t stupid.
You were sure they saw the signs; they knew what was happening.
That’s why they wanted you to come over, using any and everything to get you to come home and sleep. You always slept like a baby back home, surrounded by the loving and peaceful atmosphere your parents had created for their family.
“I’m trying,” you whispered.
“Do you really think it’s worth it? Not sleeping, pushing through all of this while you pretend that it’s not breaking you?” He paused, eyes searching your face. “You can’t even relax here, when that is what we’re here to do.”
“I don’t have a choice,” you said, your voice sounding thick when you spoke against the lump in your throat. “I’ve come so far, and it’s almost there, Sunghoon. I am almost done. I can’t slack off.”
He hummed and looked away, his jaw tight as he took a deep breath. “What happened at the restaurant?”
The question hung there in the air between the two of you.
You went quiet, staring out the foggy window. The glass blurred the world outside into soft, indistinct shapes, people passing, rain threatening.
“I got overwhelmed,” you answered finally, voice barely above a whisper. “The hike was… fine. The view, the food…it should’ve been good. But it was loud. Too loud. And my brain just…” You trailed off, swallowing. “It shut off. I couldn’t sit there anymore. I just needed a moment to myself.”
You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.
“I’ve had trouble sleeping,” you added, smaller now. “For a few weeks now. And the nightshifts didn’t make anything better. I was just...exhausted and tired, but everything inside was so…loud.”
Sunghoon didn’t say anything right away. You heard the faint shift of his chair, the soft clink of his coffee cup as he set it down.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I figured.”
You nodded but didn’t dare look at him.
It had been so long, so long since you had cried, since your body let you vent out all of your frustration. You had been holding back so well, but sitting here with Sunghoon made you want to break, to cry so hard your eyes would be swollen tomorrow, and your voice would be sore.
He hummed quietly, then leaned back in his chair a little, one hand around his coffee.
“The zoo was kind of chaos,” he said, chuckling slightly. “Haneul fed everything she could get her hands on. I did too, because apparently I can never say no to her.”
You let out a soft sound that was almost a laugh, sniffing slightly. “Neither can Jay.”
“Luckily, Seol can,” he added.
The words landed strangely.
Not bad, exactly. Just enough to make your chest tighten with that quiet, stupid pang you had no right to feel. You blinked quickly, doing your best to stop your eyes from watering.
Then, after a moment of hesitation you couldn’t quite explain, you asked, “Did you miss her?”
Sunghoon blinked once, confused for a second, then his expression shifted as he understood what you meant. He took a slow sip of his coffee before answering.
“Yeah,” he said simply.
Your throat tightened even more at that. “Me too. I wish she had been there, too. It felt so weird without her.”
There was a long pause before he spoke again.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, gentle but certain. “She would’ve wanted that too. You and Minhee were so much fun on these trips. Especially when you got drunk.”
Something warm and awful twisted in your chest at that.
You gave a small, crooked smile and huffed, “The only thing you liked about that was how clingy I got.”
His mouth twitched.
“Well, what can I say?” he said, nudging your knee lightly under the table. “You are really cute and adorable when you get drunk. So we might have gotten the two of you drunk.”
That got a quiet laugh out of you.
He tilted his head, eyes warm. “You always did look most peaceful when you were with her.”
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
At some point, you and Sunghoon actually went back to your respective tasks at hand. His presence, the warmth of his leg against yours, actually helped, or at least you thought it did. You finished almost the entire chapter before Sunghoon's phone started vibrating against the table. He picked up the call.
“Hi,” his voice was distracted. When he answered, his fingers did not stop their nonstop movements on the keyboard. “Yeah. I found her.”
You looked up from your iPad at that, mustering him with raised eyebrows. ‘Jake’, he mouthed while listening to the other talk.
“Okay. Yeah,” he nodded even though Jake couldn’t see him. “We’re coming home then.”
He hummed again before hanging up and pulling his AirPods from his ears. “Jay is cooking dinner.”
You nodded and glanced to the windows, where streaks of rain were pelting against the glass.
“Mhm,” you said, wiping the condensation with your sleeve. “Looks like we are going to get a free shower.”
Sunghoon's gaze followed yours. “I think I have an umbrella in my bag. Wait a second.”
He leaned down to lift his laptop bag onto his lap. A small teddy plush was dangling from its handle.
You chuckled and reached forward to turn it into a front-facing position while Sunghoon was searching around in his bag. “This is cute. Where did you get that?”
“A colleague gifted it to me for my birthday last year,” he said absentmindedly. “Ah ha! Look at that. An umbrella.”
You laughed at him when he triumphantly held it up into the air. “You think this is going to save us from being drenched in rain?”
“Absolutely not, but at least our bags will stay dry,” Sunghoon said with a shrug, while standing up.
You shook your head and stuffed both your books and your iPad into your tote bag, while he paid for your coffee. You knew he wouldn’t let you stop him, so you didn’t even try.
The moment you opened the door to the outside world, a gush of wind carried cold, heavy rain towards you, causing you to shiver and press your bag closer to your chest. The umbrella opened with a snap, and Sunghoon tilted it slightly toward you as you huddled close.
After five steps, your shoulder was already soaked.
“Can you hold it higher?” you asked, trying to wedge in under the tiny canopy.
“I am holding it higher. You’re just hoarding the dry space,” he shot back, elbowing you lightly.
“Oh, please. I’m sacrificing my entire back right now.”
Wind caught the umbrella from underneath, flipping it slightly and splashing a cold stream of water down both your necks. You shrieked and shoved him gently with your shoulder, nearly knocking him into a puddle. “Maybe if you worked out less, there’d be more room under here.”
He snorted. “Don’t blame the broad shoulders. You yourself said my arms are delectable, if I might remind you.”
“I did!”, you said, pressing your side closer into his, “but I didn’t know the consequences of you having a beautiful back and arms would be me being drenched in rain.”
By the time you made it back to the house, your jeans were clinging to your legs, your hair was stuck to your cheeks, and the only dry things were your bags.
You both stopped in front of the door and stared at it.
“Please tell me you have a key,” you said, already knowing the answer.
Sunghoon patted his soaked pockets uselessly. “It’s inside. I didn’t think we’d get locked out in the wilderness.”
You rolled your eyes and reached up to jab the doorbell. From inside, you heard the muffled sound of footsteps and then the click of the lock.
The door swung open, and Ningning blinked at you both, horrified.
“Jesus Christ, what did you do?”
Without missing a beat, you shrugged. “Sunghoon and I decided to share a free shower.”
Ningning took one look at the sad excuse for an umbrella dripping on the porch and stepped aside. “You two are a cautionary tale.”
You walked past her with your bag clutched to your chest like a lifeline. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ning, I called dibs on being the first one in the proper shower.”
“I didn’t hear anything about dibs,” Sunghoon protested behind you.
“I made it spiritual,” you called over your shoulder. “Go dry your pretty arms somewhere else.”
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, kicking his shoes off with a wet squelching sound.
𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧ 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧
Jay had cooked enough to feed an army. The whole table was filled with plates and drinks, most of them non-alcoholic, to your surprise. Hanuel had claimed Sunghoons to be her chair of choice for the dinner.
You had ended up on the far end of the table, half-listening to a conversation between Heeseung and Jake about whether or not a smart fridge was a worthy investment, but your gaze kept drifting.
You weren’t even trying to be subtle about it.
Sunghoon had one arm loosely wrapped around Haneul to steady her, the other wielding a spoon with exaggerated precision.
“Here comes the airplane,” he said, swooping the spoon in mid-air. “It’s approaching the hangar! Landing initiated in three… two… one!”
Haneul squealed and opened her mouth wide, clapping her hands when he made a whooshing sound as the spoon ‘landed’.
You smiled. You just couldn’t help it.
He did it again. And again. Each time with a new variation. Her tiny body rocked with laughter, head thrown back as he played along, utterly unbothered by the food smeared across her cheek or the rice sticking to his sleeve.
You watched the scene unfold with something warm and gentle blooming in your chest.
It felt a bit bittersweet at the same time.
You were a stranger in a room full of uncles and aunties, despite knowing all the uncles and aunties for years, god forbid you even helped her being born, but you were never there.
You never gave her a chance to know you as Auntie Y/N.
Your eyes stayed on them.
He was so at ease. Smiling, shoulders relaxed, wearing an oversized hoodie, his hair still slightly damp from his shower.
He glanced up once, catching you watching and gave you a little wave with the spoon before turning back to Haneul.
You looked down at your plate, cheeks flushed, fingers suddenly fidgety.
Jake nudged your elbow. “You okay?”
You nodded, giving him a small smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
He hummed, and you knew he didn’t believe you.
You didn’t believe yourself either.
Thank you so much for waiting patiently an ofc for reading!
Lots of Love,
Patty
•SYNOPSIS: Heeseung has always been the voice of HYPHENIX, the steady rhythm behind the chaos, the boy who hides his emotions while encouraging others to face theirs. For him, Ella is the memory that never faded, the first love he could never forget, the one that got away. When she returns, he refuses to let the chance pass without a confession. To bridge the years of distance, he turns to the one person she trusts most now: you. What begins as a simple favor draws you into late-night conversations, fragile secrets, and the slow, quiet ache of realization.
And when the moment comes for her to leave again, you are left to wonder which heartbreak will cut deeper: his, or yours.
• PAIRING: Lee Heeseung x fem!reader
• WORD COUNT: 30k
• SERIES MASTERLIST
• AUTHOR'S NOTE: This took me way too long to post, mb. Anyway, I hope you will shower this one with love as well. Feedback is appreciated, I love talking with you all. Happy reading lovelies♡
"How are you?" Your mom's voice echoed through your phone's speaker. You sat on your bed, leaning against the headboard, "I'm fine." You heard muffled voices from behind her, probably your dad grumbling about the recent news. "You must be feeling lonely now that your friend is gone, Ella, right? What a sweet child," your mother's voice chimed. You hummed, looking at the mug that she gave you before leaving, "she's doing good….we just haven't talked much this past week."
"Why?" Your mother questioned. "She's handling her mother's documents…and Heeseung went to her, she's probably way too busy, so I didn't reach out much," you mumbled, although in reality, you couldn't bring yourself to text her, unsure of what you'd be walking into. It had been a week, seven days of pretending you were fine, seven days of isolating yourself, hoping the heaviness would dull if you ignored it long enough.
Your phone occasionally buzzed on and off all throughout the week. Check-ins from Mia, endless streams of memes from Reene, even other Hyphenix boys had left a few messages but you couldn't find the strength to respond to them with the same level of intensity. Your mother hung up the phone after talking for a while, and you were left alone with your thoughts once again when you heard a knock on your door. You wondered if you had any deliveries today, because there was no chance anyone else would visit you out of the blue.
When you opened your door, Reene barged in first. She pushed a bag full of snacks in your hand as she slipped off her shoes, "wow, look at you; messy hair, worn out expressions. Honestly if self-pity was an Olympic sport, you'd have won gold." You groaned, crossing your arms across your chest, "thanks Reene, you always say things which I need to hear, you literally verbally abuse in the name of comfort." She grinned back at you with pride, "you're welcome, at least I keep your sarcasm levels proper."
Mia stepped inside with a soft click of the door shutting behind her. She slipped off her shoes and put her bags down gently on your couch. Her movements were light as if she didn't want to disturb your peace. Her eyes met yours, ever so soft as she came over to you and before you could say something, her arms wrapped around you. The smell of her laundry detergent, and vanilla lotion grounded you for a beat, and you closed your eyes, hand wrapping around her waist as she didn't let go.
"You don't have to do this alone," she mumbled, slowly rubbing your back in soothing motions, "we're friends remember? If you think we'll leave you just because you didn't answer a few of our texts, you're wrong." Your throat tightened, mouth parting to say something in return, but it had been a while since you talked with anyone other than your mom and dad, so all that came out was a broken sob. You buried your head on her shoulder, unable to contain the tears you were trying so hard to hold back.
Mia's hand was still rubbing soothing patterns on your back when you felt Reene thread her fingers through your hair, embracing both you and Mia in her arms. "Cry it out, we got you." And you listened to her, for the first time in all week, you let your emotions run wild. Mia's hold on you tightened, and you could hear Reene whispering soft encouragement in your ears. They didn't ask you questions, didn't pressure you about anything, and just offered you their quiet comfort. And you couldn't have been more thankful for their thoughtful gesture.
Dinner with their presence had been easy, normal even. Reene talking about Sunghoon's little cousin, Jieun, and Mia silently slipping some rice into your plate when she thought you weren't looking. For a while, you let yourself laugh again. But as dishes were washed, and Reene stepped away to receive Sunghoon's call, you stepped out onto your balcony with Mia. The neighborhood was hushed quietly, the distant roars of engines, people having their late-night walk, faint music from someone's home leaking through their open windows.
Mia leaned against the railings, arms neatly folded as she looked at you. Her voice was soft enough to almost blend into the night but you still heard it. "Jay told me," she started, now looking towards the moon, "that you suggested Heeseung to go to London. I know you miss them both…and I know this hasn't been easy on you, but you still encouraged him to do what was right for them." You looked at her as she spoke, chest tightening after each word left her mouth. She then turned to look at you, eyes so soft which made your chest ache, "you're a good person."
You let out a short, surprised laugh as you tear your eyes away from her. "Do good people feel this...hollow? I knew this was inevitable, I thought I was prepared but all I can think about is whether things will stay the same…or come back different." Mia watched as you fiddled with your fingers, eyes trailing everywhere but avoiding hers when you spoke again, "will he come back…or stay there?" Mia's lips parted to answer, but before she could answer you, the balcony's door shut behind you.
You turned around as Reene stepped in. "I think," she started, stepping closer to you, "he'll come back. He has his own life here, he will come back with something better." Your eyebrows furrowed, head tilting in confusion, "like what? Closure?" Reene's grin softened as she stood on your other side, hand clasping around yours, "or clarity." Her thumb brushed against your knuckles and you held her hand back tightly.
Mia moved closer to lean her head against your shoulder. For a moment, you let their presence ground you in the present. You could feel the ache in your heart ease a bit. Not gone, not healed, but like it was being handled with care. You allowed yourself to breathe without memories crashing into you all at once. And as the night went on, you realized that maybe a soft company was what your heart was seeking from the start.
*******
'At Jay's house, doing practice for the upcoming gig.' You read the text Jake sent after you asked him what he was up to. Now, you were on the way to Jay's house with two heavy takeout bags weighing down your hand. You remembered Heeseung telling you about how they practice in the gazebo because the vibes there are just right. So you rounded off from the house and directly stepped inside the backyard where the gazebo was located. You could hear the low thrum of the instruments as you walked closer.
They were surely arguing about something, the tensed expressions and pouty lips on their faces indicated exactly that. Jake was the first one to look at you, pausing mid-rant. Jay and Sunghoon followed his gaze, lips forming into soft 'O' as you set the takeout bags on the table. There was a beat of silence as they looked at you, eyes widened like they didn't expect you to show up at all. Jay was the first one to break the silence when he noticed no one else reacted, his deep sigh breaking through the air, "thank god, we were just about to fight over instant noodles."
Jake rolled his eyes while looking at Sunghoon, then at you, "I was almost successful at making Sunghoon cook something for us." Sunghoon smirked, shaking his head, "in your dreams." You just laughed, opening the takeout boxes, the scent of fried food filling in the air. Settling on the bench beside Sunghoon, you awkwardly looked at them to start eating. When they didn't immediately shift their attention to the food, you laughed slightly, "it's weird without Heeseung, isn't it?"
The gazebo got quiet for a moment. Brief glances being exchanged with each other before they all nodded, almost in unison because everything was indeed weird without their lead singer filling the air with his voice. The absence was heavy, and you could feel it in a way they looked like lost puppies without him. He completed them after all. Sunghoon, as if sensing the clear shift in the atmosphere, grabbed a paper plate, "let's eat before Jay inhales everything." Jay's eyes widened comically, a cartoonish expression etching on his face, "oh you are craving a good beating." But he reached out for a spring roll anyway.
You chuckled at their antics, eyes roaming around the takeout boxes to see what you wanted to eat. But before you could do so, Jake leaned over, taking the plate from your hand and placing a spring roll on it. Sunghoon added a few dumplings next to the spring roll without even asking. And Jay, usually the one who was laser focused on his food, nudged the container for noodles closer to you wordlessly.
You looked down at the plate which was now placed on your lap, overflowing with too much food for one person. You felt something tighten in your chest, unfamiliar but warm. There were little to no words exchanged, no explanations, no comments on why you were avoiding them, no questions about how you were dealing with Heeseung's and Ella's absence, just quiet understanding and a sense of belonging.
*******
"I know Mia is visiting her family but where is Reene?" Jake questioned Sunghoon as both of them were taking the instruments back inside the house while you and Jay cleaned up the space. "She's visiting hospital with my mom," Sunghoon informed looking at Jake, "apparently my mom trusts her more than me." Jake laughed, loud enough for you and Jay to hear as you approached them. "At this rate, get married already!" You chirped, nudging Sunghoon by your shoulder. "What? Not so soon!" He replied, ears turning pink as he walked away.
"Oh someone's getting shy!" Jake teased as all of you followed Sunghoon into Jay's living room. "You know what?" Sunghoon questioned as he sat on the couch beside Jay while Jake and you sat on the loveseats placed adjacent to it, "the first time we played for the crowd as Hyphenix, Jake puked because he was so nervous." Jake gasped, eyes going wide, "hey! You weren't supposed to expose me like that! What happened to the bro code?" You grinned at their interaction, "wait, so the attention loving drummer actually had stage fright?"
"Not stage fright," he immediately denied, "I just ate something bad before the show started." Jay leaned back on the couch, eyes focused on Jake, "I'm pretty sure that sandwich wasn't bad enough to make you cry." Jake sat up straight, pointing his fingers alternately between Sunghoon and Jay, "those were tears of passion."
