Aira

female | 19 | multifandom | hi there!!

[yla-aira]

If you are an author who stumbles upon this account because you see me liking your post, but never interacting with you or your content, I'm sorry -- humbly and truly.

I know that the main reason writers stop posting is because of bad, or lack of, feedback and interaction. But, I must ask you to do a very big thing when you see me liking your post, please don't be offended.

Please understand that this account is mostly inactive and I only get to skim some stories. Doesn't mean I appreciate/love them any less.

Most of the time, I use the likes as a sort of bookmark for to-be-read stories. And I know that likes basically mean nothing to content creators, so from here on, I'll make sure to send a message or reblog your posts after I've read them.

[lac4ygal]

𝑲𝒊𝒔𝒔 & 𝑻𝒆𝒍𝒍 p.sh ┃ 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆

Since freshman year, you’ve run the university’s anonymous gossip blog, Kiss & Tell. You’ve seen it all: cheating allegations, toxic situationships and at least forty-seven complaints about the cafeteria chicken. But nothing floods your inbox more than posts about PARK SUNGHOON — the university’s resident fuckboy and walking bad decision. So for the blog’s final exposé, you decide to write about him. Too bad Sunghoon’s already in the middle of a bet with his friends: to keep a girl for thirteen days. And somehow, the anonymous girl tearing him apart online becomes the only one he can’t stop thinking about.

pairings. fuckboy!sunghoon x female!reader ┃ wc. 13.2k

content warnings. dual pov · hidden motives · miscommunication · fake dating adjacent · emotional manipulation · pining (both sides, they’re so stupid) · explicit sexual content — oral f. receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, light possessiveness, marking · dramatic irony · this will hurt you and I’m not apologising for it

laceys note // the fic I’ve been most nervous to post… there is SO much happening in this one and I genuinely don’t know how yall are going to react 😋 yes this is heavily inspired by How To Lose A Guy and Gossip Girl x anyway hope yall enjoy and as always thank you for reading 🥰

🤍 kiss & tell

This year I’m giving you something special.

You’ve been asking for it since freshman year. The tips have been piling up in my inbox for three years running — do a piece on him, Kiss & Tell, someone needs to say something, Kiss & Tell, he did it again, Kiss & Tell, Kiss & Tell, Kiss & Tell.

Ask and you shall receive, darlings.

Introducing: 13 Ways To Lose Your Certified Campus Fuckboy.

Thirteen tips. Thirteen days. One subject who has absolutely no idea what’s coming.

We begin next week. You didn’t hear it from me though, because I don’t kiss & tell. x

[1,204 readers. 47 comments.]

FINALLY.

is it who I think it is.

kiss & tell if you’re reading this I have THREE submissions about this man please check ur inbox.

—

The thing about Park Sunghoon is that he is, by every available metric, exactly what the submissions said he was.

You’ve done your research. Three weeks of it, thorough and methodical, the kind of research you’d do for an actual piece — which this is, you’ve decided, this absolutely counts as journalism, your professor would probably disagree but your professor also gave you a C minus on your piece about the university’s dining hall monopoly which was genuinely your best work so his opinion is noted and filed in the bin.

You have a google doc. It has sections. There’s a tab called subjects and a tab called timeline and a tab called tips (working) and another one called notes which is mostly just screenshots of anonymous submissions that all say some version of the same thing: he’s charming, he’s beautiful, he made me feel like the only person in the room, and then he was gone, and I’m fairly certain he didn’t know my name by the end of it.

Seventeen submissions. Seventeen different girls. One name, consistent, at the centre of all of them.

Park Sunghoon. Figure skating scholarship. Second year Humanities, now final year. Shares a house off campus with Jay Park and Lee Heeseung, both of whom feature in the submissions as background characters — his friends were there, they seemed nice, Jay remembered my name even if Sunghoon didn’t appearing in three separate accounts with the specific poignancy of a detail nobody coordinated.

He has a type, according to the submissions. Which is to say he doesn’t have a type. He’ll talk to anyone, charm anyone, make anyone feel chosen — and then the choosing stops, and he moves on, and the girl is left standing in the aftermath wondering what she did wrong when the answer is nothing, the answer is that’s just what he does, the answer is you were never going to be the exception because Park Sunghoon doesn’t do exceptions.

He does this, you’ve established, approximately once every two to three weeks. He’s been doing it since freshman year. He has never, by any account you can find, caught feelings. He has never once, to anyone’s knowledge, repeated a girl.

He is, in short, a certified campus fuckboy, and he has been getting away with it for three years because he’s beautiful and charming and genuinely good company right up until the moment he isn’t, and by then it’s too late.

Not anymore.

You have a plan. The plan is elegant and slightly unhinged and Minji — your best friend, Kiss & Tell’s only reader who knows the writer — has called it both those things and also added extremely on brand for you which you take as the highest possible compliment.

Thirteen tips. The clingy, overwhelming, emotionally catastrophic playbook of everything a man like Sunghoon runs from. You’re going to deploy every single one, document it in real time, post it to the blog, and by day thirteen he’ll have run screaming and Kiss & Tell will have its most-read piece of the year and you’ll have actually done something with your journalism degree that matters.

The only thing you need is an in.

Which is, currently, the one gap in the plan.

You’ve been thinking about this for three days when Minji texts you at 9PM on a Friday: jisoo’s having people over. sunghoon will be there. i heard jay mention it.

You look at the message.

You look at your google doc.

You close your laptop, get up, and start getting dressed.

Jisoo’s apartment is the kind of place that fits thirty people comfortably and currently has approximately sixty, which means the music is too loud and the drinks are wherever you can find them and the air has that particular quality of a Friday night that’s fully committed to itself.

You arrive with Minji at ten, already knowing the layout — Jisoo’s place is a known quantity, you’ve been here before, the kitchen is to the left and the living room is straight ahead and the back patio is where people go when the inside gets too much.

You find a drink. You find a wall. You survey the room with the practiced efficiency of someone who has been reporting on this campus for three years.

You find him in four seconds.

He’s not hard to find. That’s the first thing — he doesn’t try to be found, he doesn’t need to, he simply exists in a room and the room orients around him without being asked. He’s tall, which you knew, and he’s wearing something simple, which you didn’t expect, dark jeans and a plain shirt and the specific ease of someone who has never once had to try very hard.

He’s laughing at something Jay said — Jay, beside him, is grinning with the energy of someone who said something very funny and knows it — and the laugh is real, you can tell from here, unperformed, and this is information you file away because it matters. The charm is one thing. The realness underneath it is something else.

You’ve been looking at him for approximately thirty seconds before Minji says, very quietly, “you’re staring.”

“I’m researching,” you say.

“You have a look on your face.”

“It’s my research face.”

“It’s not your research face,” Minji says, and takes a sip of her drink with the serenity of someone who is going to be right about this and knows it and is content to wait.

Three hours earlier, Jisoo’s apartment is already filling up when Jay Park has his idea.

This is, historically, how most problems begin.

He’s standing with Sunghoon near the back wall, both of them with drinks, watching the room do what rooms do on Friday nights — fill up, get louder, become the kind of atmosphere where things happen that people talk about on Monday.

Jay is on his second drink. Sunghoon is on his first. This ratio is relevant.

“Can I ask you something,” Jay says.

“No,” Sunghoon says.

“When’s the last time you actually—” Jay makes a vague gesture that encompasses a significant amount of meaning. “You know. Stayed.”

Sunghoon looks at him flatly. “What.”

“With someone. Longer than — you know. The usual.”

“I don’t have a usual.”

“You absolutely have a usual,” Jay says. “8 days maximum. You don’t learn their names by the end. You move on. It’s a whole thing.” He tilts his head. “When’s the last time you actually kept someone around?”

Sunghoon is quiet for a moment. He drinks his drink.

“Why,” he says, which is not an answer.

“I was just thinking,” Jay says, with the careful casualness of a man who has been thinking about this for longer than just now, “that it’s been a while. And I was thinking about whether you actually could. If you tried.”

“Could what?”

“Keep someone.” Jay looks at him. “Like. Actually keep her. Not the thing you do. The real version.”

“I keep people.”

“Sunghoon.”

“I do.”

“You kept Chaewon for seven days in second year and forgot her name on day four,” Jay says. “She was in three of my seminars. It was a whole thing.”

Sunghoon says nothing.

“Thirteen days,” Jay says, and the number arrives in the air between them with the particular weight of a challenge that’s been building to its own conclusion. “That’s what I’m saying. Thirteen days. One girl. You actually try. I don’t think you can do it.”

And there it is.

Sunghoon looks at him.

Jay looks back with the grin of someone who has just deployed the one thing that has never once failed to work on Park Sunghoon, which is I don’t think you can.

It goes all the way back to when they were seventeen and Jay said I don’t think you can land that triple and Sunghoon landed it, and then again at eighteen when Jay said I don’t think you can get into that programme and Sunghoon got into that programme, and now they are twenty-two and standing at a party on a Friday night and Jay has said I don’t think you can and the outcome is, as always, inevitable.

“Thirteen days,” Sunghoon says.

“Thirteen days.”

“Fine.”

Jay blinks. Even knowing it was coming, even having built to it, the speed of it catches him off guard. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sunghoon finishes his drink. Sets the glass down. “Fine.”

Jay opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again with the expression of a man who has just heard the trap click shut and has only just registered that he was also standing in it.

“Great,” he says, slightly less certainly than he’d like. “That’s — yeah. Great.”

“Who loses,” Sunghoon says.

“What?”

“If I lose. What do I owe you.”

“I—” Jay hadn’t gotten this far. “I don’t know. Bragging rights.”

“Bragging rights,” Sunghoon repeats, unimpressed.

“And you do my laundry for a month.”

“And if I win?”

“You won’t.”

“Jay.”

“Fine. If you win I’ll do your laundry for a month and I’ll admit in front of Heeseung that you were right about the Ateez album.”

A pause.

“Deal,” Sunghoon says immediately.

They shake on it. Jay watches him scan the room with the quiet, unhurried focus of someone who has just been given a task and is already approaching it systematically, and feels, somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach, the specific sensation of having made a decision he doesn’t fully understand yet.

He takes a long drink.

He tells himself it’ll be fine.

—

“He’s at the drinks table,” Minji says. “Corner of the kitchen. Jay’s with him but Jay just got pulled into something in the living room so Sunghoon’s alone.”

You look at her.

“You’ve been tracking him,” you say.

“I’ve been observing,” she says. “Go. And look like you’re going for a drink, not like you’re going for him.”

“I know how to walk into a kitchen, Minji.”

“You know how to walk into a kitchen like a journalist on an assignment,” she says. “Which is different. Relax your face.”

You relax your face.

“More,” she says.

You relax it more.

“Good. Go.”

You go.

The kitchen is quieter than the living room, the particular relief of a party room that isn’t the main event — a handful of people, the counter lined with bottles, the window cracked open letting in the cold October air.

He’s exactly where Minji said he’d be.

You clock him in your peripheral vision and do not look directly at him, which is a skill you have developed specifically for this kind of thing — the journalistic sidelong awareness, present without being obvious. You move toward the drinks table with the energy of someone who wants a drink and only a drink and has no awareness whatsoever of the person three feet to her left.

You reach for a bottle.

He reaches for the same one.

Your hands arrive at the neck of it at the same moment.

You look up.

He looks down.

Up close he is — and you’re going to note this for the record and then never think about it again — significantly more than his submissions prepared you for. Which is saying something, because the submissions were not understating it. But there is a difference between objectively good looking as a reported fact and objectively good looking as a thing happening to you personally at close range on a Friday night, and the difference is considerable and you are a journalist and this is a story and you absolutely clock it and file it away and move on.

“Sorry,” you both say, at the same time.

A beat.

He takes his hand off the bottle. “Go ahead.”

“No, it’s—” You gesture. “You were here first.”

“I wasn’t, actually.” Something in his expression is doing a thing — a quiet recalibration, the kind of look that assesses and concludes and moves forward. “I just got here.”

“Same time, then,” you say.

“Same time,” he agrees. He picks up the bottle. Pours two glasses without asking. Hands one to you.

You look at it.

“Bold,” you say.

“You were reaching for it,” he says simply. “Seemed like you wanted it.”

You take the glass. You drink. It’s good — he poured the right thing, which means he clocked what you were reaching for in the half second before you both arrived at it simultaneously, which means he notices things, which is information you file immediately in the subject tab of your mental google doc.

“Sunghoon,” he says.

“I know,” you say, and then catch it. “I think Jisoo mentioned you. She mentioned a few people.”

He looks at you with an expression that suggests he’s heard this kind of recovery before and found it charming rather than annoying, which is somehow worse than if he’d called you out directly.

“Y/N,” you say.

He says your name back, once, quietly. Just to himself. Like he’s storing it.

Something in your chest does something completely unauthorised and you attribute it to the drink.

“Final year?” he asks.

“Journalism,” you say. “You?”

“Literature.” He leans against the counter — not performing it, just settling, the ease of someone completely comfortable in any room he’s in. “And the rink. Early mornings.”

“Figure skating,” you say, as if you’re learning this for the first time, as if it isn’t highlighted in yellow in tab one of the google doc.

“Don’t,” he says.

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever you were about to say.”

“I was going to say it sounds peaceful,” you say. “Early mornings. Quiet rink.”

He looks at you for a moment. Like he was braced for something and got something else instead. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is slightly different. “It is.”

The kitchen moves around you — people coming in, going out, the ambient noise of a party in full swing — and neither of you moves.

“Can I ask you something,” he says.

“You just did,” you say.

The corner of his mouth does something. Not a smile exactly — the precursor to one, the thing that happens before the decision is made. “Fair,” he says. “Can I ask you something else.”

“Depends what it is.”

“What are you doing tomorrow.”

You look at him. He’s looking back with the steady patience of someone who is used to waiting for things he’s decided he wants, and underneath it something that wasn’t in any of the seventeen submissions — a directness that isn’t performance. He’s not deploying the charm right now. He’s just asking.

You are a journalist. This is a story. Day one begins tomorrow and tip one requires a pet name and you need his number to deploy it.

“I might be free,” you say.

“Might be.”

“Probably am.”

“Can I have your number,” he says, no preamble, just the question, and you think about seventeen girls who probably said yes to this exact question in this exact tone of voice and you think about the google doc and the thirteen tips and the fact that you are not going to be number eighteen.

You are going to be something else entirely.

“Sure,” you say, and take his phone when he hands it over.

You type your number. You type your name. You hand it back.

He looks at the screen. “Just Y/N?”

“You don’t need my last name yet,” you say.

“Yet,” he repeats, and the corner of his mouth commits this time, the full thing, and it gets out before he decides to let it and you think that this specific smile — the unguarded one, the one that isn’t the charm — is going to be the most dangerous part of this entire assignment.

You file it. You move on.

“Goodnight, Sunghoon,” you say, and you take your drink and you leave the kitchen and you do not look back.

In the living room, Minji is waiting with the expression of someone who has been watching through the kitchen doorway for the last four minutes and has formed approximately forty seven opinions.

“Well,” she says.

“I’m in,” you say.

“And?”

You look at your drink.

“He’s worse than the submissions,” you say.

Minji opens her mouth.

“Don’t,” you say.

She closes it. She has the expression of someone who is going to be right about something and has infinite patience.

You drink your drink.

Across the room, through the kitchen doorway, Sunghoon is looking at his phone. You watch him save your contact. Watch him type something. Delete it. Type something else.

Your phone buzzes.

unknown number: it was good to meet you tonight

You save the contact immediately. You stare at what you’ve typed for a moment, then change it.

hoonie 🤍

—

that night, 1:47AM:

hoonie 🤍: it was good to meet you tonight

you: who’s this

hoonie 🤍: you know who this is

you: I might need a reminder

hoonie 🤍: I owe you a drink

you: the one you poured me was actually really good so I think we’re even

A pause. Three dots. Gone. Back again.

hoonie 🤍: what are you doing tomorrow

you: why

hoonie 🤍: no reason. just asking.

you: I’m probably free

hoonie 🤍: I’ll pick you up at 12

you: bold of you to assume you have my address

hoonie 🤍: do I not?

you: …I’ll send it to you

hoonie 🤍: good

you: goodnight

hoonie 🤍: goodnight Y/N

—

🤍 kiss & tell

tip 01: give him a pet name. immediately.

Here’s what nobody tells you about a man who runs on charm — he’s built his whole personality around the way his name sounds in other people’s mouths. He knows how it lands. He’s been watching it land for years.

So take it away.

Give him something else. Something soft and slightly ridiculous, something completely at odds with everything he’s spent three years carefully constructing. Don’t ask permission. Don’t explain it. Just deploy it, directly, and watch what happens to his face.

The goal isn’t to annoy him. The goal is to see who he is when the thing he relies on gets gently, cheerfully removed.

Results to follow

You didn’t hear it from me. x

[1,847 readers overnight. 63 comments.]

she’s actually doing it.

KISS AND TELL THE WAY I SCREAMED.

I know exactly who this is about and I have never felt more seen in my life.

—

He picks you up at twelve.

This is the first thing that surprises you, which you don’t let show — that he said twelve and it’s twelve, exactly, his car pulling up outside your building at eleven fifty-eight and him not texting to say here or outside or any of the things people say when they arrive, just waiting, engine running, until you come out.

You clock this on the way down the stairs. Filed under: he’s punctual. he waited. he didn’t announce himself.

The car is clean. This is the second thing. Not aggressively clean, not the sterile cleanliness of someone performing tidiness — just maintained, looked after, the cleanliness of someone who takes quiet care of things they own. There’s a jacket on the back seat and a reusable coffee cup in the holder and a small air freshener hanging from the mirror that smells like cedar and you are absolutely not going to find this endearing.

“Hey,” he says, when you get in.

“Hi, hoonie,” you say.

A pause.

He looks at you.

You look back.

“Hoonie,” he repeats.

“Mm.”

“That’s—” He stops. Starts again. “Where did that come from.”

“I don’t know,” you say cheerfully. “It just suits you.”

“It doesn’t suit me.”

“I think it really does.”

He looks at you for another moment with an expression that is trying to be flat and not fully succeeding — there’s something underneath it, something that might be the effort of not reacting, which means he is reacting and choosing not to show it, which is more interesting than if he’d just been annoyed.

He puts the car in drive.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“There’s a place,” he says. “Near the rink. Good food. You’ll like it.”

“How do you know what I’ll like.”

“I don’t,” he says simply. “But if you don’t, we’ll go somewhere else.”

You look at the side of his face.

Filed under: he has a contingency. he’s already thought about what happens if the first plan doesn’t work.

You face forward.

“Hoonie,” you say again, conversationally, and watch his jaw do something in your peripheral vision.

“Please,” he says.

“Please what?”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

He glances at you. You are the picture of innocence. He looks back at the road.

“You’re going to keep doing it,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Probably,” you say.

A pause.

“Fine,” he says, and there’s something in it — resigned, but underneath the resignation something else, something that sounds almost like he finds this funny and is refusing to admit it.

You face forward and smile at the windscreen where he can’t see it.

Tip one: deployed.

The place near the rink is small and warm and the food is exactly what he said it would be, which you note because it means he knows what good food is and he knew enough about you after one conversation to make an accurate prediction.

You eat across from each other at a small table by the window and it’s — easy. That’s the thing that keeps catching you off guard, the thing that wasn’t in the submissions. The submissions covered charm, the warmth, the way he makes you feel like the only person in the room. What they didn’t cover was this — the version of him that exists when he’s not performing anything. The version that eats his food without making it an event and asks questions that are short and real and actually listens to the answers.

He asks about journalism. Not oh cool what’s that like but specific things — what you want to do with it, what kind of writing you actually care about, whether you think print is dead or just resting.

“Resting,” you say, firmly.

“Resting,” he repeats, like he’s testing whether he agrees. “Why.”

“Because people still want stories. They just want them differently. The format changed, not the hunger.”

He looks at you across the table. “What do you write?”

“Pieces,” you say. “Long form, mostly. Campus stuff. Culture, people, the way things work underneath the way they look.”

“Anything published?”

“The university paper. Some external stuff.” You take a sip of water. “Nothing that’s set the world on fire yet.”

“Yet,” he says, giving you your own word back, and the corner of his mouth does the thing.

You look at your plate.

Filed under: he pays attention to the exact words you use. he remembers them. he deploys them back.

This is, you think, how he does it. Not the obvious charm — the specific attention. The making-you-feel-like-your-words-matter thing. You’ve been watching for the playbook and this is it, this is the whole thing, and knowing what it is should make it easier to withstand.

It does not make it easier to withstand.

“What about the skating,” you say, because you need to redirect. “How long?”

“Since I was seven,” he says.

“Competitions?”

“Through high school. Regionals, a few nationals.” He says it the way people say things they’re proud of but have learned not to lead with. “Scholarship for university. Now it’s just — mornings. Keeping it.”

“Do you miss competing?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Longer than the other answers.

“Sometimes,” he says. “Not the competing. The clarity of it. When you’re on the ice and there’s a programme to execute, everything else goes quiet.” He looks at his water glass. “I miss the quiet.”

You look at him.

He seems to realise he’s said something more than he meant to, because he looks up and recalibrates slightly — not retreating, just adjusting. “Sorry. That was—”

“Don’t apologise,” you say.

He looks at you.

“It was a real answer,” you say. “Those are better than the other kind.”

Something in his expression shifts. The recalibration stops. He holds your gaze for a moment with the look of someone encountering something unexpected in a place they thought they knew the map of.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess they are.” You are a journalist. This is a story. You eat your food.

He drives you back at two-thirty.

Outside your building he doesn’t turn the engine off, just parks, and you sit there for a moment in the particular quality of the end of a first — not a date, this is not a date, this is day one of thirteen and you have twelve tips left to deploy.

“I had a good time,” he says.

“Me too,” you say, which is true, which is fine, which is completely consistent with the plan.

“Tomorrow?” he says.

“What about it.”

“Are you free.”

You look at him. “Why, hoonie?”

The jaw thing again. “Because I’d like to see you again. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you repeat.

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s a probably,” you say, and get out of the car, and don’t look back, and get into the lift, and press your floor, and the second the doors close you take out your phone and open the google doc.

Day 1 — complete. Tip 1 deployed. He hates the nickname.

You pause.

He also doesn’t hate the nickname.

You close the google doc. You open the blog dashboard. You start writing.

In the car outside your building, Sunghoon sits for a moment after you go in.

He looks at the building entrance.

He thinks about real answers are better than the other kind said with the particular directness of someone who means exactly what they say and has no interest in softening it.

He thinks about hoonie delivered with complete sincerity and zero apology and the way he couldn’t find a single thing to do with it.

He picks up his phone. He opens the text thread.

tomorrow works. I’ll come to you this time.

He looks at what he’s typed. He sends it. He puts the car in drive.

Across town, your phone buzzes.

hoonie 🤍: tomorrow works. I’ll come to you this time.

You stare at the contact name.

You type back: okay. noon again.

You put the phone down.

You pick up your notebook.

You write: tip two. the move-in. start small. a candle.

—

He comes at noon the next day.

You’ve been up since nine preparing, which is not something you will ever admit to Minji, who would make a face that would live in your memory for years. You’ve done your reading and drafted a column and had two coffees and told yourself that the preparation is logistical, it’s for the piece, it has nothing to do with the fact that someone is coming over at noon and you’d like the flat to look — not different exactly. Considered. Like you live here intentionally.

He arrives at noon exactly. Same as yesterday. You are starting to understand that this is just who he is — the punctuality, the quiet reliability of it — and you are filing it accordingly and not finding it anything other than useful data.

He’s in a different hoodie today. Still simple, still worn-in, still somehow doing more than it should.

You let him in.

He looks around your flat with the attention he gives everything — quiet, unhurried, taking it in properly rather than performing interest. He looks at your books, your desk, the organised chaos of a final year journalism student who lives primarily in her own head.

“Nice,” he says, which from him means something because he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.

“Thanks,” you say. “Make yourself at home.”

He sits on your sofa.

You go to the kitchen.

You come back with two coffees — his black, which you know from Minji’s intelligence and are absolutely not going to reveal that you know — and a candle, which you set on the coffee table with the ease of someone simply adding to their space, nothing deliberate about it, just a girl putting a candle in her own flat.

He looks at the candle.

“Cedarwood,” he says.

“Mm.”

“That’s—” He pauses. “That’s what my car smells like.”

You meet his eyes with complete innocence. “Is it? I’ve had this one for ages.”

He looks at you.

You hand him his coffee.

He takes it, still looking at you, with the expression of someone who is doing a calculation and arriving at a result he finds interesting.

“Hoonie,” you say, sitting beside him. “What do you want to do today?”

The jaw thing. “Stop calling me that.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you mean,” you say.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Sunghoon is a lot of syllables,” you say. “Hoonie is efficient.”

“It’s two syllables.”

“Exactly. Same as Sunghoon. But softer.” You look at him with perfect sincerity. “It suits you.”

“It doesn’t—” He stops. Closes his mouth. Opens it again. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know yet,” he says, and his voice is different — not suspicious, more like genuinely curious, the specific tone of someone encountering a puzzle they actually want to solve. “But you’re doing something.”

“I’m drinking my coffee,” you say. “In my flat. That I’ve lived in for two years.”

He looks at the candle. Then at you.

Then, slowly, he smiles. Not the charm one. The real one, the unguarded one, the one that got out before he decided whether to let it. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” you agree. You drink your coffees.

He stays for four hours.

This is not planned. The plan was two hours maximum — enough to establish presence, enough to deploy the beginning of tip two’s territorial creep, enough to leave him wanting more rather than enough. Four hours is not strategic.

Four hours happens because he mentions a book on your shelf — something you’ve had since first year, annotated to within an inch of its life — and you end up in an argument about whether the narrator is unreliable or just mistaken, which are different things, which he agrees they’re different things but disagrees on which one applies, and the argument is so genuinely enjoyable that you don’t notice the time until the light through your window has gone from afternoon to early evening and you’ve both moved from the sofa to the floor at some point without registering the transition.

“Unreliable implies intention,” you say, for the fourth time. “He’s not lying. He just doesn’t know.”

“Not knowing is a form of unreliability,” he says, also for the fourth time, from the other side of the coffee table. “Your perception shapes what you report. An unreliable perception makes an unreliable narrator regardless of intent.”

“That’s a really broad definition of unreliable.”

“It’s the correct definition.”

“According to who?”

“According to the text,” he says, and picks up the book and reads you a passage with the ease of someone who has it half-memorised, which means he’s read this book before, which means he recognised it on your shelf, which means—

You stop that thought.

“That passage supports my reading,” you say.

“It supports mine.”

“It doesn’t—”

“It—”

“Hoonie.”

He stops. Looks at you. Something in his expression does the thing — the almost, the precursor — and then he looks back at the book and says, very calmly, “I will concede the passage is ambiguous.”

“That’s not the same as conceding the argument.”

“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”

You look at him across the coffee table, the cedarwood candle burning between you, your annotated book in his hands, and you think about seventeen submissions and thirteen tips and the google doc with its four tabs and the fifth one you opened and immediately closed.

“It’s nearly six,” he says, checking his phone.

“Is it?”

“I should go.” But he doesn’t move. “Jay’s making dinner. He does this thing on Sundays where he decides he can cook and Heeseung and I have to either eat whatever it is or pretend we had plans.”

“Do you ever just tell him he can’t cook?”

“Every time.” He stands, finally, handing you back the book. “He does it anyway.”

You walk him to the door.

He picks up his jacket from the hook — he hung it up when he came in, you noticed, without being asked — and pauses.

“Tomorrow,” he says.

“What about it.”

“I have the rink in the morning. But after.” He looks at you. “Come to ours. Jay will make too much food regardless.”

“You’re inviting me to dinner at your house,” you say.

“Jay’s inviting you to dinner at our house,” he says. “Jay just doesn’t know it yet.”

You look at him.

“So that’s a yes?” he says.

You think about tip two. Move your stuff in. Start small. Establish presence in his space.

“Sure,” you say. “What time?”

“Seven.” He opens the door. Pauses. “Bring the candle.”

He says it completely straight-faced and leaves before you can respond, and you stand in your doorway watching him go down the hall and thinking that Park Sunghoon just made a joke about the candle, which means he knows about the candle, which means he’s paying attention to everything, which means this is going to be significantly more complicated than the google doc accounted for.

You close the door.

You pick up your notebook.

tip two update: he invited me to the house. didn’t even have to engineer it. he did it himself.

You pause. Read it back.

this is either going really well or really badly and I can’t tell which.

That night, after Jay’s food — which was aggressively fine, not bad, not good, aggressively fine — and two hours on their sofa watching something none of you were really watching, you leave the candle on their kitchen counter.

You do it on the way out, smooth and casual, setting it down like you’re just putting something down while you put your jacket on.

Heeseung sees you do it.

He says nothing.

You say goodnight and leave.

In the kitchen, Jay looks at the candle.

“Is that—”

“Don’t,” Sunghoon says.

“I’m just asking—”

“I know what you’re asking.”

“It smells nice,” Jay says. “That’s all I was going to say. It smells nice.”

Heeseung, from the sofa, turns a page of whatever he’s reading.

“She left it on purpose,” he says, to the page.

“Obviously,” Sunghoon says.

Jay looks between them. “And that’s—”

“Fine,” Sunghoon says. “It’s fine.”

He goes to his room.

Jay looks at the candle. Looks at Heeseung. Looks at the candle again.

“He likes her,” Jay says.

“I know,” Heeseung says.

“It’s day two.”

“I know,” Heeseung says again.

Jay pulls out his phone. Looks at the bet, the text thread, the terms. Puts the phone back in his pocket.

“We’re fine,” he says, to nobody in particular. Heeseung turns another page.

hoonie 🤍: you left your candle

you: did I? I didn’t notice

hoonie 🤍: you noticed

you: I’ll pick it up next time

hoonie 🤍: or I could bring it when I see you tomorrow

you: you’re seeing me tomorrow?

hoonie 🤍: apparently

you: bold assumption

hoonie 🤍: is it wrong

A pause. You look at the ceiling of your room. You look at your notebook, open on the bed beside you, tip two update written in your handwriting.

you: no

hoonie 🤍: goodnight Y/N

you: goodnight hoonie

Three dots. Gone.

Then:

hoonie 🤍: I’m not calling you anything back

you: I know. goodnight.

hoonie 🤍: …goodnight.

—

🤍 kiss & tell

tip 02: start moving your stuff in. casually. let him notice slowly.

Don’t announce it. Don’t make it an event. Just — leave things. Small things first. A candle. A jacket over a chair. Let the object do the work while you do nothing at all.

The goal isn’t possession. The goal is presence. The goal is to become a feature of his space so gradually that by the time he notices, you’re already there.

Did it work? He texted me about the candle.

Draw your own conclusions.

You didn’t hear it from me. x

[2,341 readers. 81 comments.]

the CANDLE.

she’s an evil genius and I mean that with full respect.

anonymous: I recognise this man’s entire behavioural pattern and Kiss & Tell you are doing the lord’s work.

—

🤍 kiss & tell

tip 03: cry. in front of him about something small.

Not a breakdown. Not a scene. Something small and genuine and completely disproportionate to the situation — a sad video, a dog, a song that comes on at the wrong moment.

The objective is simple. Men like this have spent years perfecting the art of emotional unavailability. They’ve built entire personalities around not being the one who feels things in public. So you introduce feelings — small, manageable, completely non-threatening feelings — and you watch what they do with them.

Do they run? Do they freeze? Do they do the stiff-shoulder-pat of a man who has never once been asked to sit with someone else’s emotions?

Results to follow.

You didn’t hear it from me. x

—

Day three arrives with the particular energy of something that has already decided what it’s going to be.

You know this before you’re fully awake — the specific quality of the morning, October light coming through your curtains in the thin gold way it does when the weather can’t commit to itself, and your phone already buzzing on the nightstand with a text that came in at seven forty-two AM from a contact saved as hoonie 🤍 which is, you think, perhaps a sign that day three has opinions.

hoonie 🤍: rink was good this morning. you’re up?

You stare at this message for a moment.

He texted you at seven forty-two in the morning, voluntarily, to tell you the rink was good.

You file this.

you: I am now

hoonie 🤍: sorry

you: don’t be. what made it good

A pause. Longer than his usual response time, which you’ve already clocked is short — he’s not a leave-it-on-read person, he responds when he sees it, which means he has his phone nearby most of the time, which means the deliberate pauses are deliberate.

hoonie 🤍: landed something I’ve been working on for two weeks

you: the triple?

hoonie 🤍: you know about the triple

You freeze.

you: you mentioned it. yesterday. when you were talking about the programme.

This is a lie. He did not mention it yesterday. It is in tab one of the google doc, sourced from a submission sent in by a girl who went to one of his morning sessions three months ago and described watching him attempt a triple axel for forty minutes with the specific admiration of someone who has been thoroughly won over against their will.

Three dots. Then:

hoonie 🤍: I don’t think I mentioned it

you: you definitely did

hoonie 🤍: …okay

He doesn’t push it. You exhale.

you: so you landed it?

hoonie 🤍: yeah

you: how does it feel

hoonie 🤍: like the ice gave me permission

You read this three times. You put your phone face down on the pillow. You pick it up again.

you: that’s a really good way to put it

hoonie 🤍: I’m a literature student

you: is that your excuse for everything

hoonie 🤍: it’s not an excuse it’s a qualification

You laugh, alone in your room at seven fifty AM, at a joke made by a boy you are assigned to lose over thirteen days, and you file this too — he’s funny. not performed funny. actually funny. — and you do not examine the filing too closely.

you: come over later?

You send it before you can think about whether it’s too eager, too fast, inconsistent with the planned arc of tip deployment. It doesn’t matter. It’s day three. The scrapbook is day four. Today is the crying, which requires proximity, which requires him to be here.

That’s why you sent it.

hoonie 🤍: what time

you: whenever. I’ll be in all day.

hoonie 🤍: two?

you: two works

hoonie 🤍: see you at two Y/N

You put the phone down. You open the google doc. You open a new document — not a tab, a separate one, private, not part of the Kiss & Tell infrastructure — and you write:

he said the ice gave me permission. I don’t know what to do with that.

You close it without saving.

He arrives at two with food.

Not a lot — just things, from the place near the rink, the good one, without being asked, without announcing it. He comes through the door and sets a paper bag on your counter and shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the hook, which he does automatically now, second time and already automatic, and you think about establish presence from your own tip and feel the specific irony of him doing it back to you without knowing.

“You didn’t have to,” you say, nodding at the bag.

“You had food here last time,” he says. “Fair’s fair.”

“I had coffee.”

“And a candle.”

“The candle was already here.”

He gives you a look that says he absolutely knows the candle was not already there and is choosing not to press it, which is its own kind of move — letting you have the small fictions, not calling them out, keeping the game friendly.

You are a journalist. This is a story. You find this extremely interesting and nothing else.

You eat the food he brought at your kitchen counter, standing, which turns into sitting on the floor with your backs against the sofa because your flat is small and the counter doesn’t have stools and somehow the floor is just where you both end up, plates balanced, talking about — nothing. The specific nothing of two people who are finding out that they can fill time with each other without effort, which is either the most ordinary thing in the world or the most significant, depending on who you are.

He’s telling you about Jay’s latest cooking disaster — something involving rice and a confidence level that was not supported by the actual skill — when your phone, face up on the coffee table, plays a video.

Autoplay. Something from your feed. You’d been scrolling before he arrived and left it open.

You both look at the screen.

It’s a dog. A golden retriever, elderly, being reunited with a soldier coming home. The dog sees the soldier and its whole back half starts wagging and it makes a sound — a specific, desperate, you’re back you’re back you’re back sound — and the soldier gets down on his knees on the tarmac and the dog practically climbs into him.

You watch it for four seconds.

Your eyes fill up.

This is not entirely the plan. The plan was to deploy the crying strategically, with a video you’d pre-selected, at a moment you’d engineered. What is happening instead is that the video arrived without warning and you are apparently the kind of person who cries at dog videos at two forty-five in the afternoon in front of someone you are professionally obligated to remain detached from.

You blink. Hard. Once.

Too late.

Sunghoon looks at you.

He looks at the phone. Looks back at you. Looks at the tear that has made it approximately halfway down your cheek before you get a hand up to intercept it.

“Are you,” he starts.

“I’m fine,” you say. “It’s a dog.”

“I can see it’s a dog.”

“He was so happy,” you say, which is not a sentence you planned to say, which arrives from somewhere entirely outside the tip deployment framework. “He didn’t even — the sound he made—”

“Okay,” Sunghoon says.

“I’m not crying,” you say.

“You’re definitely crying.”

“It’s a dog,” you say again, as if this is a complete explanation, which to you it is.

He is quiet for a moment.

Then he does something you did not put in the google doc, which is that he reaches over and hands you a napkin from the food bag — not with ceremony, not with the performance of someone doing a kind thing, just hands it over, plain and practical, the way you’d hand someone a napkin — and goes back to his food.

He doesn’t say anything else about it.

He doesn’t make it weird.

He doesn’t do the stiff-shoulder-pat. He doesn’t freeze. He doesn’t make a joke or look uncomfortable or redirect the conversation with the energy of someone escaping a situation they don’t know how to be in.

He hands you a napkin and goes back to his food and lets the moment be exactly what it is — small, genuine, completely disproportionate — without making it anything more.

You wipe your face.

You go back to your food.

“He was really happy,” Sunghoon says, after a moment, to his plate.

You look at him.

He is very focused on his food. The tips of his ears are faintly pink.

“Yeah,” you say. “He was.”

You do not put this in the blog post.

You write the tip. You write the strategic version, the one about emotional unavailability and the shoulder-pat and watching what he does with feelings he didn’t expect to encounter. You write it with the detachment of a journalist who has the story under control.

You do not write about the napkin.

You do not write about his ears.

You open the private document — the separate one, the one that isn’t part of the Kiss & Tell infrastructure — and you write:

he handed me a napkin and didn’t make it weird. that’s it. that’s the whole thing. I don’t know why I’m writing this down.

You stare at it.

You close it without saving. Again.

—

Day four arrives and you have a scrapbook to make.

You’ve been thinking about the scrapbook since you planned the tips. It’s the most unhinged one — the most deliberately, strategically overwhelming — and it requires actual effort. You need photos, which means you need photos from the last three days, which means you’ve been taking them.

You have, it turns out, taken more photos than you planned.

The food from the place near the rink, the brown paper bag with its logo. A screenshot of a text exchange that made you laugh. The view from his car window on day one, which you took while he wasn’t looking because the light was doing something through the glass that you wanted to keep. His jacket on your hook — just the jacket, the empty shape of it against the door, which you took on day two after he left and have not examined why.

You print them at the campus print shop on Wednesday morning. You buy a scrapbook from the art supplies place next door — not a nice one, not a proper one, the kind with a flimsy cover and pages that are slightly too thick, which is exactly right. You buy stickers, because of course you do, and some tape, and a marker, and you sit at your kitchen table for an hour and make something that is objectively both ridiculous and, somewhere underneath the ridiculousness, completely genuine.

Because the photos are real. You actually took them. The light through his car window is actually beautiful. The jacket on the hook is actually — it looks like it belongs there, which is the thing you noticed when you took the photo, the way it looked like it had always been there, and that’s why you took it, and you are a journalist and this is a story.

You close the scrapbook.

You put it in your bag.

He comes over at noon. He’s in the hoodie again — different one this time, grey, slightly older, and you’ve started to understand that the hoodies are his version of comfortable, that he dresses for other people sometimes and for himself other times and the hoodie version is the himself version.

“Hoonie,” you say, letting him in.

“Y/N,” he says, with the patience of someone who has accepted this is simply going to happen.

You make coffee. You bring it to the sofa. You sit beside him with your bag and he’s looking at his phone, something about the rink schedule, and you pull the scrapbook out and set it on the coffee table.

He looks at it.

Then at you.

“What’s that,” he says.

“A scrapbook,” you say.

“Of.”

“Us,” you say. “Mostly. The last few days.”

He is very still.

“We’ve known each other for four days,” he says.

“Three and a half,” you correct. “But a lot happened.”

He looks at the scrapbook. At the cover, which has a sticker on it — a small gold star, because you had the stickers and it felt right — and his name written in marker in your handwriting, hoonie, which you did partly for the tip and partly because by the time you were making it you’d stopped thinking about the tip.

“Can I—” he starts.

“Go ahead,” you say.

He picks it up.

He opens it.

You watch him.

He goes through it slowly, which you didn’t expect — you expected a quick flip, the polite skim of someone who doesn’t know how to receive something like this and is looking for the exit. Instead he takes his time. Each page. The food bag photo. The text screenshot. The light through the car window.

He stops on that one.

“When did you take this,” he says.

“Day one. On the way to lunch.”

“I didn’t see you take it.”

“You were driving.”

He looks at the photo. At the light through the glass, the way it caught and scattered, the particular quality of it that made you reach for your phone without thinking.

“It’s good,” he says, quietly. Not performing it.

“I know,” you say. “That’s why I took it.”

He turns the page.

He finds the jacket photo.

He’s quiet for a long moment. Long enough that you stop watching him and look at the coffee table instead, the cedarwood candle — his candle now, in their kitchen, you brought a new one for yours — and the two coffees going slowly cold.

“You took a photo of my jacket,” he says.

“It looked nice on the hook,” you say.

“On your hook.”

“On my hook. Yes.”

He closes the scrapbook. Sets it on the table. Picks up his coffee.

You wait.

“You’ve known me for four days,” he says again.

“Three and a half.”

“Y/N.”

“Sunghoon.”

He looks at you. And here is the thing — here is the thing you didn’t put in the google doc and couldn’t have — he doesn’t look unsettled. He doesn’t look like a man encountering an overwhelming situation and calculating his exit. He looks like a man encountering something he doesn’t have a category for and finding, to his own apparent surprise, that he’s not looking for one.

“You’re something,” he says.

“I’ve been told,” you say.

“I don’t mean it like that.”

“How do you mean it.”

He looks at the scrapbook on the table. At the gold star sticker on the cover. At hoonie in your handwriting.

“I don’t know yet,” he says honestly. “I’ll tell you when I do.”

You look at him for a long moment.

Filed under —

You don’t file it.

For the first time since the google doc, since the seventeen submissions, since the plan that is elegant and slightly unhinged, you look at Park Sunghoon sitting on your sofa holding his coffee with the scrapbook of three and a half days on the table between you and you don’t file it.

You just look at him.

“Okay,” you say.

“Okay,” he says.

You drink your coffees.

He leaves at four. He picks up the scrapbook on the way out, without asking, and you watch him tuck it under his arm like it’s something he’s taking home, which it is, which means it worked, which means tip four is complete.

You should feel like you won something. You mostly feel like you did something real.

“Tomorrow,” he says, at the door.

“Tomorrow,” you agree.

He goes.

You close the door.

You go to your desk. You open your laptop. You open the blog dashboard and you write the tip post — the strategic version, the scrapbook-as-weapon version, the this-is-how-you-overwhelm-a-man-who-runs-from-feelings version.

Then you open the private document.

You stare at the blank page.

You type: he took it home.

Four words. You look at them.

he took it home and I don’t know if that’s the tip working or something else and I think the problem is I’m not sure it matters anymore which one it is.

You close it.

This time you save it.

In the house off campus, Jay finds the scrapbook.

Not snooping — it’s on the kitchen counter, which is where Sunghoon put it when he came in, and Jay sees it because he goes to the kitchen for water and it’s just there, and he picks it up because it has a gold star sticker on it and he’s curious.

He opens it.

He looks at the photos. The food bag. The text screenshot. The light through the car window. The jacket on the hook.

He closes it.

He goes to the living room where Heeseung is reading.

“Heeseung,” he says.

“Mm.”

“We have a problem.”

Heeseung turns a page. “I know.”

“She made him a scrapbook.”

“I know.”

“It’s day four.”

“I know, Jay.”

Jay sits down heavily on the sofa. He looks at the ceiling. He thinks about the bet — the text thread, the terms, thirteen days, one girl, you actually try — and he thinks about Sunghoon’s face when he came home, which was not the face of a man who is running a bet.

It was the face of a man who took a scrapbook home and is not entirely sure why and is not entirely bothered by not being sure.

“We should say something,” Jay says.

“Should we,” Heeseung says, not looking up.

“One of us should—”

“Which one of us,” Heeseung says, “is going to walk into Sunghoon’s room and tell him that the girl who made him a scrapbook on day four is doing it on purpose, and also that you made a bet, and also that we’ve both been watching this happen and said nothing?”

Jay opens his mouth.

“Which one of us,” Heeseung continues, turning another page, “is going to do that.”

Jay closes his mouth.

He looks at the ceiling.

“We’ll give it a few more days,” he says.

Heeseung says nothing.

Which is, Jay is beginning to understand, Heeseung’s way of saying you have made a catastrophic error and I am going to let you arrive at that conclusion yourself.

Jay goes back to the kitchen.

He looks at the scrapbook on the counter.

He gets his water.

He goes to bed.

—

🤍 kiss & tell

tip 04: make a scrapbook. day four. show him.

Physical evidence of a relationship that is three and a half days old.

Print the photos. Buy the stickers. Write his name on the cover in your own handwriting. Make it real enough that he can’t dismiss it and ridiculous enough that he should want to.

The goal is overwhelm. The goal is to be too much, too fast, too sincere — to deploy the kind of gesture that sends men like this running for the nearest exit.

Here’s what happened instead… he took it home.

I don’t have a tip for that. I’ll get back to you.

You didn’t hear it from me. x

[3,102 readers. 114 comments.]

SHE DOESN’T HAVE A TIP FOR THAT I’M LOSING MY MIND.

kiss & tell are you okay.

anonymous: I know who this is and I need everyone to understand that this man has never once taken anything home in three years.

⤷ from Kiss & Tell: …noted.

—

🤍 kiss & tell

tip 05: name it. (as in his penis ;))

Give it a full name. Something formal. Something that requires introduction. Deploy it with complete sincerity and maintain eye contact with him while you do it.

The objective here is simple — men who have built entire personalities around being untouchable tend to have one specific vulnerability, which is being caught completely off guard in a situation where charm is not a useful tool.

This is that situation.

Results to follow.

You didn’t hear it from me. x

—

Day five starts with a text at seven AM.

hoonie 🤍: rink. triple again. landed it cleaner.

You read this lying on your back in the dark of your room, phone screen bright in the early morning, and you think about like the ice gave me permission and the private document you’ve been saving things to and the fact that he texts you about the rink now, voluntarily, without prompting, like you’re the person he tells things to.

You’ve been the person he tells things to for five days.

you: cleaner how

hoonie 🤍: the landing. rotation was right last time but the landing was off. today it was right.

you: what does a right landing feel like

The pause is longer this time. The deliberate kind.

hoonie 🤍: like the ground caught you on purpose

You stare at this message.

You type: that’s a really good sentence

hoonie 🤍: I told you. literature student.

you: qualification not excuse

hoonie 🤍: exactly

you: come over tonight?

You send it before you think about it, which is becoming a pattern you haven’t fully addressed. The plan accounts for frequency of contact — it’s in the timeline tab, maintain consistent but not overwhelming presence, let him initiate where possible. You have been initiating more than the timeline accounts for.

You file this under logistical adjustment and move on.

hoonie 🤍: yeah. eight?

you: eight works

hoonie 🤍: I’ll bring food

you: you don’t have to keep doing that

hoonie 🤍: I know

You put your phone down.

You open the google doc.

You open the private document instead.

he said like the ground caught you on purpose. I’ve been thinking about it for twenty minutes. I should probably stop thinking about it. I’m not going to stop thinking about it.

You close it.

He arrives at eight with food from a different place this time — further from campus, somewhere you don’t recognise the bag from, which means he went out of his way, which you note and do not remark on.

He’s in the grey hoodie again. The himself one.

You’re in your flat in your own version of the himself thing — an old university shirt, jeans, hair that’s been up since this morning and is making its own decisions at this point — and when you open the door he looks at you with the expression he gets sometimes, the brief unguarded one, before he recalibrates into easy and casual.

“Hi, hoonie,” you say.

“Hi,” he says, with the patient resignation of a man who has stopped arguing about the nickname and is choosing to interpret this as winning.

You eat on the floor again. This is simply where you eat now, apparently — sofa abandoned in favour of the rug, backs against the coffee table, food between you. You’ve stopped thinking about whether this is strategic. It’s just comfortable.

He tells you about the rink. About the programme he’s been working on for three months, the one the triple is part of, the way the whole thing builds toward a specific feeling he’s been chasing.

“What feeling,” you ask.

“Like it’s inevitable,” he says. “Like every element was always going to be in that order. Like the programme is just — uncovering something that was already there.”

You look at him.

“That’s what good writing feels like,” you say. “When it works. Like you’re not inventing it, just finding it.”

He looks back at you.

“Yeah,” he says. “Exactly like that.”

The room is quiet for a moment. The good kind, the kind that doesn’t require filling.

You are a journalist. This is a story.

“So,” you say, and something in your voice shifts, and he hears it — you see him hear it, the slight attention change, the orientation. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About.”

“About the fact that it’s day five,” you say, “and we’ve been spending a significant amount of time together.”

“We have,” he agrees, carefully.

“And I think—” You look at him with complete sincerity. “I think it’s time we took the next step.”

He goes very still.

“The next—”

“I want to,” you say, and you hold his gaze, “if you want to.”

A pause.

He looks at you. You look at him. The space between you on the rug is not very large and the lamp is doing something warm with the light and he’s in his grey hoodie and his hair is doing the unstyled thing and his expression is—

“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “Okay.”

The thing about Park Sunghoon, which was in the submissions but which the submissions did not adequately convey, is that he is extremely good at this.

Not in the way you expected.

You expected the practiced version — efficient, warm in a generalised way, the kind of good that comes from having done something enough times that it stops requiring thought. You expected charm applied to a physical situation. You expected to feel, somewhere underneath everything, the low hum of being processed. Another girl. Another night. Another name he wouldn’t remember by the end.

What you get is the opposite of all of that.

He notices things.

He gets your shirt off and looks at you with that expression — the brief unguarded one, the one you’ve been cataloguing — and it doesn’t recalibrate this time. He just looks. Openly, unhurriedly, like you’re something he hasn’t finished figuring out and is in no rush to.

His eyes move over you slowly. Your face. Your throat. Lower.

“Hi,” he says quietly, and it sounds like something else entirely.

“Hi, hoonie,” you say, because you can’t help it, and he makes a sound that is almost a laugh and presses his mouth to your collarbone.

And then he takes you apart.

He gets your bra off and looks at your tits with the focused attention of someone making a decision, and then his hands are on them — cupping, thumbs brushing your nipples — and you inhale sharply and he does it again, watching your face while he does it, filing away the reaction.

“Sensitive,” he says. Not a question.

“Shut up,” you say.

The corner of his mouth does the thing. He lowers his head and closes his mouth over your nipple and your hand goes into his hair immediately, gripping, and the sound you make is embarrassingly immediate. He works them with his mouth and hands — unhurried, thorough, learning what makes you twitch versus what makes you actually make noise — and by the time he starts moving down your body you are already significantly less composed than you planned to be.

He gets your jeans off and looks at you and says “fuck” quietly, to himself, like it got out before he decided to let it, and that single unguarded profanity is what tips you from oriented into something else. Because it’s real. Because he means it. Because Park Sunghoon, looking at you in the lamplight of his room, forgot for one second to manage his expression.

You were not prepared for him to mean it.

He gets your underwear off and puts his mouth on your pussy and you stop being a journalist completely.

He eats you out the way he does everything — with complete attention, unhurried, like there’s a right answer here and he’s going to find it. His tongue works through your folds slowly and then finds your clit and stays there and you grip his hair and he takes that as information and presses closer. Two fingers push into your pussy and curl and you arch off the bed.

“Sunghoon —”

“Mm,” he says against you, which is not words, which is just sound, and somehow that’s worse.

He learns you methodically — finding the specific pressure on your clit that makes your thighs shake, the angle of his fingers against your walls that makes you lose language, and then staying there, patient and relentless, not moving on until he’s got exactly the response he was looking for. You have both hands in his hair and you’re not being careful about how hard you’re pulling and he seems to actively prefer this, his fingers curling deeper when you do.

The first orgasm hits harder than you expected. You cry out properly — loud enough to echo off the walls of his quiet house — and he works you through every second of it and then keeps going and you try to pull him up by the hair.

He ignores you.

“More,” he says against your pussy, simply, like it’s obvious.

“Sunghoon —”

“More.” He looks up at you over your body and his eyes are completely dark and the composed literary student is entirely gone and something about the specific way he’s looking at you — focused, certain, like you are a problem he is enjoying solving — makes heat bloom all the way up your chest. “I want to hear it again.”

You give it to him. The second one builds slower and hits differently — deeper, rolling through you in long waves — and you’re shaking by the end of it, thighs clamped around his head, and he pulls back and looks at you and his mouth is slick and his expression is thoroughly satisfied.

He moves up your body. Looks at you. Checks — actually checks, the same care underneath everything.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” you say. “Obviously yeah —”

He kisses you and you taste yourself on his mouth and pull him closer and he makes a low sound and reaches over to the nightstand and then he’s back and lining up and pushing into your pussy slow and —

You understand immediately why seventeen girls kept coming back.

It’s not just the size, though that’s — relevant information, significant information, information you are filing carefully. It’s the way he’s completely there. No part of him is somewhere else. His forehead drops to yours and he gives you a moment, feeling your walls adjust around his cock, and when he starts to move the sound he makes against your neck is low and genuine and nothing like performance.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hips drive forward and you arch up and he groans. “You feel so good.” He pulls back and pushes in deeper and you make a sound that has no consonants in it. “Yeah.” His mouth finds your ear. “Just like that.”

“Sunghoon —”

“I’ve got you,” he says. “Relax.”

He sets a pace that is deep and thorough and completely unhurried — long strokes that drag against your walls perfectly, his cock filling you on every thrust in a way that keeps short-circuiting coherent thought. His hands move over you while he moves — your waist, your hips, sliding up to your tits and gripping before moving back down — like he wants to touch all of you and is working through the logistics of it.

You are loud. You were not planning to be loud. You are very loud.

“There,” he says, when you make a specific sound, and adjusts his angle and does it again. “Right there?”

“Yes —” Your hands grab his shoulders. “Yes, right —”

“Good girl.” He stays at that angle. His thumb finds your clit and you cry out. “So good for me.”

The words land somewhere that surprises you with how directly they land. Your whole body responds to them — clenching around his cock — and he groans at the feeling and his composure slips a fraction.

“Tight,” he says against your throat. “Tight fucking pussy —” His hips snap forward and you cry out again. “You feel that?”

“Yes —”

“Yeah.” His thumb keeps working your clit, small and precise, and his cock is deep and his mouth is at your jaw and your ear and your throat. “Take it.” He drives in harder. “Just like that. Take it.”

You come on his cock with your nails in his shoulders and your head thrown back and a sound that you will think about with some embarrassment tomorrow and he works you through every second of it — hips maintaining that deep steady rhythm, thumb relentless on your clit — until you’re grabbing his wrist and making incoherent noises.

“Too much —” you manage. “Too —”

“One more,” he says. Not unkind. Just certain, the way he’s certain about everything. “Give me one more.”

“Sunghoon I literally —”

“One more,” he says, and shifts his angle, and you sob, and give him one more.

He comes shortly after, buried deep, his forehead to your shoulder, groaning low against your skin with his hips pressed flush against yours and his cock pulsing and staying buried while he rides it out. His hand at your hip is tight enough to leave something tomorrow and neither of you are thinking about tomorrow.

He stays there after. Breathing. Not rushing the aftermath.

You are not going to put all this in your blog. What you are going to put in the blog is what happens approximately forty minutes in, when you are in his bed — you ended up at his, Heeseung and Jay both absent, the house quiet and warm — and things have arrived at a natural pause, and you look at him and the tip, the one you’ve been planning since the google doc, arrives.

“Hi,” you say.

He looks at you. “Hi.”

You look down. Then back up. Very seriously.

“Hi, Gerald,” you say.

The silence is immediate and total.

Sunghoon stares at you.

You maintain eye contact.

“What,” he says.

“Gerald,” you say. “I think it suits him.”

“You—” He stops. “You just—”

“Formally,” you say. “I wanted to do it formally.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Something is happening in his face — a sequence of things, moving through quickly, surprise and bafflement and something else underneath both of them, something that is fighting very hard not to become what it wants to become.

It loses the fight.

He laughs.

Not a small laugh, not the quiet almost-laugh you’ve catalogued — a real one, full, the kind that takes him by surprise, that gets out before he can decide whether to let it, that turns into another one before the first one’s finished, and he puts a hand over his face and laughs into his palm and you watch this happen and feel something in your chest that is completely outside the scope of the assignment.

“Gerald,” he says, from behind his hand.

“Strong name,” you say. “Classic.”

“You planned that,” he says.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You one hundred percent planned that.”

“I acted on instinct.”

He looks at you from behind his hand, eyes visible above his fingers, still doing the aftermath of the laugh — the residual warmth of it, the particular quality of someone who has just laughed properly and the room is different because of it. “Instinct,” he repeats.

“It felt right,” you say.

He drops his hand. Looks at you properly.

And here is the thing that doesn’t go in the blog, that goes in the private document, that you will think about at seven AM tomorrow when he texts you about the rink: he looks at you like you are the most interesting thing that has happened to him in years. Not in the charming way, not the way he probably looks at everyone. In a specific way. The way you look at something that keeps being different from what you expected and you’ve stopped expecting it to stop.

“Gerald,” he says again, quieter.

“Do you hate it?” you ask.

“Yes,” he says.

“Good,” you say.

He laughs again, smaller this time, and pulls you back in, and the rest of the night is — the rest of the night goes in the private document, not the blog.

What goes in the blog is the tip. The strategic version. The maintained-eye-contact version.

What goes in the private document, at one forty-seven AM, lying in his bed while he’s asleep, phone screen dim so it doesn’t wake him:

he laughed. the real one, the full one, not the almost. I’ve been cataloguing the almost-laughs for five days and tonight I got the real one and it happened because of Gerald and I think I need to be honest with myself about something.

I think I need to be honest with myself about something and then a long blank space where you couldn’t find the words, and then:

the ground caught you on purpose. that’s what he said this morning. and I keep thinking about it and I think I’m starting to understand what he means and I don’t know what to do with that.

You save it.

You put the phone down.

Beside you, Sunghoon sleeps with the specific quality of someone who is completely comfortable, one hand near yours on the pillow, not touching but close, and the lamp is still on because neither of you got up to turn it off and the room is warm and the scrapbook is on his desk, the gold star sticker catching the light, and outside the window the campus goes about its late night and inside this room everything is—

You don’t finish the sentence.

You close your eyes.

In the morning you wake up before him.

This surprises you — you expected him to be the early one, the rink-at-five-AM one, and he will be tomorrow and the day after, but today is not a rink morning and so he’s asleep when the light comes through the curtains and you lie there for a moment in the particular disorientation of waking somewhere that isn’t your room.

Then it lands.

Right. Yes.

You turn your head.

He’s asleep on his back, one arm at his side, hair doing something completely unmanaged, and he looks — he looks like himself. The version underneath everything else. Without the careful ease, without the recalibration, just him, and you lie there and look at him and think about seventeen submissions and the google doc and the private document and Gerald and the laugh and the ground caught you on purpose.

He opens his eyes.

Finds you immediately, without looking — just turns his head and you’re there and he looks at you with the specific expression of someone waking up and finding exactly what they were hoping to find and not trying to manage that expression at all.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi, hoonie,” you say.

He closes his eyes again, briefly. “You’re doing that in the morning now.”

“I do it all the time.”

“It’s worse in the morning.”

“Because you’re less defended.”

He opens his eyes. Looks at you. “Yeah,” he says, quietly. “Maybe.”

The room is morning-quiet. The lamp is still on, pale now against the daylight. His desk has the scrapbook on it, gold star, hoonie in your handwriting.

“Rink tomorrow,” he says.

“I know.”

“Early.”

“I know.”

“You could—” He stops.

“Could what,” you say.

“Come,” he says. “If you wanted. It’s early. You probably don’t want to.”

You look at him.

“What time,” you say.

Something in his face does the thing. “Five-thirty.”

“I’ll be there at five-twenty,” you say. “To be annoying.”

He looks at the ceiling. But his mouth is doing the thing and he doesn’t try to stop it, not this morning, not in this room.

“Obviously,” he says.

Jay is in the kitchen when Sunghoon comes downstairs at nine.

He’s making coffee with the focused energy of someone who has been awake for a while and has been thinking about things and has decided to make coffee because it’s better than the alternative. He looks up when Sunghoon comes in. Clocks his expression. Looks at the scrapbook, which has migrated from the counter to the kitchen table at some point. Looks back at Sunghoon.

“Good night?” Jay says, with the careful neutrality of a man defusing a situation.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon says. He opens the fridge. Gets juice. “You?”

“Fine.” Jay pours two coffees without being asked and sets one on the counter. “She go home?”

“Earlier.”

“Right.” A pause. “She’s—” Jay stops.

“What.”

“Nothing,” Jay says. “She seems good. She’s good.”

Sunghoon looks at him.

Jay picks up his coffee.

“What,” Sunghoon says again.

“Nothing,” Jay says. “I just—” He stops again. He has the expression of a man standing at the entrance to a conversation he should have two days ago and is finding the door very heavy. “I just think she’s good. That’s all. I like her.”

“Okay,” Sunghoon says slowly.

“Okay,” Jay says.

Sunghoon picks up his coffee. Looks at Jay for a moment with the particular look of someone who knows a conversation is being avoided and is choosing, for now, not to push it.

He takes his coffee upstairs.

Jay stands in the kitchen alone.

He looks at the scrapbook on the table. At hoonie in someone else’s handwriting. At the gold star sticker.

He takes out his phone. He opens the bet thread. He stares at it. He puts his phone back in his pocket. He drinks his coffee.

—

🤍 kiss & tell

tip 05: name it.

Full name. Formal introduction. Complete sincerity. Maintained eye contact.

Here’s what I can tell you: it worked. The overwhelm landed. He was, briefly, completely caught off guard in a situation where charm was not a useful tool.

Here’s what I can’t tell you: what happened after.

Not because it isn’t relevant. Because some things are happening in this story that I didn’t plan for and I’m a journalist and I know when a story is going somewhere I didn’t map out and I need a minute to figure out what that means before I report on it.

Tip six is boys night. I’ll be there Thursday.

You didn’t hear it from me. x

[4,891 readers. 203 comments.]

KISS AND TELL WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOME THINGS ARE HAPPENING THAT YOU DIDN’T PLAN FOR.

she’s in trouble.

⤷ we’re all in trouble.

the name reveal is going to be in the comments for the rest of time.

anonymous: I go to this campus. I know who this is about. I need everyone to understand that this man smiled at someone in the humanities building yesterday and it was not his normal smile.

⤷ from Kiss & Tell: …I’m going to need you to expand on that.

laceys note // if you guys made it to the end thank u! and yes before yall ask i do have part 2 in the making 😉

perm taglist. @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @engenewilstaykon @seungiesdoll @rinforu @isa942572 @ride-a-nishimura @florarua @baedreamverse @softblaqn @rikisloverrr @kittyvalr @ellushic @dimples264493 @kimmm02 @kiwicup @jakebitez @mystgene @baek-some-cake @betagalactose @kookiesnkim @honeyvelvetinez @violetteaismyfavourite @meowza1 @abbyssful @yandere-stories @imminentcodexcore @mlink64 @k4y-sh @rubadubdubinthetub @jungwno @k3nza @simjakeyjake @heeseungdada @bbrianawhatt @onlyifusayyesxx @mintchocoddeonut @sillycactus143 @heexyzy @wonkiipiilled

[yla-aira]

"the ground caught you on purpose. that’s what he said this morning. and I keep thinking about it and I think I’m starting to understand what he means and I don’t know what to do with that."

[simjakedly]

mark me yours - l.hs (part 3)

— a spin-off from love me (k)not

main masterlist | part 1 | part 2

synopsis. heeseung finally knows the taste of betrayal.

pairing. alpha!heeseung x omega!female reader

genre(s). omegaverse, fated mates, strangers-to-lovers, fluff, angst, smut

warnings. MDNI (there'll be a warning cut), heavy angst, alpha!jay being our target again i'm so sorry this is the last time i promise!, tw: nosebleed, softdom!heeseung because i love soft doms, p in v, fingering, missionary AND doggy because why not, unprotected sex (haih pls just don't), loss of virginity, nipple sucking, body worshipping, BITING, MARKING, BITE-MARK, heeseung cries a lot good lord but he deserves it lowkey, LIKE BONNIE AND CLYDE MAKIN' LOVEEE (insert hoonwon's voice), yes they make love your honour, and yes it's a happy ending your honour, not beta read we die like injang, tumblr pls stop with your 1000 blocks limit im gna come at you!!! lmk if i missed anything :>

word count. 15,175 words

note. i'm sorryyyyyyy for the delay sjshidshk here's the last part!!! thank you for showing this series your love and support <3

It’s finally the day of the competition.

Yet you haven’t heard from Heeseung for days.

You try not to make it obvious, nor to show how much you care. Not when Jungwon wouldn’t say anything either.

The younger alpha has been replacing Heeseung instead, walking you home while chatting about anything but the elephant in the room.  

Or, in your case, the wolf in your universe.

There’s a lump of disappointment lodging in your chest whenever you think about it. You think that Heeseung has finally given up on trying to make up. You think that you’ve been too indifferent and unintentionally have pushed him away further than the two of you have ever been.

You don’t know why the thought makes you feel bitter.

“Our pitching is next,” Jungwon whispers next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You watch the group before you begin their pitching presentation.

In the first stage, the pitching was done in separate rooms to make it less time-consuming. But your group has advanced to the final stage, and now you have to convince five professionals from the business industry why your business idea is better than three other groups in front of hundreds of audience.

The image makes your blazer suddenly feel too tight around your ribs. You shift, trying not to think about the eyes watching every movement of the participants sitting on the far end of the stage.

Where the hell did this many people come from, anyway? You never see this crowd in lecture halls!

“Y/N. You’re nervous.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Well, you don’t really smell like you’re relaxed right now.”

You purse your lips. Jungwon is right, of course, except you actually feel like your nerves are on the edge of bursting.

You’re not exactly good with stage fright. Especially in front of all these people whose names sound way too dramatic, like they don’t belong to the normal citizens like you. Their eyes are too penetrative, like they’re already figuring out every single doubt and nerves in your body, ready to tackle with impossible-to-answer questions.

You move in your seat again, trying to find comfort. But the seat is too hard for your tailbone. Beside you, Jungwon leans closer, speaking over the speaker blasting by your ears.

“Are you going to Jake hyung’s after party tonight?”

“His after party?” your eyebrows shoot up. Then you remember the invitation and something inside you sinks.

“Oh. Right. It’s his birthday today, right?”

And Heeseung must be there, you think bitterly, unaware of the withering daisies now wafting from your neck. They’re close friends, after all.

You don’t understand why, or you maybe actually do, but the lump in your chest only gets bigger. Really, you shouldn’t expect much by a man. They’ll always prioritise their homeboys over you in every way, your brain adds to the fuel.

Jungwon chuckles when he sees your frown, showing off his perfect dimples that could disarm any opponent. 

Something clicks in your mind. Yeap. That’s right. You just need to force Jungwon to smile in front of the judges and surely—

“Relax, Heeseung hyung’s daisy. Look to your right.”

You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of his name finally being mentioned by the younger alpha, or the flutter in your chest at being called his daisy—but your head whips so fast in that direction, heart ramming behind your ribs.

Seated at the front row, standing out too much due to his handsome features and not-so-subtle hair colour, is Lee Heeseung. From where you sit, you can’t really make out his expression. 

But the alpha is already staring at you, burgundy hair swept back neatly to expose his forehead. A small curve of his lips quirks up like he’s been expecting you to notice him.

You sit dumbly as he gives you a tiny wave, not sure what to do now that the alpha is actually here. 

Here. To watch your group presentation and not there: To celebrate Jake’s birthday at his party.

For the first time in weeks, you feel your omega stirs and you almost choke.

“It’s our turn!” 

You inhale sharply, snapping your eyes back to the centre of the stage. The previous group is already receiving applause and walking towards the other end of the stage to join the audience. 

Okay. It’s actually your turn.

You feel sick to your stomach. You almost miss it when Jungwon nudges at you to stand, smoothing down his own blazer as he shoots you a dimpled smile. On the way to the centre of the stage, your mind is nothing more than a whirlwind of overthinking.

Trailing after Jungwon in your heels is nerve-wracking because what if you trip?

Bowing down to greet the judges and audience is scary because what if you lose your balance?

Staring back at the audience is distressing because what if they silently judge your makeup?

But all thoughts fly out the window when you meet eyes with Heeseung again.

As if the noise in your head suddenly vanishes, you can feel your frantic mind quieting down and your breathing, previously quite erratic, steadies without so much effort. 

And it only happens when Heeseung holds your gaze, trusting and comforting all at the same time.

It’s like the stage was a tidal wave and Heeseung was the shore that keeps you safe.

Your omega stirs again.

Before you know it, Jungwon is already passing the mic to you. You take in a shaky breath, sweaty palms almost slippery, and imagine that every cell in your brain is filing up your speech in a neat line.

Despite your worries, everything goes well.

Your presentation goes on without a hitch and it ends exactly the way your best-scenario imagination does. You even manage to answer one out of five questions from the panel, and you can’t help the pride swelling in your chest when your group is announced as the first runner-up of the competition.

It’s a national-level competition, so being in the top three is already satisfactory for you and your group members, who were lowballing to only bring home participation certificates.

“First runner up is good enough! Congrats!” you squeal, almost hugging Jungwon in your excitement. The alpha dodges you as if you were a bullet, eyes darting to somewhere behind your head.

“Hey. You dodged my hug,” you huff.

“I have no intention to challenge a dominant alpha,” Jungwon gives you a teasing smile and wiggles his eyebrows. You raise yours, and before you can ask what he means by that, Jungwon is already raising his hand and waving at someone.  

“Heeseung hyung! Your daisy is here!”

Your daisy. Heeseung hyung’s daisy. 

His daisy.

Crimson red blooms across your cheeks, and your heart decides to skip a few beats you think it’s going to fall to the floor from how fast it's pounding.

Jungwon is fast to grab your shoulders and turn you around, like a proud parent introducing their child to their conglomerate friends. Your protest dies in your throat once your eyes settle on Heeseung’s approaching figure.

He’s donning a white dress shirt with slightly rolled-up sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms and athin silver bracelet. A dark gray vest, tailored and buttoned neatly hugs his frame snugly, showing off his narrow waist. There’s a big bouquet of pink roses held close to his chest, handled delicately like it’s something sacred.

His eyes, round and soft around the edges, are already trained on you. A wide smile curves up his lips, charming and disarming you’re sure the omegas around you are stealing glances.

Inside, your omega stirs again.

“Hi, Y/N.” He holds out the bouquet to you, his smiling turning shy. “For you.”

You take it slowly, admiring the beautiful petals. There are tiny daisies filling up the spaces between the roses and you feel something tug at your heartstring.

 “Thank you, Heeseung. How’ve you been?”

Closer, only now do you notice the lack of colour in his face. His cheeks are losing its radiant flush, and his lips are void of its usual pinkish hue. There’s a slight delay before he responds and his smile comes slower than usual.

Something feels off. Not obvious enough to name, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.

As if noticing your stare, Heeseung tries to cover his face. He raises his hand and pretends to cough.

“I was quite sick,” he says after a moment, trying to sound casual. He gives you a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry that I didn’t show up without any updates.”

“It’s okay,” you softly say. You don’t know if it’s truly okay, though, because now your heart thinks that there’s something wrong. 

Is he hiding something from you?

“I came to see you,” he says, like it’s the only place he’s ever meant to be. “I didn’t want to miss it. Congratulations, Y/N.”

He really came for you. Not for Jungwon or anyone. Not to Jake or anyone. But for you.

You can faintly hear your omega murmuring something, but your racing heart is louder than any noise in your head.

You’re about to reply when Jungwon inserts himself into the conversation, announcing his presence like a royal entering a ball.

“Thank you, hyung! I know we were great.” Jungwon says way too loudly, forcing Heeseung to shake hands with him. You let out a laugh while Heeseung only rolls his eyes.

“You too, Jungwon.”

“Anyway, why don’t we take a picture?” Jungwon, ever the trusted wingman, wiggles an eyebrow at Heeseung, hoping that you won’t notice. You actually do, but for some reason, you don’t say anything against it.

Heeseung studies your face. “Can I take a picture with you, Y/N?”

You hesitate for a second, heat sweeping across your cheeks before you nod. “Sure.”

Jungwon instantly pushes you in Heeseung’s direction. The dominant alpha, not expecting his accomplice to take such a bold move, catches you by the elbows instinctively. His fast reflexes are proving to be useful in the situation.

“Okay, look at the camera. Y/N, don’t be so stiff!”