You watched them bicker with a fond smile on your face, "it's fascinating, I never really thought any of you had the ability to get nervous." All three heads turned to look at you. Jay tilted his head, "everyone gets nervous, we just got used to it after performing countless times." You hummed, nodding your head in understanding, "true that."
*******
"Take care of yourself," Jay yelled at you, Jake and Sunghoon as you left his house. "Sunghoon needs to pick up Yeji from her dance class," Jake informed, "I will drop you off." You nodded, waving at Sunghoon and Jay for the last time before slipping inside the car. There were no words exchanged between you as Jake drove off to the address you had given him. "Oh you lived near Ella's apartment?" He questioned as soon as he parked his car near the entrance of your apartment building. "Yes," you nodded, taking your seatbelt off.
You paused when you noticed him looking at you. "Need me to walk you in," he leaned towards you a little, "you know, safety reasons." You chuckled, shaking your head as you grabbed the handle, "no thanks, I can walk just fine." You watched as he shrugged. “Shame," his grin only widened, "what if something happens to you on the way?"
You raised your eyebrows at his question and pointed towards the apartment building, "Jake, we're literally in front of my apartment building." You grabbed your bag, opening the car door. "Front," he mumbled as if he was talking to himself but his voice was loud enough for you to hear, "not inside."
The way he talked made you laugh, then you stepped outside. The car's door shut behind as you stood on the pavement, waiting for him to drive off. You frowned when you didn't hear the sound of a car starting, and leaned down. Knocking on the window, you watched as he got out of the car and walked towards you. "You don't have to wait," you smiled softly, though his gesture caught you off guard. He nodded, leaning against the hood of his car, arms folded across his chest. "Yeah, I know," he stated, eyes never leaving yours, "but I don't mind."
You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity behind his words. There was no teasing glint in his eyes, he wasn't joking. He just looked at you, simple and straightforward. Before you could find words to reply he stepped closer, lightly turning you around by your shoulder and pushing you towards your building. "Go on, get inside, I'll wait." You nodded back at him as the elevator door closed, hiding his figure from your eyes.
You closed the apartment's door behind you and moved towards your balcony. You leaned over your railing, and he was still standing there, casually leaning against his car. You lifted your hand to wave and called out his name. He looked up, a wide grin adorning his face as he waved back at you. It's only when you laugh at his dramatics and motioned him to leave that he entered his car and finally drove off.
You took a shower, then settled on your bed, ready to call it a day when your phone buzzed. You picked it up without looking at the caller ID, Jake’s voice filled the silence in your room. "Are you free tomorrow?" He asked, his tone casual but it was so quiet you could hear the way he tapped his fingers on his desk. "Tomorrow?" You mumbled, checking the date, "yeah I'm free." You heard him hum, "okay, the guys are busy, I don't want to be alone, you up to grab some coffee tomorrow?"
You raised your eyebrows at the screen, "yeah, I mean, okay?" He sighed, "okay? Why are you saying it like you hate it? I'm a pretty boy, people won't laugh at you if they see us together, I promise." You laughed in amusement, "sure Jake, I'll go with you, but that's only because you're a pretty boy." You heard him chuckle, "I'll pick you up in the afternoon, see you tomorrow." You nodded, "yeah, see you tomorrow." You hung up and kept the phone on the nightstand, a little relieved at the thought of not being alone tomorrow. And for the first time in a while, the quiet didn't feel so heavy as it did before.
*******
"Hey!" You smiled at Jake as you spotted him in front of your apartment building. He smiled, giving you a quick, familiar hug before opening the car door for you. He slid inside next, "you look nice." You smiled at the compliment, "thanks, you look good too." He put his hand on his chest, tilting his head to the side with a shy smile before he began driving. "Which cafe are we going to?" You asked casually while looking at him. "Hmm, there's this one cafe downtown, and trust me when I say this," he glanced at you briefly to check if you're listening, "they make the best coffee in the city."
You nodded, amusement plastered over your face. "And I should trust you with that because?" He chuckled, shaking his head, "you need proof of everything?" You hummed, "well, yes. What's your source?" He drummed his fingers on the wheel, "for now? The source is your trust in me." You rolled your eyes but a chuckle escaped your lips anyway. He parked the car, leading you towards the cozy café he was gushing about. The café was half empty, the air thick with smells of espresso and sugars.
And now here you were, sitting on a little corner inside the café, with your hands wrapped around the warm mug while Jake sat in front of you, sipping on his own coffee. You gave him a tentative glance before sighing, "did you have any talk with Heeseung recently? Any updates, maybe?" Jake paused, but didn't look up from his coffee, "no, I didn't. I don't know what is going on with him and Ella. The last I knew what he was up to was when he posted a picture of him and Ella at her university, it seemed like she was touring him around." You nodded solemnly, unsure of what to expect, "ohh is that so..." you trailed, "maybe they're just busy..settling back into things you know?"
Jake finally looked up, the easy going expressions of his face changing into confused ones, "did you see his post or something?" The unexpected question made your grip on the mug tighten, the heat sipping into your palm, "umm, no. I just didn't check his updates." Your eyes then lifted to meet him across the table. He tilted his head, as if he wanted to figure out what to do with the information you just handed him. "Is it weird without them?" He asked, leaning towards the table. Your breath hitched but you smiled, "yeah, I guess I miss how things were. It's kind of hard to spend time alone after you are constantly surrounded by someone, you know?"
He nodded as he leaned back on the chair, the familiar grin tugging on his lips again, but it wasn't loud, it was soft. He looked back towards the counter, then back at you, "wanna split a cookie and proudly be the losers who misses their best friends then?" You rolled your eyes as he waved over the barista and ordered the biggest cookie they made. And when it finally arrived, he split the cookie into two parts, wordlessly sliding the bigger part in your direction. You slowly chewed on your cookie while Jake inhaled it in one go. You chuckled as you spotted the leftover crumbs on his plate.
"So," he started, "now that we have bonded over the cookie, should we get matching bracelets? Maybe something like a broken heart split into two?" You raised an eyebrow, crossing your hands over your chest, "you're dramatic." He grinned, taking it as a compliment, "dramatically charming you say?" You leaned towards him, "more like, dramatically loud, the girls from the table over there keep on giving us a look because of you."
He gasped, placing a hand on his chest, "giving us look? Because of me? Are you sure they aren't just checking me out?" A chuckle escaped your lips despite your earlier mood, "your ego could fill this entire cafe, that's how big it is." Jake chuckled, relaxing on his chair more, "good, it means there's no space left for your sad sighs here."
The comment made your jaw drop and you threw a tissue in his direction. He caught it, placing it on the table with a mischievous grin, "get used to it. I'm planning on annoying you regularly till you regret befriending me." You laughed, "so we're friends now?" Jake shrugged, the corners of his lips never dropping, not even for a second. "Obviously," he started, "you don't get to share a cookie with me and then assume we aren't friends. Sharing cookies is legally binding by the way." You rolled your eyes but your heart felt warm anyway and you realized maybe Heeseung was wrong, maybe you needed a friend like Jake more than he needed you.
*******
"And this is the place where my girls and their boys hangout after classes," Jake explained as he pointed towards the riverfront. You nodded, walking towards the railing to look over the river surrounded by the cityline. Jake stood beside you, mimicking your position. The night sky looked beautiful from this spot and you wondered why you never made any time to roam around the city. "Will it be weird if I say missing Heeseung feels…different?" You questioned, the breeze brushing past your hair.
"I mean, I always knew Ella would leave, I made peace with that. But with Heeseung," your throat tightened, "I never expected we would get close. He asked for my help, and I did. Everything was going as we planned, and I was fine with it. But now? Now I just catch myself thinking about him when I don't mean to."
Jake hummed, eyes focused on the cityline, "it's not weird, missing people isn't a competition." A breathy laugh escaped your lips, "feels like it, and that somehow makes everything feel heavier." Jake glanced towards you, the wind messing up his hair a bit, "you don't have to beat yourself up just to make things less complicated you know?"
You blinked at him, "does that matter? He's in London with Ella now, and I don't even know if he'll come back, and even if he does, I wonder what changes it will bring in our lives." Jake exhaled softly, stepping closer till your shoulders brushed lightly, "that's true, no one knows what will happen. Not even me, and I'm supposed to be his best friend." He tapped his fingers on the railings. “I don't think he went there just for Ella,” Jake said slowly, “I think he needed to see something for himself.”
His hand reached up to gently pat your head, your shoulder tensed, caught off guard. "Come on," he spoke, fixing your hair, "let's get you home before you start summoning river Gods for the answers they won't give you." And just like that he walked towards his car, hands in his pocket, casually whistling. Your eyes scanned the riverfront for the last time before you followed Jake towards his car.
*******
The music festival of the city was alive with noises. People packed shoulder to shoulder as various acts showcased their performances one after the other. You were standing beside Reene and Mia near the stage, cheering loudly as Jay, Jake and Sunghoon adjusted their positions on the stage. The first cord hit with Sunghoon's fingers pressing on the keys and the crowd cheered loudly. It felt strange to watch Hyphenix perform without their lead singer but the rest of the boys adjusted nicely, splitting the lines between three of them.
You watched as Mia recorded the performance, while you and Reene competed with the crowd to cheer louder for the boys. Your throat felt scratchy with all the excited yelling but it didn't matter in the moment. After their song ended, Jake adjusted the mic, pushing his messy hair from his face. "Our lead singer Heeseung isn't here," he started, looking at the crowd with a pout. "But our pretty girls are," he smirked, pointing towards you, Mia and Reene, "so we are fine. Heeseung, I'm sorry my man." The crowd laughed, and you shared looks with Reene and Mia.
The music festival continued and you found yourself sharing takeouts with the boys and girls in the parking lot. Laughing hysterically as Jay shared stories about their initial days as the band. "Wow, I haven't laughed like that in a long time," Reene muttered, wiping the tears off her eyes as she leaned against Sunghoon for support. Jay just shook his head, feeding the food to Mia. Jake made his way towards you, nudging you with his shoulder. He leaned in, "there's this dog park in the city. You wanna go there tomorrow if you don't have any plans?" And who were you to say no to that? Your eyes lit up, "yes, of course."
*******
As soon as you stepped inside the dog park, you were gone. Immediately running towards the nearest dog, eyes darting towards its owner to give you permission to play with it. Earlier when Jake declared 'sunlight is necessary for character development' you weren't sure if he realized how ridiculous that sounded. But now, as both of you played with different dogs, you realized he just didn't like being alone while he goofed around with other people's pets. "How come you know about all the amazing places in the city?" You questioned as you stood beside him, panting a little.
He shrugged, "I'm amazing like that." You removed the scarf that you styled from your neck and wiped the sweat. The late afternoon sun felt too warm against your skin. You were about to say something to Jake, when a beagle happened to run towards you. And the next thing you knew, the scarf that was dangling from your hand was now clamped between the jaws of a spotted thief sprinting full speed across the grass. "HEY!" You shouted, stumbling after the beagle, arms flailing in the air as the little dog tore past various humans and dogs alike.
"SORRY!" Someone yelled as they ran towards the beagle from the other end, possibly its owner. You tripped over a pawful of dirt, almost losing your balance. As the beagle's owner handed your scarf back, you smiled at them as you walked back towards Jake. He was of no help as you saw him doubled over the fence, clutching his stomach as he wheezed with laughter. You could hear the sound from across the park. "Okay, well-" he wiped his tears as you approached him, the scarf tightly clutched in your hands, "-that dog had zero respect for you."
You leaned against the fence, still out of breath, hair sticking up your face, "he was just fast." Jake shook his head, grinning so hard it almost looked cynical, "no, no, don't sugarcoat. He had murder in his eyes as he approached. He looked at your scarf and was like, it's mine now." You pressed your lips together to stay annoyed but the image of you running behind the beagle was too ridiculous. The laugh burst out of you before you could stop. Jake's grin softened as he watched you, clearly amused with the way your eyes closed as you laughed your heart out.
"Looks like you needed a laugh," he smirked as you calmed down and sat on the nearby bench. "I guess so," you admitted, hooking the scarf on your belt-loop as you leaned back on the bench. Jake didn't push the conversation any further. He just grabbed the tennis ball that had stumbled near his feet, his eyes falling on the golden retriever who was looking at him. He whistled, and threw the ball as far as he could. The dog bounced off towards the ball, and Jake leaned back, eyes focused on the way the dog chased to catch the ball. The retriever returned back and dropped the ball at his feet again, this time Jake threw it more lazily, and watched as the dog chased the ball again.
"You know," Jake said, glancing sideways at you, "I almost helped you when that beagle ran off with your scarf." You raised your eyebrows, "almost?" Jake's grin widened, "yeah, but then I realized watching you sprint across the park was the funniest thing I've seen this week, I guess it really helped with your character development you see." You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, "you're the worst." He chuckled, turning around to face you, "I also recorded a video for keepsake."
Your eyes widened, "no you didn't." But the way his smirk widened only confirmed your worst fears. You buried your head in your hands, groaning loud enough to startle the passerby. "Relax, I won't post it anywhere. I just saved it for future use," he shrugged as he threw the ball in the owner's direction this time. As both of you left the dog park, walking side by side towards his car, Jake shoved his hands inside his pockets, voice casual as he spoke, "I think, next time it will be better if we bring treats. If another dog tried to mug you, we can at least bribe your way out of it instead of you face-planting against the ground."
"I didn't face-plant, I almost tripped but I balanced myself," you argued, pushing him. "If you say so," he grinned as he opened the car door, "I'll believe that when you beat a beagle in a race." You laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, "I'll never forget this." Jake drove off towards your apartment, "I told you, character development." You shook your head, increasing the volume of the song playing in the background. Jake kept the banter on, occasionally throwing in a teasing remark.
And when he glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes to make sure you weren't in your head again, you realized this is what Jake's energy was. Like the kind who distracted you before the weight could settle too deep, even for a short while. You were thankful for the noise he brought with him, he was easy going, thoughtful, ready to make moments linger with his silliness.
*******
"Yah, why did it take you so long to come?" You questioned Reene as soon as she plopped on Jake's couch beside you. She groaned, leaning her head on your shoulder, "had a short discussion with my dad which turned long, couldn't escape." Sunghoon sat right in front of Reene, on the floor, her hand immediately finding his hair. Jay and Mia sat on the opposite loveseats while Jake settled on the other side of you. It was movie time in Jake's apartment this time.
"Who's turn is it to choose the movie?" Jay asked, slumping back on the loveseat. Sunghoon hummed, leaning his head on Reene's thigh as he pointed towards Mia, "it's her turn." Mia grinned, already skimming through various options. The movie started and Jake placed a bowl of popcorn on your lap. "This movie is actually good," Jake said, voice muffled by the popcorn in his mouth. Mia shot him a side eye, "what do you mean by that? You think my taste in movies is bad?" She threw the pillow towards him and you leaned on Reene to avoid getting hit. Laughter echoed through Jake's living room as both of them bickered back and forth.
The movie blurred into a background noise after that, sound of laughter and occasional snarky comment on the stupidity of a character filled the room. The pillows were scattered everywhere, bowls of popcorn emptied out and abandoned on the coffee table. At some point, you felt your eyelids getting heavy, exhaustion from the day wearing you out. Before you realized, your head tilted to the side, landing on Jake's shoulder without your realizing. He didn't move, only adjusted the blanket over your legs as he watched the rest of the movie.
You stirred when you felt him move, your voice barely audible as you realized your position, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sleep on you." Jake shushed you off, his voice low and lazy, "it's fine, don't worry about it. Get some rest." You blinked, a bit disoriented, his words grounding you enough to let sleep take over again. By the time sleep consumed you entirely, Jay was already gathering his jacket while his other hand held Mia's tightly. Sunghoon stretched, draping his own jacket on Reene before they quietly exchanged goodbyes with Jake.
Reene looked at your sleeping figure, but before she could say anything Jake cut her off, "don't worry about her, I'll make sure she is comfortable." Reene smiled, squeezing his shoulder in acknowledgement before she followed Sunghoon out. The door closed behind her and now it was just Jake and you in his apartment. He sighed, shutting off the TV before carefully laying you down on the couch, blanket draped over you as he cleaned the room.
*******
When you woke up, the apartment felt quiet, so quiet that it took you a few seconds to realize where you were and what were you doing before falling asleep. The digital clock on the coffee table blinked 01:17 AM, the TV screen was switched off and the coffee table was cleaner than you last remembered. You rubbed your eyes, groggily sitting up only to notice the blanket draped over you while you slept. You got up, realizing Jake might have laid you down while he cleaned after everyone else. His bedroom door was half-open, soft light spilling out of the room and into the dim hallway.
"I hope you're not thinking about heading out now," Jake's voice startled you as he walked towards you from the kitchen. He handed you a glass of water, leaning against the wall beside you. Eyes tired but his tone was firm, "it's way too late to drive, you can stay here." You hesitated, you didn't prepare to stay the night, "I don't want to trouble you." He shook his head, slipping inside his bedroom before coming out holding an oversized t-shirt and shorts. "You're not troubling me," he handed you the clothes, "I don't want you to drive back half-asleep, the guestroom is all yours, I already prepared it for you."
The finality in his tone made it hard to argue. You sighed, clutching his clothes in your hand, "okay, but only because you're insisting." He nodded, patting your head, "don't worry about it. I know you were busy all day, so sleep well." You nodded, "good night, Jake." He walked back to his room, the lazy smile etching up on his face, "good night, sleepyhead." You closed the guestroom's door behind you. Sighing, you changed into his clothes before slipping inside the covers, the sleep consuming you as soon as your head hit the pillow.
*******
The morning arrived slower than you expected, sunlight spilling on you through the gap between the curtains. You walked inside the bathroom to freshen up and brush your teeth before you got out of the room to search for Jake. The faint sizzling sound coming from the kitchen reached your ears before you even stepped out of the room. You padded towards Jake, who was standing in front of the stove in sweatpants and plain t-shirt, spatula in hand as he stirred something. He glanced over at you when he heard your footsteps, "good morning, sleepyhead. Coffee's on the counter, help yourself." You greeted him back, pouring yourself a mug, "you didn't have to cook."
"I was already up," he replied back, "also, just in case you aren't aware, breakfast is a fee for friendship maintenance." You rolled your eyes, a soft smile blooming on your face as you leaned against the kitchen counter. "A friendship maintenance fee huh?" You smirked as Jake shrugged. Then suddenly Jake's doorbell rang, the sound loud enough to stop Jake from speaking whatever he was going to. Jake's eyebrows furrowed, head tilting to the side as he tried to recall if he was expecting someone today.
The doorbell rang again, and Jake turned towards you, spatula still in his hand as he gestured you towards the door. "Can you get that? If I leave the stove now, we will have to eat a disaster," with that he turned around towards the stove. You kept the mug on the counter as you made your way towards the door. You casually swung it open, expecting a delivery man with some random package Jake bought and forgot, but you froze instead. Your grip on the doorknob wavered, your mind racing with millions of thoughts. Your voice calling out his name before your mind could catch up.
*******
"Heeseung?"
The sound of his name from her voice, surprised but soft, hit him harder than the damp air of London did. He stood frozen outside her flat, the dim corridor light flickering above his head. His chest suddenly felt too tight, like he had run miles instead of simply climbing a few stairs up to her flat. Heeseung stood there as he saw her eyes widen in surprise, disbelief swimming into them as she stepped forward. For a split second of silence, he thought about turning back and running. But instead, his lips moved, voice shaky as if he was trying to hold himself back from bursting, "Ella..."
Heeseung saw something shifting in her expression, relief, confusion, something unreadable tumbling together as she wrapped her arms around his neck. His feet stumbled at the sheer force of her movements, her smaller frame pressing against him as if she needed to steady herself. Heeseung felt her tremble in his hold, her hands gripping on his shirt like she couldn't believe, "you idiot." He heard her whisper against his shoulder, the words muffled by his clothes, "you absolute idiot."
He closed his eyes, hands wrapping around her waist before he could think better of it. His fingers dug into her through the soft fabric of her clothes, holding on as if the moment might slip away if he didn't. "I-" his voice cracked, he swallowed hard, trying to control his emotions from spilling out all together, "I wasn't sure if you wanted me here, if you even wanted to see me..." Ella leaned back enough to scan his face, hands still loosely wrapped around his neck, "you are asking me that after coming all the way here?" Her eyes searched his face, trying to make sense of it.
Heeseung laughed, a little out of breath, "I was thinking about all the things I'd say once I got here, I had been thinking about it since the plane took off." His words were rushed, mind devoid of everything he had planned, "I forgot every word I wanted to say." Her face softened at his unsure voice, fingers gently playing with the collar of his shirt, "then don't overthink it." She leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing him in, "let's just breathe for a second."
So he did, he didn't let go of her. They stood in her doorway, tangled in each other's arms, his luggage kept neatly by his foot. Heeseung could hear the faint rustle of traffic, car honking, footsteps echoing through the pavement but inside the building, it felt like time had folded onto itself, if only for a moment. Like they were thirteen again, like she was still with him, like the gap of years and choices hadn't stretched between them at all. And yet, he knew it wasn't the same.
When Ella pulled back, hands sliding over the buttons of his shirt, trembling, she looked into his eyes. "You almost scared me," she admitted, swallowing the lump in her throat, "when I saw your face just now, I thought, no, I knew I was dreaming. I couldn't believe you really came all the way to London." Heeseung smiled faintly, "I guess that makes two of us then." Her lips curled into a shy smile, head hanging low, "this feels like a dream, Hee."
He embraced her again, burying his head on her shoulder as she wrapped her hands around his torso. And for a moment, Heeseung forgot everything about how distant she felt back in the city, how he had fought with her, how he couldn't reach the airport soon enough. Because as Ella sighed against his chest, her grip tightening around him just slightly, he let himself pretend, just for a moment, that nothing had changed.
*******
"Why do you live alone here?" Heeseung asked as he made himself comfortable on the kitchen counter as Ella cooked dinner for both of them. "The apartment is near the university," she informed, stirring the ingredients, "and I wanted to try living alone by myself." Heeseung nodded, helping her plate the dishes as both of them ate the dinner. "And how's living alone going for you here?" Heeseung asked, taking a bite from his food. Ella hummed, "it's actually good, though sometimes I regret moving out because mom and dad constantly call me for little things."
Heeseung nodded, "it's been a while since I met uncle and aunt." Ella finished off her bite, swallowing the food, "they will be so happy to meet you, I'll take you to them." Heeseung smiled at the excited grin plastered on her face as she went on and on about how her parents will react to him being in London. He watched the way her eyes lit up as she talked, her hands flying everywhere. She looked different than she did back in the city. "I'll take you to my favorite cafe tomorrow," Ella informed as she retreated back into her room to sleep, and Heeseung fell back against the bed, staring at the ceiling before exhaustion crept over him.
*******
The cafe was small but lively, tucked into a corner street near Ella's university where the hum of London dulled into a quiet buzz. The air smelled of cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee, fairy lights hung over the roof resembling stars. The café was cozy in a kind of way that clung to you even after you left the place. Ella sat across from Heeseung, cupping her hot coffee in between her hands, a soft smile gracing up on her lips as she glanced at him. "This is the place I used to visit often after I moved here," she grinned, looking around the surroundings, "I still come here from time to time with my friends from uni, this kind of became our spot."
Heeseung nodded, eyes roaming around the cafe, taking in the sight, "hmm, the cafe is nice." Ella leaned back against her seat, the smile never leaving her face. "I used to sit here alone after my classes ended, thinking about how I would've enjoyed spending time here with you...," she trailed off, looking towards the ongoing traffic, "and the guys. But then one day, a couple of my classmates spotted me here, and they sat down with me without even asking. After that, they started coming every time. Before I realized, this place wasn't only mine anymore. It became...home, in a way."
Heeseung smiled along, keeping the conversation going smoothly between them. They both laughed over silly moments shared by Ella, and for a moment it felt like the time had woven itself back into the simpler days. Heeseung could see the way her eyes lit up, how his laughter chased hers, the kind of rhythm he expected to experience when she came back to the city for the exchange program. But he could see the difference now, he sipped his coffee, though he hated the taste, their laughter dying down to giggles. His gaze wandered, eyes falling on a familiar looking plant placed on one of the cafe's tables.
It was the same plant you were looking for one evening in the university's parking lot, eyes scanning through the garden, carefully looking out for the plant with that concentrated little frown you wore when you were focused on something. His lips twitched despite himself as he recalled how he teased you about it. How he tucked your hair behind your ear and how you tried to hide how flustered you felt. And now, he was miles away, sitting across Ella, yet his thoughts had slipped somewhere else entirely. His smile faltered before he could stop it.
Ella's expression softened, brows frowning, "are you okay?" The words stumbled out of her lips before Heeseung could stabilize himself. He turned his head towards her, shifting in his seat, "yes, just spaced out for a second." She tilted her head, lips forming pout in confusion, "remembered something from home?" His throat tightened as he searched for an answer. What should he say? That while she sat in front of him, warm and familiar like she had been before, his thoughts were clouded with the one person who had insisted he come here.
He found himself nodding regardless, "yeah. From home." Ella smiled at his words, her hand reaching out to squeeze him across the table. His breath hitched, but he didn't pull away. Neither did Ella. The conversation then drifted off towards her classes, the other places she wanted to show him, and he listened. But his eyes kept drifting back to the small potted plant that sat on the table, more than he would like to admit.
*******
The door to Ella's parent's house swung open, filling the air with the scent of roasted chicken and rosemary. Ella smiled at Heeseung as she entered the house, Heeseung following suit. "Mom! Dad!" Ella called out, hanging her and Heeseung's coat on the hanger. Ella's mother, Sarah, appeared from the kitchen, apron dusted with floor. Behind Sarah, Alex, her husband joined. Sarah's eyes widened the moment her eyes landed on the guest, "Heeseung!" He smiled as Sarah cupped his cheek, grinning. “Oh, sweetheart, it's been ages. You've grown into such a fine young man."
Heeseung chuckled, engulfing her into a hug before he greeted Alex. He looked at Heeseung, "wow, you really grew up. You're taller than me now." Sarah guided everyone towards the dining table. She sat beside Alex as Heeseung made himself comfortable beside Ella. The food was served and everyone fell into a quiet rhythm while reminiscing about the past memories. "It feels so good to look at you both together like this," Sarah sighed in delight as she ate her food, "it's been a while since Ella joined us for a proper dinner too. She's always so busy, always working, just like her dad. Maybe you could remind her to slow down."
"Mom," Ella whined, half embarrassed, "don't start." Heeseung frowned, chewing his food before swallowing it. He looked at Ella, "you don't live that far, you know?" Ella gave him a tight smile, "yeah, I know. But I've so many things to do, my university, the company, all of the new projects, I rarely have time for anything else." Alex looked at his daughter, "as much as I love you for being so hardworking, you should know how to balance your personal and professional life, Ella. I know you're passionate about what you are doing but don't forget about those who care for you."
Heeseung could feel the temperature drop a degree, the tension in the room growing. Sarah chuckled awkwardly, serving more food on Heeseung's plate. "This feels like the old times don't you think?" Sarah started, hoping to divert the topic, "I really missed having you run around the house as I cooked dinner." Heeseung smiled, nodding, "it took me a while to get used to your absence. Sometimes I would just knock on your house out of habit then suddenly remember that you guys aren't there." Sarah gave him a sad smile, one of her hands reaching out to squeeze his, "we missed you a lot too, especially Ella."
His eyes instinctively trailed towards Ella, who was already looking at him like she was waiting for him to find her before he did. "I missed you too," Heeseung said quietly. Alex and Sarah exchanged glances towards each other before focusing on the food, pretending like they weren't sharing the same dining table with the younger ones. Ella smiled, nodding before her phone buzzed, breaking the moment completely.
The rest of the dinner was spent with laughter and stories from the past. Heeseung told them about his future plans, and current life while Ella's parents told him about their life after moving to London. The dinner ended with warm goodnight and polite promises of visiting again. Outside, the air nipped at their skin as Ella and Heeseung drove off towards her apartment. "They were very excited when I told them you'll be visiting," Ella chuckled lightly, eyes focused on the road. Heeseung hummed as he looked at the street, "I was just as excited, if not more. I'm already missing your mom's home cooked meal."
Ella nodded, a small smile plastered on her lips. "The next semester is going to start in a few days," she admitted, "I have some things to pick up from my university before that, so I'll take you to my uni tomorrow for a tour." Heeseung nodded, "great, I'll get to live a day in your life too then." Ella chuckled, "you could say that." Heeseung closed his eyes, leaning against the car's seat, "hmm, don't make the tour too boring for me." Ella rolled her eyes but the smile didn't leave her lips, "no promises. I'm not the most interesting person."
He opened his eyes, turning his head lazily towards her, "you have always been interesting to me." Ella gave him a quick glance, frowning as if she didn't quite register what he said, "what?" Heeseung shifted in his seat, clearing his throat, "I said, you are not boring at all." She looked at him before focusing back on the road, "am I? I'm glad." She chuckled, but he could see the way her grip tightened around the wheel. He smiled softly, tearing his gaze away from her, he sighed, "I can't wait to sleep. I'm so tired."
*******
Ella pulled her car into her university's parking lot. "Wow, the campus is prettier than I thought," Heeseung exclaimed as he stepped out. Ella laughed, shrugging her shoulders, "it is, although I think I liked your university better." Heeseung walked beside her, letting her lead the path as he clicked a few pictures of the surroundings, "I prefer my university's campus too." He softly mumbled, running a bit to catch up to her. The university stretched wide with brick buildings softened by ivy. The campus buzzed with the easy chaos of student life.
Ella walked ahead, her steps light as if she was genuinely happy to step back into her university's ground. She turned around, lightly tugging at Heeseung's wrist, pulling him towards her department building. "This is where I live basically," she declared, pointing towards the Biotechnology Sign hung above, "my apartment is just for show." Heeseung chuckled softly, momentarily distracted by the way she was pulling him along. As they entered the department, the first sight that greeted Heeseung was a wall lined with student's research awards. Ella stopped right in front of it, pointing her finger at a picture where she was being awarded, her name etched on the banner with bold letters, "got that for my research on Actinobacteria in first semester."
Heeseung smiled, looking at the way her eyes shined as she talked about her project, "I remember you telling me about this, I felt so proud of you." Ella's eyes softened at his words, pleased, she gave him a nudge before dragging him further inside. Some of the students were working inside different labs, while he spotted a few professors having discussion inside the staff room. Ella led him towards the department's library. "Hmm, what books are you getting?" Heeseung questioned as he followed her around like a lost puppy. Ella hummed, scanning and taking the books of her interest, "these are the books I'll be needing for next semester."
As both of them exited the library, with Heeseung carrying some of the books. Ella toured him around the university, excitedly talking about all the memories she had made. He watched as professors greeted her like an old friend, talking about how they missed having her around. Heeseung listened patiently, chiming in a few words here and there to let her know she had his attention. But one minute he was listening to her, and next, in the corner of his vision, someone walked past him. A girl in a jacket, your jacket, or maybe close enough. Same cut, same color, she walked with the same tension you seem to carry on your shoulder.
His steps faltered, head turning around. For a moment, everything around him blurred and he could almost mistake the girl for you, arms full of books, tensed shoulders, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, hair falling on your face. He looked at the girl till she disappeared out of his sight and something in his chest tightened. Ella noticed his absence immediately, stopping mid-sentence and turning around to find Heeseung looking at the empty corridor. "Heeseung?" She called out, placing her hand on his shoulder.
Her voice snapped him back to reality, "huh?" Ella tilted her head, confusion plastered on her face, "is something wrong?" Heeseung shook his head, clearing his throat a little too quickly. Ella smiled, tugging him back towards their original path, "come, I want to show you a spot, you'll love the view." Ella led him towards the terrace, pushing open the rusty door, "isn't this beautiful?" Heeseung's eyes trailed towards the city that split open in front of his eyes, hues of blue and yellow stretched along the sky. He leaned against the railings, eyes shifting towards Ella, who now stood beside him.
Wind tugged at her hair as she turned to look at him, a familiar reflex stirred in him before he shut it down and clenched his fists tight instead, tearing his eyes away from her. Ella sighed, a soft smile plastered on her face as she looked at the view. "Whenever I feel overwhelmed, I come here," she confessed, "this view somehow never fails to remind me why I chose to do this in the first place, isn't that beautiful?" He nodded, smiling, "yeah, it's beautiful."
She leaned against the railings, looking at the students scattered around the campus ground, "this university has given me so many opportunities. I wasn't even sure what I wanted when I first started. I really want to do something for the world, Heeseung. I don't want to just make money, I want the company to mean something, I want to give people hope. I feel like I finally found out what my purpose is after coming here, like I'm finally on my way to do something that matters." Heeseung turned his head to look at her, the determination in her eyes saying more than her words did.
"That's....really incredible Ella, I always knew you'd do great in life. It was about time you'd realize that yourself. I'm glad you found your path." Ella's eyes met his, the soft wind brushing past and in between them like a shy secret. "Thank you, Heeseung." She closed the distance, her head falling on his shoulder as her hands wrapped around his waist. Heeseung stiffened before he wrapped his hands around her shoulder. "No need to thank me," he mumbled, gently patting her back. Ella hummed, pulling back to look at him, "I'm sorry for not telling you soon about me leaving, I really couldn't bring myself to tell you about it."
Heeseung opened his mouth to say something but stopped when Ella asked him to, "but I'm so glad you came here, came to me. I waited for you at the airport till the last moment and when my flight boarded I thought I really lost you. I...you have no idea how much I blamed myself for ruining things between us. I'm so sorry." Heeseung exhaled, hands reaching up to wipe the tears that managed to escape her eyes, "shhh, it's all in the past now. But for what it's worth, I did come to see you off but I arrived late and I couldn't rest knowing I let you go without a proper goodbye so….here I am."
He pulled her close, his chin resting on her head, "I'm sorry too." Ella sighed as if a weight was lifted off her shoulders, "let's get back home?" Heeseung nodded, grabbing the books, "lead the way lady." Ella chuckled but led him out of the building nonetheless. And as both of them walked back towards her car, talking about what to do next, their hearts felt lighter than before and for now, that was enough.
*******
The smell of sautéed garlic and butter filled the kitchen as Ella and Heeseung worked together to prepare dinner. It was 7 PM, both of them barefoot, standing shoulder to shoulder, occasionally bumping into each other as they cooked. "Hee, you're cutting the slices way too thick!" Ella whined pointing towards the uneven tomato slices on the cutting board. Heeseung giggled before clearing his throat, "this was literally intentional, they taste better like this." Ella glanced at him, eyes full of suspicion before she shook her head, "you're just making things up."
Ella chuckled when a piece of tomato fell on Heeseung's foot, the stickiness making him groan as he rushed towards the trash bin to discard the slices and washed his foot. "You're still laughing," Heeseung complained as Ella gathered dishes to place them on the table. She suppressed her laugh, urging him to join her on the table. Heeseung narrowed his eyes but sat down. The dinner was spent with Ella telling him more about her campus life while he listened, sharing his thoughts in between.
The sound of the doorbell broke the quiet atmosphere surrounding the two, Ella paused, her eyebrows creasing. She looked at Heeseung from where she was placing the washed dishes back on the shelves, “could you get that? I'll wash my hands.” Heeseung nodded, making his way towards the door. When he opened it, his demeanor light, a boy stood before him. Tall, dark hair, he looked around his age, holding a folder in one hand. The boy blinked in surprise, head tilting to scan Heeseung over.
“Um…who are you?” The said boy questioned, craning his head to check inside the apartment. Heeseung cleared his throat, taking a look inside the apartment to check if Ella was done. “I'm Heeseung, and you?” He turned back towards the boy, whose eyes widened. “Heeseung? Oh wow, I never thought I'd meet you,” he smiled as he extended his hand forward. Heeseung blinked but held his hand firmly. “I'm Kai, Ella's friend.”