Jungwon, that menace. One of these days you’re gonna beat his ass for sure.

“Heeseung hyung, is that a GDP gap? Get closer!”

“I’m sorry about him,” Heeseung whispers into your ears and chuckles breathily. Something kicks in your heart. “He’s a bit annoying, right?”

You just cannot hold your tongue. “He is, and I had to stick around with him when you weren’t around,” you catch yourself saying and silently curse yourself. Beside you, Heeseung stills for a second.

Why are you already whining to him? Fuck these stupid feelings, man. You’re still mad at him!

But Heeseung doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his grin only gets wider. He leans down further, hot breath brushing against the shell of your ears.

“I’ll keep trying,” he murmurs, edged with his usual determination. “Even if you don’t let me.”

You try not to notice that Jungwon has been silently snapping the candid moments. You also try to ignore the way your heart beats like a war drum. You try not to think too much about the manly pheromones coming from Heeseung—the cinnamon and sea salt that are awakening old memories, and the way his taller shoulder brushes yours.

“On three!” Jungwon interrupts, a boyish smirk on his face. You quickly clear your throat and smile at the camera.

“Two!”

Heeseung’s left shoulder bumps into you softly from behind, angling his body to face you. His hand hovers a safe distance from the back of your waist, not touching you even by accident like he’s afraid even that would be too much.

“One!”

As the flash goes off and you hold the bouquet dearly to your chest, you quietly wonder when it stopped hurting so much.

The next morning, you’re awakened by the sound of Yujin squealing and thumping on your door.

“Y/N! Get your fucking ass out now!”

The urgency in her voice makes you jolt awake and scramble to your feet. With sleepiness still clinging to your lashes, you stumble to the door, mentally preparing yourself to punch a robber.

“Yujin! What is it?!” you ask, voice hoarse but still laced with panic.

“Did you already make up with Heeseung?!”

You pause and stand there dumbly, hazy mind slowly clearing up at her sudden interrogation. With the biggest question mark on your face, you blurt out, “Huh?”

“Heeseung posted you on his Instagram!”

“Huh?”

“Y/N! He never posted girls on his account!” Yujin screams in your face, looking more excited than ever. “Fucking hell, open your damn phone!”

Yujin rushes into your room, flipping your pillows where she knows you always keep your phone despite the electromagnet radiation that she warns you about. She unlocks the screen by shoving it into your bleary face and hits the pink-purple-orange gradient icon quickly.

“There!”

You blink the blurriness away from your eyes, adjusting to the bright screen in your face. Yujin waits impatiently, gauging your reaction with wide eyes.

On the screen is the picture you took last night. You haven’t checked the result yet because you were quickly ushered away to take group pictures with other participants after and by the time you reached home, you were out the moment your head hit the pillow.

But now, you realise, the picture turns out really well. 

Heeseung stands taller than you, a close-lipped smile spreading wide across his face as he stood proud and protective beside you. You have a similar smile mirroring his, leaned into him in a way that hinted at familiarity and domesticity. The pop of colour from the roses makes the picture look more alive, and the colour filter he used makes it look almost nostalgic.

An ancient feeling, like a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, blooms in your chest. You stare at the picture longer than intended, then read the caption he typed in cursive.

‘smarty daisy did it again.’

You re-read it once. Then twice. The soft declaration, the hints on intimacy makes your omega purr in delight. Nobody has ever called you daisy, especially their daisy, but here Heeseung is: calling you his daisy like he’s just found a new favourite flower.

“Yujin…”

To your surprise, Yujin replies with a sniffle. When you look up, her eyes are already glossed over.

“Yujin? Why are you…”

“I’m sorry I got emotional,” Yujin cuts in, laughing it off like a funny joke with a shaky voice. 

“It’s just—I never met true mates. And while the circumstances between you two weren’t great, I’m just so glad  that you have an alpha willing to amend his mistakes.”

You can already feel your eyes watering.

“Yujin…”

Yujin takes your hands in her hold and urges you to sit on the mattress with her. It’s silent for a moment, and you take the chance to stare at the picture again.

It’s an Instagram story, but there is already a long line of comments. You read through each one of them, curiosity getting the best of you.

narin.kim no fucking way

jakesimisimiya hey so u ditched me ON MY BDAY

jeyipark @jakesimisimiya talk to me i am his lawyer

just.jungwon cute cute cuteeeee wonder who took the pic tho

evanlee @just.jungwon she is cute

nishimurariki welcome to the simp club

sunooyaa it’s time to ask me if my back hurts from carrying this ship

Every comment makes your breath feel shorter. You try hard to bite back a smile and ignore the small flutter in your chest, not noticing the way Yujin observes everything. When she eventually speaks, her voice has dropped to a serious tone.

“Have you forgiven him?”

You tear your eyes away from your phone, taking a moment to reply. Then, with a shake of your head, you reply, “No. Not yet, I think.”

It’s not a whole lie. While the human part of you has already forgiven him, your omega is still giving you radio silence. But for now, you decide to keep it to yourself first—the way your omega has been more responsive these days, albeit slowly and slightly.

“That’s good,” Yujin nods. “Forgiveness should come from your heart. You shouldn’t force it just because you feel bad for him.”

The words land like a gentle reminder tucking you in a warm blanket. You don’t say anything and look back at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply box. The gears of your mind start turning, looking for a polite way to thank the alpha.

Then, softly, Yujin continues, making your head spin with the weight of her words for the rest of the day.

“But when it’s really time to forgive him, I hope you don’t run away from it too.”

You end up reposting Heeseung’s story and hide.

The attention is quite heavy for you, to be honest. You’ve never been the centre of that many eyes, not since in the backyard of Jake’s frat house.

You never dare ask Heeseung as well. A reply of, ‘Thank you Heeseung’ is all you can manage, keeping the rest of the sentence to yourself.

‘Why did you post only me?’

You’re not blind. You see the chaos he created from that single post. The notorious alpha who doesn’t do relationships, who always prioritises his friends over girls is suddenly skipping Jake’s birthday to see a boring competition and posting a picture with the omega he came for. You become a hot sensation overnight—people just can’t stop talking about it.

Because of that, thoughts about him become even more frequent and inevitably, your heart starts to melt at how persistent he is.

It’s been more than a month yet Heeseung doesn’t falter. He keeps choosing you in routine. He keeps choosing you in public.

And, apparently, he chooses you in private, too.

You don’t mean to overhear the conversation, really. You’re just leaving the restroom during practice break, about to have lunch with Rei when you see two shadows disappearing around the corner. Your heart almost stops.

Seeing Heeseung and Narin together brings back old wounds that almost makes you lose your mind. Your quiet omega has been tugging you to follow, to see what the alpha is doing with the omega that your wolf has marked with a red ink on her forehead.

So you follow them quietly, covering your scent gland with a hand in hope to hide your presence. With your back to the wall, you hold your breath as you hear the conversation between the two of them.

“—on, Heeseung. You left things unfinished that night.” Narin’s voice is the one you hear first, frustration spilling into her tone.

“I don’t intend to finish it,” Heeseung replies, always sounding calm and composed. It painfully reminds you of the talk you had with him after the tournament.

“Why? You always sleep with different people. Why did I never get a chance?” Narin scoffs, disbelieving. “And they've been saying that you’ve stopped!”

“I have. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Is it because of Y/N?”

Your ear perks up. Damn bro, they’re now talking about you. It slips from your mind sometimes, about how childish Narin can be. Something akin to anticipation builds up in your chest, waiting for Heeseung’s reply.

“Yes,” he answers, firm and fast. “I’m pursuing her right now. I hope that’s clear.”

There is silence from Narin, but the spike in her scent sours the atmosphere almost instantly. While you, well, you try not to feel so giddy about it.

“Are you stupid? Her? Didn’t she cut the—”

“What happened between Y/N and I is a private matter of our hearts. It’s not your business,” Heeseung cuts in sharply with a bite to his voice. Your omega shifts inside you. “Are you done? Because I’m leaving.”

Panic ensues in your system at the thought of being caught eavesdropping. Your mind scrambles for escape, so without thinking you almost sprint to the vending machine at the end of the hallway and pretend to buy a drink.

Acting like you don’t notice them while catching your breath proves to be the hardest sport for you yet. You stare blankly at the vending machine, unaware of the grape juice sitting right under your nose and fully aware of the manly pheromones approaching you.

Thank Goddess that he smells like himself only. You think you’re going to break down if Narin’s scent clings onto him.

“Are you thinking of a different drink?” Heeseung murmurs softly, standing beside you and mimicking you staring at the machine.

You steal a glance at him, feeling the movement of your wolf becoming more responsive and bold. Behind your ribs, your heart is galloping like a horse.

“No. I still like grape juice.”

“Mhm, okay,” Heeseung fishes out his wallet and makes the purchase like it’s routine. The impact of the can dropping can’t even beat the loud pulse racing in your ears. Heeseung opens the can with one hand.

“For you.”

“Thank you.”

You take it, fingers brushing his. You try not to overthink the sparks the touch sends to your system and quietly drink, feeling his eyes boring into the side of your face.

“Y/N, I have something to tell you,” he begins, this time sounding slightly nervous. “Narin and I talked just now.”

Oh. Okay. He’s actually coming clean about it.

You didn’t expect that at all.

You nod, still not looking at him. Heeseung takes a second to himself, like he’s plotting something, then before you know it, he’s already moving to stand in front of you, bending his body to be on your eye-level. 

You almost choke and take a step back.

“Heeseung?”

“I need you to look into my eyes,” he licks his lips, holding your eyes with his intense gaze. “Because I need you to know that you’re the only omega I like and I’m pursuing.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost too much, but you find savouring it instead.

“And I made that clear to her just now.”

Is he trying to reassure you?

You search his face, and all you can see in those dark eyes is utter devotion and determination.

It makes your chest tighten.

“I’m serious, Y/N. I will keep trying no matter what.”

You can only hum and nod, failing to find your voice.

“Okay.”

Heeseung shoots you with a small grin and straightens up. He glances at his smartwatch and frowns.

“I have to skip tonight’s practice. There’s a meeting about the upcoming music festival,” he says, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. “I’ll find someone to walk you home.”

“It’s okay. I’ll use the Safe Night Walk service,” you politely decline, already sick of hearing Jungwon talking about his lifelong crush on some noona that won’t see him as a man every time he walks you home.

Seriously, you don’t blame that omega. Jungwon is really cute, it’s hard to see him more than a kitty cat.

Heeseung’s face, on the other hand, twists into confusion before a look of understanding crosses his face. 

Safe Night Walk is a service provided by the omega activist club of your university. The purpose is pretty self-explanatory, where any omega who’d like to go home at night can request an alpha to keep them safe. It’s pretty well-known for how rigid the alpha selection process is, seeing as the new president of the club is the fiercest to hold the title yet, making the service the most credible it has ever been.

Which is probably why Heeseung agrees to it too easily.

“Oh, right. Jay also tried for the selection, but he never told me if he passed or not,” Heeseung pauses, pondering about something.

“Sunghoon also signed up for it and we know each other. Do you want me to contact him?”

You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll get someone when it’s time to go home.”

It’s quite hard to convince the alpha that you don’t need his friend’s service, but Heeseung eventually relents. He gives you a fond smile, walking backwards and not breaking eye contact.

“Call me if no alpha is available.”

“Okay.”

“I will run to you in ten minutes. No—five minutes.”

Your heart stutters, but your face remains neutral. “As if you can do that.”

Heeseung grins. The easy affection etched in his features is almost too scary for you to bear.

“For you, I will.”

The shared apartment is quiet save for the track playing from his producer room. Heeseung lies down on his couch, staring at the ceiling in silence. His lyrics notebook sits idly on the coffee table, open and now forgotten. Outside, the rain pouring down does nothing to wash down his guilt.

He had lied to you.

He just came back from a doctor appointment, not a meeting about any festival. A checkup meant to follow up with his condition after the night he collapsed in Jay’s arms.

‘You only have two weeks to win the omega back. If nothing succeeds, you must cut the one-sided bond, Heeseung-ssi.”

Heeseung only wants to do one thing and cutting the bond is not an option. 

It’s better for him to die being yours than to live being nothing to you.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly mutters to the empty space.

“I ran away again,” he swallows thickly. “I’m still the old Heeseung in some ways. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

The pitter-patter of the rain is the only sound he receives back, thickening the guilt spilling over his chest.

He grazes the scent gland with the tip of his finger. It pulses slowly, faintly, like a calm before a storm. A storm that is just turning the key and entering the door.

“I’m home,” Jay announces, toeing off his shoes. There are tiny droplets of rain in his hoodie, but that’s not what catches Heeseung’s attention.

It’s the scent that lingers in his citrusy pheromones.

Soft daisies and sweet honey—unmistakingly you.

Jay smells like you.

Something churns violently in his stomach. 

Every silent breakdown, every secret insecurity of his best friend comes crashing down on him. His blood roars in his ears that Heeseung believes he’s seeing red.

In that one single sniff that he picks up with his sensitive nose, Heeseung almost thinks that the floor holding his weight is crumbling down. 

He springs up to sit, eyes narrowing down in his friend’s direction. His alpha is already growling, ready to take the other alpha down in a fight.

Jay, still oblivious to the storm building inside the house, throws Heeseung a smile. 

“Hee, just now—”

“Park Jongseong,” Heeseung starts slowly, trying to hide the hurt in his voice as he stands and approaches him slowly. “Why the fuck do you smell like her?”

Jay’s expression turns into confusion. He sniffs at the collar of his hoodie and—oh.

Oh.

Heeseung can’t stand the look of realisation on his face. It’s like being left out of something that should be his, something that only he should know and have. His chest twists sharply and before he can stop himself, he’s already shoving Jay into the wall, fists trembling with restraint.

“Jay,” he breathes out, his voice treading the edges of fear and heartbreak. “Please tell me why the fuck am I smelling Y/N on your right now.”

Despite his anger, Heeseung’s voice sounds way too broken. Anxiety cracks through his demeanour, and for a moment, Heeseung’s not sure if he wants to hear Jay’s answer. There is a thin veil of tears glossing over his eyes and his scent gland is throbbing violently, shooting pain all over his body.

It’s almost like he was back in the backyard, watching you scream in pain as you smelled another woman on him. Heeseung sobs, hating himself even more than he ever did.

Was this how you felt that night?

Jay claws at the hands around his collar, almost gasping for air.

“Heeseung—it’s not what you think—”

“Then tell me! Fuck!” he shouts, eyes pleading Jay desperately to prove him wrong.

The longer he smells the blend of your scent with Jay’s pheromones, the dizzier his head gets. His frantic heart is buzzing with the thoughts of being replaced, of losing yet another chance to make things right, of losing you.

His self-esteem, already in pieces since that tragic night, is filled with doubt and uncertainty to the brim.

Not you, please. Heeseung quietly prays. Please not you, Jay.

“I walked her home!” Jay yells, face red from how tight Heeseung’s gripping his collar. His wolf whines at the unexpected aggression from his closest alpha, confused and wounded from being treated like an enemy. “She used the Safe Night Walk service and I was one of the alphas on duty.”

Hearing that, Heeseung’s grip loosens a fraction, trying desperately to believe his friend.

“It’s raining so I lent her my hoodie.” Jay quietly mutters, losing the previous edge. There’s a look of hurt on his face now that he fails to mask. He searches Heeseung’s tearful face, dread growing in his chest.

Despite the aggression, Jay cannot find it in him to be upset when all he can see in his friend is fear and hurt.

“Please, Heeseung. I will never betray you like that.”

Heeseung bites his lips until it bleeds and finally lets go. Jay almost drops down to the floor, clawing at his throat for relief. His neck has turned deep red, bruised from Heeseung’s grip. 

Heeseung is strong even when he never admits it, the dominant traits in him giving him the advantage when his wolf is riled up. Jay is lucky that Heeseung didn’t use his commanding voice—he would’ve been helpless if it happened.

But deep down, Jay knows that Heeseung would never do that to him. They’re best friends, after all.

The air is thick and heavy with a dominant alpha’s wrath. Heeseung doesn’t even realise how sharp his scent has turned until he finds himself struggling to breathe.

There’s a ringing silence between the two alphas. Jay is still on the floor, chest heaving rapidly as he tries to process. Heeseung, on the other hand, is on the verge of breaking apart.

Quietly, the alpha mutters an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

Heeseung leaves the house in a storm of cinnamon and tearful bergamot, slamming the door so hard the frame rattles.

He’s never felt closer to death than tonight.

You take your time with your skincare. Or rather, you’re actually zoning out while tapping toner into your skin.

Your conversation with Jay still lingers in the back of your mind.

“Thank you for giving him a chance, Y/N. I was scared that you wouldn’t.”

What would happen if you didn’t?

You sigh and stare into the mirror. You’re freshly out of the shower and in your comfiest pajamas, yet a hint of Jay’s pheromones is still there. It seems that the rain doesn’t wash it away; it only makes it stick longer.

Inside, your omega shifts uncomfortably, unsettled by the scent of the foreign alpha. You roll your eyes.

“I know you hate it, but it can’t be helped when we haven’t forgiven him yet.” You grunt, capping your bottled product. “I mean, I already did, but since you’re like, my other half, I can’t just—”

Forgiven.

The toner slips from your hand and clatters on the floor. 

Your lungs freeze. 

“...What?”

I want to forgive him.

Slowly, a habit that you’re already accustomed to since that night, you place a hand on your chest. Your omega’s presence is more tangible now, like she’s finally arose from her deep slumber.

And she’s finally talking to you.

“Are you sure?” you start slowly, not wanting to offend the fragile soul. “We can take more time, you don’t have to feel rushed—”

I want my alpha, Y/N. I forgive him and I hope you do, too.

Every word fails you in that moment. You stand alone in your room, with only your wolf as your lifelong companion. There’s a strange feeling in your heart.

Something ancient. Something sacred. Something freeing.

A ghost of a smile grazes your lips.

“Idiot. I told you, didn’t I? The stubborn one out of the two of us is you.”

He hurt us badly, Y/N. Of course I had to stand on business.

“It’s better that you did,” you hum, finally feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulder. “Or else I probably won’t see this side of him and will only remember him as a bad alpha.”

Your omega doesn’t reply. In return, there’s a soft pulsing in your scent gland; something that hasn’t occurred in so long. You gasp.

But before you can process it, your phone rings, the noise slicing through the atmosphere sharply. You frown when you see that it’s your next-door neighbour, a fellow floormate that likes to borrow your detergent.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, oh my Goddess. Don’t come out!” she whisper-shouts, panic evident in her voice. “There’s an alpha outside of your door right now and he smells so bad. I think he’s dangerous. We’re about to call the security.”

Your heart drops. “What? Who?”

There’s a sound of movement and whispering before you hear a gasp.

“Okay, what the hell. It’s actually Heeseung and he’s crying,” your floormate says in disbelief. You, on the other hand, are in bigger disbelief.

Heeseung? Didn’t Yujin already let him know that you’re home?

Your feet are already padding across the tiles of your apartment, heart beating in your lungs. 

“Y/N…I think you need to come out. He’s not moving at all.”

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

Your sweaty palm trembles at the doorknob. Heeseung’s pheromones, thick and definitely smells distressed—which explains why your neighbour said that he smells bad—seeps through the gap between the door and the floor. But he doesn’t knock, like he’s here only to feel your presence.

Your omega whines, restless from the distressed pheromones, eager to comfort. You take a deep breath before you yank the door open.

The scene that greets you almost makes you speechless.

Heeseung stands in front of you, head hanging low like he’s trying to make himself smaller. The hallways are filled with slightly open doors and heads peeking out; all the omegas and betas living on this floor are definitely curious about the distress-smelling alpha and his omega.

“Heeseung?”

He doesn’t respond at first. His breaths come out uneven—too sharp, too shallow—like his lungs have forgotten to work properly. For a second, you think he doesn’t hear you.

But then, he lifts his gaze slightly, holding back a storm behind his eyes as he looks into yours. His nose flares, and then his scent turns more sour.

“Heeseung?”

There, lingering too faintly under your body wash, your lotion, and your own scent like it’s already fading out slowly—is Jay’s pheromones.

Something finally shatters in his chest.

“You smell like him.”

His voice is grim and shaky, tugging at your heartstrings. You immediately know what he’s referring to and for some reason, an ugly feeling twists in yiur gut.

But before you can respond, Heeseung already drops to his knees. 

A chorus of gasps is heard across the hallways. The bystanders are no longer caring about being seen eavesdropping. You think you even see a phone directed your way, but it’s the least of your concern now.

“Heeseung—”

“I can take anything you do to me,” Heeseung’s voice cracks, barely holding it together. “I can take any punishment you want to give me but not this.”

Heeseung cranes his neck. Trails of tears clinging to his lashes are falling his nose, his cheeks, the side of his face, down to the floor.

“Please, not him. Please—I beg you.”

His face crumples, like he’s imagining the sight of you and Jay together in his mind.

“I can’t—” his breath stutters, chest heaving like it’s caving in on itself. “I can’t do it, Y/N. I thought I could take it. I thought I deserved it, but—”

His fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, knuckles turning white.

“It hurts,” he chokes out, voice breaking into something almost unrecognisable. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

Your heart lurches.

Because you know.

You know exactly what he’s feeling.

The suffocating ache. The betrayal that sits in your lungs and refuses to let you breathe. The way your mind spirals, painting images you don’t want to see but can’t stop imagining.

It’s the same pain.

The same one he put you through.

Heeseung lets out a broken sound, shaking his head like he’s trying to rid himself of it.

“I get it now,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “I get why you looked at me like that. I get why you—”

Heeseung cuts himself off. This time, a more pained, more broken noise slips past his lips.

“I get why you ended it.”

Everything hurts. His scent gland is angry red, throbbing endlessly like a sign of the real ending. His head pounds sharply and his lungs—oh Goddess, Heeseung can’t breathe.

His body sways. Instinctively, you crouch down to his level and catch him before he can fall. Panic fills up your system when a trickle of crimson blood starts peeking out of his nose.

No. No, please no. Not this again.

You cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks shakily. You turn your face and shout at your neighbour to call the ambulance or anyone—you just can’t let this happen.

You can’t let Heeseung go through the same pain you did.

“Heeseung, please don’t close your eyes.”

His head weighs heavier as he lolls forward, eyes almost snapping shut. You let his head rest on your shoulder, not caring about the blood now staining your shirt. Hot tears brim along your lashline.

“Heeseung, please—”

“Please forgive me,” Heeseung whispers weakly into your ears. The pain is unbearable, crushing his bones and penetrating his system like a sharp-end disease—an inevitable reaction from smelling another alpha on you.

So this is what you went through, he thinks wistfully. You must be in so much pain.

“Please forgive me, Y/N.”

“Where’s the ambulance?!” You finally break, cheeks wet with tears. Heeseung has completely gone still in your embrace, adding panic to your system. You reach out to hold his face.

“No, no, please.”

The lower part of his face is smudged red. His eyes close shut, still leaking out his tears even in his unconsciousness.

You let out an ugly sob, feeling utterly broken and scared.

“I forgive you, Heeseung. Please.”

You’re so fucking scared. Scared of losing yet another life you could’ve had when you were so close to having it.

Scared of not having the chance to love and to be loved again, this time with the person your soul chooses and not because fate says so.

“Please don’t leave me again.”

When Heeseung comes to, you’re holding his hands, zoning out.

There’s a distant look in your expression. A thin air of sad, wilted daisies lingers, no doubt wafting from you. His wolf, having just woken up like him, immediately shifts restlessly in his chest at the scent.

Your thumb brushes over his knuckles absentmindedly, tracing the veins like you’re memorising something before it disappears again.

He stays quiet, letting his eyes trace every curve of your features. The pretty slope of your nose, the soft swell of your cheeks, the petals of your lips. Then they stop at your puffy eyes.

Something inside him twists uncomfortably.

Why does he always make you cry?

You don’t even notice that he’s awake yet, too lost in your head as you stare at the beige wall of the ward. Not until he squeezes your hand back, eager and nervous to see if you’ll return it back or let go.

When you feel the grip tighten, your eyes snap back to him. And then, like a small win that heals something in his heart, you squeeze his hand back.

Heeseung almost breaks down.

“You’re awake,” you say in relief and move to stand. “I’ll get the doctor.”

Heeseung obeys, never finding it in him to go against your words anymore. But his hand never lets go. He savours every second that you let him hold you—the closest he’s ever touched you since the night he saved you.

He doesn’t let go even as the doctor does a checkup on him. The doctor comes in with Jay, who looks as disheveled as he is. There’s an awkward atmosphere between the two alphas, but neither dares to say anything and lets the doctor do his job.

He was unconscious for twelve hours, apparently.

“The scenting from your omega helped speed up the recovery process,” the doctor elaborates. Heeseung steals a glance at you, gauging your reaction, but your face remains neutral. 

It’s no wonder that he’s been feeling at peace since waking up—you had been scenting him when he was out.

“You just need to stay for a blood test and then you’re good to go,” the doctor continues, flashing him with a reassuring smile.

Murmurs of thank-yous ripple in the room as the three of you watch the doctor take his leave. Shortly after, the tension returns, and it’s almost obvious to you that the suffocating air comes from the two best friends.

Jay shifts on his feet awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “I’m gonna grab us lunch.”

Which leaves him alone with you in the room.

Heeseung braves himself and takes a look at you, but you’re already staring at him. Your stare unsettles him, like you’re waiting for him to confess for a crime he didn’t know yet he committed.

“How are you feeling?” you ask instead.

“I—I think I’m good. Yeah,” Heeseung says quickly, a bit taken aback. He watches as you nod, then inspect his face by blinking closer, oblivious to the way he almost explodes from the proximity.

When satisfied, you lean back slightly, but still keep a close distance with him.

“Heeseung.”

The temperature suddenly drops, and the serious look on your face damn near makes him cry. Heeseung tries to mask his panic.

Did he do something wrong again? Fuck. He messed up, didn’t he?

“Hm?”

You take a shaky breath. “Jay told me about everything.”

Heeseung freezes. Everything?

Everything as in the fight that almost broke out last night? Everything as in how pathetic he is for you, which shouldn’t be so shocking or earth-shattering because he is pathetic and a loser for you?

Or everything as in his worsening health condition?

For a moment, you just stare at him. But the more seconds pass, the more obvious it is that you’re holding back tears.

“About the two options you had.”

Heeseung stops breathing. True to his speculation, it is about his health condition. About the fate that he has to choose, about the options that stand between mercy and cruelty.

“Why didn't you tell me? No—” you shake your head, your grip on his hand trembling greatly. His lips remain shut.

“Why didn’t you just cut the bond?”

The sadness dripping in your scent feels almost physical. You hang your head low, enveloping the two of you with the distressed scent of your pheromones. A low whine echoes in your chest, not heard but felt. Your omega is just as destroyed as you are, utterly horrified from the choice he made.

What if you never forgive him? What would become of him? 

Heeseung brushes his thumb over your hand consciously, trying to seep his own calming pheromones into your troubled scent. It helps, he notices, as the tremble in your hands subsides, breath evening out.

Then, with a raw honesty, he answers.

“Because I didn’t want a life where you don’t exist in it.”

There’s a lump in your throat but you swallow it down, refusing to break now that you have the chance to understand. To understand the equally wounded alpha in front of you, flawed yet still trying. 

“I know that sounds selfish,” he adds quickly. “It is. I was choosing myself when I said that.”

You shake your head, tears threatening to escape. “You could’ve died, no—you almost died, Heeseung.” 

“I know.”

Heeseung doesn’t argue. He looks down to your joined hands, branding his brain with the image. A soft smile appears on his lips. He wishes he could hold your hands more often.

“I just…” he exhales shakily. “I thought if I let go of the bond, it would be like I never got the chance to love you at all.”

You squeeze his hand. Your alpha, you realise, is just as soft as you are. He’s always been. It was just misunderstood and misdirected—his flaws that almost cost you your life. You resented him for it, ran from him to avoid it, made it hard for him to save yourself.

But in the end, quietly, tenderly—you find yourself forgiving him.

You understand now; what he was afraid of.

For Heeseung who used to live in short-lived attachments and practiced detachment, loving someone would sound like a too-big responsibility for him. Too lost in his own fear—fear of loving someone so much they could have power over you—he made choices that hurt you.

It doesn’t justify his actions, nor did it undo everything. But understanding him softens the pain.

“You’re so stupid,” you finally whisper, but it breaks halfway through. Heeseung looks almost hurt from your comment.

“I already forgave you.”

His head snaps up but you don’t look at him.

You take your time to speak. “I already did for a while. I was just waiting for my omega to open up her heart,” you chance him a glance and smile wistfully. 

“And she did just before you came to my door last night.”

A beat of silence passes by. Heeseung can’t seem to find his voice, too stunned with the sudden grace being granted upon him. 

He searches your face. For any lies, for any possible fabrication. He’s desperate to know if this was all just fragments of his dream, if you were just a manifestation of his desperation to be forgiven.

But you’re real. You’re breathing, and you’re telling him that you’ve forgiven him.

“Is this…true?” he asks, voice sounding breathy. “Don’t forgive me just because you feel bad, Y/N. I can’t live with that.”

“No, you didn’t force me,” you shake your head, returning his gaze with built-up courage.

“You earned it.”

Your scent softens, sweeter now that you finally let it out. Like the anger finally loosens its grip on your chest, you can feel your omega melts, her walls crumbling piece by piece.

Heeseung stares at you, mouth slightly agape. The weight he’s been carrying finally cracks and finally, finally—breathing finally comes easy for him now that his chest loosens.

His alpha paws at him in joy.

“Thank you, Y/N. I—” his voice cracks, and so do the tears he’s been holding back. “Oh my Goddess—thank you for forgiving me.”

Heeseung hesitates before he slowly wraps an arm around your shoulder, gauging your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he pulls you closer and you let yourself fall into his embrace.

Heeseung buries his nose in your hair, and the familiar scent of daisies and honey and your hair wash only makes him sob harder.

“Can we try again? Please?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his waist, smiling into the hug.

“Mhm. Let’s try again.”

Trying again with Heeseung is soft and gentle.

Heeseung doesn’t change. If anything, he becomes more present than ever. If there was hesitation in his action before, he seems more confident to initiate things now.

Holding hands when you’re together. Tucking your hair behind your ears because ‘it hides your beautiful face’. Carrying your bag before you can even greet him properly. Bringing you food and trying to bake, even when you receive complaints from Jay about his oven almost catching on fire. But honestly, out of every failed experiments he did in the kitchen, it’s his ramyeon that you love the most.

And you always get it for free, presented like a five-star Michelin with radish and perfectly-made half-boiled egg. ‘Girlfriend privileges’ is what Sunoo called it, as he and the other alphas eat from their cup noodles.

With forgiveness, conversations come easy. Talking about everything and nothing with Heeseung is like trying to map a land. You finally get to know the story behind his jersey number. 

‘My mom always tells me that I’m her number one,’ he told you when you asked, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. ‘It sticks until now, but I know that he said that only because I was sulking about being the second son—they love my brother more, to be fair!’

You never thought that Heeseung could be cute and adorable. But the two now fit his description perfectly.

Sometimes, his old habits crawl back. Heeseung still finds it hard to tell you about things that bother him, still trying to run away from ugly emotions that make him feel vulnerable.

Just like right now, Heeseung is trying so hard not to pout as he watches his teammates grab a cookie from the Tupperware you bring.

When Riki reaches for a third, his resolve finally cracks and he slaps the alpha’s hand away.

“That’s enough, you greedy alpha. Shoo!”

You stifle a laugh, basking in the rare occasion where Heeseung shows his emotion almost openly like this. He doesn’t like sharing, of course, but he says nothing—which unsettles you a bit.

“Are you mad?” You finally ask after pulling him out for some privacy.

He doesn’t reply. Heeseung takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, then shakes his head.

“I’m not mad.”

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” you coax him again, reminding yourself that Heeseung is still trying to unlearn some of his bad habits. “I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me.”

Heeseung gnaws at his lips and avoids your eyes. He knows, with a devastating resignation, that he could never refuse if he looks. So he doesn’t look.

But your scent does the same damage anyway. It’s sweet, it’s too intoxicating and Heeseung can feel himself melt even before he can protest.

He finally relents. “Okay,” he sighs.

Heeseung reaches out and takes your fingers in his, clutching at your smaller ones like a lifeline.

“Y/N…” he starts, contemplating his words, unconsciously pouting. “Can’t you bake only for me and not…share?”

You bite back a grin.

“See? It isn’t hard to tell me,” you squeeze his hand. “You can tell me anything, Heeseung. I will always listen.”

Heeseung gives you a pouty nod.

As for him, Heeseung thinks he was never happier than he is right now. 

There’s a strange satisfaction blooming in his chest every time he does something for you. 

Be it walking you home, or waiting at the lobby of your apartment to walk to the campus together. Or feeding you food and having a can of grape juice always ready for you. 

All the things he used to avoid—doing domestic things, having one person to devote all his attention and affection to—they become things that bring his heart at ease now.

And Heeseung loves being taller than you. He loves when you have to look up to talk to him, or the way you can easily hide your face in his chest when he says something corny. The way he can reach the higher shelf for you and become useful to you. He loves towering over you because every time he does it, he can’t help but notice the sweet spike in your scent.

You love it too.

Over time, the two of you get closer than ever. Every brush of hands, every bump of shoulders, every laughter shared—they only bring you back to him, and him to you. And slowly, like a prophecy finally meeting its destiny, the red thread finds its way back to you.

“Are you sure about this?”

You’re now standing in between his legs while Heeseung sits on the mattress of his bed, craning his neck to search your face.

Your fingers pause in his hair when you feel a faint pulse beneath his skin. 

A reminder that he’s still hurting from the one-sided bond. A reminder of the weight of fate tying the two of you.

Heeseung could’ve walked away like you did. He could’ve defied his wolf and cut the bond. But he did nothing of those.

He’s still here, still choosing you in every way you keep choosing him.

“I want this, Heeseung,” you whisper back, carding your fingers through his burgundy hair.  “I’ve never been so sure.”

One of the things that the both of you learn more about the relationship is the importance of the sacred bond. This time, you’re no longer running away or denying it—you and Heeseung take time to learn about its history, about the nature of the bond—and in your case, about how to fix the broken bond.

“It must come from your wolves,” you remember Jay’s mom saying. “And only then can you commemorate the bond and heal it for good.”

Commemorating, in this context, is to finally mate with your alpha. 

It’s a big leap in the relationship, especially since you’re every way inexperienced. Heeseung knows this; which is why he never rushed you and let himself take the hit of the broken bond.

To the Goddess, without the commemoration, the bond is still considered one-sided. It results in Heeseung still experiencing pain from time to time and, after another nosebleed pre-game and out of care for your alpha, you decide you’re done taking your own time.

Your omega holds the sentiment as you, not having the heart to let the alpha suffer for your own sake.

Noticing your silence, Heeseung grabs your wrist gently and brings it to his nose. He starts nosing at the tender skin, pumping out his calm pheromones as he bathes you in his scent.

“Have you been with anyone else before?”

You hesitate. Then, with a shy smile, you shake your head.

“No.”

Contrary to your expectation, Heeseung stills immediately. His face crumples slightly and his phereomones—previously calming and comforting—suddenly takes a sour turn.

You frown. “Heeseung?” You hold his face, heart clenching at his trembling lips. “What’s wrong?”

When he looks up to you, there are silent tears spilling down his cheeks. It alerts you almost immediately.

“Hee?”

“I—” Heeseung takes a deep breath, but his lips wobble, betraying his effort to remain calm.

“I touched people like it didn’t mean anything,” his voice breaks. Heeseung closes his eyes, like the mere looking into your eyes was too much for him to bear. “And now you’re standing here like this is something sacred and I—” 

When you understand what he means, you can feel your own heart breaking.

“Heeseung…”

“Why are you letting me handle something this—precious? I—I don’t deserve you, Y/N. I never did.”

“Please don’t say that,” you coo at him, wiping his tears with the pad of your thumb. 

“I chose you knowing everything you’ve done,” you whisper. “Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re trying.” 

Heeseung leans into your touch, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. Like the warmth of your touch is the only thing that keeps him grounded. A comfortable silence falls upon you two, full of warm understanding and acceptance.

“Thank you,” Heeseung kisses your palm, long and gentle. “Thank you, Y/N. I mean it.”

A smile creeps up your face. You lean down to kiss his forehead.

“Come and sit here,” Heeseung pats his thighs. You pause for a moment, already getting shy from the proximity. But deep down, you can’t deny that you want this.

Slowly, you descend onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Heeseung pulls you closer by your hips, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah,” then you pause. “I’m not heavy, am I? Are you comfortable?”

Heeseung hums. “Your weight is perfect for me, baby.”

The term of endearment makes warmth bloom across your cheeks. Heeseung gazes at you fondly, his nose already inching closer to where your scent smells the strongest.

He takes a lungful of your sweet scent—daisies and honey—and almost groans from the feeling of it. His favourite scent in the world. It’s been so long since he got to have you like this, so he keeps scenting you like he’s taking his fill.

“Your scent—you smell so good, Y/N.”

He lets his nose graze your scent gland. Once, twice, before brushing it with small, slow licks. You clutch at his shoulders, sparks bursting from the touch.

“Mhh!”

Heeseung trails up wet kisses up the column of your neck, dragging his tongue along your skin, savouring the soft gasps leaving your parted lips. His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging into your camisole while you try not to lose your mind over the foreign sensation.

Everywhere Heeseung touches with his lips is hot, sending strange, tingly feelings up your spine. It’s wet and it should make you recoil, but you find yourself loving it, already wanting more.

Heeseung stops when he reaches your lips, hot breath brushing against the soft pair. His eyes, now hooded and dark, are losing their round shape, like he, too, is already unraveling from just this.

“I’m gonna kiss you now, my daisy,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your parted lips, open and so inviting. Something churns inside your stomach, always keening when being called his daisy.

Then you nod, granting him permission.

“Please kiss me, Heeseung.”

There’s a tiny quirk of a smile, before he finally closes the gap between your mouths. He’s careful, caressing the plump of your lips with his own, tentatively and slowly at first, before he captures your mouth in his. You close your eyes.

Heeseung kisses you like it’s sacred. He moves slowly, allowing you to follow his pace and getting used to the feeling of his mouth on yours. It’s gentle and sweet. It’s everything you have imagined sharing a kiss with a lover. 

His lips, soft and wider than yours, easily dominate the kiss with a flick of his tongue.

Your lips part in a gasp and Heeseung takes the chance to prod his tongue in, licking into every corner of your mouth like he’s been starved for you. You clasp a hand in his hair, losing your pace as Heeseung takes over.

With each passing second, the kiss turns into a needier one and you grow hotter. It’s messy now, with drool leaking down your chin and the noises you make getting louder. When you start to feel lightheaded, you tap his shoulders, lungs burning from the lack of breath. 

Heeseung lingers for a second, as if he never wants to let go, before detaching from your lips.

He looks absolutely wrecked. His lips are shiny with spit, panting into your mouth like he needs more.

“Need some air?” he whispers, voice hoarse, caressing your waist tenderly. You nod, catching your breath before you lean in and try to kiss him again.

This time, Heeseung lets you take the lead, grabbing your hips tight enough to ground himself. You mouth at the corner of his lips, peppering kisses across the pinkish skin before he loses his patience and starts kissing back, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

Pulling you flush against his own hips, Heeseung is desperate to feel you closer. The scent of his pheromones is taking a richer, darker tone, dripping with building arousal. He wants to stay like this forever—wants to memorise every taste, every curve of your lips, and carve it into his memory.

You’re unraveling just as fast. Driven by a deeper need to feel each other and more, you pool your arms around his neck and pull him closer, instinctively bucking your hips to soothe the ache between your legs.

Beneath you, Heeseung freezes. A strangled groan catches at the back of his throat, his fingers digging into your hips. His head is on cloud nine; he can’t believe you just did what you did, feeling his own lust slowly getting thicker.

Then, as if testing, you roll your hips again.

This time, the sound that leaves his throat is deep and ragged. Heeseung bites his lips, brows pinched together, his restraint visible through the veins popping in his neck.

“Y/N,” he rasps, voice strained. “Good? Comfortable?"

Your eyes, dazed and glossed over, look into his eyes and you nod. You move your hips again, chasing the delicious friction like a lifeline. “More.”

“Fuck,” Heeseung curses under his breath. 

Wordlessly, he snakes an arm around your waist and flips your position. Your back meets the mattress before you can process it, the impact punching a breath out of your lungs. Heeseung hovers over you, chest heaving rapidly, heated gaze raking over your body like he’s already dreamed of this many times.

“Heeseung,” you sigh, lifting your arms to his nape, already hating the distance. “Want you closer.”

Heeseung thinks he’s still in a dreamland, because there’s no way you’re lying down under him, hair splayed like a halo, asking him for more. Your lips, kiss-bruised and bitten-raw from the previous makeout session, are parted in a soft gasp, looking every bit like his wet dream.

No. This is better than any of his dreams.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out as if he’s in a daze, a willing hostage to your magical spell. “Fuck, I just—I just love you so much.”

The confession lands like a feather drifting through the air. Your breath catches in your throat, searching for Heeseung’s eyes and almost tearing up when you see only devotion and sincerity in his gaze.

“Heeseung…”

“My precious daisy,” Heeseung lowers down and gives a smooch to the back of your ear. Your breath hitches. “My sweet, sweet honey.”

Another wave of heat pools between your legs. His voice—oh Goddess, his sweet and sultry voice in your ears, accompanied by such adoration is almost too much. You whine, clutching his shirt in a desperate grip.

“What do you need, baby?” Heeseung breathes hard into your ears, his own voice almost cracking from restraint. “Tell me, hm?”

“Need you to touch me.”

He barely stops nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. “Where do you need me?”

You grab one of his wrists and bring it to where you need him most. The moment his fingers touch your soaked sweatpants, Heeseung lets out a deep, throaty groan. He pulls away slightly just to catch the expression you make—mouth agape, eyes closing shut—as he presses a finger on your cunt.

“Here? You like it here?”

“Y-Yes—” You purse your lips, pleading eyes peering into his dark gaze. “Please—More, please.”

Heeseung holds back a smirk. “You’re so good to me,” he purrs, his alpha swelling with pride and arousal. “I’m gonna give you everything you ask for, hm?”

Heeseung slips his hand into your panties and curses out loud at the wet sensation on his fingers. 

“Fuck, Y/N—you’re leaking.”

He props himself on one arm. His long, slender fingers stroke your folds, the wet sound of your arousal filling the room. You claw at his upper arms and arch your hips, letting out a broken breath.

“H-Heeseung!” 

A deep growl rumbles in his chest. Heeseung leans down and peppers kisses all over your cheeks as he flicks his thumb over your clit. The high-pitched, whiny moan that you let out makes his twitching cock kick and drool, already begging to be freed.

“Does that feel good?” he rasps, nudging at your hole with the tip of finger. The tight hole is almost sucking his finger in, eliciting a breathless moan out of your lungs.

You nod frantically, desperate to feel anything inside.

“‘Feels so good, alpha.”

“Mhm,” he purrs, circling your gaping hole lightly, teasingly. “I’m gonna put it in slow and nice for you and you’re gonna take it, ‘kay?”

You suck in your bottom lips, heat pooling low in your stomach at the deep timbre of his voice.

“Yes. Please give it to me.”

Heeseung almost melts at the big eyes you’re giving him. He gives you a soft peck and speaks against your mouth, “Tell me if it hurts, Y/N. I will stop immediately.”

When you give him the green light to go, Heeseung slowly pushes his middle finger in, fighting back a loud moan at the feeling of your walls sucking him in. He pauses for a moment, gauging for any discomfort in your face, and then starts pumping in and out gently when he sees only pleasure.

It feels strange and uncomfortable at first; having something inside you. But the subtle feeling of pain is slowly disappearing the longer he shoves his finger in. His thumb, eager to please you, keeps circling your swollen nub, adding to the building sensation in your stomach.

Before you know it, you’re already leaking out more slick. Your head thrashes to your left and right, breathy moans spilling out of your lips.

“Ngh—fuck—Hee—“

Heeseung forces himself to stay still; forces himself to breathe at the sight of you unraveling and so, so pliant under his touch, even when all he wants to do is ruin you. He inserts another finger, the additional stretch burns so good that you almost cry.

“Heeseung!”

The alpha lets out a heavy, ragged breath as his fingers skillfully scissor you open, willing your walls to loosen for him. His lips fall open as he watches you fist the mattress with a tight grip, eyes fluttering shut from pleasure.

Heeseung thinks he’s about to come just from watching your erotic expressions alone.

“Ah—ah—ngh!” You squirm and whine and writhe, throat scratchy from how long you’ve been keeping your mouth open. 

Heeseung’s eyes darken as he takes in the way the straps of your camisole fall down your shoulders. The soft swell of your chest moves up and down in a rapid breathing, nipples peeking out just enough to tease.

Fuck—you’re a sight to behold.

He can’t think straight, not when every sense is filled up with your thick, heady scent. Your slick, where it smells the strongest, is now pouring out of your gaping hole in waves and drenching his fingers down to his wrist, making the tent in his pants tighten painfully.

“I’m gonna add one more—fuck,” Heeseung almost chuckles in disbelief at the way your body sucks him in. “Your cunt is a little greedy, baby. Might just take all my fingers in.”

You’re already a mess of broken moans and high-pitched, ‘ah—ah—fuck’. The sensation is becoming too much. You have fingered yourself before, but they don’t have the girth of Heeseung’s long and slender ones; reaching deep inside where you can’t get before, or the roughness of the pad of his thumb circling on your clit relentlessly—bringing you closer to the edge faster than you can think.

Heeseung can already feel it. Your greedy little hole is catching at his fingers even tighter, signalling how close you are to cumming. He leans down, latching his mouth on your neck and littering it with bruising kisses that are going to leave marks, increasing the speed of his wrist until your hips lift off the mattress.

“H-Hee—! I’m—God, fuck—“

“Give it to me, my daisy,” he whispers, voice hoarse and rough from arousal, thumb flicking faster. “That’s it. Give everything to me.”

Heeseung watches closely as you close your eyes and mouth falls open as you come, the erotica of everything almost makes his neglected cock bust out. A feeling of intense ecstasy floods your system, crashing through your body, slick gushing out in waves upon delicious waves.

The alpha slows down the movements of his wrist, thumb circling lazily as he lets you ride out the high. He’s already dizzy from your pheromones, so sweet and inviting, that he almost pushes you into oversensitivity.

He plops out his fingers and puts it into his mouth, tongue lapping at the nectarine of your slick like a thirsty dog. His alpha hums in satisfaction at the sweet taste of his omega’s come, all drenched and warm just for him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Heeseung hovers over your body again, now kissing you hard in pent-up hunger. “I wanna eat you out so badly but I just can’t wait anymore.”

You hum into the kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. Heeseung parts for a moment, jagged breathing hitting your lips warm as he stares into your eyes. His gaze softens.

“Are you okay?”

You nod. “‘M’kay.”

Heeseung nuzzles his cheek against yours, hands sliding up and down your waist before slipping under your camisole and cups your breasts. You let out a half-shocked gasp.

“Can you take more, baby?” He murmurs against your ears, teetering on the edge of sanity as he listens to the sinful sounds leaving your mouth. “Can you take my big, fat knot this time?”

You can’t find your voice, too lost in pleasure as Heeseung kneads your breasts and plays with your nipples. Heeseung drags his tongue along your earlobe, desperate to hear you more.

“Look at these perky tits,” he says as he drags down your camisole, letting it bunch around your waist. His mouth gapes at the way the plump flesh spilling over his fingers, so soft and yielding. “Fuck—you’re so beautiful, Y/N, I will fucking cry.”

“Nnggh!” You cry out when he latches his mouth on your left nub. He sucks and grazes his teeth on your hardened nipple, never breaking eye contact, the wet sensation sending heat straight to your core. 

“Hee!” Your hand flies into his hair when he sucks particularly hard at the bottom swell of your breast, marking his territory. His rough fingers fondle your right tit, rolling the perky nub with reverent attention that makes you clamp your thighs shut.

You squirm, feeling another pool of slick gathering. “H-Heeseung—!”

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he lets go with a pop, lips shiny and slick with his own spit. “Please say my name like that again,” he requests, simultaneously rolling his hips to gauge your reaction.

As he expected—your body, so sensitive and pliant in his hold—immediately writhes from the friction. Heeseung watches with awe, nose twitching as another wave of your scent floods the room, mixing with the sultry accent of his cinnamon and seasalt almost too perfectly.

“Heeseung!”

Heeseung feels so dizzy. His thoughts are only filled with your name, your voice, and your pretty, pretty face that contorts in pleasure when he grinds more. His crotch area is already so fucking wet from pre-cum and your arousal that he thinks he’s losing a chance at any decent and coherent thoughts.

He gives you another roll, and when the name that leaves your swollen lips comes out broken and high-pitched, Heeseung decides that he can’t take it anymore.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, my daisy,” he rasps, leaving one last mark on your cleavage before sitting up. He helps you out of your clothes, marvelling in the way your body trusts him completely.

You’re all soft lines and gentle curves. Heeseung loses his breath as he traces his eyes from the soft mounds of your chest—littered red from his markings, to the narrow pinch of your waist, and the flare of your hips. He caresses the flesh with his hands, gripping it like a love handle as he revels in the contrast of his tanned, big hands on your soft, unblemished skin.

And your pussy—fuck, it’s still glistening from your previous climax and his ministrations, and is now getting wetter under his heated gaze alone.

But it’s the look in your eyes that completely undoes him—pure trust and devotion only for him that he so damn near cries.

“So beautiful,” he praises again, unable to stop the word from flowing out of his mouth. He slides down his hands down your thighs, groping the supple flesh, almost moaning from the sheer softness of it.

“Every inch of you is perfect, baby,” he husks, intoxicated by your pheromones invading his senses.

You hold your breath, peering up at the dominant alpha through your lashes. In a moment of such vulnerability, your chest is filled with affection and trust only for the man now handling your body with care, as if your body was made of porcelain.

My alpha, your wolf purrs inside, heart pounding into your chest.

You spread your thighs wider, so inviting and pliant.

“Alpha,” you mewl, nervously looking up at him. “Please.”

Heeseung can feel his dick twitching from the sight alone. With a swift movement, his shirt is already discarded, thrown somewhere on the floor.

“Say it clearly, baby. Tell me what you need.”

Heeseung fumbles with the strings of his sweatpants as his hooded gaze bores into your hazy one, hissing when his aching cock is finally springing free from the confines of his pants. 

You almost drool at the sight of his weeping cock, standing tall and proud against his abdomen. Its tip is angry red, leaking precum down the length of prominent, bulging veins. Your hole flutters with dripping need.

The words come out so easily now that your pussy is pulsing with an aching need to be filled.

“Please fuck me, Heeseung.”

Heeseung’s lips are bitten raw from restraint, his jaw tight as he forces himself not to move—not to give in to the urge to push forward and lose himself inside you. But before he can move to get a condom from the drawer, your hand snaps to his wrist, shaking your head no.

“Just—just do it,” you bite your lips trying not to squirm under his darkening gaze. “I want to feel you.”

It takes everything in him to stay still—to not reach for you, not pull you back, not ruin this by losing control. Heeseung looks for any doubt in your face.

“Are you sure, baby?”

“Mhm,” you tug at his wrist, guiding his hand to cup your pussy. Heeseung almost combusts right then and there.

“Quick, Heeseung. Need you here.”

“Oh my fucking God—” Heeseung curses under his breath, trying to remain calm. But his body betrays him, his muscles tensing, breath unsteady, as he forces himself to stay where he is.  

He sits taller, his thumb rubbing your clit teasingly. His other hand strokes his cock lazily, flicking his wrist around the erection and hisses when more precum drools out.

The whole time, he doesn’t let go of your eyes, taking in every micro-expressions you make like a greedy man. You’re so sensitive, so expressive, and so, so wet—always so eager to shower him with more slick and more of your sultry moaning.

He aligns his cock in between your folds, grinding the bulbous head against your swollen clit. A choked moan escapes both of you, too fucked over the pleasure. Another gush of slick trickles down your hole, intensifying your scent.

“Heeseung—”

“Shh, baby, I know,” Heeseung coos at the tears pooling along your lashline. He reaches out to wipe it, torn between guilt and absolutely fucking pleasure that he feels from seeing you break apart at his hand like this.

“I’m gonna be gentle, yeah?” He rasps, still rolling his hips, gathering your slick around the tip of his cock. 

He trails his fingers down your wrists before pinning them over your head, hovering over you completely like an eclipse. Then, after what felt like a lifetime, Heeseung finally pushes in.

He doesn’t move after that.

A broken breath leaves him, forehead dropping to your shoulder as if the effort of holding himself back is physically weighing on him. His grip on your wrists tightens just slightly, seeking something to ground him to the moment. Beneath him, you’re trembling from the mix of pain and pleasure, the latter outweighing the former.

“Y/N…” he exhales, voice rough, almost unsteady. “Look at me.”

There’s something in the way he says it. It’s not commanding or urgent, like  he really needs to see you or he’ll fall apart.

You turn your head, meeting his gaze, your expression soft but overwhelmed, lips parted as you try to steady your breathing. It stings, but not enough for you to pull away. Heeseung did a good job at preparing you.

He searches your face like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

“Am I—” he swallows, jaw tightening. “Am I hurting you?”

You shake your head, even though the feeling is new, intense, more than you expected. But the way he’s holding himself back, the way he’s watching you like this could fall apart at any second—it steadies you. Heeseung is so careful, so scared of hurting you that it almost makes you cry.

“It’s… okay,” you whisper, fingers twitching under his hold. “Don’t stop.”

His eyes squeeze shut for a second, like he’s bracing himself, like your trust is something he has to deserve in real time.

“Slow,” he mutters to himself more than to you. “Gotta go slow…”

He barely shifts, testing, careful, measured. Like every movement is something he has to think through instead of give in to. He sinks in another inch, mind floating from the tight sensation of your hole. A strained sound slips past his lips, low and wrecked, his control slipping just enough to show.

“God…” he breathes, almost shaking. “You feel—”

He cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard, like even finishing that sentence would push him too far.

Instead, his hand comes down to your waist, grounding himself there, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin like he needs something soft to hold onto.

You can feel it—how much he’s holding back. Not just physically, but everything. The way his body tenses with every tiny movement, the way his breathing keeps stuttering like he’s constantly pulling himself back from the edge as he pushes inside, inch by inch.

And something in your chest tightens.

“You can move,” you murmur softly, a little unsure, but still wanting. Wanting him, wanting every side of him and not just this careful version of him.

His head lifts immediately.

“No,” he says, almost too quickly. Then his voice grows softer. “Not if you’re not ready.”

Your brows knit slightly, a small shake of your head.

“I am,” you insist, voice quiet but certain. “I trust you.”

Your declaration hits deeper than anything else.

For a moment, he just looks at you—really looks—like he’s trying to understand how you can still say that to him. Then his grip tightens again; a firm grip that anchors you to the moment.

“Okay,” he breathes.

And this time, when he moves, it’s still slow—but there’s something underneath it now. Not just restraint, but a crack in it. A quiet, dangerous edge that slips through no matter how hard he tries to hold it back.

His forehead presses to yours, breaths tangling, uneven.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, softer now. “Anything—you tell me, yeah?”

You nod, already clutching onto him, already feeling yourself giving in to the rhythm he’s so carefully trying to control.

God, Heeseung tries not to lose himself completely. Chanting ‘Go slow, go fucking slow,’ like a mantra in his head is proving to be the hardest test he’s ever been through.

But he still tries—even when it starts slipping crack by crack.

You can feel it in the way his pace stays measured, like every pound into your walls is a calculated move. It makes your heart flutter, really, but you want more. 

You don’t know how to say it without sounding desperate, but your body knows you better. Instinctively, you clench around his cock. The action is not fully registered in your head until Heeseung’s rhythm falters.

“Y/N…” he exhales, your name catching in his throat like it’s too much for him to hold.

“More,” your fingers tighten around his arms, pulling him impossibly closer. “More, please.”

You tighten your walls again, drawing a shuddering gasp from him. His head drops forward as his control stutters, cock twitching inside you.

“Don’t,” he starts, half-warning and half-whining, “Don’t do that or I’m—”

You can’t stand it anymore. You meet his thrust, hitting his navel with yours, gasping because the sensation feels too good. A broken groan leaves him, deep and absolutely fucking wrecked.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, gripping your hips tighter. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Heeseung kisses up the length of your neck, leaving more marks before he props his arms. When you catch his eyes, something flickers in that heated gaze, like his control is finally slipping away, snapping with the way he pistons his cock into you. You choke out a breath.

“Okay?” he asks, still worrying. You nod frantically, desperately. 

“Yes—please—more—”

Heeseung does it again. Again and again and again until all there’s left is the sound of your broken gasps and the wet, filthy noise of his balls hitting your hole. 

“Still—fuck—still okay?” he asks, voice rough, barely held together.

You can’t form any coherent thoughts, so you nod again, breathless and more certain this time. “Please…don’t stop.”

Heeseung lets out a curse, lifting your hips slightly before continuing pounding into you, faster and harder. A high-pitched moan rips from your throat, the new angle hitting the spot that has you seeing stars.

He watches your face, his own contorting in pleasure, setting a pace that has you blabbering out broken words and more drool.

You feel so full. His cock is so deep inside you, filling you up to the hilt. It’s a strange feeling, but it’s also so, so addictive that you just want more, more, and more. It’s the only thing you can ask for: “More, more—Heeseung—ah—please.”

Heeseung leans down, taking your earlobe into his mouth, alternating his pace between achingly slow rolls of his hips and harsh, sharp thrusts, whispering hotly into your ears.

“You’re taking me so well.”

“So fucking tight, baby, fuck.”

“My daisy. My honey. My everything.”

The heat in your stomach intensifies, building up like a tidal wave waiting to crash. Your nails dig into his biceps, meeting his heated gaze with your glassy one.

“Mate with me, Heeseung. Please.”

Heeseung almost stops, but you’re fast to hook your legs around his waist, urging him to continue. He continues with slower grinding, locking eyes with you.

It’s finally time to seal the bond for good. But even in the haze of pleasure and nirvana, all Heeseung cares about is your well-being.

“Now, baby?” he whispers in between thrusts. He catches your jaw in his hand, thumb brushing your cheeks softly. He knows it’s bound to happen tonight anyway, but if he can save you from the pain longer, he will. “It will sting, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You nod, never felt more sure than now. You lean up to kiss him, breath mingling hotly before you look into his eyes.

“I trust you, Heeseung,” you whisper back. You grind back into him, hips stuttering when his cock thrusts almost sharply into your cunt. 

With broken gasps, you finally say it. “Please mark me yours.”

Heeseung almost tears up from the sheer weight of your words. 

Trust. Yours. Mine.

Something that the old him would’ve never imagined wanting and needing.

But here, as your starry eyes gazing into his teary gaze, Heeseung’s never felt so full and complete. He doesn’t even know that he was capable of loving someone this much; of this overwhelming affection that he has only for you.

A single drop of tears slides down his cheek as he kisses you again, trying to convey his emotions into the sweet touch. You respond just as reverent, understanding him without words being spoken.

“Do you trust me?” he murmurs against your mouth. His hips are slowing down, getting lost in the warm sensation of your breath and your sweetening scent.

You give him a peck. “I do.”

Heeseung smiles fondly. He leaves one last kiss on your forehead before he sits up,  pulling out of you at the same time. You almost whine at the loss of touch, but he’s quick to reassure you.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

Then, with a dominating strength that makes your stomach flutter, he grabs your waist and flips you over. You arch your back almost instinctively, shoving your ass in the air. Heeseung groans, his alpha howling in pride at seeing his omega presenting like this. His jaw clenches from restraint, absolutely close to losing his mind over this sight of you.

His cock slips back in easily. Heeseung splays a hand over the skin between your shoulders, pushing you gently into the mattress.

You glance over your shoulders, wiggling your ass and pushing it further into his face. “Like this, Heeseungie?”

Heeseung bites his lips, mouth salivating from the sight. “Yeah, baby.” He is so fucking turned on. “I’m gonna move now, yeah?”

At the single movement of your head, Heeseung is already thrusting inside, barely holding himself back. The new angle gives more access to his cock to hit places you didn’t know exist in your walls, sending sparks of electricity to your nerves.

“Ah, ah—nnghh!! Heeseungie!” 

“Keep saying my name like that, baby,” Heeseung drools over the jiggles of your round ass. He kneads the flesh with his thick fingers, moaning at the dimples his nails make by digging into it.

“So soft. So beautiful,” he grinds and rolls his hips, leaning down to bite down on your buttcheeks. You clench around him. “So responsive for me. God—you’re perfect, Y/N.”

“I’m—I’m close—”

“Oh, I can feel it, baby,” Heeseung grunts through his teeth. Your walls keep sucking him back in, as if refusing to let go. “I’m close too—fuck.”

Heeseung picks up his pace, his muscles flexing as he, too, almost reaches his high. He leans down, broad chest meeting your back and noses at your pulsing scent gland, sweat dripping down his chin.

It’s intoxicating, the way your scent blends in with his pheromones, like a perfect match made in heaven—which might not be so far from the truth. He is your true mate, after all, written in the prophecy for God knows how long.

He can feel how close you’re getting, your whining turning needier and messier. His canines sharpen slowly, readying himself to mark you.

You drool into the mattress, incoherent words leaving your mouth. The coil in your stomach tightens, so close to snapping, so close to bringing you over the edge.

And it’s with a flick of his thumb over your clit that you finally give. You go still, shockwaves of your release rippling through your body, pulling Heeseung with you as he cums, spraying your insides white.

Following his promise, Heeseung chooses that exact moment to sink his teeth in your nape, right over where your scent gland is. You yelp, body trembling from the intense feeling of pain and pleasure.

The feeling is otherworldly—like something inside you finally clicks into place.

A warmth blooms from where he’s marked you, spreading through your body in slow, overwhelming waves. It’s not just the sensation—it’s him. You can feel him in a way you’ve never felt before, like his presence has settled beneath your skin, threading into every part of you. 

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, breath stuttering as something inside you tightens and softens. You feel complete, like the quiet ache you never noticed has finally disappeared.

Heeseung groans softly against your skin, almost like he feels it too—like the bond snaps into place just as strongly on his end. His hold on you tightens, not possessive, but grounding, as if he needs to make sure you’re real, that this is real.

He quickly laps at the blood and the wound, tongue gentle now, almost reverent as he soothes the mark he’s just made. His hips slow down, now grinding into you lazily to ride out the wave before you mewl from oversensitivity.

He pulls out after a while and gently turns you back to face him. As soon as he locks eyes with you, Heeseung’s composure breaks instantly, tears spilling down his cheeks. He catches your lips in a wet kiss.

“My daisy,” he cries, cradling your jaw and never intending to let go. “Oh Goddess—I love you so much.”

His voice, broken and gasping with gratitude and relief, moves your heart in ways that unravel you just the same. You kiss back just as hard, heart finally full and complete.

Your omega purrs in satisfaction, and to your surprise, you can almost hear another wolf echoing back to yours. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s Heeseung’s wolf—your alpha, finally and wholly yours.

Heeseung breaks the kiss only to rest his forehead against yours. Your scent gland pulses, but this time, it’s gentle and grounding, like a mark of a new beginning; a bond now finally healed and sealed.

“Y/N,” he breathes out against your mouth. “Don’t get tired of me yet, okay? I… I cherish you so much. ‘I love you’ doesn’t feel like enough.” 

You let out a soft giggle and pull him closer, sealing your lips with his again.

“Then don’t say anything. Show me, my alpha…show me that we belong to each other.”

As moonlight spills into the bedroom, a blessing from the Goddess for the mated pair, the sheets bear witness to the moment two fractured souls finally become one.

You wake up before Heeseung.

Trying to remove his arms from your waist proves to be a real challenge; the alpha refuses to let you go even in his sleep. You chuckle softly and plant a kiss on his forehead before slipping out of the blanket.

Standing on slightly wobbly legs, you drift into the kitchen, your throat screaming for water. You let the sunshine hit your skin, highlighting your afterglow, as you down a whole glass of water.

The house is quiet. Jay, with the intention to give the two of you privacy, has gone to visit his parents for the weekend. You silently thank him for it. You don’t want to know how awkward it’d be if he has to hear all the noises you made last night.

Just as you’re about to return to Heeseung’s warm embrace, your eyes catch a sign on another door. It’s located at the end of the hallway, a few paces away from Heeseung’s and Jay’s bedrooms. It’s almost unnoticeable, but the name on the sign is what intrigues you to go closer.

EVAN LEE

Evan? That’s Heeseung’s English name.

You know it’s an invasion of privacy, but your wolf is nagging at you to go. So, with almost zero reluctancy, you let yourself inside.

It’s his producer room, you guess, judging from the equipment filling up the space. You let your eyes roam, smiling to yourself when you catch random things that just scream Heeseung.

There are two frames of pictures hanging on the wall, one of his family and another one of him and Jay. The two looked younger, more reckless, a given when you notice the uniform they were wearing. High-school Jay with a neat shirt, tucked in and collar buttoned up while high-school Heeseung was missing his tie. They were smiling bright, already so handsome from such a young age.

You look at the random stickers on his PC—basketball, white cats, and alphabet stickers that are arranged into ‘NI-KI’. 

A pair of headphones sit on the table, each ear decorated with different aesthetics. The left one is full of flowers, tiny stickers of ‘ddeonu’ are left as watermark, while the other is just one big orange cat sticker, and instead of leaving his name in a way that doesn’t stain, Jungwon actually signed with a marker pen.

You laugh, wondering what might be Heeseung’s reaction when that menace did that. It’s Sony, after all, and judging from the sleek design—it’s definitely pricey. But knowing how soft Heeseung is for Jungwon, he probably just let it slide because ‘Jungwonnie is cute’.

This room is so full of everything Heeseung loves. His passion for music and basketball, his affection for his close friends. A thought, not unkindly or bitter, crosses your mind: you cannot wait to leave traces of you here, too—something of yours, beside everything he already loves. 

Just as you’re about to leave, something in the corner stops you in your tracks. It’s a notebook, hidden under a keyboard, like it’s never meant to be found.

You walk over and look at the notebook, breath catching in your throat when you read the cover.

For my daisy.

Is this for you?

With trembling fingers—a result from your pounding heart—you flip the cover. There’s handwriting, unmistakably Heeseung’s, filling up the first page.

These are my silent apologies to the girl I lost. I was too late to love you when you still loved me, but I promise myself that I will start and continue loving you, even when I can no longer hear your echo until the very end.

P.s. park jongseong stop making fun of me this will become a hit album TRUST!

Just like what the note has said, the notebook is full of song lyrics. Each line, each intended melody, each scribble left in the margin—every one of them is meant for you, intended for you, and just for you.

Your vision blurs, heart tightening so painfully it almost aches—because this wasn’t just regret. It was love. Quiet, enduring, and yours all along. 

Heeseung didn’t know how to stay or to cherish—but he’s been unlearning every single bad habit for you. Through your resentment, through your tears, through your silences, until finally, your omega was willing to open up and give him another chance at love.

Your chest swells with affection and pride, echoing with only the name of the alpha.

You reach for a pen and flip back to the first page, leaving your first ever trace in his producer room.

p.s. i love you more, my cinnamon alpha. 

andddd that's the end of it!!1 thank you once again and until next time <3

dividers from: @cursed-carmine <3

permanent taglist: @kristynaaah @seungiesdoll @in-somnias-world @rikismists @loviseamms @ikeupop

fic taglist 1: @bingka @twocupsofsuga @rayofsunshineeee @all4moi @cutehoons02 @barbiecuedotcom @kitteaasstuff @sosocide @lhspeachie @sooooobean @vmpiricou @st4rg1rlies @itsmesofia @dazedinadream @yenienha @fullsunncity @kookieterry @isa942572 @jikookvfans @corroprisz @taesnumber1 @goosemantheweeb @wndrlndhee @jakey1115 @d0llddeonu @zijoan @mheretoreadff @ezekiel-bublz @pomeranyan @mono-for-real

[yla-aira]

“I can take anything you do to me,” Heeseung’s voice cracks, barely holding it together. “I can take any punishment you want to give me but not this.”

[simjakedly]

mark me yours - l.hs (part 2)

— a spin-off from love me (k)not

main masterlist | part 1 | part 3

synopsis. heeseung regrets everything, but his regret comes too late.

pairing. alpha!heeseung x omega!female reader

genre(s). omegaverse, fated mates, strangers-to-lovers, angst, fluff warnings. angst angst angst!!, everyone cries a lot, heavy angst..., slowburn, vomiting, insecurity, depressive behaviour, hyperventilation and panic attacks, attempts (just one attempt), heeseung is so fucking desperate, featuring: alpha!jay (our target again), alpha!jungwon, wolf hybrid!sunghoon, fake-omega!sunoo (pls i love him), beta!jake, beta!ahn yujin, omega!rei, not beta read we die like injang, ok just hmu if i miss anything!!!

word count. 17,837

note. girl wtf tumblr didn't let me post the whole fic!!! im crying, part 3 coming right up!!

For the first time in his life, Heeseung wants to stay.

No. He wants you to stay.

But he doesn’t dare say anything. He doesn’t even know if he deserves to open his mouth. It’s like a knot of uneasiness has lodged itself in his throat, preventing him from moving even an inch of his muscle.

Not that he can even move, honestly. His entire body is on fire, his scent gland is pulsing in pain. But nothing, nothing can compare to the hollowness in his chest.

Nothing comes close to the gravity of the situation, slowly settling in his mind.

Heeseung can’t breathe.

Across from him, you’re leaning on your cheerleader friend for support. Someone he vaguely recognises as Riki’s cousin—Rei, if he’s not mistaken. She has rushed out of the crowd when people had stopped dancing to watch a literal romance suicide happening in the backyard.

“Oh my Goddess—you’re bleeding—Riki! Call the ambulance!”

“Let’s just drive her to the hospital,” Jake, a beta who belongs to the frat house, emerges from behind Riki, looking more sober than the other guests. “It’s faster.”

Among the chaos, of people murmuring in surprise, of your friend and his friend fussing over your condition, you stand there silently. If you were pale before, you’re looking even more ghostly now that if someone were to cut your cheek, there’d be no blood coming out.

He watches you, eyes never leaving your face, begging, pleading through his gaze for you to meet his eyes. But you never do. 

You keep your head low and let Rei and Jake usher you away, steps wobbly and unsteady.

Heeseung can’t breathe.

It feels like he’s underwater and his lungs have turned to bricks.

“—seung! Breathe!”

Heeseung snaps out of his thoughts and realises that his knees have finally given up. He’s on the ground, the tiles bruising his knees as Jay crouches beside him, shaking his shoulders. He realises, as his chest burns and moves rapidly, that he’s been hyperventilating.

Heeseung can’t breathe.

“Oh God—” he chokes, clawing at his burning throat. Sweat dots on his forehead, his face turning red with each passing second. Beside him, Jay is shouting at someone over his head, but the sound is muffled to his ears.

All he can hear is the echo of your voice.

‘I ended it.’

The pain cracks through his chest. The tears are unstoppable now.

‘There’s nothing between us anymore.’

Heeseung thinks he might die.

A violent sob racks through his chest, both of his palms touching the ground. He can faintly sense Riki’s presence around him, the younger trying to lift him up with the help of Jay, but Heeseung’s body is dead weight.

His wolf refuses to move.

This is all your fault, his alpha growls in his mind. 

You defied fate and now we lost her. This is your fault, Lee Heeseung.

Heeseung covers his face, feeling the wetness on his cheeks. His body shakes with every sob, showing no signs of stopping. On either side of him, Jay and Riki have given up on trying to help him stand. The two watch as their friend cries his heart out.

Out of sorrow. Out of grief.

Out of regret.

“I’m sorry,”  Heeseung sobs to no one, the words dripping with remorse.

He looks up, chasing the ghost of you with his guilty eyes—but you’re long since gone. The weight of the abandoned bond now sits heavy on his chest, pulsing in pitiful longing.

“I’m really sorry.”

The space swallows his words, the emptiness a permanent reminder of his too-late apology.

Hospitals aren’t exactly a place you look forward to visiting. 

But right now, you are willing to take anything to escape the eyes. You silently curse yourself for pulling that scene in a place where privacy is a luxury, but at least now you have escaped from it. 

From Heeseung.

Most importantly, from the consequences of your actions.

You bring your finger to your nape and graze the scent gland gently. The pain it has borne for the last two weeks has finally stopped. It brings great relief to you, really—not having to feel the slow death of being an unwanted mate. But freedom has its cost.

You’ve never felt so empty.

You don’t know how your omega did it, but the bond is severed. Traces of Heeseung’s pheromones are nowhere to be found. Gone are the warm, spicy cinnamon and the cool, salty sea air that used to linger around your sweet scent faintly.

You no longer smell like him. You no longer feel the need to see him. You no longer feel the agonising pain shooting up your spine every time he kisses someone who isn’t you.