Just then, Ella walked towards the two boys, her steps light as she stepped closer. “Kai?” She smiled, pulling the said boy into a warm hug. Heeseung watched the way Kai's hold tightened just slightly around her waist, how his eyes lingered longer on her face after he pulled away, not jealousy, just something he filed away without a name. Ella turned toward Heeseung, placing a hand on his shoulder as she introduced them to each other. “Come inside, why didn't you text me you were coming? We just had our dinner,” she exclaimed.
Kai placed the folder on the coffee table, making himself comfortable on her couch as if he belonged there. “Professor White told me you visited the uni when I dropped by,” he informed as he slid the folder towards her. “I asked him about next semester's projects and he sent me some research papers to study beforehand. I printed them out for you since you prefer it this way.” Ella's eyes widened in surprise as she opened the folder, “Kai…how would I survive here without you?”
Kai chuckled, shaking his head but Heeseung saw the way his eyes softened as he watched Ella scan the papers, a wide smile plastered on her face. Ella put the papers back inside the folder, sighing, “thank you, Kai.” He just smiled before his attention shifted towards Heeseung, “man, I have to tell you this,” he started, a mischievous smile gracing up on his face, “when I first met Ella here, she would never shut up about you. Heeseung this, Heeseung that, Hee cooks for me when I'm sick, Hee sings for me, Hee loves to play piano. I really wanted to meet you just because she praised you so much.” Heeseung smiled, but the praise landed oddly, not warm, not thrilling, just distant, like a story that no longer belonged to him.
Ella's cheeks heated up in embarrassment as she threw a pillow towards him, “stop you're embarrassing me!” Kai chuckled, dodging her attacks with ease. Heeseung leaned against the couch, amused by the sight in front of him. “Tell me more about it Kai,” Heeseung chuckled as he exchanged smiles with Kai while Ella sat in front of them in defeat. The rest of the evening was spent with Kai reminiscing about how his friendship with Ella started while Heeseung talked about his stay in London.
“Oh, I need to leave,” Kai said abruptly mid laugh as he checked the time, “I need to pick up Ronnie from the airport.” Ella's smile flattered a bit, pout forming on her face, “I thought you'd stay late, I had wine and everything.” Kai shook his head, ruffling her hair gently, a fond smile on his face. Heeseung saw the way Ella's eyes lingered on Kai just a second too long, the way her attention never wavered whenever Kai was talking, and he felt a tug at his heart, not possessive, just the quiet understanding that something had shifted. “It was nice meeting you, Heeseung,” Kai waved them off as he descended the stairs before Ella closed the door.
*******
“Are you still up for a drink or changed your mind now that he's gone?” Heeseung chuckled as he made his way towards the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine despite his previous words. He turned to look at Ella who stood leaning against the kitchen counter with a deadpan look, “very funny.” Heeseung shook his head as he slid the glass towards her, the corner of his lips curled up, “come on, let's watch a movie while we are at it.” Ella followed him wordlessly, sitting on the other end of the couch as she watched Heeseung scroll through different options.
“I don't know what I want to watch,” Heeseung mumbled as he slumped against the couch, eyes never leaving the screen. “That's new,” Ella turned her head to look at him, “between us, you were always the one who knew exactly what you wanted.” Heeseung chuckled, taking a sip from his glass, “guess we grew up differently.” Heeseung shrugged, his voice light. He didn't let Ella answer, instead he clicked on an old movie they used to like.
The opening credits rolled but Ella didn't look at the screen, she waited for Heeseung to say something, anything but when he didn't she finally turned her head to look at the screen. “Oh you still remember this?” She questioned sipping her wine while taking a quick glance in his direction. Heeseung sighed, shifting in his seat, “I remember everything, I guess sometimes things just stick around longer.” The movie played along, voices, laughter, a scene which both of them used to quote line by line filled the silence between them.
The wine bottle now sat empty, glasses disregarded. Heeseung leaned his head against the couch, vision blurring as the wine settled inside his veins. He gulped, blinking a couple of times, “do you ever miss it?” Ella mimicked his position, “miss what?” Heeseung sighed, turning his head to look at Ella, “the life you had before moving here.” She didn't speak anything for a quiet while, thinking back to all the memories that led her here, “you want me to be completely honest?” She then looked at Heeseung, who slowly nodded his head, his doe eyes focused solely on her.
“I don't miss the life I had back in the city, what I do miss is the time I spent with the guys, especially you.” She smiled, eyes falling on her hands instead, “I've waited years just to be sure about something in my life, Hee. And I've finally realized this is where I always wanted to be, this is where I belong.” Heeseung swallowed the lump formed in his throat before speaking, “I was in love with you for a long time.” Ella felt her heart stop for a second before she managed to look right into his eyes. She tried to find any sign of him joking, but the way he was staring right into her eyes told a different story.
She sighed, biting her lips before one of her hands reached out to lace her fingers through his, “and I loved you.” She felt him tighten his hold, “you were the reason I needed to come back, but I realized we live in two different realities now. I can't abandon the company, and I won't let you leave behind your life just so you could be by my side. It's not fair for both of us, and we deserve to see what we can become without either of us holding us back.”
Heeseung turned his body to face hers, shifting closer, “you were too sure to think I'd abandon everything for you.” Ella looked at him, frowning, “wouldn't you?” Heeseung let out a bitter laugh, “I would.” Ella smiled, though her eyes welled up, “you're an idiot. London isn't just a place where my family is, it's a place where my dream is finally growing into reality little by little.” Heeseung hummed, nodding his head in understanding, “right, you've always wanted this.”
“I did,” Ella smiled, “and you've always been someone who understood me way before anyone else did. But I can't be the girl who stayed for love when I've dedicated my life somewhere else.” She put her head on his shoulder, “if I stayed, I'd start resenting you. And if you followed me here, you'd start resenting me too.” She felt him run his hand through her hair, just like he always did, “you and I, we loved each other when everything was simple. Maybe we were never meant to end up together, maybe we were just meant to meet so we'd know what love could feel like.”
Heeseung pulled back, reaching up to cradle her face in his hands and wiped the tears that escaped her eyes. “I guess you can say that, but I'm happy that you have Kai here.” Ella frowned, “what?” Heeseung raised his eyebrows at her, “don't try to lie to me now, you look at him a certain way.” Ella removed his hands from her face, “no, I don't.” He shrugged, “yes you do. You're just in denial.” Ella rolled her eyes, wiping her face, “you're imagining things.”
“I'll be leaving tomorrow,” Heeseung informed softly, his thumb tracing small circles against her hand, “you'll be starting a new semester soon, and I need to go back to mine.” He then looked into her eyes, “I'm glad I came here, glad that we talked. Maybe there was a reason I couldn't say it back then.” He smiled at her, “you'll always matter to me, Ella. No matter the distance, I'll always care for you.” Ella smiled back, squeezing his hand before she reached forward to wrap her hands around him, “I'll always care for you too, Hee.”
Heeseung circled his hands around her waist, sighing into her shoulder. He could feel the disappointment running deep within his veins but he also understood Ella's perspective. He was surprised that it didn't hurt the way he expected, it was almost as if the ache had already moved somewhere else without him realizing. Maybe he had accepted that things won't work out in his heart before his mind realized. He felt like a huge burden was lifted off his shoulders now that he confessed and learned how Ella felt towards him. Even though he once thought he'd grow old with Ella, he was fine even if his future didn't include her in a way he initially wanted to.
*******
“The airport is louder than it needs to be,” Ella grumbled as she walked beside Heeseung. He hummed in response, eyes trained forward. Inside the airport, the announcements echoed overhead. Wheels scratching against the floor, loud chattering of people, children crying somewhere, it was indeed chaotic. He sighed before stopping, “maybe the noise makes it easier, it becomes harder to hear yourself think.” Ella looked at him, at the bags in his hand, at the passport and a ticket clutched in his other. She smiled, nodding her head, “make sure to text me when you land.”
Heeseung smiled at her, “I will. Take care of yourself.” Ella nodded, eyes falling towards the gate for a brief moment before she gathered up the courage to step closer and wrap her arms around his waist, “I am really glad you came.” Heeseung wrapped his arms around her shoulders, it wasn't tight. Just warm and familiar. They pulled apart slowly, “I hope you'll take care of yourself too, Hee.”
Heeseung nodded, stepping towards the terminal, still facing Ella before he waved at her and turned around. That was it. He didn't look back immediately. When he finally did, Ella was still standing there, smiling. They exchanged a small wave before Heeseung turned around and disappeared behind the crowd.
Once passed through the security check, Heeseung walked slowly past duty-free shops and glossy displays of perfumes and souvenirs. He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder when something familiar caught his eye. His steps slowed and before he realized he'd already turned towards the small convenience store near the end. His hand reached out towards the candies placed in a clear plastic bin near the register.
The candy, the same one you used to press into his palm every time you met. For a moment, the continuous buzzing inside his head stopped. London blurring into the background and suddenly he could almost see your teasing smile. The corners of his mouth curved before he could stop it.
He grabbed one stack of candy before making his payment then slipped it right inside his jacket pocket. Close. Once inside the flight, he leaned his head on the window, sighing. The flight took off and he watched the city grow smaller and smaller. His thoughts drifted off to the days with Ella in the city, the way she spoke about her dreams, the way she confessed about her feelings.
He wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting when he followed her to London, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised with the way he handled the situation himself. He had come to London believing there was something unfinished which needed to end. But somewhere along campus tour and late night talks, his mind kept wandering.
Heeseung knew something felt different, maybe it had for a while and he was just now catching up on it. The plane climbed higher, the ground disappeared through the blanket of clouds. He closed his eyes, the flight was still long. He felt lighter, the ache he'd expected never came. Maybe some things were meant to end gently. His hand curled around the candy in his pocket as he drifted off to sleep.
*******
“Heeseung?”
His name slipped past your lips before your mind could get a hold of the sight in front of you. Heeseung stood at the other side of the door, a suitcase resting beside him while another bag slung lazily from his shoulder. His hair was messy, like he had run his fingers through them countless times. He looked tired but alert at the same time. His eyebrows furrowed, head tilting to a side “you?” His voice came out a lot softer than he intended.
It was clear that he hadn't expected to see you here, and you definitely weren't expecting to stand face to face with him when you woke up in the morning. But here you are. For some time, neither of you moved and you watched the way his eyes trailed down from your face to your body. He opened his mouth, but then decided to close because he couldn't form a single thought. You could see millions of thoughts running through his head in real time and you were sure coming face to face with you wasn't even the last thing he was expecting.
“What's taking you so long?” You heard Jake yell out from the kitchen, breaking the moment. You cleared your throat before moving aside and opening the door further for him. Heeseung entered the apartment, placing his luggage aside. You clicked the door shut behind you as you walked towards the kitchen, “Jake's in the kitchen.” Just as Heeseung removed his shoes, Jake's surprised gasp filled the air. “Oh my god, why didn't you tell me you were coming back today?” He exclaimed as he tackled Heeseung in a bone crushing hug.
Heeseung hugged him back, a soft laugh escaping his mouth, “well, the semester's gonna start soon, I wasn't going to stay there forever.” Jake pulled back, a wide grin plastered on his face before his eyes landed on you, standing awkwardly in one corner then back at Heeseung. “I was just about to tell her how I made an extra portion by mistake but it looks like my heart knew you were going to come today. Let's have some breakfast?” Jake asked as he entered the kitchen.
“Thanks Jake, I'll take a quick shower and join you two,” Heeseung informed as he gave you a short nod and made his way towards Jake's bedroom. As soon as he was out of sight, you let out a long breath, placing a hand on your heart to calm down a bit. You made your way inside the kitchen and Jake was already looking at you with a smirk on his face as if he was waiting for you to show up any minute.
“You look like you saw a ghost,” he chuckled and leaned against the kitchen counter. You glared at him before standing next to him, “well I did not expect to see Heeseung when I opened the door.” Jake hummed, crossing his arms, “and he didn't expect you either.” You nodded, eyes focused on the hallway anticipating Heeseung's presence. You helped Jake with the plating, stiffening every time you heard a noise. It was clear you were nervous so Jake gently took the spatula from your hand and pushed you towards the chair, “chill out a bit, it's just Heeseung.”
You opened your mouth to say something but then stopped when you saw Heeseung make his way towards the kitchen island and sat on the chair opposite of you. “You stayed here?” He asked, and when you lifted your head you realized he was talking to you. Nodding your head, you sat a bit straighter, “we had movie night yesterday with others, I fell asleep in the middle of it and Jake offered me to stay.” Heeseung hummed, taking a bite from his pancake.
He didn’t respond verbally but you caught the brief flicker of something thoughtful in his eyes. “I reheated it,” Jake informed as he slid the coffee mug towards you and then pushed a glass of juice towards Heeseung, “and here's your juice.” Most of the breakfast was filled with silence except for Jake occasionally saying a thing or two. You put the dishes in the sink and offered to wash but Jake denied. You went inside the guest room to get changed while Jake washed the dishes, you didn't know what exactly you were expecting to happen once Heeseung returned but everything felt too awkward right now.
Once you were done, you walked towards Jake and Heeseung who were now perched up on the couch. You rubbed your hands on your pants before clearing your throat, “umm guys, I think I should head back home now.” Jake sat up straight upon hearing your voice, “you're going already?” You nodded before taking out the car keys from your pocket and extended your hand towards Heeseung, “I brought your car here last night, I figured you'll need it back now.”
Heeseung looked at you but before he could speak Jake cut him off, “oh right, do you want me to drop you home?” Heeseung stood up from his seat and made his way towards you before enclosing your fingers around the keys, his large hand warm against yours. Your breath hitched at the contact, “take the car, I'll drop by your apartment later tonight to get it back.” Your eyes drifted from Heeseung to Jake's before settling on the keys in your hand. You sighed, looking at Heeseung, “are you sure?” He nodded firmly before taking two steps back, giving you space.
Jake shrugged, a grin threatening to appear on his face, he bit his lips instead, “let me walk you out.” You nodded and both of you made your way out of his apartment. You could feel Heeseung's gaze linger on you as you slipped on your shoes. “Text me when you reach home,” Jake said and you nodded before you glanced back just once. Heeseung stood near the doorway, leaning against the wall, your eyes met for a brief second before the door closed. Jake turned towards Heeseung, “man, why did you go m.i.a on all of us?”
Heeseung shrugged going back inside the living room. Jake sat beside him, both of their heads leaning against the backrest. “I didn't do it on purpose.” Jake hummed, turning his head to look at his friend before sighing, “rest up properly, bet you're exhausted after the flight. Did you call the service to clean up your apartment or do you want me to call them up?” Heeseung closed his eyes, brows furrowed together, “I did call them, that's the reason I came here first, I just want to rest till they do their work.”
Jake nodded before getting up from the couch, “okay then, go sleep on the bed at least. I'll take a shower then inform Jay and Sunghoon that you're back.” Heeseung nodded, patting Jake on his shoulder before he made his way towards the guest room. His face planted on the bed, and the smell of your detergent filled his senses. His thoughts drifted back towards the moment he saw you in Jake's apartment, wearing Jake's clothes and he prepared breakfast for you and a quiet question slipped past his lips before he could stop it, “since when were you this close with Jake?”
*******
You were pacing back and forth in your bedroom for the past 10 minutes. It had been exactly 10 minutes since Heeseung texted you that he was on his way to your apartment. The knock on your door came a little after the 15 minute mark, and your heart immediately picked up the pace. You took a few deep breaths, taking a look at yourself in the mirror. You were wearing an oversized sweatshirt and pants, hair let loose. You tucked your hair behind your ear before making your way towards the door.
When you opened it, Heeseung stood before you, a soft smile on his face. He looked less tired as compared to morning, but his shoulders still carried the same heaviness. “Hey,” he greeted softly and you smiled, “Hi, you wanna come in?” Your voice came out a lot quieter as you opened the door further for him. Heeseung looked at you for a second before shaking his head. Your smile dropped, thinking you made a mistake. You reached out and took his car keys off the hanger, “oh, okay, here are your car keys.”
His eyes trailed from your face to your extended hand before he reached out and took his keys, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. “Thanks,” he smiled before he glanced past you into the apartment, “were you busy?” You shook your head, shifting your weight from one leg to another. He tossed his keys in the air once before his eyes met yours again, “wanna go out for a bit then?” You blinked, caught off guard by his question, “what?” Heeseung just shrugged, “just a little drive if you won't mind.” You stared at him, there were so many questions in your head but the most prominent one was ‘why?’ but then, it was Heeseung, so you found yourself nodding slowly.
You didn't ask him where he was taking you as you sat silently on the passenger seat, looking at the streetlights that blurred past the window as the car moved through the city. You were fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt and Heeseung was slumped against the driver seat, steering the wheel lazily with one hand. “You took care of my baby well,” Heeseung noted as he looked at you. You jumped slightly at his voice, not expecting him to initiate the talk. “Well you left it at my care, didn't want to disappoint you,” from the periphery of your eyes, you could see him smiling softly and it was enough to ease your nerves a bit.
The city eventually faded behind you and he pulled the car into a quiet parking lot near the riverfront. You got out, taking in the beautiful sight in front of you. “Oh the riverfront!” You grinned, turning to look at Heeseung who made his way towards you. “Didn't think you'd know this place,” he spoke as both of you made your way towards the railings. “I didn't,” you agreed looking at the water that stretched out in front of you, “Jake took me here once, said something about this being the group's hangout spot after classes. It's more beautiful at night though.”
Heeseung blinked, leaning his weight against the railings, “Jake brought you here?” You hummed taking a quick glance at him before fixing your eyes on the cityline in front of you. Hearing him sigh, your shoulder tensed and then you heard his voice a little closer than before, “you're being so awkward around me now.” You turned your body in his direction, eyes blown wide like a deer caught in light, “no, I'm not.” He shook his head at your denial, “you haven't even looked at me directly ever since I arrived.”
You opened your mouth to deny his claims yet again, but the way he was looking at you, the certainty in his eyes stopped you. Sighing, you looked down at your feet, “I guess you can say it's a little bit awkward, it has been a while since I last talked to you, and then you suddenly came back. I guess it's taking me a while to realize that you're really here.” You looked up when you didn't hear anything from him, thinking you over-shared and crossed the line. As soon as your eyes met his, he took a step closer, standing just a couple feet away, “stop tiring your brain, there's no need to be awkward, it's just me.”
‘It's just Heeseung.’ Jake's words rang in your ear right after Heeseung said the same exact words. You relaxed a bit, smiling at him, “it's just you.” He hummed, turning his head to look at the river, “You wanna sit down for a bit?” He questioned but he was already making his way towards the benches before you could answer. You followed him, resting against the back of the bench with your legs crossed. You both stayed quiet for a while after that and you contemplated if it was too soon to ask him about what happened in London but then decided otherwise.
When your eyes found him again, he was looking towards the night sky, he looked peaceful. You tried to analyze his body language like it was one of your experiments. You had spent all the time avoiding any news of him and Ella but now that he sat right next to you, so close that he could hear your voice even if you whispered his name, your curiosity was getting the best of you. You hesitated for a moment but then you spoke, “so…” Heeseung's eyebrow twitched at the sound of your voice, head turning slightly to look you in the eyes.
“How was London?” At your question, a faint smile appeared on his face and he turned his body so that both of you were facing each other. Your heart skipped a beat, at the proximity? In anticipation of his answer? You didn't know, but there was no time to think about that. He sighed, looking down at his hands, “it was good. I met her parents, her friends, we visited the campus, the cafe she always goes to, it was good.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his answer, “good? That's it?” He hummed, looking towards the riverfront.
“What about…you know? Did you tell her?” You shifted in your place. “Yeah, I did,” he confirmed. Even though you knew he would answer that, your heart still dropped at his words and your mind went completely blank. You nodded, avoiding any sort of eye contact with him because you felt overwhelmed. “How did she react?” You mumbled, the reflections of citylights dancing in your eyes. “She said she loved me,” he informed and you turned your head to look at him so abruptly that you almost gave yourself a whiplash.
“She did?” You felt so numbed you weren't even sure what sort of emotions your face displayed. Of course she did, you saw it in her eyes when she was looking at the picture of her and Heeseung on her desk, when she cried in front of you after her fight with Heeseung. “Oh,” you exclaimed, swallowing the lump that was forming in your throat. You smiled, mustering up the courage to finally look at him, and he was already looking at you.
“So…you guys are…together now?” Asking that question felt like one final stab to your heart after which you'd be forced to move on from a love which wasn't even yours to begin with. He shook his head, “no we aren't together.” You sat up straight, confusion plastered on your face, “no? But didn't you just say-” He cleared his throat, “I know what I said.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking towards the river again, “when I first saw her, it felt like maybe nothing had changed after all.” His voice grew softer.
“She walked me around the city, we talked a lot, about old things, old memories. She seemed more like her old self back there and for a moment I thought maybe we were finally picking up where we left off.” Your chest tightened, “then what?” He let out a slow breath, “then she showed me her life.” You frowned, “what do you mean?” His fingers tapped against the bench, “she belongs there.” He said it so simply, then continued, “I could see it in everything, her work, her friends, the way she talked about her future. She's building something there, something important to her.”
You nodded slowly, “that does sound like her.” He smiled faintly, “right, she said we loved each other when things were simple, but life isn't so simple anymore.” Your gaze dropped down to your lap when you figured out where the conversation was heading and before he could say anything further you spoke, “like how she didn't want you to give up your life here for her?” Heeseung glanced at you, “that's exactly what she said.” You let out a quiet breath as you looked at him, “did you wish for things to be different?” Heeseung shook his head, “no, I think things are exactly how they are supposed to be.” His voice was calm as he said that, too calm. That's what made your chest ache.
“Are you hurt?” He paused for a second, thinking about your question, “not the way I thought it would to be honest.” You shifted a bit closer, “what do you mean?” His eyes fell upon the little distance between the two of you, “I thought I'd feel…devastated. But I didn't.” Your eyes softened, “what did you feel then?” He exhaled a long breath before answering, “closure.” You blinked, “closure?” He nodded, “for years I kept wondering about all the what ifs, but now I finally know what she felt for me. I know now that even if I would've confessed back then, it still wouldn't have worked out.”
You stayed quiet and stared at him even after he stopped talking and suddenly you felt your vision blur. You looked away quickly, trying hard to suppress the overwhelming wave of emotions that crashed on you all at once. “Hey?” Heeseung noticed it immediately, “look at me.” You couldn't. Your lips trembled and you bit them to stop yourself from breaking down in front of him. But then he reached forward and tilted your head towards him, your voice came out shaky. “I'm so sorry.” Heeseung frowned, “sorry for what?” You looked down, “maybe I shouldn't have urged you to follow her. I thought it would help you.”
“It did,” he exclaimed softly, “you did help me.” You look up at him, eyes full of tears, “did I?” He studied your face carefully, “you know, because you urged me to follow her, I realized that I needed to hear it.” You sniffed slightly, “hear what?” He sighed, removing his hand from your face to hold your hand instead, “that our story was over.” A tear finally slipped down your cheek and before you could control, more tears followed. “Sorry,” you wiped them away quickly.
Heeseung watched you for a moment, his voice barely audible over your sniffles, “why are you crying?” You shrugged, avoiding looking into his eyes, “I don't know, maybe because you sound so okay about it.” Heeseung let out a shaky laugh, “is that a bad thing?” You shook your head, “no, it just made me realize how much you loved her, and how hard must all of this have been for you. The loneliness you must've felt when she moved to London, the hope you got when she came back. It made me remember how hard you wanted to fight for her, of all the times we spent with each other's planning dates. It must've been so hard for you, I'm so sorry.”
You were sobbing now, and you let your tears flow instead of wiping them. You weren't even sure what you were rambling about anymore, you just felt bad for him, your heart ached for him. Heeseung couldn't bring himself to say anything. He watched you for a moment before his hand reached out to guide your head on his shoulder. That made me cry even more, clutching his shirt tight as you felt him rub soothing circles on your back.
“You are so lame,” Heeseung murmured in your hair, “shouldn't this be the other way around angel?” But there was no bite in his words. He kissed your temple and held you till your cries subsidized and he was sure your breathing was normal. You pulled back, eyes all red, nose runny. You looked at him, “I am sorry I ruined your shirt.” Heeseung looked down at the obvious wet patch and laughed, shaking his head, “it's okay.” He lifted his hand, gently tucking your hair behind your ears to take a good look at your face before placing a chaste kiss on your forehead, “don't worry about me too much.”
*******
The first day of semester always carried a strange kind of energy for you. The campus felt more loud, probably because people met their friends after so long. The excitement, the chatter, the laughs. You always felt like an outsider but you were okay with it. You never minded it. That was until you got the taste of belonging through Ella. Now, in her absence, the campus felt lonelier, more bigger. Like people hanging out with their friends were mocking at you for not having someone to go to your classes with. You felt pathetic, but you had to ride through.
You heard someone call your name from behind, making you stop in your tracks. Reene came rushing towards you, looking like she was out for a magazine photoshoot instead. You smiled as she hugged you. “It's the first day of our new semester, Mia doesn't have class early in the morning so she'll join us later. How are you feeling?” Her voice was a bit shaky as she spoke. You both started walking towards the main building, “well I am excited but I am still trying to not miss Ella much.” You peered at her when she didn't speak anything.
“I get that, I too don't have any friends in my classes. I don't mind though, they used to hate me anyway. But now I have Mia and the boys, so I don't feel so lonely now. Even though we won't be able to replace Ella, I just want you to know that you still have us here. Make sure you join us for lunch okay?” You smiled at her words, feeling weirdly emotional but you knew Reene would pull your leg later so you controlled your feelings. “I know Reene, I'll join you guys for lunch. Thank you for being here.”
You bid her goodbye when it was time for you to go in different directions, “take care okay?” She gave you a hug before she turned around. You smiled to yourself and started walking towards your class when you noticed everyone looking at you. The smile immediately dropped from your face when it dawned upon you that everyone wasn't just looking at Reene but they were analysing you. Hana, one of your classmates, made her way towards you with your other classmate Sumin trailing right behind her.
“You're friends with Reene?” She questioned as all three of you walked towards your class. You frowned, “well I hung out with her all throughout last semester.” You reminded them. Sumin hummed, “yeah but we never saw you hanging out one on one. We thought they hung out with you because you were close with Ella.” You weren't sure if she was making a jab at you but when you glanced at her she looked genuinely curious so you just sighed. “Well yeah, I hung out with them because I was close with Ella, it's just that they became my friends too in the process.”
“They? You're close with all of them? Wow, Sumin, we should've made more effort in befriending Ella, could've had a chance with Jake at least.” You laughed and shook your head as both the girls kept on bickering with each other while creating scenarios in their head. “Lucky you,” Sumin mumbled before getting inside the classroom. You were about to follow her when your phone buzzed in your pocket and Ella's name popped up on your screen.
You smiled as you answered her call. “I miss you,” was the first thing you heard from her. You laughed softly, walking towards a corner, “I miss you too.” You heard her sigh, “I am happy to be back home but the classes don't feel the same anymore. I wish we could still be classmates while also not changing our universities.” You laughed at her whiny tone, “that's literally not possible, Ella. But I do agree, classes won't feel the same without you.”
“I know it's your first day today so I wanted to wish you the best just like you did. I almost cried in the middle of campus that time when you called.” You smiled softly at her words, “yeah? I hope you're taking care of yourself, don't overwork.” She hummed in response, “how are the girls and guys?” You hummed, “they're doing fine. They all miss you.” She sighed, “I miss them too…what about Heeseung?” Your chest tightened unexpectedly at the mention of his name.
“I think he's doing okay,” you said, looking towards the hallway as if he might suddenly walk in your direction. “that's good,” you heard her mumble. “How are you? Are you feeling okay?” You questioned, looking down at your feet. “Yeah, a bit busy but happy.” You smiled at words, she sounded more like Ella now. “I still miss you though, I should probably face-time you all next weekend.” Your chest warmed at her words, “I miss you too.” You looked at the time, the class would start anytime now, “El, I think I need to go now, I'll call you later.” She agreed, “yes yes, tell the guys I said hi. Make sure you don't forget about me.” You laughed, hanging up the phone. You couldn't forget about her even if you tried.
You slide in your usual seat, the chair beside you now occupied by someone else. For months Ella sat beside you so it felt a bit awkward sharing the same space with someone else. You let out a quiet breath, focusing towards the professor who was now giving you a briefing about your syllabus. Your eyes drifted towards the person sitting beside you again, then towards the door where you talked with Ella earlier on the call. She was oceans apart from you but somehow the bond you shared remained exactly how it was. Your friendship may have stretched across distance but it didn't necessarily abandon you.
*******
Students were scattered all throughout the campus ground. The breeze carried the scent of food, faint music playing from someone's speaker. You walked down the stairs, towards the courtyard. Mia had texted you where to find her earlier. You're halfway across the courtyard when you hear someone yell your name. You looked up to see Jake waving at you, “there you are! Come join us.” A few students stopped their conversation and looked at you, it made you feel uneasy. You weren't used to people giving you attention so you hurriedly made your way towards them.
Jay and Sunghoon were sitting together, probably discussing their next performance. Mia and Reene sat together, waving at you. Adjacent to them was Jake, leaning back as he sipped his Americano. Beside him sat Heeseung, he gave you a nod before focusing his attention back on the phone. You sat beside him, “what are you watching?” You leaned towards him to get a good look, his shoulder brushing against your arm. He titled the screen when he noticed you staring. It was a video of the rest of Hyphenix performing a gig, the one you attended with the girls. The one where he wasn't present.
“Oh,” was all you could let out. He watched the video intently, the corners of his mouth lifting a bit when the boys interacted with the crowd. It was recorded by Mia you remembered, a soft smile etching up on your face at the memories. “You guys didn't tell me it was this packed,” Heeseung noted, his voice light but you could tell he wanted to say something else. “The music festival happened during semester break, no wonder the crowd was wild.” It was Jay who said that, his voice casual, he didn't even look up while saying it.
The video ended shortly after that. Then Heeseung's thumb swiped across the screen to watch the next video. And suddenly, your voice burst out of the phone's speaker. Your shoulders tensed, eyes widening at the realization. “Is that Jake's phone?” You shrieked, looking at the phone in horror, “oh no no no.” The video showed you running across the dog park, your hair flying everywhere as you chased after the beagle. Behind the camera, Jake's laughter echoed as he yelled, “RUN FASTER.” All the memories of that day came crashing down at you all at once and you felt your face getting hot.
Jake looked at you wide-eyed before he burst out laughing beside Heeseung, “oh my god, I forgot about that video.” You snatched the phone from Heeseung's hand and locked it, “this is so embarrassing.” You buried your head in your hand. Jay, Sunghoon, Mia and Reene just stared at you in confusion and Heeseung was just too stunned to speak. For a moment everyone just looked between you and Jake before Heeseung laughed softly.
You looked up feeling dreadful, great, now even he was laughing at you. “I didn't know you could run that fast,” he smirked trying to suppress his laughter. You pouted, shoulder slumping, “don't laugh at me.” Reene stood up and took Jake's phone from your hand, unlocking the screen and letting others watch the video. At least Mia, Jay and Sunghoon had decency to suppress their laughter. Reene just doubled down beside Jake.
“Poor you, I'm sorry for laughing.” She didn't look sorry at all. “You weren't even there,” you mumbled but she caught on. “Yeah, I wish I was there.” You glared at her, then your eyes fell upon the main culprit who was sitting beside Heeseung. “You,” you pointed your finger at him, “this is all your fault, I told you to delete that video.” Jake raised his hands up in mock surrender, “I never thought Heeseung would swipe on it.” You crossed your arms across your chest, “still your fault.”
Jake opened his mouth to defend himself when Reene cut him off, she made her way to sit beside you, unintentionally pushing you closer to Heeseung. She draped her hand on your shoulders, “it's okay babe, I'll show you plenty of our embarrassing videos to make you feel better.” Jake snickered but didn't oppose her idea. Heeseung watched the whole exchange quietly. Something warm flickering in his chest as he observed the way you interacted with his friends.
The teasing, the comfort, the easy laughter. He wasn't there when your friendship with others grew. But somehow it happened anyway. He looked between you and Jake who now stood in front of you, and as you bickered with Jake, a thought slipped into his mind. That you and Jake have gotten close. He didn't entertain that thought for long, just gave your shoulder a nudge with his own. You turned your head towards him. “Relax, don't fight with him. I have plenty of videos of Jake, which I am sure he doesn't want you to see.”
Your face lit up at his words and he mirrored back your expressions while Jake just groaned. “You are supposed to be on my side,” Jake whined as others laughed at the whole ordeal. Heeseung shrugged, “my bad, should've been more careful with that video of hers.” Jake pouted, pointing a finger at Heeseung, “can't believe you are betraying me like that for her.” You stick your tongue out at Jake, before smiling at Heeseung. He just shook his head, leaning back as everyone went back to what they were doing.
*******
“What are you doing here? Go sit with Heeseung or something,” Jake whispered as he poured the drink into the glasses. You gave him a quick look while placing the glasses on a tray. It was Mia's birthday, Jay took her for a date while the rest of you decided to decorate Jay's house to give her a surprise. Sunghoon and Reene were working together on the decorations while Heeseung blew up the balloons. You should've stayed and helped him but you were following Jake inside the kitchen like a lost puppy.
“Don't ignore me now,” Jake whispered after glancing towards the hallway then at his phone. Your phone buzzed, a message from Jay informing they are on their way back. “I am not ignoring you, what do you want me to say to him?” You whispered back, putting on more ice. Jake pressed his lips together, hands on his hips. He walked closer, squinting his eyes at you, “say anything, running away from him isn't going to help your case. You don't have anything to say to me too, yet we are talking aren't we?”
You hated that he had a point, but you felt too shy to even talk with Heeseung properly. “Don't act smart right now,” you mumbled looking up at him. Just then you heard an awkward cough. Turning your head, you noticed Heeseung standing in the doorway, his eyes dancing between you and Jake. It was only then you realized how close you and Jake were standing. You scrambled back, smiling awkwardly at Heeseung while Jake just shook his head.
“Did I disturb you two?” Heeseung asked, his tone light but his eyes were laser sharp as he walked towards you. “No you didn't,” Jake answered as he arranged the glasses, “she's just disturbing me.” You glared at Jake, “I was not, I was trying to help you.” Jake gave you a tight smile. You took the candles and started placing them on the cake. “Are you done with the decorations and balloons?” You asked Heeseung, he hummed walking closer till his arms brushed against yours.
“Let me help you with this,” he took the remaining candles from your hand, arranging them neatly. Jake noticed the exchange, a small smirk adorning his face, “me, Hoon and Reene will handle everything, you two stay here and come out with cake when I signal you okay?” After that Jake was gone, not before wiggling his eyebrows at you though. Heeseung just nodded, not really paying attention to what Jake said.
Now it was just you two in the kitchen. You focused your attention on the jars of spices, anything but him. “He can be handful sometimes,” Heeseung suddenly said. You looked at him, “yeah I guess.” He leaned against the counter, eyes trained on you, “but you know how to deal with him.” That comment made you smile, “I can't handle him, I just tolerate him.” He laughed softly, shaking his head. You laughed along with him, your shoulders relaxing.
“Thank you for being there for him,” Heeseung muttered, his voice low. You could see the way his eyes softened after that, like he was genuinely glad his friend wasn't as lonely. You shrugged, “well you told me to look after him, didn't want to disappoint you.” He raised his eyebrows, and stood up straight, inching closer. Your head naturally titled up, “Heeseung?” His hand reached up to tuck your hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your ear before they settled at the base of your neck. You gulped, heart beating abnormally faster as he whispered, “it was bugging me so I fixed it.”