Yet you feel empty.

You expected more pain. You expected longing. But your body feels quiet. Your omega, previously hysterical and loud, is dead silent inside. A protest to the Goddess or she’s just genuinely exhausted, you don’t know. You can’t put it past her if it’s both.

You sigh, dropping your hand on your lap as you stare at the blood stain on the sleeves of your cardigan. You pay no mind to the nurses and patients passing by in front of you. Jake and Rei left not too long ago, after you managed to convince them that you’ll be okay and that Yujin is on her way.

As if on cue, your nose picks up the smell of green tea among the sterile and sharp odour of the hallway. Yujin.

“Y/N!” 

Your friend greets you with a slightly breathless voice, clearly running her way into the hospital. She bends down and immediately makes a show of inspecting you, turning your body left and right frantically. When her eyes drop on the dried blood staining your sleeves, she nearly shrieks.

“Who the fuck must I kill?!”

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” You hush her, sending apologetic looks to the nearby people who have become alert of Yujin’s death threat. “And no, you’re not killing anybody.”

“Please tell me what happened before I lose my mind,” Yujin pleads, the worry on her face softening her features. You halt. 

Before you know it, your eyes have turned glassy. The weight of everything—the constant pain, the relief, the broken bond—you finally feel the full force of it. As if the gate has been completely destroyed, it’s so easy to cry now.

You let yourself get pulled into a hug, clutching at the fabric of Yujin’s shirt desperately.

Your bitter scent washes over her, smelling of heartbreak and guilt. You think of Heeseung; of how devastated he looked when you broke the bond, like he had lost something precious—which should be a lie, shouldn’t it? He never acknowledged the bond. He never admitted to it.

Then you think of yourself; of the way you used to carry the pieces of your heart everywhere, begging for him to see the bond that used to tie the two of you together. The bond that you treasured, the bond that bloomed hope in your heart, making you believe in a future together with someone who was supposed to love you. 

Something inside you breaks again.

You had lost something precious.

“I—I ended the bond with him,” you choke, the words struggling to get out. “It’s over. Yujin, it’s over.”

You feel Yujin freeze for a moment before she tightens the hug, feeling her lips touch your hairline.

“But why does it still hurt?” Your chest heaves with a new wave of tears, voice completely broken. “Why does it hurt so fucking much? I ended it, and—and he hurt me,” you hiccup, trying to arrange the string of your sentence properly.

“But I still want to hug him,” you whisper wetly, feeling your wolf stir inside you. “I still want to hold him and tell him I’m sorry for doing this to him.”

Yujin remains quiet, rubbing a hand at your back in an attempt to comfort you. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. You did the right thing.”

She holds you and never lets go. She holds you the way that you wish you could’ve done to Heeseung; in the way that you wish he could’ve done to you.

That night, you let yourself surrender to the grief of something that you almost had. The grief of the tale of true mates that you used to hold close to your heart, longing for the wreckage of potential love that is damaged beyond repair.

You grieve for the love you could’ve shared, the life you could’ve had if only the world was on your side.

You grieve for Heeseung.

For the past of the warm embrace that he once gave you and for the pain he inflicted on you.

Heeseung never knew how hard it was to find you outside of the court and practice room until now.

He realises, with a regret that has become all-too-familiar now, that he knows almost nothing about you. Other than the fact that you can bake, that you’re friends with almost everyone on the cheerleader squad—he doesn’t know much about you.

And it kills him.

It takes him two days of losing sleep, of dragging his legs to classes, of forcing the pain in his chest down, before he finally catches a glimpse of you.

It’s completely accidental. He’s on his way to a group discussion, walking past the cafeteria when a breeze of air passes by him, carrying the soft scent of your pheromones.

Light, blooming daisies and sticky, sweet honey.

Heeseung halts in his steps, his alpha already whining in longing. 

Across the hall, at one of the tables, you sit with your friends. A pair of chopsticks presses against your lips as you listen to your friend animatedly talking about her clumsy professor—something that’s only possible for Heeseung to hear had it not been for his dominant trait.

Heeseung doesn’t know what to expect once he sees you.

A small part of him foolishly hopes that you’d look back to him just as quickly, the way you used to do whenever he steps into the same room as you before.

Another part of him wishes that when he senses your scent, the usual undertone of his own scent would still linger underneath.

But you do nothing of those, completely oblivious to his presence, to his scent—like the mere his walking into the same space as you’re in doesn’t affect you anymore. And your scent is completely bare from any traces of his pheromones, the daisies and honey are completely and only you.

Right, Heeseung swallows thickly. Of course you can’t feel him.

The bond is no longer there.

You cut it a couple of days ago.

The wound is still fresh, pulsing in his scent gland like a reminder of his sin. His heart squeezes painfully, but Heeseung only presses his lips. Not a sound comes out of his mouth. Not even a breath.

He lets the pain course through his body, enduring it for as long as he can. He deserves this, he quietly thinks.

He deserves watching you from afar, feeling the one-sided bond punish every fibre of his being.

He deserves this; sensing your scent whenever you’re near, but no longer having the privilege to hold your eyes and share the same feeling only true mates understand.

Deserves the silence. Deserves you not looking up. Deserves being nothing to you.

There’s a gaping hole in his heart when he realises that nothing is tying him to you anymore. There’s no safety net of the Goddess of the Moon’s fated mates tale. There’s no longer the string that connects the two of you—no reason he can find to be anything to you.

A stronger, more desperate part of him forces him to take the leap. To just take over and charge. His feet shift forward slightly, the dominant alpha in him wanting to just grab you and tell you how sorry he is. He’d beg on his knees if he must, so long as you’d at least spare a glance his way, even if it meant you would look down on him forever.

But you look happier.

His eyes trace the curve of your lips as you laugh at something your friend says. The selfish part of him stubbornly stays to steal the moment, letting his undeserving ears hear your voice like a secret.

You look happier.

Heeseung takes a step back, angling his body to leave. He looks at you one last time, hoping to catch your gaze at least once. Just something—anything to soothe his anxious wolf, even when he doesn’t deserve it.

But you never look back. And something inside him cracks. 

He can feel it—the incoming suffocation building up in his chest, like a storm waiting to happen. Before his scent could turn bitter, Heeseung forces himself to leave, eyes frantically searching for exit.

Heeseung is slowly breaking apart, and he does nothing to stop it.

“You’re so—” Jay stops himself, then sighs loudly. “I’ve called you stupid way too many times that I’m actually starting to feel bad now. Why did you skip your group discussion? Jungwon won’t stop asking me for you.”

Heeseung doesn’t react. After catching sight of you at the cafeteria, he’s rushed back to his house, deliberately skipping the group discussion with an apology over a text. The hyperventilation—an occurrence that is frequent now—comes back, and Heeseung doesn’t intend for you to see him unravel like that.

Not out of pride or shame. God, no, there’s nothing left of him to care about those. Heeseung just doesn’t want you to feel bad seeing him like that. Because you shouldn’t feel bad for cutting off the bond.

After all, he did hurt you to the point of death.

Jay studies his friend, watching as Heeseung sits in his producer chair and stares blankly at the monitor. He was just about to go for a gym session with Riki, but decided to stay at home after Heeseung burst through the door, gasping for air with a red face. And it broke his heart.

Calling out Heeseung for his ignorance is one thing that he’s not sorry for, but seeing him in this condition? It kills him. He just wants everyone to stop hurting each other. But first of all, he knows he has to start with Heeseung.

“Hee,” he calls, but Heeseung barely moves. Jay presses his lips. “Hee—”

“I saw her.”

Jay pauses, holding back his tongue when he hears his voice. He waits patiently, giving Heeseung the space he needs. 

But Heeseung doesn’t say another word for a few extended seconds, just sitting there like he was talking to himself. If it weren’t for the small movement of his chest, Jay would’ve panicked and thought that he’d lost his friend. 

It is quiet until his voice, smaller and quieter, echoes inside the room again.

“She always looks prettier than the last time I see her.”

There’s a heavy silence between them. Jay takes the chance to look around the room. 

It’s Heeseung’s producer room, the room Jay let him take to do whatever he wanted with it. The lighting inside this room is moody, dim purple and blue LED lights alternating every minute. 

The glow washes over everything in slow pulses—across the mixing console, the twin monitors, the mess he never bothered to clean. Cables snake along the floor like they’ve settled there for good, curling around the legs of the desk. A track sits paused on the screen, its waveform frozen mid-breath, like it, too, is waiting for something to break.

Jay slowly exhales, his chest tightening as his gaze drifts from a closed notebook to the abandoned headphones hanging at the edge of the console. This room feels less alive—not like what he last remembers of it.

It used to pulse with passion. Whenever he walked in, Heeseung was always up to something. The bass would play like a behind the scene, his sweet voice would sometimes blend with the strum of his newly-bought acoustic. There’d be balls of crumpled papers rolling on the floor, rejected lyrics that he’d still pick up and look back before he went to sleep.

But now, the room is too clean. Ever since he carried Heeseung on his back from Jake’s frat house a few days ago, this producer room has been nothing more than a haunted house.

And at the center of it, is his dying friend.

“Hee,” Jay starts, breaking the silence. He gives his words a lot of thoughts, carefully curated to make it clear that he cares. “Heeseung, you must do something. Or you’ll die, and I won’t let you die.”

Jay grabs his shoulder and turns him around, the chair spinning to face him. Heeseung’s face is void of any colour, sunken eyes looking like faded embers. His lips are dry and chapped, his skin dull and grey. Inevitably, something sharp twists in his chest at seeing his best friend in this state.

“God,” Jay breathes out, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. He’s so fucking scared. “You’re dying, Heeseung, and I—”

Jay hangs his head low, closing his eyes as he tries his best to compose himself. Heeseung needs me, he whispers in his head, Heeseung needs me.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Jay takes a deep breath and lifts his gaze. Heeseung is looking away, blank face staring lifelessly at the wall like a portrait of emptiness and grief. His grip on his shoulder tightens.

“I talked to my parents,” Jay tries again, “there is a way to fix this. Two, actually.” 

The moment stretches without any reaction from Heeseung. Jay takes it as a sign to continue.

“We can save this if you…if you can win her back and make her omega want to patch the bond back up.”

The tiniest flicker of something crosses Heeseung’s eyes. His jaw twitches almost imperceptibly. 

“Or,”  Jay licks his lips, preparing himself. “You can cut the bond from your side, too,” he finishes. 

Heeseung turns his head to look at him, wide eyes watering with unshed tears.

“Cut it clean once and for all, Heeseung.”

His lips part, but nothing comes out. Despite his passive façade, Heeseung’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and regret.

Fix the bond and face you, which he doesn’t think he deserves.

Or cut it off and lose you for good.

For the first time in his life, Heeseung doesn’t know which option is worse.

The nightclub is still as noisy as he remembers it. Blinding lights that hurt his eyes, loud bass that pierces his ears. People are dancing with their company, seeking friction and heat between slicked bodies.

Heeseung used to be in the center of it all, basking in the attention of perfectly-manicured nails on his chest and the alluring scents enveloping him. A perfect distraction from a rejected demo. A relief for his frustration over a losing game.

The escape he always chose to run from facing negative emotions. 

But tonight, he stands motionless in a corner, lips pulled in a tight line. 

There’s an old pull coming from the crowd. After all, having people worship your body does feel addictive at one point—and Heeseung is no exception to that. He’s used to showcasing his dominance whether it was on the court or in a bedroom, a drug he kept feeding his alpha to the point of no return. He’s used to command and dominate, a trait that helps him as a captain and as a pleaser.

Like facing a withdrawal, his hands twitch by his sides, itching to inch forward.

You are feeling bad now, a voice whispers in his head. Go on. There are plenty of omegas that can make you feel better.

Heeseung forces his gaze down. No, he counters.

No more of that life.

Heeseung is dominant in every aspect of his existence—from biological traits down to his own personality and mindset. But when his mind drifts back to the thoughts of you, he finds himself crumbling in submission.

It hurts his pride. God, it hurts so much.

But the ache doesn’t compare to the look on your pale face when you break the bond you shared with him, like cutting an infected part of a root that’d destroy your field of daisies.

Nothing hurts more than being the reason you had to resort to such a critical decision, that might cost you your own life.

The urge finally quiets down after a few seconds of redirecting his thoughts to the more pressing matters at hand. Heeseung smooths down his clothes in an attempt to calm himself.

He’s wearing one of his baggy graphic T-shirts, black and bigger than his frame. A picture of The Strokes, stretched and scratched from use clings to the fabric. Beside him, Jay stands tall in his usual button-up, always looking out of place in the nightclub thanks to his distinguished gentleman image.

On the other side of him, is a cute menace.

“Okay!” Sunoo claps his hand, adjusting the collar of his yellow sweater. “This is a bad idea, but since you’re a masochist, let’s do what we’re here for!”

The sass in his speech doesn’t go unnoticed by both alphas. Jay lets out a big sigh, already massaging his temple, while Heeseung only gives him a side-eye, hardly offended by his words. 

He’s right, of course. Sunoo’s never wrong.

The brown-haired boy, feigning ignorance to the stares he’s receiving, continues. “Since you want to cut the bond clean—”

Jay interrupts sharply. “Try to cut it clean.”

“Right,” Sunoo gives a small smile. “Since we want to try cutting it off clean,” he makes a show of slicing the air with his hand, “let’s find you an omega and see if you can kiss her or him without throwing up.”

Heeseung lets the bass swallow his voice, already hating the idea inside his head. Which is ironic, because just a few days ago, he was adamant on trying to convince himself that he didn’t have a mate.

Oh, well. Just look at him now.

Jay seems to share the same sentiment as him. “This can either turn worse or better. Are you sure you’re doing this?” Jay looks back from Heeseung to Sunoo. “Can’t we find other ways?”

Sunoo taps his chin, looking serious for the first time that night. 

“I don’t think we can. The one breaking the bond should be his wolf,” he starts, pointing to Heeseung’s chest. “And since he’s been giving Heeseung a silent treatment, we have no idea where he stands now. This is the only way to trigger a reaction.”

Heeseung thinks he’s had enough of being talked about like a case study. “What do you mean? We don’t know where he stands now?”

Sunoo pats his shoulder, understanding his confusion. “Yeap. We don’t know whether your wolf is okay with cutting the bond with Y/N and finding another mate, or if he still wants Y/N and wants to fix the bond with her.”

Heeseung blinks, confused. “But she’s already cut—”

“It’s one-sided, Heeseungie hyung. Your wolf didn’t agree with the breakup,” Sunoo then lowers his voice, now talking softly when he notices the gloomy look on his face. “That’s why we either cut it or fix it,” the alpha fidgets with the sleeves of his sweater, already feeling emotional. 

“Or you could die, hyung. That’s the reality of true mates.”

He’s right. Heeseung knows, despite being a little devil that he is, Sunoo will never lie about something as serious as this. Especially when it involves life and death.

But Heeseung hasn’t been on good terms with his wolf. They’ve been clashing since the night that he met you, always debating whether you were his fated mate or not. And each time, it was Heeseung who never listened. It was Heeseung who refused to give in, in denial to the possibility of a mate and…love.

Even tonight.

“Let’s just cut it off,” he grunts, his voice grim and clipped. Sunoo and Jay whirl around and look at him like he’s just lost one eye.

“I just told you, we can’t just—”

“He’s not responding, and he never will,” Heeseung exhales through his nose, frustration spilling into his scent. “My wolf—”

“That’s because you never wanted to listen to him, Hee.” Jay finally speaks up, cutting the conversation short. Heeseung pauses, his voice dying in his throat.

From his left, Jay’s citrusy pheromones—bergamot and lime with a soft undertone of amber and metal—swirls into his senses with an air of authority. Heeseung recognises this. It’s the accent that Jay uses when he wants someone to relax and listen to him. 

The dark-haired alpha plays with his whiskey, watching the liquid swirl and the ice spin as he speaks. 

“Or to me. To us.”

He lets the words linger, as if begging Heeseung to finally understand. Jay meets his eyes, looking into him with desperation. There is a flicker of something there; something that makes the wall inside him rattle.

“Please. Just tonight. Please try for us. For you,” his voice is lower, shaky, “I don’t want to lose you, Hee. Please.”

“I just don’t want to hurt her anymore.” Heeseung hesitates. “What if I touch another omega and I hurt her again?”

“You won’t,” Sunoo convinces. He nudges Heeseung’s shoulder with his. “For now, she won’t feel anything because the tie is broken. It won’t be easy, but saving yourself means saving her too.”

A heavy silence falls upon them, filled with unspoken tension and pleading eyes. Jay and Sunoo share a look, each of them on the edges of their nerves waiting for Heeseung’s answer.

At last, Heeseung finally relents. A small sigh escapes his lips and he takes a step forward.

“Okay. Let’s give this a shot.”

It isn’t hard to find someone to kiss. It was never hard for Heeseung. He manages to mask his gloomy scent that could shoo people away from him and gets into his flirty mode. His smile, though a little strained on the edges, still looks pretty as ever.

Soon enough, he already has an omega in his arms, tucked away in a dimmed corner near the bar. Sunoo and Jay keep a safe distance from him, not too close to intrude but not too far out of his sight.

“You’re so tall,” the omega purrs, gliding her pretty nail up his arm. Heeseung barely responds. “Tall and so handsome.”

His heart is telling him how out-of-place the touch feels. The familiar feeling comes back. The same feeling he ignored for two weeks in fear of confronting his own destiny. The same feeling he buried for the sake of proving to no one but himself that he’d do fine without you; without the sacred bond that connected you both.

He wants to flee. He wants to push her away and scratch at the spot where she’s touched him. Where her skin meets his skin, Heeseung feels the strongest urge to recoil. The same nausea returns, clouded by her scent that doesn’t sit well in his nose. 

But his rational mind reminds him of the intention behind this.

“Yeah?” He tries, struggling to look her in the eyes. He tightens his grip on her waist and hesitates before pulling her slightly closer. “I’ll need to bend down to kiss you, then.”

The girl lets out an airy giggle. She circles her arms around his neck and pulls him down, peering at him through her lashes seductively. “Mhm, bent down enough?”

Heeseung freezes. It’s going to happen. Heeseung fights the urge to turn his face away, but Sunoo’s words serve as a reminder that stops him from doing so. 

Saving yourself means saving her, too.

Shakily, he exhales, closing the gap between their lips as slowly as he can. His heart is angry behind his ribs, his pulse rushing loudly in his ears. Heeseung braces himself until the pout of her lips brushes against his.

The kiss starts gently, mainly initiated by her. Heeseung tries to follow, tries to lead, but the feeling of her mouth on his feels so wrong. It doesn’t feel right. It’s like fitting a triangle puzzle with round pieces.

He opens his mouth, trying to deepen his kiss when something inside him stirs.

No. His wolf finally speaks. It’s no longer distant and muffled.

Like a wolf being reborn from the first death, this time, his voice is sharp and clear. 

Not her.

Heeseung closes his eyes, feeling a bile rising behind his throat. But instead of darkness, what he sees instead is an image of you. Your soft features, your silky hair, and your pretty, pretty eyes that he can only see in his memory. 

The eyes that used to look at him with sparkles of hope, waiting for him to notice the magnetic force of a bond that you shared with him. The same grateful eyes that looked at him under the moonlight, when the convenience store was empty except for the two of you.

His stomach turns sharply he might actually be sick.

Oh Goddess, what has he done to you? Why did he do you so wrong? Why did he think so highly of himself that he thought he was above love and fate?

A drop of tears slips down his cheek.

Before he knows it, Heeseung is already crying into the kiss. Hot, fresh tears seeps into the lock of their mouths, making the kiss taste like salt and grief; just like how his scent smells right now.

I want Y/N. His wolf echoes again, firmer than he’s ever been. We want Y/N.

At last, after weeks of battling himself, Heeseung finally listens to his wolf.

He breaks the kiss with a breath, pushing her gently by the shoulders and putting a distance between them. Head dipping low, Heeseung lets himself cry, watching the tears drop from the tip of his nose to the sticky floor. The omega is left confused, but she doesn’t say a word.

If anything, Heeseung looks so pitiful that she forgets about feeling upset.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups, bringing his hands to his face. He doesn’t realise how hard he’s shaking until she places her hand on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, I can’t do this—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” the girl convinces, pursing her lips into a straight line. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Heeseung doesn’t answer. Drops of grief and regret keep pouring out like a broken faucet, staining his cheeks wet. The sound that leaves him isn’t even a sob; it’s something raw, broken, pulled straight out of his chest.

“My heart belongs to her.”

Heeseung feels his wolf paw at him, finally winning the prolonged war of love and pride. A war whose price may be greater than the sin he’s committed. 

His scent gland is pulsing even harder, as if reminding him of the bond still barely alive. 

With a shaky exhale, like he’s at last allowed himself to be free, Heeseung tries to let it out.

“I think…” his voice breaks, softer now, like he’s afraid of the truth even as he says it. 

“I think I finally accepted that my heart has always belonged to her.”

For the first time, Heeseung doesn’t try to deny it. His wolf purrs, almost crying from relief. 

“And she doesn’t want it anymore.”

It is very early in the morning. Rays of orange glow cracks through the horizon, bleeding light into the ground. Somewhere in the distance, the moon is slowly getting swallowed by the sky and soon enough, the sun is proudly ascending.

It’s a Saturday, which means, there’s no classes scheduled today. But Heeseung finds himself stepping foot on the campus ground. Faintly, from where he’s standing at the car park, he can hear whistles coming from the field. His wolf, who’s done giving him the silent treatment, nudges him to hurry. 

Right. He’s here, abandoning his usual sleep-in on the weekend to find you. It’s the only place he knows where you’d be and he might’ve just bribed Jake to tell him when his football friendly match is going to be.

Taking a deep breath, Heeseung finally moves his legs. His ribs rattle with how fast his heart is beating. He purposely chooses to come fifteen minutes before the match ends—he’s not exactly here to see Jake play (sorry dude). He doesn’t know what to do with himself if he has to wait around for hours just to talk to you. He might go crazy.

Well. That is, if you want to talk to him.

“Don’t discourage me now, you dog,” he mutters under his breath, berating his alpha. 

The field is not that far from where he parked his (Jay’s) car. A few paces more and he’s going to see the vast green-grassed space where a bunch of alphas are running around chasing a ball using their legs.

But to his surprise, the field and the bleachers are almost empty.

“Fuck,” Heeseung curses under his breath and checks his watch. He still has three minutes left before the game ends—if what Jake told him was true. Did they end it earlier than planned? He could’ve sworn he heard whistles just now!

You spent too much time on your pep talk, his wolf rolls his eyes.

Heeseung doesn’t waste time. He whirls around and forces his brain to think quicker. His legs move faster, turning corner after a corner in search of you. 

Where would the cheerleaders go after a game? To the locker room? No, that’s for the athletes. To the car park? That’s possible, but he didn’t cross paths with anyone on the way here. To the practice room? He rounds a corner. Okay, that actually—

A subtle wave of daisies and honey washes over him almost instantly. Heeseung immediately stops, his breath catching in his throat. 

Standing in front of the vending machine, just a few feet away from him, is you. You’re wearing your usual costume—sleeveless top that cuts right at your waist and pleated skirt that ends just above your mid-thigh. But today, the theme seems to be pink. You have your hair up in an updo, a blue ribbon—the official representative colour of the college—is tied neatly around the silky strands of your hair.

There’s only a glimpse of your side profile visible to him, but it’s enough to quiet the prideful alpha in him. He’s not even sure if he’s said it enough, but every time his eyes land on you, you just get prettier. 

For a second, Heeseung thinks he doesn’t mind dying at that moment.

You don’t look up to him instantly, or sensing his presence by his pheromones—another reminder of the broken bond that you used to share. Heeseung gulps down the hurt, clenching his sweaty palms into fists.

A clang of a can dropping in the vending machine booms through the hallway. You bend down to take it.

Call her name. His wolf urges. Idiot, just call her name!

Heeseung gathers his breath.

“Y/N?” Your name leaves his name like a sacred prayer, tender and delicate, like a whisper only the Goddess can hear. You freeze in your spot, finger brushing the can only a fraction.

The silence stretches for a few seconds. In waiting, Heeseung holds back his breath, afraid that another sound from him will scare you away.

But you only straighten up, abandoning your can of drink and turn to him. The edges of your eyes harden at the sight of him. 

You hold his gaze, lips unmoving before you finally say his name.

“Heeseung.”

It’s flat. It’s polite. It’s cold. It’s nothing like the night when you ran into his arms. It’s not warm like the way you called his name before falling asleep on his shoulders, back when your wolf trusted him with your life.

Back when the bond was still there. Back when his name was still written in the stars beside yours.

Heeseung thinks this is worse than death.

“Can I…” he pauses, already fearing your rejection mid-sentence. 

Saving yourself means saving her, too.

He pushes through.

“Can I talk to you?”

The words finally leave his lips, and Heeseung doesn’t move. It’s as if he was intruding; like he was poking your safe bubble and he wasn’t allowed to move without your permission. 

Your eyes assess him, like you’re deciding if he was a threat. Then, with a firm tone he never heard from you, you reply. “I have practice.”

“I won’t take long,” he rushes out, the words tripping over each other. “Please—just for a moment. Please.”

Please.

The one word you’d never expect coming from a dominant alpha like him. Someone who seems prideful in everything he does, who commands attention wherever he goes with his voice alone.

So he does have the courage to talk to you. He does know what he did was wrong on so many levels—and yet.

Yet it took you almost dying for him to learn. 

Yet it took you bleeding on the floor for him to realise.

For once, you really thought you could be the bigger person. You really believed that your heart, as soft as it always has been, would fold and melt the moment his honeyed-voice greets your senses again.

But you were wrong.

Your resentment still lingers, caging your chest in a protective embrace, not daring to lose its heartbeat for the second time.

“No.”

You take a step back, and this time, you make sure it is a line being drawn.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”  

Your verdict echoes like a gavel tapping against a sound block. It’s straightforward. It’s clear. But to Heeseung, it’s a punishment too small to what he did to you.

He tries his best to school his expression, swallowing the lump in his throat with force. He then nods, weakly, then a bit too fast.

His wolf cries, not willing for him to back down so easily. His human part, on the other hand, is split into two. 

Old Heeseung is ready to isolate and never reach out again. Same old habits that used to bring him comfort and distractions. 

This is why you don’t do commitments. Just forget about this.

Another Heeseung, a new side that feels awkward but is still slowly growing, is trying to rationalise your decision and understand your boundaries.

Give her time, Heeseung. The wound is still so fresh.

“Okay.” He finally breathes out, the heavy word weirdly sending relief to his system. “Okay. I understand.”

You don’t move for a moment, just staring at him blankly like he might change his mind, before you nod. You honestly don’t know what to expect, but this is a pleasant surprise. You don’t think you can handle a pushy alpha now—especially the same alpha who had pushed you too far.

You leave without another word, feeling his eyes boring into the back of your head as you round the corner. Once out of his sight, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding,, gripping the wall for support. 

Your heart pounds like a war drum, threatening to break out of your chest. Seeing his face after actively avoiding him seems to be harder than you’d thought. You didn’t know he’d come looking for you on the weekends like this.

The Heeseung you remember always leaves first.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to calm your frantic heart, and realise one thing with a sinking feeling.

Your quiet omega is still silent, lips sealed shut. Not even a word was heard from her since that tragic night.

You sigh. Heeseung’s got a really long way to go.

On the other side of the wall, Heeseung trails after your steps with his gaze—longing, hopeful, and sorrowful.

He’ll wait. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed yet, but he’ll wait.

Heeseung heaves out a long sigh, his throat feeling dry. The vending machine suddenly looks interesting to him. Rows of canned drinks lined up the interior but Heeseung already has his mind set on his go-to Zero Coke.

The can drops with a loud clang. Heeseung reaches down, ready to feel the coldness of the red-canned drink, only to pause when he sees green instead.

Grape juice.

Oh, right. You forgot your drink.

He takes both cans, but his attention on his Zero Coke is long gone. He inspects your drink instead, eyes lingering on the brand like it’s something precious, his fingers wet from condensation.

So you like grape juice.

Heeseung finally learns something about you today.

But waiting is easier said than done. 

Anxiety lives under his skin, prickling in his system like thorns in flesh. Every time he closes his eyes, the memory of you bleeding in the frat house haunts him back. He’d wake up gasping, lungs burning like he just survived a drowning.

Your silence has turned his longingness into a desperation so deep you practically could smell it on him. Heeseung can’t be with himself, not when he’s been spending every hour fighting every instinct to scream your name and throw up.

And that’s exactly how Heeseung finds himself lingering around the business building not long after the last time spoke to you.

He doesn’t know your schedule, he doesn’t know what classes you’re in, or the circle of friends you have other than the cheerleaders. He only knows where you live because he sent you home the night you fell asleep on his shoulders—but he doesn’t think going to your house is appropriate. It’s too private and he doesn’t want to stain your safe abode with his presence. 

Which is why he decided to wait at the campus, at the building he’s not familiar with.

Heeseung never hated himself more than he does now.

Fuck. How ignorant had he been towards the person who was supposed to be his mate?

Is it too late to learn about you now? Is it too late to knock on your door and hold his heart in his hand like a beggar right now?

So Heeseung spends hours waiting for you without even knowing if you’d come to campus today. He messaged Sunoo for help, but it has slipped from his mind just how busy a med student can be. Sunoo’s probably losing his mind over human anatomy again. The text remains delivered until the night falls.

Black sky takes over the horizon, only lending lights from the moon and the stars as a mercy. Heeseung’s feet are numb from walking around and standing for too long. He looks around the emptying hallways, not sure where exactly he is other than the fact that he’s at the business compound—a path where most students use to get to their classes.

He glances at his watch. It’s almost 8 pm. Most classes have already ended, and the last session would have ended half an hour ago. 

You’re probably not here anymore.

Heeseung bites back a groan, licking his dry lips as he turns around to leave. Meeting you at the court is not possible until a few weeks more for a friendly match with that eastern university team again. He can’t possibly wait until then—so he’ll come back tomorrow.

Heeseung knows that he’s a walking contradiction. He vows to respect your decision, to let things go with time. To step back when he’s asked to, to wait around until the tide dies.

However, wasn’t this the way he lost you?

For being too passive. For being too cowardly. For running away.

Heeseung really wants to give you time, but at the same time, he doesn’t know if your ‘no’ yesterday is still applicable today. He should at least try today, right? Or should he wait more?

Fuck. With self-hatred thicker than before, Heeseung curses himself for not knowing. For not understanding. He’s only well-versed about omegas when it comes to sex, but other than that, he doesn’t fucking know. His carelessness and ignorance are biting him hard in the ass right now.

Though, the desperation persists.

He just needs one thing: closure.

Not for himself, but rather for you.

You deserve to know only the truth.

But it’s getting late, and the thin layers he’s wearing aren’t doing a good job to protect him from the chill. Now, he hopes you’re already home, safe and tucked in warmly in your room.

He will try again tomorrow.

Just as he’s about to leave, as if the Moon Goddess finally hears his prayers, Heeseung catches the sound of your voice drifting down the hallway. 

You’re here.

God, you’re actually here.

Before he can overthink it, Heeseung is already on his feet, following the trail of daisies and honey using his sharp senses. And he sees you—just rounding the corner, talking to your classmates while heading towards the exit.

He can no longer hold back the instinct to call your name.

“Y/N.”

You freeze in your spot, recognising his voice in a heartbeat. You hate that you do.

He’s already on his way, closing the distance between the two of you with a look of desperation that seems foreign when he wears it. Beside you, your classmates are already whispering, equally surprised as you are.

“Is that Lee Heeseung?”

“Isn’t the music faculty so far from here?”

You pretend you don’t hear anything and frown instead.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” Heeseung blurts out the moment he’s close enough. There’s still an elephant distance between you and him, but he doesn’t dare step closer. 

Can he even be near you? Is he allowed to? 

When there’s no answer from you, he tries again. “Please, can I please talk to you?”

“Just go home, Heeseung.” You mutter, already walking away. You send an apologetic look to your classmates and start to leave, but Heeseung is already hot on your tail.

“Y/N,” he croaks out, the tremble in his voice almost going unnoticed. “I just need ten minutes. No—give me five minutes, please.” 

No response from you. You don’t even know where you’re going anymore, taking a turn after a turn to lose him. 

How did he know where you were? Did he find out your schedule from someone else? What is he doing here? How long has he been waiting for you?

It doesn’t seem like he has another reason to be here. So did he wait around for you?

You bite your lip, not entirely prepared for the inevitable confrontation to happen so fast.

But you underestimate how desperate Heeseung is because he keeps following you like a lost puppy, long legs slowing down slightly so as to not crowd you from behind. Being this close to him allows your nose to pick up on his sense—eye-watering cinnamon spiking with anxiousness with an undertone of a brewing sea storm. 

Heeseung can’t stand the silence any longer.

“I was wrong.” Fuck. If you won’t even look at him, that’s fine. But he needs you to know how sorry he is. “I know what I did was terrible and I—”

“Terrible?” You finally come to a stop and whirl around, your scent brimming with anger. “Terrible? I almost died, Heeseung!”

Heeseung catches himself before he crashes into you. He stares at you, wide-eyed, as you crane your neck to look up at him. The unwanted memory comes flashing back—of blood and tears and regret he’d never move past. 

Your eyes glisten with angry tears, fists trembling by your sides.

“What you did was almost criminal.”

Heeseung flinches. He doesn’t expect the word to land so heavy in his chest, so sharply in his gut. His hand flexes by his side, urging him to cradle your soft, soft face in his hold and pour out every single apology he’s been carrying but he stops himself.

“I know, and I’m not asking you to forgive me,” Heeseung murmurs, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. “I just want you to allow me to fix the bond.”

You let out a laugh. A hollow, humourless laugh. The emptiness doesn’t even echo in the air.

“So now the bond is real to you?” You spit out, venom leaking into your voice. “Wasn’t it all just in my head, Heeseung? Wasn’t it all just my heat messing with me.”

Heeseung is hit with a pang of shame, not expecting you to throw his words back at him. He cowers and lets the full impact of his hurtful choice of words consume him to the bone.

You put a fist over your heaving chest, your tongue getting loose now that the inevitable has come. 

“I thought I was losing my mind,” your voice trembles slightly, treading along something dangerously close to a breakdown. “I thought something was wrong with me. I was sick for weeks and none of the doctors could cure me! And the whole time it was just…”

You swallow, blinking back tears furiously.

“The whole time it was just you choosing someone else over me.”

It’s like sand has filled up his mouth. Every answer tastes wrong and bitter on his tongue. He doesn’t even know what to say to that for how true it is.

How was he supposed to atone for a sin that nearly killed his mate?

“I know,” is the only thing he can whisper. Shame spreads across his chest like a disease. “I know. I—I did that. I’m sorry for not choosing you, Y/N.”

There it is. The truth, bare as it is, lies there like a final verdict. It feels almost tangible for how suffocating it is. It feels almost too cruel for how much it hurts you. It feels almost alive for how hard it is pulsing in your ears.

The dam finally breaks. “How long have you known that we—” your voice catches, silent tears gliding down your cheeks. “That we were fated mates?”

Guilt gnaws at his chest. “Two weeks before the tournament,” he quietly answers, already feeling small.

So since the beginning of your streak of pain. 

You feel sick to your stomach.

“How many of them?”

“What?”

“How many omegas did you fuck to convince yourself that I wasn’t your mate?”

Defensiveness flares up in his chest. “I didn’t fuck them. I couldn’t. I tried—”

“But you still stayed there, trying to prove to everyone in this world that that’s what you wanted and not me!” Your voice booms, no longer holding back on the pain.

Silence rings so loud afterwards, it stretches and stretches until the tension is left in a tight thread waiting to snap.

You stand there, shoulders shaking from sobbing quietly. Long, silky hair cascades around your face as you look down, biting back any sound. 

And every hitch of your voice rips his heart apart.

His wolf, wounded as he is, thrashes inside. Shivering daisies and acrid honey droops around him, eliciting another whine from his alpha. Heeseung braves another step forward, hesitation edging on his heels.

“I messed up. I hurt you all because I tried to prove to myself that I didn’t need you.”

His hands twitch, hovering mindlessly on his sides. 

Heeseung has promised himself that he’d only say the truth from now on. Harsh as it is, bitter as it is—it’s the only thing you deserve to hear. He couldn’t conjure any more lies to protect himself.

God. Even his lies are killing him now.

“I never slept with them. I couldn’t touch them without feeling like I was about to throw up,” he goes on, voice softening around the edges. “I couldn’t even walk into a room without hoping that it’d be you.”

You shake your head. “But you still did.”

He nods weakly. “That doesn’t erase the fact that I did. I  chose to run away because I couldn’t handle the fact that our fate is bigger than what I was willing to hold.”

Our fate.

Heeseung inhales shakily.

“I forced myself to enjoy the touch because I was so fucking busy proving the Goddess wrong.”

A sob escapes your lips.

Why does our fate have to be so tragic, Heeseung?

“I was dying, Heeseung,” you whisper wetly. “Your actions were killing me.”

Heeseung bites his tongue. “I know. I was wrong.”

A minute passes without any words. The hallway is only filled with the soft sobs and sniffles coming from your lips. Heeseung stands, wretched and torn. One leg is urging him to go to you and hold you. Another leg is forcing him to stay because he doesn’t think he deserves to touch you.

What he knows, for sure, is that this image of you crying in front of him will haunt him in his sleep.

After a moment, you finally speak, your voice hoarse.

“I don’t think we can ever come back from this.”

Heeseung’s throat closes up, a sudden stab lodging its pointy end into his chest. No, his wolf cries out. Please, no.

He lifts his hand, longing to touch you, but then decides to drop it. “Y/N. Please—”

“I don’t even know how we can fix this,” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand. “My omega has been silent since the day she cut the bond.”

In response, his wolf whines, trying to get a reaction. But you feel nothing.

Not a stir. Not even a shift. Your omega is deadly unresponsive. If it’s not for your beating heart, you’d think that you’d been dead since that night.

“I don’t know if she still wants this or not. This—bond. You.”

“But do you?” Heeseung can hear his voice cracking, and he thinks his heart is facing the same fate too. He’s sure of it. 

“Do you still want this?”

You are silent for a moment and it’s the longest second Heeseung has ever gone through.

“I—I don’t know,” you quietly mutter. “You hurt me more than anyone ever did, Heeseung.”

Heeseung would have preferred you shout at him than this. He’d rather have the heat of your hatred than this.

This cold winter of your uncertainty. This soft, subtle turndown, like you’re already resigned to the fate of not having him in your life anymore.

Heeseung’s knees hit the ground with a thud before you can stop him. 

It’s not weak, or pathetic. It’s utter devotion, surrendering his heart stripped bare from pride and lies to you. It’s complete submission, one that his dominant side has always found it hard to do but done it so easily when it comes to you.

Heeseung doesn’t do worship, but you’re the only altar he will ever kneel to.

His head hangs low, burgundy hair falling over his eyes as his shoulders shake once.

“I know,” he mutters, sounding wrecked.

Heeseung has his hands fisted on his lap, as though it’s his only source of strength, shaking from the overwhelming desperation brimming in his scent.

“I was a coward.”

You gasp, not expecting such action. “Heeseung, get up—“

“Not until you hear me out,” he pleads.

He lifts his head. Heeseung’s wide, bambi eyes look up at you, veiled with a thick layer of tears. 

“I fought the bond because I was afraid. I was so fucking scared. I was always the one to leave first, to run and detach fast, but you, Y/N…”

His fingers twitch, fighting the urge to reach out.

“You made me want to stay.”

Your breath catches.

“I’m scared because giving in would mean finally belonging to someone.”

His eyes find yours again, looking soft and destroyed all over. Your heart traitorously skips a beat.

“But right now, I’d give up everything to belong to you.”

His vulnerability, raw and edged with hopelessness, tugs at your wounded heartstrings. You instinctively step back from the sheer weight of it.

“Y/N, please. If your omega never forgives me,” he chokes out, feeling the distance like a slap in the face. He bites back the instinct to take your hand, but he doesn’t dare touch you.

Not until you allow him to.

“If she never forgives me, I’ll spend the rest of my life earning forgiveness from you.”

A teardrop spills from his lash line, staining his cheeks wet. 

You give a helpless shake of your head, your resolve slowly crumbling. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“Then I’ll show you. I’ll show you that I mean this.”

His knees scrape against the floor as he inches closer. Tears stream down his face in relentless waves, the lower part of his lips trembling greatly.

“I’m not asking you to take me back. I just need permission from you,” he begs, almost sobbing into his speech.

“Please let me try. I want to become the man that deserves you, Y/N.”

Your lips part, a ghost of a shaky breath escaping your lips.

You’re not used to this kind of devotion. 

Not from those alphas who wanted you because they thought having the shy girl who barely talks to men was trophy-worthy. Not from those men who see you as nothing more than their kink fantasies. Not from those guys who thought you were boring and not exciting.

But tonight, as moonlight leaks through the glass of the windows and spills across the floor as if the Moon Goddess has decreed this to happen herself—Heeseung sits there, bruising knees digging into the marble tiles, and begs you to give him a chance.

You’re not used to this kind of devotion, yet you let a small part of your heart, a traitor that it is—flutters from the impact of his words.

You take another step backward, as if being physically away from him would help recover your resolve.

“I…” you can’t find your voice, not when he’s looking at you with regret spilling from his round eyes. Not when he’s gazing up at you like he was a sinner and you were his only saviour.

“I don’t understand, Heeseung,” is the only thing you can whisper, deciding to be truthful. “You were so—so hellbent on trying to deny the bond. You even went to Narin after I confronted you,” you lick your lips, gut twisting sharply at the mention of your captain. You still haven’t spoken to her until this day.

“Why now? Why…change your mind? I already made it easier for you—I cut the bond!” 

Heeseung flinches. The reality slaps him in the face again, presenting him with the consequences of his actions on the table. 

He knew it won’t be easy, but God—hearing the hurt in your voice pains him more than the ache in his knees.

Heeseung almost crawls forward.

“I’m a coward, Y/N,” he breathes out. “Losing you made me realise that I was never trying to escape the bond.”

His head dips lower, shaking it slowly to himself.

“I was trying to escape what the bond demanded of me.”

Heeseung lifts his gaze, raising his hands, gesturing to you like a priceless painting. There’s a sad smile on his face.

“Settling down, staying, being devoted only to you…those are the only things you deserve. Nothing less.”

His voice is somehow louder than the racing pulse in your ears. You know what’s coming, yet you’re still not prepared for the sting of the truth.

“I am everything less than that,” he finishes. He closes his eyes, not willing to see the look you might wear on your face.

There’s a long pause. The world is quiet outside, not even a sound of cars passing by can be heard. Heeseung doesn’t know how late it already is, or how long he’s been on his knees, but he doesn’t care. 

Hurting his knees is the kindest punishment you can ever give him.

You, on the other hand, are beyond devastated. Truly, you don’t think Heeseung could ever hurt you more than he already did. But his confession—fuck.

Heeseung wasn’t ready to step up and become the love that you deserve and it’s killing you that he chose to run instead of try.

It’s killing you that you weren’t an option until fate decided to twist everything around.

With resentment and resignation, you finally decide. 

“The bond is no longer there. You can just forget about this, Heeseung.”

Heeseung thinks being shot to death would hurt less than this.

You, however, are already shutting him out.

“If you need closure, just know that one day I will forgive you. It’s not now, not next week, and probably not in months.” Or years. “But I will.”

There’s a strange ache blooming in your chest. One that comes as a price of letting something precious go.

“I hope that’ll help ease your mind.”

God, the bond was precious to you. Heeseung was precious to you.

How did it come to this?

Across from you, Heeseung is crumbling down.

“No, please—” he chokes, scrambling for some air. He can’t breathe.

“Please, Y/N. Give me a chance to be forgiven.”

“You don’t have to try so hard, Heeseung. The bond is gone.”

“I don’t care about the bond!” He hits his chest with a fist, the pain becoming unbearable. “I hurt you, Y/N. With or without the bond, nothing can change the fact that I hurt you and I can’t live with myself knowing that I hurt someone innocent.”

Heeseung can feel the sting of his nails digging into his palm. Anytime now and he’ll be drawing blood from how hard he’s fisting it.

The tears are welling up in your eyes again but you hold your ground. 

“Please, I beg you, and I beg you hard, Y/N.”

Heeseung clasps his hands, the pink of his nails turning white from how hard he’s doing it.

“I beg you—please let me try to fix this. Please let me earn your forgiveness. Please, Y/N.”

Your heart breaks at the determination in his voice. 

“It won’t be easy.”

“However long it takes,” he pushes, searching your eyes with his glistening ones, his voice raw with urgency.

“I won’t wait for you.”

His eyes burn with more hot tears. 

He’s lost you for good, hasn’t he?

“You don’t have to,” he quietly whispers. “I just need your permission to try.”

You swallow down the urge to scream. His promise sounds bigger than his whole existence, yet your heart foolishly roots for him.

“You can try. But I can’t promise you anything.”

You don’t wait for his reply. Quickly, as if your heels were on fire, you turn around and leave him. 

Alone, still kneeling. Traces of his regret are still wet on his cheeks. 

You hear him sniffle, but you don’t look back.

Heeseung sits alone in the darkness of his producer room.

The space resembles a shipwreck. If Jay didn’t see any crumpled papers the last time he was here, he’d be surprised to see the growing pile of them now. 

Heeseung has tried to write something. Or anything that could get this remorse out of his system. He wants to translate his grief into something that is at least listenable. Not whatever mess he is inside.

But nothing really comes out. 

The bullpoint of his pen ends up writing your name instead. In round letters, in cursive. In shaky hands, and in tears. 

Y/N.

I’m sorry, Y/N…please forgive me.

A word of your name turns into long written words of regret and silent confession. Letters that he will crumple and throw, then pick it up to read back and add more. 

There is a dull ache in his knees, turning purple from the time he spent on the floor for you. He lets the bruise pulse, making no attempts to ice it or stop it. It’s a reminder to him. 

A reminder of the ticket of mercy you barely granted him.

A reminder of the bond still hanging limply by his finger.

It’s not even a pain if he put it beside the suffering you went through because of him.

You’re a coward.

His wolf suddenly speaks, adding salt to the wound. 

Heeseung closes his eyes shut.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, not appreciating being reprimanded when he’s already a wreck. But his wolf, justifyingly so, seems to hold a grudge against him because he doesn’t stop.

I lost my mate because of you. You ran away from her.

“Yes, I did. I know that,” he grunts. He already resents himself for it, why is he wolf making it harder for him as if they weren’t two halves of one soul?

Knowing isn’t enough. Remember the night you made her bleed.

The memory, as if summoned, crawls its way back into his mind. As if he was brought back to that fateful night, Heeseung can feel his gut twisting sharply inside.

Remember the night she trembled and cut the bond because you went too far.

“Stop,” Heeseung whisper-shouts. 

It feels like the room is shrinking and the walls are closing in on him because the air can’t seem to reach his lungs. Heeseung cowers, covering his ears with both hands. The sting of hot tears starts to burn at the corners of his eyes.

Your face, pale and ghostly, haunts the edges of his thoughts. He still recalls how hard you shook from shock. He still recalls the tremble in your legs as you hold onto the door for dear life.

He really went too far.

And if proving his point, his wolf taunts more.

Remember the omegas you touched while she was dying when I kept telling you to stop.

The pen drops and clatters on the floor. Heeseung stands and sways, his vision blurry from unshed tears.

He remembers it.

The nights he spent trying to bury any attachment towards you and the bond. The nights he spent pleasing other omegas despite not enjoying it at all. The nights he spent ignoring the ache in his chest, the voice of his wolf—as if running away would ever be enough to excuse him from his fate.

While all the time, you had been suffering alone.

Nausea creeps up the back of his throat.

“No, please stop—”

His wolf snarls, pent-up anger and frustration finally spilling out.

She could be in someone else’s arms now. Someone gentler. Someone braver than you.

The nausea punches  through his chest.

Heeseung scrambles for the door, yanking it open and stumbles out of his producer room to the bathroom. He barely makes it before his stomach churns violently and doubles over.

He throws up his long-forgotten lunch because he missed his dinner, the bile unforgiving to the spasms in his gut.  Heeseung knees over the toilet until his stomach empties and grief starts to taste metallic on his tongue.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and slumps onto the floor. It’s a ringing silence in his ears before a sob escapes his lips.

Then another.

Before he knows it, it has turned into a full-on wailing. The tears are finally giving up, now streaming endlessly down his cheeks like tiny rivers. 

Heeseung lets himself remember the faces of the omegas he touched. A betrayal of the bond he’ll never forgive himself for.

Heeseung lets himself remember the person you are—someone who deserves protection and affection. Someone who can be literally with anyone; any deserving alpha who knows how to treat you right.

Anyone in this world. Anyone from his campus. Anyone from his team. Anyone from his house.

Heeseung is fast to turn around and vomits again. The image of Jay being the perfect alpha for you makes his chest caves and breaks.

Fuck. Fuck, no. Please—no.

He always made fun of Riki when the younger complained about their too-good alpha friend. He never really understood why Riki is still on edge whenever Jay is around his girlfriend, despite knowing that him agreeing to help with his girlfriend’s heat was purely out of kindness.

But now he knows. Now he fucking knows.

Jay is just too good to be true. Jay never touches omegas carelessly. Jay lowers his voice when he speaks to them. Jay likes taking care of people like they’re his own.

Jay also cares about you. He knows that. The punch he almost threw at Heeseung that night was proof enough.

And in a peak of complete crumbling from his desperation to be forgiven, from his humility to admit to his mistakes—a fast-growing insecurity is piling up in his chest.

Heeseung can’t breathe. 

He’s suffocating again.

A sudden thought flashes through his head. His frantic mind, desperate for some relief, entertains the thought without thinking further.

Just cut the bond too. End this suffering and cut the bond.

Heeseung raises his finger to his scent gland, still thudding violently from the rush of his emotions running in his veins. 

Could he really cut the bond?

Don’t you dare.

“But it’s too painful…” he cries.

She’s my mate! If you end it now, I will tear you apart myself. You will fucking die, Heeseung.

Heeseung folds in on himself, crouching lower on the floor. His whole body shakes from the force of his tears.

“Why her?” he whispers helplessly.

“Why someone so precious? Why her?”

His wolf doesn’t answer. Heeseung is left sobbing to himself, already resigned to his fate and the silence from his alpha.

Because he knows, only the Goddess of the Moon has the answer to that.

Only she knows why he was sent something holy when he’s too ruined to hold it.

You never would have expected to get hurt from the one thing you wanted the most.

Love.

The tale of true mates.

Maybe that’s the reason why most people dislike it. Maybe all this time, it wasn’t because of envy or ridicule. Maybe all this time, people had already realised how destructive it could be before you did.

Something intangible that can only be felt has the power to destroy you through someone else’s actions and decisions? It’s no wonder, really. 

You were just too blind and too delusional for even dreaming of it in the first place.

Life hasn’t been easy since the breaking of the bond. 

You went on autopilot for the first week, just trying to save yourself from a bad attendance record and getting kicked out of the cheerleader squad. The latter proved to be harder to overcome since the source of your pain and the current centre of your universe—Heeseung—was always there on the court, glancing at you at every chance he got.

It’s almost laughable, the way he’s trying to catch your gaze now when he used to avoid it so much.

You dated people a couple of times before, but the breakups were never this bad. They hurt, of course, but this bond seemed to amplify every emotion you felt for Heeseung and yourself. Again, one of the reasons you believe why most people started hating it.

The whole time, you only had yourself. Sometimes Yujin would come into your room to cuddle you and let you cry into her shoulders. She’d stay as long as a med student could—watching movies together, painting your nails, crying with you.

All the time when you thought you craved love, you sometimes forgot that love doesn’t always mean romantic relationships. Sometimes it comes in the form of Yujin waking up before her alarm to make you your favourite pancakes.

Sometimes love comes in the form of Rei, despite the two of you having only gotten closer recently, checking up on you every meal time to make sure you eat well.

Sometimes love comes through a phone call with your parents, asking about your day and showing you the small garden they’re growing in the backyard.

And slowly, eventually, you realise that love also means choosing yourself over the bond. 

Choosing yourself means stop clinging onto the bond. Choosing yourself means not waiting on Heeseung to get his acts right or for the right apology. Choosing yourself means you stop letting the bond and Heeseung dictate how you go about your life from now on.

Heeseung can try all he wants, and you might or might not see his efforts—but you won’t wait for him.

You’re done waiting.

Strangely, it doesn’t feel bitter. The thought of finally letting go of the bond sounds more freeing. Like the air is finally settling in your lungs after weeks of drowning.

You find your way back to the pieces of you since the bond broke. For the first time since you cut the thread, your world revolves around something other than pain.

Life comes back in fragments. In trying out pilates with Yujin and laughing when the instructor turns her back to you because Yujin just sucks at stretching.

In late-night convenience store runs with Rei to eat extra spicy noodles that’ll upset your stomach the next morning.

In falling back to your old study habits and excelling a difficult pop quiz.

In helping the squad choreograph for the upcoming routines—because alphas just run hot and can’t seem to stop challenging each other in sports.

You laugh freely now. You don’t have to spend the night worrying about a thread tugging at your ribs.

You don’t have to overthink about…Heeseung. Not anymore.

For a moment, he becomes a maybe. For a few days when you successfully avoid him, he becomes an ‘if only’. A background noise. A consequence.

A wound becoming scarred.

Nothing more.

Or so you tell yourself.

There’s been barely anything from Heeseung since he fell to his knees for you a few days ago. For a while, you think maybe you scared him too much—frightened him with the possibility that you may never come back, until he decided to let silence become his apology.

But apparently, you just don’t notice him trying.

Heeseung, you realise, moves in quiet devotion.

It starts with a can of your favourite grape juice sitting beside your tote bag every time you come back from the restroom. You assume it’s Rei being sweet as always—the omega has taken a great liking to you since the day you first spoke.

You don’t notice how consistent its appearance is with Heeseung’s promise.

You overlook the fact that it starts showing up the very next day after your painful conversation. 

“But how did he know?” you whisper to yourself, staring down the can like it’s a threat now. 

You turn it in your palm, feeling the coldness seep into your fingers. Then, faintly, you smell him.

His pheromones. Cinnamon and sea salt clings to the can like an afterthought. Like Heeseung didn’t mean to leave his traces but the scent lingers anyway.

It’s been quite a while since you smelled it. Ever since you cut the tie, you no longer can sense his pheromones from afar. It only happens when you’re in close proximity to him, which is very rare to happen now.

Now, as his scent drifts to your senses, you find yourself actually missing it. Missing the warmth and safety it used to offer. Missing the familiarity of it.

Your heart aches.

No matter how forward you’ve moved in your healing progress, there’ll always be a big why living in the back of your mind.

You really could’ve had it  all.

But you don’t let it get to you. In all honesty, it is a sweet gesture and a nice start, yes, but it’s not enough. Even your baby cousin knows that you’re crazy about grape juice. Heeseung didn’t exactly make a groundbreaking discovery with this one.

The thought still counts, though.

It slips from your mind faster than you’d like to admit. Apart from the upcoming great friendly match between your basketball team and their sworn rival the eastern university, you have a business case study pitching competition set in two weeks.

Meetings become more frequent, time spent at the library becomes longer. You wish they would pick another place to do the discussion because the library is literally an air conditioner reincarnate—always too cold for your body. 

The chill autumn air only worsens the cold. Winter is coming and you can’t help but keep adding more layers to your clothes each time you walk out of the apartment to visit the library.

Except today, there is someone already waiting by the library door. A face that you recognise with a single glance. Features that you memorise by heart, stopping you in your tracks before you reach the door.

Heeseung.

His body is adorned with a brown trench coat that reaches his calves, outlining his proportions and tall figure perfectly. He has one hand resting in one of the pockets, while another is holding a pink paper bag.

Burgundy hair curtains his forehead, a complement to his already-handsome features. But the look on his face is forlorn, distant eyes staring into space, looking lost in his own thoughts.

You try not to pay him any mind and start walking again.

As if he was wired to only sense your presence, Heeseung snaps out of his trance and whips his head to you. His eyes soften, lips parting slightly. You avert your eyes.

“Y/N.”

This time, you pretend you just notice him and give him a nod. “Heeseung,” you reply, already moving away to get inside. But Heeseung is fast to stop you.

“Wait! I–I have something for you.”

Heeseung holds out the paper bag to you, his own ears turning the same shade. You blink up at him before trying to peer inside, not yet accepting it.

“What is this?”

“Something to keep you warm,” he breathes out, like he can’t believe you’re actually talking to him. “It’s getting chiller. Please accept it.”

For a second, you just study his face. His round eyes look at you like he’s appreciating and memorising your face all at once. There is something about his expression that looks like he’s hopeful that you’d accept the paper bag, but at the same time, already expecting you to reject it.

After a few seconds of no signs of you accepting his gifts, Heeseung slowly lowers his extended arm. His face falls, but he quickly schools it into a neutral expression.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to,” he licks his lips with a swipe of his tongue, already foreseeing the rejection.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask and instantly regret your tone. It’s unintentionally clipped, very unlike you. 

But Heeseung isn’t fazed. If anything, he looks shyer now.

“I don’t want you to catch a cold,” he mumbles, averting his eyes. The pink in his ears has turned bright red—from the cold or from his own shyness, you’re not sure.

One thing you know is that you’re not used to this side of the dominant alpha.

The side that he showed you once before he dipped. That night when he held a heat pack in your hand, insisting on keeping you warm. For a split second, you wonder if it was instinct or if he really meant it, already knowing the answer to it.

It was probably the former.

A gush of chill air passes by and you shiver. Right, you’re still standing outside of the library with two layers of sweater and are still trembling. 

Finally, you take the paper bag from him. Heeseung startles, not expecting the sudden gesture and definitely not expecting the graze of a touch of your finger brushing his. It makes him shudder, like your touch is bigger than the cold autumn air.

“Thank you,” you give him a tight-lipped smile, watching as his expression brightens up. Without waiting for his reply, you’re already heading to the door, ready to leave the alpha behind.

Before the door closes, you hear a whisper of his voice, carried by the bone-chilling air.

“Good luck with your competition, Y/N.”

You wonder how he knew about it, but the moment you sit at the table right in front of Jungwon—one of your teammates—you finally remember that they’re somehow friends. 

The alpha gives you a dimpled smile. “Hey, Y/N. You’re early.”

“You too.” You pause, weighing the words in your head. “Jungwon, do you know Heeseung?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he eyes the pink paper bag now placed on the table, then nods to himself.

“Yes. Please don’t get mad at me, though. I’m kind of rooting for him.” He peeks into the paper bag and whistles. “Wow, hyung really doesn’t play.”

You snatch the paper bag and put it on the chair beside you. You’ve peeked inside, and is it a surprise to say that you were surprised?

A bunch of heat packs. A pair of blue mittens. A pack of tissue. A minty inhaler. And the one that contributes the most weight—a can of grape juice, already unchilled. 

It’s that night all over again. The paracetamol that you downed because you did get a headache after a whole night of crying. The wet tissues that you used to wipe your tear-stained face. The heat pack that kept you warm the whole time you sat outside of the convenience store. 

Everything Heeseung picked out has always been too…thoughtful.

While waiting for the rest of your group members to arrive, with Jungwon already typing on his laptop and talking about something you’re too distracted to hear—you’re swamped with your own conflicting emotions again.

Heeseung has always had the capability to care for people. To care for you. He was gentle with you that night. And fuck, you still hate what he did to you—but even the day he called you delusional, he was very soft with the way he talked to you.

The cruelest part is that Heeseung was never incapable of tenderness.

He had simply been too afraid to offer it where it mattered most. 

He told you he wasn’t ready to step up to be the man that you deserved, but that sounds like a flimsy excuse now.

What was he so afraid of?

You really don’t want to make it easy for him, and you’re already ahead of the bond and the concept of love. You’ve already learned your lesson. You still remember the pain.

But, dear Goddess, sometimes you really wish that he was brave enough.

The rest of your group members arrive shortly after, each wearing thick layers like you do. As Jungwon begins the discussion that will continue on until late evening, you reach inside the paper bag and grab one of the heat packs.

Silently, you thank Heeseung in your head.

Just as you have expected, the discussion wraps up when night has already fallen. You stretch in your seat, taking your own sweet time as your group members tidy up.

Jungwon is the last one to leave, carrying his backpack on his wide shoulders. He looks at you finally standing up with a cheeky smile on his face.

“See you tomorrow for the consultation, Y/N. I would’ve offered to walk you home but I don’t wanna ruin the chance for a certain alpha.”

Your brows furrow, not really catching the meaning behind his teasing smile.

“What do you mean?”

“Just make sure to use the front door,” Jungwon is already walking away, giving you a dismissive wave of his hand. “Night!” 

You stare at his retreating figure and then something clicks in your mind. Like an instinct, your heart starts racing fast.

Did he mean Heeseung?

Your hands quickly gather your stuff and toss them into your tote bag. The paper bag from Heeseung hangs tightly in your grip as you near the entrance of the library.

True to your speculation, Heeseung is already waiting outside.  He has ditched his trench coat, now wearing his jersey that shows off his arms. The number ‘1’ and ‘HEESEUNG’ on the back of his jersey stares at you, unmistakingly him.

You quickly move past him as if you didn’t see him. Almost less than a second after, his footsteps are already echoing from behind you.

“Y/N, wait!”

Heeseung is barely panting in front of you, blocking your way home. You sport a blank expression despite the skips your heart is making.

“What are you doing here?”

“I,” Heeseung catches his breath, and you can’t help but notice the goosebumps in his skin. You almost frown. 

What the hell was he thinking, wearing that sleeveless jersey in this weather? The trench coat must be inside his duffle bag, because you don’t see it hanging in his arms.

But the thought remains in your mind. And will probably stay there forever.

You almost miss it when he continues.

“I want to walk you home. No.” Heeseung gathers his voice, now sounding softer, asking for permission.

 “Can I walk you home?”

Your answer is quick. “No.”

You can almost feel the pause in his breath. Heeseung blinks once, regaining his composure after a few seconds.

“...Okay,” he nods, eyes slightly distant like he’s not even sure if he means it. “Okay. But can you let me call you an Uber?”

You shake your head, standing your ground.

“My dorm is not far from here.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“I want to walk.”

Silence passes by, along with the air that’s borderline freezing. You don’t know if alphas just naturally run hot, because you’re close to turning into ice despite the layers, but Heeseung doesn’t even flinch. 

He finally takes a step back, slightly dipping his head as he nods.

“Okay,” he says again, more like convincing himself. But then he meets your eyes, and the wistful glint of his gaze doesn't go unnoticed by you. Something tugs at your heart.

“At least let Jungwon know when you’re home. Please?” he pleads. “You don’t have to text me. I’ll just—hear from him.”

You purse your lips, giving the alpha a once-over before finally giving in.

“Fine. I will.”

The corner of his lips quirks up but Heeseung covers it quickly. He steps aside, clearing the path for you to go home. You don’t waste time and begin walking, feeling his eyes boring into your skull.

“Please be safe, Y/N.”

You never reply.

The next day, the alpha is not waiting by the door. Jungwon stands in his place instead, the paper bag now has been upgraded to a reusable lunch bag with flower motifs on it.

“Your alpha has a producer meeting today.”

You’re quick to deny.” He’s not my alpha.”

Jungwon ignores you like you’re a wall and opens the lunch bag for you to see.

“Two thermos there. One is chicken porridge, another is hot tea. Not sure if you’re a coffee-person or not, so Heeseung hyung wanted to be safe.” Jungwon speaks like he’s rehearsed it, and to be honest, he kind of did (Heeseung forced him, but you don’t have to know that).

You’re stunned. “What?”

“Don’t worry, it’s grape tea. I don’t know where he got it from, though,” Jungwon shrugs then continues his duty as Heeseung’s greatest accomplice. “More heat packs. I didn’t see you use the mittens yesterday so I told him maybe you didn’t like blue…? So he prepared the red pair for you.”

“Wait, Jungwon—”

“And lastly, a lunch bag with daisies prints, for his most precious daisy in this world.” Jungwon beams wide, dimples curving deep and shoves the lunch bag into your bag.

“How’s his performance?”

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff and snatch the lunch bag from his grasp. You quickly go inside, ignoring the warmth in your cheeks betraying your indifference.

Your mind, another traitor, is filled with the thoughts of Heeseung.

Is this him trying? 

You’re not sure how to feel about it, but your heart surely knows her shits—fluttering like you’re a virgin being courted.

Which, technically, in every way possible—you are.

You try to ignore it. During break, you remember to control your expression as you eat the porridge, aware of Jungwon’s hawking eyes gauging at your reaction.

Heeseung is sure smart to pick him as his wingman. That alpha is a persistent menace.

But no. You’re not going to fold easily. 

Your omega is still silent, and the damage has been too severe. For all you know, Heeseung might be just performing remorse. Only time can tell if he was really sincere and serious or not.

After all, consistency is a great telltale of devotion.

However, as if the world was suddenly eager to prove you wrong, Heeseung keeps showing up. 

He comes again at night, this time fully covered up and looking dashing in his white button up and loosened tie. You guess he just came back from the meeting, judging from the formality of the attire. But you can’t help but let your eyes linger longer on his face, suddenly too conscious of his height.

Okay, what the fuck. He’s always been handsome. There’s nothing surprising about it. 

“Can I walk you home?” 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when his voice, low and soft, reaches your ears. You shake your head.

“No.” 

“I’ll keep my distance,” he says quickly. “You won’t even notice I’m there. Please?”

You keep your walls steady. “Why are you doing this?”

The question hangs in the air. Heeseung’s gaze softens, but there’s a cloud of doubt swirling behind his eyes now. For the first time, you see the alpha shivers in the cold.

“You gave me a chance,” he says, voice clear and crisp. Like it’s a conviction. Like it’s something he’s deliberately chosen.

“I want to try until you can forgive me. And I know it’ll never be enough. I know I’ll be too selfish to hope…” 

Heeseung swipes a tongue across his lips. He gives you a nervous glance, but seeing how attentive you look despite your indifference, Heeseung almost breaks down.

You’re still kind even in your resentment.

“But I still hope that one day you can accept me as your alpha.”

You hum, trying to sound unimpressed despite the loud thumping of your heart. The bitterness still leaks when you speak.

“You were my alpha.”

Heeseung shakes his head and gives you a humourless smile. 

“No, I wasn’t,” his voice is strained, like he’s holding a storm of emotions with his palm.

“The Goddess might’ve assigned me to be your alpha. But I failed my duties. You were just forced to deal with what fate had chosen for you.”

The moonlight shining on him highlights the tired lines at the edges of his eyes. For the past few weeks, you have no idea how Heeseung was doing. And you know no one can hold it over your head for not caring.

But something in him feels altered. Not gentler—Heeseung had always been gentle in ways he never admitted. 

He seems more humbled. Like the weight of pride is finally bowing his head down, his gaze always sanded down by grief. Every word now sounds chosen, as if he has learned the cost of speaking carelessly.

Heeseung holds your eyes, sincerity spilling over the edges.

“But now I want you to choose me. Not out of obligation, or because fate said so. I want to be chosen because you know I’m the right alpha for you.”

Isn’t it unfair?

You want the resentment to turn into fiery hatred, but your traitorous heart still melts at his devotion. How can you hate him when he makes you sound like you were the centre of his universe?

Still, you hold your ground.

“You know I won’t wait for you. What if I choose another deserving alpha?”

Heeseung’s face goes white. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows, but he still nods.

“I will break,” he admits, the most honest he’s ever been. “But I’ll still pray that he shows you the love I failed to give when I had the chance.”

The sheer weight of his speech almost renders you breathless. Remorse, as if it’s been a lifelong companion, drips heavy in his voice. For a short moment, you can’t hold his gaze—it looks so intense and longing, you don’t know if you can hold this newfound devotion. It’s too deep and full of regret.

It’s after a minute of silence that you finally find your voice.

“You can walk me home from behind.”

You turn around first before he can see the change in your face. Your stupid human heart, as if awakening from the slumber from weeks ago when things were still all butterflies and stolen glances—seems to recognise the alpha now trailing after you ten paces away and fluttering around shamelessly..

The moon shines exceptionally bright tonight, as if the Goddess herself is watching her war-torn lovers patching up the bridge once broken by pride and fear.

“Are you still angry?”

Once you’re home and stripped and showered, you stare at the dark ceiling of your bedroom. The moonlight cracks through the small space you leave open, decorating your bed with stripes of pale blue.

You put a palm over your heart, trying to feel your wolf.

“Are you still mad at him?”

Silence. There’s no response from your omega. You wait for a few breaths before sighing.

“You’ve always been the hard headed one out of the two of us,” you comment, suddenly missing the other half of your soul that’s been so long quiet.

“But it’s good that you are,” you slowly whisper. 

“Because if you’re as soft as I am, then Heeseung would be forgiven already.”

This time, there’s no resistance as the memory of the burgundy-haired alpha comes back—not that he ever left, anyway.

“I’m still mad at him, too.”

You remember the time Heeseung actively avoided your gaze. You used to wonder why, but knowing the answer also didn’t help ease the pain. Knowing that he avoided you because of the bond never makes the pain feel less hurtful.

But the way he searches your eyes now, holding your gaze with a tenderness you’ve never seen before…it softens the pain.

Where he used to run from you, he’s now seeking you every chance he gets. After practice, after meetings, after classes. In sleeveless jersey, in suit and tie, in his usual baggy graphic T-shirts.

Heeseung used to be nowhere to be found, but he’s everywhere now.

The reality of his efforts to try patching up the bond suddenly feels too scary. Because if he’s changed for good, if he’s really putting his all to win back your heart—are you confident that you still can move past everything?

The sufferings you endured. The omegas he slept with. The sleepless spent chanting his name in pain. The night when everything fell apart.

Can you really let them go? 

“I don’t know,” you whisper to no one, a knot of uneasiness tightening in your chest.

“I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Heeseung seems to find you easily nowadays.

At first, you doubt the people around you. Everyone is suddenly related to him in some ways somehow. There must be an insider that tells him your whereabouts.

Whether it’s Jungwon or Yujin, you don’t know. You hope it’s not Yujin, though. You know she despises what Heeseung did to you, but the beta is also quietly rooting for him. She hid it well, too.

But her cover was blown one night when you were having a movie night in your bed. She was so close and she was typing something on her phone. You accidentally looked, but honest to Goddess your heart almost dropped when you saw Heeseung’s name.

“Why are you texting with Heeseung?” You forced your face into the screen, deliberately ignoring the sudden seeds of jealousy in your chest. 

Yujin scrambled to sit up, but it was too late. You had already seen them all.

Lee Heeseung

did she arrive home safely?

You

Yeap!

Safely tucked in bed!

“Yujin, you traitor!”

“Ow! Ow!” Yujin ducked the pillow you threw at her, but she wasn’t fast enough to avoid your punches. “Girl, hear me out first!”

“Why are you helping him?” you heaved out, glaring daggers at her. Yujin rubbed her arms, jutting out an apologetic pout.

“I’m so sorry…he just wants to know if you get home safe, Y/N. I don’t see anything wrong or invasive about that.”

Your heart stuttered. Did he really do that? But you feigned an angry look.

“So you just agreed to be his accomplice? You’re no different from Jungwon.”

“I mean, I lowkey ship you guys. But he has to grovel first, and I hope he’s been doing it right.”

You rolled your eyes and settled back under the covers. “How long has it been?”

“Don’t get mad at me please.”

“Yujin.”

“He’s been asking me if you reach home safely for more than two weeks now.”

Your breath hitched. 

That’s…since before he started appearing at the library.

And today, as you see Heeseung lingering around the business compound, donning a thin brown cardigan that highlights his body snugly, you’re contemplating whether to assault Jungwon or Yujin through the phone after this.

But there’s no time to think, as Heeseung—curse his dominant trait, really—easily senses your scent and catches your eyes. He gives you a small smile and walks up to you. The grip you have on the strap of your tote bag has turned knuckle-white.

“Y/N.”

“Hey.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

You swallow, trying not to fold. “Yeah, just now. You?”

Heeseung nods.”I have too.” Then he extends a hand towards your tote bag.

“Let me hold your bag and walk you home.”

You hesitate for a moment before giving in.

Fuck, you curse the universe.

Why is he so consistent?

Heeseung knows he’s not being slick when he suddenly makes a detour to the convenience store under the pretense of feeling hungry.

But you follow him anyway, gullible enough to believe that he has more space for more food. Which, actually, you’re not completely wrong. Heeseung loves food. But he’s not exactly here to eat.

He’s here to steal more time to be with you.

The fluorescent lamp hums overhead, the convenience store smells like cooked noodles and microwaved pastries. Under this light, you look shorter than him, reaching not taller than his chin. 

Heeseung holds back the urge to reach out and caress your head. He can’t ruin things now that you finally let him walk you home side by side. That’s progress. A couple of weeks ago, you didn't even let him follow. 