“Um,” you looked down, breaking eye contact. His hand felt warm against your skin, so warm that when he moved his hand to hook his finger on your chin to make you look up at him, you almost whimpered. Almost. “You were saying something angel?” That damn nickname. You forced yourself not to overthink about it when he called you Angel at the riverfront. But now, standing in the kitchen, so close that you could feel his breath fan against your hair, you weren't so sure anymore.
He leaned closer, about to say something when Jake called out your names to bring the cake. The moment snapped you out of the trance. As you scrambled to get the cake, you saw Heeseung sighing and running his fingers through his hair. He looked at you for a brief second before taking the cake from your hand. “Let's not keep them waiting,” he whispered playfully before walking out of the kitchen. You stood at the same spot for a moment, catching your breath before following him out.
*******
The music room felt more alive, the warmth of amplifiers that have been running for hours was a subtle reminder of it. Jay sat on a stool, his guitar resting on his thighs. He strummed a few chords which echoed throughout the room, gaining the attention of three other boys adjusting their own instruments. Jay looked up, “the Student Union should've notified about the Annual Sports Week way before than they did. Now all of the students are panicking about the whole thing.”
Sunghoon hummed, “right? Normally the flyers go out a month ago so everyone has time to prepare, not this time around though. Plus they told us our performance would be on the 1st day. First! That's like a week from now on!” Jake shook his head, leaning against the wall for support, “I heard the Student Union President was caught threatening newer members of the union who did not agree with him. A few of them came forward and filed a complaint. I guess they have a lot in their hands right now.”
Sunghoon and Jay's eyes widened at the news. Sunghoon turned to look at Heeseung, who was looking at the door, completely distracted with the ongoing conversation, “are you even listening?” Sunghoon called out, Heeseung turned to look at him only to find the other two boys also looking at him. His eyebrows furrowed, “what? I did hear about the Student Union thing, I believe he is being removed from his position too.”
“Yeah, right.” Jay shook his head, “we don't really have much time to rehearse now, so let's not get too distracted.” Jay raised his eyebrows at Heeseung as he said the last sentence, making Sunghoon and Jake laugh. Heeseung scoffed, adjusting his mic, “I'm not distracted.” Jake grinned, leaning forward, “you are, you've been staring at the door forever.” Heeseung sat up straight, ready to defend himself when Sunghoon cut him off. “Okay everyone, get serious.”
Everyone got back in their positions, the practice started again and thankfully this time it was better than the last practice run they had. Jay nodded his head as the song ended, “okay, it's working out well, I just think towards the end, when Jake is drumming, Heeseung can add a few adlibs so it doesn't sound too empty, what do you think Heeseung?” Jay looked up when he didn't hear an answer to find Heeseung looking towards the door again.
Sighing, he placed his guitar aside and exchanged looks with his other friends who were seemingly enjoying Heeseung's distraction a little bit too much. “He is staring at the door again,” Jake teased, his voice loud enough for Heeseung to look at him. Sunghoon looked at the time on the clock, it was past 5 PM, “oh, didn't a certain someone say she'll stop by around four?” Sunghoon smirked looking at Heeseung.
You had to skip eating lunch with them today because you had a practical, a long one at that. You told the boys you'll stop by to meet them after your practicals ended before going home. It was way past 4 PM now, and though it might have been common knowledge that maybe your practice did run late, it didn't stop Heeseung from anticipating your presence. Heeseung sighed, running his hand through his hair. “She said she might come.”
Jake shrugged, “might come. That's the keyword. Her experiments usually run late, she did say this one was long too.” Heeseung nodded thoughtfully, but his eyes flickered towards the door again. Jay noticed and laughed under his breath, “man you aren't even subtle.” Heeseung gave him a sharp look, “shut up.” Sunghoon let out a laugh but quickly suppressed it once he saw the look on Heeseung's face.
“Okay guys, let's rehearse a few more times then we are done. I think it's going to rain soon, it will be better if we head out as soon as possible.” Everyone nodded at Jay's words. They started again. Jay's guitar kicked off the melody followed by soft chords from Sunghoon's keyboard. Jake joined in smoothly. And Heeseung sang, his voice filling the room easily, strong and clear. The rehearsal went on for another hour. And by the end, the sun had completely gone down and dark clouds had painted the sky black.
Jake stretched his hands above his head, “I am starving.” Sunghoon had started unplugging his keyboard by now and Jay closed his guitar case. Heeseung slung his bag over his shoulder before anyone else could say anything, “I'm heading out now, see you tomorrow.” Just like that, he was out the door. Jake blinked, his eyes trained on the spot Heeseung previously occupied. “Wow,” Sunghoon laughed, “man's got his priorities straight this time it seems.” Jay shook his head with a grin.
*******
The lab was quiet as usual, a few of your classmates had bid you goodbye moments ago. The soft hum of the incubator filled the air, while the timer on your phone buzzed faintly. You turned it off, taking the slide and adjusting it on the mechanical stage after you had stained it for 10 minutes. You leaned closer to the microscope, noting your observations in your book. The experiment took more time than you expected. You quickly took pictures of your findings and washed the apparatus.
The clock on the wall indicated 6:30 PM and your stomach dropped as you grabbed your phone from the counter. “Oh no, I should've informed them earlier,” you mumbled to yourself as you saw a couple of texts in the group chat asking if you were even going to come. Your chest tightened slightly but before you could reply, you heard a soft knock on your lab's door. You looked up to find Heeseung standing in your doorway, hair slightly ruffled, breathing shallow. Your eyes widened.
“Heeseung?” You questioned, walking towards him. He blinked, “you're still in the lab?” Your steps halted as you looked at the apparatus you just washed, “I- yeah, the experiment kind of ran late. I am so sorry, I should've informed you earlier.” He stepped inside fully, eyes glancing at your things spread across the counter. “You're okay right?” His question somehow managed to make you more flustered than you already were, “yes, it's just bad timing I guess.” You quickly gathered your things and closed your bag.
“Don't hurry, take your time. I'll wait.” He pulled a stool closer, making himself comfortable as you started cleaning up after you. When you were done, you poked his shoulder, “you didn't have to wait, but thank you.” He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, “doesn't matter, I already came here didn't I?” There was something in the way he said it, so simple, like it was natural for him to wait up for you. It warmed your heart.
As soon as both of you made it out of your lab, you froze. Rain poured heavily outside, splashing its heavy drops onto the open hallway ahead of you. “Great,” you mumbled. You hadn't even noticed when it started. Heeseung chuckled softly beside you, placing his palm on your lower back to push you towards the main door of the university. Your breath hitched at his touch and you clutched the bag tighter as you walked.
“We're going to be drenched,” you complained as you reached the main door. The downpour showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. It was unexpected. “I don't think waiting around is a good idea, we need to leave.” You looked at the rain for a while before you turned your head towards Heeseung. “Your car is far from here,” you stated, a pout forming on your lips. Heeseung sighed, handing over his bag to you before taking off his jacket.
Before you could ask what he was doing, he stepped closer, draping his jacket over your head and took both of the bags from your hands. His leather jacket was big enough to cover your upper body. You blinked up at him as he adjusted the jacket. “This will keep the rain off your head at least,” he grinned at you. “You're going to get soaked.” He smiled at your words, looking at the sky, “I'll survive, angel. Are you ready?”
You looked at the rain, then towards his outstretched hand. “Not really, but I don't have any other option.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, pulling you with him as you both stepped out in the rain. Within seconds, the sound of rain filled everything. You held his hand tighter while trying to keep his jacket falling off your head with the other one. Your shoes splashed through the shallow puddles and you couldn't help but laugh at the situation.
“This is so ridiculous.” Heeseung laughed too, glancing your way while water dripped down his hair, “see we're almost there.” He unlocked the door quickly, opening the passenger door. You slid inside, breathless, still laughing. He got inside the driver's side not long after that. You both sat in silence for a while, catching your breath. He threw the bags on the backseat while you took off his jacket and kept it on your lap.
“That was….something,” you breathed out. The rain was still loudly drumming against the roof. You turned your head to look at him, the way water dripped down his head, hair pushed back. His shirt clinged on his body like a second skin, you gulped, tearing your eyes off him. “Hey, you good?” You heard him call you softly. You nodded, clutching his jacket tightly in your hand.
He reached forward as you turned to look at him. Your heart was hammering against the chest as he cupped your face with his one hand. “All good? You didn't hurt yourself while running did you?” His soft, worried gaze and gentle voice made your stomach flip. You subconsciously leaned towards his hand, seeking the warmth. His thumb rubbed soothing circles on your cheek. “I am fine,” you breathed out, “thanks for waiting, I don't know what I'd have done if you weren't there today.”
He smiled, his shoulders relaxing. He gave your cheek a few pats before starting the car, “no need to thank me, next time your experiment runs late, it doesn't matter if I've already reached home, just give me a call, I'll come and get you.” You nodded your head because you couldn't find words to say what you were feeling at the moment. Outside, the rain kept pouring as he drove off the campus but inside the car, you felt warm and welcomed.
*******
The campus was louder than usual. Colorful banners hung across the bleachers, fluttering softly with the breeze. Students were crowded near the temporary stage set up near the track. It was the first day of the Annual Sports Week, the whole campus was buzzing with excitement. Hypenix was performing on the stage and you cheered loudly along with Mia and Reene.
As the performance ended, the crowd erupted into chaos. Everyone chanted their name, it gave you goosebumps. They were really popular across the campus. They packed up their equipment as other acts started preparing for their stage. Mia dragged you towards the back of the stage where the boys were. “You guys were so amazing,” Mia squealed as she hugged Jay. Reene nodded, fixing Sunghoon's hair, “the crowd went crazy, especially during the chorus.”
Jake grinned widely, “I know right.” Jay snorted, pulling away from Mia, “you say that but I saw you mess up near the end.” Jake crossed his arms across his chest, “I did not mess up.” Sunghoon slid his hand over Jake's shoulders, “you absolutely did, but thankfully the crowd didn't notice.” You stepped forward, standing beside Heeseung who was drinking water, “you guys did way better for someone who just had a week to practice.”
Heeseung finally noticed your presence, his expressions softening, “you saw the performance?” You nodded, “of course I did.” Jake approached you, throwing an arm around your shoulders, “see? She's a true supporter.” You laughed, “seriously though, you guys look so cool when you're on stage.” Jay bowed his head playfully at you, “thank you so much.” Mia nudged his shoulder, “don't let it get to your head.”
“So,” Reene suddenly said, “we're heading to my apartment later, no one is allowed to ditch.” Everyone nodded their heads, discussing things to do for the night. You hesitated for a moment before finally speaking, “guys, I won't be able to join you guys immediately, I need to stop by the lab first. Will that be okay?” Jake groaned immediately, “again?” You smiled at them apologetically, “I'm sorry, but it's not something I can control. I'll join you guys later.”
“Don't worry,” Reene waved you off, “Mia has assignments to submit, and Sunghoon also needs to take care of something so the hangout will probably start late in the evening anyway. You won't be missing out on much. Don't apologise.” You gave her a grateful smile. Heeseung looked at you for a second, “you need me to come pick you up?” You shook your head, “it won't take too long.” He nodded slowly, “okay, if you say so, but if I notice it's getting dark, I'll come pick you up.”
*******
By the time you were done with your work, the campus was relatively much quieter. The crowd was mostly dispersed to the open ground where various events were taking place. You stretched your arms, making your way towards the bus stand near the university. Reene's apartment wasn't that far so you decided taking a bus would suffice.
You adjusted the bag on your shoulder as you made your way inside the bus. The night air was cool and calm as compared to the warmth inside the campus. When you reached near Reene's apartment, you hopped off the bus. You stopped when you felt your phone buzzing in your pocket. It was Heeseung, asking if you wanted him to pick you up. “I am almost there, no need to come, I'm only a few blocks away.” You hung up the call, walking a little faster.
As you reached near her building, you noticed someone standing near the streetlamp. Head bent. Jake. He was leaning against the wall, hands buried deep in his pockets as he stared at the ground. Something about his energy seemed off as compared to how happy he was in the morning. You slowed down, “Jake?” He looked up quickly when he heard your voice, “oh hey.” You stood in front of him, studying his face, “why are you out here? Shouldn't you be inside?”
“I just needed some air before going in, I reached a few minutes ago.” You were sure something had happened after you left but you weren't sure what exactly. “You okay?” You asked, tilting your head slightly. He nodded too quickly, standing up straight. You didn't say a thing, just looked at him. For a moment he just stood there, trying to find ways to deflect the conversation elsewhere before he gave up.
He exhaled loudly, shoulders slumping as he stepped closer and gently dropped his head against your shoulder. You froze for half a second before relaxing. He looked tired. You didn't really know what happened, you didn't ask why he was upset. You just gave his arm a gentle squeeze. A quiet assurance. Jake didn't say anything either. The night was calm around you, but you knew the emotions Jake was feeling was anything but.
Across the building, a car slowed down around the corner. Heeseung was meant to drive off inside the parking lot, he was just about to leave for the hangout when he called you. He was about to make a turn when his eyes landed on you, standing under the streetlamp, Jake's head on your shoulder as you held his arm. For a moment, everything inside Heeseung went completely still. His fingers tightened slightly on the wheel. The soft yellow glow of the lamp made everything look intimate, comforting even, like there was something quiet and personal brewing between the two of you.
He could feel his heart beat drop. An unfamiliar feeling curling inside him, an ache which settled somewhere deep in his ribs. He didn't fully understand the feeling, he just knew it hurt. He forced himself to look away, jaw clenched so tight it physically hurt. He shifted the car, driving inside the parking lot before you could even spot him. Like he was never there while you stood with Jake, offering him your silent comfort.
*******
Heeseung's apartment was quiet after he came back from Reene's, too quiet for his liking. The distant hum of his refrigerator was the only sound coming to his living room as he dropped his keys on the coffee table. Throwing his jacket somewhere on the couch absentmindedly, he made his way inside his bedroom and leaned against the headboard, exhaling slowly.
The night should've felt good. Their performance had gone well. The crowd loved it. The hangout was a perfect mix of laughter and teasing. Everything had been normal so why did his chest still felt so tight? He rested his head on the headboard, looking at the ceiling. But the moment he closed his eyes, the image of you and Jake crawled back into his mind like a stubborn song stuck on his mind on repeat.
He groaned, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes, “why does it even matter?” He questioned no one in particular as he got up, took a shower and changed into his pajamas. He laid down on his bed, trying to sleep. He was exhausted, the whole day was eventful but sleep was the last thing in his mind right now. He shifted his position, clutching the blanket closer as if it would provide some answers.
Jake was his best friend, so were you. There shouldn't be anything strange about it. He hugged Mia and Reene all the time too, so watching Jake hugging you shouldn't have bothered him this much. And yet, something about that particular moment had twisted sharply in his heart, like someone pulled a trigger he didn't even realize was present.
At this point, he was sure there was no way he would be able to fall asleep. He reached towards his nightstand and grabbed his phone instead. Maybe a small distraction would help him sleep. He unlocked the phone, opening his gallery, scrolling absentmindedly through the videos and pictures everyone took during the day.
Most of the pictures were sent from Mia's phone. Pictures of them mid performance and backstage were more in number. There were few group photos too, and he smiled slightly before continuing to scroll. Then the pictures from London came, a few blurry shots of Thames at night, a couple of crowded streets and city lights. Then there were pictures of Ella and him where they were laughing, trying out food, in front of her university's main gate. Heeseung stared at the selfie he clicked with her for a moment before he scrolled past it. The memory felt too distant now.
He scrolled further down. The photos started changing. Pictures from his vacation home. There were so many of them, Jake had insisted on capturing as many moments as possible because Ella was leaving. Heeseung scrolled past those images, until his thumb paused. It was a video he had no memory of. He tapped it open and the screen was filled with a candid moment. It took him a while to even remember the exact moment the video was recorded.
It was a short video of you sitting on the low steps outside of the patio. You were laughing with your head tilted slightly, a hand half covering your mouth. And sitting right next to you was him. He replayed the video again, he was looking at you when the video was shot, he wasn't even aware he was being recorded. His head was turned to your side but he could see the way his smile softened as he watched you laugh. He wasn't even aware he could look at someone with so much softness in his eyes.
By the sound of a small snicker at the end of the video, Heeseung was sure it was taken by Sunghoon. And as he paused the video at a very particular moment and zoomed in on your face without a second thought, the realization settled slowly. Then he looked at the way his shoulders were relaxed, his body lightly leaning towards you like he had all the time in the world to enjoy that moment. Something stirred at the back of his mind.
And all of the moments he spent with you came crashing down on him at once. The times when you made fun of him for falling on his butt, when you gave him candies, when he held onto you tightly because he was too prideful to tell you he was afraid of the roller-coaster, when he held your hand, when he tucked your hair behind the ears. Every little moment spent with you.
His thoughts shifted to a particular memory, of how uneasy he felt when he was leaving for London, how he hesitated taking a step further. How he turned around to give you cheek kisses as thank you. He wanted to hold on to you a little longer but decided against it. He didn't even realize how easily you slipped into the spaces of his life, like you belonged in his world.
Heeseung lifted his phone and replayed the video again. One last time, he told himself. He watched it all again, the sound of your laughter, the softness in his eyes and smile, his gaze fixated entirely on you and suddenly everything became painfully obvious for him. “Oh,” the word slipped past his lips quietly. It was as if he was trying to find something which was beside him all along, hidden in plain sight.
The tightness in his chest started making sense. He didn't think the image of you hugging Jake was strange now, he realized it all felt wrong to him because he wanted to be in Jake's place instead. Somewhere along the way, while trying to get your help to get closer to Ella, without him realizing, without him planning it, without understanding when it started, he had fallen for you.
He let out a long breath before tossing his phone on the other side of the bed. Was he the only person who figured this out so late? Did the guys tease him every chance they got because they knew his heart belonged to you? The realization sat heavy on his chest now. Nothing was confusing anymore, just undeniable. About how stupid he was to not realize this sooner.
*******
“Where's Jake and Heeseung?” Sunghoon questioned as he entered the music room, eyes darting towards the rather empty room. Jay looked up from his phone, shrugging his shoulders, “Heeseung texted saying he's on the way, haven't heard from Jake though.” Sunghoon nodded, sitting beside Jay, taking out his book to discuss their next gig.
Heeseung arrived not long after, slightly out of breath, “hey guys, sorry my car was acting weird.” He walked to a corner to keep his bag when Jay spoke, “Jake didn't come with you?” Heeseung turned around, confusion lacing on his face, “was he supposed to? He didn't say anything about it to me.” Heeseung's words just confused the other two more. Sunghoon looked between the two before sighing, “I'll call him.”
Just as Sunghoon took out his phone, Jake's name appeared on his notification. “Oh he texted,” Sunghoon informed, “he's saying he'll join us in 15 minutes and we should start without him.” Jay's eyebrows furrowed, “he skipped practice yesterday, today he is saying he'll be a little late.” Sunghoon tilted his head, “he said he wasn't feeling well yesterday.” Heeseung turned his head towards Sunghoon, “Jake doesn't just skip practice because he is sick though, he makes sure to let us know how he's dying and we are choosing music over him, he's dramatic like that.”
Jay sat up straight, “that's exactly what I am saying, he is not behaving like he normally does, it was very clear the night we hung out at Reene's too.” The room went quiet for a moment. Then Sunghoon looked up, glancing between his two band mates, “Do you think it has something to do with him bumping into her backstage the day we performed on sports week?” The temperature of the room dropped a degree as soon as those words left his mouth. Jay and Heeseung exchanged a look.
“It shouldn't affect him that much,” Heeseung mumbled, looking at the time in his watch, “unless something else happened after that.” Sunghoon frowned, “something else?” Heeseung nodded, “yeah, I mean it has been years, and I know how Jake is okay, but accidentally bumping into her isn't fully justifying his behavior.” Right at that exact moment Jake pushed the door open, “I'm sorry I'm late.”
“You're acting weird,” Sunghoon cut to the chase as he squinted his eyes at Jake, who just froze in his place. He raised his eyebrows at Sunghoon before making himself comfortable on his usual seat, “what does that even mean?” Jake questioned, leaning against the backrest. “You have been acting differently since the sports day, don't think we aren't paying attention, where were you yesterday?” Heeseung's question made his shoulders tense up a bit, “I told you I was not feeling well.” Jay nodded, “okay, why were you feeling sick?”
Jake sighed, knowing far better they would figure out his whereabouts from somewhere else if he didn't spill, “I went to a club, got drunk, woke up in the morning with a massive headache, I didn't lie.” Sunghoon raised his eyebrows in surprise, “went to a club? Alone? Since when did you party alone?” Jake groaned, running his fingers through his hair, “you both were busy with your girlfriends, Heeseung said he wanted to be alone, I had no options.” He then explained how you already had a long day so he simply didn't ask if you wanted to join him to the club.
The three of them sighed before Jay spoke, “Jake, I am reminding you again that you don't have to hide anything from us. If something is bothering you, tell us.” Jake nodded, fidgeting with his fingers, “I know, I just bumped into her again when I was getting snacks for the night we hung out at Reene's apartment. The interaction pissed me off so I went to the club. That's it.” Heeseung frowned, “she bumped into you again?” Jake nodded, closing his eyes for a moment as if he didn't wish to remember, “she kept on talking to me even when I refused, she never did this before so it irritated me a bit.”
“This is so stupid,” Heeseung mumbled and just then the door to the music room burst open and Reene walked through the door. “Princess? What are you doing here?” Sunghoon stood up from his spot, taking note of the way her eyebrows were furrowed in frustration. She held up her phone, then looked at Jake, “there's a rumor going on about you, someone posted a picture of you on the university's social media page.”
“What? What picture?” Jake questioned as everyone gathered around Reene to take a good look at the post. “What the fuck?” Heeseung exclaimed as soon as he read the post, “this can't be real.” He zoomed in on the picture attached while Jake just stood there frozen. “Jake, this time we can't just let time do its work, we need to say something about this.” Jake looked at Jay with a blank expression, “just when I thought it wouldn't get any worse.”
*******
The street outside your apartment building glowed under the soft yellow lights of the streetlamps. You made your way out of the building when you got a text from Heeseung saying he arrived at your place. You smiled when you spotted him. He was leaning against his car, his black shirt rolled up as he checked his phone. He glanced up as soon as he heard your footsteps, immediately putting his phone in his pocket. “You look pretty,” Heeseung complimented, not shying away from checking you out. Your face warmed up, “you're looking good too.”
“After you,” he said, pulling the passenger's door open. You raised your eyebrows but slid into your seat anyway. Heeseung rounded the car to get into the driver's seat. As you settled against the seat you noticed a faint moment at the backseat. When you glanced back you saw Jake slouched against the window, arms folded across his chest, looking like he would be anywhere but here.
“Oh, hi there.” You grinned. Jake looked at you for a brief second, his expressions softening a bit, “hello.” You studied his face for a second, “you look tired.” Jake nodded, “I am, but he still dragged me here.” Heeseung just shook his head, started the car and looked at Jake through the rear view mirror, “what else you wanted to do? Mop around all day?” Jake sinked lower in his seat, “I would've preferred that.”
Heeseung shook his head, “you have no choice, Jay texted me saying they have reached the club already.” Jake sighed dramatically, leaning his head against the window, “I'll leave after 30 minutes.” Heeseung nodded but by the looks of it, you knew he didn't buy it. “I really mean it,” Jake added after a while which just made Heeseung laugh out loudly. You couldn't help but smile at their back and forth bickering.
The club was already packed the moment you arrived. The loud music pulsed through the walls, bass vibrating underneath your feet even before you entered inside. Colored lights swept across the crowded dance floor while people danced to rhythm. Jay was the first one to spot you. “There they are!” He informed others. Mia immediately turned around, her eyes lightening up, “you guys made it.” Reene gave you a brief hug.
“Look at him,” Sunghoon shook his head at Jake who stood beside Heeseung, hands still crossed across his chest. “I'll be leaving in 30 minutes,” Jake exclaimed, pointing towards the exit. “Sure you will,” Jay agreed before he grabbed Jake by his arm and dragged him deeper inside the club. The whole group dispersed naturally after some time and you found yourself sitting between Mia and Reene as the bartender prepared your drinks. The cold drink burned slightly down your throat but it warmed you instantly.
Mia was leaning against the counter, talking about recent things that had happened in her class. You laughed a little louder, leaning against Reene. “See, having a drink and dancing your heart out occasionally helps you a lot, you look like you need this.” You nodded at Reene, “I did.” Just then, Jay appeared from where he was sitting with the boys, his hand sliding across Mia's waist as he leaned down to whisper something in her ear.
You shared a look with Reene and wordlessly agreed to leave the couple alone. Reene dragged you towards the dance floor. The music was loud enough that conversation felt useless, so you simply moved your body with the rhythm. Reene grabbed your hand and spun you once, laughing, “my boyfriend isn't around to dance on this song, you're my girlfriend for the night.”
You laughed at her words and you both pretended to dance like an overly affectionate couple for the rest of the song. You weren't drunk but the drink you had earlier did help in relaxing you because never in your life you thought you'd be dancing and laughing like this. Reene leaned closer when another song started playing, “I'll go grab another drink, you want any?” You shook her head and she slipped back towards the bar, leaving you dancing alone in the crowd.
“Why are you alone?” Heeseung chuckled as he stepped closer from behind you. You turned your head at the sound of his voice, nearly losing your balance. He reached forward, sliding his hand across your waist and pulled you closer, his chest flat against your back. “Dance with me?” He requested, his breath fanning against your bare neck. You froze for a second before you let yourself relax in his arms. As soon as you nodded, he swayed with you, matching your movements effortlessly.
He dipped his head low, lips almost touching the shell of your ears, “having fun angel?” Your heartbeat picked up, hands grabbing his forearm which rested on your stomach. You nodded again, words getting stuck inside your throat. He slowly turned you around to face him then. Now that you were standing face to face with him, the space between you felt almost nonexistent.
The colored lights flashed across his face, first blue, then pink, then purple. You realized he looked ethereal at this moment. Your hands rested lightly against his shoulders while his hands were wrapped around your waist. His eyes stayed on yours, never breaking eye contact. He looked at you in a way which felt too hypnotising. His eyes, usually brown, were suddenly looking a shade darker.
You both moved with the music, bodies close enough that you felt the warmth of him seep into you. Neither of you said anything, enjoying the moment together. Heeseung leaned his head on yours, his nose brushing gently against your own. You gulped, fingers grabbing on his shirt. You don't know who moved first, what you did know was how soft his lips felt against yours.
You felt him sigh into the kiss as you opened your mouth to give him more access. One of his hands sliding up to hold your head while the other held your waist in a tight grip, it was almost as if he was scared the moment would vanish in thin air. You moaned softly when he deepened the kiss. As you pulled away to breathe, you rested your head on his shoulder, eyes closed, and that's when you suddenly became hyper aware of your actions.
You pulled away quickly, eyes widening in panic. “Heeseung-” you felt your throat tightened, your heart racing. You hadn't expected that, you didn't expect you'd respond to his touch so easily. Heeseung, who was confused a second ago, noticing your panic state, thought you regretted the kiss. “I'm sorry,” he started, his hands holding yours but before he could say anything further someone called his name. You both turned as Sunghoon approached you, his eyes scanning the crowd for a bit, “have either of you seen Jake?”
Heeseung blinked, then he let go of your hand he was holding, “no, I didn't.” You shook your head too, “I thought he was with you and Jay?” Sunghoon sighed softly, completely unaware of the turmoil his two friends were currently into, “Jay was with Mia, I found Reene alone so Jake told me he'd find you or Heeseung, so I left him.” Heeseung glanced towards the entrance, “he said he'd leave early, maybe he went home when he saw the chance?” Sunghoon nodded, “maybe, I should check outside once.”
He walked away then, disappearing in the crowd. And just like that, you and Heeseung were left standing there, alone. The music still thumped loudly around you but the air between you felt heavier than before. You mustered up the courage to look in his direction but he had his head hung low, eyes closed shut. “Heeseung…” you called out to him softly, he looked up and you could see the way his eyes reddened around the corner.
Your breath hitched when you noticed his lips quivering a bit but before you could say anything else he cleared his throat, avoiding your gaze, “I'll drive you home, it's getting late.” You opened your mouth to say something but he didn't give you much time. He just grabbed your hand and guided you through the crowd. You searched for your other friends and caught Mia's eyes. You waved her goodbye as a sign to tell her you're leaving. She smiled softly, waving back at you.
*******
The city felt quieter as compared to the club's noise on the drive back home. You clutched your hands together, eyes focused on the way the streetlights passed as the car moved towards your apartment. The silence in the car was heavier, none of you had said a word since the incident. Heeseung kept his eyes on the road, jaw clenched tight, his knuckles turning white as he turned the steering wheel.
You sighed, eyes trailing down towards your hands which were folded on your lap. You fiddled with your fingers, the kiss still lingered, you could feel it, like a ghost against your lips. You couldn't get it out of your head even if you tried your best. And as the silence stretched, it became difficult for you to handle it. You could feel your heart clenching, the pain felt too physical. You needed to get away from him in order to knock some sense into you.
The car barely came to a stop in your parking lot, and you found yourself reaching for the door. “Goodnight,” you mumbled, so quiet he would've missed it if he wasn't paying attention towards every small action of yours. You got out of the car, the door shutting behind you in a soft thud. He watched as you ran towards the elevator, you didn't look back, not even once.
Your steps were fast, almost unsteady as you reached the elevator and pushed the button of your floor, heart pounding so hard that it dulled out every other noise. The cool air of the night didn't help, it did nothing to calm the heat rushing through your body. You just needed space to breathe, to think about what transpired for you to end up in this position.
You're inside your apartment within minutes, the door shut behind you as you leaned your back against it, eyes falling shut. Your breathing was uneven, shaky, like you've run a hundred miles in a few seconds. Everything felt too loud, the kiss, the silence, the way you couldn't wait to get away. “What were you thinking….” you whispered to yourself, hitting the back of your head on the door. You felt like an idiot, he was in a vulnerable state and instead of helping him like a good friend, you gave in to your own desires. You felt awful thinking about how you'd even face him after this.
A knock on your door made you jump, distracting you from the storm brewing up inside your head. A few more knocks followed, sharp, sudden, frantic. Your breath hitched as the realization hit, you knew who was behind the door. Your hand hovered near the knob, contemplating for a few seconds before you pulled the door open. And there he was. Heeseung. Standing right in front of you, slightly out of breath, hair messy as if he ran his hands through it multiple times.
His one hand was braced against the wall, chest rising and falling quickly like he didn't give himself time to think properly before coming here. For a second, neither of you spoke. Slowly, he swallowed, straightening himself up. “Can I….come in?” He asked, his voice carrying a timid edge to it, like he wasn't sure if he was welcomed here anymore. Your heart stuttered at his voice, you nodded, opening the door further, “sure, come in.”
He let out a breath as he walked in, in his head he wasn't even sure you'd open your door, let alone allow him inside your apartment. The door clicked shut behind him as he removed his shoes, and he was suddenly hyperaware of how close everything felt. He walked towards the couch when he heard you say softly, “I'll get water.” You turned away quickly, heading towards your kitchen, needing something to do to ground yourself.
Heeseung watched as you entered the kitchen, he didn't stop you. He just watched, watched the way your shoulders were tensed, the way your movements felt rushed. He walked towards the kitchen where you were filling up the glass with water. You took a deep breath, aware that he was in the kitchen now, trying your best to focus hard on not letting your thoughts spiral again, not when he was in the same room as you.
You just needed to act normal. This wasn't supposed to be this hard. You turned around and held the glass out for him. His eyes trailed down from your face to your hand that was extended towards him, he noticed it immediately, the way your hand trembled, a bit of water dripping onto the floor. It wasn't much, but enough. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed for a moment before his expressions softened. His eyes found yours again when he grabbed the glass from yours and set it aside on the counter without a word.
You opened your mouth to say something when he stepped closer, his hand sliding at the back of your neck and before you could react he pulled you into him. His hold was gentle, careful even, like he was afraid you'd break. “Hey,” he whispered, his other hand sliding across your waist to pull you flush against his body. And the moment he buried his head in your neck, something shifted inside you.
Your body instantly melted into his, one of your hands circling around his waist while the other clutched at the fabric of his shoulder. The moment you pressed your head against his shoulder, you felt him tighten his hold. His grip was secure and steady. You felt him exhale, his breath tickling against your skin. Your hold tightened around him after that and you felt all the emotions you'd been trying to suppress spilling over without any control.
A choked sob escaped your lips, voice cracking against him, “I'm sorry.” He stiffened against you, not expecting an apology, “what?” There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. “I shouldn't have kissed you,” you swallowed the lump formed in your throat, a failed attempt to suppress another sob, “I'm so so sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I know everything with Ella just happened, I should've been your support when you were dealing with everything but instead…” you trailed off, feeling ashamed to even say anything further.
He pulled back slightly, his grip of you shifting. One of his hands that rested on your nape shifted to tilt your chin up so you were looking at him, “what are you talking about?” Tears blurred your vision. “You were hurting,” you whispered, “and I didn't stop myself, I feel like I took advantage of that.” He looked at you like he couldn't understand a single thing, his brows furrowed deeply. You realized you were doomed, you weren't sure if things would go back to normal after tonight so you just let yourself be honest.
“I love you,” you admitted, closing your eyes as more tears spilled out of your eyes, cascading down your cheeks and into his palm, “I love you, I think I always have and that's why this feels so wrong…like I took something I shouldn't have.” The confession hung between the two of you, raw and unfiltered. Heeseung just looked at you for a second before he exhaled, slowly. “Wait,” he shook his head, “is that what you think?” His grip on your waist tightened, “that I kissed you because I was vulnerable? That I was still hung up on Ella? Is that what you're trying to say?”
You nodded weakly, looking down. “I thought you regretted kissing me,” he mumbled softly, still trying to piece everything together. He then reached up to cup your face in his hands, “you didn't regret it right?” You looked into his eyes for a few seconds before slowly shaking your head and you could see the way his shoulders immediately relaxed after that. He wiped the tears streaming down your face before placing a chaste kiss on your nose bridge.
“I didn't kiss you because I was trying to fill the void in my heart,” he mumbled softly, “I did it because that's what my heart wanted to do, the dance, the kiss, I regret none of it. I also don't regret whatever has happened with Ella.” You blinked up at him, giving him time to continue. “I cared a lot about her, that's something never going to change. I won't pretend otherwise but that doesn't mean I'm stuck there.” His thumb brushed under your eye again, “I just…I didn't want to sit around this time, not when I already know what I want.”
Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your chest, “and what's that?” He leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours, “you.” The word landed softly, but there was a firmness in the way he said it. Like it was the only thing he was sure of. “It's been you,” he continued softly, “I just didn't realize it.” His thumb brushed your cheeks again, “everytime something happened, you were the first person I wanted to tell, everytime you weren't around something felt off but I didn't question it.”
He let out a shaky breath, “I thought going to London would fix things, clear my head, but all it did was make me realize that I always keep looking for you, even when you weren't around I kept thinking about you.” You closed your eyes, leaning your forehead against his, more tears ushered out but the reason behind them was completely different, relief maybe.
He nudged his nose with yours once, “I am not doing that again. I'm not going to sit back and pretend I don't feel anything, I'm not going to sit around and wait for a perfect opportunity, not when all I want is standing right in front of me, I want this, I want you.”