He really can’t afford to ruin it.

Heeseung trails after you to aisle number two where rows of snacks and chips line up the shelves. There’s something almost domestic about watching you hum as you skim through the options.

It feels more intimate than kneeling at your feet ever did.

“What do you usually get?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

You hold up a bag of snacks, a small grin unknowingly splits across your face.

“This one,” you shake the plastic with eyes shining bright. Heeseung thinks he’s lost his breath. “These seaweed tempeh chips.”

Heeseung stares at you like you just handed him a sacred relic, eyes dripping with silent, genuine surprise.

“These are your favourite?”

You blink and tilt your head, not sure how to make sense of his stunned reaction. “Yeah…?”

A small smile breaks on his mouth. Heeseung looks down at the bag of chips, feeling his chest tightens just from that simple information.

She likes grape juice. She likes tempeh chips.

God, I’m learning about her.

His silent meltdown goes unnoticed by you. You walk further and stop by the drinks fridge, already reaching for your favourite grape juice.

This time, Heeseung couldn’t stop the chuckle that leaves his lips. “You really love drinking that, don’t you?”

“I sure do,” you glance up at him. “Since kindergarten, by the way. It’s just so good and cheap. What about you?”

Heeseung’s heart nearly stops.

“I’m sorry?”

“What’s your favourite drink, Heeseung?”

Heeseung forces himself to reply when you’re already looking at him suspiciously.

“Zero Coke.”

“Ah,” you nod, then reach up to where a line of Zero Coke is put on display. You pluck the second can in the line and hand it to him.

“Hygiene tips: always take the second or the third can,” you casually say and tap on the can. “Because everybody touches the first one.”

Then you turn around, drifting toward the candy aisle, blissfully unaware of his turmoil. 

Leaving Heeseung stunned, standing like a statue of racing heart and quiet breakdown as he holds the can close to his chest.

Later that night, after sending you home safely, Heeseung enters his shared apartment wordlessly. He can hear the F1 sportscaster from the living room—Jay must haven’t gone to bed yet.

“Hey, Hee,” his friend greets, sprawled on the couch with a can of beer in one hand. But his focus on the television stops once he notices Heeseung’s red-rimmed eyes.

“Fuck. Heeseung!” Jay rushes to him and holds him just before his knees finally give up. 

The anchor of sorrow and grief that has been weighing heavier since the convenience store run is finally pulling him down. Heeseung drops to the floor, already feeling the tears wetting his cheeks.

“Hee, what’s wrong?” Jay asks, trying to keep the worry in his voice. “Did something happen? Tell me!”

Heeseung shakes his head, curling up into Jay’s hold and sobs even harder.

“Jay-ah,” Heeseung chokes, unable to hold back his sobs.

“Her favourite chips are seaweed tempeh.”

Jay is rendered speechless by the unexpected revelation. 

“...What?”

“Seaweed tempeh,” he sobs, voice cracking. “Seaweed tempeh chips, grape juice, gummy bears. She bakes when she’s stressed. She hates mornings but wakes up early. She has hygiene tips for canned drinks.”

His voice splinters, like a branch breaking down from the tree.

Jay blinks. “You’re sobbing over…basic information?”

“That I should’ve known.”

Heeseung clutches Jay’s shirt, the sadness now palpable.

“Simple things about her that I never made any effort to know because I was so fucking busy being an asshole.”

In that moment, it finally clicks in Jay’s mind. It was never about snacks.

“I was her mate and I didn’t know.”

It’s about regret.

Jay’s expression softens instantly, understanding settling in his features.  He sits on the floor with him, letting Heeseung cry into his shoulders, shaking like a dead leaf. The distressed accent of his spicy and salty pheromones is drenching the air, but Jay fights the urge to scowl. Alphas don’t exactly respond well to another alpha’s distressed pheromones.

Beside him, Heeseung is still sobbing like a child experiencing a trip of his foot for the first time.

“Somebody else could’ve been in my place,” he cries softly. “She could’ve been asking another alpha, ‘What’s your favourite drink?’ and I almost made it not me.”

Heeseung cries for what it’s worth. For the regret and grief of the what-ifs that could’ve happened if only he didn’t mess up. For the gratitude that you’re finally letting him the access to the information only privy to those who are close enough with you.

For the unexpected relief when you asked him back.

“So you’re crying because she let you know her,” Jay concludes once Heeseung has calmed down enough to talk properly.

They’re still sitting on the floor. The F1 show that Jay was watching prior to his sudden breakdown is now playing like background noise.

Heeseung nods weakly. “Yeah.”

“What did it feel like?”

Heeseung gives him a wistful smile.

“Disbelief. Because I can’t believe it feels so easy to just…have this affection for someone over knowing what their favourite drinks are.”

Heeseung looks into the distance, lost in thoughts and memory.

“I never feel this way for anybody. It’s scary, because now I want to know more.”

He stares into the space in front of him, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his cardigan.

“I want to know how she likes her eggs. I want to know which detergent she likes to use. What side of the bed she sleeps on,” Heeseung whispers, voice trembling. “I want to know everything about her and it’s so scary, Jay.”

There’s a pause before he looks down, sounding more broken than he has been tonight.

“It’s so scary because I realised it wasn’t the bond that terrified me.”

Heeseung remembers how happy he felt when you still rub your nose every time you get shy. How excited he felt when you cover your mouth as you laugh—little things he used to know about you that still makes you you.

“It wasn’t.”

Knowing someone has never felt this easy and freeing.

“It was how badly I could love her.”

The confession doesn’t land hard. It settles slowly, like a missing puzzle finally finding its place. His wolf stirs inside, yipping happily at the declaration.

Jay takes a moment to process everything before he sighs. He reaches out a hand and pats Heeseung on his shoulder.

“There, there. You’re making progress, Hee. You’re starting to see her more than the bond you guys shared.”

As if summoned, his scent gland pulses sharply. Heeseung yelps, clutching his nape with a quick hand. His scent spikes dangerously, spicy cinnamon burning the atmosphere.

“Hee!”

“It hurts,” Heeseung chokes, the pain quickly spreading to other parts of his body. “Fuck, Jay—”

Drip.

Both alphas instantly freeze. 

On the carpet where they sit, is a drop of blood, staining the cream-coloured material with crimson red.

Jay slowly looks up, heart beating fast, chanting ‘No, no, no. Please, not you, Heeseung. Please,’ in his mind.

To his horror, the blood came from Heeseung’s nose.

Jay can feel his gut sinking to the floor.

“Hee,” he grabs his shoulders, eyes trained on the trail of blood dripping down his philtrum and his chin. “Hee, listen to me and answer me, okay? Please don’t panic.” 

Inside, Jay is already panicking.

Heeseung tries not to, but his body feels scalding hot. The pain comes in waves, not once stopping even if he were to rip his heart open.

“Heeseung, answer me. Did you tell Y/N about the two options or not?”

Jay’s voice is muffled to his ears, but through his hazy mind and blurry vision, Heeseung can still make out the words.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Why?” Jay whispers, breathless and shaken.

“I didn’t want to pressure her into thinking she has to choose me to save me.”

Heeseung’s unfocused eyes find him, desperate and so pitiful that his heart clenches painfully. Jay drops his head on his best friend’s shoulders, fear consuming his being.

“You idiot,” Jay sobs, the dam breaking almost instantly. “She might’ve chosen you anyway.”

Heeseung feels lightheaded. Jay’s voice is like a distant dream—something he’s not sure if he hears or not. Dark spots start appearing on the edges of his vision, almost turning black no matter how hard he blinks.

“Jay-ah…”

The last thing Heeseung remembers before he loses consciousness is Jay screaming his name, voice cracking and hoarse.

okay dang tumblr said this post has reached its limits wtf im gna kms!!! anyway posting a part 3 real soon!!!

divider from: @cursed-carmine

permanent taglist: @kristynaaah @seungiesdoll @in-somnias-world @rikismists @loviseamms @ikeupop

[yla-aira]

“I think I finally accepted that my heart has always belonged to her.”

“And she doesn’t want it anymore.”

💔💔💔

[stwryun]

JUNO — LEE HEESEUNG | part one

synopsis : living next door to lee heeseung has always been a nightmare loud, cocky, and impossible to ignore until one reckless night at a party leaves you waking up in his bed and running before it can mean anything you try to forget it ever happened, until two lines change everything, and suddenly the one person you can’t stand is the one you can’t escape.

pairing : basketball captain heeseung x neighbourf!reader

trope : accidental pregnancy + forced proximity

word count : 19.6k

warnings : heeseung is a an absolute asshole, accidental pregnancy, alot panic and guilt, abortion / termination discussion, fear of the future, alcohol use, one night stand, dirty talking, cursing, foreplay, dry humping, oral, drunk sex ( consent is present ) , unprotected sex, mild degradation, hair pulling, creampie

🗯️ JO’s NOTES < 🐻‍❄️ 3 ! : omggg finallyy juno part one is out, hope you have an absolute amazing time when reading. navi did the proofreading for me ilysmm <3333

The bass from the apartment next door was so loud it made your pencil roll off the desk for the third time tonight thump thump thump. Each beat vibrated through the thin wall like it was personally trying to ruin your life.

You stared at the half finished notes in front of you, frustration bubbling hot in your chest. Midterms were in two weeks. Two weeks and Lee Heeseung, the campus golden boy, basketball captain, and your personal nightmare of a neighbor was throwing another one of his legendary parties like tomorrow didn’t exist.

This was the nth time. The nth damn time since you’d moved in six months ago. With a sharp exhale, you shoved your chair back and stormed out of your apartment, not even bothering to change out of your oversized hoodie and sweatpants. The hallway reeked of spilled beer and expensive cologne.

You could already hear the chaos before you even reached his door. Laughter, glasses clinking, some girl’s high pitched giggle cutting through the music.

You banged on the door harder than necessary. It took a few seconds before someone inside yelled over the noise, “Yoo Heeseung! Someone’s banging at your front door!”The door finally swung open.

Heeseung stood there in all his infuriating glory tall, broad shouldered, black hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. His button up was half undone, revealing a silver chain that rested on his collarbones and a glimpse of toned chest. Behind him, the party pulsed with red solo cups, dim lights, and at least half the basketball team.

A pretty girl with long hair and a tight dress was pressed close to his side, her hand resting possessively on his arm. He’d clearly been in the middle of charming her into his bed by the end of the night.

The second his dark eyes landed on you, that signature cocky smirk curved his lips.“Hi, miss morals,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, like he’d been waiting for this exact interruption.

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “Can you turn it down? The music is too loud.”

Heeseung didn’t move. Instead, he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms in a way that made his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. The girl behind him shifted, clearly annoyed at the sudden attention shift, but Heeseung didn’t spare her a glance now.

“Miss morals strikes again,” he laughed, the sound rich and mocking. It sent an unwelcome spark of irritation down your spine. “What’s the problem this time, neighbor? Come to bless us with your righteous presence?”

“I’m serious, Heeseung,” you said, voice sharp as you folded your arms tightly across your chest. “Not everyone has the pleasure of partying all night. Others have to actually study to pass their exams whereas others can just have daddy pay for everything when they fuck up.”The words hung in the air between you.

Heeseung’s smirk faltered instantly. His jaw tightened, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. For a split second, something raw annoyance, maybe even hurt flashed across his face before he quickly shoved it back into that indifferent mask. His eyes darkened, the playful glint gone.

“Whatever,” he muttered, voice suddenly flat and cold. “I’ll lower the volume.”He said, “Thank you,” you replied curtly, refusing to let the small victory show on your face even though your heart was hammering.

Heeseung didn’t say anything else. He simply stepped back and shut the door right in your face with a firm click that echoed down the empty hallway.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the closed wooden door, fists clenched at your sides. The music inside dropped almost immediately, not completely off, but low enough that you could finally breathe. Muffled laughter and voices still filtered through, but at least your walls wouldn’t shake anymore.

“Asshole,” you whispered under your breath, turning on your heel and heading back to your apartment.As you closed your own door behind you, you leaned against it for a second, eyes closed. Why did he always have to make everything so difficult? Why did one look from him always manage to crawl under your skin like this?

You shook your head, forcing the thoughts away. Back to studying. Back to pretending Lee Heeseung didn’t exist. But deep down, you already knew tonight’s silence between you two had just gotten a little louder.

You were halfway through rewriting your notes when your phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up with a new message.

yunjin : you know sunghoon righttt? he’s throwing a massive party after midterms and he personally invited me. pleeease come with me?? i don’t wanna go alone 🥺

You stared at the text, already feeling the familiar dread settle in your stomach. Another party of course. You typed back quickly

you : No thanks im good have fun tho

The two dots appeared immediately.

yunjin : babe come onnnn

yunjin : it’s after midterms!! you deserve to relax

yunjin : sunghoon’s parties are actually fun i swear

yunjin : there’ll be good music, free drinks, and i heard the basketball team is coming too 👀

You groaned, rubbing your temples. The last thing you wanted was to be anywhere near the basketball team especially not after tonight’s lovely encounter with their captain.

you : exactly why I’m not going pass

yunjin : please please please i really like sunghoon and this could be my chance

yunjin : i’ll owe you big time i’ll even help you study for the next round of exams i’ll buy you that expensive matcha you like for a month!!

You leaned back in your chair, biting your lip. Yunjin was relentless when she wanted something. And honestly she had been there for you through every late night breakdown this semester. Saying no felt a little cruel the pleading texts kept coming

yunjin : i won’t leave your side the whole night ( she is lying )

yunjin : we can leave early if you hate it , pretty please with cherries on top?? 🥺🍒

You sighed deeply, already knowing you were about to lose this battle.

you : fine, ONE HOUR that’s it if it sucks, we’re out.

yunjin : YESSSSS!!! you’re the best i love you so much

yunjin : we can dress up together at my place okay , see you tomorrow <33

You tossed your phone onto the desk and dropped your head into your hands. Great, just what you needed. Another night surrounded by loud music, drunk athletes, and the very real possibility of running into the Lee Heeseung again.

You glanced at the wall that separated your apartment from his. The music was still playing faintly, but at least it was bearable now. Just one party, you could survive one party right?

The next morning, the art history lecture hall was already filling up with the usual mix of sleepy students and last minute crammers when you slipped into your regular seat in the middle row.

The faint scent of fresh coffee and old books lingered in the air. Yunjin dropped dramatically into the chair on your right, her long hair still slightly damp from her morning shower, eyes bright with far too much excitement for a 9 am class.

On your left, Soobin settled in quietly, tall frame folding gracefully into the seat. He placed his neatly organized notebook on the desk and pulled out a perfectly sharpened pencil, offering you a soft, reassuring smile.

Soobin was always like this calm, steady, the kind of friend who showed up without making a fuss. He was the complete opposite of the loud, chaotic energy that seemed to follow Heeseung everywhere.

Yunjin, however, was already completely distracted. She was leaning forward, chin resting on her hand, openly staring toward the front rows where Sunghoon sat chatting with a couple of friends. Her gaze was soft and dreamy, a tiny smile tugging at her lips every time he laughed at something.

You nudged her arm with your elbow, voice low and teasing. “You’re oogling him again it’s getting embarrassing at this point.”Yunjin didn’t even pretend to deny it. “I’m not oogling, im appreciating art,” she whispered back, still not tearing her eyes away. “Look at him he’s literally perfect.”

Soobin let out a quiet chuckle beside you, shaking his head as he flipped open his notebook. “Sure ‘appreciating’ that’s why half your notes from last week were just little hearts around his name.” He teased her, to which she replied,

“Traitor,” Yunjin hissed playfully, finally glancing at both of you as her cheeks flushed pink. “You two are supposed to be on my side.”The light banter continued until Soobin turned to you, lowering his voice a little. “Hey, I heard there was a party at Heeseung’s last night, did you survive the noise?”

You let out a long, dramatic groan and slumped back in your seat, the memory of last night’s confrontation still fresh and irritating. “Barely. That idiot had the music blasting so loud my textbooks were literally vibrating on the desk. I had to march over there in my hoodie and sweatpants like some angry neighbor from a sitcom again.”

Soobin listened attentively, his expression patient and sympathetic. He never interrupted your rants or told you to just ignore it. He just nodded along, dark eyes focused on you, making you feel genuinely heard.

It was one of the many reasons you treasured his friendship he was thoughtful, kind, and never loud or arrogant for the sake of it. The polar opposite of Heeseung.

“And of course he answered the door half dressed with some girl hanging off his arm like a trophy,” you continued, voice dripping with annoyance. “Called me ‘miss morals’ like it’s the funniest joke in the world.

Then when I pointed out that not everyone has a rich daddy to bail them out when they party instead of studying, he got all pissy, sucked in this dramatic breath, and slammed the door right in my face. He’s such an entitled asshole.”

Soobin hummed softly, a small frown creasing his brow. “That sounds exhausting, you should’ve texted me you know, i could’ve come over with snacks and we could’ve studied together instead of dealing with his nonsense alone.”

You smiled faintly at the offer, warmth cutting through the irritation. “Next time, maybe at least someone in this building has basic human decency.”

Yunjin finally tore her gaze away from Sunghoon long enough to grin at you. “Heeseung’s just bored and likes getting a rise out of you if you stopped reacting, he’d probably get bored and stop.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “You don’t have to live next door to the human equivalent of a walking migraine.”The professor walked in moments later, cutting off any further complaints.

The next hour passed in a blur of projected slides on Renaissance techniques, quiet note taking, and the occasional whispered comment from Yunjin whenever Sunghoon shifted in his seat.

When class finally ended, the three of you packed up your things and joined the stream of students flowing out into the crowded hallway. The air was filled with chatter about upcoming midterms, weekend plans, and the usual campus gossip.

As you walked side by side, Yunjin suddenly looped her arm through yours, her excitement bubbling over again. “So, about Sunghoon’s party after midterms you’re definitely coming, right? And Soobin you should come too! It’ll be so much more fun with all three of us there.”

Soobin blinked, surprised, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Wait you’re actually going?” He looked at you, genuinely shocked. “I thought you hated parties, especially ones thrown by the popular crowd.”

You shrugged, already regretting your decision a little. “Yunjin begged a lot and guilt tripped me with matcha promises. One hour max, if it sucks, I’m dragging her out.”

Yunjin squealed happily and squeezed your arm. “See? She’s coming! So you have to come too, Soobinn please?”Before Soobin could respond, a familiar voice cut through the hallway noise from behind you.

“Can’t imagine miss morals at a party but I’m looking forward to seeing you there.” Your stomach dropped, you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.

Heeseung was leaning casually against a set of lockers a few feet away, arms crossed over his varsity jacket, that signature cocky smirk playing on his lips. He must have overheard the entire conversation.

His dark eyes locked onto yours with clear amusement, like he lived for these moments of catching you off guard.

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. Heat crept up your neck partly from annoyance, partly from the embarrassment of him hearing your plans.

Yunjin stifled a laugh beside you while Soobin just shook his head quietly, a small, amused smile tugging at his mouth.

Heeseung’s low chuckle followed you as the three of you kept walking, but you kept your gaze fixed straight ahead, jaw tight. God, you really, really hated that guy.Midterms week stretched into a brutal two week marathon, and as an art curator major, you felt every single hour of it in your bones.

Your apartment had become a war zone of curated chaos towering stacks of books on museum exhibition design, printed slides from Art Conservation and Curatorial Practices, mood boards pinned to the wall for your upcoming gallery proposal project, and color coded flashcards scattered across every surface.

Late nights blurred into early mornings as you hunched over your laptop, drafting proposals for hypothetical exhibits while trying to memorize the intricate history of 19th century European collections. Sleep was a distant dream. Caffeine was your only reliable companion.

And then there was Heeseung.

He didn’t blast music or bring girls over every single night that would have been almost predictable. No, he was crueler than that. He chose random days, like he knew exactly how to keep you off balance, turning your already exhausting study schedule into a minefield of unwanted interruptions.

The first time hit on the second night of midterms. You were deep into analyzing a case study on museum ethics when the wall behind your desk started to vibrate faintly. At first it was just low music.

Then came the giggles two distinct female voices, breathy and flirtatious. Heeseung’s deep laugh cut through it all, followed by the unmistakable sound of bodies moving against furniture.

“Fuck, Heeseung you’re so good at this,” one of the girls moaned loudly, the words carrying crystal clear through the thin shared wall. The headboard started thumping a slow, steady rhythm against your wall rhythmic, insistent, growing faster.

You could hear the wet slap of skin, her exaggerated gasps turning into full throated cries every time he thrust.You yanked your noise canceling headphones on so hard the band dug into your temples, cranking the volume until classical music drowned most of it out.

But you could still feel it, the steady bang bang bang vibrating through your desk, through your chair, through your skull. Your cheeks burned with secondhand embarrassment and pure rage.

'Of course he’s fucking some random girl while I’m trying to memorize the difference between Baroque and Rococo curation techniques.' You thought bitterly, stabbing your highlighter across the page. Must be nice to have zero responsibilities except basketball and dick appointments.

It stopped around 2 a.m., but the damage was done. You only managed three hours of sleep before your 8 a.m. lecture.

The next morning, you were running on pure spite and too much coffee when you caught Heeseung in the hallway just as he was stepping out of his apartment. He looked annoyingly fresh — hair still damp from a shower, varsity jacket slung over one shoulder, that perpetual cocky smirk already in place.

You stopped right in front of him, arms crossed tightly. “Keep it down next time,” you said flatly, voice low but sharp. “Some of us are actually trying to pass our midterms instead of auditioning for porn.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Aw, miss morals heard everything? Didn’t know you were such a light sleeper.” You glared at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “Just tone it down, the headboard banging is ridiculous.”

He chuckled lowly, the sound sending another spike of irritation through you. “Noted.” Then he leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “Though from the sounds of it last night, she seemed to enjoy the banging.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away without another word, his soft laugh following you down the hall.The next disruption came four days later. A random Thursday when you had a massive group project due on modern curatorial strategies.

You’d just settled in with your laptop open to a half finished exhibition proposal when his door slammed open down the hall. One girl this time, but she was even louder.

The moment they got inside, the sounds started again her high pitched whimpers, Heeseung’s low, cocky murmurs “Yeah? You like that? Tell me how much you want it” followed by the unmistakable wet sounds of them going at it on what sounded like his couch first, then migrating to the bed.

The headboard slammed against the wall so hard your framed print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night rattled. Her moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure, each one punctuated by Heeseung’s grunts and the filthy slap of bodies. “Harder fuck, right there, Heeseung don’t stop—”

You ended up studying in your bed instead, laptop balanced on your knees, pillows stacked around you like a fortress. Headphones on full blast. Still, every thrust made the wall tremble.

Every moan crawled under your skin and made focusing on your notes feel impossible. By the time they finally finished (or at least quieted down) around midnight, your eyes were burning and your proposal was only half done.

You hated how your body reacted sometimes not with attraction, but with pure, simmering resentment that made your stomach twist.That same night, after the noises finally stopped, you grabbed your phone in a fit of exhausted anger and texted him.

you : keep the noise down, some people are trying to study for actual grades, not coast on basketball talent and daddy’s money

His reply came faster than you expected. A picture popped up first. A close up selfie of Heeseung lying in bed, shirtless, messy hair, lazy smirk on his face, with the caption

heeseung : sorry, miss morals hard to stay quiet when they scream my name like that

heeseung : next time i’ll try to fuck quieter or maybe you can just join and tell me how to do it right?

You stared at the message, face flaming with a mix of rage and disbelief. You immediately blocked the image from your mind ( and definitely did not linger on the way his abs looked in the dim lighting ) before typing back a single furious reply

you : delete my number, asshole

The worst random night came during the final stretch, just three days before your last exams.

You were pulling an all nighter on your capstone project a full digital mock up of a contemporary art exhibit you’d spent weeks perfecting when the noises started again around 11 p.m. This time it was two girls.

Their laughter spilled into the hallway first, then straight through your wall. Heeseung’s voice was low and teasing, the kind of filthy charm that probably worked on every girl on campus.

Soon the bed was creaking loudly, headboard banging in a frantic rhythm while both girls moaned in tandem one breathy and high, the other deeper and more desperate.

“Heeseung oh god, yes fuck me like that—” mixed with wet, obscene sounds that left zero doubt about exactly what was happening next door. The wall vibrated so intensely your coffee mug slid an inch across the desk.

You sat there in your oversized hoodie and sweatpants, staring at your glowing screen, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Every moan, every dirty encouragement from Heeseung, every rhythmic thud felt like a personal attack on the one thing you actually cared about your future.

Your grades, your dream of curating real exhibitions someday. While I’m over here trying not to fail out of the only thing I’m good at, you thought, fingers flying angrily across the keyboard, he’s over there living his best life with a rotating cast of girls screaming his name.

You wore the headphones until your ears rang. You even tried white noise apps, earplugs underneath nothing fully blocked it. The sex noises went on for nearly two hours that night, loud and shameless, until they finally quieted around 1:30 a.m.

By the end of the two weeks, you were running on fumes dark circles under your eyes, caffeine shakes in your hands, and a permanent knot of irritation lodged in your chest whenever you passed his door.

The random nights had been spaced out just enough to feel like psychological warfare instead of constant chaos.Heeseung never once toned it down. Never once seemed to care that someone on the other side of the wall was actually trying to build a future that didn’t involve daddy’s money or NBA scouts.

When Friday morning finally arrived and your last exam was over, you dragged yourself back to the apartment building, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. The hallway was quiet for once. Heeseung’s door looked innocently closed.

You unlocked your own door, stepped inside, and immediately collapsed face first onto your bed, still in your clothes midterms were done.But the resentment toward the boy next door had only grown sharper and Sunghoon’s party was tonight. You groaned into your pillow one hour in and out. Just don’t kill Heeseung on sight.

You took the quickest shower of your life, and changed into the first comfortable outfit you could find—a simple black crop top that showed just a sliver of your midriff and your favorite pair of dark jeans—comfortable, practical, safe.

You texted Yunjin that you were ready to head over to her place to “get ready together,” secretly hoping she wouldn’t make a big deal out of your clothes—big mistake. Yunjin’s apartment was only two blocks away, and the second you stepped inside, she took one look at you and gasped like you had personally offended her.

“No no absolutely not,” she declared, hands on her hips, eyes scanning you up and down with pure horror. “You cannot go to Sunghoon’s party looking like that.”

You glanced down at yourself, confused. “What’s wrong with this? It’s cute it’s comfortable.”“Cute? Comfortable?” Yunjin repeated, already dragging you toward her bedroom like a woman on a mission.

“Babe, we’re going to a party, not the library. You just survived two weeks of hell tonight you’re supposed to look hot, not like you’re about to give a museum tour.”

Before you could protest, she flung open her closet and started pulling out clothes with frightening speed. She held up a black mini skirt dangerously short, made of soft leather like material and a sheer black button up shirt that was practically see through.

“Try these,” she ordered, shoving the hanger into your hands. You stared at the outfit like it might bite you. “Yunjin, no way, that skirt is barely legal and the shirt is see through i’m not wearing that.”

“Yes way, you are,” she sang, already pushing you toward the bathroom. “You agreed to come to the party that means you’re under my styling jurisdiction for tonight go change now”

You argued the entire time you were changing. “This is ridiculous! im going to freeze, people are going to stare i look like I’m trying way too hard—”

But Yunjin was relentless. The second you stepped out in the mini skirt and sheer shirt ( with a black bralette underneath so you weren’t completely exposed ), she clapped her hands and squealed.

“Oh my god, yes! Look at you!” She spun you around in front of her full length mirror. The skirt hugged your hips and ended high on your thighs, making your legs look longer.

The sheer shirt draped softly over your shoulders, the black bralette visible underneath in a way that was teasing but not outright scandalous. “You look insane like, dangerously hot.”

You tugged at the hem of the skirt, cheeks burning. “I feel naked. Can't I at least wear the jeans over this or something?”“No,” she said firmly, already sitting you down in front of her vanity. “We’re doing makeup now sit still.”

For the next twenty minutes, Yunjin worked her magic. Winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, soft smoky eyes, a touch of highlighter on your cheekbones, and a bold red lip that made your mouth look fuller. She even styled your hair into loose, effortless waves that framed your face perfectly.

When she finally stepped back, she let out a satisfied sigh.“Anyone would worship the ground you walk on looking like this,” she said, grinning proudly. “Trust me tonight, you’re not the stressed out art curator girl who yells at her neighbor. You’re the girl who turns heads even Heeseung won’t know what to do with himself when he sees you.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small flutter of nerves mixed with reluctant confidence settled in your stomach as you looked at your reflection. The outfit was way bolder than anything you’d normally wear, but you had to admit it looked good.

“Fine,” you muttered, smoothing down the skirt one last time. “But if I hate it, we’re leaving early and if Heeseung says one word about ‘miss morals’ in this outfit, I’m pouring a drink on him.”Yunjin laughed and linked her arm with yours. “Deal now let’s go make Sunghoon’s party unforgettable.”

You and Yunjin barely made it out of her apartment before your phone buzzed with a text from Soobin saying he was already waiting downstairs. The three of you had agreed he would drive so none of you had to worry about getting home later.

The elevator ride down felt too short. Your heart was already beating a little faster than usual partly from the unfamiliar outfit, partly from the knowledge that you were actually going to a party after surviving two brutal weeks of midterms.

The black mini skirt kept riding up slightly with every step, and you kept tugging nervously at the hem while Yunjin wouldn’t stop complimenting how good you looked.

When you stepped out of the building into the cool evening air, Soobin’s car was parked right in front, engine idling. He was leaning casually against the driver’s side, scrolling through his phone, but the moment he looked up and saw the two of you approaching, his eyes widened noticeably.

Especially when they landed on you. Soobin froze for a second, his usual calm expression cracking into pure, genuine shock. His gaze traveled slowly from your loose waves and sharp winged eyeliner, down to the sheer black shirt that subtly revealed the black bralette underneath, then to the dangerously short leather like mini skirt that made your legs look endless.

He blinked once, twice, before quickly clearing his throat and straightening up, ears turning a light shade of pink.“Wow” he said, voice a little higher than his normal soft tone. “You both look really nice like, really nice.”

Yunjin grinned triumphantly, looping her arm through yours and squeezing. “See? Told you! Even Soobin is shook, she looks hot, right?”

You felt heat creep up your neck and quickly crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper aware of how different you looked from your usual oversized hoodie and jeans self.

“It’s all Yunjin’s doing. She basically held me hostage in her room until I changed. I tried to wear my normal clothes and she acted like I committed a crime.”

Soobin gave a small, shy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he opened the back door for both of you like the gentleman he was. “No, it really suits you, you look great tonight.” His compliment was sincere and gentle, making the awkwardness feel a little softer. “Ready to go? Sunghoon’s place isn’t too far from here.”

The car ride was filled with easy, light chatter that helped calm your nerves. Yunjin sat in the front passenger seat, already buzzing with excitement about seeing Sunghoon, while you sat in the back, occasionally tugging at your skirt and staring out the window at the passing streetlights.

Soobin kept the conversation flowing comfortably, light complaints about how brutal midterms had been, predictions about how wild the party might get, and Yunjin’s endless teasing about how

Sunghoon had “personally invited” her. Every now and then Soobin would glance at you through the rearview mirror, still looking a little flustered whenever your eyes met.

Before you knew it, Soobin was pulling up to a large off campus house that was already pulsing with loud music and flashing colored lights. Cars lined both sides of the street, and groups of people were laughing and chatting on the front lawn, red cups in hand.

The three of you climbed out of the car, and the heavy bass from inside immediately hit you like a wave. The night air smelled like a mix of cheap beer, sweet perfume, and fresh cut grass. Yunjin practically bounced on her heels with excitement as the three of you walked up the pathway toward the front door.

Sunghoon was standing right at the entrance, playing the perfect host in a simple black shirt and jeans. His sharp, handsome features broke into a warm, genuine smile the moment he spotted your group approaching.

“Hey! You guys actually made it,” he greeted cheerfully, voice carrying easily over the noise from inside. His eyes lingered on Yunjin for an extra beat, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “Yunjin, glad you came and you brought friends, nice.”

He gave Soobin a friendly nod and then turned his attention to you, eyebrows raising slightly in pleasant surprise as he took in your bold outfit. “Hey! you clean up really well. Welcome to the party, hope you guys have fun tonight.”

You managed a small, polite smile, still feeling slightly out of your element. “Thanks for inviting us.”Sunghoon handed each of you a red solo cup filled with something fruity and strong smelling a sweet cocktail that had a sharp kick of alcohol when you took your first cautious sip.

“Drinks are flowing inside help yourselves to whatever you want. There’s food in the kitchen, beer pong in the living room, and dancing. Pretty much everywhere enjoy!”

Yunjin thanked him brightly, her cheeks already a little flushed with excitement, and steered you and Soobin further into the crowded house. The interior was packed wall to wall with people.

Students were laughing loudly, dancing in the middle of the living room, playing intense games of beer pong, and making out in dimly lit corners. The music was loud but not yet overwhelming, colorful lights flashing across the walls and bodies.

For the first few minutes, the three of you stuck close together, weaving through the crowd while sipping your drinks. Soobin stayed protectively near your side, occasionally leaning down to say something quiet and reassuring whenever he noticed you looking a bit overwhelmed by the chaos.

Then you felt it. That familiar, annoying prickle on the back of your neck, like someone was watching you. You turned your head slightly, and there he was.

Heeseung was leaning casually against the wall near the staircase, a red cup dangling from his fingers. He was surrounded by a small group of his closest friends—Beomgyu laughing at something on his phone, Jake with his usual bright smile, and Jay nursing his own drink while scanning the room.

Heeseung looked effortlessly good tonight in a black button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms, and dark jeans that sat low on his hips. His hair was styled in that signature messy but perfect way.

The moment his dark eyes found you across the crowded room, his conversation with the guys stopped mid sentence.

His gaze dragged slowly and shamelessly down your body, taking in the short black mini skirt that hugged your hips and thighs, the sheer shirt that teased the black bralette underneath, the way the outfit accentuated your curves before snapping back up to your face.

For once, his usual cocky smirk didn’t appear instantly. Instead, there was a flash of genuine surprise, followed by something darker, more heated, and appreciative.

He pushed off the wall and started walking straight toward your group, completely ignoring whatever Beomgyu was saying behind him.

“Well, well, well,” Heeseung drawled when he was close enough, his voice cutting smoothly through the music. His eyes were still shamelessly roaming over you. “Look who decided to show up. Miss morals in a mini skirt i almost didn’t recognize you damn.”

You felt your stomach twist with that familiar mix of irritation and unwanted warmth. Before you could even open your mouth to snap back, Yunjin jumped in defensively, stepping slightly in front of you with a bright but sharp smile.

“Excuse me, Heeseung? She looks amazing, and she doesn’t need your backhanded compliments,” Yunjin said, tilting her head with fake sweetness.

“Unlike some people who only know how to throw loud parties and bring random girls over during midterms, maybe focus on your own game instead of commenting on her outfit.”

Heeseung chuckled lowly, clearly amused by Yunjin’s quick defense, but his eyes never left you. Jake, Beomgyu, and Jay were now watching the exchange from a few feet away, Beomgyu smirking like he was enjoying the show and Jake looking mildly entertained.

“Relax, Yunjin,” Heeseung replied smoothly, taking a sip from his cup. “I’m just saying that she cleaned up dangerous tonight, didn’t think our neighbor owned anything shorter than ankle length. Beomgyu, Jake, Jay back me up here. She looks good, right?”

Beomgyu grinned and raised his cup in a lazy toast. “Yeah, she do be looking fire tonight.”Jake nodded with a bright laugh. “For real, new look suits you.”Jay just shook his head with a small smile, staying quiet but clearly entertained.

You rolled your eyes, lifting your red solo cup to your lips to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks. “Don’t start with me tonight, Heeseung i’m only here for one hour, and I’d rather not spend it dealing with your nonsense.”

Heeseung tilted his head, that signature cocky smirk fully back in place now as he took another slow step closer. The way he was looking at you made the noisy room feel suddenly ten degrees warmer.

“Gonna dance tonight, or are you just here to supervise everyone else’s fun like usual, miss morals?”

You didn’t even give Heeseung the satisfaction of a proper reply. Instead, you flipped him off with a sharp middle finger, turned on your heel, and grabbed Yunjin’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

Yunjin laughed loudly, clearly proud of your reaction, and let you drag her deeper into the crowded house while Heeseung’s low chuckle followed behind you. Beomgyu, Jake, and Jay were already teasing him in the background, but you refused to look back.

For the first half hour, the party actually felt manageable. You stuck close to Yunjin and Soobin, sipping from your red solo cup and people watching from a quieter corner of the living room.

The music was loud, the lights flashed in rhythm with the bass, and the alcohol slowly started to loosen the tight knot of stress that midterms had left in your chest. Then Sunghoon appeared again.

He approached your group with that easy, charming smile, eyes mostly locked on Yunjin. “Hey want to dance?”Yunjin’s face lit up like he’d just offered her the moon. She turned to you quickly, squeezing your hand. “You’ll be okay for a bit, right? I’ll be right back!”

Before you could even answer, she was gone, disappearing into the sea of bodies on the dance floor with Sunghoon’s hand on her waist, now it was just you and Soobin.

You tried to keep the conversation light, but the longer you stood there, the more the party energy started to pull at you. The drink in your cup was strong and sweet, and after two weeks of pure academic hell, the idea of letting loose felt dangerously tempting.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath. You downed the rest of your drink in one go, the burn sliding warmly down your throat. Then you grabbed another cup from a passing tray and started sipping again. Why not? Midterms were over. You deserved this.

Soobin noticed and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t judge. He stayed beside you, chatting quietly, making sure you weren’t completely alone. But after a while, you started feeling guilty. He was sweet, always listening, always there and here he was babysitting you instead of enjoying the party.

“Go talk to your friends,” you told him, giving him a gentle push toward a group of guys waving at him from across the room. “Seriously, Soobin i’ll be fine, i don’t want you wasting your night stuck with me. Go have fun i’ll text you if I need anything.”

He hesitated, looking concerned, but you begged him with your best pleading eyes until he finally nodded. “Okay but stay safe, text me if anything feels off.”

Once Soobin walked away to join his friends, you let yourself drift toward the dance floor. The alcohol was hitting nicely now a warm, fuzzy buzz that made the music feel better and your body lighter.

You moved to the edge of the crowd first, swaying gently, then slowly worked your way deeper into the pulsing bodies.

You didn’t notice him at first. But Heeseung had been watching you the entire time. From the moment Yunjin disappeared with Sunghoon, his eyes had followed you. He watched you down your drinks. He watched you convince Soobin to leave.

And now he watched as you finally stepped fully onto the dance floor, hips moving to the heavy beat, the short black mini skirt riding up just enough to draw attention, the sheer shirt catching the flashing lights.

Heeseung set his cup down and started moving through the crowd toward you, slow and deliberate. When he was close enough, he didn’t just grab you like most guys would. Instead, he leaned in slightly, voice low and surprisingly respectful against the loud music.

“Hey can I dance with you?”

You turned your head, alcohol making you bold. Your eyes met his, and for once, you didn’t immediately snap at him. The buzz in your veins, the way he was looking at you like he couldn’t look away…it made something reckless spark inside you.

You nodded “Yeah okay.” Only then did Heeseung step closer. The moment he did, the space between you disappeared. His body pressed lightly against yours at first, hands hovering respectfully before you started moving together.

The music was sensual, slow and heavy, and your bodies naturally fell into rhythm. It didn’t stay innocent for long. Heeseung’s hands gradually grew bolder one sliding to your waist, the other brushing up your side, fingers grazing the sheer fabric of your shirt.

You moved closer, hips rolling against his, the short skirt brushing against his thighs. His touch grew hotter, palms sliding down to grip your hips, then slowly roaming over the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him.

The air between you thickened. Your breathing grew heavier. Every brush of his body sent sparks through your skin. Heeseung leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke, voice low. “fuck, not being able to kiss you right now is actual torture.”

The words hit you like a shot of pure heat. The alcohol, the weeks of built up tension, the way his hands felt all over your body everything crashed together in one reckless moment.

You didn’t think, you just acted. turning your head as you grabbed the front of his shirt, and crashed your lips against his.

The kiss was messy, desperate, and instantly wild. Heeseung groaned into your mouth the second your lips met, one hand flying up to cup the back of your neck while the other tightened possessively on your waist, pulling you even harder against him.

You kissed like you were angry at each other—teeth clashing, tongues sliding hot and deep, lips moving with raw hunger.

Heeseung kissed like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. His mouth was demanding, devouring, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. You moaned softly against him, fingers threading into his hair and tugging, which only made him kiss you harder.

The dance floor disappeared around you. The music faded into background noise. There was only the heat of his body, the taste of alcohol on his tongue, and the way his hands roamed greedily over your curves sliding up your back under the sheer shirt, gripping your hips, pressing you so close you could feel exactly how much he wanted you.

The makeout was crazy sloppy, passionate, breathless. You bit his lower lip, and he responded with a low growl, sucking on your tongue before kissing you even harder.

Your bodies moved together to the beat, grinding slowly while your mouths stayed locked in a heated battle.

When you finally pulled back for air, both of you were panting, lips swollen and shiny. Heeseung’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he stared down at you like he wanted to devour you right there on the dance floor.

“Shit” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “You’re going to kill me tonight.”The kiss finally broke, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen and glistening under the flashing party lights.

Heeseung’s forehead rested against yours, his hands still gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

His eyes were dark, pupils blown with want, and the way he looked at you sent another rush of heat straight through your body.

You didn’t think. The alcohol, the weeks of hating him, the way his hands had felt all over you everything made you reckless. You leaned in closer, voice low and breathless against his ear. “Wanna go back to your apartment?”

Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you, a dangerous smirk tugging at his swollen lips. For a split second, surprise flashed across his face, but it quickly melted into pure hunger.

“Fuck yes”

He didn’t waste another second. His hand slid down to grab yours firmly, fingers lacing tight as he started pulling you through the crowded dance floor. People moved out of the way as Heeseung cut a path toward the front door, his grip on you possessive and urgent.

You barely had time to register anything else Yunjin and Soobin were somewhere in the house, but right now, none of that mattered.The cool night air hit your flushed skin the moment you stepped outside, but it did nothing to calm the fire burning in your veins.

Heeseung’s car was parked a little down the street. He didn’t let go of your hand the entire way, and the second you reached the passenger side, he opened the door for you with surprising speed before rounding the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.

The moment the doors closed, the tension exploded again. Heeseung started the engine, but you were already growing impatient. The short drive back to your apartment building felt too long. Every red light, every stop sign made the ache between your legs worse.

You kept stealing glances at him his jaw tight, hands gripping the steering wheel, the way his shirt was slightly undone from your earlier tugging. At the third red light, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.“Fuck this,” you muttered.

Before Heeseung could react, you unbuckled your seatbelt, climbed over the center console, and straddled his lap in one swift motion. The mini skirt rode up high on your thighs as you settled on top of him, your hands immediately cupping his face as you crashed your lips back onto his.

Heeseung groaned loudly into the kiss, his hands flying to your waist to steady you. The kiss was even wilder than on the dance floor desperate, messy, all tongue and teeth. You rocked your hips against him, grinding down slowly at first, then harder, feeling him harden beneath you through his jeans.

His hands roamed greedily, one sliding up under your sheer shirt to palm your breast over the bralette, the other gripping your ass and pulling you tighter against his growing bulge.

“Shit you’re driving me crazy,” he muttered against your mouth between kisses, voice rough and wrecked.

You moaned softly, grinding down harder, the friction sending sparks through your entire body. The car windows started to fog up as you moved together, lips never leaving each other for long.

Heeseung’s tongue slid against yours, deep and filthy, while his hips bucked up to meet your movements, the steering wheel pressing into your back.

You were completely lost in him hands in his hair, tugging, lips sucking on his bottom lip, hips rolling in desperate circles when the sharp sound of honking suddenly pierced through the haze.

Once, twice, then a chorus of angry car horns blaring behind you reality crashed back in.

You pulled away from the kiss with a gasp, lips shiny and swollen, breathing ragged. The light had turned green, and the cars lined up behind you were laying on their horns, some drivers shouting out their windows.

Heeseung let out a breathless laugh, his hands still gripping your thighs tightly. His eyes were dark, hair messy from your fingers, lips red and kiss bitten.“Fuck,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “We’re gonna cause an accident if you keep this up.”

You quickly scrambled back into the passenger seat, heart pounding, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and lingering arousal.

Your skirt was hiked up dangerously high, and you tugged it down with shaky hands while Heeseung adjusted himself in his seat, clearly struggling to focus on the road.

He shot you a heated sideways glance, smirk returning as he pressed the gas pedal.“Almost home,” he said, voice low and promising. “Try not to jump me again until we’re inside or don’t. I'm not complaining.”

The rest of the short drive was torturous. The air in the car was thick with tension, both of you stealing glances, the memory of your grinding still fresh and electric.

When Heeseung finally pulled into the parking spot outside your shared apartment building, he killed the engine and turned to you, eyes blazing.

The second you were both out of the car, he grabbed your hand again and practically dragged you toward the entrance, the promise of what was about to happen hanging heavy between you.

The second the door to Heeseung’s apartment slammed shut behind you, all restraint vanished.He had you pinned against the wood before you could even catch your breath, mouth crashing back onto yours in a filthy, open mouthed kiss.

His hands were everywhere one sliding up under your sheer shirt to palm your breast roughly, the other gripping your ass and yanking your hips flush against the hard line of his cock already straining in his jeans.

“Been thinking about this since you walked in wearing that tiny fucking skirt,” he growled against your lips, biting your bottom lip hard enough to make you moan. “Look at you acting like such a good girl all semester and now you’re begging to get fucked in my bed.”

You didn’t deny it you couldn’t. The alcohol and weeks of pent up hatred had turned into pure, desperate need. You tugged at his shirt buttons, popping a few open in your haste, and Heeseung chuckled darkly before ripping the rest off himself.

The shirt hit the floor. Yours followed a second later, then your bralette, leaving your tits exposed to the cool air of his apartment.

Heeseung’s mouth was on your neck instantly, sucking a mark right below your jaw while his hands squeezed your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they were hard and aching. “So fucking pretty when you’re needy like this,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “Bet you’re already soaked for me, huh?”

You whimpered when he shoved the mini skirt up around your waist and cupped you over your panties. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric, rubbing slow circles over your clit.

“Shit you are dripping already.” He smirked against your throat. “Such a dirty little secret you’ve been hiding, miss morals.”

You didn’t have time to snap back. Heeseung dropped to his knees right there in the entryway, hooked your panties to the side, and buried his face between your thighs without warning. His tongue dragged a long, nasty stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you.

“Oh my god—” Your head thunked back against the door as he licked and sucked like a man starved, two fingers sliding inside you easily because you were so wet.

He curled them perfectly, pumping fast while his tongue flicked mercilessly over your clit. The sounds were obscene wet, sloppy, loud and he didn’t care. He ate you like he wanted to ruin you.

You came hard on his tongue within minutes, thighs shaking, fingers yanking at his hair as you cried out his name. Heeseung didn’t stop until you were trembling and pushing at his head, then he stood up, lips shiny with your arousal, and kissed you deep so you could taste yourself.

“Bedroom now,” he ordered.

He didn’t wait for you to walk. He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you like you weighed nothing, carrying you down the short hallway while your legs wrapped around his waist.

Your skirt was still bunched around your hips, panties shoved to the side. You could feel his cock pressing against your soaked core with every step.

The second he kicked his bedroom door open, he dropped you onto the bed. You barely had time to bounce before he was stripping the rest of his clothes off. His jeans and boxers hit the floor and his cock sprang free—thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip.

Your mouth watered at the sight. Heeseung climbed over you, caging you in with his arms. “You want this?” he asked, voice dark, one hand stroking his cock slowly as he looked down at you. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” you breathed, reaching down to wrap your hand around him. “Fuck me, Heeseung.”That was all it took.

He shoved your legs apart wider, lined himself up, and pushed in with one long, brutal thrust. You gasped at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottomed out inside you, so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. “Taking me so well already.”Then he started moving hard fast and filthy.

The headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust, the same wall that separated your apartments. The irony wasn’t lost on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Heeseung fucked you like he’d been imagining this exact moment for months.Deep, punishing strokes that made your tits bounce and your breath hitch.

He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder, folding you in half so he could fuck you even deeper. The new angle made you cry out, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.

“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes locked on where his cock was disappearing inside you. “Taking every inch like a good little slut, who would’ve thought the girl next door gets this fucking nasty?”

The degradation was light, just enough to make your pussy clench harder around him. You moaned louder, hips trying to meet his thrusts.

Heeseung’s hand slid between your bodies, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit while he pounded into you.

“Come on, baby. Come on my cock again, wanna feel you squeezing me.” You shattered for the second time, back arching, walls fluttering around his thick length as your orgasm crashed through you. Heeseung fucked you through it, hips never slowing, chasing his own release.

“Fuck— I’m close,” he growled, voice strained. “Where do you want it?” He asked, “Inside,” you gasped, still riding the high. “Come inside me.”

Heeseung cursed loudly, thrusting a few more brutal times before he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. You felt every pulse, every hot spurt filling you up as he groaned your name against your neck, hips jerking through the aftershocks.

For a moment the only sounds were both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat.

Heeseung stayed inside you for a long minute, forehead pressed to yours, before he finally pulled out slowly. A trickle of his cum leaked out of you onto the sheets, and he watched it with dark, satisfied eyes then collapsed beside you.

Instead of pulling away, Heeseung immediately reached for you. He wrapped one strong arm around your waist and tugged you against his chest, your back flush to his front in a tight, warm hug. His other hand gently pulled the duvet up over both of you, cocooning your naked bodies in soft warmth.

You were still sticky with sweat and cum, thighs trembling, but the way he held you possessive yet surprisingly gentle made something soft flutter in your chest despite everything.

Heeseung pressed a lazy kiss to the back of your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.“Stay,” he murmured, voice already thick with sleep as he tightened his arm around you. “Just stay.”

Exhausted, fucked out, and strangely comforted by his warmth, you let your eyes drift shut. His steady heartbeat against your back and the heavy duvet wrapped around you lulled you quickly into sleep, safe in Heeseung’s arms for the night.

ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. next morning !

The first thing you registered was the pounding in your head. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, the dim light filtering through unfamiliar curtains making everything feel hazy. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed red 4:28 a.m.

Your mouth was dry, throat scratchy, and a dull throb pulsed behind your temples the unmistakable aftermath of too many drinks and not nearly enough sleep. You shifted slightly under the heavy duvet, and that’s when you felt it.

A warm, solid body pressed against your back. An arm draped heavily over your waist, holding you close skin against skin. The faint scent of cologne, sweat, and something distinctly masculine filled your senses.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Memories from last night crashed over you like ice water.

The party, the red solo cup dancing. Heeseung’s hands all over your body on the dance floor. The reckless invitation. The car ride where you’d climbed into his lap like you had no shame.

The way he’d pinned you against his door, dropped to his knees in the entryway, fucked you hard on his bed until you were crying out his name. The filthy sounds. The way he’d filled you up. The way he’d pulled you against his chest afterward, hugging you tight under the duvet as you both drifted off.

You had fucked Lee Heeseung

You had fucked your loud, cocky, insufferable neighbor the basketball captain you’d spent months complaining about, the one who called you “Miss Morals” like it was the funniest joke in the world.

Mortification burned hot through your entire body. Your stomach twisted violently. What the hell had you been thinking? The alcohol had stripped away every ounce of common sense, and now you were lying naked in his bed, his cum still faintly sticky between your thighs, his arm wrapped around you like you belonged there.

Heeseung was still sound asleep behind you, breathing deep and even, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. His face was relaxed in sleep no smirk, no cocky grin but you knew the second he woke up, everything would change.

He would never let you live this down. The teasing would be relentless. “Miss morals” would turn into something far worse. He’d smirk every time he saw you in the hallway, make dirty little comments about how loud you’d been, how desperate you’d sounded begging for him.

The walls between your apartments were thin he’d probably bring it up every time you complained about his noise again. Your life next door would become a living hell.You couldn’t stay here.

Panic clawed up your throat. You had to leave before he woke up. Before this became real. Before he opened his eyes and looked at you with that knowing, satisfied smirk.

Carefully, so carefully, you lifted his arm from your waist. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, murmuring something incoherent under his breath. Your heart hammered as you slowly slid out from under the duvet, the cool air hitting your naked skin and raising goosebumps.

You moved like a ghost around his room, gathering your scattered clothes as quietly as possible. Your sheer black shirt, the black bralette, the dangerously short mini skirt, your panties all crumpled on the floor where they’d been tossed in the heat of the moment.

You dressed as fast as you could, fingers trembling as you buttoned the sheer shirt and tugged the mini skirt down your thighs. Your hair was a mess, makeup probably smudged, but you didn’t care. You just needed to get out.

Barefoot, shoes in hand, you tiptoed toward the bedroom door. Every creak of the floorboards felt deafening. You glanced back once at Heeseung still asleep, one arm now stretched across the empty space where you’d been, dark hair messy against the pillow.

A strange, unwelcome pang twisted in your chest, but you shoved it down hard. This never happened.

You slipped out of his bedroom, quietly closing the door behind you. The living room was dark and silent. You navigated through the unfamiliar space, heart racing, until you reached the front door. The lock clicked softly as you turned it.

The hallway was empty and dimly lit when you stepped outside. The cool air felt like freedom. You didn’t even bother putting your shoes on yet you just hurried the few steps to your own apartment door next door, fumbling with your keys until they finally slid into the lock.

The moment you were inside, you locked the door behind you, leaned against it, and slid down to the floor, breathing hard.

Your body still ached in the best and worst ways. Thighs sore, a faint bruise forming on your hip from his grip, the ghost of his touch lingering everywhere. You could still feel him inside you, still taste the heat of his mouth.

You buried your face in your hands, mortified beyond words. What had you done?You had slept with the one person you couldn’t stand and now you had to live right next door to him, pretending it never happened.

Because if Heeseung ever found out you’d run away like this, the teasing would only get worse much, much worse. You spent the rest of that early morning in a haze of denial.

Your phone vibrated then again. You reached for it with a heavy sigh, squinting at the bright screen.

yunjin ( 3 new messages )

yunjin : babe where did u go?? one second u were dancing and then u disappeared 😭

yunjin : sunghoon said he saw u leave with someone?? pls tell me ur okay

yunjin : im worried call me when u wake up!!

soobin ( 4 new messages )

soobin : hey, you okay? you left pretty suddenly last night without telling both of us yunjin’s freaking out a bit

soobin : let me know if you got home safe

soobin : if you need anything or want to talk, i’m here no pressure

soobin : hope you’re resting well ❤️

You stared at the messages, throat tightening. The kindness in Soobin’s texts and Yunjin’s worried energy made fresh tears prick at your eyes. They had no idea what you had done. No idea you had spent the night in Heeseung’s bed, letting him touch you, kiss you, fuck you like you’d lost all common sense.

You typed back with trembling fingers, keeping it short and vague

you : got home safe, just drank too much and needed to leave early sorry for worrying you guys i’m okay, just tired talk later ❤️

You sent it and immediately turned your phone on silent, burying your face in your hands the memories wouldn’t stop replaying. Heeseung’s hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck. The way he had groaned your name when he came inside you.

How safe and warm his arms had felt when he pulled you under the duvet afterward. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push it all away this never happened.

After sliding down your front door and sitting on the cold floor for what felt like hours, you finally dragged yourself to the shower.

You scrubbed your skin until it was raw, trying to wash away every trace of Heeseung his scent, his touch, the sticky evidence of what you’d done between your thighs. The hot water did nothing to erase the soreness or the vivid flashbacks that kept playing on loop in your head.

By the time the sun came up, you had made a decision this never happened. You would bury it so deep that even you would start to believe it. No one needed to know. Not Yunjin, not Soobin, not even yourself on most days.

You would go back to normal go to classes, focus on your art curator projects, complain about the noise next door like always. And most importantly, you would avoid Lee Heeseung at all costs.

ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. flashback !

Heeseung stepped out of his apartment with a half empty water bottle in hand, planning to grab the last box from his car before the evening practice. The hallway was quiet until it wasn’t.

A girl came rushing around the corner, arms overloaded with a massive cardboard box that completely blocked her line of sight. She collided straight into his chest with a startled gasp.

The box flew out of her hands and crashed to the floor, spilling books, notebooks, and what looked like art supplies everywhere across the hallway carpet. Heeseung instinctively reached out and grabbed her arms to keep her from stumbling backward.

She looked up at him, flushed and clearly annoyed, strands of hair falling across her face from the chaotic move. She was pretty, sharp eyes, determined expression the kind of girl who didn’t seem impressed by campus status.

A smirk tugged at his lips before he could stop it.“Easy there, neighbor,” he drawled, voice laced with amusement. “You always run into people like you’re trying to tackle them, or am I just lucky?”

She blinked, then quickly crouched down to gather her scattered belongings, avoiding his gaze.“Sorry,” she muttered, tone tight and clipped. “Didn’t see you.”

Heeseung crouched down as well, picking up a thick book on museum curation that had slid toward his foot. He turned it over in his hands, raising an eyebrow.“Art stuff, huh?” he asked casually. “You moving in next door?”

“Yeah just today,” she replied shortly, snatching the book back from him with a little more force than necessary.

He stood up first and leaned against the wall, arms crossing over his chest as he watched her struggle to reorganize everything into the box. Most girls would have smiled, maybe even recognized him as the basketball captain.

This one? She looked like she already wanted nothing to do with him.“I’m Heeseung,” he said, flashing his most charming grin. “Lee Heeseung, your new neighbor. Need help carrying that? Looks heavy.” He offered,

“I’m good thanks,” she answered without even looking up, standing quickly and slinging the tote over her shoulder.

Heeseung didn’t move out of the way. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her with open curiosity. There was something refreshing about her indifference that it made him want to push a little harder.

“Just so you know,” he added, voice dropping into a teasing tone, “The walls here are pretty thin, try not to be too loud when you’re studying or doing whatever it is, serious art curator girls do at night.”Her eyes finally snapped up to his, narrowing with clear irritation.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said flatly. “And maybe you can try keeping your parties down some people actually have to study to pass their classes.”

Heeseung let out a low, genuine laugh that echoed down the empty hallway. She had bite and he liked that.

“Welcome to the building, miss morals,” he called after her as she turned toward her door, the nickname slipping out naturally. She didn’t respond. She fumbled with her keys, unlocked her apartment, and slipped inside without another word, the door shutting with a firm click.

Heeseung stood there for a moment longer, still grinning to himself. The girl next door already hated him, and he hadn’t even thrown his first party yet. This was going to be interesting.

The gym echoed with the sharp squeak of sneakers and the rhythmic bounce of basketballs. Afternoon practice was in full swing, but during a water break, Heeseung leaned against the bleachers, towel draped over his shoulders, a cocky grin already plastered on his face.

Jay tossed him a bottle of water. “You look way too happy for someone who just ran suicides.”Heeseung laughed, taking a long sip before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can’t help it ran into the new neighbor again this morning.”

Beomgyu perked up immediately, spinning the ball on his finger. “The girl next door? The one who already hates your guts?”

“miss morals herself,” Heeseung confirmed, his smirk widening. “I was just leaving for practice when she came out, i told her the walls are thin and she should try not to be too loud at night. You should’ve seen her face, she looked like she wanted to throw her coffee at me.”

Jake, who was stretching nearby, let out a loud laugh. “Dude, you’re obsessed! that’s like the third time this week you’ve mentioned her.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Heeseung shot back, but his grin betrayed him. “It’s just too easy. She gets so worked up over the smallest things. Last week I had a couple of people over, nothing crazy and she banged on my door at midnight like the apartment was on fire, called me an entitled asshole who only passes because ‘daddy pays for everything.’”

The group burst into laughter. Sunghoon shook his head, amused. “She’s got balls, most girls on campus would be throwing themselves at you the second they find out you’re the captain.”

“Exactly,” Heeseung said, tossing the towel aside. “That’s what makes it fun, she doesn’t give a single fuck who I am. No flirty smiles, no asking for tickets to games, nothing. She just glares at me like I personally ruined her life by existing next door it’s hilarious.”

Beomgyu grinned mischievously. “So what’s your plan? Keep annoying her until she moves out?”

“Nah,” Heeseung replied, bouncing the ball once. “I’m just getting started, next time the music’s on, I might turn it up a little louder to see how long it takes before she comes marching over again. Bet she’ll have that cute little angry face on.”

Jake, who had been quietly listening while stretching his hamstrings, suddenly straightened up with a knowing look.“Don’t you think you’re in love with her or something?” he asked casually, but loud enough for the whole group to hear.

The gym went quiet for half a second before the guys exploded with laughter and teasing whistles. Heeseung nearly choked on his water. “What the fuck, Jake?”

Jake shrugged, completely unfazed. “Think about it, she’s literally the only girl who doesn’t give a shit about you no ego stroking, no chasing after the basketball star. She treats you like any other annoying neighbor and instead of leaving her alone, you keep poking at her like a kid with a new toy. That sounds like a crush to me.”

“Bullshit,” Heeseung scoffed, but his ears turned slightly red. He dribbled the ball harder than necessary, trying to play it cool. “I’m not in love with her, she’s just entertaining. It's fun watching her get all riled up, that’s it.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Sure ‘Entertaining.’ that’s why you bring her up every single practice.”

“Exactly,” Jake added with a grin. “If she suddenly started being nice to you, you’d probably be bored in a week but because she ignores you and calls you out, you can’t stop thinking about her.”

Heeseung pointed the ball at Jake threateningly, though his smirk was fighting to stay hidden. “Keep talking and I’ll make you run extra laps, Sim.”

The team laughed again, but Jake just held up his hands in surrender, still smiling. “I’m just saying, man. One day you’re gonna realize you’re not annoying her because it’s funny, you’re doing it because you like the way she fights back.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes and turned away, dribbling the ball toward the court to end the conversation. But as practice resumed and he sank a clean three pointer, Jake’s words lingered in the back of his mind longer than he wanted to admit.

Maybe there was a tiny bit of truth to it. Or maybe he just really, really enjoyed getting on your nerves.

The laughter from the team slowly died down as practice resumed. Heeseung shook off Jake’s teasing comment, channeling the slight irritation into sharper shots. He sank another clean three pointer, the ball swishing through the net with satisfying precision.

For a few minutes, the court felt like the only place where everything made sense no annoying neighbors, no complicated feelings, just the game. Then the gym doors swung open with a loud bang.

Everyone turned as a tall, sharply dressed man in a tailored coat strode in, his presence immediately sucking the casual energy out of the room. Coach paused mid instruction, nodding respectfully.

Heeseung’s stomach dropped the moment he recognized the figure his father. Mr. Lee didn’t smile. He never did when he showed up unannounced like this. His eyes scanned the court with cold calculation, lingering on Heeseung with clear disapproval.

“Take five, boys,” Coach called out, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Heeseung wiped the sweat from his brow and walked over, jaw already tight. “Dad what are you doing here?”Mr. Lee stopped a few feet away, arms folded behind his back. His voice was low but carried easily across the quiet gym.

“I came to see if my son is actually putting in the work that’s supposed to get him into the NBA,” he said flatly. “From what I’ve been hearing, it doesn’t look like it.”Heeseung’s friends lingered nearby, pretending to drink water but clearly listening.

“I’ve been at every practice,” Heeseung replied, keeping his tone even. “Coach said my shooting percentage is up this week—”

“Don’t make excuses,” his father cut him off sharply. “Your brother Heedo was never this distracted at your age, he was laser focused top scorer captainfull ride to the best program in the country. And you? You’re out here laughing with your little friends during water breaks, probably thinking about parties and girls instead of the game.”

Heeseung’s grip tightened on the basketball until his knuckles turned white.“I’m not distracted,” he said through gritted teeth. Mr.Lee stepped closer, voice dropping into that familiar, cutting tone that always found its mark.

“You’re good for nothing if you can’t even focus on what matters. All that talent wasted because you’d rather play around and act like some campus king. You think the scouts care about your popularity? they don’t, you will never be enough if you keep this up and you will certainly never be better than your brother.”

The words landed like punches. Heedo — the golden child. The one who had already made it pro overseas. The one their father never stopped comparing him to.Heeseung’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. He wanted to snap back, to defend himself, but years of this had taught him it was useless. His father never listened.

Mr. Lee straightened his coat, expression unchanging. “Fix it or don’t bother coming home for the holidays, i didn’t raise a failure.”Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out of the gym, the heavy doors swinging shut behind him with a final, echoing thud. The silence that followed was uncomfortable.

Heeseung stood there for a moment, staring at the floor, chest tight with anger and something heavier he refused to name. The team slowly went back to practice, but the energy had shifted. Jake shot him a concerned look, but Heeseung ignored it, dribbling the ball harder than necessary as he moved back onto the court.

Inside, the familiar bitterness churned.His father’s words echoed louder than any cheering crowd ever could. You will never be enough. You will never be better than your brother. Heeseung sank another shot, but this time it didn’t feel satisfying.

All he could think about was how easy it was to annoy the girl next door because at least when she glared at him and called him an entitled asshole, he felt something other than this hollow, crushing weight.

The heavy gym doors swung shut behind Mr. Lee, leaving an awkward silence in his wake. The team tried to resume practice, but the atmosphere had soured.

Heeseung stood frozen for a few seconds, staring at the spot where his father had been. The familiar sting of those words good for nothing, never enough, never better than your brother settled heavy in his chest like lead.

Jake jogged over, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man don’t let him get to you, your dad’s always been like that you’re killing it out here.”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu added, spinning the ball on his finger. “Ignore him, you’re the one who’s gonna make it to the NBA, not Heedo.” Jay nodded. “Come on, let’s run some more plays we’ll crush the next game.”Heeseung forced a half smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah sure.”

He went through the motions for the rest of practice dribbling, shooting, defending but he was quiet. No cocky jokes no teasing his teammates no loud laughter. Every time someone tried to pull him into conversation or hype him up after a good play, he gave short, one word replies and kept his head down. The usual spark was gone.

Even Coach noticed, shooting him concerned glances but saying nothing.The moment practice officially ended, Heeseung grabbed his bag and left first, ignoring the calls from his friends asking if he wanted to grab food. He needed air. He needed to get away from the echoes of his father’s voice.

He walked aimlessly for a while, the cool evening air doing little to clear his head. Eventually, his feet carried him toward the small café just off campus the one with decent coffee and quiet corners where he sometimes went to think.He pushed open the door, the bell jingling softly, and scanned the room out of habit and then he saw you.

You were sitting alone at a corner table near the window, surrounded by textbooks, notes, and your laptop. Your hair was tied up messily, a pen between your teeth as you frowned at something on the screen. You looked focused serious and annoyingly cute in that concentrated way of yours.

A small, familiar spark ignited in his chest the one that always appeared whenever he spotted you. Before he could think better of it, Heeseung walked straight over and slid into the seat across from you without asking.You looked up, startled at first, then your expression quickly shifted into pure annoyance.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, voice sharp but low enough not to disturb the other customers. You closed your laptop slightly, glaring at him. “This is my table, go sit somewhere else.”

Heeseung leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms, that signature smirk slowly returning despite the heavy weight still sitting in his stomach. Seeing your irritated face felt lighter somehow. Easier than dealing with everything else.

“Relax, miss morals,” he said, voice teasing. “I’m not here to ruin your precious study time. Just saw you and thought I’d say hi to my favorite neighbor.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “Favorite? We barely tolerate each other and I’m trying to work unlike some people who can afford to slack off because ‘daddy can pay for everything.’”

The jab should’ve stung more, especially after his father’s visit, but instead it made Heeseung’s smirk widen. There, it was that fire. That complete lack of care for who he was or what people usually said to him. You didn’t tiptoe around him. You didn’t try to impress him. You just called him out.

It felt strangely nice. Not in a romantic way, just refreshing ( liar liar liar he is totally in love with her ) He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Ouch straight for the throat today. What are you working on that’s got you so grumpy? Another museum thing? Planning to curate an exhibit called ‘Why Heeseung Should Shut Up’?”

You gave him a flat look, clearly not amused. “It’s for my capstone project and yes, if it helps keep loud neighbors quiet, I might include a whole section on it.”

Heeseung chuckled softly, the sound genuine even if it was quiet. For the first time since his dad had shown up, the tight knot in his chest loosened just a fraction. He realized something in that moment. Your company wasn’t bad.

In fact, sitting here watching you get all annoyed and snappy at him felt better than sitting alone with his father’s words ringing in his head. It was simple predictable in the best way. You gave him a reaction real, unfiltered and for a few minutes, it made everything else fade into the background.

He loved annoying you. Not because he wanted to hurt you but because when you pushed back, it reminded him he was still here. Still capable of feeling something other than pressure and disappointment.

“Fine,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though he made no move to leave. “I’ll behave for now but only if you tell me what that exhibit is actually about.” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, clearly debating whether to kick him out or just ignore him. Heeseung waited, smirk still in place, secretly hoping you’d keep arguing with him a little longer.

ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. heeseung’s pov !

Heeseung woke up to a heavy, unfamiliar silence.

His eyes opened slowly, the soft gray morning light filtering through the curtains. His body felt sore in places that reminded him immediately of last night a dull ache in his shoulders, the faint stickiness between the sheets, the faint scent of sex still hanging in the air.

He turned his head to the side the bed was empty. The spot where you had been lying was cold, the pillow slightly dented but untouched now. No clothes scattered on the floor no shoes by the door nothing.

Heeseung sat up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands. The memories came back in quiet, unflinching flashes the party you in that short black skirt.The heated dancing that turned into something reckless.The desperate makeout in his car while horns blared behind you.

How he’d carried you inside, how urgently you both had moved against each other against the door, then on this bed.The way you had moaned his name.The way he had finished inside you.

And how, afterward, he had pulled you close under the duvet, your back against his chest, both of you falling asleep in silence.

Now you were gone. He glanced at the clock. 7:23 a.m. You must have woken up in a panic sometime in the early hours and slipped out while he was still asleep. The realization settled in his stomach like a stone heavy, uncomfortable, and strangely final.

Heeseung let out a long, tired breath and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat there for a moment, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. This was a mistake, a stupid, drunken mistake.

You had always made it clear how much you couldn’t stand him. The constant complaints about his noise, the glares in the hallway, the way you called him entitled behind his back.

Last night had been nothing more than too much alcohol and bad judgment on both sides. You waking up and running away only confirmed it.He didn’t blame you. If anything, he felt a quiet wave of regret wash over him. He should have known better.

He should have stopped things before they went that far. Now things between you two were already tense, this was going to be even more awkward.

Heeseung stood up and walked to the bathroom. While the shower heated up, he looked at himself in the mirror. There were faint scratch marks on his shoulders and a small bruise near his collarbone. Physical proof that last night had really happened.

He stepped under the hot water, letting it run over his face and shoulders. It never happened, he told himself. That was the only way forward.He would forget about it. Pretend the entire night was a blur he couldn’t quite remember.

No teasing no comments in the hallway no bringing it up ever again. You clearly wanted to erase it, and honestly so did he. The last thing he needed right now was more complications in his life especially with someone who lived right next door.

After the shower, he got dressed in a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants. He made coffee in the kitchen, moving on autopilot. The apartment felt too quiet now.

Heeseung leaned against the counter, sipping the bitter drink, and stared at the wall that separated his place from yours.From now on, things would go back to normal. You would keep avoiding him like you always did.

He would keep his music at a reasonable volume when he remembered. And neither of you would ever speak about what happened last night. It was better this way, cleaner and simpler.

He finished his coffee, rinsed the mug, and set it in the sink. Last night was a mistake and as far as Heeseung was concerned, it was already forgotten.

For the next two weeks, you turned your life into a carefully orchestrated mission of avoidance while your body slowly started betraying you in ways you couldn’t ignore. The mantra remained the same this never happened.

Every morning began the same way. Your alarm went off at 6:15 a.m., pulling you from restless sleep. The moment you sat up, a familiar wave of nausea rolled through your stomach, not violent, but persistent and queasy, making the room feel slightly off balance.

You’d sit on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, breathing slowly through your nose, waiting for it to pass. Some mornings it did. Others, you’d rush to the bathroom and dry heave over the sink, nothing coming up except bitter bile and a metallic taste that lingered on your tongue.

Once the worst of it subsided, you’d quickly get ready, choosing simple, comfortable clothes that wouldn’t draw attention. Then came the listening part. You’d press your ear to the front door, heart beating a little too fast, straining to hear any sound from Heeseung’s apartment next door.

If you caught even the faintest click of his lock or the low murmur of his voice on a phone call, you’d wait sometimes ten minutes, sometimes twenty pretending to reorganize your bag or check your notes until the hallway was silent again.

Leaving became a tactical exercise. You slipped out as quietly as possible, taking the side staircase instead of the main hallway whenever you spotted his car in the parking lot. The fatigue hit hardest during these moments.

Your legs felt heavier than usual, and by the time you reached campus, you were already drained, needing to sit down in the library for a few minutes just to catch your breath. Coming home was even more stressful.

You started timing your returns obsessively. If practice usually ended around 6 p.m., you’d stay late at the library or in an empty classroom, working on your capstone exhibition proposal until you were sure Heeseung was either out with friends or already inside. One evening, the dizziness caught you off guard.

You had just turned the corner into your hallway when the world tilted slightly. You had to lean against the wall, breathing shallowly, while a strong wave of nausea made your stomach churn.

The faint scent of someone’s dinner cooking nearby sent you rushing the last few steps to your door. The moment you got inside, you barely made it to the toilet before vomiting actual, forceful vomiting that left you trembling on the cold tile floor.

You told yourself it was stress. The constant hyper vigilance. The lack of proper sleep. The emotional weight of pretending that night had never occurred. But the symptoms kept creeping in, growing harder to dismiss.

Smells became your enemy. The aroma of coffee from the café near campus, which you used to love, now made your stomach revolt. You switched to plain crackers and ginger tea, keeping a secret stash in your bag.

Even the scent of your own shampoo sometimes triggered a gag reflex. Food tasted strange too salty, too sweet, or completely off. You lost interest in meals altogether, surviving on small portions that you could keep down.

The fatigue settled deep in your bones. You’d come home from classes, collapse on the couch, and wake up hours later feeling like you hadn’t rested at all.

Your breasts felt tender and slightly swollen, brushing against your shirt making you wince. Mood swings hit at random. One minute you were focused on your work, the next you felt inexplicably teary or irritable. All of this made the avoidance even more draining.

One Thursday night, your timing failed you had stayed late at the library, hoping Heeseung would already be inside. When you finally dragged your tired body back to the building, the hallway lights felt blindingly bright.

Just as you reached your door, fumbling with your keys, you heard the unmistakable click of his lock opening.Panic surged through you. Your hands shook so badly that the keys nearly dropped. You managed to slip inside just as his door opened, pressing your back against the wood, heart hammering wildly.

You held your breath, listening to his footsteps pass by. The moment they faded, the nausea hit like a wave. You barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up again, knees weak, tears stinging your eyes from the force of it.

Afterward, you sat on the bathroom floor with your forehead resting on your knees, breathing shakily. This was getting worse.You were exhausted from the constant calculation when to leave, when to return, which route to take, how long to wait in the stairwell. The thin wall between your apartments felt like a constant threat.

You’d hear him moving around sometimes. The low sound of his music ( mercifully quieter these days ), the murmur of his voice when he was on the phone, the occasional laugh. Every sound made your stomach twist with anxiety and unwelcome memories.

You became hyper aware of everything. You avoided cooking anything with strong smells. You did laundry at 2 a.m. when you were sure he was asleep. You even changed the time you took showers, worried the sound of running water might coincide with him coming home.

Yunjin and Soobin noticed the changes. “You’ve been canceling plans a lot,” Yunjin said during one quick lunch. “And you look really tired, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a weak smile while fighting the nausea brought on by the smell of her food. “Just stressed about the capstone deadline it’s taking everything out of me.”

Soobin watched you quietly, concern clear in his eyes, but he didn’t push. Inside your apartment, the symptoms continued to build.

Mornings were brutal. You’d wake up with tender breasts and that persistent queasy feeling. Some days the vomiting was so bad you had to keep a small bucket discreetly by your bed.

The fatigue made it hard to focus during lectures. You'd find yourself zoning out, head heavy, fighting the urge to lay your head on the desk. Yet you refused to connect the dots .It’s just stress, you told yourself repeatedly. The avoidance the guilt the lack of sleep.

You pushed through, continuing your careful dance of avoidance. You timed every exit and entry with military precision. You became an expert at predicting Heeseung’s schedule ( she should become a dispatch employee )

You kept your headphones on to drown out any sound from next door. You buried yourself in your art curator work, sketching exhibition layouts late into the night until your eyes burned.Two full weeks passed in this strange limbo.

You were pale, exhausted, and constantly on edge. The nausea came in unpredictable waves. The fatigue made simple tasks feel monumental. And the fear of accidentally seeing Heeseung in the hallway kept you trapped in this self imposed isolation.

Deep down, a small, terrified voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was very wrong. But you silenced it the same way you silenced every memory of that night this never happened.

You would keep avoiding him. You would keep pretending everything was normal.Even as your body screamed louder and louder that nothing was normal anymore.

One ordinary afternoon, everything shifted. You were sitting in the small campus café with Yunjin and Soobin, the three of you squeezed around a corner table. Yunjin was dramatically slumped in her chair, one hand pressed to her lower stomach, complaining loudly.

“Ugh, my period is literally killing me today,” she groaned, stirring her iced latte with a pout. “Cramps are so bad, I can barely sit straight why does it always hit the worst during the worst season? I swear my uterus hates me.”

Soobin chuckled softly, offering her a sympathetic smile. “Do you want me to grab you some painkillers from the convenience store?” You tried to smile and nod along, but the words barely registered.

Her period is killing her…..

The sentence echoed in your head like a siren your own period. You mentally counted the days. It should have come a full week ago. Seven days late. Maybe more.

You had been so caught up in avoiding Heeseung, dealing with the constant nausea, fatigue, and vomiting that you hadn’t even noticed the date slipping by. Your heart started beating faster.

You pulled out your phone under the table and quietly opened your cycle tracking app. The screen glowed with the familiar calendar. A bright red notification stared back at you

period : 7 days late

You stared at the words until they blurred. No no, no, no. You tried to push the thought away immediately. It had to be stress. The irregular sleep, the constant anxiety of avoiding Heeseung, the vomiting all of it could easily throw your cycle off. That was normal right?

But then the symptoms started flashing through your mind like warning lights. The persistent nausea every morning. The vomiting that left you weak on the bathroom floor. The crushing fatigue that made it hard to stay awake in lectures.

The dizziness, sensitivity to smells, tender, swollen breasts. Your stomach dropped, could you be pregnant?

The word felt foreign and terrifying in your head. No. Absolutely not. You wouldn’t get pregnant from one night. One reckless, stupid night. People had unprotected sex all the time and nothing happened.

You were on the pill…wait, were you? You had been so stressed with midterms that you couldn’t even remember if you had taken it properly that week. The thought made bile rise in your throat again.

Across the table, Yunjin and Soobin were still talking something about upcoming assignments and a group project. Their voices sounded far away, like you were underwater.You couldn’t focus on a single word they were saying. Your mind was spinning, heart pounding so hard you were sure they could hear it.

Yunjin waved a hand in front of your face. “Hello? Earth to you! you’ve been spacing out the entire time are you okay?”You blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. Your mouth felt dry.

“I—yeah, sorry just tired,” you mumbled. “Guys, I think I’m gonna head home early today my head’s killing me.”Soobin frowned, concern clear in his eyes. “Do you want me to walk you back?”“No, it’s fine,” you said quickly, already standing up and grabbing your bag. “I’ll text you later promise.”

You left the café before they could protest, walking fast, then almost jogging once you were out of sight. The nausea was back, stronger now, mixing with pure terror. Your hands were shaking as you headed straight for the small convenience store two blocks away.

Inside the store, you felt like every camera was watching you. You moved quickly through the aisles, heart hammering, until you found the family planning section. There were several pregnancy test kits.

You grabbed the most reliable looking one with trembling fingers, not even reading the brand properly. The cashier gave you a neutral look as you paid, but you couldn’t meet her eyes.

Bag clutched tightly to your chest, you practically ran the entire way back to your apartment building. You took the side stairs again, praying Heeseung wasn’t around. The moment you were inside your own apartment, you locked the door twice and leaned against it, breathing hard.

You pulled the kit out of the bag with shaking hands. The box felt heavy dangerous. You read the instructions carefully, twice. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. One line = not pregnant. Two lines = pregnant simple but terrifying.

You went to the bathroom, heart pounding so loudly it echoed in your ears. You followed every step exactly, hands trembling so badly you almost dropped the test. When you were done, you placed the stick on the counter and set a timer on your phone three minutes.

You paced the small bathroom, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Every second felt like an hour. The nausea was back, but this time it had nothing to do with morning sickness. It was pure fear.

What if it was positive?

What if you were actually pregnant with Heeseung’s baby?

The thought made your knees weak. You slid down the wall until you were sitting on the cold tile floor, staring at the test on the counter like it was a bomb about to go off.The timer was still counting down.

Two minutes left. You hugged your knees to your chest, eyes fixed on the small plastic stick that now, held your entire future in two little lines. You were so scared.

The timer on your phone hit zero with a soft chime that felt deafening in the small bathroom. You stayed frozen on the cold tile floor for several long seconds, knees drawn to your chest, staring at the pregnancy test lying face up on the counter like it was a live grenade.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up on shaky legs and stepped closer. One line was already dark and clear the control line. The second line was faint at first, but unmistakable. A pale pink line slowly darkening right beside the first one.

two lines = positive

You blinked hard, once, twice, as if the result would magically change if you stared long enough.“No…” you whispered, voice cracking. “No, that can’t be right.”Denial crashed over you like a wave. You snatched the test off the counter and held it closer to the light, turning it at different angles. Maybe it was a faulty test.

Maybe the line was an evaporation line. Maybe you had read the instructions wrong. You grabbed the box again and reread the instructions three more times, your hands trembling so badly the paper shook.

But no matter how many times you checked, the two lines stared back at you, clear and undeniable. It was positive. You were pregnant. The reality slammed into you all at once.

Your knees buckled. You sank back down to the bathroom floor, the test still clutched tightly in your hand. A sob tore out of your throat before you could stop it. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks as the full weight of what this meant crashed over you.

You were pregnant with Heeseung’s baby. The boy you couldn’t stand. The neighbor you had spent months avoiding. The one person you had sworn to pretend never touched you.

A broken sound escaped you half sob, half laugh of pure disbelief. Your free hand moved instinctively to your stomach, pressing lightly against the still flat surface. There was a life growing inside you right now. A tiny, real consequence of one reckless, drunken night.

The crying came harder. You curled in on yourself, forehead resting on your knees as sobs wracked your body. All the symptoms you had tried to blame on stress the nausea, the vomiting, the fatigue, the dizziness suddenly made perfect, terrifying sense.

You were going to have a baby. And the father was the last person on earth you wanted to be tied to. After several long minutes, the tears slowed, leaving you drained and hollow. You wiped your face with the back of your hand, staring blankly at the two pink lines.

You made a decision right there on the bathroom floor. You were not telling Heeseung anything, not a single word.He didn’t need to know. He would never know. Telling him would only make everything worse the teasing, the drama, the forced proximity, the endless complications with someone you already couldn’t stand.

You could barely handle living next door to him as it was. Bringing a child into that mess was unthinkable. This was your problem. Your body, your choice. You would handle it quietly. You would get rid of it.The thought made fresh tears sting your eyes, but you forced them back. There was no other option.

You were still in school, chasing your dream of becoming an art curator. Your life was barely stable right now. A baby, especially one with Heeseung as the father would ruin everything.

You stayed on the floor for a long time, clutching the test, letting the weight of the decision settle over you.

Eventually, you stood up on unsteady legs. You wrapped the test in toilet paper and hid it deep in the trash can under some tissues. You washed your face with cold water until the redness in your eyes faded a little.

You looked at your reflection pale, exhausted, terrified and whispered to yourself “This never happened.” You would schedule an. appointment. You would end this quietly.You would move on with your life and never speak of that night again.

But as you turned off the bathroom light and stepped into your silent apartment, the weight in your chest felt heavier than ever. You were pregnant. And for the first time since that night, the wall between you and Heeseung felt like it was closing in.

The decision sat heavy in your chest like a stone. You weren’t going to tell Heeseung. You were going to end this quietly and move on with your life. The very next morning, you tried to make the appointment.

You sat on your bed with your laptop open, hands shaking as you searched for clinics near campus that offered termination services. Your stomach was already churning with nausea again, but you forced yourself to focus.

You found a few options a women’s health clinic downtown and a Planned Parenthood branch about twenty minutes away. You clicked on the booking page for the first one. The form asked for your name, date of birth, contact number, and reason for visit.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time. You couldn’t do it. Every time you tried to type your real information, panic surged through you. What if someone recognized your name? What if the clinic called or sent confirmation texts while you were near Heeseung?

What if the appointment somehow got back to campus gossip? The thought of walking into a clinic alone, explaining your situation to a stranger, and going through with it made your throat close up.

You closed the laptop without saving anything. You told yourself you’d try again tomorrow when you felt calmer. But tomorrow came and went. Then the next day. And the next. Meanwhile, the symptoms grew worse.

The nausea was no longer just morning sickness it hit you at random times throughout the day. The smell of food in the cafeteria made you gag. Even walking past the coffee shop near campus triggered violent waves that left you rushing to the nearest bathroom.

You started carrying saltine crackers and a small bottle of ginger ale everywhere, but they barely helped anymore.

Vomiting became more frequent. One afternoon during a lecture, you had to excuse yourself midway through and barely made it to the restroom before throwing up.

You returned to class pale and sweaty, mumbling something about food poisoning when Yunjin looked at you worriedly.

Fatigue wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. You fell asleep in the library twice that week, waking up with your cheek stuck to your notebook. Simple tasks like climbing the stairs to your apartment left you breathless and dizzy.

Your breasts were constantly tender, and your mood swung wildly one moment you were numb, the next you felt like crying over nothing. Yunjin and Soobin started noticing. During lunch on Thursday, Yunjin set her chopsticks down and stared at you.

“Okay, something is seriously wrong,” she said, voice firm but concerned. “You’ve been looking like a ghost for days, you barely eat anything, you keep disappearing to the bathroom, and you look exhausted even when you say you slept are you sick? Is it stress? Talk to us.”

Soobin nodded, his gentle eyes filled with worry. “You’ve been canceling plans and spacing out a lot. If something’s going on, you don’t have to deal with it alone. We’re here.”You forced a weak smile, pushing your untouched food around your plate. The smell of it was making you nauseous again.

“I’m okay, really,” you lied, voice quieter than usual. “Just… really behind on my capstone. The deadline is stressing me out more than I thought. I’ll be fine once I catch up.”

They didn’t look convinced, but they let it drop for the moment. Still, you could feel their eyes on you for the rest of the meal. Even Heeseung started noticing something was off.

You had managed to avoid direct contact with him for weeks, but it was impossible to hide everything when you lived next door.

One evening, you were coming home later than usual after another failed attempt to book the appointment online. You felt dizzy and nauseous, moving slowly up the hallway with your keys already in hand. As you reached your door, Heeseung’s door opened.

He stepped out, wearing a simple black hoodie, hair slightly messy like he’d just come back from practice. His eyes landed on you immediately.

You froze for half a second, then quickly turned your face away and fumbled with your lock, trying to get inside before he could say anything. But Heeseung didn’t tease you this time.

Instead, he paused in his doorway, brow slightly furrowed as he watched you. You looked pale. Thinner. There were dark circles under your eyes, and the way you moved seemed off fragile.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For once, the usual cocky remark didn’t come.“You good?” he asked quietly, voice lacking its normal edge.

You didn’t answer. You finally got the door open and slipped inside without looking at him, shutting it quickly behind you

Heeseung stood there for a moment longer, staring at your closed door with a strange, unsettled feeling in his chest. Something wasn’t right with you. He could see it.But after everything after that night you both had silently agreed to forget he didn’t know if he had the right to ask.

Inside your apartment, you leaned against the door, breathing hard. Fresh tears stung your eyes as another wave of nausea hit you. You slid down to the floor, hugging your knees. You still hadn’t been able to book the appointment.

The symptoms were getting worse every day, your friends were worried and now even Heeseung had noticed something was wrong. You pressed your forehead to your knees, whispering to yourself again and again

“This never happened… this never happened…” But the lie was starting to feel impossible to keep. Heeseung had noticed. For the past two weeks, it had become painfully obvious that you were avoiding him like the plague.

At first, he thought it was the usual the cold shoulder after that night you both had silently agreed to forget. But it quickly went beyond that. You timed your movements with military precision.

He would hear your door open and close at odd hours, always when he was either inside or already gone. You took the side stairs. You left earlier than usual in the mornings and came back much later at night.

Even at university, catching a glimpse of you had become nearly impossible. You seemed to disappear into the library or empty classrooms the moment practice ended.It was clear you were doing everything in your power to never cross paths with him.

Heeseung told himself it didn’t bother him. He had decided to forget that night too. No teasing. No bringing it up. Just normal or as normal as things could be when you lived right next door

But something was wrong. You looked terrible lately. He first noticed it in passing the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders seemed to slump with exhaustion. Then it got worse you moved slower.

Your face was paler than usual. You barely left your apartment except for classes, and even then you looked like you were running on empty.

One evening, after a long basketball practice, Heeseung was walking back to the apartment building, gym bag slung over his shoulder. The sun had already set, and the streetlights cast long shadows on the path. That’s when he saw you.

You were a few meters ahead, heading toward the entrance. Your steps were unsteady, one hand pressed lightly against the wall for support.

Even from behind, he could tell something was very wrong. Your posture was slumped, your breathing looked shallow, and you looked like you were barely holding yourself upright.

Heeseung’s stomach tightened. He quickened his pace without thinking and caught up to you just as you reached the building door.“Hey,” he said, voice low and serious, no trace of his usual teasing tone. “Are you alright?”

You turned your head slightly, eyes glassy and tired. The moment you recognized him, your expression hardened.“I don’t have time for your teasing right now, Heeseung,” you muttered weakly, trying to push past him toward the elevator.

Heeseung felt a flash of annoyance, not because you were dismissing him, but because he was genuinely worried and you clearly didn’t believe it.“I’m not teasing,” he said, more sharply than he intended. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You didn’t respond, just kept walking toward the elevator. Heeseung followed, stepping in right after you. The doors closed, trapping the two of you in the small space. The silence was thick and uncomfortable. He could hear your breathing too fast, too shallow.

When the elevator reached your floor, you stepped out first. But the moment your feet hit the hallway, your legs buckled. You swayed dangerously, one hand reaching out blindly for the wall as the world spun around you. Heeseung moved fast.

He dropped his gym bag and caught you before you could hit the floor, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other supporting your back. Your body went limp against him for a few terrifying seconds.

“Shit—” he muttered, heart pounding. “Hey, stay with me.” You were half conscious, mumbling something incoherent about being fine. Heeseung didn’t waste time arguing. He adjusted his grip and lifted you carefully into his arms in bridal style, your head lolling against his shoulder.

Your apartment was right next to his. He fumbled for a moment with your keys ( which had fallen from your hand ) until he managed to unlock the door. He carried you inside, kicking the door shut behind him, and headed straight for your bedroom.

The room was neat but clearly lived in textbooks stacked on the desk, a half finished sketch on the table, a small trash can near the bed. Heeseung gently laid you down on the bed, pulling the blanket over you. Your face was pale, forehead slightly damp with sweat.

He stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. You looked so small and fragile like this. Nothing like the fiery girl who used to bang on his door and call him an entitled asshole.

Heeseung grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and placed it on your nightstand. Then he pulled up the chair from your desk and sat down beside the bed, watching you carefully.

Your breathing slowly evened out. The tension in your face relaxed as you slipped into a deeper sleep. Heeseung stayed there, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what was going on with you.

He didn’t know why you looked so sick. He didn’t even know if you’d want him here when you woke up. But right now, leaving you alone didn’t feel like an option. So he stayed quietly waiting.

Until your breathing became steady and deep, and he was sure you were fully asleep. Heeseung stayed. He told himself he’d only wait until you fell into a proper sleep, but the longer he sat there watching your pale face and shallow breathing, the harder it became to leave.

You looked exhausted, truly exhausted in a way that went beyond simple tiredness. Dark circles under your eyes, lips slightly chapped, skin lacking its usual color. Something was clearly wrong, and the protective instinct he didn’t know he had kept him rooted to the chair.

After almost an hour, when your breathing had deepened into steady, even inhales, Heeseung stood up quietly. He couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. He moved silently through your apartment, careful not to make noise.

Your kitchen was small and neat, but the fridge was nearly empty a few bottles of water, some crackers, and not much else. Heeseung frowned. No wonder you looked so drained. He opened the cupboards and found rice, a couple of eggs, and some ginger.

Simple gentle on the stomach. He decided to make congee something light that his mom used to make for him when he was sick.

He worked quietly, chopping what little he could find, boiling water, and stirring the pot on low heat. The smell of ginger and warm rice slowly filled the small apartment. He hoped it would help when you woke up. Maybe it would make you feel a little better.

He kept glancing toward the bedroom every few minutes, making sure you were still resting. Almost two hours later, you started stirring.

Heeseung was just turning off the stove when he heard movement from the bedroom. He poured some congee into a bowl, added a bit of water to make it lighter, and was about to bring it to you when

You bolted upright in bed, eyes wide with sudden panic. The smell of the food hit you like a wave. Your face went even paler, hand flying to your mouth as nausea surged violently. Heeseung’s eyes widened. “Hey—”

You didn’t wait. You scrambled off the bed on shaky legs and ran straight to the bathroom, barely making it in time.

Heeseung followed right behind you, worry spiking through his chest. He reached the bathroom door just as you dropped to your knees in front of the toilet and started throwing up violently.

“Shit—” He moved quickly, kneeling beside you without hesitation. One hand gently gathered your hair, holding it back from your face. His other hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back. “It’s okay I’ve got you, just breathe.”

You retched again, body trembling with the force of it. Heeseung stayed right there, murmuring quiet reassurances, his hand never stopping its gentle motion on your back.

When the worst of it seemed to pass, he reached over and flushed the toilet, then grabbed a clean towel from the rack and dampened it with cool water.“Here,” he said softly, handing you the towel. “Wipe your face.”

You took it with trembling hands, still breathing hard. Heeseung stood up briefly to get a glass of water from the sink and brought it back to you.“Small sips,” he instructed, crouching down again. “Don’t drink too fast.”

While you rinsed your mouth and took careful sips, Heeseung’s eyes wandered around the small bathroom, looking for anything that might help. His gaze landed on the trash can beside the sink. Something white and plastic was poking out from under some tissues.

Curious, he reached down and pulled it out, it was a pregnancy test. Two distinct red lines stared back at him clear, unmistakable, and positive. Heeseung froze.

His brain short circuited for a second. The test felt heavy in his hand as the reality sank in. Positive you were pregnant. He slowly turned his head toward you. You were already looking at him.

Your eyes were wide with pure terror, face drained of all color, lips parted in shock. You looked caught completely and utterly caught like the worst secret in the world had just been ripped open. The glass of water trembled in your hand.

Heeseung’s mouth opened, but no words came out at first. His gaze flicked between the test in his hand and your terrified expression.

The pieces clicked together horribly fast the avoidance, the exhaustion, the vomiting, the way you looked like you were barely holding yourself together for the past two weeks.

This wasn’t just stress this was because of that night because of him. Heeseung swallowed hard, his voice coming out quieter than he expected.

“…Is this yours?” The bathroom fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. You were still staring at him, tears already gathering in your eyes again, looking like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

Heeseung didn’t know what to say. He only knew that everything had just changed. Heeseung stared at the two red lines on the pregnancy test for what felt like an eternity.

The bathroom was deathly quiet except for your shaky breathing. When he finally looked up at you, your face was pale, eyes wide with pure terror, tears already spilling down your cheeks. He swallowed hard, his throat tight.

“…Are you pregnant?” he asked, voice low and rough. You didn’t speak at first. Your lips trembled as fresh tears rolled down your face. Then you gave a small, barely noticeable nod.

Heeseung felt something twist sharply in his chest. He looked back down at the test, then at you again. His next question came out quieter, almost hesitant.

“Is the baby mine?” The moment the words left his mouth, your face crumpled completely. You broke into heavy, broken sobs, shoulders shaking as you tried to cover your mouth with one hand.

“I’m sorry…” you choked out between cries. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t want this to happen, i never meant for any of this, it was just one stupid night and I— I’m planning on getting rid of it. I won’t bother you with any of this, i won’t get in your way. You don’t have to worry about anything, i’ll handle it quietly.”

Heeseung’s expression shifted the instant you said those words. Hurt flashed across his face raw, unguarded hurt. His brows drew together, jaw tightening as he processed what you were saying.

The idea that you were planning to terminate the pregnancy without even telling him felt like a punch to the gut. His hand holding the test lowered slowly to his side. You kept crying, words tumbling out faster now, desperate and apologetic.

“I’m really sorry. I know you didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for this either, i’ll take care of everything. You can just forget about it…i promise I won’t drag you into anything.”

Heeseung stayed silent for a long moment, staring at you as you sat on the bathroom floor, looking small and devastated.

The hurt in his chest mixed with something heavier confusion, disbelief, and a strange ache he couldn’t quite name. Finally, his voice came out low and strained.

“and you didn’t bother telling me?”

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[yla-aira]

one of me is cute but two tho?!

[youngheejay]

“Dada?” Chubby hands patted Jake’s shoulder.

His warm eyes turned into worried ones when he turned around and saw her sad pout. “Yes, baby. What’s wrong?”

Her arms shot up in demand. He pulled her tiny body into his embrace, still seated on the practice floor, where he had been taking a break, and settled her in his lap.

“Dada.” She repeated, her pouty little lips turned upside down.

“Hm?” He hummed softly, a thumb rubbing her cherubic cheek. “What’s wrong? Why’s my princess sad?”

Her lips continued to wobble, her eyes filled with tears. But she wasn’t breaking down yet.

“Hungry?”

Her tiny head shook a ‘no’. Her lower lip pushed further into a heartbreaking pout.

“Is my baby tired?”

She shook her head again.

He kissed her tiny button nose. “Miss mama?”

No. She answered again by shaking her head.

“Right? You’re a big girl now. Mama will come soon and then we’ll have a big meal with her, right?”

She nodded. For a split second, he thought that’s it. She’s just missing her mama. But then her tiny, chunky body fell into his body, her head nestled into the crook of neck.

His eyebrows furrowed in worry. She looked so sad. So heartbroken. He was getting worried.

“Then why are you so sad, baby?” His hand stroke her hair as he pressed a kiss on her forehead.

“Dada, unwle?” She mumbled in her baby language. Nonetheless, Jake understood her, he always did.

“Baby, they’re just taking a break. They’re gonna come back in any minute.”

Just on cue, the door to the practice room opened. Jaein’s tiny head shot up from her daddy’s shoulder where she had been resting—completely fallen into melancholy.

Sunoo appeared with a big smile, his eyes creased from excitement. “Look what I got you, baby Jaein!” He pulled her favorite snack out of his pocket.

But she just shook her head and slumped back into her daddy’s arms.

Sunoo squinted his eyes, “what’s wrong with her?”

Jake shrugged his shoulders softly, cautious not to disturb her. “I think she’s just tired.”

Which didn’t make any sense. She had just taken a nap. She had also had her meal. Her mommy came in quickly before, where Jaein had made it clear that she wanted to stay with her daddy and uncles.

What could be wrong now?

Worriedly, he rested his hand on her forehead. She doesn’t have a fever.

The next two members came in. Her tiny head shot up again. Hopeful, big eyes glanced at them.

Jay and Jungwon.

Jake smiled softly, “ah… you just missed your uncles? Look they’re here.” He kissed the side of her head as she was still glancing at the two members.

Jay heard it and noticed her look immediately. “Did my niece miss me?” He cooed as he crouched down, wanting to scoop her in his arms. His eyes sparkled nothing but pure warmth and love for his baby niece.

Her round, big eyes looked at him for few seconds. As if she was debating whether to stay sad in the warm cocoon of her daddy’s embrace or to enjoy some fun with her uncle.

But then—as if she remembered something—she hid her face in Jake’s neck. Her tiny arms wrapped around his neck as she shook her head.

Jay’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “eng?”

Sunghoon entered the practice room with a loud, uncle-like groan, clapping his hands dramatically. “Cha! Let’s start practice again, guys. Break time is over!”

However, his loud voice surprised the little baby. She flinched in Jake’s arms, her chubby hands curled into his hoodie. Her sad pout trembled as she whimpered quietly. But still not full on crying.

Jake’s arms tightened protectively around her.

“Hyung! You startled Jaein!” Sunoo hissed quietly in annoyance.

“Oh- sorry, Jaein.” Sunghoon whispered. He went to her and soothingly rubbed her squishy cheek. She looked at him, breaking his heart when he saw her teary eyes.

“What’s wrong? Is she hurt?” He immediately asked, his tone cautious now.

Jake shook his head. “I think she was just sad because you guys weren’t here. She asked for her uncles. Right, baby?” He whispered softly in her ear, followed by a gentle kiss on the shell of her tiny, soft ear.

The four members cooed in unison.

“You just missed your uncles. But look. Now they’re here again. Hm? You can play with them now.” But her face stayed buried in the crook of his neck.

Sunghoon’s heart clenched painfully as he stood up. “She looks so… sad.”

Jake rubbed her tiny back. “Maybe she misses Niki?” After all, Niki was her favorite uncle. Even if the member acted as if they denied it, deep down everyone knew Niki always took care of Jaein the most and that Jaein always went to him first.

Speaking of the devil, Niki entered the room. “I’m back.” He announced.

“Ya, Niki!” Jay spoke, “your niece is missing you.”

An immediate smile spread on the youngest’s face. “Ey~ my baby missed me?” He chuckled happily.

He crouched down beside her, big palms inviting her to be picked up.

She peeked curiously out of her comfort hideout. “Hm?” He smiled softly.

Jake let out a soft breath he didn’t know he was holding when she untangled herself from her daddy to be picked up by her favourite uncle.

“Yess~~” Niki cheered, “that’s right, my precious, cutie pie niece missed me.” Both boys stood up from the ground now. Niki bounced the little girl in his hold, happy to be the chosen one.

But his smile vanished rather quickly when he noticed that she was still on the verge of crying.

“Baby?” He whispered. A pout formed on his own face. “She still looks so sad, hyung.”

“What could be wrong?” Jungwon tilted his head, wrecking his brain to find a reason.

Then she turned to her daddy again. As if she changed her mind, her baby arms reached out for him. “Dada.”

Jake nestled her in his arms again. “I’m here, baby.” He soothingly patted her back.

“Dada, unwle?” She said with a trembling voice.

“They’re all here, baby. Look.” He turned her towards the members so that she could see everyone.

He was so confused. What’s with her?

Suddenly, she wiggled her body to signal to him that she didn’t want to be held anymore. He gently set her down.

With wobbly legs, she hastily ran towards the other side of the practice room.

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he watched her determinedly walk to where various equipments of the members were.

His heart dropped in his stomach when she reached the piano.

Oh.

Jaein patted the piano bench repeatedly with her little chunky, dimpled hand.

“Dada.”

Instantly, tears welled up in Jake’s eyes.

“Oh.” Niki let out a whisper. His hands formed into tight fists.

Her tiny pout trembled as she continued to pat the bench.

“Dada. Unwle.”

A painful lump formed in Jay’s throat as the word stabbed right into his heart.

Jungwon looked at the ground shamefully to hide his teary eyes.

The crease between Sunghoon’s eyebrows deepened as he painfully realized what she meant.

“Dada, unwle.”

A sob escaped Sunoo’s mouth. He didn’t mean to. But the sight broke him into million pieces.

The memory of Jaein sitting there beside him. Settling her in his lap to teach her some notes. Playing soft lullabies for her whenever she got tired and was about to fall asleep.

She didn’t forget. She remembered. She noticed that he was missing.

The hollow, dark pit in Jake’s stomach spread out through his whole body.

With trembling hands, he went to his babygirl and scooped her up.

It’s only when she saw her daddy’s sad face, she broke out in tears.

His arms were wrapped tightly around her small body.

She didn’t deserve this. She was too small. Too fragile.

He wanted to protect her from the sorrow. Act as if nothing had changed.

He wouldn’t have thought she would notice it immediately.

He wouldn’t have thought she would be this sad.

“It’s okey, it’s okey.” He hid her teary, wet face in his neck. Her whole tiny body trembled in his arms as she sobbed and sobbed.

“Dada, unwle!” She cried and cried.

And he didn’t understand why she was crying so much.

“Baby. Why are you crying?” He tried to speak firmly, but his voice betrayed him with a crack.

“Unwle! Unwle! Unwle!” She screamed, her cries never stopping.

“Baby.” He tried again. His arms tightened even more.

His hand patted her back, trying to soothe. “Shh… it’s okey. It’s okey.” He whispered as he planted a kiss on her head.

Why is she so sad? She has so many other uncles.

“You have so many uncles, baby.” He whispered. But his heart tightened.

He blinked his eyes repeatedly. The hot tears and the knot in his throat annoyed him so much.

Why am I so sad? I still have so many other brothers.

“You have me, baby.” He added. “Hm? Dada is not going anywhere.”

He rested his cheek on her head. The soothing motion on her trembling back never stopped.

I still have her.

He couldn’t speak anymore. The pain in his throat was hurting too much.

So he just continued to hold her tightly and pat her tiny back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I miss him so much. I know he’s not dead but it’s the fact that enhypen will never be the same that’s making me miss enhypen sm. Everything happened so suddenly and unexpectedly. It will definitely take a while to accept the situation. I’m still in denial.

We’re in this together, engene ❤️

[404sheepnotfound]

Nice Try,   Doctor Sim - Sim Jaeyun

୨ৎ Summary : known across the hospital as the woman who hates men, you built your name in trauma surgery with skill, sharp words, and zero patience for male ego. Then Dr. Jake Sim—beloved anesthesiologist, annoyingly competent, and impossible to ignore—starts appearing everywhere in your life with coffee, lunch invitations, and a smile you can’t stand. You hate men. So why is Jake Sim becoming the exception?

୨ৎ Pairing : anesthesiologist! Jake x traumasurgeon! reader

୨ৎ Wordcount : 3.6K

୨ৎ Song : Heart2Heart : Rude

୨ৎ Warning : SLOW FUCKING BURN BABY!! Jake lowkey down-bad, y/n is certified men hater (me too btw), FLUFF!!, comedic (if you squint), co-worker to.... (idk)

You openly disliked men, especially arrogant, entitled ones who moved through the world as if it had been built solely for them. Every man in your life has given you a reason to. A father who dismissed every achievement unless it benefited him. An ex who cheated, then somehow made betrayal sound like your failure. Colleagues whose eyes lingered too long, whose jokes crossed lines, whose confidence was mistaken for competence far too often. You never understood why society bent itself around them as though they were the natural center of everything. As if possessing a dick automatically granted authority, importance, the right to be heard first, and doubted last. Truly, what was so revolutionary about having a third leg that made them act like first-class citizen??

The trauma pager screamed before dawn. Sharp enough to cut through the thirty minutes of sleep you had managed to steal in the on-call room. By the time you pushed through the emergency doors, scrub top half-buttoned and hair still damp from a rushed sink wash. The paramedics were already rolling in a young man slick with blood and road dust—multiple collisions, hypotensive, barely conscious. Nurses moved around you in practiced chaos, monitors shrieking, metal trays clattering, everyone waiting for your first order. 

“Or now!” you snapped, gloving your hands as you walked. “Crossmatch six units, call radiology, someone page anesthesia.” 

Then, from just behind your shoulder, calm as if the room wasn’t drowning in panic, came a familiar voice. 

“Already here, doctor.” 

You turned, and there was Jake Sim, leaning into the storm with an easy expression. 

Seeing his smile makes your blood boil. Of course, it was him. Even with alarms blaring, blood on the floor, and a man hovering between life and death, Jake Sim still looked unbearably composed, like this was all mildly inconvenient rather than catastrophic. 

“Try looking useful for once,” you said sharply, already moving beside the gurney as the nurses rushed the patient down the corridor. 

Jake fell into step beside you without missing a beat, one hand adjusting the oxygen mask over the patient’s face while the other checked the monitor leads. “Good morning to you, too, doctor,” 

“It was good until I saw you.” 

“Then I’ll try standing behind you next time.” 

You ignored him. Flipping through the paramedic report clipped to the patient’s chest. Male, twenty-three, motorbike collision, hypotensive on arrival, suspected abdominal bleed, decreasing consciousness. 

“BP?” you asked. 

“Eighty over palp,” a nurse answered. 

Jake glanced at the monitor—expression sharpening despite the teasing tone still lingering in his voice. 

“Airway’s deteriorating. I’m tubing now.” 

“Do it while moving.” 

“Bossy.”

The elevator doors opened, and the team flooded inside with the bed. You stood at the patient’s side, hands pressed firmly over the soaked dressing at his abdomen. Jake positioned himself at the head of the bed, drawing up medication with practiced speed. 

“Etomidate. Rocuronium,” he said. 

The nurse passed them over instantly. You looked up just in time to catch him glancing at you. 

“What?” you snapped. 

“You’ve got blood on your cheek.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“You wear it well.”

Jake laughed under his breath and pushed the medications. Within seconds, he intubated smoothly, securing the tube as the elevator dinged open onto the surgical floor. The door parted. 

“Move.”

The gurney surged forward again, wheels rattling across polished floors as the operating room doors were thrown open. Inside, the scrub team was already waiting. You scrubbed at the sink with aggressive efficiency, barking orders over your shoulder. 

“Prep for exploratory laparotomy. Massive transfusion protocol. I want vascular on standby.” 

Jake entered the room behind you, tying his mask in place. 

“Demanding as always,” he said. 

“Shut up.” 

Jake only chuckled and stepped closer to the scrub counter. 

“You look hot when you’re angry.”

You shot him a flat look over your shoulder. 

“Maybe seek psychiatric help.” 

Jake only smiled again, the same maddening, effortless smile as he moved to the head of the operating table and began preparing to keep your patient alive while you open him up. 

By your second year in trauma surgery, the hospital had already given you a reputation you never asked for. Some called you difficult, others called you cold, but most settled on the nickname whispered through hallways and break rooms with equal parts amusement and caution–the men-hater. 

It was easier for them to say that than admit how many times male residents had tried to explain their own cases back to you, how attendings praised the same ideas only after a man repeated them louder, how patients searched the room for a ‘real doctor’ after you introduced yourself. 

Every sharp reply you gave, every boundary you enforced, every refusal to smile through disrespect became proof of your bitterness in their eyes. Fine. Let them think you hated men. It was simpler than explaining that you only hated what they kept getting away with. 

Then there was Jake Sim. 

The hospital effortlessly adored him; people adored men who were handsome, competent, and just charming enough to never be threatening. Nurses smiled when he entered a room. Residents straightened when he spoke. Even attendings, people who looked unimpressed by default, seemed to soften around him. Dr. Jake Sim, anesthesiology’s golden boy. 

You disliked him on principle. 

Men like Jake moved through life cushioned by a grace rarely afforded to women. If he was blunt, he was confident. If he was playful, he was charismatic. If he challenged authority, he was bold. You had done the same things and been called difficult, abrasive, and emotional. 

Worse, Jake seemed entirely aware of the effect he had on people, yet wore it lightly enough to seem innocent. He joked with scrub nurses, remembered everyone’s coffee orders, charmed frightened patients before surgery, and still somehow managed to perform flawlessly once the stakes were real. It would have been easier if he were incompetent. Easier if he were arrogant. Easier if he gave you a clean reason to hate him. 

Instead, Jake Sim was annoyingly good at his job. He’s kind when no one is watching, and most annoyingly of all, far too interested in you. 

You never smiled at his jokes. Never thank him for favors that you hadn’t asked for. Never looked impressed when others did. If anything, you treated him with the same clipped indifference you reserved for men who thought too highly of themselves. 

For some reason, that only seemed to make him come closer. 

The nurses filtered out one by one, murmuring good afternoon, leaving the two of you alone in the oversized room. You reached for the strings of your gown, fingers slower now that the adrenaline had drained away. 

Before you could undo them, Jake stepped behind you. 

You stiffened immediately. “What are you doing?” 

“Relax,” he said, voice low and annoyingly calm. “You’re taking forever.” 

His fingers brushed the back of your neck as he untied the knot. Even through layers of fabric and fatigue, the touch felt far too noticeable. 

“I can do it myself.” 

“I know.” 

The gown loosened, slipping from your shoulders. He stepped away if nothing had happened. You turned sharply. 

“Then why didn’t you let me?”

Jake was peeling off his gloves, expression unreadable now that the teasing had softened. 

“Because your hands are shaking.” 

You froze. You hadn’t even noticed. When you looked down, there it was, the fine tremors running through your fingers, the aftermath of hours spent forcing steadiness into chaos. Humiliating. 

You curled your hands into fists. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

“Mm…” 

That sound alone made irritation flare again. He tossed the gloves aside and walked toward you, stopping close enough that the scent of antiseptic clung to him. 

“You don’t have to act invincible every second of the day.” 

Your jaw tightened. 

“Don’t act as if you know me.” 

“I know enough.” 

Jake studied you for a moment, eyes dropping briefly to your clenched hands before meeting your gaze again. 

“I know you haven’t eaten since yesterday,” he said quietly. “I know you took over suturing because the resident was panicking. I know you blamed yourself when his pressure crashed, even though it wasn’t your fault.” He tilted his head slightly. “And I know you’re about two minutes away from collapsing.” 

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

You hated him. 

Hated the calm certainty in his voice. Hated how he said those things without pity, without mockery, without trying to make himself look noble for noticing. Most of all, you hated that after everything—every clipped response, every glare, every deliberate attempt to keep him at arm’s length, yet he still insisted on treating you gently. 

It was infuriating. 

Why couldn’t he just dislike you properly? 

Why couldn’t he return the coldness you handed him so generously? Why couldn’t he be offended, dismissive, petty? Anything easier to understand than this steady, maddening kindness? 

Men were predictable when they were angry. Predictable when their pride was bruised. They snapped, sulked, withdrew. You knew how to handle that version of them. But Jake Sim only kept showing up with a warm smile, calm eyes, and observations you never invited. 

You wanted to push him into becoming the kind of man you already knew how to hate. Instead, he kept refusing the role. 

The next morning began badly. 

You had slept for three hours on a call-room mattress thin enough that your bones were screaming in agony. Woken twice by pagers that turned out not to be yours, and spilled half of your coffee down the front of your scrubs while trying to read overnight labs. By the time you stepped into the trauma conference room, patience had already abandoned you. 

A cluster of residents fell silent when you entered.

Good. 

You dropped into your seat at the end of the table, flipping open the chart for morning rounds. 

“If anyone presents nonsense today, I’m sending them back to medical school personally.” 

No one laughed. 

Also good. 

The door opened, and Jake Sim walked in carrying two coffees and looking offensively well-rested. Fresh shower. Crisp navy scrubs. Hair still slightly damp. Not a trace of the sixteen-hour shift he had also worked. You narrowed your eyes immediately. 

He noticed, smiled, and changed direction from the empty seat across the room to the chair beside you. Of course he did. 

“You look radiant,” he said quietly as he sat down. 

“Shut up.” 

“Mean already? We haven’t even started rounds.” 

“Dr Sim,” honestly, you almost lost it. 

He set one coffee beside your folder. You stared at it. 

“Take it back.” 

“No.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know. You rarely ask for anything. It’s one of your more exhausting traits.”

You pushed the cup back toward him without looking. “Try poisoning someone else.” 

Jake slid it neatly back into place. “Oat milk. No sugar. Extra shot.” 

Your hand paused halfway to the chart. Annoying. 

“You need hobbies,” you muttered. 

“I have one.”

You glanced at him despite yourself. “What?”

He met your eyes, expression perfectly innocent. “Getting under your skin.” 

Before you could reply, the attending entered, and the room straightened instantly. Rounds began in a blur of scans, bloodwork, complications, and clipped presentations. You corrected three residents, questioned one medication order, and dismantled a surgical pan so flawed it nearly offended you personally. 

Jake said little. He simply sat there, reviewing anesthesia notes, occasionally leaning over to slide relevant vitals or postoperative concerns onto your side of the table before you had to ask. You hated how useful he was.

Halfway through the meeting, the attendees discussed a difficult abdominal trauma case from the previous night.

“Post-op hypotension likely due to fluid shifts,” one senior resident offered.

You opened your mouth. 

Jake spoke first. 

“Or missed retroperitoneal bleed.” 

The room turned. The attending frowned thoughtfully. “Reasoning?”

Jake gestured toward the scan. Calm. precise. “Expanding flank ecchymosis, dropping hemoglobin despite transfusion, rising lactate.” 

You felt your irritation sharpen. Because he was right. The attending nodded slowly. 

“Good catch. We’ll re-image.”

Then his gaze shifted to you. “Thoughts, doctor?” 

“I think anesthesia got lucky.”

You crossed your arms. A few residents choked back smiles. Jake didn’t even blink. 

“And I think surgery should buy me breakfast.” 

The room laughed. You did not. But when you reached for your coffee a moment later, it was still warm. 

.

.

.

.

A few weeks after the surgery, Jake Sim was still impossible to avoid. 

Not because he chased you through corridors like some desperate intern with no dignity–though you suspected he was capable of it, but because he had somehow woven himself into the rhythm of your days. In trauma calls, he was there before you finished giving orders. In the OR, he stood behind the drapes with that infuriatingly calm voice. In the break room, there would already be a coffee waiting where you liked to sit, as if the cup itself had developed poor judgment. 

You told yourself it meant nothing. 

Jake was friendly with everyone. Helpful to everyone. Annoyingly competent with everyone.

So why should it matter that he remembered your orders before you gave them, or noticed when you skipped meals, or somehow knew exactly how you took your coffee without ever asking?

It didn’t.

That was what you were telling yourself when he cornered you outside the staff elevators after a fourteen-hour shift. The corridor was nearly empty, lights dimmed to evening mode, your pager blessedly silent for once. You were too tired for conversation and too hungry for patience. 

Jake stepped in front of the elevator doors just as they opened. 

You stared at him. “Move.” 

“Dinner.” 

“No.”

“That wasn’t a statement.”

“It sounded like one.” 

“It was an invitation.” 

You jabbed the closed-door button repeatedly. “Declined.”

He reached past you and caught the elevator door before it could shut, entirely too close for your liking. 

“Tomorrow night.”

“No.”

“Tonight, then.”

“No.”

“Coffee after shift.” 

“No.”

Jake tilted his head, studying your face with that same maddening calm he wore in operating rooms and arguments alike. 

“Are you rejecting me,” he asked, “or just enjoying saying no?”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re stupid or joking.”

“Neither.”

“Then what is this?”

“A date.”

You gave a short, humorless laugh. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“That’s the stupid option.”

Something like amusement flickered across his face, but he didn’t step back.

“You really think I’ve been asking because I’m bored?”

“I think men like attention.”

“And you think I’d go through weeks of being insulted for fun?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fair,” he admitted. “But wrong.”

The answer annoyed you more than if he had argued.

You crossed your arms. “You flirt with everyone.”

“I’m polite to everyone.”

“You’re smug with everyone.”

“Only with you.”

“That’s not helping your case.”

“It’s not a case.” His voice lowered slightly. “I like you.”

You blinked once, more out of irritation than surprise.

“No, you like provoking me.”

“I like that too.”

“Jake.”

It was the first time you had said his name without adding an insult after it. His expression changed almost imperceptibly.

“Dinner,” he repeated softly. “One hour. If you hate it, I’ll stop asking.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You promise?”

“No.”

“Unbelievable.”

“But I’ll stop asking for a week.”

“That’s not tempting.”

“It should be. You look tired.”

“I look like I regret speaking to you.”

“You always look like that.”

The elevator chimed impatiently behind you.

You stepped inside, forcing him to move back.

“Goodnight, Dr. Sim.”

He smiled, hands in his pockets, entirely too pleased with himself.

“Think about it.”

The doors slid shut between you. You exhaled sharply, pulse annoyingly uneven. Then looked down and realized he had slipped a protein bar into your coat pocket sometime during the conversation.

You hated him.

.

.

.

.

Three days later, you made a mistake. 

It happened at 12.40 p.m. After back-to-back consults, a trauma activation that turned out to be alcohol and poor decisions, and a resident who asked whether the spleen was ‘strictly necessary’. You were hungry, irritated, and too tired to defend yourself properly. And the last thing you want to happen the next day is Jake still asking you to date. 

After all, luck was never on your side. 

Jake found you outside the imaging suite, leaning against the wall with two coffees and the expression of a man who had never once suffered inconvenience. 

“Lunch,” he said.

“No.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I meant it yesterday, too.”

“How about today?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Why are you like this?”

“Persistent? Handsome? Deeply committed?”

“Unbearable.”

He grinned. “Still available for lunch.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then at the clock, then at the hallway stretching endlessly back toward more work. You were starving.

The cafeteria was five minutes away.

And if agreeing to one meal made him stop asking for at least a day, it counted as strategic surrender.

“Fine,” you said flatly. “Lunch.”

Jake blinked. For the first time since you’d known him, he looked genuinely caught off guard. Then his entire face changed. Not smug satisfaction. Not teasing triumph. He looked happy. 

Ridiculously, openly happy. 

“Seriously?” he asked. 

You immediately regretted everything. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird, you just said yes.”

“To lunch.”

“With me.”

“To food.”

He laughed under his breath, then straightened so quickly it was almost embarrassing. “Right. Yes. Of course. Food.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you look like you won something?” 

“Because I did.”

“You did not.”

“I absolutely did.”

You turned and started walking before he could say anything worse. He fell into step beside you, annoyingly energetic for someone who had also worked all morning. 

“Do you want noodles or rice?” he asked.

“I want silence.”

“Cafeteria might not have that.”

“You’re very close to losing lunch privileges.”

“You’ve already given me privileges?”

You shot him a look sharp enough to cut skin. He only smiled wider.

The entire walk there, Jake was insufferably cheerful. He held doors open, moved people aside with polite excuses, and somehow looked proud simply carrying your coffee beside you. Two nurses passed and exchanged startled glances.

One of them mouthed finally. You nearly turned around. 

By the time you reached the cafeteria, Jake was practically glowing. 

“Explain.”

“What?”

“Why do you look like a golden retriever that just got told he’s going to the park?”

He laughed loud enough to earn stares. “That’s specific.”

“It’s accurate.”

Jake looked at you for a second, smile softening into something less playful. 

“Because you said yes.” he said simply. 

Your chest tightened in a way you deeply resented. 

“It’s lunch,” you said coldly. 

“I know.”

“Not a date.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

“Good.”

He nodded once, still smiling. “Then let’s have lunch.”

You hated that your pulse was uneven over something so stupid. You hated more that when he reached for a tray, he grabbed one for you automatically.

The cafeteria was louder than usual, packed with staff escaping their departments for the brief illusion of rest. Trays clattered, chairs scraped, pagers went off in every corner. You chose a table near the back out of habit. Jake sat across from you like he had been invited there his entire life. 

You set your tray down and immediately noticed he hadn’t touched his food. He is just looking at you. Not casually, not absentmindedly. Looking at you with an expression so openly pleased, it made irritation rise on instinct. 

You frowned and unwrapped your utensils with more force than necessary. “That’s unsettling.”

Jake only leaned back slightly in his chair, still watching you with the same warm, maddening gaze. As if sitting across from you in a mediocre hospital cafeteria was somehow the best part of his week. You hated that. 

“Eat your food,” you said.

“In a minute.”

“Why not now?”

“Busy.”

“With what?”

His eyes moved over your face slowly, almost thoughtfully. “Memorizing this.”

Your chopstick paused midair. “Memorizing what?”

“You're agreeing to have lunch with me. You look annoyed, but less than usual.”

“I look annoyed because I am.”

“Still came.”

“I came for carbohydrates.”

Jake smiled softly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You looked down at your plate, refusing to acknowledge the sudden warmth crawling up your neck. He laughed quietly, eyes crinkling at the corners. Then his gaze softened again in a way that made your chest feel annoyingly tight.

“I like seeing you like this,” he said.

“Hungry?”

“Relaxed.”

You almost scoffed. “I’m not relaxed.”

“You’re not working. That’s close enough.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the cafeteria blurred around the table. Jake looked at you as if there were no one in the room. No urgency, no performance, just quiet, uncomplicated fondness. It was deeply unfair. 

“If you keep staring, I’m leaving.” 

He picked up his chopstick at last. He only smiled into his food, still far too happy for a man who had simply gotten lunch. 

You told yourself the attention should have irritated you more than it did. 

It should have felt invasive, performative, another version of the same male habit of taking up space wherever they pleased. You had spent years sharpening yourself against men like that. But this didn’t feel like that. 

Jake wasn’t trying to corner you, impress an audience, or collect gratitude for basic decency. He wasn’t asking for anything in return. He simply sat across from you with that stupid soft expression. 

You didn’t hate it. That was the problem. 

Youd idn’t love it either. It made you restless, suspicious, vaguely off-balance in a way you disliked. There was no clear angle to defend against, no obvious flaw to dissect, no cruelty beneath the surface waiting to reveal itself. Just Jake Sim. 

You didn’t understand him. You didn’t understand why a man like Jake Sim, liked by everyone and wanted by easier women, kept choosing resistance. Why did he return after every sharp word? Why did kindness from you seem optional, but your presence somehow mattered? And perhaps most unsettling of all—

You didn’t understand why part of you had started letting him. 

[yla-aira]

down bad cutie 🥰

[star-sim]

you've got to be kitten me! ☆ jungwon yang

☆ class president! jungwon x troublemaker! fem! reader ☆ summary: jungwon yang, the stuck-up class president, had a secret: at night, he transformed into a cat. when you, the class's residential troublemaker (and one of the people that jungwon simply couldn't bring himself to understand), accidentally discovered his secret, jungwon found himself questioning his role in the school hierarchy. ☆ genre: fluff!!!! highschool! au, classmates to friends to lovers!!! very silly supernatural occurances, follows the asian school system btw, jungwon is lowk a loser and kinda assholey at the beginning ☆ warning(s)? this is very silly!! minor violence (toward animals) ☆ word count: 15.8k ☆ this isn't my usual writing style, or even my usual progression of events, but i was rlly inspired by those old shoujo animes so i tried to emulate certain features common in that genre! lmk what u think! btw it's not edited, i will go back and edit later but rn i'm j tired lol enjoy!

There were two things that Jungwon Yang hated:

Troublemakers, and teachers that talked too much.

Unfortunately, he was now sitting in a room with both types of people.

"You know why you're here right, [Name]?" 

[Name] [Last Name]. You were the class’s relentless troublemaker. He’d known you since elementary and middle school, and you’ve always been the same. Brusque, aggressive, and a little too happy to use your fists.

Jungwon and you were in the same year, and he was the class president. Currently, the class advisor, Jungwon, and you were seated in your shared homeroom class after school. 

Simply put, you've been causing trouble for the past few weeks, whether it be arguing with teachers or other classmates. Initially, the class advisor decided that although you were causing trouble, it was barely disruptive. 

Until today. When you punched a classmate, a guy named Jiho Jang, in the face.

You leaned back in your chair, rolling your eyes. Your gaze hardened, before you let out a sigh. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

As Class President, it was Jungwon's job to collaborate with the class advisor to enforce school rules and punish those that failed to adhere to them. His lips curled at your sheer lack of regard for anything around you. It was annoying how you broke every rule in the book, prancing around like you owned the place. Why was it so difficult to just not cause trouble?

"Jungwon, what do you think?"

"Ahem," he cleared his throat, "I think [Name] broke a rule—" you cocked a brow at him, but he ignored you, "By assaulting another student, she should be punished for it, shouldn't she?"

Being the Class President, Jungwon had learned to be well-spoken and level-headed, but sometimes, it was utterly difficult to keep a diplomatic attitude. Because although he disliked people that caused trouble, he disliked teachers that talked a lot just as much.

The class advisor went on talking for a few more minutes, using many words but truly saying nothing. Jungwon learned how to make it look like he was listening when he really wasn't, nodding his head and smiling mindlessly. 

God, just shut up, he wanted to blurt, but he caught himself.

Meanwhile, you clearly did not give a fuck. You looked at your nails, yawned, rolled your eyes, put your feet on the table. You even let out a very loud exasperated sigh. It was almost laughable the way you didn’t care, to the point that Jungwon almost caught himself letting out a laugh at your clear and abject expressiveness.

"Well, Jungwon, as class president," the advisor finally finished her long and drawn-out speech about school rules, "What do you think [Name]'s punishment should be?"

"Punishment?" It wasn't like Jungwon didn't punish people for breaking rules, but for him to punish someone directly felt so foreign to him. "Well, [Name] explained that she did what she did today in defense of another student, and there's evidence to back her up." Jungwon glanced at you, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. "So, I think we should give her lunch detention for a week."

Jungwon disliked you. No, he disliked your behavior. But as the President, he was fair. You had thorough evidence to back you up, so he decided on a punishment that reflected on your circumstances.

Except, the advisor audibly reacted. "Ooh, I don't know about that."

Jungwon's brows furrowed. That was a more than reasonable punishment. "Why not?"

"None of the teachers are available to sit in for lunch detention this or next week," the advisor explained. "What about suspension for a week?"

Suspension wasn't even remotely similar to lunch detention! 

"No!" Jungwon blurted. When he realized his outburst, Jungwon felt his ears burn. He cleared his throat. "I mean, I feel like a suspension is too extreme of a punishment."

His eyes flickered over to you. 

You better thank me, he thought.

 "If it's possible, I don't mind administrating lunch detention this week and next week, since none of the teachers are available."

The class advisor stayed silent for a few moments, before collecting her papers in a neat stack, and shoving it into her desk. "Very well, then." She turned to you. "[Name], you will have lunch detention starting tomorrow. Jungwon will be administrating it."

Then, you were dismissed. Jungwon had to stay back for a few minutes to discuss other class plans with the advisor, before leaving himself. By the time Jungwon walked out of the school building, the sun was beginning to set. However, as he walked out into the school courtyard, he spotted you.

You stood alone under a plum blossom tree. The pink-yellow flowers, now beginning to blossom as winter flew by, were sprawled across the ground, and your shoes, covered in dirt from the early-spring rain, trampled all over them with little regard. As you always did.

And, before he knew it, Jungwon was walking toward you.

It was common courtesy, at least for him, to greet whoever he saw.

"[Name]!" he called out, lips moving faster than his mind. Your head whipped over to him, quirking a brow. 

"Hi?" you looked at him with suspicion.

He couldn't blame you. Jungwon and you were on completely different spectrums of the school social hierarchy. Jungwon was well-known with a clean reputation, and you were infamous at least and a delinquent at most. It wasn't like he had never interacted with you before, but those interactions were few and far between. 

"... Did you need something?" You almost looked irritated that he was talking to you. Were you incapable of at least pretending like you cared?

"I just, " Jungwon had to admit, your gaze was intimidating. He’d heard rumors of you beating up kids that tried to talk to you, and although they were a little ridiculous, Jungwon wanted to be cautious. But, when words came to mind, his wobbly lips formed a soft, forced, smile. "I just wanted to say, I thought it was cool that you punched Jiho today."

When you only stared at him incredulously, Jungwon continued.

"Like,  It was cool that you were trying to defend someone, and I thought that Jiho really deserved it," Jungwon added. "I'm sorry about the detention thing."

He was being partially truthful. Of course, Jiho had it coming. Anyone that picked on underclassmen were just shitty, but cool to use violence against him? Maybe not. It was the first word that came to his mind.

A few silent pulses passed, and Jungwon shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"Thanks?" you said slowly, your expression painted with confusion— because why was the Class President praising you for assaulting someone? "Um, I don't think you need to apologize."

Jungwon nodded, his fake smile still painted across his cheeks, ready to spill more courteous words at you.

"You were just doing your job— Hey, are you okay?"

A sudden fuzzy feeling at the back of Jungwon’s head pierced through him. Almost like a switch had turned off inside him, Jungwon was suddenly wobbly on his feet, his eyes looking cloudy and dazed, rolling back in his head. 

"Hey, Jungwon—" you grabbed his arm to hold him upright, your brows crashing together. "Jungwon, are you okay?"

Jungwon's knees felt weak, his head full of static. When his eyes caught a glimpse of the sky, it was a dark, gray-blue mixed with orange.

Shit, he should have kept track of the time. For someone who prided himself for how responsible he was, Jungwon had to admit that he was a little stupid right now. As Jungwon slowly slipped out of consciousness, his mind raced. No, no, no. He did not want this to happen right now, not in front of you.

You freaked out, frantically holding onto him. Why was Jungwon Yang practically fainting on you?

All of a sudden, a big puff of smoke appeared. As you coughed, using your hand to wave away the smoke, you noticed that Jungwon's shoulders were no longer in his hands. In fact, his entire person disappeared from in front of you.

When the smoke cleared, Jungwon was no longer with you. Instead, there was just a pile of his clothes before your feet.

"Jungwon?" you asked, bewildered out of your mind. "Hey, Jungwon, what the fuck just"

Meow!

Did something just meow-

Meeeeowwww!

From under the pile of clothes, a small, black cat poked its head out. Your jaw dropped, panic overtaking your system.

The cat let out another meow, before it began inching toward you. Out of sheer panic, you took many steps back, letting out a small yelp of fear.

"Stay back, cat!" you cried.

Meeeeowwww! the cat meowed at you, only inching closer to you. Each step it took toward you, you stepped back, until your back was pressed against the tree. 

Who could blame you? Jungwon Yang just disappeared into thin air before your eyes, only to leave a cat! How could you not be afraid of that cat?

However, instead of killing you (or whatever you thought would happen if the cat got too close), the cat only pawed at your shoe. It let out another meow, but this time a much softer one. It continued to paw at your shoe, meowing profusely like it was trying to tell you something.

You watched it in disbelief.

You've seen many cats before, it wasn't like seeing a cat was some rarity to you. Just... where the hell did Jungwon go?

Experimentally, you reached out to touch the cat, only for it to jump away from you. You blinked at it. You and the cat stared at each other for a few moments, before it seemed to let out a small huff and stepped toward you. You reached out to it again, and this time, it didn’t jump away. You picked up the cat, holding up to your face so that it was at eye-level.

"Hey, kitty," you gently said, a small frown painting itself on your lips. You pet its soft, black fur, your fingers gracing its ears. Looking around, you bring the cat closer to your face. "Do you know where Jungwon went?"

Meow! was all you got in response, making you frown even more. You gently rubbed your thumb over its nose and soft, black fur.

"Did you take him, kitty?" you wondered, more to yourself than anything. When the cat only meowed, you couldn't help but crack a grin. You booped its nose, before cradling it in your arms. 

You glanced at the pile of Jungwon's clothes a few inches away from you. You looked around, for any sign of him or anyone at all, before sighing to yourself. You crouched down, placing the cat down, too. You neatly folded the pile of clothes, tucking it under your arm. You picked up the cat once more, scanned the courtyard, and started your way home.

Despite what a lot of people liked to think, you were actually gentle. But only sometimes. 

There were some perks to living alone, hundreds of miles away from your family. One of them was that you could bring home whatever animal you wanted, and no one could stop you.

On your way home from school, you decided that you'd keep the cat, whom you named Kong-ee (since its nose looked like a bean). How could you not? It was so tiny, and soft, and cute. Every time you rubbed its cheek, it let out a small meow. When you kissed it on the head, it started meowing profusely. It was so adorable!

If anyone at school saw you right now, they'd think they were dreaming.

You, that one mean and rough girl, playing with a little cat? You, not screaming and fighting every three seconds? Impossible!

You cracked a grin to yourself as you thought about the events that transpired earlier. Jiho Jang was picking on some underclassman, so you gave him a little nudge. When that didn't work, you punched him square in the nose. As you unlocked the door to your apartment, you thought back to how the school administrators reacted. For some reason, it felt like they favored Jiho over you, seeming to take his side before you even explained yourself.

You placed the cat down on your bed. 

"Stay here, okay, kitty?" you gently pet Kong-ee. The cat stared at you with its large, feline eyes, and you laughed, kissing its cheek. The high-pitched meow it let out was cute, so you booped its nose again. "I'm gonna go run you a bath, 'kay?"

As you set your things down to run the bath, you suddenly remembered your Class President, Jungwon Yang.

It seemed like among everyone involved in the situation, he was the only one that was fair. You appreciated him reiterating that fact that you were, in fact, acting in defense of another student, and you could tell that he was trying to give you a gentler punishment. However, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that he disliked you. He had this weird attitude, one where he seemed to think of himself as superior to you. You could tell that he didn’t like you, probably because of your ‘troublemaker’ reputation.

Come to think of it, have you ever spoken to him? Sure, you went to the same elementary and middle school as him, but you swore that you've never really spoken to him. You still had no idea what happened to him earlier. He just randomly disappeared from the face of the earth. You still had his clothes, which you threw into the washing machine. 

You didn't think of him any more for the rest of the night.

"Kong-ee," you cooed as you poured warm water over the cat's head. For a cat, Kong-ee was very calm in water. You muttered to yourself, "So cute,"

After drying Kong-ee, you went to eat dinner, study, and at last, go to bed. 

You didn't have a bed for Kong-ee, and you didn't move a lot when you slept, so you just let the little cat lay on your chest. The warmth of the cat was like an extra blanket anyway.

Your eyes felt heavy, so you were fast asleep just minutes after your head hit the pillow.

Jungwon thought he was a pretty smart guy.

But right now, he was absolutely stupid.

He completely didn't take into account the fact that during winter, nighttime came much quicker. He was so distracted by school duties that he totally forgot his curse.

That's right. Curse.

About a week ago, Jungwon was hit with some curse, where every day, the moment that the sun began to set, he would transform into a cat. He'd only turn back to human when the sun rose the next morning. These past few days, Jungwon had been leveeing excuse after excuse about why he couldn't attend a certain event, or why his homework was done so quickly.

Yesterday, even when he should have been running home because he was literally about to transform into a cat, he decided to go talk to you instead. 

And now there he was, still in his cat form, laying on you, that one girl from class that couldn’t follow a rule to save her life.

As a cat last night, he decided that he’d escape out your window the moment you fell asleep. However, your apartment was many stories high, and he couldn’t fight off his feline instinct to snuggle up into something warm. So there he was, laying next to your sleeping face.

In his cat form, Jungwon could see your alarm clock. These days, sunrise was around 7AM, and it was 6:57. Just a few more minutes, and he should transform back into human. Hopefully, he won't wake you up.

Jungwon's plan was the moment that he transformed back into his human form, he would take his clothes (the one that you picked up and washed yesterday), and leave. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you. Hopefully, you’d forget all about this, and his life would resume.

Meanwhile, Jungwon observed your sleeping face. It was weird. You usually had a scowl on your face, but your sleeping face was completely peaceful. He’d never seen you so… calm. In fact, last night was probably the most normal he’d ever seen you. Jungwon always kind of expected you to be rough with everything, but the way you treated him as a cat was almost… kind of nice? 

With his paw, Jungwon gently touched your face, a small meow escaping his mouth. Your lunch detention started today, so he’d have to spend his next few lunches stuck in a room with you. He dreaded it. He had other things he wanted to do, even though he was the one to suggest that he administrated–

Poof!

With a puff of smoke, Jungwon transformed back into his human form. Except, he was now naked, sprawled on top of you. 

Quickly, though with wobbly feet, he stumbled over to the clean folded stack of his clothes. 

Just as he was finished putting on his pants, reaching for his shirt, Jungwon heard a shrill scream.

He whipped his head around to see you, staring at him horrified.

Oh.

Shit.

The last thing you expected was to wake up to a shirtless Jungwon Yang in your room. 

"What the fuck are you—" you, still groggy, pulled your comforter over your shoulders, suddenly feeling exposed— "Jungwon, what the fuck? What are you doing here?!"

The boy only stared at you with eyes as wide as saucers, jaw dropped. It was only when you began throwing pillows and plushies at him that he began to get defensive.

"W-Wait, [Name]!" he staggered over to you, amidst the slew of pillows being projected at him. "[Name], let me explai— Ow!"

"Get out, Jungwon!" you shouted, hurling nearly every object on your bed at him. Simply for the reason that your Class President was literally half naked in your room, your face felt warm. With anger. "Get out, get out, get out— Oof!"

Behold, Jungwon tripped over one of the pillows as he floundered over to you, leading him to fall right on top of you on your bed.

A moment of thick silence engulfed your bedroom as the two of you stared at each other. Jungwon's cheeks flared. It was absolutely over for him now. 

With a rough, but flighty, hand, you pushed his chest off of you with a scowl. 

"Get off," you grumbled, shoving him again.

"Right..." Jungwon quickly pulled away from you. He sat at the edge of your bed, his head hanging low. His entire neck and face were red with embarrassment and shame. You probably thought he was a creep, a pervert, a weirdo! Would you tell people at school? He could already hear the rumors: “Class President Jungwon Yang is a freak!” 

"Well, aren't you going to explain yourself?" you nudged him harshly with your foot. You still covered yourself with your blanket, looking at him with the most hostility that he'd ever seen from you.

"Wait a minute," you muttered to yourself. You shifted around your bed, feeling around your comforter. "Where's Kong-ee?"

Jungwon let out a nervous laugh. 

"About that...."

(Long story short, you grabbed Jungwon by his shoulders, and said, "You're lucky that you were cute as a cat, because I was considering kicking your ass.")

Honestly, you thought Jungwon was a little weird, if not snobby. If you were asked how you felt about him a few hours ago, you would have said that he was a little self-important. But after the fiasco this morning, the only word you had to properly describe him was strange.

You supposed that you couldn't blame him. He didn't choose to be cursed into a cat, and he most definitely didn't choose for you to take him home. It was just a little embarrassing that the entire time, the cute cat that you were excited to take care of was just your Class President that probably hated you. It made you squirm a little bit.

After Jungwon gave you a (very thorough and evidence-based) explanation, you kicked him out and got ready for school as you always did.

When you got to school, you couldn't bring yourself to meet Jungwon's gaze, and luckily, it seemed like he couldn't either. You weren't shy, and you weren't the type to get actually flustered, but you felt a twinge of humiliation. 

Why, of all people, did it have to be the guy that you were spending your lunch detention with?

In fact, as you sat in lunch detention, there was a thick tension in the air. It was just you and Jungwon in an empty classroom, completely silent save for the sound of chattering and people talking from the other rooms down the hall. 

You were supposed to be doing homework, or something, but you preferred staring out the window. Meanwhile, from the corner of your eye, you noticed Jungwon sitting at the teacher desk, writing something out.

Minutes passed and you were getting bored. Normally, you were perfectly fine with getting lost in that head of yours, but for some reason, today all your thoughts were just... stale.

"Yah," you suddenly said, directed at Jungwon. The boy's head immediately shot up. "What are you doing right now?"

"Writing..." he answered curtly. His expression was awkward, very different from his usual composed face, the one that he used when he ordered people around. You tried not to show your discomfort on your face, but Jungwon was just an open book. 

"I'm bored."

He blinked at you owlishly, before narrowing his eyes. "Well, do you want a book?"

You groaned, leaning back against your chair and throwing your head back. If this was how lunch detention was going to be for the rest of the week, you'd die.

Jungwon watched you silently. He let out a sigh, before setting his pen down. He picked up the papers that he was just writing on, holding it up to his face so that he could read it. 

"Jungwoo and Sullyoon." You shot him a questioning look, and he continued. "Liz and Minji."

"What the hell are you saying?" you questioned.

Jungwon held up the papers; on them were elaborate charts with many columns. It was a list of some sort.

"It's the beginning of the month," Jungwon began. "I have to make a schedule for who's on cleaning duty."

You cocked a brow at him, making him continue.

"I might be the president, but I don't know a lot of our classmates well," the boy's feline-like eyes fluttered over to you. "I'm having trouble making the pairs. I don't know who gets along with who."

He stared at you for a few pulses, almost like he was asking you to help him. You finally huffed, rolling your eyes. You pulled a chair over to where Jungwon was sitting, plopping down. This was better than doing homework.

"All right then," you snatched the paper. You scanned the list, your nose crinkling at some of Jungwon's choices. "Why would you put Bae with Aran?"

Jungwon’s brows crashed together, just by the way you seemed so indignant about his choices. 

"I don't know," Jungwon shrugged, unable to hide the slight offense on his face. "I thought they were friends."

"Nah," you sucked in a sharp, exasperated breath. "Bae was trying to get with Aran's boyfriend, so Bae and her friends jumped her."

The way it came out so casually from your lips was almost laughable.

"Ouch."

"And why would you put Jihan and Rei together?"

"Why, are they not friends?"

"No, because Rei is friends with Liz, and Jihan hates Liz."

"Well, what about Rei and Hikaru?"

You groaned, punching Jungwon in the arm. "I'm actually gonna kick your ass."

Out of nowhere, completely out of character, Jungwon couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips. There was something so laughable about you, of all people, knowing the business of your classmates, and not him, the literal president. It was almost ironic, the way you seemed to be so passionate about the ongoings of the classroom. He immediately clamped his hand over his mouth the moment you shot him a glare, but he was unable to swallow another laugh. 

"Yah, laugh again and I'll actually do it."

Jungwon let out another laugh. You grabbed his forearm, softly punching his shoulder again. The way your lips jutted out, the gloss on them shining under the light, was too much for Jungwon to handle. For someone so tough and violent, you looked so petulant, almost like a child, when you were angry. Your brows furrowing like caterpillars and the way your lips parted in offense was his favorite part.