Your hands slid up to hold his wrists, “you don't know how long I've wanted this.” You opened your eyes to take a good look at his face, to ground yourself, to make yourself believe this wasn't just a dream. “Yeah?” He let out a breathy chuckle as you nodded. Then his expressions shifted again, along with his hold on your face, “since you thought our first kiss wasn't something I genuinely wanted, I'll show you how much I wanted it.”
And he didn't give you any time to react before leaning forward and capturing your lips with his. The kiss was slow and deliberate. He kissed with a certainty you weren't sure he had and you didn't hesitate to reciprocate his energy. Your hands moved towards his shoulders as he slid his down to pick and hoist you up on the kitchen island. You gasped at the sudden movement, hands gripping on his shirt tightly.
He positioned himself between your knees. He kissed you like he's been holding it in for too long. One of his hands found the back of your neck, steadying you. You gasped, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. You pulled away after sometime to catch your breath. He leaned his head on your shoulder, placing featherlight kisses on your exposed skin.
“Don't run away from me again,” he murmured as he played with the strands of your hair before tucking it behind your ear. You turned your head to place a kiss on his forehead, arms tightening around his, “I won't.” Heeseung hummed, properly facing you now, “I love you, Angel.” Your stomach flipped, but you found yourself smiling, “I love you too.” And when he leaned in to press another kiss on your lips, your heart felt lighter than it had ever been, like something inside you had finally settled, like all the confusion, all the situations, had led you here. To him, right in his arms, where you belonged.
*******
The campus felt brighter as you made your way towards the group's usual hangout spot. The usual chaos of campus hadn't fully kicked in yet. You looked at the schedule on your phone, mentally making a list of things you need to do for the day. The sports week was still ongoing and the campus was still decorated with banners and posters. You smiled as your eyes landed on Heeseung who was already seated on the bench, hunched over his phone. Probably watching the rehearsal video of the performance they were set to do on the last day of the sports week.
“Good morning, Pancake.” You smirked as you nudged his knee with yours. He locked his phone, his attention shifting on you as you stood in front of him. “Morning,” he greeted back before hooking his finger on your belt loop to pull you right between his knees. You yelped, hands gripping his shoulders to balance yourself, he just laughed when you glared at him. “Why do you look so happy early in the morning?” You squinted your eyes, “it's suspicious.”
His hands reached up to hold your waist, eyes shining with mischief as he looked up at you, “maybe I just had a good night.” You hummed thoughtfully but still couldn't help the smile forming on your face, “hmm, I wonder who made your night good, it obviously wasn't me.” His eyebrows shot up, you could see gears turning inside his head, “you're right, definitely not you, since you're always so busy with your lab.” You gasped softly, placing a hand on your chest, “wow that's crazy, because I distinctly remember someone refusing to let go of me for even a single second.”
“Okay, don't start, you've already teased me enough about it,” he attempted to sound serious but you knew there was no real warning behind it. You grinned, placing your bag near his foot before sitting beside him. “What do you want me to do? It's fun teasing you,” he just rolled his eyes at your remark. Then after a moment of silence, he turned towards you, his knee pressed against yours as he shifted, “why do you call me pancake anyway, I even asked you to change the nickname but you never do.”
You shrugged, a smile forming on your face as you looked ahead at the campus which was slowly filling up with students, “because it fits you.” He frowned, turning your head towards him, “that's not an explanation.” You tilted your head, eyes scanning his face, “you really want to know?” His eyes narrowed, “why do I feel like I shouldn't?” You just laughed, “well since you asked, I'll tell you.” You pressed your lips in a tight line, preparing yourself to say the next words. There was a moment of silence, then with a completely straight face you said, “it's because your butt is shaped like one.”
Heeseung's eyes widened, and he stared at you like his soul just left his body, “....excuse me?” You hold his gaze for exactly two seconds before breaking down, laughter bubbling out of you, “I'm just saying it's kind of flat like a pancake, or does it look that way because you fell on your bum near the fountain?” His mouth fell open in disbelief, “that isn't…that's just wrong, also why are you bringing up me falling near the fountain again. I thought we had established we'd never talk about it.” You stopped laughing for a second, “did we really?” And he just gulped, shaking his head, “no but listen.” He sat up straight, clearly offended but in a dramatic way, “everything aside, I'm not flat.” You leaned against the bench, grinning, “oh here we go.”
“It's small, I agree.” He pointed his finger at you like he was trying to make a very important clarification, “but it's…” he paused for a moment, trying to search for the right word, “it's small, but it's…bouncy.” You blinked once, then you completely lost it. “Bouncy?” You repeated, clutching your stomach, “that is your argument?” He crossed his arms across his chest, “that's a good argument, you just don't understand it.” You could tell he was trying his best to keep a straight face but he was obviously failing.
“I understand perfectly,” you replied, straightening up, “you're just defending your honor right now.” He rolled his eyes but he laughed with you nonetheless, “I am, and you started this in case you forgot.” You nodded, clearing your throat, “I apologise, Pancake.” He groaned, dropping his head back, “I hate you.” You chuckled once, “no you don't.” He straightened up, lips dulling into a soft smile as he looked at you, “no, I don't.” You mirrored his smile, the moment lingered and for a while you forgot about the chaos of the university's campus, it was just him and you, wrapped in something easy and new.
“Oh? Are we interrupting something?” Jay's voice echoed, breaking the moment. You both looked up to see the boys making their way towards you. “No you didn't,” you smiled, ready to greet the others when your alarm went off, “oh, I'll be late for my class, I'll see you boys around.” With that you gave each of them a quick hug before making your way towards your department. “Well?” Sunghoon started, nudging his shoulder against Heeseung's as he sat beside him, “where did you both disappear yesterday?” Jake smirked as he exchanged looks with Jay, “do we even want to know would be my counter question.”
Heeseung just rolled his eyes at the boy's teasing and before any of them would go ahead and make their own assumptions, Heeseung informed, “I confessed to her.” Everyone paused for a second, not expecting the news. “WHAT?” Jake yelled, gaining looks from the passerby before Sunghoon hushed him. “Finally,” Jay breathed out, dragging a hand down his face, “I was lowkey stressed you'd take another decade to do so.”
Heeseung glared at him, but Jay just gave him a bored look, “I'm serious, do you even know how painful it was to watch you two circle around each other like idiots?” Sunghoon laughed, shaking his head, “we all could clearly see it, you know?” Heeseung glanced towards him, “see what?” Sunghoon just shrugged, “you, falling for her.” Heeseung let out a quiet huff, “was I that obvious? I didn't even realize it myself.” Jake chimed in, “you were very obvious, like Jay said, it was painful to watch.”
“But it's okay, you can be dense sometimes,” Jay patted his back. Heeseung just scoffed, “wow, thanks.” Jake chuckled, “we're serious, I think everyone knew except you two.” Heeseung looked at him briefly before a small smile adorned his lips, “sounds about right I guess.” Sunghoon nudged his shoulder again, “I'm glad it worked out though and also that you took your chance this time.” Jake and Jay nodded. Heeseung sighed, “I'm glad too.” Jake smiled, “maybe everything that happened…even reuniting with Ella…was just a blessing in disguise, otherwise I can't think of any other way you both would've crossed paths with each other.”
Heeseung found himself nodding, his gaze drifting ahead, but his mind was somewhere else, back at your apartment where you confessed, at the way you said his name, at the way your shoulders relaxed in his presence now. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice low, “maybe it was. I wouldn't have it any other way.” Jake smiled, “well, you're officially together right? The girls are going to lose their minds for sure.” Heeseung hummed, leaning back against the bench, “I mean, we did confess, so I guess we are together now?”
Sunghoon's eyebrows frowned, “what do you mean I guess? Did you not ask her to be your girlfriend?” Heeseung shrugged, a bit confused, “I mean, is that necessary?” Sunghoon's eyes widened comically, “bro, if it was my girlfriend she'd have dragged me by the hair if I had your attitude. Girls need clarity, even if she doesn't say anything, you need to be clear about your intentions.” Sunghoon's words hung in the air for a moment before Heeseung let out a small laugh, “we literally confessed, we both know we have feelings for each other.”
Jay exhaled through his nose, pinching his eyebrows, “that's not the point.” Heeseung huffed, “then what's the point?” Jake shook his head, “see the point is you know what this is, she probably knows what this is, the main question is, did you actually say it?” Heeseung opened his mouth, then paused for a second, “...not exactly?” Jake sighed, thinking of ways to explain this to his friend, “okay imagine you both are together, someone approached you and asked if you guys are dating, do you think she will confidently say yes when you haven't even asked her?”
Heeseung frowned slightly, “well I want her to confidently say that she's my girlfriend.” Sunghoon sighed, “see that's the issue, you want her to say she's your girlfriend, but you haven't even asked her yet, I know you think that's obvious but when it comes to relationships, clarity matters more than obviousness.” Jay nodded, placing a hand on Heeseung's shoulders, “you aren't obligated to pop that question but you asking it shows where you stand with her, about what she means to you.”
Heeseung looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb over his palm like he was thinking through. “Think of it this way,” Jake started, “confessing is like opening a door, and asking her to be your girlfriend is like actually stepping inside instead of just standing there like an idiot.” Heeseung let out a laugh despite himself, “you guys are unbelievable.” Jake smirked, leaning closer, “hey but at least we aren't clueless.” Heeseung glared at him, but there was no bite behind it, “I'm not clueless, I just didn't think about it like that.”
“Of course you didn't,” Jay mumbled, “that's why we had to do it for you.” Everyone laughed, the conversation steered in a different direction. Heeseung thought about the conversation he just had with the boys then his thoughts shifted towards you. On the way you looked at him last night, the way you held him. He felt stupid for not asking you to be his girlfriend then and there, but it wasn't too late. He knew that for sure, he just needed to think of a way to officially ask you out.
*******
“Yah, where are you? The performance is starting soon!” Reene’s voice echoed through your phone's speaker. It was the last day of the sports week, and the Student Union had requested HYPHENIX to close the event, given their popularity. It gave you enough time to finish your lab reports while still making it in time for their performance. “I'm on my way.”
As you made your way towards the ground where the stage was set up, you realized the whole field was packed. Students were spilling over the bleachers, crowding the barricades, voices overlapping into a constant hum. The banners hung crookedly on the poles, the air smelled like dust and sweat. You pushed through the crowd to find Reene and Mia, calling out their names as soon as you reached closer.
“The performance is about to start, I thought you'd miss it,” Mia yelled in your ears as soon as you stood beside her. “I wouldn't miss it, trust me,” you grinned, giving Reene an acknowledging pat on her shoulder. “How are you feeling?” Reene asked, her eyebrows wiggling. You laughed, “what do you mean? I'm excited.” You weren't sure if the girls knew about whatever was going on between you and Heeseung but with the way they kept on teasing you constantly all throughout the day made it obvious they'd noticed more than you'd admit.
Before any of you could say something else, the lights dimmed just enough to pull everyone's attention towards the stage. You turned your body to face the stage, heart hammering against your chest for no particular reason and then the boys walked on the stage. The cheers hit instantly, loud and overwhelming. You had to put your hands on your ears due to the intensity of it all. As the boys positioned themselves with their instruments, Heeseung stepped forward, adjusting the mic.
He looked up for a second, and his eyes immediately locked into yours. He smiled softly as soon as he saw you and for a moment you felt like the rest of the world dimmed at the edges. The music started, the performance was thrilling. You wouldn't expect anything less from them. The crowd sang along with them, swaying to the rhythm. Then the last song of their performance started. The music shifted to something slower, softer. Heeseung took out the mic from the stand, now holding the mic freely as he sang his heart out.
His voice cut through the noise effortlessly, and something about the way he was singing made your chest tighten. Your eyes widened as you realized it was one of the songs you suggested to him back when things weren't so complicated between you. He remembered, and somehow that made the moment feel unbearably intimate. The thought itself made your throat dry, and you got out of your trance when Mia nudged you, “why does it feel like we're all interrupting something?” You didn't answer, because you weren't sure if you could.
Heeseung's gaze swept across the crowd as the song came to an end, and then it stopped, right on you. He didn’t break eye contact, not even when the last note of the song ended. The crowd cheered loudly, applauding at the successful performance, cheers overlapping each other. The boys exchanged a look before three of them stepped back but Heeseung stayed in front, breathing lightly, the mic still in his hands. He lifted his mic again, clearing his throat once. “I…” he started, the noise of the crowd immediately dimming down to hear what the lead vocalist of HYPHENIX had to say.
Heeseung let out a nervous laugh at the sudden undivided attention, running a hand through his hair. “To be honest, I didn't really plan this,” he admitted and the crowd let out a few whistles and coos. “But,” he looked down for a second, “I think I've finally figured something out.” Your heart skipped a beat, and Mia held your hand tightly in order to ground you. Heeseung's eyes locked into yours again, “I found my person.”
The words hit you strong, way before you could prepare yourself. The crowd reacted immediately, some whistling, some shouting, someone screaming, ‘who is it?’ A few girls around you even let out some disappointed sighs but it was all distant and muffled for you. Mainly because he was still looking at you, and then he smiled before making his way down the stage. You barely registered what was happening, you could barely breathe. The ringing in your ears louder than the crowd.
The crowd began to part, not at once but slowly, one by one, stepping aside to make room for the lead vocalist. Murmuring and turning to look where he was heading as he moved through them. Each step felt too fast and too slow at the same time. Your heart was pounding so loud you didn't register when Mia and Reene stepped away. He stopped right in front of you, up close he looked a little breathless, maybe even nervous. But his eyes were steady as he looked at you. For a second, neither of you spoke, then he looked down, letting out a small laugh before facing you again, “Hi.”
You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, “Hello.” He stepped closer, clearing his throat. “I think,” he started, voice low as if it was meant just for you to hear despite the large crowd surrounding you both, “I skipped a very crucial step.” You blinked at the unexpected declaration, “what?” His lips twitched, “I mean, we did confess about our feelings to each other but I don't think I was clear about my intentions.”
The crowd nearby let out soft laughs, like they were following every word exchanged between you. Heeseung shook his head, “the boys made me realize that may not have been my smartest move.” Your lips twitched at that, warmth creeping up on your neck. He took another step closer, “can I fix that?” Your heart stumbled before you nodded. He smiled, small but real. Then he held your hand, voice carrying more clarity and certainty.
“Will you be my girlfriend, Angel?” The world around you stopped, it was simple, no grand speech, no complicated words, just him. And somehow those words were enough to ease every last bit of uncertainty residing in some deepest corner of your heart. It was the question that made everything fall into place and suddenly you became painfully aware of where you were. You felt overwhelmingly shy, heat rushing on your face. All eyes were trained on you now, you could hear Mia and Reene whispering say yes along with a few other students.
You let out a shaky breath, before nodding, “yes.” As soon as the word left your mouth, cheers exploded around you. Somewhere in the crowd someone yelled ‘she said yes’ and more cheers erupted. Heeseung's smile widened, relief flickering across his face even though he knew the answer. “Yeah?” He asked, just to be sure. You nodded again, more firm this time, “yes, I want to be your girlfriend.” He let out a laugh before pulling you into a hug and the world seemed to disappear after that.
*******
The crowd began to thin and the night slowly settled into something calmer. Heeseung, along with the other three had to go backstage to pack their belongings while you waited for them to be done. “I'm so happy for you,” Reene hugged you as soon as the three of you were alone. You held her back, the smile never leaving your face. Mia joined you a second later, “don't start hugging without me.” You laughed, ruffling her hair. “Jay texted me that they are ready to go,” she informed, already dragging you both towards the backstage.
As you walked, your shoulder bumped into someone. “I'm sorry, I was in a rush,” the girl in front of you apologized before making her way out of the campus ground. You followed her with your eyes before Mia called out your name again, asking you to hurry up. You felt like you had seen her somewhere, something about her felt familiar, but before you could place it, she was gone so you turned again, walking towards the backstage.
Heeseung stood near the gate, leaning against it. He gave a small smile of acknowledgement to Reene and Mia who congratulated him before entering the backstage. The moment both the girls disappeared inside the room, he turned his attention back towards the main ground, straightening up as soon as he spotted you. He didn't wait for you to reach him, slowly making his way towards you instead. Your steps slowed down instinctively.
When you both reached at a midpoint, he just stared at you for a second before slipping one of his hands into yours. Then he leaned in, placing a slow, grounding kiss on your temple. He lingered close for a second before pulling away. Intertwining his fingers with yours more firmly and tugging you along, “come on, you're coming home with me tonight.” You let him guide you towards the parking lot, following his lead without hesitation.
The buzz of the campus faded away with each step you took, the path ahead of you grew quieter. Heeseung's grip tightened around yours, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against the back of your hand. You look up to find him already looking at you, but there was something in the way he was looking at you, it made you feel fuzzy, almost shy. “What?” You asked, stopping in your tracks to face him properly, he paused too. “Nothing,” he said, stepping closer as he shook his head.
One of his hands reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing the shell of your ear before settling his hands on your face. He leaned in to press a lingering kiss on your lips, it was soft, gentle in a way it made your knees buckle. You gripped his shirt to balance yourself, sighing into the kiss, melting into his embrace. He pulled back, placing kisses on both of your cheeks before nuzzling his nose against yours. “I just can't believe I'm yours and you're mine now,” the way he said it made your stomach flip.
You didn't look away this time, you let yourself feel it, the way he looked at you, the way he held you like he couldn't believe this was all real. He pulled away after sometime, holding your hand again as he pulled you towards his car. He didn't say anything after that, he didn't need to. Because everything was already there, the way he chose you, publicly, with certainty, without hesitation.
Your fingers tightened around his instinctively, and the way he squeezed your hand back, the reality of it all settled inside you. Not loudly, but gently. That this feeling, this moment, this person who was walking beside you, holding your hand like you were something precious, is everything you didn't know you were waiting for. Everything you almost missed, almost lost. And now, you're here. And for the first time in a long time, you weren't wondering what comes next. You were exactly where you were meant to be.
titsay
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
2087
jacobvanloon
kianamaiart
ellievsbear