You stood up abruptly, grabbing Jungwon's collar and pulling him up with you. Your lips pulled together in what could only be called a frown.

"You're so annoying," you grumbled, tightening your grip around his collar. "Kill yourself."

Jungwon's lips pulled upward to reveal his sharp canine teeth. 

"Sorry," he said with a smile. It was weird, the way that it was a genuine smile, as opposed to the fake one that he found himself giving out.

You rolled your eyes for the nth time that day, but you loosened your hold on his collar. When he let out another small laugh again, you raised your fist at him. It was supposed to be purely threatening, you weren't actually going to punch him. And Jungwon could tell, just by the look on your face.

But that was when the worst possible person walked into the detention room: the class advisor.

"[Name] [Last Name], are you trying to assault the Class President?!"

And that's how you got after school detention, too. Administrated by the one and only Class President himself.

"Look, [Name], I'm sorry—"

"It's whatever."

And it really was whatever.

No matter how many times Jungwon explained with the advisor and administrators, they all wouldn’t believe them. He clarified seemingly hundreds of times that you, in fact, were not trying to beat him up. Still, they wouldn’t listen. Because he was the president, they simply assumed that Jungwon was defending you to not cause trouble.

You appreciated his efforts, you really did. The way his face scrunched with frustration as he let out a deep, exasperated sigh was enough for you.

“It isn’t whatever,” Jungwon ran a hand through his dark locks, huffing. “It’s unfair.”

Now the two of you were back in that detention room. You were sitting down, bored, while Jungwon paced around. He couldn’t say that he liked you, but he couldn’t stand for something so utterly ridiculous.

"It's not a big deal," you seemed more unbothered than Jungwon was. When he looked at you with a pinched expression, you sighed. "I really mean it, it's not a big deal."

Jungwon chewed on his bottom lip pensively. "But they're not being fair."

You shrugged. "This isn't the first time that it's happened, you know."

When the boy frowned, you continued. "Sometimes, the administrative system is kinda fucked. It's just something we hafta accept."

Jungwon's nose scrunched, before he made his way over to where you were sitting. He stood at the edge of your desk before you, his fingers tapping anxiously. He studied your face: your expression was painted with sincere and utter indifference. You didn't care. But he did.

"I'm serious," you noticed the uneasiness on his face. "Just let it go, Jungwon."

"It's just..." he breathed, "I'm the President, aren't I supposed to be the one with a louder voice? Why won't they listen to me?"

You gazed at his face.

Jungwon Yang, the Class President. He’d always seemed snobby, but he was surprisingly earnest. There was an essence of naivete in him, a sort of innocence and optimism that you couldn't shake off. Jungwon was almost intense with the amount of conviction he had. 

"Well," you finally said. Under the desk, you tapped your shoe against his. "We can't do anything about it now."

You brusquely got up, moving toward the teacher desk.

"B-But—"

You plopped down on the teacher chair, kicking back. "Are you going to let me help you with your presidential duties or what? I’m bored."

You looked at him, dead serious. You gestured to the papers sprawled across the desk. 'Well, aren't you going to join me?'your expression read.

Jungwon finally exhaled.

He couldn't argue with you.

Because like him, your conviction was just as strong. You were realistic, too realistic that it was almost painful. But the intensity in your judgment was not to be challenged.

"Fine."

You never expected Jungwon's presidential duties to be so tedious. But what was surprisingly unsurprising was Jungwon's crazy amount of effort. Of course he put every ounce of his energy into perfecting the class calendar or the class seating arrangements. Although you did help him, there were a few moments of complete silence, as Jungwon sat in deep thought trying to figure out how to approach a certain issue. His zeal was almost freakish.

You let out a yawn. "Hey, what time is it?"

"Time?" Jungwon perked up, glancing out the window. Shit. It should be sunset soon. Why does he keep losing track of the time? He began shuffling his papers together, shoving them into his school bag. "Shiiiit, I have to go now."

"Man, I feel like I've never heard you swear—" Realization hit you. "Oh, right."

You helped him put his things away, but it was too late. Within seconds, a puff of smoke already engulfed the room, leaving a pile of clothes, and a tiny black cat.

You groaned. Not again.

"You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You decided that you'd take Jungwon home with you once again. As you laid on your back in your bed, you held his cat form up carefully, yet your words were harsh.

"God, you're so stupid, Jungwon," you scolded him. "Does this happen a lot? Where you don't keep track of time and just transform out of nowhere?"

Jungwon let out a small meow, hanging his furry head in shame. 

"Ughhh," you lamented. You gave the top of his head a small tap, equivalent to you hitting the back of his head if he was a human. "Do your parents know?"

Jungwon responded back with a bunch of meows, like he was trying to talk to you. 

"Whatever," you tapped his nose with your knuckle. Normally, you’d probably recoil at the thought of being this close to your Class President, but because he was a cat, you couldn’t help the desire to smother him with love. You held Jungwon's face close to yours. You rubbed your nose against his, cooing at the small meows he let out. You chuckled. "You're so much cuter as a cat, you know that right?"

Jungwon meowed, his short paws extending out to touch your face. You grinned, leaning into his touch. "You're so annoying at school. So annoying that I thought about punching you once. But I like you more as a cat."

Meeooowww!

"Have you eaten yet?" you brushed his fur back, rubbing the spot behind his ears, earning a purrrr. Jungwon shook his head. Then, you scratched his chin. "Can you even eat human food?" Jungwon shook his head again.

"Fine," you muttered, more to yourself. "I'll go buy you cat food."

The walk to the convenience store was quiet, save for your coos at Jungwon. On Jungwon's end, he was ecstatic. Each time you kissed his head or babbled back in response to his little meows, Jungwon couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment. It was weird, so weird, to see you be so… gentle, and loving, and caring. It was like a flip switched the moment you stepped out of school. Weren’t you supposed to be a delinquent? Why were you so tender? He hated it, he hated it so much. But now you were peppering his face with kisses, and Jungwon couldn’t resist leaning into your warm touch.

"Which one do you want, Jungwon?" You took him through the aisles, letting his small, black paws dictate what you'd buy. 

"Are you serious? Salmon Gravy Poultry shreds?"

Jungwon meowed profusely, his paws flailing around almost offended. He couldn't control his feline cravings in his cat form! What did you expect him to choose, a Triple Dipple Mcdouble Wouble Hamburger?

You threw your head back, laughing at his cute frustration. You pinched Jungwon's nose, before going to the cash register.

That night, you sat with Jungwon wrapped in a blanket on your lap.

"You can still help me with my homework, right?" you said, petting Jungwon. 

Meoooowww! was his response (as always), but the way his feline eyes squeezes into thin crescents, his mouth turning upwards, told you his answer was a very enthusiastic "Yes!"

You and Jungwon came up with a system.

One meow was yes, two meows were no.

It was safe to say that Jungwon let out many double meows in succession.

"Maybe I was wrong," you grasped his little paws like they were his hands. "You're still annoying as a cat."

Meow!

You giggled, before turning off your lights. 

You gave Jungwon his own bed— a stack of pillows and blankets. You didn't want another incident, did you?

Oh. My. God.

It was past 7AM. The sun was up in the sky shining its yellow face so obnoxiously through the blinds.

However.

Jungwon was still a cat.

For the past week or so, he turned back into his human form the second the sun peeked through the clouds. But why not today? He had to figure this out before you woke up, or you might freak out, and that would make him freak out—

"Oh my god, Jungwon, why are you still a cat?!"

Long story short, you took him to school with you.

If Jungwon was a human, he would have refused profusely. Curse him and his tiny body, he had no way of refusing you.

And that's how Jungwon found himself stuffed in your pocket.

"Stop fussing!" you gently smacked the back of his head. "You're gonna get us caught!"

Meeowww! was all he could say. It was strange seeing the school through such a tiny lens. It didn't help that he felt like he was on a goddamn rollercoaster because for some reason, you decided to walk with a pep in your step today. 

"Where's Jungwon? He's normally not late like this," Wonyoung Jang, the class's secretary asked just as you walked in. After a round of "I don't know's" it seemed like everyone suddenly remembered what (allegedly) happened yesterday: you assaulted him.

"Hey, [Name], did you do something to him?" someone asked. You shot them a questioning look. You ignored them, taking your seat in the back, being careful to not crush Jungwon. 

"Yah, [Name]," one of the boys in your class (was his name Haruto, or something?) came up to your desk, slamming his hands down on your desk. "What did you do to Jungwon?"

You looked around the classroom— they had to be playing with you, right? Such a ridiculous accusation based on ridiculous evidence from the most ridiculous people.

"Uh. I didn't do anything...?" you answered sincerely, confusion strewn across your face.

"Hey, let's not lie, [Name]," Jinni, the class treasurer, smiled at you. "Just tell us the truth. What happened to Jungwon?"

"I don't know," you shrugged. 

"You were the last person to see him yesterday," one of your classmates pointed out. "Something's fishy."

"Well, I don't know what you guys want me to say," you scowled. "I'm sorry, I guess? It's not really my business what goes on with him."

Before another person could join in, and most definitely escalate the situation, the bell rang, starting class.

Meanwhile, Jungwon internally frowned. Why was everyone so quick to accuse you? Sure, you got into scuffles, but they were being baseless with their accusations. All you did was walk in, and you were bombarded with questions. While class went on, he let out a soft meow, using his paw to touch your hand.

"Jungwon, what do you want?" you whisper-yelled at him.

Jungwon couldn't imagine what it would be like to have everyone see you with suspicion. When the teachers didn't believe him earlier, it was frustrating. He never considered how you felt. Your quick resignation to the flawed administrative system was upsetting.

Almost like he was trying to comfort you, another small meow came from him, his paw petting your hand.

You smiled gently, bonking him softly on the head, before turning back to the board.

As the day went by, Jungwon caught a real glimpse of what it was like to live like you.

From the pocket of your sweater, he could see the nasty glares that people sent you, simply for being in the same room as them. The way that people would scurry away from you, cower under your gaze like you were some kind of monster. Jungwon didn't know how anyone could endure that for much of their high school career. The more he watched you from your pocket, the more he could see your hard exterior cracking. You were genuine in that you didn't like people that much, but he could tell by the way that your lips twitched slightly, eyebrows knitting together for a split second as you wistfully watched groups of friends giggle together. 

As lunchtime started, you slowly made your way to the detention room. That entire hall was mostly empty, probably because no one wanted to be near where you'd be. 

You reached inside your pocket, your knuckle brushing against Jungwon's ears.

"Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I wish you were human right now," you said quietly to him. Jungwon meowed, rubbing his cheek against your finger. "I’m gonna be so bored."

As you cracked the detention room door open, you were met with a group of boys.

Of course you knew them. Everyone liked to lump you in with them, as "bangers," but anyone that understood who they were knew that you were far from their friend.

While you just caused trouble occasionally, they were actual delinquents.

"Hey there, [Name]," one of them grinned at you. You stopped at the doorway, narrowing your eyes at them. They never talked to you unless they wanted trouble.

"What do you want, Gyuvin?" you huffed. Jungwon from your pocket peeked his head out.

"We don't want anything from you, [Name]," another of them, Ricky Shen, took a step forward toward you. The rest of the boys followed suit, pulling you into the classroom and surrounding you.

You dug your teeth into your bottom lip. The way they were circling you certainly triggered your panic mode, but you swallowed it down, choosing to keep a hardened gaze instead. 

"Right," you nodded slowly. 

The next thing you knew, you were pushed to the ground with a yelp and thump! The way that the rest of them peered down at you condescendingly. You heard a small meow come from your pocket, so your hand shot to your pocket, your palm protectively cradling Jungwon.

"We're just bored, really," Gyuvin smiled, leaning down toward you. "Just wanted to see if this kitty bit back."

Silence enveloped the room as you glared up at them. You had to think fast. You honestly did not have the energy to put up a good fight right now, and you didn't want to. How could you evade this?

Your eyes shot around the room for some sort of escape. Unfortunately, there was only one: the door, and it was blocked by a few of the boys.

"Oh? What's that in your pocket?" It seemed like they noticed your hand clutching your pocket so firmly.

They yanked you up roughly by the arm, shoving their grubby hands into your pocket while others held your arms back.

"Hey!" you yelped, struggling against their grip. They're gonna find Jungwon!

Your worst fear came true. Gyuvin pulled out a thrashing Jungwon from your pocket. Even in his feline form, you could see the panic in his eyes. You tried to escape their grip, pulling away as hard as you could, but they overpowered you.

"What's this?" Gyuvin asked, a nasty grin on his face as he observed Jungwon.

"Give him back," you grumbled behind gritted teeth. You tried to pull away again, but it was no use. Gyuvin cocked a brow at you, before throwing Jungwon on the floor. Jungwon let out a small meow of pain, but as the boys approached him, he hissed loudly, his pupils dilated and his black fur standing up on his back. 

Ricky glanced at you, making sure that you were watching, when he landed a kick at Jungwon. 

"Jungwon!" you shouted, straining against the boys that held you back. 

"Fuck," you muttered to yourself. You didn't want to fight. Jesus Christ, the last thing you wanted to do right now was fight. But you could not stand for this. 

"Jungwon?" A smile was growing on Ricky's features. "Y'know, [Name], I thought that you murdered Mr. Class President or something. But it looks like you're obsessed with him more than anything."

Your hands balled into fists, biting your lip so hard that you could taste blood.

Assholes. That's what they all were.

It was Ricky's turn to land a kick on Jungwon.

That's when you had enough.

With all the force you could muster in your body, you stepped on the guys who held your foot. You didn't know how hard it was, but it was hard enough for them to loosen their grips on you, letting out cries. Your body was on overdrive now. The only thing you focused on was getting the fuck out of there.

"Yah, get her!"

You dashed to Jungwon, snatching him up and jamming him into your pocket. You flung the door open, but Ricky and Gyuvin grabbed both of your hands before you could make a run for it. Ricky pulled you in by the waist, so that you were flush against his chest, while Gyuvin pressed against you from the front.

"Let go of me," you protested. 

"Nuh-uh," Ricky whispered in your ear. 

"Why're you so resistant to us, [Name]?" Gyuvin rasped. "We just wanna be your friend."

Meanwhile, Jungwon, although injured, creeped out from your pocket. With them so close to you, it would be awfully easy for Jungwon to land a few claws on them. It wouldn't hurt to give them a few scratches, right?

With a loud hiss, Jungwon jumped out from your pocket, landing on Ricky's chest. With all the might that his small body could gather, Jungwon scratched the boy's chest with high-pitched shrieks. Almost immediately, Ricky stumbled backward, letting go of you. You took that opportunity to land the hardest kick you could to Gyuvin's crotch. Then, you plucked Jungwon up, and made a run for it.

You ran until you reached the girl's bathroom of the south building, far enough from Ricky and Gyuvin and their little henchmen. You took in shallow breaths, staggering into the bathroom. You held onto Jungwon tightly.

Finally, you dropped down to your knees, slumping against the wall. With a hiss, you observed the bruises on your wrists, where the boys had held you.

You took off your sweater, gently placing Jungwon on it.

He nuzzled his face against your leg, purring when you pet his head.

"Hey, Jungwon," your voice was quiet, the quietest that he'd ever heard. "You okay?"

Meow!

Your nimble fingers ran against his fur, and when you ended up on his side, Jungwon hissed. Upon closer inspection, that part of his abdomen was bruised from the earlier assault.

"I'm sorry, baby," you unconsciously used that name, your heart hurting for him. It must be horrible being so small and helpless. You tenderly caressed his face, with him leaning into your touch. "Does it hurt?"

Jungwon nodded. Although all the energy was sucked out of you from that scuffle alone, you jumped to your feet.

"The nurse's office is just down the hall," you said to him. "I'll go get some things, okay?"

Jungwon meowed to you as you left.

He'd never actually seen you fight anyone.

Were you harassed like this often? Was that why you were reported to be fighting people, when you were really just defending yourself? Why did people want to bother you so badly?

The pain in Jungwon's side was bearable, but the way you were so quick to get help was so admirable. 

In fact, all this time that he spent with you, you never looked to fight people. Instead, you were actually so eager to be helpful. How did you become known as the class's troublemaker when you actively avoided trouble? All you’ve been so far was kind to him.

Was he wrong about you?

Just as Jungwon was about to go on pondering...

Poof!

Jungwon coughed, and suddenly, he was human again.

But, like always, naked.

He scurried into one of the stalls, shutting and locking the door.

"Jungwon?" you wandered back into the bathroom, unable to spot a little black cat. "Jungwon, where'd you go?"

When a deeper, masculine voice responded, you almost jumped out of your skin. "I'm... in the stalls."

"You turned back?!"

Jungwon felt his cheeks warm up. How was he going to explain this to you?

"Why are you in the stalls?"

Jungwon cleared his throat awkwardly, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm... uh.. naked right now."

.

.

.

"Oh."

"C-Can you please go get me clothes?"

When you came back with a set of male school uniform (that you stole from some kid's locker), you threw it over the stall door, a little flustered.

Jungwon finally came out of the stalls, an awkward expression on his face.

"Did the clothes fit right?" you asked. Granted, you thought you stole from the underclassmen, so the clothes you got him might be too small. "Are they too small?"

"No," Jungwon quickly answered. "They... They fit just fine."

He stared at you. "Thanks, by the way."

You blinked at him. "For what?"

"For everything you did for me back there," Jungwon took a deep breath. He still couldn't wrap his head around how your status as the class delinquent came to be. "You were really cool."

"Cool?" You raised a brow at him, but you couldn't hide the curve in your lips. "I thought it was pretty cool how you scratched Ricky."

Jungwon snorted. "That's nothing compared to the last-minute kick to Gyuvin's crotch."

You laughed, but clamped your hand over your mouth. 

"Sorry," you murmured.

"I mean it," Jungwon was looking at you with wide eyes. He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. "It was, like, straight out of a comic book."

"Right," you nodded slowly, the corners of your lips quirking up. You perched down next to him, pulling the first-aid kit you nicked from the nurse's office. You didn't know how Jungwon's cat-human curse translated injuries. That is, you didn't know if he'd have the same injuries he sustained as a cat in his human form. "D'you mind lifting up your shirt for me?"

Lift... up... his... shirt... for... you?

Jungwon choked on his spit, coughs spouting from his throat. As he coughed up a storm, a sharp pain in his abdomen pierced through him. He clutched his side, letting out a soft groan of pain.

"Shit," your fingers reached for the hem of his shirt, "You're bruised there, aren't you?"

You began to flip up his shirt to get a better look of his wound, but Jungwon quickly stopped you.

"W-Wait!" his cheeks flared. You gave him a weird look. "How am I going to get married if you see me shirtless?!"

.

.

.

For the Class President, Jungwon Yang was a little dumb.

You gave his head a soft smack.

"You dumbass," you chided him. "I've already seen you shirtless."

Jungwon's eyes widened into saucers. You sighed, rubbing your temples.

"Remember when I woke up to you half naked the other day?"

Oh. Right.

"And you're not going to be tainted if I see you shirtless. Stop being a baby and just let me see your injury, you loser!" With flighty eyes and red ears, Jungwon let you pull up his shirt, your fingers gently brushing against the brownish-purple bruise beginning to form on his side. He let out another hiss of pain when you pressed on it. "Does that hurt?"

"Y-Yeah."

Carefully, with the roll of bandages, you wrapped his torso. Although it was completely normal to you, Jungwon felt weird as your arms circled his waist. He could almost feel your breath on his neck. He'd been close to you like this as a cat, but it just felt different when he was a human.

You then gave him an ice pack, instructing him to hold it against his side.

"You're good at this," he complimented. You were very knowledgeable on how to treat wounds. 

"Well, I get into a lot of fights, y'know?" You flashed him a toothy grin before treating your own bruises.

Jungwon's heart dropped to his stomach. That was... really sad.

"Wait!" he blurted, reaching out to clutch your arm as you wrapped your wrists. "Let me help you with that."

"Um, okay."

Jungwon wasn't nearly as experienced as you, and his bandaging job was very clumsy. But you appreciated the effort.

When you were done, the two of you sat in a short silence.

"What do you want to do now?" he asked you.

You thought for a few moments. "I think I'm gonna jump the fence and leave."

"Huh? Why?"

You shrugged. "I refuse to go back there after what happened. Plus, lunch already ended, and I don't feel like serving after school detention today."

You'd already made up your mind, beginning to collect your things.

Jungwon blinked.

For the first time ever, he, too, didn't want to go back. Jungwon had never skipped a class in his life, let alone jumped the fence. 

"Why are you staring at me like that?" you nudged him with your foot. He looked up at you; you were ready to leave.

Jungwon breathed. This might be one of the hardest decisions of his life.

"Can I come with you?"

"If you're going to be worried, you should probably go back."

Jungwon swallowed down hard. He'd never skipped class before, and even if he really wanted to, he couldn't ignore the anxiety bubbling inside him.

"I'm not worried,” he clenched his fists. 

"Right."

After jumping the fence, you and Jungwon were free.

"Where are we going now?"

"Home."

Jungwon felt like he'd come home with you so much the past few days, to the point that he nearly memorized the way there.

Except, as he entered the doorway, your entire apartment looked different.

"Why are you so surprised?" you switched on the lights. "You've been here many times already."

"I know, but," Jungwon scanned your kitchen and living room. "Nearly every time I've been here, I was an 8-inch tall cat."

You went into your bathroom silently, leaving Jungwon to walk about your apartment. He'd never really got a good look at it. He observed the picture collage on your fridge, of you and your parents and friends, smiling so brightly. The peach soda - scented candle on your counter seemed so out of character for you, but for some reason, it made so much sense. From the arrangement of the throw pillows on your couch, to the fuzzy rug, to the pile of mail sprawled on the coffee table, your apartment felt so you.

When you emerged from your bathroom, Jungwon did a once-over. He'd seen you in your pajamas before, but for some reason, when he saw you now in your cute polka-dotted fluffy pajamas, you almost looked... cute. Someone as brooding as you in such cutesy pajamas gave him whiplash.

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing..." but Jungwon couldn't hide the way his lips curved upwards.

You yawned. "I'm gonna take a nap."

"Okay."

.

.

.

"Can I join you?"

Jungwon had expected you to throw him a pillow and blanket on the floor, similar to what you did with him as a cat. But you didn't.

You patted the spot next to you on your bed, looking at him expectantly.

And that's how Jungwon found himself laying next to you like a sardine.

He felt like a child the way his hands felt clammy, feeling a wave of anxiety with each movement you had. In his defense, he'd never slept in the same bed with a girl. In fact, he couldn't remember a time where he was as close to a girl as he was right now.

"If you're uncomfortable, you can-"

"No, I'm okay!"

He felt your eyes on him for a few moments, before you sighed. You jammed a pillow between the two of you, creating a border of some sort.

"Is that better?"

Jungwon didn't know why, but he felt a twinge of disappointment.

"... Yeah."

The next few minutes were full of silence. Jungwon laid still like a statue. From the corner of his eye, he could see you snuggling up with a plushie, almost kind of like how you snuggled up with him when he was a cat.

An unconscious frown spread itself on his cheeks. 

He.... also wanted to be snuggled like that. Was it weird that he craved that closeness to you? He reasoned to himself that he was just used to it, since he’d spent the majority of his time with you as a cat. 

In a moment of pure boldness, Jungwon snatched the pillow between you and him away, throwing it on the floor.

You sent him a confused look. "Hey there."

Jungwon's eyes were shaky, yet they trained on the plushie you had in your arms. Then he looked at your face, then back at the plushie, then back at your face.

"You need something, Jungwon?" you asked, almost concerned.

"I— Uhm," his eyes kept flickering from your face to the plushie. At a certain point, he was glued to the plushie, unable to hide the pout formed on his lips.

For someone who was good at pretending to smile, he wore his feelings on his face so clearly, you rolled your eyes.

"You're so annoying," you muttered under your breath. You chucked the plushie in your arms to the side. You then threw your arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. Jungwon let out a surprised yelp, but you ignored him. You wrapped your arms around his torso, careful not to touch his bruised abdomen. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, the faint scent of his cologne filling your senses. "Is this better?"

Jungwon audibly gulped, but he eased into the feeling of your arms around him. "Y-Yeah..."

You were so close! He could smell the faint scent of your perfume, mixed with the scent of fresh laundry. You snuggled up against him, the sound of your soft breaths, which were slowing down into a steady rhythm, filling his ears. 

Jungwon took a deep breath, and melted into the warmth that was your arms. 

He wouldn’t mind doing this many more times, he thought. Would he?

And soon, he drifted off into dreamland, too.

Your eyes fluttered open a few hours later. Your bed was usually warm, but this time, it was very warm. So warm that you wanted to melt into it, completely and utterly disarmed by the comfort that you felt.

What time is it? was the first thing you thought.

The second thing you realized was that you could hear a heartbeat in your ears. Not your heartbeat, but the heartbeat of someone else. In fact, you were laying on someone's chest. 

Jungwon's chest.

There the two of you were, sprawled out on your bed. Jungwon gently held your head against his chest, his other arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders, while your arms wrapped around his torso. Your legs were tangled. You didn't remember falling asleep like this, but it wasn't like you minded the position. You simply sunk back into him, basking in the warmth.

But Jungwon did.

As his eyes shot open, he immediately noticed the current position you and him were in. You felt him tense under you, his arms beginning to curl back into himself. But the warmth that he provided as your personal human heater was just too good, so you grabbed his arms, putting them back into the position they were holding you in.

"It's cold, Jungwon," you muttered, snuggling up against him.

“[N-Name],” Jungwon’s voice came out soft. He’d just woken up mere minutes ago, yet he was wide awake. There was a weird pounding in his chest that he couldn’t explain, one that thrummed so loud that he could hear it in his ears. Your touch felt like burns on his skin, an unforgiving scalding boil, hot to the touch. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Why was he suddenly feeling this way? Was he ill? Was he going to transform into a cat?

“[Name],” Jungwon whispered again, a little louder. His words got caught in his throat the moment he said it, wanting to swallow it the moment they left his lips. He didn’t know what he would say, but he just said your name to hear it on his tongue. 

“What?” you groaned, eyes gently shut but words lazily spoken.

Jungwon peered down at you. His ears felt like they were going to melt off his head. His skin seared with that scorching type of sting, the one that ached. 

“Nothing,” he murmured, his chest rising and falling with each soft breath you took. Soon, your breathing stilled, and Jungwon was sure that you’d fallen asleep completely.

He observed 

It was weird. He'd seen you up close like this before as a cat, but now that he was human-sized, it somehow felt so much more... intimate. Jungwon found himself digging his teeth into his bottom lip as he watched you sleep. He couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from you.

Plunk!

Hey, what was that sound?

Plunk!

Jungwon's head shot to your bedroom window. Then, he heard yelling outside.

As he got up to check out the commotion, you tugged on him.

"I already told you..." you murmured dreamily. "It's cold."

Jungwon narrowed his eyes. "But, what's going on outside-"

"Ricky and Gyuvin," you answered, this time tightening your hold on the boy. "They like to... torment me... sometimes."

Just sometimes? Jungwon thought. Really, how often were you getting harassed like this?

Before Jungwon could answer, you were fast asleep again. From then on, Jungwon refused to move, not wanting to disturb your peaceful slumber.

But, there was one thing that he took heavy note of.

First, it was 7PM. It was completely dark outside by now, the blue-gray shrouded with clouds, only the yellow moon illuminating the sky.

And second, that he was still human.

Ever since that day, Jungwon hadn't turned into a cat even once.

However, while one phenomenon disappeared, another one emerged.

Jungwon's insanity.

Jungwon considered himself one of the, if not the most, sane person in every classroom. But right now, insanity was spiraling onto him like no other.

Weeks passed, and Jungwon couldn't shake off that tender, yet explosive, feeling he got when he was close to you.

After your week of detention was lifted, you and him slowly saw each other less and less. He couldn't help but feel disappointment when he locked up the detention room one last time, saying his goodbye to you.

You two were still in the same class, still saw each other everyday, but he didn't get to speak with you. 

And that was when Jungwon resorted to observing you.

He was naturally observant, but all this time, Jungwon had been observing the bigger picture. 

It started off with watching the doorway in the morning, praying that every person that passed was you. Then, Jungwon found himself watching you every passing period. Who did you talk to? Who tried to talk to you? What expression did you wear on your face?

Then, Jungwon took to roaming the school perimeter, under the excuse that he was just "patrolling the school for any trouble," when really, he was hoping that he'd run into you. This extended to after school. On the occasions that he actually ran into you, you'd shoot him a sly grin, making cat hands or ears over your head. He knew that you were doing that to tease him about his cat days, but his cheeks felt warm for another reason.

Have you always been that pretty? Of course, you'd always been cute, but did you always glow like that? Was Jungwon always into girls that looked like they could kick his ass? Why did the intimidating look on your face make his heart race?

Jungwon was in denial for a while, until he was at a Class Council meeting, when one of the members asked him casually, "Hey, what actually happened between you and [Name]?"

In retrospect, they were clearly referring to that one time you "assaulted" him. That incident remained shrouded in mystery for a while, as Jungwon refused to talk about it.

However, Jungwon jerked up at that question, his face painted with a look that could only be described as “constipated” at the sound of your name. Did someone find out about his cat transformation curse, and how you took care of him in that state? No, that would be too specific.

"Jungwon?"

"Y-Yes!"

Wonyoung and Jini shared a look, before a grin spread on their faces. 

"You make it seem like you guys were kissing, or something. We’re just curious about what actually happened."

A weird noise came out of Jungwon's throat, his eyes wide like saucers.

Kiss...ing?

"Oh my god, don't tell me you actually kissed [Name]--"

"I didn't!"

And he was telling the truth. But the bright, red color on his face betrayed him. The Council teased him all about it, even going so far as patting him on the back for "scoring a baddie" (Wonyoung's words, not his). He denied it, he denied it with his full chest. He held his head high, nose pointed to the sky, denying it like his life depended on it. 

But Jungwon couldn't help the weird feeling of pride that swelled in his chest. He liked the thought of kissing you, and in a weird, twisted way, he liked the way that people thought that you and him were together. Of course, he gave all of them a scolding for jumping to conclusions, but later in the day, when he was alone and reflected on the day, his cheeks began to hurt.

And that marked his actual descent into madness.

You began showing up in his dreams, smiling at him with those pretty, glossy lips, which he hadn't noticed until now. The grins you’d flash him across the room when he passed by, and the way you’d make cat hands or ears over your head whenever you saw him to tease him, made him feel weird. Gosh, did you have to be so pretty? Jungwon couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. He craved your warmth, the warmth you gave him when you held him to your chest, the warmth you gave him when you hugged and called him annoying. Was it weird that he liked the way you could beat him up?

Jungwon was pulled out of his thoughts when his phone dinged.

Today was another mundane day, where he spent his lunch period in the Council room, looking through the schedule.

It was the Class Council group chat.

wonyoung jang: my friend said something fishy is going on in building b

wonyoung jang: someone go check it out?

jini choi: can't, i'm in a meeting rn

jini choi: jinwoo?

wonyoung jang: forget it he never checks the gc

wonyoung jang: jungwon?

Jungwon was already on it.

It wasn't uncommon for people to cause problems during lunch. In fact, that seemed to be the time when most people created the most commotion—

Oh my god, it was you.

When he rounded the corner, there you were. You had your arms crossed over your chest, backed up against a locker. The ones cornering you? Ricky, Gyuvin, and their lackeys.

"You're getting boring, yeah [Name]?" Ricky grinned. "I don't see you fighting back as much."

You shrugged, but you were clearly tense, narrowing your eyes. "I don't want to deal with you guys anymore."

Ricky slowly buttoned his shirt, revealing scars. Scars from scratchmarks. The same scars that Jungwon gave him.

"You see this?" his gaze hardened. "You and your goddamn vermin gave this to me.'

You looked at him incredulously, but you couldn't hide the small curve in your lip. "Okay. And?"

Ricky slammed his fist against the metal locker next to your head, making a loud clang! You cried out in surprise, jolting in place. Heck, even Jungwon was startled, quietly jumping out his skin for a second.

"You think this is funny?" Ricky slammed his fist again, relishing in the way you squeezed your eyes shut in sheer bewilderment. "You think you can get away with this shit?"

Your eyes darted around. Clearly, you were out-numbered and overpowered. Yet, you wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Yeah, I do," you muttered. "It was funny, the way you screamed like a girl, Ricky."

Ricky snatched your face, his hand clutching your chin. He leaned in close to you, so close that you felt his breath on your face. 

"You bitch."

Meanwhile, Jungwon's heart raced in his chest.

It was getting out of hand: how many people chose to bother you. You were honestly just minding your business, why did people want to pester you so much? He needed to step in before things escalated. And get you the fuck out of there.

Jungwon's body moved quicker than his mind. 

"Hey!" he shouted, making his presence known. Everyone's head whipped over to him. Jungwon gulped as his mind went into overdrive trying to figure out what to say. Curse himself, why did he jump into this without thinking? What a genius.

"Look who it is," Gyuvin slyly stepped forward. "[Name]'s little crush."

If Jungwon wasn't about to be jumped, he would have turned red at that little comment. He was too focused on the fact that you were in possible danger. 

"Yanno, Mr. Class President," Gyuvin paced toward him, his brows raised to his forehead. "[Name] here named her cat after you. Isn't it weird how she's obsessed with you?"

Your eyes were wide like saucers, sending him warning signals. 

'You need to leave,' your eyes read, but Jungwon ignored it. This entire time, he pranced around as the Class President, feeling righteous, yet he never even tried to empathize with someone like you. How could he claim his title but be so clearly blinded by dumb prejudice?

Gyuvin gestured for Jungwon to come closer, pulling him so that he was right in front of you, face-to-face.

"This one causes a lot of trouble, doesn't she?" Gyuvin rasped. "Parading around like she's some kind of queen, when really she's just a little cunt."

"I know you're angry, Jungwon," Ricky added, motioning to you. "Let your anger out, won't you?"

They were right about him being angry. But not at you, not at the world, not at whatever internal conflict he had. 

At them.

Jungwon's hands balled into fists.

"You guys are out of your fuckin' minds," he grumbled, his shoulders shaking. Before they could respond, Jungwon raised his fist, and swung in as hard as he could at Gyuvin, square in the jaw. Immediately, the rest of their lackeys stumbled back, screaming out their leader's name.

This was your opportunity to fight back. Kicking off the wall, you landed a kick at Ricky in the stomach, pushing him to the ground. "Your breath stinks, by the way."

With your back turned, the next thing you heard was a yelp of pain.

Shit, Jungwon!

You yelled his name.

Jungwon, to your knowledge, was not a fighter. He didn't fight people daily, he wasn't violent, he didn't tell people that he'd "kick their asses" like you did. For goodness's sake, he was the Class President. He'd never even had a missing assignment, he was most definitely not going to be able to fight back, let alone land a punch—

But instead of seeing the poor guy on the floor with everyone else beating the crap out of him, you saw the opposite. Jungwon, with only a minute cut on his cheek and bruised knuckles, stood tall, while the rest of the guys (including Gyuvin) groaned on the floor.

How did he..?

Jungwon snatched your hand. Before you could process what the hell just happened, he started profusely asking you if you were okay, if you were hurt. Right in the middle of a whole bunch of dudes groaning in pain.

You squeezed his hand, before running off, pulling him with you.

"You're so annoying, Jungwon!" you scolded him as you wrapped his knuckles in the nurse's office. "Why would you jump into a fight like that—"

"You were in trouble," was all he said solemnly. 

"So what?!" You looked at him incredulously. "You're insane. You're the President, why would you—"

As you chided him, Jungwon found it difficult to focus. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, or the way that you were so close to him. As he sat on the counter, you found your place in between his legs, dabbing rubbing alcohol on the cut on his cheek. It stung, but he only dug his teeth into his bottom lip, instead gluing his eyes to the way your lips moved.

"Jungwon, are you even listening to me?!"

"Yeah, yeah."

You smacked his shoulder. "And you're still recovering from an injury from a few weeks ago, what would you do if they tried to kick you in the stomach again?!" You flicked his forehead.

Jungwon couldn't help the way he felt his lips lifting up. The way you worried about him made his chest feel warm, mindlessly nodding along and agreeing with every word you said.

"You know what?!" you huffed, a hand coming up to rub your temples. "How the hell did you beat them up so quickly back there?! That— That was unreal."

Jungwon opened his mouth to answer, but you cut him off. "— Do you also have some curse that makes you unnecessarily ripped all of a sudden?"

Your hand came up to squeeze his bicep. Although it was hard, especially when he flexed it for you with a grin, revealing his toned arms, it still didn't explain how the hell he was so strong.

"I didn't tell you?" Jungwon smiled. "I used to do Taekwondo."

"You did not tell me. I don't think there was ever a conversation where that came up—"

Jungwon threw his head back, letting a laugh tumble from his lips. "Well, now you know."

It must have been something in the air, because Jungwon would not have done this any other time, but he slithered his arm around your waist as you cupped his cheek gently, fixing up the cut on his face. His hand dangled at your hip, his fingertips brushing up against your thigh. Your eye fluttered over to it briefly, but you didn't seem bothered. In fact, you actually leaned in closer, your other hand sliding up his chest to grip his shoulder for stability. As he was sitting and you were standing, his head angled up at you. The way you gaze down at him, your expression rested, made him almost feel light-headed.

"What if they spread rumors about you, Jungwon?" you asked quietly.

"I wouldn't care," he answered simply.

"But you're the President," your brows knitted together. 

"So what?" Jungwon breathed. "Should the President be concerned over silly rumors?"

"Won't people be suspicious if it suddenly came out that Jungwon Yang beat up a few guys?"

If you asked Jungwon this a few weeks ago, he'd be worried out of his mind. He'd be afraid of his reputation being ruined, he'd be afraid of what others thought of him. But for some reason, it didn't concern him that much anymore.

"That's their problem, not mine."

Just as those words left his lips, his phone began to blow up. He glanced at it briefly; it was probably the groupchat or something, but as it continued to ding, you motioned to it.

"You might want to check that out."

So he did.

wonyoung jang: jungwon we need you right now

wonyoung jang: it's BAD BAD

wonyoung jang: everyone's saying you jumped ricky and gyuvin

jini choi: mr president we need you NOWW

You peeked over his shoulder, only seeing the last message.

"You should go, Jungwon."

"I don't want to."

You gave him a look.

"Suddenly so rebellious?" you nudged his shoulder, the corner of your lip raising. "C'mon, you have duties."

Begrudgingly, Jungwon up and left the nurse's office, sending you the brightest smile he could muster. 

The moment Jungwon stepped into the classroom, he was bombarded– no, completely besieged– with questions. The mere amount of people hounding him with questions was so much, that all their words blended together.

“Okay, okay!” he shouted, putting his hands out in front of him. “One at a time, Jesus Christ.”

They called for a very "needed class discussion."

Long story short, Jungwon thought that everyone was kind of dumb. The way they were all concerned about whether or not he actually beat up Ricky and Gyuvin was ridiculous. Although Jungwon was honestly tired, he wanted to be smart with his words. He didn't want to scare them, did he?

"No comment."

"I don't feel like talking about it."

"I have nothing to add to that."

He found himself crinkling his nose a little too often as those words came out of his lips more times than he could count.

"Jungwon," some girl in the back of the class spoke up. "I heard rumors that you and [Name] are dating. Is that true?"

The class erupted with even more talking, people from other classes even lining the doorway to listen to it. The way that lunch should have ended a long time ago, but the teachers let this continue because they were also nosy and wanted to know. Did it really matter that much?

"Man, I don't know how I feel about that."

"But Jungwon's too good for her."

"[Name]? Of all people?"

They didn't even know you, how could they come to that conclusion if they never even spoke to you?

"But [Name]'s a bitch!"

"How is our Class President dating a bully?"

Jungwon's lips pressed together to form a thin line as thin as paper. He'd always thought that he'd been good at controlling his emotions, but the anger that was threatening to spill out of his throat was rising to a boil, bubbling to the point that if he didn't do something about it now, he'd absolutely implode.

"That's enough," he said, too quiet for anyone to hear. He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes narrowing, behind Jungwon slammed his hand on the front table. "That's enough!"

The room went silent.

He took a deep breath, trying his hardest to contain his feelings. 

"I don't see the relationship between my love life and the class's affairs," he said simply. "We are having a class discussion, and in our class discussions, we discuss problems relating to the class. In what way is the person I'm romantically interested in a problem that relates to the class?"

Silence.

Jungwon looked around with a cocked brow, expecting an answer.

Silence.

Jungwon narrowed his eyes. 

He was tired.

As he pushed past people crowded at the door, Jungwon turned over his shoulder.

"By the way, I think [Name] is pretty cool. You guys should talk to her some time, maybe you'd be happier if you did."

And then he left.

Jungwon expected to find you back in the nurse's office, but he found you down the hall, your arms crossed over your chest, leaning against the wall.

He rushed to you, clutching your hands.

"[Name]," he said, "Hi."

You raised your brow at him, the corner of your lip lifting. "I'm pretty cool, aren't I?"

"Shut up," Jungwon muttered under his breath, but his eyes stayed stuck on you. He squeezed your hands. "Everyone's so annoying."

"I know," you squeezed his hand back. "You were cool back there, Jungwon."

Jungwon's cheeks warmed up at that compliment. Now that he realized that way your hands were in his, he felt his face prickle with heat. "Thanks..."

Somehow, your gaze felt too much for him to take. Jungwon avoided your eyes, choosing to look down at the floor. He felt your hand gently grasp his jaw, before forcing him to look at you.

"I really mean it," you said. "You're really the coolest. It's almost scary."

Jungwon opened his mouth to respond, but before he did...

Poof!

But this time, it wasn’t him that turned into a cat.

It was you.

"Not again!"

Jungwon seemed like a cat person. And he most definitely was one. 

The moment that your cat form appeared at his feet, he scooped you up. Taking off his uniform blazer, he carefully wrapped you in it, before (to your complete and utter surprise) he jumped the fence, skipping class.

You meowed profusely. You had no idea how Jungwon did it; as words tumbled out of your mouth, they only came out as meows, and when you tried to clutch his forearm, all you could do was curse your annoyingly small paws.

If it weren't for your feline form, you'd be scolding him, chiding him for skipping class.

He was silent until the two of you reached a stoplight, when he took you out of the wrap that was his blazer. With his thumb, gently rubbed the spot behind your ears. Without even realizing it, you purred, leaning into his touch as if to say,"More!"

Jungwon chuckled, and you could feel his chest rumbling. 

How embarrassing! How did he do this everyday for nearly a week and not go completely insane?! When he began rubbing your nose, laughing at the way that you fussed, Jungwon softly squeezed your stomach.

"It's my turn to take care of you, [Name]," he murmured, holding your feline face up to his. From your much smaller form, you could see every detail of his face— from the curve of his eyes, to the blemishes on his nose, to the divots in his half-chapped lips. You'd be lying if you didn't say that Jungwon had a nice face. You brought your paw up to his cheek, to which he chuckled again. He took your paw with his hand, before nuzzling his cheek into it.

When Jungwon finally arrived at his apartment, your question (where were his parents?) from weeks ago was finally answered: he lived away from them.

"Just like you," he whispered against your fur, rubbing your head as he flicked the lights on.

The next thing you knew, you were being bathed in warm, soapy water, as strawberry-scented bubbles filled the little bathtub. Jungwon dried you with his softest towel, and then you were eating the cat-equivalent of a five course meal.

"I feed the stray cats sometimes," he explained to you when your feline eyes gazed at him questioningly.

Was it normal for you to be so tired? You usually weren't this sleepy at this time in the day, yet you were. As you laid on Jungwon's lap, purring at the way his fingers ran through your fur, your eyes felt heavy.

It wouldn't hurt to doze off, right? After all, you were with Jungwon.

Jungwon tucked you into his bed, placing you on a pillow before covering you with a small blanket. He booped your nose.

Although he'd willingly skipped class today, he still had his own responsibilities that he'd like to attend to. He looked over all his homework, filing through all his important Presidential duties, and jamming in all the extra studying that was necessary. 

It was a quiet few hours for him. Every hour, or so, he'd go to check on you. Each time he did, you were soundly sleeping. Since you transformed into a cat during the day, there was no telling when or how you'd transform back. He wondered how you'd react when you transformed back. Would you be bashful about it? Or, like always, would you call him annoying, and tell him that he spread his "disease" to you? Jungwon's lips curved at the thought of that. You were cute as a cat, but he thought you were cuter as a human, obviously. 

As he worked away, Jungwon didn't notice the way the sun slowly sank into the horizon, its yellow face eventually disappearing. He was deep into focus when he heard a crash, and a small yelp. Coming from his room.

"Jungwon?" your voice called.

Immediately, he dropped his pen, dashing straight to his room. You were awake now, he thought. Maybe he could fit in a nice conversation with you, get closer to you, but that might be difficult when you were so pretty—

Oh.

The moment that Jungwon busted his bedroom door, he really didn't know what he expected.

But he definitely didn't expect to see you.

Naked, sprawled on his bed.

!!!

You let out a shrill scream. Jungwon's face flared with heat, immediately turning around. He buried his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. 

"S-Sorry!"

He felt like he could have increased the global warming rate and melted multiple ice-caps just by the sheer amount of heat radiating off of his face. It was so bad that his eyes began to water from pure embarrassment. 

Jungwon must be dying, he thought. He might actually drop dead now.

He heard rustling, before your voice, much quieter than he'd ever heard it, murmured, "You can look now..."

Jungwon turned around, but he still kept his eyes shut. If he looked you in the eye now, he'd probably combust on the spot. Slowly, his eyes peeled open, to reveal you, just as embarrassed as him, curled up on his bed, with his blankets wrapped around you.

"Sorry," you muttered, your eyes glued to the floor, too shy to meet his. Your bottom lip jutted out to form a pout, your brows softly furrowing.

Jungwon waved his hands in front of him profusely. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Y-You have nothing to apologize for."

"Right."

.

.

.

"Jungwon, I'm naked—"

He was already on it. Your school clothes were still in the washer, so Jungwon dug through his closet, throwing you one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. He let you do your business, and just when Jungwon thought that all his embarrassment was gone, he saw you in his clothes.

Shit.

Jungwon clamped his hand over his mouth, unable to hide the growing smile on his cheeks.

You looked so... cute.

"Yah," you kicked him with your foot, still buried in his blankets. He could see the way your eyes were shifty, still avoiding his. "What're you laughing at?"

"Nothing," was all Jungwon said, but a smile was apparent in his voice.

"Stop laughing!" you threw a pillow at him.

This scene has happened before.

Jungwon laughed, his eyes pressing into thin crescents as his sharp teeth came into view. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip. Why did he have to look pretty when he laughed?

You threw another pillow at him. Jungwon snatched the pillow off the floor, charging toward you. You let another shrill shriek escape your lips when he managed to land a hit on you with the pillow.

"Jungwon!" you cried, as he grabbed another pillow, hitting you on the top of your head. You struggled for another soft and plush weapon to use against your assailant, but alas, he was much faster and stronger than you, "Jungw— Hey!"

"You started it!" He was kneeling at the edge of the bed, when he reached for yet another one of his pillows. When he did this, Jungwon had to climb onto the bed entirely. You hit his hand away from his target pillow.

"You already have two pillows!" you nudged him with your foot. "Don't be unfair."

"All's fair in love and war," Jungwon said simply.

You stared at him incredulously, before you bursted out laughing. Jungwon's ears burned, but he didn't budge.

"Okay, you nerd." With that, you seized the pillow that he was so desperately trying to obtain, only for Jungwon to try to rob you of it. For the next few minutes, you and Jungwon struggled over the pillow, ripping it out of each other's hands.

"Let go!" you cried.

"Absolutely not!"

It was going just fine. A friendly pillow fight. Right?

Except, Jungwon miscalculated one of his movements, causing him to launch himself forward. He landed right on top of you, his hands right beside your head with his arms caging you below him.

Oh.

Oh.

With his dark locks falling over his face, Jungwon gazed down at you with wide eyes. The way you looked back up at him, eyes glittery and lips parted, your breath heavy from the earlier play-fighting, made his heart race. Why were your lips so glossy under the light? Why did his bed fit you so perfectly? Why did you look so pretty when you were in his clothes in his bed in his arms? Why did he want to lean in and—

On your end, your heart was palpitating just as much as Jungwon's was. But of course, you didn't know that.

The lamp next to his bed casted a dim, orange light, and even under the shadow, Jungwon's honey tan skin glowed. 

There was something about the way his toned arms dangled over your head, or the way you could see his collarbones peeking out of his shirt, or the way that his neck just looked so goddamn kissable right now—

The two of you could have been staring into each other's eyes for minutes or for hours, there really wouldn't have been a difference.

"Uh, sorry," Jungwon finally said, the embarrassment finally settling in. He began to maneuver off of you, the warmth of your touch being ripped away from him.

No! You didn't want him to get off of you! You wanted him to be close to you!

You grabbed his wrist, yanking him down. Instead of caging you, Jungwon instead was now met with a faceful of your chest, much to his embarrassment.

"[Name]...!" he spluttered, but you didn't care. You pressed your hand on his back, making the rest of his body relax into yours, before you ran your hands through his hair.

"I'm tired," you muttered in his ear. "I want to sleep."

"Y-You just woke up..!" his voice was muffled by your chest and shoulder.

"I don't care." Your fingers stopped in his hair, before you reached for his lamp, switching it off. "We're sleeping."

All Jungwon could do was sigh, admitting defeat to you. He relaxed into your body, taking in your sweet scent, though with reddened cheeks. He thanked the newfound darkness for concealing the color of his face. Realizing that you were no longer playing with his hair, Jungwon clutched your hand, dragging it and plopping it right on top of his head.

"Play with my hair, [Name]."

"You're annoying," you whispered, but you complied. You were so warm, and soft, and calming. Jungwon felt all his worries melt away, which was why he couldn't help but nuzzle his face into your chest. You cocked a brow at him, pausing to flick his forehead. "Okay, you perv."

Jungwon shot up. "I'm not a—!"

You pushed his head down back into your chest, your other arm coming up to hold him in place. "Go back to sleep."

And who was he to refuse you?

Jungwon and you saw each other quite often after that. In passing, you'd always shoot him that signature smile, accompanied by a punch on the shoulder, or a light slap on the arm, or even a soft shove. Some days, you'd drop by the Council room and say hi to him, maybe even look over his Presidential papers. You got suspicious looks whenever you did, but the glare of the class's residential troublemaker and the Class President was enough to send people spiraling.

Day by day, Jungwon's feelings grew for you. Exponentially. It could be little things, like how you'd send him questioning looks when someone said something questionable, or the way that you'd scrunch your nose whenever he purposefully stared at you. But it was also the other moments outside of school that he valued, like when he found you feeding a few stray cats, or when he saw at the grocery store stocking up on cat food (just in case you or him turned into a cat again, your words not his). 

Little did he know, you, too, blossomed a crush. You didn't talk to many people, so Jungwon was special. You liked that he was diligent and hard-working, and his snobbery wasn't really existent. He was one of, if not the only, person that you chose to tolerate. He was cute, someone that you wouldn't mind being around.

It's been long known to Jungwon that he wasn't always as smart as he thought he was. But sometimes he thought he was plain stupid.

“I like you,” Jungwon blurted one day after school, as you helped him look over his papers. The moment that those words left his mouth, Jungwon wanted to eat them. 

As spring came rolling into your lives, the days were getting longer. Sunlight illuminated the empty classroom, casting a delicate shadow on your features. 

Jungwon didn't know what came over him, what spirit decided to possess him in that moment.

After a few moments, you said, "Okay."

.

.

.

Okay?

Just.

Okay?

Jungwon squeezed his eyes shut as his heart plummeted to his stomach. Of course he had no chance with you. How could he? Was he getting ahead of himself? Had he been misinterpreting your relationship this entire time?

Just as embarrassment crashed down on Jungwon, you clicked your tongue.

"Can you stop panicking?" you asked frankly. When you noticed his very red expression, you huffed. "I didn't reject you, if that's what you're thinking—" you pinched your nose-bridge— "Just, let me think of a response."

That only made Jungwon sink deeper into his seat. Oh, he was so naive! What would happen after this? He didn't want to lose his friendship with you, not at all! Maybe he should die, maybe the earth should just open up right now and eat him alive—

“Jungwon,” you finally said. “I think you’re really cute.”

Jungwon held his breath.

“But,” you continued. “This is a little fast for me.”

As catastrophe rained down on his shoulders, you stifled a giggle.

Setting down your pen, you rested your face on your fist, gazing over at the boy.

Gently, as if he were a piece of glass, your fingers clutched his chin, moving his face to look at you. Jungwon's eyelids fell shut at your touch. Biting back a grin, you leaned in toward him. Experimentally, you came just close enough for Jungwon to feel your breath against his lips, ghosting you lips over his. You watched the way his brows knitted together, his lips wobbling.

Cute.

You pressed one kiss on his right eyelid. You felt his shoulders tense under you, but you only smiled. You pressed another kiss on his left eyelid. Before he could react, you pulled away.

“Take me out on a date first, yeah?” there was a smile in your voice.

Jungwon stood frozen in his spot, before his eyes shot open.

Date?

“And bring me flowers,” there was a teasing, but also dreamy, tone in your voice. “I like roses.”

The way Jungwon just stared at you with widened, glossy eyes, dumbfounded beyond words made you throw your head back, laughter bubbling from your chest.

You leaned in toward him again, collecting his hands in yours.

“I like sweets, but anything with too much chocolate makes me sick,” you leaned in closer. “I’m free every day, since none of the teachers are on my dick anymore.”

You put your finger to your lip in thought. “If you don’t want to go anywhere, we can come over to my house and nap. I like being hugged and I get cold easily.”

“W-Wait, what?!”

Jungwon felt so much blood rush to his face, he almost fainted.

"I like you, too," you said simply, as if it were just another fact and not one of the most ground-breaking discoveries of Jungwon's life! "I want you to take me out on a date."

Jungwon blinked.

You got up from your chair, yawning and stretching. Then, you began packing up your things.

"I have to go now," you flashed him a grin. "I'm tired."

As you made your way to the door, Jungwon finally realized where he was, and what the hell was happening: you, his crush, liked him back, and this was his chance.

"W-Wait!" Jungwon blurted, his hand jerking out to grab your wrist. Almost like you were hoping for him to do that, you turned over your shoulder, humming.

"This Saturday!" Jungwon gulped down those dumb words that threatened to spill out his mouth, the ones that would make him look even more like a fool. "Go out with me this Saturday, 5PM."

You only smiled. "Okay. Saturday, 5PM. Got it."

The two of you stood like that for what felt like hours. Jungwon darted his tongue out to swipe over his bottom lip. He wanted to say something to you, but he simply couldn't bring himself to utter words.

"You won't turn into a cat, on me, yeah?" you teased him, the corner of your lip raising up. Oh, how much he wanted to kiss them. How would your hand fit in his? What should he wear? Where would you go?

"No..." Jungwon answered, too dazed. "I won't."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

You slipped out of his grasp, making your way out of the room. Though, your footsteps as they faded away sounded more excited than usual.

Jungwon was left there in the classroom, alone. He blinked a few more times, letting a few more pulses pass, before his face broke out with a smile.

There he stood, hiding his face in his palms. 

Oh, he couldn't wait until Saturday.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! <3

[yla-aira]

jungcat 🫶

[star-sim]

crawling back to you ☆ jungwon yang

☆ spiderman! jungwon x fem! reader ☆ summary: spider-man was the city's strongest hero: a crime-fighter, a man of the people, and... a loverboy? it's been months since jungwon, the identity behind the powerful spider-man persona, broke up with you. somehow, even with the entire city's fate resting on his shoulders, his biggest concern still remains whether or not he will ever get to see you again. ☆ genre: spider-man! au, exes to lovers, JUNGWON YEARNINGGG, slooooow burn, college! au, jealousy, angst, pining, SEXUAL TENSION & YEARNING ☆ word count: 24.4k words ☆ my long awaited... im sorry guys i was genuinely going through hell and back when i was writing this but its okay papa vanya pulled through, for my dearest @ashtxrie

Jungwon's chest heaved up and down, bated breaths tearing from his lips.

Not again, he thought to himself, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He could feel his loose t-shirt sticking to his skin, the heat from under his blanket too sweltering to endure that he had to throw it off of him. His cat-like eyes flickered to the window beside his bed. The moon gleamed so charmingly, streaming bright slivers of light through his window. And yet, all Jungwon could do is shiver into his hot skin.

It’s been almost 6 months since Jungwon broke up with you. 6 months since he’s been genuinely happy.

And for the past 6 months, Jungwon has been having the same nightmare every night. The nightmare that ended the same way no matter what Jungwon’s brain wired itself to conjure up: with you dying in his arms.

Jungwon shuddered. It was the middle of summer. Even when it was late in the depths of night, beads of cold sweat managed to find their way back onto Jungwon’s neck. Sitting up on his bed, his knees pressed against his chest, Jungwon’s heart pounded in his ribcage, so loud that he could hear it in his ears, yet his fear was so quiet in his heart.

His eyes flickered around his dark bedroom. He needed to call you, he thought. Images of your dying face, choked sobs, and teary voice flooded his memory. It made Jungwon’s eyes line with hot tears, as they always did whenever this nightmare returned to him. He needed to call you, to make sure that you were okay, that his greatest fears hadn’t come true.

Jungwon's hand, still trembling, reached out for his bedside table. If he ignored the empty coffee cups cluttered on it, or the way he had hundreds of ignored messages and call notifications, he would have slowed down. And just as he searched up your name in his contacts, his shaking fingers about to call you, he stopped.

Oh right. He’s not with you anymore.

6 months is a long time.  Apparently not long enough for Jungwon to forget his feelings for you.

If his chest wasn’t already aching, it was now. It was him that broke up with you.  It was him that chose to break your heart. It was him that chose to leave you crumbling to your knees, tears spilling from your eyes as you silently begged him to stay.

And maybe that was his biggest regret.

Jungwon stared at his hands. He gazed each callous on his palm, every single scar and scratch still evident on his skin. His eyes glazed over the black spider-like veins on his wrists.

No, there was no time to mull over you. Not when there was an imminent threat in this city. Slapping his cheeks awake, Jungwon huffed before climbing out of bed. There was no way he would be able to fall asleep anyway. He might as well distract himself with something productive. Start early.

His eyes fluttered back to his moonlit window. Ah, fuck it.

Jungwon had a secret.

A secret that he kept guarded day in and day out, like his life depended on it. And the truth was, his life did depend on it.

Ignoring the way the red and blue spandex felt particularly uncomfortable as it stuck to his still-sweaty skin, Jungwon shot a sticky white web at a building. He gazed at the web that had ejected from his wrist, before peering over the ledge. In this busy city, it seemed like no road was ever going to be completely empty, not even in the depths of night. There were still people roaming the streets, noisy cars honking at one another with their tires screeching.

You hated heights, was the resounding thought that clouded his head as he looked down to the city below him. Once again, Jungwon's heart tightened in his chest, and he shook his head.

He needed to stop thinking about you. You probably already stopped caring about him anyway. You're a pretty girl, even before you and him broke up there was already a line of guys waiting for you to be single. Jungwon wouldn't be surprised if a girl like you already found someone else.

Someone better. Someone that wasn't a damn coward like Jungwon was.

Jungwon let his eyes fall shut, relishing in the way that the cool summer night air brushed against him. It's hard. To let you go, to accept that what once was his could be someone else's.

He looked back down to his gloved hands, the same hands that have been fighting crime for the past 6 months, the same hands that were responsible for the safety of this city, the same hands that touched your pretty face, the same hands that have brought criminals to justice.

It was all blurring together. Jungwon dug his teeth into his bottom lip. He needed to let you go, before his mind devoured him. He needed to let you go, before his identity as Spider-Man, the number one crime-fighter in this city, gets inevitably revealed, and he has to witness you die for the hundredth time. But for real this time.

"Damn, you look like shit."

Jungwon rolled his eyes at his friend's comment, sighing loudly as he flipped through the pages of his textbook. "Didn't get much sleep last night."

Look, Jungwon is a college student. Although his Spider-Man gig was pretty good at paying him, he wanted to contribute to his community in another way. Like through tutoring the local kids.

"Why are you even studying basic elementary algebra?— you're a film major!" Jungwon's good friend Sunghoon Park was a great guy. A little rambunctious, but still a good friend. But not right now.

Jungwon had agreed to have a quote un-quote "study date" with Sunghoon at the coffee shop below Jungwon's apartment complex. Jungwon was a little proud that his friend suddenly wanted to study with him (such intellectual vitality!), but seeing as all Sunghoon has been doing for the past 30 minutes is scrolling on his phone and looking around conspicuously tells Jungwon otherwise. Sunghoon didn't even order a coffee or soak in the scent of warm coffee beans in the coffee shop. He just sat there.

Jungwon shot a look at Sunghoon. "This kid that I'm tutoring, apparently he's not very good at math."

Sunghoon nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as his thick brows quivered.

"Okay..." he said slowly, his vowels drawing out. "But why do you need to study for it? Don't you like—" the man made a face— "Already know how to do basic math?"

Jungwon opened his mouth to explain that he's not necessarily trying to review elementary math, but moreso trying to figure how to teach it, but he was cut off by Sunghoon's continued rambling.

"—Like shouldn't you know how to add apples? Like if Sally has 2 apples and she gets 3 more, how many does she..." Sunghoon trailed off when he saw Jungwon's completely vacant, unamused expression. Jungwon clicked his tongue, going back to his very informative reading. However, he could practically feel Sunghoon staring at him, to the point that it felt like he was burning holes into Jungwon's person.

Jungwon let out another annoyed sigh. When he looked up to Sunghoon very obviously staring at him, his friend comically looked away. As if Sunghoon was fooling anyone.

"Do I have three heads?" Jungwon asked bluntly.

"What?"

Jungwon huffed, leaning back in his seat. "You keep looking at me. What is it?"

Sunghoon blinked. Jungwon watched as his older friend's Adam's apple bobbed. The once relaxed, though awkward, expression on Sunghoon's face wiped almost immediately, being replaced with a deeply uncomfortable and uneasy one. He squirmed in his seat, his dark eyes darting around the coffee shop in silence.

"Are you okay?"

But instead of answering, Sunghoon just shoved his face into his hands, muttering something under his breath that Jungwon couldn't make out.

Finally, Sunghoon finished his mini-mental breakdown and looked at Jungwon. Somehow, in the span of a few minutes Sunghoon went from looking perfectly fine to looking like he just went through hell.

"Jungwon." Sunghoon finally said, his voice solemn. Which was weird, because when is Sunghoon ever serious? To add to Jungwon's bewilderment, Sunghoon reached across the table, taking hold of Jungwon's hands. His expression was so comically somber that Jungwon thought he was joking. "I have something to tell you."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips lifting. "Yeah, yeah, get on with your little bit—"

"I"m serious." Sunghoon looked around again, as if he was making sure that no one was listening. He leaned in closer to Jungwon, his voice dropping to as low as a whisper. "It's serious."

Jungwon's brows knitted together, his expression pinching in pure confusion. "What are you talking abou—"

Sunghoon squeezed Jungwon's hand from across the table. His friend took a deep breath, before earnestly facing Jungwon. "What I'm about to tell you, you didn't hear it from me."

"Just—" Jungwon's scowl deepened. "Just tell me already, dude!"

Usually Sunghoon would react, but he just shook his head solemnly. Sunghoon took another deep breath, before he opened his mouth and let words tumble out: "She has a blind date. This weekend."

Jungwon blinked slowly. "Um. Who?"

Sunghoon looked like he was going to shit himself. "You know...."

Jungwon didn't know. Jungwon literally does not talk to anyone except a select few of his friends. And none of them are girls. "I don't, though...?"

Sunghoon sucked in another sharp breath, his tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip. "Your... Your girl."

Oh. Jungwon's heart sank to his stomach. That's not... what he expected. Not in the slightest. And the way that Sunghoon physically flinched as he revealed such information didn't make Jungwon feel any better.

"Who... told you that?"

Sunghoon pressed his lips together, forming a line as thin as paper. "You know my coworker? Wonyoung? She's [Name]'s good friend and she's been boasting how she hooked her up to this guy."

But Jungwon tuned Sunghoon out after that. Maybe if Jungwon had a better grip he would have calmly explained that you were not his anymore. It’s not like your breakup was a secret, and if there was anyone who had to bear witness to Jungwon's abject gloominess, it would be Sunghoon. Jungwon couldn't understand why his friends still referred to you as his, even when they were well-aware of the fact that you two were separated.

"C'mon, man, we all know you still want her," was a sentiment echoed by all of his friends.

And they were right. As if they could see through Jungwon's quiet exterior, his robotic composure so keen on hiding his true feelings.

Sunghoon's words fell upon deaf ears. If he did listen, he would hear Sunghoon pleading Jungwon to let go of this act, to stop putting up walls, to finally admit that he was wrecking himself from the inside out by continuing to act like he no longer cared for you.

Jungwon stared blankly at the coffee shop table. The pain in his chest no longer felt new. It felt more like a constant.

In his pencil case he still had the expensive mechanical pencil that you gifted him. Its silver ridges were practically molded to the curves of his fingers. The capsule of lead that came with the pencil only had a few pieces left. When he studied he still listened to the same songs that you introduced to him, the same songs that you and him kissed to as the two of you laid in his bed, and—

Jungwon thought he was okay. And for the first few weeks, he really was just fine. After all, he'd convinced himself that it was all for the better. But Jungwon knew that he'd break sooner or later. And it would be now.

It seemed like in every waking moment, you still managed to consume his thoughts.

All roads led back to you.

As Jungwon swung from building to building, he tried his best to clear his mind. As he always did.

After his little coffee chat (disaster?) with Sunghoon, Jungwon had excused himself to go to some "work." When really, he was just reporting for duty as Spider-Man. Feeling the wind against him as he swung around the city, the thrill of nearly flying through the air, was always useful whenever Jungwon had a lot on his mind. Like always, Jungwon checked his usual stops: banks, daycares, financial and business centers, just to make sure that no one was rumpling with civilians' safety.

Lately, it hasn't really been working. But what did he expect?

The bright summer sun, blaring its orange-yellow light, was now dipping into the horizon. The air smelled like gasoline and peaches, and yet, Jungwon couldn't even relish in the tranquility. Jungwon didn't know why he kept thinking about you. The thought of you going on a date at all with someone else made him feel sick to his stomach. His gut twisted as images of you laughing and smiling flashed through his mind. It hurt so bad, so damn bad.

A few more times of helping kids cross the road, or giving an elderly person some directions, and Jungwon felt like his legs were going to give out. Which was strange.

As Spider-Man, Jungwon was cursed with enhanced senses and incredible regeneration abilities. Ever since he got bitten by that spider, Jungwon never had to experience feeling physically worn out.

Not until right now. Jungwon slumped against the wall in the back alley, the cool stone pressing against his cheek. He looked down at his hands— was he sick? Losing his abilities? Seriously, what was wrong with him? His body was feeling uncharacteristically warm, like he was burning up from the inside. His eyelids felt heavy, while his legs felt like jelly.

And maybe Jungwon would have passed out in that alleyway if it weren't for the god-awful sound of his cellphone ringing.

Kriiiing! Kriiiing! Mindlessly, he picked up the call. "Hello?" Jungwon breathed, pushing nearly all of his body weight against the cold wall for support. He laid his head back, exhausted in ways that he couldn't explain.

A familiar voice greeted his ears. "Hey, it's Sunghoon."

Jungwon gritted his teeth. Not again. "I'm not interested—"

"Listen." Sunghoon said, his voice earnest. "I'm sorry about what I said today, but—"

Jungwon's lips pressed together. How shameful. It must be so shameful, the fact that everyone knew that Jungwon was suffering so much, that it was so obvious.

"—Me and the guys are going out this weekend," Sunghoon's gravelly voice said over the phone. "And we thought that you should really come with us."

Without even realizing it, Jungwon's breath got caught in his throat. He swallowed the lump, his voice coming out so much weaker than he wanted it to, "Like I said, I'm not interested—"

"Jungwon," Sunghoon pleaded. "You... You haven't been yourself lately. We know that you're struggling right now—we're worried about you. Please, just let us be there for you."

Jungwon felt so humiliated. Ashamed even, at the way Sunghoon's voice was filled with so much sympathy. So much pity.

Jungwon wanted to scream. He wanted to shout at Sunghoon and all of his friends for not minding their damn business, for treating him like he was some charity case.

But as Jungwon's eyes traced his shadow on the road, his phone to his ear, Jungwon wanted to shout at himself, for being so weak, for being a coward, for pushing people away, for having an ego so fragile that he felt threatened by his own friend caring about him.

How pathetic. And Jungwon has the gall to call himself a hero?

Jungwon clicked his tongue. "Okay, I'll be. there."

Jungwon wasn't stupid.

He knew exactly why his friends called him out tonight. It was to distract him from the fact that on this same night, you'd be going on your date.

The plan was to all meet up at Jake's apartment, and then go to the club from there. The moment that he arrived at Jake's apartment, he scurried to the bathroom.

Jungwon stared into Jake's bathroom mirror. The entire cramped bathroom smelled like strong fumes of manly cologne and hair spray. From inside, he could hear the muffled bantering of his friends, probably arguing about who would be driving.

His eyes glazed over the tight black compression shirt that clung to his chest, the dark-washed ripped jeans hanging from his hips. It's been a while since Jungwon utilized his pierced ears, and he figured that he'd put in some simple flat black studs before the piercings inevitably closed up. On his wrist, Jungwon had mindlessly slipped on the braided tassel bracelet that you made him; it was still hanging around his room, and he had forgotten that it was from you. Despite that, he didn't have the heart to take it off and shove into his pocket.

Jungwon couldn't recognize himself. It wasn't just the breakup that ruined him.

Sure, losing you was probably one of the greatest losses in his entire life, he was sure of that. But since then, Jungwon has also purposely distanced himself from his friends. He stopped responding to their messages and going to big group outings.

He could hear Jay's howling laughter and Jake's shouting, all sounds that should be completely familiar to him. And yet, there he was, feeling awkward.

He felt like staying in this bathroom until someone noticed that he was absent.

Click! But that wasn't what Spider-Man's do.

Jungwon cracked the bathroom door open, and the moment that he stepped into the hallway, revealing his blank expression, all of his friends whipped their heads. Jungwon could feel their eyes on him, staring at him like he was some anomaly, and for a second, he regretted even agreeing to hang out with them.

He hadn't seen these guys all together in so long. In fact, Jungwon hadn't been in a personal group setting for months now. He wasn't going to lie and say that showing his face to the friends that he strayed away from made him feel uneasy.

But almost immediately, his friends' faces cracked with large grins, whooping his name.

"Jungwon!" Jake delighted as Heeseung threw an arm around Jungwon's shoulder, pulling him snugly to the side of him.

Jay's sharp features morphed into a big, boyish smile, his lips forming a curve. Jay brought up a hand to dap Jungwon up, and Jungwon received it. "Hey, man."

Sunghoon followed behind him, his sharp canine teeth revealing as he chuckled. "Glad you could make it, Jungwon."

Jungwon felt unnatural. Out of place, like a fish out of water. When was the last time he was around people that enjoyed his presence? Other than the group of middle schoolers that cheered him on when he dashed through the air, or the middle aged women at the local library club that doted on him, Jungwon couldn't remember clearly.

For all the months that Jungwon tore himself away from his friends, he didn't know what was more surprising, that his friends still wanted something to do with him, or that nothing had changed while he was gone.

Sunoo's eyes still pressed into thin crescents as he threw his head back, laughing at something stupid Riki said. Heeseung still pulled Jungwon into a headlock, aggressively scruffling his head and ruining his hair despite Jungwon's complaints. Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon still liked to argue loudly, their voices reaching volumes so high that Jungwon was sure they'd get a noise complaint before even leaving.

And as Jay and Sunghoon wrestled, falling onto Jake's couch, the room erupted with the same familiar howling laughter and quips that Jungwon had forgotten how much he loved.

As Riki jumped in to join in the pseudo-wrestling match, Sunoo chanting "fight, fight, fight!," and Heeseung and Jake acting as refs, Jungwon gaped at the scene.

The boys that he's grown up with, the boys that had seen him grow from a wimpy little middle schooler into a strong adult, the boys that never failed to make him laugh— have stayed the exact same.

And for the first time in a while, Jungwon felt his lips lift up, soft giggles erupting from his chest as his eyes squeezed shut. It was such a foreign feeling, and an even more foreign sound.

His friends seemed to think the same. In an instant, the room fell silent. Once again, Jungwon felt all eyes on him.

But before Jungwon's mind could play tricks on him, Riki dashed over to him, throwing the older boy over his shoulder and throwing him on the couch.

"You son of bitch, Jungwon!" Riki laughed affectionately, beginning a tickling assault on him.

Once again, Jake's apartment was engulfed in chaos and laughter.

Well, after being tickled so hard that he almost started crying, as well as a well-deserved noise complaint from Jake's neighbors, Jungwon and his friends finally decided to go to the club. Which was their plan all along, but it wasn't any of their faults that messing around in Jake's home was more fun. And plus, Jungwon accidentally used too much of his spider abilities and body slammed Riki so hard that they all needed a momentary time-out to get Riki an ice pack for his head ("How the hell did you get so strong?!" was what Riki was more concerned about than the giant red mark on his forehead).

Bright strobing lights, the smell of sweaty bodies and alcohol, and the sound of techno music filled all of Jungwon's senses.

And with the encouragement of his rowdy, unruly friends, Jungwon sucked in sharp breath.

Fuck it.

Whatever worries he had now, or whoever was breaking his heart, he was going to forget it. He was going to pretend that it never existed, that it never hurt him, that he was okay.

Just for tonight, just for his friends.

"C'mon!" Jake pulled Jungwon by his arm to the bar. The older boy ordered the two of them a few shots. As they waited for the bartender to prepare their drinks, Jake and Jungwon sat on the barstools. In the corner of Jungwon's eyes, he could see his other friends fucking around like they always did.

"Would it hurt them to have some class?" Jungwon muttered playfully, unable to hide his amusement when Heeseung slipped and fell on the dance floor.

"Nah, class is a foreign concept to them." Jake let a bashful smile spread on his face, his gelled hair falling over his eyes. The older man tapped his fingers on the bar counter to the electric music loudly blasting.

Jungwon grinned, and the two sat in a comfortable silence, before Jake opened his mouth again.

"We missed having you around, you know."

Jungwon whipped his head over to his friend. He quirked a brow. "Really?"

Jake put a hand on the back of his neck, a soft chuckle falling from his lips. "Yup." Jungwon followed his eyes, back to their friends that were now teasing Jay for his wild dance moves. "I think you're the smartest out of all of us."

"That's not true."

Jake shook his head. "Nah, you should have seen us. Me and Sunoo were trying to figure out how to do taxes. Never again."

As the bartender served up their drinks, Jungwon turned back to Jake, who continued, "I know you're having a hard time, but just know that we're here for you."

Jake raised the shot glass filled with a golden brown liquid— "Cheers."

Jungwon smiled.

Clink! Their shot glasses collided.

"Cheers." And with that, Jungwon threw the shot back, the bitter taste on his tastebuds burning so hard that it reached his nose. Almost immediately, Jungwon's expression turned sour, his nose scrunching at the taste. "Blegh— How do you drink this?!"

Jake shrugged. "You'll get used to it if you drink enough."

Jungwon hunched over the bar counter, his elbows on the counter as he held his hands in his head. He shook his head. "Never again. That's nasty."

A few moments of silence pass. Jungwon slid his empty shot glass over. "Give me another shot."

Despite being an adult, Jungwon had forgotten what it felt like to party.

The thrumming of the techno music that filled the club felt like it was stringing directly through Jungwon, droning through his head. After a few shots and buzzed laughs with Jake, Jungwon was tipsy enough that his body felt weightless. Weightless enough to find himself on the dance floor.

As his strong body moved to the music, Jungwon felt the rhythm of the music. His mind was hazy, nebulous as the alcohol in his system began to take over. Jungwon's head felt warm, and his vision despite his spider senses was more blurry than usual. But that didn't matter.

Blood was rushing all over Jungwon's body. His cheeks felt warm, and he couldn't tell if it was his enhanced spidey-senses or if the music was just that loud that he could physically feel the hum in his chest.

Then, the music switched from an upbeat electronic sound, to a slower, more melodic one. Jungwon swore he recognized the song, but he couldn't name it. Jungwon felt the multiple bodies of the room brush against him, before he felt one directly press up against him.

It was clearly a woman. Jungwon let his eyes shut as he let his body take reign.

Swaying to the gradual beat, Jungwon found his hands on this new woman's body. As his chest pulsed to the song, he took in her scent, he could smell sweet, floral nodes. He could barely feel his feet below him, and for a few moments, he felt like he was going to float off of the ground. And just as Jungwon thought he was going to ascend, he felt two manicured hands on his chest. His hands slid down to her hips, squeezing them, which earned him a sultry giggle.

If Jungwon weren't drunk, he may have jumped away the moment he realized that a woman was practically grinding on him. But the alcohol was too deep in his system, and he was too far gone. Even with his eyes closed, Jungwon could feel everything so intensely. He felt fingers reach for his belt loops, pulling him along.

As the music slowed to a stop, momentarily invading the usually bumping club in a hushed silence, Jungwon felt the woman lean into his ear.

"So handsome," she rasped, her warm breath brushing against his skin.

And as the chills trickled down his spine, the music finally came back on. And strangely enough, even though they were, in fact, inside a partying club, the music that blasted from the speakers was the complete opposite.

A slow piano, rich and deep vocals, and a romantic cadence.

Even in his drunken state, Jungwon immediately recognized this song at the first lyrics. Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis Preseley. Without a doubt, it was this song.

How did Jungwon know? Because this was the song that you and him loved to slow dance to on your kitchen floor. And just like that, Jungwon's mind drifted into the deepest pits of his mind, the parts that he'd locked away.

In his mind, he saw you and him swaying to this song. You and him both wearing matching aprons, giggling as you attempted to slow dance. He saw the way you'd look at him, with those beautiful eyes that he could never refuse. He saw the way you said his name with a smile that he could never forget, not even in a million lifetimes.

Then, he saw flickering images of you and him: you and him holding each other in the winter to keep each other warm, you and him crying into each other's arms, you and him arguing over something so silly that you just ended up bursting out laughing.

And for a moment, it felt like you were there. Another body up against his, dancing so rhythmically that for a split second, Jungwon could pretend that it was you.

And in the depths of his heart, he prayed that it was you.

He hoped that when he opened his eyes, this nightmare would end, and he would get to see you. He hoped that when he opened his eyes, he would see you, staring up at him with those same beautiful, glossy eyes. He hoped that when he opened his eyes, this song would end, and he could scoop you up and bring you home, to show you all the love that he desperately wanted to give you.

But as Elvis Preseley's resonant voice sang earnestly, Jungwon's eyes slowly peeled open to not see you, but another woman.

A woman that was not you.

"N-Not her," Jungwon's lips quivered, his body instantly pulling away. His feet stumbled, in an attempt to tear away from her grasp. Jungwon ignored the way the woman attempted to pull him back, calling out to him.

In his intoxicated state, Jungwon felt hot tears line his eyes as he staggered away.

Not you. She wasn't you. It didn't matter, in fact. No one was you.

It didn't matter what Jungwon tried to do, his heart kept going back to you.

His head was spinning. Jungwon could barely control his body as he bursted out of the doors of the club, and even less, he couldn't control the tears that were now staining his cheeks. The expensive bottle of water that the club had at the entrance was completely chugged down in a single swish, minus Jungwon's struggles to manage his soft sobbing.

Even with water in his system, Jungwon's head was still spinning. His vision was swirling. Finally, after faltering for a few moments, Jungwon found himself sitting on the stairs at the entrance of the club.

As his vision cleared up, the alcohol in his system slowly washing away, Jungwon brought his hand to his mouth, to muffle the sounds of his crying.

Maybe he was just drunk, but the tears were just not stopping. Jungwon's chest heaved up and down, labored and stammering breaths rising from his chest. His hot tears were beginning to burn his eyes.

Even from outside, he could still hear Elvis Preseley's vocalization.

Damn it, did he have to ruin tonight? Jungwon pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face into his knees. His jeans were getting wet with his tears, and the late-night breeze was getting chilly.

In fact, everything was hurting.

Why couldn't he just forget you? Why couldn't he just let you go? Why did he still yearn for you?

Jungwon lifted his head. He could see his hunched figure in his shadow on the ground. How pathetic of him. He hasn't cried in a long time. It felt weird. It didn't feel like him.

Jungwon looked at the spider-like black veins on his wrist. Why was he cursed? Why did it have to be him? He wasn't worthy, he would never be worthy of being Spider-Man. Jungwon didn't ask to be bitten. He didn't ask for that stupidly rich and ignorant scientist to come to him and urge him to use his powers for good. He didn't ask for this responsibility. He didn't ask for anything, except you.

"With great power comes great responsibility," was what he was told the moment the scientists found him. And Jungwon really believed in it. He used his strength to help the weak, he gave others the power that they couldn't have, he protected the love that others cherished.

But couldn't keep any for himself.

After Jungwon's initial honeymoon phase with his newfound spider abilities, he realized something that changed his entire life forever. That he was no longer safe, and even more, everyone that he loved was no longer safe. And Jungwon thought he was strong enough; he thought that he could let you and all of his friends go slowly to protect you all. But he simply wasn't.

And Jungwon felt so damn selfish. He felt like a greedy bastard, someone who couldn't sacrifice himself for the good of others. Why was he even crying? There were people in danger right now, and here he was crying because he missed the girl of his dreams? How pathetic.

But he wanted you so bad.

Jungwon never wanted anything in life. All his life, he was obedient like a dog. He did everything that others asked of him. He always tried his best, always valued his righteousness, always did what was right.

But now, all he wanted was you.

He's never wanted anything, but the moment that he wants you, he couldn't have you.

Here he was, crying like some idiot all alone while you were probably still on that date. God, he wished Sunghoon never told him. He tried his best for the past few days to just not think about it, but now Jungwon had to truly face the fact that you've already moved on. His chest felt like it was going to burst.

Jungwon sunk his teeth into his fist to muffle his sobs even more. Maybe he should just go home. It's cold, it's uncomfortable, it's unsanitary, and most of all, Jungwon felt like shit.

As Jungwon stumbled to his feet, he sucked in one more breath. It still smelled like alcohol, with a scent of cigarettes. Then, he looked at the bustling road across the street. Somewhere out there, you were laughing with another man. Probably kissing him, calling him the same names that you'd call Jungwon.

God, it made him physically ill. Jungwon brought the back of his hand to wipe his nose one more time. He was going to go home. He'll leave a call for Heeseung or something later.

But before he could even take another step—

Boom!

Jungwon looked up at the sky. Even when it was dark, he could see a large cloud of black smoke. And now, he heard police sirens in the distance and the screaming of civilians.

Shit.

You fiddled with your fingers, bouncing your knee in anticipation to the beat of the 2010's pop song that your taxi driver chose.

Damn it, Wonyoung, you thought. You glanced down at the dress that your best friend chose for you. In the reflection of the backseat car window you caught your made up face. The blush on your cheeks, your curled lashes, the lip gloss. You thought you looked pretty.

Your eyes fluttered to your phone resting in your lap. The latest notification was from Wonyoung, telling you good luck and that you looked pretty. You couldn't help but smile.

It's been 6 months since your boyfriend Jungwon broke up with you. And frankly, it's probably been the worst 6 months of your life.

Words could not describe the types of pain and downright suffering that you went through. You cried for weeks straight, and up until recently, you hadn't had the motivation to really do anything.

The breakup was so unexpected, too. One day you and Jungwon were laughing, the next he left you. You couldn't understand why, and it wasn't like Jungwon gave you a succinct reason either. All he had said was that he was sorry, and that he had no other choice.

And the worst part was, you still weren't over your ex.

All that pain for nothing, you thought as your eyes followed the cars that passed your taxi. Your best friend, Wonyoung, on the other hand, had had enough.

"I don't like seeing you like this," Wonyoung had told you one night, as you cried into her shoulder. Despite what she showed others with her bubbly personality, her voice was stern. "It's not fair to you."

And you knew she was right. Which was why you let her set you up on a date with one of her colleagues. You figured that it was time that you stopped mulling over a man that couldn't stay anyway.

It's been so long in general since you even considered looking at someone else that wasn't Jungwon. And for a reason that you couldn't explain, it didn't feel right. And yet, you pushed it to the back of your head as you stepped out of the taxi.

The restaurant that your date, a guy named Haruto Watanabe, chose was a semi-formal one, called Bisco's Palace. You thought that name was a little bit corny, but you brushed it off. Thick stone walls, yellow-orange moody lighting, and an elegant grassy hedge at the entrance. It looked like a fairytale, and because of the beautiful dress that Wonyoung made you wear, you felt like you were in a fairytale.

When you arrived, you were met with a tall man with sharp features.

"Haruto?" you asked. He turned to look at you. You watched as his eyes widened, before he gave you a once-over.

"[N-Name]?" he spluttered. You recognized the look on his face. It was the look on a man's face whenever he found a woman attractive, and unfortunately, you were no stranger to it. "You look— You look beautiful."

If you were someone else, maybe you'd feel flattered. It's not every day that a good-looking man calls you beautiful. But all you felt was a sense of unease. Not that it was his fault; there was nothing intrinsically wrong with him. You just didn't know why you felt so uncomfortable.

You fought back the urge to make a face, and you instead forced a tight-lipped smile.

"Thank you." Now it was your turn to look him over. He was wearing a crisp button-up with slacks. He looked well put-together. "You look great too."

Haruto visibly turned pink, and he muttered something under his breath as he averted his gaze. Finally, he cleared his throat, extending his hand out to you. "Shall we go in?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, before you took his hand curtly. "Of course."

The two of you were quickly seated, and after being greeted by a cheery waitress that was clearly still in high school, your food was ordered and served in a timely manner. If you were to be honest, you weren't exactly too invested in tonight's date. Even if you agreed to it to get over Jungwon, you knew that your heart wasn't there yet.

Not to say that Haruto wasn't a sweetheart. He was polite, had very good manners, and was very respectful toward you. He tried his best to keep a flowing conversation with you, and in recognizing his efforts, you simply just went along with him. He was handsome and a well-natured guy. And, the food was great. Everything was to your taste, from the appetizers to the drinks to the dessert. The wait staff were also on top of it. As a whole, the restaurant was just perfect. The lights, the music, even how cushioned the chairs were.

Like a fairy tale. Everything was perfect. Perfect man, perfect food, perfect night. But it just wasn't good enough.

You felt nothing for Haruto, not even an ounce of interest. And as much as you didn't want to admit it, you knew why you were like this: Because he wasn't Jungwon.

There was nothing "Jungwon" about this date. Haruto certainly wasn't Jungwon, but everything about this date was nothing like how you liked to be treated. You liked to laugh and to get into dynamic discussions about silly topics, ones that didn't even matter. Haruto was so sweet, but he couldn't match your level of wit. While the food was tasty, you didn't want something so stringent and formal. You'd rather do something together with your date, to get to know each other better rather than sitting at a candle-lit restaurant.

Who would have known all of this? Who would have allowed you to do all of these things regardless of the environment? Who did your heart still stubbornly belong to?

Jungwon.

You let out a forced laugh at one of Haruto's jokes before excusing yourself to the washroom.

Shhhhh! As the sink water ran, you stared at your reflection. Even your makeup was done in a way that you knew Jungwon liked. The lipgloss in your purse was the same one that he bought you all those months ago. You didn't even know if you had the heart to use it up.

You thought that you were doing better. But it seemed like time and space only made your heart grow fonder.

It was getting later into the night now. And against your better judgment, you wondered what Jungwon was doing. Maybe he's playing video games. Or reading all of the superhero comics that he loved to collect.

Then, your mind wandered. What if he was with another girl? Your chest overwhelmed itself with unimaginable hurt. He never gave you a real explanation as to why he wanted to end things, and seemingly, his closest friends couldn't either. You'd be lying if you said that your mind didn't betray you, wandering to all of the darkest places.

Your eyes traced your own face in the mirror. Would Jungwon do that to you? Was he really the type to be unfaithful?

You knew the answer: no. Never. Jungwon was many things, and a cold-hearted unscrupulous cheater was not one of them. But then again, you thought you knew him to be the type to never spring a breakup on you. But he did. Maybe you didn't know him as well as you thought he did.

You took a deep breath. Not right now, you thought. You were on a date with another guy. It would be disrespectful to think about your ex, wouldn't it? Even if Haruto was most definitely not the one for you, you should have some courtesy.

You quickly rinsed your hands, dried them, and reapplied your lipgloss. And as you were ready to step back out, prepared to brave your tight-lipped smile and kind words, a large crashing sound pierced your ears.

Boom!

In the blink of an eye, the tiled bathroom floor below you rumbled, low growls rolling from under your feet. You froze. Your hand jerked out to grab the counter, the wall, the bathroom door handle— anything— to keep you stable.

"W-What the—"

Another deafening roar thundered through the air, enough to make your ears ring. At that instance, the floor below you ripped open.

What the hell was going on? Was it an earthquake? That would explain why the ground tore open. And yet, in the distance, you could hear booming thumping sounds.

Almost like the footsteps of a humongous being. Almost like the footsteps of a supervillain. Shit.

You're well aware of the state of your city. In the past few years, there has been a strange phenomenon of evildoers and mutants alike, appearing throughout your city to wreak havoc and torment civilians. And with that came the rise of even more bold crimes. Bank robberies, arson, kidnappings, pretty much everything.

Luckily, in the past 6 months, a new hero has appeared. The red and blue masked hero; the friendly neighborhood superhero himself; Spider-Man.

Your apartment, located near the center of the city, was awfully close to all of the commotion, nearly all the time. Which was why you couldn't help but admit that Spider-Man was quite the gem, for taking out all of these ne'er-do-wells and eccentric supervillains. And yet, here you were, probably in the middle of a supervillain attack.

All of the past villains have been eccentric but petty. But as the tiles below your feet literally cracked with each booming thrum, you were sure that this new villain, whoever it was, was worse.

Much worse. Probably worse than you could ever imagine.

And before you could react to the way that you tumbled to the ground, the cold floor hitting your knees so achingly, you heard a shriek from outside the bathroom.

"It's Baron von Fizzlebang!"

.... Who?

Baron von Fizzlebang?

What kind of shitty villain name is that—

Boom!

The smell of smoke filled your nostrils. You didn't know where it came from, but from the way that civilians screeched and screamed outside, you figured that it couldn't be far from you.

Boom!

Okay, this is urgent, you needed to get out!

Your heart rate picking up, you breathed slowly to keep yourself calm. You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the way your soon-to-be bruised knees ached. As you reached for the bathroom door handle, the lights flickered, followed by the sound of explosions. Even though you were definitively inside the bathroom, with all sides of the room still intact, the dust seeped through the cracks, filling your lungs. With a strained gasp for air, you clamped a hand over your nose, squinting.

You pressed your ear against the bathroom door. Now the entire restaurant blared with fire alarms and smoke detectors. Police sirens also sounded. The large footstep-like thudding in the distance came closer and closer. You had no choice but get out of this damn bathroom and book it.

Your heart was now pounding so quickly that it felt like it would fall out. Your legs felt so weak, your head feeling too heavy. Who the hell is Baron von Fizzlebang? And more importantly, why did it have to be tonight? Without even realizing it, your palms had become sweaty, and with all the blood rushing to your head, you were mere seconds away from sweating.

You shook your head. Focus! You squeezed your eyes shut, your hand wrapped tightly on that bathroom door handle. On a count of three, you were going to open that door and run for your life.

One. Why did some good-for-nothing supervillain have to ruin your already-mediocre night?

Two. You needed to relax. There's no time to sit around and think and languish. Just do it!

Three. You pushed the heavy bathroom door open, and you bursted through the doorway.

And much to your relief, the dark hallway that led to the restaurant's bathroom was hidden away in a little nook; at the end of the hallway was the entrance to the main room of the restaurant.

Slowly creeping down the hallway, you could see the destruction that was wreaked on Bisco's poor, fancy restaurant. Chairs and tables were knocked over, with broken glass and porcelain scattering the red-carpeted floor. From the looks of it, it seemed like all of the restaurant's patrons were either huddled up in another section of the restaurant, or they had escaped.

Great. Now, all you had to do was get out. Thankfully, at the other end of this hallway, there was a backdoor exit. So all you had to do was turn around and—

There standing at the end of the hallway, in front of your exit, was a tall and slender man.

He wore a fitted tailored suit, yet it was bright purple, with a giant bow tie. He had a monocle over his eye.

Like some type of costumed noble. Like a baron.

"That's right," he said, a devious grin spreading across his face, in a way that almost made him look like a carnival clown. Your pulse froze, mid-beat. Theatrically, he gave you a bow, before he reached a hand out to you. " 'Tis I, Baron von Fizzlebang."

Your gut twisted. And when you stared at him with shaky eyes, your entire body frozen in time, the supervillain let out a cackle.

"Oh dear," Baron von Fizzlebang put his hand to his chest, feigning offense. He slyly eyed you, and at once, you could see a lightbulb seemingly pop from his head. "You don't mind being a hostage, right?"

Before you could even open your mouth, Baron von Fizzlebang shot you with finger-guns. And before you knew it, you fell to your knees, your vision became hazy. The last thing that you heard as you lost consciousness was the supervillain's laughter, police sirens, and shouting for a particular red and blue masked superhero.

Jungwon swore that he had a special sense for you.

Jungwon arrived at the scene barely even 5 minutes after he heard the initial explosion. The big fancy restaurant at the end of Mainstreet was the scene.

Really? Jungwon thought. Bisco's Palace? That pretentious place?

The thing was, Jungwon wasn't really nervous. One time, he had to fight an entire group of 20 thugs with guns barely 5 minutes after he was rudely awoken. Jungwon could probably fight people in his sleep. His body and physicality, although he resented it half the time, was perfectly attuned to everything that he needed.

Even now, as he was barely sober and emotionally wrecked, he could see clearly. When he arrived at the scene, half of Bisco's Palace was completely destroyed. Mini fires spotted the scene, with pods of smoke bursting in the night air. Terrified civilians cried that they heard earsplitting thumping in the distance, like footsteps. Others claimed that an eccentric villain called "Baron von something-something" was the cause of this all.

Jungwon huffed. Another crazy supervillain? Seemingly there was another crazy supervillain appearing everyday! What, was there some kind of factory pumping them out? From the looks of it, it seemed like most of the civilians had escaped relatively unscathed.

Good. Jungwon readied himself to launch into that burning restaurant. He had a simple action plan: Rescue the remaining civilians, beat that Baron von something-something's ass, and go home.

The moment that Jungwon's striking red and blue figure launched across the sky, Jungwon could hear the gasps of civilians, police officers, and on-site journalists alike. Jungwon landed easily into what was left of that restaurant building.

And when he entered, it was quiet. Eerily quiet.

Jungwon had to be careful.

Jungwon creeped slowly, closer to the main dining room. He kept his breathing as quiet as a whisper. And when he peeked his head through the grand, arched door-frame that led into the dining room, there, he saw a group of civilians, huddled among the flickering fires Men, women, children— there they were, shaking in fear, and coughing as the. Fire smoke filled their lungs. With his enhanced senses, he could hear mothers hushing their wailing babies and children asking their fathers if they were going to die tonight.

Not on my watch, Jungwon mentally answered their questions.

Jungwon shot a web at the ceiling, and in one fell swoop, he gathered enough momentum to swing across the restaurant, landing where the civilians were.

"Spider-Man!" they cried.

Jungwon crouched down toward them, putting his hands on his knees.

"Listen," he began, his voice stern. "I am going to help you guys escape." Jungwon grimaced at their amazed gazes. "But I need you guys to listen to me carefully."

Jungwon's eyes glazed over the group of civilians. There were up to 15 of them. He didn't have time to carry each and every one of them out. The entrance was burning, and there weren't any other ways to get out. Jungwon wanted to conserve his time as much as possible. To prevent that bastard of a villain Baron von something-something from doing any more damage.

And now that he took a better look at these civilians, they looked tired and worn out. Their cheeks were covered in soot, sweaty faces from the fire that was surrounding them.

Jungwon's eyes darted around the restaurant. There had to be another exit. Then, his eyes fell upon the tall window that stretched from the ceiling down to the floor.

Bingo.

"Mama, it's too hot," Jungwon could hear a toddler babble. Other people seemed to join in on agreement, and yet, they could barely speak coherently. With sweat-stained shirts and cheeks, Jungwon cursed under his breath.

Damn it, the fire was physically weakening these people. Jungwon's plan was nothing short of easy: he was going to break the hell out that window and get these people to escape that way. Yet, the problem was, the windows were bound to shatter and create dangerous shards. Jungwon was going to instruct them to be careful, but judging from the way that these civilians flinched at even the slightest flutter of fire while barely even having the strength to stand up, there was no way that they could have the alertness and mental precision to actually avoid the shards.

Think, think! Jungwon squeezed his eyes shut. What should he do? In the palace that was his mind, Jungwon ran through every possibility. These fires were big. They looked much smaller outside, but now that he was in the restaurant itself, these tongues of fires were massive. Not only were these fires scalding, but the smoke was painful for these civilians.

Come to think of it, shouldn't every building in this city have a robust mechanism for when fire breaks out? And yet, the walls, floor, and remaining civilians in this restaurant were dry. Which means that the sprinklers haven't gone off yet.

This was why public establishments needed health inspections... Jungwon shook his head. He didn't have time to criticize the efficacy of his government.

At once, Jungwon shot webs at whatever hard object he could find— fallen plates, bundles of metal utensils, even pieces of debris— before slinging them into the ceiling, directly toward all of the sprinkler bulbs that dotted the tall ceiling.

I'm sorry about your ceiling, but you'll thank me later, Jungwon thought, before slinging thick wads of webs toward every vent.

As each sprinkler bulb shattered, flared streams of water bursted from the ceiling. And as each vent of this flaming restaurant were webbed over, Jungwon prayed to whichever god he could think of that his physics professor was right about buoyancy. Hopefully, if he was right, by webbing over the vents, new smoke would not be able to enter the room, and thus reduce the amount of smoke that the civilians were breathing in.

As cold water droplets pittered and pattered over Jungwon's suit, he watched as the remaining civilians cheered and cooled off under the sprinkler. And with his physics-accurate ventilation blockage, they'd now be much more compliant.

Jungwon latched onto a larger piece of debris and slung it at the closest and safest window.

"Okay," he began instructing, creating a temporary web to shield the civilians from the fractured pieces of the window. "

You—" he pointed at a man—"Take that kid. And you two—" he pointed at two teenagers—"Stick together."

Jungwon organized the people. "Be careful, and step around the shards!"

The civilians were already on it. Jungwon watched as they carried their young and old, fleeing as fast as they came, all of them murmuring a "thank you, Spider-Man," as they pushed out through the window.

And with that, Jungwon was left all alone. The fire had died down just a little bit, by virtue of the sprinklers. For safe measure, Jungwon configured a few webs to create a few fire barriers to slow those damned flames down.

Now where was that Baron von something-something?

Jungwon scanned the restaurant. He looked everywhere. In the foyer, at the entrance, in the kitchen, even under the tables.

But he couldn't find anyone.

Except, there was one place that he didn't check: the dark hallway in the corner of the restaurant.

Jungwon inched toward it, slowly. He took small, spider-like steps.

"Oh, would you just hurry it up already?!" a loud voice boomed through the air.

Emerging from the hallway was a tall man.

Baron von something-something.

"Look at you, Spider-Man!" he cried, mockingly batting his eyelashes and clasping his hands together. "So brave! So strong! You helped those poor, poor civilians escape!"

Jungwon narrowed his eyes. Who the hell was this maniac? Jungwon's fingers twitched.

"But it looks like you forgot one." A sinister smile spread across his face. "Oh come out, dear!"

There was nothing that could have possibly prepared Jungwon for what he saw next. His heart plummeted to his stomach, because from the dark hallway emerged you.

Your face was dazed, your eyes cloudy, and your movements so sluggish. As if you were unconscious, and your mind was being controlled.

"Dontcha think she's pretty?" the villain continued, eccentrically throwing his arms around you. He laughed. "They don't call me Baron von Fizzlebang for no reason! With a single gunshot from my fingers, I can take anyone under my control!"

Jungwon tuned everything out.

He felt a flood of emotions.

Fear.

You, the person that's been haunting him. You, who has been consuming his thoughts and life. There you were, in front of him, after all of this time. Even when you weren't really there, Jungwon couldn't bear to look you in the eyes.

And yet, it meant nothing. His fear meant absolutely nothing. Not when there was another emotion taking hold: anger.

So much anger, that his blood felt hot. Jungwon dug his fingernails into his gloved palms, enough that his knuckles were beginning to ache. How dare this villain take advantage of you? Your safety was in jeopardy. It made Jungwon's stomach boil with a rage that he couldn't comprehend, the way that you were quite literally not in control of your body. That in the time that Jungwon wasn't there, unspeakable things could have been done to you. To think that your own autonomy was torn from your hands, to think that your own dignity was desecrated in the name of some supervillain's sick power game— that conjured a feeling that Jungwon couldn't even describe. Disgust, horror, wrath; he felt it all.

Jungwon now looked upon the villain with eyes full of wrath.

Baron von Fizzlebang continued to rave on and on about how great he was, and how this was just all part of his master plan to subjugate this city. But it didn't mean anything.

To the entire world, Spider-Man was a hero. And in most ways, he was one. Jungwon saved people daily, he prevented the city around him from crumbling to the ground like it was easy. He was a man of the people, the beacon of hope for all city residents.

The symbol of law and order, the righteous hero of the city, Spider-Man.

And yet, as Jungwon's eyes couldn't bear to tear away from your dazed face, he felt his resolve slip away.

The obligation to protect others, defend freedom, and uphold justice, like a vessel from a dock, sailed away into the horizon, into the unknown. Right now, Jungwon was not Spider-Man protecting a civilian. He was not the Spider-Man that had no other duty than to ensure the safety of his fellow citizens. He was not the Spider-Man whose every action reflected his moral purity.

No, Jungwon was a man that was so ashamed of his own fears, that he never even dared to speak of them. He was the man that pushed everyone away, frightened by what would happen if he continued to associate with them. And worst of all, Jungwon was the man that still continued to yearn you, longing for your touch one last time before he would consign his love to oblivion.

Which was why all Jungwon saw was red.

Maybe if he was actually listening to Baron von Fizzlebang's monologue he would have heard how his abilities worked, but Jungwon didn't care. He'll probably figure it out later when this lunatic gets thrown into jail.

Jungwon couldn't control his body, or his mind at that matter. All Jungwon could remember doing was shooting a web at the ceiling to gain a higher vantage point, before (with all of the maximum, inhuman speed that his body was capable of) swinging down to land a kick flat onto Baron von Fizzlebang's cheek, effectively knocking the man down to the floor.

Before the villain could even react, Jungwon couldn't stop himself; he pinned the villain down to the floor using all of his body weight, before he let nothing but his sheer anger reign. All of his pent up emotions— anger, fear, shame, guilt— spilled out. No longer was Jungwon the pure hero.

With his bare hands, he landed punches to Baron von Fizzlebang's abdomen. Over and over and over.

Spider-Man used spider webs and crafty tricks to defeat his enemies. But Jungwon? He used his bare hands. With gritted teeth, and blood boiling hotter than lava, Jungwon punched, and punched, and punched. Even when he could feel his knuckles beginning to bruise, he punched. He ignored every cry and groan of pain coming from the villain, for there was only one thing on his mind: your dignity.

Jungwon wouldn't have stopped, not even if his arm gave out (because he would just switch to his other arm), not even if this maniacal supervillain was out for good.

The only thing that pulled Jungwon into his blind rage was the sound of you collapsing to the ground, with a thump!

Instantly, Jungwon snapped out of his fury, his head whipping over to you. Seemingly, with Baron von Fizzlebang knocked out, you were released from his control.

Immediately, Jungwon rushed over to you, leaving Baron von Fizzlebang's unconscious body.

"[Name]!" he cried, scooping your limp body up into his arms. You no longer looked dazed, so at least Baron von Fizzlebang's control of you wore off for good. And yet, your expression looked exhausted. Your eyes were half-lidded, labored breaths and soft whimpering pushing from your lips. "[Name], can you hear me? Are you okay?—"

Overhead, Jungwon could hear helicopters and the shouting of police officers and firemen from outside. They must have figured that Jungwon defeated Baron von Fizzlebang, and now they were sending re-enforcements. But all of Jungwon's focus was still on you.

"Spider-Man...?" you mumbled weakly, your voice hoarse and quivering. Now that he got a better look, your eyes were bloodshot, and your cheeks were tear-stained. Jungwon's heart clenched in his chest. He couldn't understand why he felt such an overwhelming urge to pull you into his embrace, to hold you close as if you would disappear. "Spider-Man, I—"

"Don't speak," Jungwon's voice came out as a whisper. And maybe it was now that Jungwon realized that his eyes were welled up with tears. It's been so long since he's been able to see you, and yet ironically, the only reason that he could was because your life was in danger. Jungwon let out a choked sob. "Don't say anything, [Name]."

"But I—I wanted to thank you—"

"Shhhh."

You looked so tired. He couldn't imagine how you felt, being under the control of a supervillain that has malicious intentions. But here you were, still taking it upon yourself to thank him. He couldn't even fathom what type of pain (emotional? physical? mental? you definitely weren't going to be okay after this, he knew you that well) you were going through.

Hug her, was the resounding thought that filled Jungwon's head. He almost cursed himself for thinking such a thing. After all, he wasn't yours anymore. But as he watched your worn face, he thought again. When you were still his, you always felt soothed when you were under intense stress if he hugged you tightly, the way that you always liked it.

Holding his breath, Jungwon gently lifted your head and chest, before pulling you into his arms. Almost instantly, you relaxed into his body, pushing your face into the crook of his neck. Like how you used to. You murmured something under your breath, but Jungwon was too distracted by the tears that were now definitely streaming down his face. He hadn't felt your touch in so long. He's been dreaming of getting to hold you one last time for months now.

Your eyelids began to fall, your head yielding to his shoulder, which was a tell-tale sign that you've fallen unconscious.

In the restaurant of ruin and rubble, Jungwon sat there on the debris-ridden floor, with you in his arms. Before he finally decided to get back up and take the two of you out of this place, he gave you one more tight squeeze.

"I love you," he whispered into your ear. And maybe it was wishful thinking, but he hoped that somewhere in dreamland, you heard him.

Jungwon stared out of his apartment window. It's been a few days since the Baron von Fizzlebang-Bisco's Palace incident. Baron von Fizzlebang was taken into police custody and his trial awaited him. Meanwhile, the city was still cleaning up the aftermath, with an entire block of the city being taped off.

But the city wasn't the only thing that had to be repaired.

Namely, Jungwon hadn't recovered yet. His fists still had red-purple marks on them. Even with his superhuman regenerative abilities, he had pushed himself to the extreme when he was beating up Baron von Fizzlebang the other day. But that wasn't the issue.

Ever since that day, Jungwon hadn't stopped thinking about you. Well, to be sure, he never stopped thinking about you, but he was thinking about you extra now.

He wondered how you were doing. You were a strong girl. You could withstand pretty much everything, because it was in your nature. But after an incident like this one, he was sure that you were going through a lot.

Jungwon felt selfish. He wanted to check up on you. He wanted to ask one of his friends to ask your friends how you were doing, or maybe go to your apartment as Spider-Man to check up on you himself.

But that's a purely selfish desire.

Jungwon couldn't do that to you. He broke up with you for a reason: to protect you. He'd never want to do anything to put you in danger, and by even opening an avenue of communication between him (in both his hero and civilian form) and you was dangerous in and of itself.

It scared him so deeply, the thought of losing you. But still, Jungwon wanted to be selfish. He wanted to love you greedily, to have you all to himself.

He looked out his window again, then he looked down at his wrists: the black spider-like veins looked darker today. Maybe in another lifetime, because in this lifetime, he had a duty as Spider-Man.

Speaking of which, there were few actual benefits of being Spider-Man. One of them was that Jungwon got to directly impact other people's lives. Which was why every week, the municipal government would send him all of the fan-mail that civilians had for him.

Jungwon shook the thought of you away, pushing it to the back of his mind as he. grabbed his keys, slipped on some slippers, and ventured down to his apartment complex's mailroom.

As always, his mailbox was filled to the brim with mail. From letters to postcards to care packages, Jungwon looked like a madman as he struggled to carry all of his fan=mail back up to his apartment. It sucked that he couldn't use his spider abilities to help him in broad daylight.

In fact, there was so much mail that as Jungwon traversed the hallway back to his apartment, stumbling over himself, one stray letter fell from the stack of letters that he had atop all of the packages.

He cursed under his breath, rolling his eyes. He watched as that one stray letter seemingly flew off of the stack, gracefully floating in the air for a few seconds before landing before his feet.

Jungwon huffed again. He quickly made his way back to his apartment, set down all of his fan-mail, before running back out into the hallway to pick up that pesky envelope that decided to fly away.

But as Jungwon marched down that hallway, crouching down to pick up the letter that had fallen out of his grasp, his eyes fell upon that name on that envelope.

It was your name. Jungwon snatched it up.

You wrote him fan-mail. Jungwon couldn't help but smile.

It has been about two weeks since the incident, and frankly, you're only halfway over it. You could tell that you were getting better compared to how you were in the immediate aftermath. But you still couldn't sleep at night, and you needed lots of mental preparation to go anywhere outside.

But today, you decided that you were going to put on a brave face, and stand up against your fears.

Pushing what fears you had to the back of your mind, you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom. It was late into the morning, and yet, you were wearing makeup.

Wonyoung (that smart girl, always with tricks up her sleeve), feeling apologetic about what had happened at that disaster of a date last week, begged to take you out on a girl's date today. After being cooped up in your room everyday for the past few days, you couldn't say no to her offer.

You felt a little nervous, though. The last time you went out, you got taken control of by that supervillain. But Wonyoung had been there for you the entire way, talking you through it every night. You trusted her, and you appreciated how she didn't treat you like a victim; Wonyoung wasn't babying your every step, but instead just treating you like a normal person.

And plus, it was summer. You wanted to have fun and to live your young adult life. Your eyes fluttered over to your window. Streams of yellow sunlight peeked through. Today was too beautiful. You could remember Wonyoung's excited voice over the phone a few nights ago.

"We should go take pictures!" she has squealed over the phone. "You just look toooooo pretty and we need to post something on your Instagram— to show all the guys what they're missing out on!"

You giggled. You still couldn't get used to being treated like you were single. There were indeed a few cool freedoms that came with being single. But in your mind, you still belonged to someone.

You looked at your phone. Wonyoung talked about posting pictures to make guys feel like bums for not getting on their knees and worshipping you (her words, not yours!). But when you thought about posting pictures, all you thought about was whether or not Jungwon would see them.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You needed to stop thinking about him. It wasn't healthy. But you still wondered if he thought about you, the same way you thought about him. You sat up from your bed, before you glanced into the mirror near the foot of your bed.

You hoped that he thought about you, too.

Ding dong! Oh! A ring from the front door! It must be Wonyoung! You happily promenaded to your apartment door, excited to greet your best friend with a big hug, and—

"J-Jungwon?!"

Instead of seeing your pink-wearing scheming best friend, you're greeted with your ex-boyfriend. However, for some reason, he looked more surprised than you!

"[N-Name]?!" he spluttered, his cat-like eyes as wide as saucers with his jaw falling open.

The two of you stare at each other like that for what felt like an eternity.

Your eyes fell over his features. His hair had grown a little bit longer since the last time you saw him (granted, that was half a year ago). His face looked slimmer, like he had lost weight. As you glazed over his figure, he had a backpack on his shoulders as always, but you eyed the way his biceps looked. He looked like he had put on more muscle, and before you could start ogling at him, you stopped yourself.

This was the guy that broke your heart. This was the guy that left you with no words. And now he was at your door?

"What the fuck do you want?" you spat at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Your brows crashed together, your expression turning sour. When he didn't respond, because you could tell by his expression that he was too busy checking you out, you began to close the door in his face.

"W-Wait!" he put his hands in front of him, flailing them panicked. You shot him a questioning look. "I think— I think I'm at the wrong apartment..."

You scoffed. "Oh, bullshit. What do you actually want?"

"I-I promise that I'm serious," Jungwon breathed out, and for a second you felt the walls you built for yourself threatening to crash down. He looked like a sad cat. Frantically, he shoved his hands into his pockets, searching for his phone that was squashed somewhere in them. When he finally found his phone, he fumbled with it, before showing you his screen. "I'm tutoring... a kid on your floor, I think."

You took a good look at his phone screen, and he was telling the truth.

You sighed, pinching your nose-bridge.

"Do you..." he began, his eyes refusing to look at yours. "Do you know how to get to room 1214?"

You let out another sigh, this time louder. Jungwon stumbled, stammering to explain himself again, but you put a hand up, effectively silencing him.

"Keep going down the hallway, make a left turn, and you'll find room 1214 on your right," you said simply.

"Thank you," Jungwon said, as he nodded slowly, and you hummed.

Another long moment of silence engulfed the two of you. The tension in the air was so thick that you swore you could cut it with a butter knife. You watched the way Jungwon's fingers fidgeted, a habit that he's never lost. He did this whenever he felt nervous or shy. It was a habit that you had grown to be fond of. You thought it was sweet that he was so fidgety. You tore your eyes away from him.

Was this the guy that wordlessly broke your heart?

"I'm gonna—" Jungwon started, breaking the silence. "I'm gonna go now."

He locked eyes with you, but just as he tried to break eye contact, you sent him a warning look. He didn't look away.

"Okay," you said simply. "Me too."

"Yeah."

And yet, the two of you still stood there, staring at each other. You've spent so many nights crying over him. You've never felt so much pain in your life before. There was so much anger and resentment that you had built up for him. There were a million words that you wanted to say to him, to tell him how much he hurt you.

But right now, you couldn't think of anything.

"Take care," you said.

"You too."

And with that, you slowly closed your door on him, while he slowly walked away from your door. But you swore that he kept looking back at you.

The moment that your front door clicked shut, you pressed your back up against it, before sliding down and holding your knees to your chest. You couldn't get over him when he clearly still wasn't over you. Why was he playing with you like this? Why did it have to be you, and more importantly, why did it have to be him?

Surely in time, Wonyoung showed up, and the two of you went on your little girl's day.

You huffed as you stumbled through your apartment doorway, struggling to take off your shoes amidst all of the shopping bags hanging on your arm. That Wonyoung, so eager to treat you to a nice day out. She bought you everything that you remotely showed interest in.

The moment that you arrived home, you shed all of your outdoor clothes, retreating to the comfort that was your bedroom. By now, it was dark out, and despite having a long and fun day with Wonyoung, you didn't feel tired. Unlike most days like this one that would follow a logical sequence, you still felt restless, as if your day had not been complete.

You were plagued with a weird gnawing feeling inside you. This happened a lot lately, probably just your anxiety from the past few weeks' incident.

And when you finally realized that laying in bed for hours scrolling on your phone was barely productive for an adult like you, you sighed, before sitting up from your bed.

Maybe you should write to him.

Ever since the incident at Bisco's Palace, you've found yourself especially restless. It's hard to tell if you're just paranoid, but on nights like this, you found yourself doing the same thing: writing to Spider-Man.

You used to be indifferent to the buzz around the masked hero, but now you understood it. You didn't know the reason why, but you found yourself finding comfort in simply writing to Spider-Man. It's simple things like thanking him for his service, and telling him about your day.

You glanced at the disorderly pile on your desk, of folded letters and envelopes. You never sent your letters. You've only ever sent him one letter.

The rest of your letters, which were structured more like long streams of consciousness vomited on a piece of paper, were left unsent.

You sighed. It wasn't like Spider-Man was really going to read your letters. You were just writing your thoughts out. You sat at your desk, scrolling through your Spotify Playlists to first choose the perfect moody music to get you writing. Your finger scrolled around your screen, glazing over the icons for each of your playlists.

You stopped when you saw a familiar, yet long-forgotten one.

It was a playlist that was created an entire year ago, with a simple title: love. Its icon was none other than a picture of you and Jungwon, with your cheeks smooshed up against each other. Smiling. In love.

Your finger hovered over its icon for a few moments. You haven't listened to this playlist in months. It's practically been collecting cobwebs in your Spotify account. If you listened to it now, you'd probably lose your mind. And yet you felt drawn to it.

You closed your eyes, rubbing your temples. In times in stress, we as humans seek familiarity. It's not crazy for you, who just experienced something traumatizing, to seek the solace of an old playlist reminiscent of a happier time. Right?

Play, you clicked.

Immediately, songs that you haven't heard in a long time filled your ears, the familiar tunes and melodies that you've grown to love hanging in the air.

You grabbed a pen, and began jotting down your thoughts.

'Dear Spider-Man,' you started off your letter. Below your desk, your knees bounced to the rhythm of each song— each song chosen by Jungwon, reminding you of all of his laughs and soft kisses as you and him shared earbuds on the city's underground subway.

As the black ink of your pen smudged against the side of your palm, you hummed along to the music that emitted from your phone. For a second, you could pretend that it was last summer, when you still had a boy to call yours.

You bit your lip, staring at the words scribbled on the paper.

It wasn't like Spider-Man would ever read these letters. He was a hypothetical addressee in your letters, so to speak. You took a deep breath.

'I miss him,' you wrote next, wincing as you gazed at your handwriting. How embarrassing, that you're confiding in the hypothetical version of a superhero in your head about your boy troubles. Whatever. You continued, 'I don't think I'll be able to move on from him, not any time soon.'

You stared at your words again. Oh, isn't this just pathetic?

You groaned, exasperated. You seriously just needed to get a life, or something. Just as you were about to throw yourself into your bed and scream into your pillows, leaving an unfinished letter open on your desk—

Crash!

You whipped your head toward the source of the sound: your bedroom balcony.

For a moment, your shoulders tensed. The last time a loud sound filled your ears, you got your mind controlled. And plus, it wasn't safe being a woman that lived alone, especially in a city notorious for its crime.

With trembling eyes, you stared out your glass balcony doors. It was completely dark out, save for the streams of light staining your balcony from your room. There's loud sounds all the time, but this time, you were 100% certain that the sound was on your balcony.

Should you go check it out? Or should you just turn off all your lights and jump into bed?

But before you could scare yourself even more, a strong figure slowly rose from the darkness. Hunched over, as if he was in pain, emerged a familiar red and blue hero.

"S-Spider-Man?!" you gaped to yourself. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

And despite the darkness, you and him seem to lock eyes. Spider-Man, although it was him that was intruding on your property, seemed even more surprised by your presence, physically jolting away as if he was really that taken aback by you. And unfortunately for him, just as he was about to scurry away, you bursted through your balcony doors.

"Spider-Man!" you called out, as the cool night air kissed your face. You could feel goosebumps rise on your skin, as your thin pajamas did you no justice against the night coolness.

Although he was masked, you swore that Spider-Man was looking at you like you were some kind of freak of nature. But you ignored his gaze, noticing the way his clothed thigh had a massive dark-red splotch on it.

"I-Is that blood?" you peeped, pointing to his thigh. That would explain why Spider-Man had such an unceremonious crash landing into your apartment balcony; he was injured. You looked back up at the hero's masked face. "Spider-Man, are you okay—"

"I-I'm fine!" Spider-Man blurted, his voice shaky and almost uncertain. The hero staggered, stumbling to his feet. You could tell that he was in pain, but was trying to hide it. "I'm okay."

You watched as Spider-Man limped, quietly wincing in pain to the railing of your balcony, gripping it tightly to support himself.

He looked over his shoulder. Even when his face wasn't visible, it was like he was sheepish. Timid, even.

"I'm...." Spider-Man began. You could see his toned back tense. "I'm sorry."

You blinked. "For what?"

The hero hesitated. Why was Spider-Man being so... shy? And unassuming? Wasn't he this grand and powerful hero?

"For...." he drew out his syllables, as if he was grasping for thoughts in his head. "For abruptly— um— crashing. Into... your apartment."

A curve formed on your lips. "No, no. no!" you waved your hands in front of yourself. "Don't worry at all!"

You glanced at the wound on his thigh. Blood ran down his thigh, seeping through his costume. "Are you sure you're—"

Spider-Man interrupted you with a loud groan of pain, as he attempted to take a step forward. He crumbled to his knees, choked cries of pain falling from his lips.

The hero cursed under his breath, muttering about some "bastard" stabbing him.

You rushed to his side, your arms wrapping around his torso to pull him back to his feet. Despite being in pain from his injury, he seemed even more baffled by your touch, flinching away.

"S-Sorry," he apologized again.

"It's okay," you shot him a small smile. "Why don't you come inside?"

Jungwon wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

After his tutoring session with one of your neighbors, Jungwon went home and decided to take a long nap. After all, running into you, his ex, was definitely not something that he intended to do. He needed a nap to clear his mind.

Except, that was not what Jungwon got. Instead, he got another dream of you dying. Combined with seeing you getting controlled by that supervillain, Jungwon was not in the right headspace when he awoke.

Once again, with goosebumps littering his arms, cold sweat rolling down his temples, Jungwon's first instinct, as always, was to jump out of that damn window and take a lap around the city. By the time he finished a lap, it was already dark, and yet neither his mind nor body had the sharp precision that he needed to fight criminals.

Which was why when fighting a group of bandits, Jungwon dishonorably got stabbed in the thigh (though, of course, he kicked their asses to the moon).

And after he tried to swing away via his webs, his painful wound in the thigh made him miscalculate and web, and he tumbled down from the sky.

And that's how Jungwon found himself sitting on your bed.

This time, instead of breaking up with you, he was clad in his spandex suit, waiting for you as you rummaged through your bathroom cabinet.

Jungwon looked around your room. Everything was the same.

You had the same plushies on your bed, with the scent of your perfume still strong in the air. Your desk is still cluttered with the same papers and pens.

Everything, and really everything, was the same. Like one of those unfortunate true-crime cases, where someone dies under mysterious circumstances, and yet their home is completely untouched, with no signs of disturbance. As if nothing had changed at all, save for the absence of life.

It was a strange stillness, and yet, Jungwon shook his head. He was in no position to judge. Though, Jungwon's eyes did catch something interesting.On your desk lay a messy stack of envelopes and papers, some crumpled up and others pristinely folded. Like letters.

And maybe Jungwon was paranoid, or heartbroken, but his mind wandered to the worst places. Were you seeing another guy? Maybe the guy that you went on that date with. Was that why you were probably writing love notes?

Have you moved on that quickly? Was it that easy to forget him? Jungwon's heart ached, and against his better judgement, he rose to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in his thigh. He creeped up to your desk, limping with each step. With each inch closer, he could feel the world shattering around him.

And when he realized that there was an unfinished letter already in the works, freely laying on your desk, his heart dropped.

Jungwon gazed at the stack of letters, then back at the half-written letter played on your desk. But his eyes caught the heading of the letter: 'Dear Spider-Man.'

And it was now that Jungwon realized another crucial detail: your phone, also laying on your desk, was playing music. Playing music from the playlist that you and him made together.

"Spider-Man?"

Jungwon whipped his head around as your voice pulled him out of thought. And before he could even question why you would be writing to him of all people, you were already throwing all of your bandages onto your bed, rushing profusely to him as you cried, "Don't look at those!"

You tugged on Jungwon's arm, pulling him and gently pushing him onto your bed. Your bottom lip jutted out into a small pout, your face painted with an embarrassed expression.

"You were not supposed to see that," you murmured with your brows knitted together, standing in front of the now sitting hero. When Jungwon didn't respond, you continued, your voice breathy. "Just— Just forget you saw anything."

Jungwon nodded slowly. Under the mask, he glanced back to your desk. Were all of those letters addressed to him? As in, Spider-Man? And why were you still listening to that playlist?

"It's okay," he said reassuringly, even though he was extremely uncertain himself. "I didn't see anything."

You visibly relaxed, letting out a sigh. "I-It's just embarrassing."

Your eyes fluttered up to Jungwon's masked face. You opened your mouth to speak, but Jungwon could tell by the way your lips trembled ever-so-slightly and your brows crashed together that you felt uncomfortable.

You made that face when you felt like you needed to talk. Jungwon swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, his arms opening up and his palms opening. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"But—"

Jungwon hoped that you could see his earnest smile from behind his mask. "I mean it. Don't worry about it."

Your eyes narrowed, as if you were studying his face. You sighed again. "Okay, sorry."

A silence engulfed the two of you, as you reached for the bandages and first-aid supplies that you had so abruptly thrown onto your bed earlier, completely unaware of the way Jungwon watched you so intently. He hadn't been so close to you in so long. With every flicker of your eyes and twitch of your face, Jungwon admired you closely.

What he would do to reach out and cup your cheek again, to feel your living and breathing self against his hands. To verify that you hadn't died. To confirm that you were safe and sound, alive and well.

"Can I—" you started, breaking the silence— "Can I help with your wound?"

Jungwon blinked. He had high levels of regeneration, so in a few hours, the wound on his thigh would be completely gone. It would be better to not waste both of your time.

But how you looked at him with wide, innocuous eyes, filled with worry and your characteristic kindness, Jungwon's greed clouded his mind.

"I would love that," Jungwon replied, his voice a near whisper.

How shameful of him, to sit here and selfishly bask in your presence as if he hadn't broken your heart.

You smiled, taking your rubbing alcohol and coming to Jungwon's side. Quickly, you started at your ministrations. Jungwon hissed at the burning sensation of the rubbing alcohol on his open wound (he had forgotten what it felt like), whispering apologies with each squeak of pain that fell from his lips. You hummed to yourself, your delicate face so focused.

"You know, Spider-Man," you began as you continued treating his wound, your voice soft, "I always wonder if you remember me."

Jungwon scoffed, his lips moving faster than his brain. Breathy, but eager, words came out, in a tone that Jungwon had always reserved for you. "How could I ever forget you, [Name]?"

You let out a peep, your face slowly morphing into a flustered expression. "W-What are you talking about?"

Shit. "I-I mean—"

Jungwon's ears burned, the apples of his cheeks prickling with warmth. This is not what he meant to do! Jungwon cleared his throat, sucking in a sharp breath to recompose himself.

"W-What I meant was that I—" Jungwon narrowed his eyes, thinking of an explanation— "I could never forget what happened at Bisco's."

You blinked at him a few times, your face breaking out into a frown. "Oh."

Jungwon sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. Did that make you upset?

"I always remember the people that I save," he continued, observing your facial expressions carefully. "I could never forget the impact I made on others, and that includes you, [Name]."

You shook your head understanding, but Jungwon could still see the frown on your face. "You're right," you said. Your eyes met with his. "You really have made an impact on me, Spider-Man."

You reached for the bandages, beginning to slowly wrap them around his wounded thigh.

"You know..." you started slowly. A bashful curve formed on your lips, nearly forming one of those cute grins that you always did whenever you felt particularly happy or appreciative. "I think about you quite a bit."

Jungwon cocked a brow.

"The truth is," you continued, the bashful expression on your face growing, "I write letters to you whenever I feel like shit."

"Why?" Jungwon blurted. He knew he probably shouldn't ask. It would make him spiral even harder, but his curiosity got the better of him.

You let out a chuckle, closing your eyes and shaking your head in embarrassment. "Because you saved me. And because you're a pretty universal symbol of strength and reliability."

You looked up at him again, flexing your arms with a goofy grin. "You're this city's number one defender. I write to you because I feel like even if I can't send you anything, I could rely on you, y'know?"

"Yeah," Jungwon breathed. He hadn't seen you smile like that in a while, and your reasoning was un-surprisingly sweet. Because you were that type of person. He couldn't help the way his lips pulled up into a small smile. "That makes sense."

"How about you, Spider-Man?" you asked.

"What about me?"

"What do you do when you feel like shit?" you cocked your head, blinking owlishly. "You must go through a lot as a hero. What makes you feel like you should keep going?"

You, he thought. You were what made him want to keep being a good person. All his deep fears of failure and imperfection were intrinsically rooted in his desires to make himself worthy for you. It was all you.

"You," Jungwon said. But he couldn't have you. "... And other people that I've saved. Knowing that I have helped others is enough to keep me going."

You nodded your head, understanding, your lips forming an 'oh' shape. You continued wrapping his thigh with bandages. "Do you ever check up on the people that you save?"

"I wish I could," Jungwon responded. "I would love to check up on everyone."

"So why don't you?"

You were always so curious. Jungwon pursed his lips. "Because there's too many people that I've saved. I don't know all of them by name. I don't know how to find them."

You hummed. You finished wrapping Jungwon's leg with bandages, using scissors to cut the cloth bandages and securing them. You patted your hands off, sending the hero another smile. "Aaaand you're all done."

"Thank you," Jungwon held a fixed gaze on you again. It took all of his self-control to not throw his arms around you and embrace you. "I don't know how I can repay you—"

You waved your hands in front of you profusely. "No, no! I'm repaying you for saving me—"

Jungwon shook his head. "If it wasn't for your balcony, I would have probably died."

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating, before a lightbulb seemingly popped above your head. You swiftly took Jungwon's hands, squeezing them tightly.

"Come visit me."

Jungwon spluttered. "W-What?"

"You said that you didn't know how to repay me, and that you didn't check up on people you saved because you didn't know how to find them," you gushed eagerly. "You found me. You can repay me by visiting me ever so often."

"But— But why?"

You shrugged. "It gets lonely sometimes," was all you said, but your wide and glassy eyes staring up at him so pleadingly made it hard to say no. "Please?"

"I'll try."

You didn't catch it at first. "What?"

"I'll try," Jungwon murmured. "To come back. If I can."

You chuckled. "Good enough for me."

Jungwon wasn't sure if he made a promise that he could keep.

"Good morning! Welcome to Maeum's Coffee Shop, what can I get you— Damn it, [Name], did you have a rough night again?"

You winced at Wonyoung's words. Wonyoung worked at a local coffee shop, and as a good friend, you always came in to support her.

It's been a few days since you found Spider-Man on your balcony, and you would be lying if you said that you weren't excited. You stayed up a few nights waiting for Spider-Man to crash-land on you again. It wasn't anything romantic for sure, you were just interested in talking to him. The truth was, you stayed up most nights anyway. You stayed up most nights thinking about everything, unable to truly rest. If you were going to be restless, you might as well think about your new friend Spider-Man.

"The usual," you murmured to your friend, who hummed understandingly, despite you completely ignoring her question. You rubbed your eyes. "I'm so tired, Wonyoung."

Wonyoung's bright eyes ran over your figure: you were wearing sweats with a hoodie draped over your shoulders, as if you just woke up. She chuckled at you, before ringing you up. "We could go to the beach after my shift, if you want."

You groaned as you swiped your card. You didn't feel like doing anything, but when it was Wonyoung, it was hard to say no. "Fine."

You grinned lazily as she cheered, before you took a seat in the coffee shop, slumping over yourself as you waited for your coffee. You could hear some light jazz playing, but especially the laughter of Wonyoung as she charmed customers, and most importantly, the flagrant whispers of her coworkers.

There was always one downside of visiting Wonyoung while she worked: her coworkers, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jake, who just so happened to be your ex-boyfriend's best friends. And now as you tried to fight your tiredness, all you could hear now was their whispers. Their frantic whispers.

If you weren't literally about to fall asleep, pulling your hood over your head, you would have shot them a glare, maybe even text Wonyoung to tell them to shut up.

"....that's definitely his..." you could hear Jake whisper-yell.

"...ngwon's gonna blow his shit..... Hurry, call him!"

"—Shit, he's on his way already!"

Ding! The doorbell of the coffee shop rang, making everyone in the shop (including yourself) turn their heads. And lo and behold, standing at the doorway was none other than your ex-boyfriend.

You couldn't even bring yourself to care. You could hear his friends practically shouting in the back while your phone pinged a billion messages from Wonyoung, but you just continued to push your face into your arms, taking comfort in the hoodie that you had thrown on this morning.

You hoped that Jungwon didn't notice that you were here. Maybe that would be better for your mental stability.

"[N-Name]?" Sunoo's shaky voice called out from the counter, where Sunoo, Sunghoon, and Jake liked to hang around. Your drink was ready. Finally.

Lifting yourself off of the cafe table, you trudged over to the counter, only a few feet away from the cash register. Where Jungwon was standing, getting ready to order. Which meant that he 100% saw you, and now he 100% knows that you're here.

Damn it. You really couldn't take seeing his face today. You fiddled with your hood, pulling it closer to you to hide your face.

"Here's your.... drink," Sunoo said, slowly and awkwardly, as if you were some alien. You rolled your eyes, fighting the horrible feeling of Jungwon's eyes boring into the back of your head, as you took your coffee from the counter.

As you read over the labeling and Sharpie'd name on your cup, you verified that this drink was indeed yours. And just as you were about to turn on your heel and get the fuck out of there (away from Jungwon, who was now 100000% staring at you), Jake just had to open his mouth.

"I-Isn't that Jungwon's hoodie?" Jake blurted, throwing an accusatory finger at the hoodie draped over your shoulders.

You didn't know what came first: Wonyoung's gasp from the cash register, you choking on your spit, or Jungwon spluttering from where he was. Sunoo and Sunghoon whacked Jake in the head, but the damage was already done.

Once again, for no apparent reason, you and Jungwon found each other. You couldn't fight the urge to turn over your shoulder and spot Jungwon, who was staring at you with big, shivering eyes, his ears red and his lips agape. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. Your emotions were so erratic. Sometimes when you saw pictures of Jungwon you felt nothing, but now that he was in front of you, face to face, you wanted to scream and cry.

You looked down at the hoodie that enveloped you. Now that Jake mentioned it, yes, this hoodie was Jungwon's. In fact, you could remember how you acquired such a thing. One time, it was raining so Jungwon let you wear his hoodie, and you never gave it back. What once belonged to Jungwon was now yours, and you've made it such a normal part of your life that you forgot that it had ever been his.

This hoodie, having lived in your closet for months and months, smelled like your own laundry detergent. And as you brusquely walked past Jungwon, blinking back the tears that you hadn't even noticed were collecting in your eyes, you wished for something abnormal: you wished that this hoodie still smelled like Jungwon, even after all this time.

So that you could have something to remember him by.

Jungwon sucked in a sharp breath. Temptation was a work of sin, and unfortunately, it was not his fault that the devil was stronger than a man.

There were many reasons that Jungwon was so committed to keeping a distance from you. He wanted to respect your space, and he was dedicated to protecting you. But even more, there was an intimacy that was never speaking to you again. In his last act of love for you, Jungwon would grant you the peace that his presence could never give you. He hoped that his absence spoke of the words that he could never have said. And yet, as Jungwon sat on the ledge of some building, he watched the cars pass wistfully a few hundred meters below his feet.

In the daytime, he felt like he could deal with the guilt and loneliness. But at night, it was nearly impossible. It's been another week since Jungwon had uneventfully landed on your balcony, and you had requested that he, as Spider-Man, visit you.

And frankly, Jungwon wasn't going to visit you. Even if he promised you, he was so sure that he couldn't keep it. After all, he had a commitment. But when the summer air is so warm yet so unforgiving, sending hot beads of sweat running down Jungwon's face, the frustration and guilt festered, devouring Jungwon from the inside out. That was how Jungwon found himself only a few buildings away from your apartment. He teetered on the ledge. Half of him wanted so desperately to just swing onto your balcony again, to just see you again. But the other half of him couldn't stand putting you in harm's way any longer.

So imagine Jungwon's shame as he picked up his feet and swung by your apartment. All he wanted to do was check on you. He had good eyes, so hopefully he'd be able to catch a glimpse of you through your windows as he briefly came by. And yet, instead of finding you safe and sound through your bedroom window, what Jungwon saw from a distance was you, on your balcony, looking sad. Wistful, even. You had your arms over the railings, and even when he was afar, Jungwon could recognize any of your expressions, and this one, he could tell that you were crying.

His body moved faster than his mind, with zero hesitation, zooming right onto your balcony. Jungwon's mind was still racing, questions blurring through his mind, hesitating about what he should do. Why were you crying? Was it someone that made you feel this way? But his body knew his intentions better. His body knew the sorts of yearning that he had no chance of resisting. And just as swift as he came, Jungwon found himself breathing heavily as he landed back on the railing of your balcony.

"S-Spider-man?!" you sniffled. Under the dark sky, he could see the way your eyes lined with tears, your tearful eyes puffy and bloodshot. You quickly hid your face in your sleeve, turning your face away from him. "Wh—What are you doing here?"

"I..." Jungwon's mouth ran dry. He didn't have an answer for you. Seeing you like this made him feel on-edge, nervous even. He didn't know why he was here with you. He didn't know why his body forced him to keep crawling back to you. He didn't want to be here, it went against all instinct. He stared at the back of your head. "I'm— Um—"

You let out a loud, high-pitched sob, before you threw your arms around Jungwon's shoulders, burying yourself into his chest. Jungwon stiffened under your touch. It felt weird. He hadn't been close to really anyone at all, at least not physically. If it wasn't you that he was physically intimate with, he'd rather not have it at all. But even when it was you, intimacy felt so foreign, so lost. But as your choked sobs rung through the air, your arms holding onto him like he'd save you, Jungwon relaxed. Mixed in with the smell of the night air, you smelled like your usual peachy perfume. Your touch, just like he had remembered it, was soft. Kind.

Jungwon brought a hesitant hand up to the small of your back, in an attempt to quell your distress. Yet, he felt such a weird warmth as you clung onto him.

"I h—hate him, Spider-Man!" you cried, your hand gripping his forearm. "I hate him— so much."

And maybe if Jungwon was stronger than he was now, he would have just listened to you silently without any questions, patting your back and lending you a shoulder to cry on. But he wasn't.

"Who?" he breathed into your ear, his brows knitted together. That horrible gnawing feeling filled his stomach once again. He didn't want to know what your answer was, but that sickening curiosity was burning from the inside out. "Who do you hate?—Did you— Did you get hurt?"

You shook your head, looking up at the hero. The moonlight reflected off your eyes. You looked so pretty, even when you were crying. Jungwon's heart ached at the sight of your pained face. My baby, he thought. After all this time, you could commit all the grievances in the world, and if you just looked at him with your big, teary eyes, he would acquit you of all your crimes.

You tugged on his arm, your glossy eyes staring at him like he was some god, pulling him back into your room. And against all resolutions that Jungwon tried to make to himself, he followed you in anyway.

As your balcony door clicked shut, Jungwon watched as you pulled him onto your bed with you, pulling him as close as you could as you continued to cry, murmuring about how much you hated "him."

This time, Jungwon just let his eyes fall shut. He hadn't laid down in your bed in a while, and frankly, he thought your bed was more comfortable than his. With you so close to him, and his arms wrapped around you, for a split second, it felt like he was back together with you. It felt like another one of those nights where you'd cry into his arms about how stressed you were, and all he could offer up was his presence to console you.

"I know, I know," he gently whispered into your ears. You always loved it when he reassured you like that. He rubbed slow circles on your back, continuing to whisper soft reassurances into your ear, even if he knew that you couldn't hear him. "I know, love."

"I c-cant get over him," you lamented. At this point, Jungwon's chest was wet. "I don't know why I c-can't. I h-hate him so much."

Jungwon gulped as his gut twisted.

"Tell me," he rasped. He knew what your words meant. He knew better than anyone that you were talking about him, that it was him that you hated. But he needed to hear it from your lips first, to get real confirmation. Despite the weak feeling in his knees and the pang in his chest, he wanted to listen to you.

After all, he'd do anything to make you feel better, even if you didn't know it was him. And he knew how to do that exactly.

You lifted your head to look at him in the eyes, shaking your head profusely. "But i-it's pa—pathetic," you stammered, but when you could feel Jungwon's unwavering gaze on you, you gave in. Resting your cheek on the hero's shoulder, you spoke in a low, shaky voice. You told him everything— every thought and emotion that's been swirling your mind. You told him of how you still constantly thought about Jungwon, how you felt like in every crevice of your life he was there, how you've done everything you could to get over him with fruitless results. You cried and cried and cried. You detailed to him what types of restless nights you had, what kinds of thoughts swirled through your head whenever you thought about your ex.

"I miss him," you ended your tear-filled rant with. "I mi-miss him s-so much and I feel so—so d-dumb."

And if you weren't so caught up in your feelings, you would have noticed how the hero's body tensed with each word that fell from your lips.

A silence fell over you and Spider-Man, as you rested your cheek on his shoulder, letting your bated breaths calm down with each hiccup. You let your heart rate slow down, as your eyes— sore from crying— rested. Against you, the hero was so... still. He was definitely breathing, but it was slow and tranquil. If you listened hard enough, you could hear his heart beat; weirdly enough, it was erratic and loud.

That's what Jungwon's heartbeat sounds like when he's excited, you thought, before shaking your head and pushing that thought into the back of your mind. The mere thought of Jungwon made your stomach churn. You didn't want to even entertain that thought.

"Spider-Man...." you began in a soft voice, your finger coming up to poke his masked face. No response. "Spider-Man, are you asleep—"

Suddenly, Jungwon jolted up from the bed, his voice ripping through the air: "Boo!"

You let out a loud shriek, jumping away from him, surprised. You stared at him for a few moments, before Jungwon bursted out into giggles. On your bed, you watched as the red-and-blue masked hero who had just tried to startle you attempted to conceal his giggles, clamping a hand over his mouth.

"S-Sorry—" his voice was shaky, trying so goddamn hard not to laugh. Airy laughs escaped his lips, filling the air with something that felt all too familiar.

Despite having just cried for what seemed like forever, you slapped his chest, your lips pulling up into a wobbly smile. Spider-Man's laughter was contagious, and even as you continued to lightly punch him, you couldn't help but let giggles fall from your own mouth.

"Sh-Shut up!" you said between laughs. Having enough, you reached for a stray pillow and threw it at him. "You're so annoying!"

You couldn't remember the last time you laughed like this with someone. In fact, perhaps if you weren't so busy beating Spider-Man up like your life depended on it, you would have noticed the way your beloved hero was watching you closely. Jungwon knew exactly how to get you to loosen up; and in this case, it was to do something so stupid and dorky that you had no choice but to laugh.

"Ow! Ow!" Jungwon squirmed like a spider that had just gotten hit by bug spray. He let you win, as now he was pinned down on the bed, with you smothering him with your pillows. "White flag—Ack!"

Your laughter rang through the room. You weren't even that strong, but Jungwon did not dare to use his own strength on you. That wouldn't be fair.

That's right, he thought. Forget about me. Forget about the pain, forget about everything that I've done to you. Your eyes crinkled and your nose scrunched and your lips parted when you threw your head back and laughed. If he could preserve that laughter for the rest of his life, he would. Forget about me, baby.

"Jesus Christ, Spider-Man!" you snickered, as you held him down with a hand on his hard chest. "I thought you were stronger than this."

Jungwon's strong hand slid to wrap around your wrist. "You really wanna see strength?"

A weak yet sly grin spread across your face. You leaned down to him, so close that your noses touched. Almost purring,"Try me— Eek!"

That was all the confirmation he needed. In an instant, Jungwon flipped the two of you over, crashing into the soft plushness of your bed. This time, he was the one pinning you down. And while airy laughter fell from your lips, the surprise of Jungwon's outburst reducing you to giggles, Jungwon was distracted. You're just so pretty, so strikingly beautiful that he had no choice but to admire you.

And if Jungwon wasn't so distracted, he would have noticed the way that you stared at him owlishly, with a type of hunger and curiosity that was all too familiar. As if a lightbulb had switched on, your arms slithered up from under him to wrap around his neck. With glassy eyes and a girlish giggle, you gently pulled him toward your face.

Jungwon's body froze up as you plant a soft, tender kiss on his masked cheek, a spluttering sound coming from his mouth.

"Relax, silly," you rasped into his ear with a chuckle. Even with the mask, your fingers found their way to the crook between Jungwon's ear and jaw, delicately running your fingers over that spot and mindlessly caressing it— something that always made shivers roll down Jungwon's back. "You can save lives but you can't handle a girl kissing you?"

Jungwon's face felt hot. "Shut— Shut up!" That night, you eventually laughed yourself to sleep, and after tucking you in, Jungwon left with a bittersweet feeling in his chest. He hoped that he'd given you any type of emotional refuge, so that you would eventually forget the hurt and pain that he had caused you. 

To be a girl, after a long week of stress, unloading your worries and the like in a nice steamy bath— Oh, that is the best thing any person could experience.

You relished in the warm solitude of your bathtub. You hummed along to the quiet music you liked to play when you bathed, the peachy bubbles and scent of your soap filling your senses. You relaxed with an "ahh" into the water. Tonight was going to be perfect. After this bath, you were going to do your skincare routine and lather yourself with your new yummy lotion. Then you'd go make yourself a late night snack. Then maybe you'd spend the night reading some manga, or watching some shows, or anything you wanted frankly.

You had worries: finding an internship, employment, boy troubles. But this was no time to care about them. You let your eyelids gently fall shut... and maybe if you weren't careful, you might... just... drift... off...

"Eep!" You're startled back into reality by the sound of a distant crash! You glance around your bathroom, clutching yourself. It didn't sound nearby, so you had nothing to worry about. You sunk into the water again, letting your tense muscles relax into the warmth. Your tired eyes fell closed again. And maybe this time.... you'd be permitted the peace... to just... drift... off...

Crash! You jolted up, your eyes shooting open. This time, this crashing sound was much louder, and appeared to be much closer. Following that outburst was the sound of rustling and scrambling, which (in your already paranoid state) confirmed your fears that whatever the cause was, it was too close to you.

Emboldened, you stepped out of your bathtub, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around your body tightly, before slipping your shower slippers on.

And maybe you're dumb. Really dumb. But you peaked your head out your bathroom door, eyes glazing over the hallway between your bathroom and kitchen. Everything seemed fine. You crept out of the bathroom. Your entire apartment was quiet, maybe a little too quiet. Slowly, you made your way into your bedroom. It looked normal, not a single hair out of place. Nothing was wrong then.

Since you were already out of the bathroom, you should probably start dressing anyway. You loosened your grip around the towel, and just as the fabric fell from your chest—

"[N-Name]?!"

There had to be something psychological about the way bright red and blue were incredible at camouflaging, because you had not noticed the red and blue superhero perched at your window. And it seemed like he didn't notice you either, until now.

"Spider-Man?!" you cried. But it was too late. There you were, naked in all your glory and exposed entirely to the spider hero himself. You didn't know what was worse. The feeling of the cool air hitting your skin, sending goosebumps on your arms, or the feeling of Spider-Man practically ogling at you. It didn't seem to matter because the two of you stood like that: in silence, in complete and utter horror.

"I-I'm..." You've never seen Spider-Man more flustered, but if you weren't too busy trying to cover yourself up, scrambling for your fallen towel, you would have noticed the way the hero's hand shot up to clutch his face in embarrassment. A habit that you loved to see in your ex-boyfriend. "S... Sorr—"

"Get out!" you cried, clutching your towel so tightly as you began reaching for all of the pillows and plushes on your bed, hurling at the hero at full-force. Your face burned with embarrassment as you heaved. "Out! N-Now!"

Spider-Man simply stood there, stunned, which was weird considering that he should have a fast enough reaction time to stop you. Frustrated, you threw yourself on your bed, throwing the blanket over your naked body and pushing your face into the mattress, humiliated and flustered beyond belief.

"Get out!" you cried again, your eyes almost welling up with tears with how embarrassed you were. You felt so hot all over that you could probably melt. You hadn't felt this way— this flustered and embarrassed— in so long. You murmured, "What are you even doing here?!"

Finally breaking from his stupor, Spider-Man spluttered, "I-I just wanted to check up... on you."

You groaned from under the blanket, muffled, and that seemed to egg the hero on with a squeak. Words tumbling from his mouth like water, he squeals, "It seems like you're doing well! Youlookgoodasever—I mean— In all the years I've known you, you always look amazing— Like— Uhm— I— You're always—" he sucked in a deep breath, and you could hear how red his face was under the mask— "Beautiful."

There's a long silence, before Spider-Man nearly shouts, "Okay bye!"

And with that, he climbed out your balcony, and swung away. You stay where you are under the blanket all huddled up for a few moments, before you let out a giddy little chuckle. You flipped over to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling, before it hit you.

"Years?" you said aloud. Spider-Man said that you've been beautiful in all the "years" that he's known you.

You sat up. But you swore you only knew him for a few months.

Hm. Interesting.

Jungwon cursed under his breath. Fuck. He was in a pickle. After a few weeks in hiding, archvillain Baron von Fizzlebang was back for more, this time with more to show. It seemed like every time, he was getting progressively worse and worse. New gadgets, new costumes, new methods of entrancing people. First, Baron von Fizzlebang entranced a mob to rob a bank. Then, he controlled some elementary schoolers and tried to get them to walk into oncoming traffic (really evil of him). Most recently, the supervillain tried to possess the entire fire department and make them commit arson in an ironic turn of events. If it weren't for Jungwon's restless fighting, the entire city might have gone up in flames already.

Simultaneously, against his own better judgement, yet in alignment with his heart, Jungwon found himself intentionally coming to see you more. It's shameful that despite cutting you out of his life he still tried to keep you at an arm's reach. But oh, Jungwon was so greedy. Each time your face lit up when he appeared on your balcony left him eager for more. Every smile and little touch had him hungry. Hungry for more of you, hungry to keep you for himself, hungry to hide you from the world and selfishly have you all to himself. And the worst part was, your grief and sadness over civilian-Jungwon was slowly dissipating with time: you were reverting back to the you that he knew, not the sad, crestfallen version of you.

But, he had no time to think of that. Right now, Jungwon was beaten up pretty badly, resting atop the roof of a building and leaning against some structure there.

It's not easy to fight one Baron von Fizzlebang, when he's able to manipulate up to a hundred people to do his own bidding. Jungwon doesn't want to hurt the civilians under Baron von Fizzlebang's control, but how is he supposed to win at all if these civilians are being used to attack him?

One eye was incapacitated, with blood dripping down Jungwon's forehead and his lip bleeding. Even in the darkening night sky, Jungwon could tell that there were a few tears here and there on his hero costume, but the worst part was that Jungwon's right shoulder was most definitely out of commission.

Luckily, Jungwon got the victimized civilians to safety. Unluckily, Baron von Fizzlebang was still on the loose, pretty much unscathed. Jungwon could work under severe pressure, with great injuries too. But for some reason, he absolutely couldn't think straight as he stumbled to his feet, clutching his injured shoulder. He blinked his one working eye slowly, trying to see clearly, but there was too much blood coming from his head after getting slammed against a brick wall for him to get a clear view.

At the very least, Jungwon needed to locate where the villain went—

"Yoo-hoo!" a sing-songy voice boomed, and Jungwon whipped his pounding head around. "Spidey-Spidey!~"

Lo and behold, Baron von Fizzlebang was (for some reason) suspended in the air, completely uninjured, a stark difference from Jungwon's hunched-over, painful form. With his extravagant costume, he waved mockingly at Jungwon, a cackle spilling from him. "I'm back for more, Spidey. Are you?"

Jungwon's eyes narrowed, a pained grunt escaping his lips before he limped toward the villain. He sucked in a sharp breath. The blood from his bleeding lip tasted metallic on his tongue, but his physical pain mattered not— not when the livelihood and safety of the city was on the line because of this maniac.

"Yeah," Jungwon responded breathily, stumbling. "Come get me."

Much to Jungwon's chagrin, from Baron von Fizzlebang came some strange metal contraption. With big and long metal tentacle arms with grabby hands at the ends, Baron von Fizzlebang laughed maniacally as his new gargantuan device conjured a physical reaction out of Jungwon. Faster than Jungwon could move, the villain's metal arms snatched him up.

"Let me go—Ack!" Jungwon squirmed in the contraption's grasp.

"No," Baron von Fizzlebang said simply. "All you do is ruin my plans to take over this city!"

Jungwon cried in pain as the metal hands squeezed him tighter. The villain laughed again. "Have you ever had to experience someone try to ruin something you care about, Spider-Man?" Jungwon opened his mouth to choke a retort, but the Baron continued. "Or in your case, someone that you care about?"

Jungwon continued to squirm in the metal hands' grasp, the villain taking it as a sign to continue his villainous monologue.

"You don't think that I don't know you have a secret little girlfriend, right? She's the same one I claimed that one night at Bisco's." At the sound of that, Jungwon tensed up even more. No.... Don't tell me.."Maybe I should let this little spider go. To make you really feel my pain, why don't I go pay your little girlfriend a visit again."

"No!—" tore from Jungwon's throat, but it was too late. With panic filling his body, Baron von Fizzlebang's metal tentacles hurled him through the sky before the villain took off. Presumably to find you. And even though Jungwon was falling through the sky with an incapacitated eye and shoulder, all he could think about was you.

Every single fear and made-up scenario of you getting hurt or even worse, dying, as a result of Jungwon ran through his head in the milliseconds that he was in the air.

Just as Jungwon was about to slam against a sky-scraper, he shot a web to catch himself. His hands shook as he stabilized himself against another wall.

Dammit, dammit, dammit— I'm so fucking stupid— She's in danger now— Everything that he had feared was coming true, and it was all a result of Jungwon's selfishness and negligence and— Jungwon took a deep breath, not noticing that he had neglected to breathe as he spiraled. He shoved his face in his hands. Think, think, think. He had to do something.

He looked at his hands. He had to go find you, and warn you. Move you to safety, make sure you're somewhere safe where that maniac couldn't find you.

Even with all his injuries, nothing stopped Jungwon as he shot webs across the sky. With all the remaining strength in his body, and with all the power he could muster up, Jungwon flew across the sky to where he knew you'd be: in your apartment.

And just as he expected, you were in your room, peacefully listening to music and painting your nails. Usually, he'd be courteous and wait for you to welcome him in. But Jungwon had no time to waste: he crashed onto your balcony, practically busting into your room through the doors.

"Spider-Man?!" you cried, startled by his sudden entrance.

"You have to leave," Jungwon breathed with labored huffs. He clamored toward you, grabbing you by your shoulders. "I-I don't have time to explain—"

"What— What are you talking about?—"

Jungwon gripped your shoulders, the vehemence in his voice resounding as he desperately repeated, "You have to leave. It-It's not safe for you— I need you to leave and go somewhere sa—"

"Spider-Man," you said firmly. Jungwon breathed shakily, swallowing down hard. He shook his head. It felt like the world had fallen into his shoulders.

"Please, [Name]," he pleaded. Even with a mask, you can hear his sheer desperation. "Please listen to me this time."

You stared at him, with a curious yet concerned look, like you were studying him. “Please,” Jungwon said again, his voice high-pitched and cracking. His grip on you loosened, but his head hung low.“Please.”

You kept your eyes stuck on him, but Jungwon couldn’t focus. All he could think about was how you could die. Everything hurt, and yet nothing did at the same time. The mere thought of something even worse happening to you made Jungwon’s gut twist, the oncoming fear so great that it effectively numbed everything in him.

“I can’t— I can’t lose you—“

There was something unsettling about you that Jungwon never figured out. You’re sensitive and soft, but strong-willed and stern. But you’re also a level of smart that Jungwon couldn’t understand.

Which was why he couldn’t possibly understand why you grabbed him by his shoulders, pulled him into you, and slammed your lips against his. You let your lips stay on his for a little bit, but before you could pull away, all the hunger and fear consumed Jungwon whole. His large hands grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush against him. Greedily, like a starved man, Jungwon hungrily kissed you back, holding you tightly as his breathing picked up.

Maybe it was all the adrenaline, or the pain and delirium, or just Jungwon’s fear, but he didn’t even think about what he was doing. Your lips against his, your body pressed against him, and your scent overtaking his mind— it all made it impossible for him to stop.

He muttered your name against your lips, grasping you like you’d disappear any minute. Your soft body on him felt heavenly, as he drank you in. Everything felt hot and everything ached, but even with his mask on, it felt so delicious. He heaved as your lips moved against his. A choked breath and whimper escaped his lips as you slid tongue into his mouth, your hands slithering up his chest and wrapping around his neck, the way that he always liked it. Almost like you knew how to make him feel good.

The kiss halted to a slow stop, with the two of you gently pulling away. And Jungwon, too dazed, didn’t know what to expect next— and he definitely didn’t expect the next words that came out of your mouth.

"Jungwon," you hummed against his lips, looking at him with an expression that he couldn't read. Jungwon's heart plummeted to his stomach, shaky eyes widening.

"Wh-What—" he began, but you brought a finger up to his lip, hushing him. No way. There's no way that you knew it was him all along—

"You need to calm down, Jungwon," you said as you pulled away from him, eyes glued to his masked face. You took his hand, rubbing circles on the back of his hand slowly, the way that always helped calm him down. "I know you. You're spiraling. We can't do anything if you're panicking. Deep breaths."

"I don't— I don't understand," Jungwon whispered, his strong body still. Had you known it was him all along? And if you did, why didn't you say or do anything? Did you find him pathetic? "How did you know?"

You blinked at him slowly, before a bashful grin pulled onto your face. You reached your hand out to him, your palm finding itself on his cheek. In a moment of instinct, Jungwon leaned into your touch.

"That's how I knew," you breathed. Your lithe fingertips then prodded at the crook between his jaw and his ear, the sensitive spot, and just as you expected, Jungwon shuddered. Your fingers traced down his jaw to his neck, pressing on the tender spot in the middle of his neck. Much to Jungwon's personal mortification, he let out a gasp, and when you leaned closer to his neck— so close that he could feel your breath on him— Jungwon let out a soft sound and shivered. Your lip grazed against the covered skin of his neck, watching him intently as you earn a sensitive whimper from him.

"What— What are you doing—" Jungwon was cut off again by your lip pressing against his jugular, at the spot that never failed to make him cry out in pleasure. Jungwon's ears burned, but the blood rushing through his body made him feel hot all over. He leaned his head back, eyes falling shut.

"I know you, Jungwon." Your voice was low, almost like a purr. Your hands continued to run over his jaw and neck, hooking onto the edge of his mask and uncovering the honey tan skin of his neck. You pressed your lips against his exposed skin, another gasp falling from his lips. "You're not good at hiding anything. And you're not a convincing liar."

You pulled his mask up, exposing his lower jaw and lips. When he muttered your name startled, you pulled the entire mask off.

Lo and behold, just as you had expected, it was Jungwon Yang. You had your suspicions, and when you made them known to him you were certain that you were right. And yet, you're still taken aback when it's really Jungwon behind the mask. His overgrown blonde hair falling over his eyes, his cat-like eyes staring at you with a mix of fear, shame, and desire, his jaw that had gotten stronger— you drank in every last bit of it.

"Son of a bitch," you murmured under your breath.

Jungwon hadn't noticed the way his chest pounded and how his breathing became erratic, nor did he notice that he was now blinking back tears, his chest heaving. "I—I'm sorry—" he struggled to get out, his voice getting caught in his throat. "Oh— I'm so— I"m sorry—"

He couldn't tell if you were angry, or disgusted, or both... because despite the unreadable look on your face, you still grabbed his face, slamming your lips against his once more.

Your fingers brusquely grab at his hair, tangling themselves in his grown-out blonde locks. This time, you're the hungry one. Your hands slid down his chest again, grasping onto his strong, toned arms, and running your hands all over him. Your lips moved surly against his, as if you hadn't been fed in days.

"You're a jackass," you rasped against him, and yet you kept kissing him like he'd disappear. "Fucking jackass." Jungwon tried to murmur apologies, but you kept kissing him, shutting him up. You pushed him against your bed slowly as your lips moved, so that he had no choice but to fall back onto it.

With Jungwon's back now pressed up against your bed, you were on top of him. Your hands roamed his body, and Jungwon couldn't help but let his eyes fall shut.

"I-I'm sorry," he rumbled, but with you on top of him, lips all over him, he couldn't do much but gasp and squirm under your touch. "I-I didn't mean to—"

Boom! In the distance, a massive explosion sound careened through the air. You and Jungwon, both alarmed, froze in your position. Even with you filling his senses, Jungwon's immediate thought is simple: he is Spider-Man.

Jungwon felt your body tense against his, with fear painted on your face. His body felt hot all over, the excitement still pulsing through his veins and desperate need for you still clouding his mind. But a trembling, paralyzed you was enough to pull him away from himself, and force him to focus.

In one fell swoop, Jungwon pulls the two of you to your feet, his arms wrapping around your waist firmly, yet gently. Ignoring your questions, he felt around for his discarded mask, before shooting a web from his fingers and pulling it to him.

"You have to go," he said to you, his hands tightening around your waist. Jungwon watched as your brows crashed together, your expression morphing from bewilderment to hurt, and then anger.

"What are you— Jungwon—" Jungwon ignored you, quickly searching around your room. He took a jacket from your closet (which was definitely his), before draping it around your shoulders.

"I'm serious," he said, his voice cracking with earnestness. "I mean it, [Name]. You have to go."

It was your turn to splutter, scoffing in disbelief. "Where would I even go? I don't know why you're saying this—"

Jungwon chewed on his bottom lip for a few moments, before he huffed. "Go to Jake's."

You're about to scoff again, but Jungwon— the most tender person you've ever met— sent you a stern look that shuts you up.

"Tell him that I sent you," Jungwon instructed. "Tell him to keep you safe. And text me when you're there...." the boy trails off, awkwardly scratching his head, "If I'm not blocked, y'know.... Or just have Jake text me."

You stared at him in silence, blinking slowly, in an attempt to assess his face. Finally, you sigh, your face looking sad. "Okay."

Jungwon helped you collect your things, the two of you engulfed in a silence, with nothing filling your apartment but the ambient sound of your footsteps and breaths. That is, until it was time for you to go.

"I-I think I should go now," you said shakily, your back turned to Jungwon as you reached for your front door. Jungwon solemnly nodded, wistfully staring at you as he fiddled with his mask; his face was still uncovered, making it difficult to hide his concern, yet he didn't have the courage to put his mask back on. Not when you were here. And Jungwon would have let you go like that, alone into the night, if it weren't for the sound of your sniffles.

"Hey, hey," he called out to you, reaching out to you and taking hold of your shoulder. His brows furrowed. "[Name], what is it?"

You sniffled, your breath getting caught in your throat, and it was clear now that you were crying. However, you just shook your head, your back still turned to him.

"Baby," Jungwon said again. "Baby, please tell me. What is it? Why are you crying?"

The sound of Jungwon's voice made you tense up again. You let out a choked sob, before you sucked in a sharp breath. "Th-That."

Jungwon reached for your face, tilting your chin so that you would face him, but you wouldn't budge. "Talk to me. Please."

"That!" you cried. You sucked in another sharp breath as you threw your face into your palms. "You— You l-left me the first time... and— and now you're leaving a-again."

Jungwon's chest ached, and in a moment of remorse and desire, he slid his hands around your waist, pulling you into an embrace with you pressed against his chest. The way you always liked it. He pressed his cheek against your head, his own tears welling up in his eyes as you sniffled and cried.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes squeezing shut. He knew he hurt you, it was nothing new to him. But just knowing that never made the regret feel any better. He kissed your head. "I'm so sorry."

There's another explosion in the distance, and Jungwon's hold on you tightened. "Please. I'll make it up to you. Please just go this time."

You shook your head. "I—I don't get it. J-Jungwon, I don't g-get it—"

In your state, there was no way you'd make it to safety in time. And Jungwon was a fool for thinking that you could, not after opening up the wounds you were trying to heal from. Jungwon pressed one more kiss on your head. He hauled you into his arms, ignoring your protests, only saying, "Wrap your arms around me."

Jungwon wished he had more time. He wished he could sit you down and explain everything. But there was no time, and he had to make sure you were safe first: he'd like to do it himself. All the injuries from earlier had been healed for the most part, just enough that he had strength.

"Hold on tight, baby," he said in your ear before putting his mask on, and shooting a web out your window. Jungwon figured it was your first time soaring with Spider-Man, because you let out a squeal, hiding your face in his neck.

"Jungwon!" you cried, your eyes still lined with tears. "P-Please, I'm scared—"

Jungwon chuckled, but complied with your request, taking less risky swings. And when he arrived at Jake's apartment, he simply forced his friend's window open. Much to his luck, Jake was already there.

"S-Spider-Man?!" Jake gawked. It wasn't every day that the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man showed up at your window. Then, his eyes fell on you. "[N-Name]?!"

Gently, Jungwon set you down. "Jungwon's request: Keep her safe."

Jake, utterly baffled, opened his mouth to speak. But like a little boy (quite literally) seeing his favorite super-hero for the first time, Jake nodded dutifully, his eyes comically filling with stars. "Yes sir!"

Jungwon nodded satisfied. He knew he could count on Jake. As Jungwon readied himself to jump out the window, he's stopped by your soft voice.

"G-Good luck..." you murmured, fiddling with your fingers. "Don't die... please."

Jungwon couldn't help but grin. "Of course."

And with that, he swung away, ready to kick ass.

You're already asleep when Jungwon finds you back at Jake's house. He felt a little bad about placing the burden of you on Jake, but Jungwon couldn't care more about that when your life was on the line. Jungwon, in his hero form of course, left a note for Jake on the kitchen counter, as he slowly wrapped his arms around your sleeping figure.

You're left sleeping on Jake's couch, with a throw blanket awkwardly draped over you. He appreciated Jake's efforts, grinning softly as the way you stirred in your sleep. It's near dawn, and Jungwon couldn't ignore the ache in his body. But even so, the way your eyes were puffy, your cheeks stained lightly with tears made his chest ache more than his body did.

As quietly as he could, Jungwon took you in his arms, and took you back to his apartment (he didn't have the keys to your apartment, and he didn't want to make you angrier by breaking in). Helicopters were still flying overhead, the sound of police sirens below filling the air. Jungwon's eyes twitched with tiredness, his straining muscles nearly giving out. The city was asleep, and yet it was still functionally cleaning up the mess from earlier.

Speaking of, that son of a bitch Baron von Fizzle-dick or whatever was now in police custody. Jungwon was too exhausted to remember the details, but it was a long and tiring fight. One that was painful.

As he swung through the sky, Jungwon couldn't forget the fight. He was hit pretty badly, almost nearly stabbed in the chest. His entire body was in pain, and if it weren't for the precious you in his arms, Jungwon thought he would collapse mid-air. The feeling of the insurmountable physical agony that that villain inflicted on him was definitely one for the books. Jungwon could still feel the blood dripping down his back. But what was even worse were the things Baron von Fizzlebang had said. The threats he made, the words he said: the villain, and apparently, all the villains in the city, via their underground network, seemed to know you by name. They knew you because you were a soft spot for Spider-Man. It terrified him that now you had a target on your back. He cursed himself for letting himself get comfortable, for endangering you in the process. Even if he won the fight now, Jungwon couldn't forget the fear.

As he landed on his window, Jungwon slowly cracked it open, supporting both you and himself as he brought the two of you into his apartment. He placed you down on his bed, pulling his comforter over you. He watched as you snuggled into his bed, a satisfied murmur falling from your lips. You looked so peaceful, and for a moment, Jungwon could forget all the pain he felt.

Jungwon looked down at his hands. Ripped gloves, blood-stained palms... will it ever go away?

He pulled away from you, about to make his way to his bathroom. He ought to wash the blood off his hands. The night was at its peak, the dreariest that it had ever been. He didn't know what time it was— he lost track of that a long time ago— but all he knew was that it was dark outside. He better get some sleep too. But as he pulled away from you, he felt a few fingers weakly grip his arm. He froze.

"Jung... won..." you murmured. Your eyes were shut, and your voice sounded dreamy.

"I'm here," Jungwon breathed. He hadn't realized it, but his voice broke. Really, all he felt like doing was crying.

"Don't leave," you mumbled. Your fingers tightened around his arm. "I'll do.... do anything..." you drew on. "Just... don't go."

"Oh, baby—" And with that Jungwon broke, the hot tears he hadn't even realized he were holding in spilling. He pulled on his mask. He dropped to his knees, resting his head on the bed beside you. "I... I never meant to. I never wanted to leave you—"

You hummed, murmuring something incoherent. "Stay."

Jungwon let out a shaky breath. "I will— I really want to— Please, let me—"

"Jungwon," you said, rather firmly. You still had your eyes shut.

"I'm here, baby." Jungwon sniffled, swiping the back of his ragged hand to wipe his nose. "I'm not gonna go— I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so—"

"In the... morning," you whispered. Before Jungwon could ask, you continued. "Talk in the morning."

Jungwon's voice broke again. "W-What?"

Your hand reached out for him again, this time falling onto his disheveled head. Jungwon nearly flinched at the feeling of your hand running through his hair, but instinctively he leaned into your touch. For a few moments, your fingers ran through his blonde locks, such a foreign feeling and yet a welcome one. Jungwon let his eyes shut, and they burned as his lids fell shut.

Your voice is quiet, and Jungwon is almost certain you're awake now. "Jake told me some things. I put two and two together."

"Really?" Jungwon, too tired to be mad. "Was it bad?"

You only hummed, giving him a classic nonresponse. Your fingers continued through his hair. "Go to sleep now."

"But—"

You hushed him, petting his head slowly and affectionately. "I love you."

Jungwon was stunned, but it felt so natural as, "I love you, too," tumbled from his lips.

There's a warmth that spreads across his chest, reassuring and comforting. But yet, so deeply harrowing, and so deeply frightening. He's a man of a thousand words and complex ideas, and you knew it, so you hushed Jungwon before he could continue, petting his head slowly and affectionately. "We'll talk in the morning."

Jungwon opened his mouth to protest. But as your fingers ran through his hair, he couldn't help the satisfying chills that ran down his spine. And everything hurt, and it hurt so bad that it was unbearable and Jungwon felt like he couldn't take it.

But your touch was so soft and familiar, Jungwon felt like.... for a second... he could maybe... fall into your touch... and just... take... it... easy...

"Pro...tect you..." Jungwon murmured. "I'll protect... you."

You chuckled softly. "You're not alone. I'll carry your burden with you."

It's his turn to hum, nearly satisfied. As he drifted off into a deep slumber, his troubles melting away into the palms of your hands, there's only one last thought in Jungwon's head.

Maybe there will be a new day tomorrow, and hopefully, he won't be alone when the day breaks.

[yla-aira]

the way he said baby, my baby 🥹

[taetebebe]

JEALOUS EYES

Pairing: bsf!Jungwon x f!reader 

There was always something in the way he looked at you 

WC: ~2.6k { { MDNI } } ✦ Requests: OPEN ✦

╰┈➤ transmission recovered: this fic is being reposted

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The photo shows up on your phone at 2:03 a.m. No caption. No warning. No shame.

Just Jungwon, reflected in the black of an airplane monitor, lit faintly by the glow of the emergency text: Announcement in Progress

His arm flexes subtly from the angle, black tank top baring just enough skin to be intentional. One hand is holding his phone. The other is resting over his mouth like he’s thinking. Or like he’s waiting. Or worse, like he’s daring you to respond.

You stare at it longer than you should.

It shouldn’t affect you the way it does. But your heart stutters before settling into a strange beat. Your mouth parts in a breath that doesn’t fully come.

He knows what he looks like. And he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You don’t reply.

You hate how much it gets to you. How the photo fills the silence he’s left behind since the party. How it brings with it the ache of what almost happened three weeks ago — right before someone else almost kissed you, and Jungwon disappeared without a word.

You hadn’t kissed that other guy back. You hadn’t wanted to.

But Jungwon had looked right at you from across the room, then turned and walked away like the sight of it had burned.

You hadn’t spoken since.

Until now.

Until that photo.

You invite him furniture shopping the next morning because it’s the only way you know how to see him without asking the real question:

What did that photo mean?

He agrees with a one-word text: “Sure.”

“I’m just saying,” you mutter, staring down at the table mockup, “this one looks sturdier.”

Jungwon grunts, bending to lift the box. “It also weighs a ton.”

“Didn’t realise you were suddenly allergic to effort.”

He shoots you a look over his shoulder. “Keep talking. I’ll let it fall on your foot.”

“You wouldn’t dare. I’m the one with the snacks.”

You lift the box together and slide it onto the trolley, breath coming short — not from exertion, but from the scent of his cologne, too close in this moment. He’s wearing a black t-shirt. It clings to his back every time he moves.

God. This is dangerous.

You know what you’re doing when you nudge his side with your hip. When you lean slightly forward to pick up the next barcode tag. When you let your dress ride just a little higher than modest.

It’s not scandalous. But it’s not safe either.

You feel the moment his eyes drop—then snap away.

You lean forward to check the price tag on a lamp, catching his reflection behind you.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror.

And you don’t have to ask.

Jealousy looks good on him. Too good.

And so the game begins.

“You’re really walking around here looking like that?” he says, low, sharp, in the curtain section.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He’s still staring at the blue linen drapes in front of him, arms crossed. Like he’s trying not to look at you again.

“Your dress,” he mutters. “It’s short.”

You smile, sweet as sin. “It’s 32 degrees out.”

“There was a guy in lighting who nearly sprained his neck looking at you.”

You hum. “Yeah, I saw.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightens.

You trail a finger over the fabric, voice lilting. “You okay, Jungwon?”

He doesn’t answer.

So you keep poking.

“He was kinda cute, honestly,” you tease.

His head turns. Slowly. His expression is unreadable.

And then—

“You wore that for me or for the attention?”

The question punches the air right out of your lungs.

You laugh — but it’s a little breathless. “Does it matter?”

“It does,” he says darkly. “Because if it’s for me, I don’t want to share the view.”

You freeze.

A beat passes.

And then you recover, your voice dangerously soft. “What if it’s both?”

His eyes flicker. That guarded, unreadable look again. He doesn’t respond.

You start to walk ahead — on purpose, letting your fingers trail the edge of the shelf as you go. You glance back just once.

He’s following.

It doesn’t stop there.

In the warehouse station, you pause to find the correct item number and reach for a paper slip. Another guy reaches at the same time and brushes your fingers. He smiles at you. Lingers a second too long.

Jungwon’s voice cuts in like a knife. “Problem?”

The guy freezes.

You don’t turn, but your mouth twitches.

The stranger clears his throat and walks away without another word.

You glance over your shoulder. “That was subtle.”

“I’m not in the mood for subtle.”

“You jealous?”

“Not funny.”

You smirk. “I think it is.”

He steps closer. Too close. His breath grazes your ear.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You murmur back, “So stop me.”

He doesn’t.

The drive home is quiet.

Not peaceful — tense.

You fiddle with the hem of your dress, suddenly more aware of how much skin it shows sitting down. Jungwon is focused on the road, jaw clenched, left hand tight around the wheel.

You don’t say anything until you pass the freeway exit.

“I didn’t flirt with him.”

He doesn’t answer.

You add, “You’re acting like I cheated on you.”

That gets a reaction.

He glances at you, sharp. “You’re not mine to cheat.”

You feel that like a slap.

And you say, because you’re sick of pretending, “Maybe I would be. If you’d just fucking say something.”

Silence.

And then—

“If you think I don’t get jealous, then you don’t know me at all.”

Your heart stumbles.

He keeps going. “I’m quite the jealous type. Always have been.”Then, softer: “And if you don’t like someone… you don’t get jealous.”

The car is dead quiet now.

You breathe slowly, staring at your knees.

He doesn’t look at you.

And the worst part is — you know he’s right.

You don’t get out of the car.

Neither does he.

The engine clicks softly as it cools, the last rays of afternoon light painting your apartment building in gold. But inside the car, the air is thick — hot, stifling, dangerous.

You hear his breath shift before his voice comes. Low. Careful. Like stepping through a minefield barefoot.

“I wasn’t gonna do this today.”

You don’t move.

“I wasn’t gonna do this at all, honestly. I was gonna keep my mouth shut. Let you find a couch. Let you flirt. Let it be what it’s always been—” He exhales hard, “—us pretending like we’re not circling something we’re too scared to touch.”

You turn your head slowly, heart hammering.

“I’m not scared,” you whisper.

He lets out a bitter laugh. “No? Then why haven’t you said anything either?”

You shoot back, sharper than you mean to. “Because you ran, Jungwon. After that party. After you saw someone else about to kiss me. You didn’t text, didn’t call, just disappeared like I meant nothing.”

“That’s not—”

“I waited. I gave you time. I thought maybe — just maybe — you’d grow the spine to do something about this.”

You gesture between you, your voice cracking.

“But instead you send me a damn thirst trap at 2 a.m. like that says everything you can’t.”

He flinches.

And then, quieter, rougher:

“You think that was a game?”

You stay silent.

He shakes his head. “You think I sent that photo to tease you?”

His voice is a low scrape now. “I sent it because I missed you so bad it hurt. Because every second on that plane, all I wanted was to hear your voice. Because I didn’t know if I could face you after what I saw.”

He leans in, slow and dangerous.

“I didn’t want to see that guy touch you. I didn’t want to see your mouth so close to someone else’s. I didn’t want to feel what I felt.”

You barely breathe. “What did you feel?”

“Rage,” he admits. “And then guilt. Because I don’t have the right.”

You close your eyes.

“I’ve been your best friend for years. And the whole time I’ve been falling for you, I’ve told myself I had no right to ask for more.”

You open your mouth to say something — but he beats you to it.

“But then you wore that damn dress today. You walked in like a threat. Like you knew what you were doing to me. Like you wanted me to break.”

You meet his eyes. “And did you?”

His voice drops.

“I’m breaking now.”

Something shifts.

The tension is molten now, unbearable. You feel it in your stomach, between your thighs, in the way his eyes fall to your mouth and don’t move.

You whisper, “Then stop almost kissing me.”

He doesn’t ask again.

He reaches over the console, threads a hand into your hair, and kisses you.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not careful.

It’s years of swallowed feelings, pent-up hunger, and jealousy finally unchained. His mouth crashes into yours like it was always meant to. His lips are hot, bruising, desperate. Your hands fist in the front of his shirt, dragging him closer as a whimper leaves your throat.

You part your lips and he groans, deep in his chest, sliding his tongue over yours like he’s claiming territory.

Your seatbelt strains against your chest.

You gasp, and he breaks away just long enough to hiss, “Take it off.”

You fumble with the buckle. It clicks loose and he pulls you into his lap, one hand gripping your thigh, the other cradling the back of your head like he’ll die if he doesn’t keep kissing you.

Your dress rides up dangerously high. His hands waste no time finding skin.

You grind down, slow and deliberate, and he curses softly.

“Fuck — don’t do that unless you want me to lose it right here.”

You lean into his ear, voice wicked. “Isn’t that what you want?”

His grip tightens.

“You have no idea,” he growls, dragging your hips flush against him.

You feel him — hard, straining, undeniable.

And yet, he still pauses.

His forehead drops to yours. His breath is uneven.

“I don’t want this to be a mistake,” he says. “I don’t want to touch you like this if it means losing you tomorrow.”

You soften.

Your fingers trace his cheek, his jaw, his parted lips.

“Then don’t touch me like it’s a mistake,” you whisper. “Touch me like I’m yours.”

That’s all it takes.

His hands slide beneath your dress, slow and reverent. He mouths at your collarbone, then your neck, leaving marks you’ll have to explain later — not that you care. You tug his shirt over his head, revealing warm, golden skin stretched over lean muscle.

You’ve seen him shirtless before. Pool parties. Sleepovers. Training sessions.

But this is different.

This is allowed.

You run your hands over his chest, his abs, watching him shudder beneath your touch.

“You’re dangerous like this,” you murmur.

He smirks. “So are you.”

His hands move under your thighs, lifting you slightly to press you harder against him. His fingers find the edge of your underwear — he doesn’t go further. Just traces the line, teasing, as his mouth drags back up to kiss you slow this time.

When he finally slides his fingers beneath the fabric and finds you already soaked, he groans into your neck.

“Shit — do you know what you do to me?”

You don’t answer. You just arch into his touch, grinding down as his fingers work you open with slow, skilled precision.

He watches every expression cross your face.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice thick. “No more games.”

You gasp when he curls his fingers just right, when he presses his thumb against your clit with the kind of focused attention that makes your spine snap straight.

“Say it,” he demands.

“I’m yours,” you breathe.

He kisses you again like he’ll never stop.

The air in the car is thick with your combined breath, skin against skin, hands still tangled, mouths swollen from everything they just said without words.

But you don’t move.

You just sit in his lap, forehead pressed to his shoulder, your pulse finally slowing, your body still trembling with aftershocks. Jungwon’s arms are around your waist — holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

Minutes pass.

The sky outside deepens into evening. You should be getting out of the car. You should probably say something.

Instead, you murmur, “You okay?”

He exhales, a low, shaky breath. “Are you?”

You lift your head, just enough to look at him.

He’s flushed. Eyes dark. Lips parted like he’s still tasting you. But there’s something fragile beneath the heat now. The softness after the storm.

“I’m more than okay,” you whisper.

He lets out a breathy laugh. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

You smile, cupping his face in your hands. “I can. I’ve been waiting.”

His eyes search yours — tender, open, almost stunned.

“I was so scared,” he admits. “I thought I’d ruin us.”

You run your thumb across his cheek. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He leans into your palm like he needs the contact. “Then why does it still feel dangerous?”

“Because it is,” you say gently. “We just lit a match to five years of tension in the front seat of your car.”

He snorts. “Okay… when you say it like that.”

You smile and press your lips to his — soft, lingering. Nothing hungry now. Just you.

Just him.

You’re in your apartment. The furniture sits unopened. The couch is still in its box, leaning against the wall.

But Jungwon’s hoodie is hanging on the back of a chair.

He’s in your shower.

You’re curled up on your bed in nothing but one of his t-shirts, body still humming, face flushed.

He steps out, damp hair falling across his forehead, sweatpants low on his hips. And for the first time in your entire friendship — your not friendship — you don’t look away.

Neither does he.

He climbs into bed beside you, his hand immediately reaching for yours like it’s instinct. You roll into his side, tucking your cheek against his chest.

His heartbeat is steady now. But strong. Comforting.

He smells like your shampoo.

You murmur, “You were really hot today.”

Jungwon raises a brow. “Today as in… during sex?”

“No. Well, yes. But I mean before that.”

“When I was—what? Lifting boxes?”

You grin. “No. When you were jealous.”

He groans and covers his face with his hand. “God. Don’t say that.”

“Why not? You were all growly and possessive and territorial. It was kinda… hot.”

“You’re insane.”

You hum against his skin. “Nope. Just honest.”

He looks down at you, eyes warm but amused. “I was about to commit a crime in the warehouse.”

“I know. You almost took that guy out.”

“He touched you.”

You laugh. “He brushed my hand.”

“He lingered.”

You grin. “God, you’re hot when you’re possessive.”

He rolls you under him before you can blink. One arm beside your head, the other running teasingly down your side.

“You like it when I get jealous?” he murmurs, voice low.

You pretend to think. “A little.”

“A little?”

You smirk. “Okay. A lot.”

He dips his head to kiss your jaw. “Then don’t test me again.”

You loop your arms around his neck. “Oh, I will.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“And you love it.”

He groans into your neck. “Unfortunately, yes.”

© taetebebe 2025

[yla-aira]

sheep garden losing it >>>

[tsunodaradio]

agony ⛐ 𝐋𝐍𝟏

everywhere the duke of bristol went, heartbreak trailed behind. (everywhere but here, it seems.)

ꔮ starring: duke of bristol!lando norris x childhood best friend!reader. ꔮ word count: 3.9k. ꔮ includes: humor, friendship, romance. alternate universe: non-f1, alternate universe: regency au. childhood best friends, fake dating lite, feelings realization. ꔮ commentary box: ahaha. so heyyy.. i have nothing to say except that, sometimes, we have to drop the fic nobody asked for in hopes that it will get us back on track. this is a very late celebration for LN1. tumblr is finally no longer banned in my country (long story) and i’m hoping to be around a lot more often again. always & forever, every lando i write is for my darling, dearest @norrisradio. you’re the wdc of my heart, t. love ya.

You slip out of the ballroom just as the applause reaches its most unbearable pitch.

Inside, the Queen has just declared Lando Norris, Duke of Bristol, the diamond of the season.

The diamond.

You still cannot decide whether the court applauds because they are delighted or because they are too shocked to do anything else. Lando—whose reputation for scandal travels faster than most carriages—now stands crowned as the most desirable prize of the London season.

If irony were audible, the ballroom would be deafening.

The corridor outside the ballroom is mercifully quieter. Candlelight flickers along the paneled walls, carrying the faint scent of beeswax and roses from the arrangements inside. The music seeps through the doors in polite, muffled waves. You lean against the window, grateful for the cooler air drifting through the cracked glass. You are granted peace for all of four minutes. 

“If you are hiding,” grumbles a voice behind you, “I must congratulate you on your excellent instincts.”

You do not have to turn to know who is speaking so frankly. You’ve heard that voice in your dreams, for better and for worse. You look anyway, and sure enough, there stands Lando—looking as though he has just survived a naval battle rather than a royal announcement.

His cravat is slightly crooked. His curls, which society ladies spend entire evenings praising, appears as though he has run a hand through it repeatedly. There is a wild, haunted look in his eyes that would be deeply concerning if it were not also extremely familiar.

“Your Grace,” you say with a polite incline of your head. “How fortunate. I was just reflecting on the Queen’s decision.”

“Were you,” he says flatly.

“Yes.”

You pause, studying him. “I wondered,” you hum, “whether Her Majesty had perhaps mistaken you for someone else entirely.”

His eyes narrow. Then, he groans and drops his head back against the wall. Gone is the man that half the ton’s mamas regarded a ‘waste’, a ‘rake’. Instead, there is the same boy who used to bitch and gripe to you about trivial, menial things, like the weather ruining his plans to play in the courtyard. 

“You see?!” he huffs. “This is exactly what I feared.”

“What, honesty?”

“Betrayal,” he corrects. “From my own childhood ally, no less.”

You fold your arms, unimpressed. “Lando,” you say.

It works instantly. He stills. The dramatics drain from his posture with almost embarrassing speed. He has always been like this; capable of terrifying half of London with his reputation, yet strangely manageable the moment you say his name in that particular tone.

He exhales slowly. His endeavor to be a mature person does not last too long. “I am ruined,” he groans, entirely incapable of shutting up for even a moment.

“You are a duke,” you shoot back. “Your definition of ‘ruin’ lacks credibility.”

“No, truly.” He gestures vaguely toward the ballroom doors. “Do you know what awaits me in there?”

“Adoration,” you say.

“Ambush,” he corrects.

You cannot help the small laugh that escapes you. It startles him into smiling, just briefly.

For a moment, there it is again. The boy who used to appear at your family’s garden gate with mud on his boots and an entirely unreasonable plan for the afternoon. He had been ten the first time he tried to teach you how to climb the old oak behind your house. He fell halfway up, landed in a rose bush, and insisted with great dignity that it had been a descent fit for a king.

He had always possessed a flair for dramatics.

“You should be grateful,” you muse. “Many gentlemen spend entire seasons hoping to be noticed.”

“Yes,” Lando sighs heavily. “But most of them are not me.”

You raise a brow. Before you can call him something deserving of his demeanor—perhaps ‘self-absorbed git,’ if you could get away with it—he barrels on. 

“I am not meant to be the diamond,” he says, as though this should be obvious to any reasonable person. “I am meant to be the cautionary tale.” 

As if he isn’t already, you bite back from saying. Lando often existed outside the fringes of society despite his title. Some might have even dubbed him as a disgrace, considering all his dalliances. How his bed always stayed warm; how he pranced around without a care in the world.

Everywhere the Duke of Bristol went, heartbreak trailed behind. (Everywhere but here, it seems.) 

“How tragic,” you murmur, if only to indulge him.

“Exactly!” He points at you as if you have proven his argument. “Someone understands.”

You study him again. Despite the theatrical despair, he looks... unsettled. Truly unsettled.

The ballroom doors open briefly behind him, spilling a wave of music and laughter into the hall. Several curious faces peer out before the doors close again. Lando watches the doors as though they might lunge for him. Then he glances back at you.

“You always did know where to hide,” he says, affection tinging the lilt of his tone.

“I am not hiding.”

“You slipped out the moment the Queen finished speaking.”

“Pure coincidence.”

“Cowardice,” he amends.

“Self-preservation,” you snap in return.

He gives you a proper laugh this time. The sound warms the corridor like sunlight; it has been years since you heard it so easily.

For a brief moment, he simply observes as you bite back a grin of your own. There is something thoughtful in his expression now, something quieter beneath the humor.

(Unbeknownst to you, he has spiraled into his own nostalgia. He remembers how many evenings ended exactly like this when you were children, both of you escaping gatherings of dull adults to sit on the garden wall and trade observations about the world.

You had always possessed the unnerving ability to see through him immediately. Everyone else saw the future duke, but you saw the boy attempting to impress people he did not particularly like.)

“You are staring,” present-you says, and Lando forces himself out of his memories to sport a grin. 

“I am reflecting,” he replies.

“That is a poor excuse for staring.”

“Do you know," he says abruptly, “that you are the only person in London who has not congratulated me tonight?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Absolutely not.” He shudders. “I might expire from embarrassment.”

You smile slightly. “Very well. In that case, I shall offer my condolences instead.”

“And I would thank you for them.” 

A silence falls between you then—comfortable, but not entirely simple. From the ballroom, the orchestra begins a waltz. Lando glances toward the doors again. “If I return in there,” he says, morose in a way unbefitting of a twenty-something-year-old, “I will be hunted.”

“You exaggerate, my lord.”

“I do not. I saw three mothers sharpening their smiles the moment the Queen finished speaking.”

“How horrific.”

“Precisely.”

He looks at you again. “You could help me,” he says, as if the idea has just occurred to him.

You have to force yourself not to grimace. He is looking more and more like the boy next door by the second. “That sounds dangerous,” you grunt. 

“Only slightly,” he assures you.

“Which means extremely.”

He grins. “Dance with me.”

It is the world’s most foolish idea. You, who so preferred to be on the sidelines of these events, would be in tomorrow’s papers if you were to so much as box step with the season’s diamond. “That will not help you escape,” you point out.

“No. But it will delay the inevitable.” His smile grows sheepish. He adds lightly, “If I must face the entire ton as the Queen’s unfortunate jewel, I would prefer to do so with someone who remembers me falling out of trees.”

How cruel of him to pull out this card. To know that you would do nothing for the sake of capital-s Society, but you are at the beck and call of your childhood friend and his watercolor eyes.

“Your Grace,” you start.

“Lando,” he corrects immediately. “You—I will always be just Lando to you.” 

“Very well,” you say benevolently, as if your heart had not done something particularly treacherous amid the abandonment of formalities. “Lando. If this ends in scandal, I shall remind everyone that it was entirely your idea.”

“Naturally.”

He extends his arm; you take it. Gloved hand in calloused one. The contact is brief, proper, and yet somehow startling all the same.

The ballroom swallows you whole the moment the doors open.

Music spills outward in a bright, lilting waltz. Candlelight multiplies across mirrors and polished floors until the room glitters like a jewelry box overturned. Silks whisper, jewels flash, and conversation rises in careful, eager waves.

And then the room sees him.

It happens almost physically. Heads turn. Fans pause mid-flutter. A murmur travels across the floor like wind across water.

The Queen’s diamond has returned.

You feel Lando stiffen beside you. “Ah,” he says quietly. “They have spotted me.”

“Shocking,” you mutter through clenched teeth. “A duke freshly declared the most desirable man in London. Who could have predicted such attention?”

“Your sarcasm is poorly timed,” he hisses.

It begins immediately.

A trio of ambitious mothers pivots in perfect formation across the ballroom. Two debutantes glance in your direction, whisper, and then begin drifting closer with the slow determination of hunting cats.

Lando exhales like a man watching enemy ships approach the harbor.

“Do not panic,” you say calmly.

“I am not panicking,” he says, panicking. 

“You look as though someone has informed you of an impending duel.”

“This is worse than a duel,” he says grimly. “In a duel only one person wishes to marry you afterward.”

You laugh under your breath, but the advancing crowd grows noticeably thicker. Names begin to float toward him.

“Your Grace!”

“Duke Norris!”

“My lord, what an honor!”

Fans flutter like startled birds. Smiles settle with frightening efficiency. Lando’s hand tightens slightly around yours before he seems to remember himself and releases it with suspicious haste.

Too late. Three matrons have already noticed.

“Oh,” he says faintly.

“What?”

“They saw that.”

“Saw what?”

“The hand,” he says. “Our hands were visible.”

“Lando,” you say patiently, “holding hands does not constitute a scandal.”

“It does when you are the Queen’s freshly polished jewel,” he grumbles.

The crowd closes in another step. A young lady with very determined curls edges forward, guided by a mother whose smile resembles military strategy. Lando glances at the approaching formation. Then he looks at you.

You recognize that look immediately. It is the same expression he once wore before attempting to ride the vicar’s horse backwards during a summer fair.

“No,” you say, even though he hasn’t said anything yet.

“Yes,” he says, then he tacks on a quick “sorry!” like it might solve whatever he is about to spring on you

“Lando—”

But he has already turned to the room. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he calls out, his voice carrying with alarming clarity.

The nearby cluster pauses. You stare at him in horror. He is smiling. It is the sort of charming, reckless smile that has caused half of London’s gossip columns to speculate whether he had illegitimate children.

“I fear,” Lando announces, “that I must beg your indulgence this evening.”

Several hopeful mothers lean forward. In contrast, you contemplate how far away you can bolt. 

“You see,” he says, “I have already resolved to begin a courtship.”

The silence that follows is so complete you can hear the violins falter for half a note. You know what is coming; it does not take a scholar to guess where he is heading. 

Still, like a fool, you hope he could be wise for once. 

Lando gestures directly to you. No wise men here. 

“I wish to court my neighbor and oldest friend,” he says cheerfully. 

The ballroom explodes. Gasps ripple outward like thrown stones. Fans snap open. Heads turn. Somewhere behind you a glass is dropped with a delicate crash.

You stare at him.

“My lord,” you say through a perfectly pleasant smile.

“Yes?”

“What,” you continue sweetly, “do you think you are doing?”

“Surviving,” he whispers back, the shite-eating grin never leaving his face.

Across the room, several mamas are already recalculating their strategies with visible disappointment. Unfortunately, the rest of the ton appears even more interested now—because nothing delights society quite so much as a surprise romance.

Lando, apparently satisfied with the chaos he has created, offers you his arm once again. “Shall we,” he murmurs, “before someone asks inconvenient questions?”

You do not move. “You just announced a courtship,” you hiss.

“A temporary one,” he assures you.

“You did not say temporary!”

“Details,” he shrugs.

You should have left him for dead when he was being chased by stray dogs way back when. You’re convinced you’re about to blow a fuse when you notice the complicated way his expression has shifted. 

For all the dramatics, for all the reckless charm, there is a flicker of something tender in his gaze. It is fond and hopeful all at once, and it is far from the first time you’ve fallen for it. 

It is deeply inconvenient.

“You are insufferable,” you inform him.

“I am aware,” he says.

The orchestra, perhaps sensing drama worth encouraging, launches into a brighter waltz. Several onlookers have already begun whispering with gleeful enthusiasm.

Lando leans closer. “Please,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, “tell me you will not abandon me to them.”

You glance toward the watching crowd. You really ought to leave him in the lions’ den. Instead, you find yourself gingerly muttering, “You owe me.”

Lando’s shoulders relax instantly.

“But,” you add, “you will spend the rest of the evening explaining exactly how you intend to escape the consequences of your own stupidity.”

He beams. “I was hoping you would help me think of something.”

You slip your hand through his arm. The orchestra swells as though it has personally been waiting for this show. Which, given the enthusiasm of British musicians, is entirely possible.

Lando leads you onto the dance floor before you can reconsider your life choices. The movement is swift, decisive, and—most irritatingly—perfectly elegant. His hand settles at your waist with practiced ease, warm even through the layers of silk and propriety.

Around you, the ballroom watches. Not casually nor politely. No, the ton watches the way astronomers might observe a comet; certain something dramatic is about to happen and determined not to miss a moment of it.

“Smile,” Lando hums.

“I am smiling,” you reply through perfectly arranged teeth.

“You look as though you are planning my murder.”

“Give me time,” you say, saccharine as always, as the waltz begins.

He spins you smoothly into the first turn. The movement is fluid, graceful, and entirely infuriating given that he declared a courtship less than two minutes ago without consulting you.

“Plead your case,” you challenge mid-sidestep.

“I panicked,” he says simply. 

“You announced a lifelong social development to the entire aristocracy.”

“Yes. A momentary lapse in judgment.”

“Momentary,” you repeat, barely resisting the urge to snort. 

You glide past a cluster of whispering debutantes. Fans snap open. One lady nearly walks into a pillar while staring.

“They are writing our wedding announcement already,” you mutter.

“Talk about efficiency,” Lando cackles gleefully. 

“Lando.” 

“Yes, my darling, dearest?”

“You have created a disaster.”

“I prefer the term ‘solution’.”

“And you dragged me into it!”

“You were already there,” he says reasonably. “I simply made it official.”

Was it not the case for most of your lives? The only times you have run into trouble, it has been because of Lando. Before he was considered ‘bad’ for any man or woman who breathed, he was bad for you. Always drawing your parents’ ire, always dragging you into adventures that ruined your skirts and distressed your chaperones. 

The dance carries you across the center of the ballroom, where observation becomes unavoidable. The Queen herself sits elevated at the far end, her stern gaze following every step.

“She is staring,” you whisper as Lando expertly twirls you.

“I know,” Lando whispers back.

“You ruined her plans.”

“I suspect I did.”

You complete another turn. His grip tightens slightly—steady, guiding, entirely too natural. The crowd murmurs approvingly.

Unfortunately, the two of you dance very well together. You always have. Another memory flickers through your mind without warning.

You, age thirteen, standing barefoot in the grass while he attempted to teach you a proper waltz before your first local assembly. You stepped on his boots repeatedly and informed him that dancing was a ridiculous social ritual invented by people with too much time.

He had laughed so hard he forgot the steps entirely.

You step neatly through a turn now. You like to think you are not the same teenager who would do anything to make Lando Norris laugh.

The dance ends. Polite applause ripples across the room. It would be flattering if it were not accompanied by intense speculation and three dozen whispered theories about your secret romance.

Before either of you can escape the floor, a royal attendant appears. “Your Grace,” the man says carefully. “Her Majesty requests your presence posthaste.”

You and Lando exchange a look.

The Queen’s private chamber is quieter than the ballroom, and also considerably more dangerous. Her Majesty stands near the window when you enter, hands folded behind her back with the posture of someone restraining significant irritation.

“Your Grace,” she says coolly.

“Your Majesty,” Lando replies with a bow.

You curtsy beside him. The Queen studies the two of you with visible skepticism.

“How convenient,” she muses, “that the diamond of my season has already selected his bride before the festivities have properly begun.”

Lando clears his throat. “Fortunate timing,” he says, his voice cracking ever so slightly in his attempt at light-heartedness.

Her Majesty does not appear amused. “You realize that I had several very thoughtful matches in mind,” she sniffles. 

You remain silent, which is perhaps the most prudent thing to do. Lando does not have the same sensibilities.

“Your Majesty,” he says suddenly, “with the greatest respect—”

You glance sideways, raring to reel Lando in. No one who starts a sentence with that actually means to accord respect. You are thoroughly convinced you are about to watch your best friend put his head on a chopping block. 

“I assure you this was not an act of defiance,” he continues earnestly. 

The Queen arches a brow. Lando draws a breath.

Then, to your complete astonishment, he launches into what can only be described as a speech. 

“Your Majesty,” he says, “I have spent years avoiding the expectations of society with every tool available to me. Scandal, poor reputation, dramatic exits—”

“We noticed,” the Queen interjects dryly.

“—but none of that was ever meant as disrespect,” he presses on. “I simply never met a circumstance that felt… right.”

His voice softens. “Until her.”

You freeze. Lando was known for his dramatics, not his honesty. As he goes on, though, a bit of the latter seems to bleed in. 

“She has known me since childhood,” he continues. There is a quality to his voice that was not there before. It sounds dangerously like affection. “She has witnessed my worst ideas, my most embarrassing moments, and several ill-advised attempts to impress people I did not even like.”

The Queen watches him carefully. “And still,” Lando says, “she remained.”

He gestures slightly toward you. “Your Majesty, the idea of losing that to some calculated courtship arranged for appearances would be nothing short of agony.”

The word hangs in the air. Agony. 

Lando trips over the word as if realizing the gravitas of it, and then he clings to it with the earnestness of a man who had just found what he meant to say. 

“It has been agony to restrain my affection all these years,” he says, earnest in a way that makes your chest ache. “It has been agony to pretend I am anything but a helpless, hopeless man who aspires to grovel at her feet. I have agonized, and agonized, and agonized, and I only bear it because it has been for her.”

He takes in a deep, fortifying breath. “If I must be in agony,” Lando exhales, “let it be in her name.”

Silence follows. A long, twisting one. It is so quiet that you fear the chamber might hear the steady thump, thump, thump of your heart that has ticked upwards since Lando started speaking. 

His eyes remain on the Queen, while your gaze never wavers from the side of his face.

Her Majesty exhales slowly. “You are either very sincere,” she says, “or very persuasive.”

“I hope for both,” Lando replies breathlessly.

Her gaze shifts to you. “And you?”

And you? You, with your disdain for society and all that it entails? You, whose pulse races every time Lando calls for you? 

You, who—perhaps in some alternate universe that were not England’s conniving ton—would have loved to be the object of Lando Norris’ affections? 

Alas, these are the cards you have been dealt. A ruse with a friend. Another one of the duke’s infamous pranks, albeit with higher stakes. You manage a composed smile.

“I am still recovering from the announcement, Your Majesty,” you say evenly. “And… er… the duke’s rather shocking revelation.” 

For the first time, the Queen almost smiles. “Very well,” she says with a dismissive wave. “If this courtship is genuine, I will not interfere.”

Lando exhales quietly.

“However,” she adds sharply, “I will be watching.”

His shoulders stiffen again. The duke is no stranger to an audience, but to have a royal one is an entirely different tale altogether. 

“If I discover this is merely a performance,” the Queen warns, “I shall personally arrange the most inconvenient marriage possible for you both.”

“Understood,” Lando says immediately.

“Best of luck,” the Queen says. She sounds like she very much means it. 

The hallway outside feels significantly less threatening.

You and Lando walk in silence for several steps. You are the first to falter in your stride; Lando follows suit, looking over his shoulder before turning to face you completely. 

The end of the eventful night is drawing to a close. You can feel it in your bones. Still, your heart races for reasons you dare not speak into existence. 

“Well,” you say breathlessly.

Lando offers you half a smile, and says in agreement, “Well.”

You fold your arms over your chest as if it might protect you from some invisible, emotional blow. “That speech,” you say.

“Yes?”

“You were very good at pretending.”

A soft, strangled laugh breaks from the back of Lando’s throat. “Pretending?” he echoes, and oh, the genuine confusion in his tone is the thing of fairytales. 

This is not supposed to be a fairytale. This is your life, and in your life, you are meant to be married off to some halfway decent marquess with whom you might live a perfectly boring life.

“The agony,” you sputter. “The childhood loyalty. The heartfelt declarations to the Queen.”

Lando looks at you for a long, long moment. The realization dawns on you both in the very same second.

It is in how his brow furrows, how your breath hitches. You have spent years running from the very truth that is just now catching up to your agonized, oblivious duke.

Solemn as a vow, Lando whispers with awe, “I do not think I was pretending at all.” ⛐

[yla-aira]

“If I must be in agony, let it be in her name.”

[coconhovr]

ENTRY #11 𑣲 𝐊𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐇𝐎

𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 ─── after your date, your feet starts hurting from your heels, so your strong bf carries you

★ bf ! keonho × fem!reader

word count ── 1.2k

˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! i love this concept SO FREAKING MUCH LIKE I HAD TO WRITE MORE FLUFF FOR KEONHO :((( HES SO CUTE I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM 𖧧 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The restaurant doors closed softly behind you as you stepped out into the cool evening air, the sound of quiet laughter and clinking glasses fading behind you.

Night had fully settled in, the city glowing in warm lights. Street lamps painted the sidewalk gold, and the faint hum of cars passing by filled the comfortable silence between you and Keonho.

Your date had gone better than you expected.

Actually… perfectly.

Keonho walked beside you with that same bright smile he seemed to carry everywhere, his hands shoved loosely into the pockets of his jacket as he rocked slightly on his heels with every step. He looked almost boyish like this, like someone who couldn’t stop smiling even if he tried.

You had always thought he looked happiest when he was with you.

Which was why you had spent so long getting ready tonight.

Your outfit had taken forever to pick out, a soft dress that fit you just right, jewelry that caught the light when you moved, and the pair of heels you were now starting to regret wearing.

They looked amazing.

They just… didn’t feel amazing.

You tried not to show it as you walked down the sidewalk toward the parking lot, but each step sent a small ache through the arches of your feet.

You winced slightly.

Keonho noticed immediately, he always did.

His head tilted, eyes narrowing in curiosity as he looked down at your feet and then back up at you. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice light but observant.

You quickly straightened. “Yeah,” you said.

He hummed suspiciously. “You made a face.”

“I did not.”

“You definitely did.”

You tried to keep walking like nothing was wrong, but after another few steps the pain flared again and you slowed down just slightly.

That was all it took.

Keonho stopped walking.

You took two more steps before realizing he wasn’t beside you anymore.

Turning around, you found him staring at you with his arms crossed and a playful pout on his lips.

“You’re limping,” he said.

“I am not limping.”

“You are absolutely limping.”

You sighed, glancing down at your shoes. “…My feet hurt a little.”

Keonho raised an eyebrow, taking a quick glance at your heels before coming back to you. “A little?” he repeated.

“They just— they matched the outfit really well,” you defended weakly.

His expression softened instantly.

“Baby,” he said gently.

Before you could react, he crouched down in front of you.

You blinked. “What are you doing?”

He looked up at you with a grin that was far too mischievous. “Fixing the problem.”

And then suddenly, you were in the air.

A surprised yelp left your lips as Keonho scooped you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other around your back.

Your hands immediately grabbed onto his shoulders.

“Keonho!”

He laughed, the sound was bright and boyish, echoing down the quiet sidewalk. “You said your feet hurt.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to carry me!”

“But it does,” he insisted proudly. He started walking toward the car like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Your face burned. “Put me down!”

“Nope.”

“People are looking!”

“Let them look.”

He seemed completely unfazed, smiling widely as he carried you across the parking lot like you weighed nothing at all.

You stared at him, slightly stunned.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m a gentleman,” he corrected proudly.

“You’re a menace.”

He laughed again, pulling you a little closer against his chest.

Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, your face only inches from his.

Up close like this, you could see the warmth in his eyes, that same happiness that always seemed to radiate off him.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I didn’t know heels hurt this much.”

“I mean it depends,” you muttered. 

“But they still hurt right?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

When he finally reached the car, he didn’t put you down right away.

Instead, he leaned you gently against the side of the car while still holding you.

“You’re lighter than I expected,” he said thoughtfully.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m complimenting you!”

“That was not a compliment.”

He grinned. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re a little mad.”

You huffed.

Before you could argue further, Keonho leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

Your words died instantly.

He pulled back with the same innocent smile.

“There,” he said proudly. “Better.”

“You can’t just kiss me to win arguments.”

“Yes I can.”

Your face warmed again. “Keonho…”

He kissed you again.

This time it was slower, softer.

His lips brushed yours gently, lingering just long enough to make your stomach flutter before he pulled away.

“You’re really pretty tonight,” he murmured.

The softness in his voice made your chest ache. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he insisted.

His hand slid up your arm, fingers tracing gentle circles against your skin.

“I’ve been trying not to stare all night.”

You laughed quietly.

“You were staring.”

“I know.”

He didn’t even try to deny it.

His smile turned shy in that oddly boyish way he had sometimes.

“You looked so pretty I got nervous.”

“You?” you teased. “Nervous?”

“Hey,” he protested, lightly bumping his forehead against yours. “I get nervous around you.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true.”

He pressed another quick kiss to your lips, and then another, and another.

They were soft, playful little pecks that made you laugh as you tried to push him away.

“Keonho—”

He kissed you again.

“Stop!”

He kissed your cheek.

“Okay okay,” he laughed when you finally shoved his shoulder lightly.

But his arms tightened around you again, pulling you back against him like he physically couldn’t help it.

He nuzzled his face into the side of your neck.

“You smell nice,” he mumbled.

“You’re acting like a puppy.”

“I know.” He didn’t even sound ashamed, if anything, he sounded proud.

After a moment he finally opened the passenger door and gently set you down on the seat.

Your feet immediately sighed in relief.

He crouched down beside the car.

“Give me your foot.”

“…What?”

“Your foot.”

“Why?”

“Just give it.”

Suspiciously, you lifted one foot slightly.

He carefully slid your heel off.

The relief was instant.

“Oh my god,” you sighed.

“Told you.”

“You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

He placed your heels neatly on the floor of the car before looking up at you with that same bright smile.

“You look happier already.”

Your heart squeezed a little.

“Thank you.”

He leaned up, resting his chin on the edge of the door.

“You know, you don’t have to carry me everywhere.”

“But it’s fun, plus I get to see your beautiful face closer.”

You laughed softly. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why? I’m just showing my love and affection towards you.” He grinned.

“I love you.” The words slipped out so naturally that you barely realized you said them.

But Keonho froze, then his entire face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“You do?”

You blinked.

“…Yes?”

He leaned forward quickly and kissed you again, this time deeper and slower, one hand cupping your cheek.

When he pulled back, he was practically glowing.

“I love you too,” he said.

Then he paused. “…Wait.”

You raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

His grin returned.

“If your feet still hurt later…”

“…Yes?”

“I can carry you inside too.”

You groaned.

“Keonho.”

He laughed, closing the door before jogging around to the driver’s side.

And somehow, even with aching feet and ruined heels, you had never felt happier.

[yla-aira]

“But it’s fun, plus I get to see your beautiful face closer.”

[tys-kitty]

Choose your fighter

Kit thinking that nobody was able to ever love him (not his father, mother or Ty) and that he is unlovable

vs

Ash thinking that every one who likes/loves him only does so because of his power and that he is in truth unlovable

[fshiwore]

highkey make a childhood bf thingy with juhoon that they have been dating since they were like 7 and the rest of the group dk about reader but then they find out and fluff🥹

sweethearts | juhoon request

hiii sweetie, this request is toooo cute & i had sm fun with this one, i hope you enjoy and send more requests in at anytime !

warnings: cussing/swearing, lmk if i missed anything genre: fluff wc: ~1k

lanis little letters: no clue when this will be out but it was written litterally within an hour of you sending the request so i hope i was able to satisfy you honey pie ! tags and requests are indeed open right now — do enjoy <3 !

all under cut !

Juhoon and Y/N technically started “dating” when they were about seven.

And by dating, I mean he gave her a Pokémon sticker during recess and said, “You’re my girlfriend now.”

She said, “Okay,” because she liked the blue one. “you’re my boyfriend now”

They never broke up.

It sort of just blossomed from there.

Through scraped knees.
Through matching backpacks in third grade.


Through the awkward “don’t talk to me in front of my friends” phase in middle school - though they still always walked home together.


Through high school when he got taller and she stole his hoodies like it was her full-time job.

Now fast forward.

Juhoon is in a group. The members know everything about him.

Well.

Almost everything.

They know he has 2 turtles now.


They know he cries at animal videos.


They know he disappears every Sunday night without explanation.

What they do NOT know?

He has had a girlfriend for literally over a decade.

And it’s not even dramatic. He just never mentioned it. Something about “privacy”

Because to him, Y/N isn’t some “secret girlfriend.”

She’s just Y/N.

The girl who still has the Pokémon sticker pressed inside her old diary.


The girl who knows his mom’s cooking schedule.


The girl who texts him, “Don’t forget to eat,” like she has since they were twelve.

— 🎐

The members find out in the dumbest way possible.

They’re in the dorm living room. Juhoon’s phone lights up on the table.

Seonghyeon glances at it.

“Who’s ‘princess 💛’?”

Silence.

Juhoon freezes mid-bite.

James squints. “Why is that name kinda romantic.”

Keonho grabs the phone before Juhoon can. “WAIT. AND THEY GOT A YELLOW HEART?? AND NAMED PRINCESS.”

Juhoon lunges. “Give it back.”

Too late.

The lockscreen lights up with a picture.

It’s a photo of Juhoon and Y/N sitting on a playground swing set. She’s laughing at him. He’s looking at her like she personally invented happiness.

And the date in the corner says last week.

The room goes dead quiet.

“Is that your sister?” Martin asks slowly.

Juhoon blinks. “The fuck? No.”

“Cousin?”

“No.”

Seonghyeon gasps. “YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?”

Juhoon, very calm: “Yeah.”

Keonho is actually offended. “HOW LONG?”

He shrugs.

“Since second grade.”

The entire dorm erupts.

“SECOND GRADE IS INSANE.”
“YOU’VE BEEN HIDING A WHOLE WIFE.”
“DOES SHE KNOW YOU’RE AN IDOL??”

Juhoon just rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “Obviously she knows.”

Because she was there before all of it.

Before auditions.
Before training.
Before stage names.

She used to sit on the floor while he practiced dance routines in their living room.

She’d clap like he was already famous.

—

The next week, he finally brings her to the dorm.

The members are acting like they’re meeting royalty.

Y/N walks in, shy but comfortable. Like she belongs there.

Because she kind of does.

I mean she HAS been through the dorm before, just not while the boys were there.

Juhoon doesn’t introduce her dramatically. He just says, “Guys, this is Y/N.”

And she smiles. “Hi. I’ve heard a lot about you guys.”

Martin immediately bows. “We’re so sorry for whatever he’s told you.”

She laughs. Juhoon looks at her like he’s seven again, holding out that stupid Pokémon sticker.

The members notice it.

The way he instinctively takes her bag.


The way she fixes his collar without thinking.


The way their fingers automatically link together like muscle memory.

It’s not flashy.

It’s soft.

Comfortable.

Old.

Seonghyeon whispers, “They’re literally married.”

And honestly?

They kinda are.

Later that night, when the members won’t stop teasing him, Juhoon just shrugs and says:

“I didn’t hide her. You just never asked.”

And across the room, Y/N tosses him a gummy bear.

He catches it without looking.

Because after all these years?

They’re still that seven-year-old boy and girl on the playground.

Just taller. More mature. Even famous. BUT? they’re still together.

cortis taglist #1: @seonghyecn @jellywichu @itzynie @lovhyeon @mara-luv1 @niniiflwr @one-chance-pls @yoizupop @snowselle @09zpzkeonnss @lunaryoongie @angelyseo @sapphireserpens @saevss

cortis taglist #2 @vanillakirstein @bananabread785 @rickyshensgirlfriend @enhacolor @miisoluvsdeer

[yla-aira]

juhoon hiding a whole wife 😝

[tracksidebaby]

Mine

Summary: Lando Norris gets jealous every time his figure skater girlfriend is shipped with her partner - lucky for him she's just as down bad.

Requested: Yes / Anon

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell  and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Back to training, getting ready for the big one

username: YN AND SEB ARE GOING TO THE OLYMPICS!!!

username: I’m crying I can’t wait for this one

username: my fav couple is coming back

  -> lando: thats my girlfriend 😐

  -> username: obsessed with the fact that lando is always in her comments making sure people know 😭

username: what happens in the Olympic village stays in the Olympic village just wait

  -> lando: no

  -> username : embarrassed for him

username: there is my future Olympic gold medalists!!!

Instagram:

liked by: danielricciardo, yn.ln, sebastianhayes and 13,792,901 others

lando: thats my gf btw

username: Im actually so embarrassed for him

username: THE JEALOUSY IM CACKLING

username: I always forget how jealous he gets when they start training again

  -> username: the way she hasn’t even posted seb in her training posts yet and he’s already acting like this 😭 

 -> username: mind you bros just won the aus gp and not posted about that yet 

yn.ln: All yours love 🧡 

  -> lando: love u!!

 -> username: crying for him 

username: they’re so cute together wtf 

username: mate by now we know she’s ur girlfriend you post her every other day 😭

  -> username: it’s cos people ship yn with her skating partner 

-> username: yeah lando is always reminding people it’s hilarious  

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Your fav skaters are back together ✌🏻

username: here before lando wtf

username: OBSESSED

username: wait for it

-> username: what for what?

-> username: lando 😭

lando: wow my gf looks real good here 😍😍

-> maxfewtrell: mate im embarrassed for you

-> yn.ln: @/maxfewtrell it’s endearing 

-> lando: yeah what she said

username: sorry I’ve seen them skate together you don’t have that much chemistry unless you’re into each other

-> yn.ln: I’ve known Seb since we were kids and first entered pairs skating, trust me we’re not into each other 😭😭

-> username: idk why everyone thinks they’re together if you acc watch their interviews and the way they interact it’s such sibling energy 

-> lando: BIG sibling energy no chemistry there

-> yn.ln: I love you so much you idiot @/lando 😭

Texts /

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Oh you know, just hanging out with the winner of the Australian GP

username: now that’s the best couple ever

-> lando: more comments like this cheers

username: OBSESSED

username: what even is that picture of lando💀

username: Lando is so down bad it’s embarrassing

lando: my fav girl😍😍

-> yn.ln: so proud of you!! 

sebastianhayes: looking good guys!

-> yn.ln: thanks seb🧡

-> lando: yeah my gf looks great 😍

-> maxfewtrell: @/lando mate please 

lando: nah what is that second pic 

-> yn.ln: 🤭😍🥰

username: she’s so unfazed by it all i love her

Instagram /

liked by: lando, yn.ln, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

sebastianhayes: Just another day at the rink throwing my partner around

username: HIS PARTNER 

-> lando: yeah thats what teammates r called in skating means nothing

-> username: HES ALWAYS HERE😭😭

-> username: screaming 

username: wow landos here before me let me act shocked 

username: why they doing all this wtf 

username: the best looking partners 

-> lando: clearly haven’t seen me and yn together 

-> maxfewtrell: @/lando everyone’s seen u and yn mate it’s all u post

 -> lando: and ill do it again 

username: i wanna say something but im scared of lando 🫢🫢🫢

-> lando: dont say anything

yn.ln: we did good today 💪🏻💪🏻

-> lando: you always do good baby!!!

-> sebastianhayes: @/lando yeah she does mate

-> yn.ln: @/lando 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

username: landos gonna be a world champion and his girlfriends gonna be an Olympic gold medalists wtf😍😍

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Keep this man in the car and far, far away from the ice

username: she gives us the best lando bf pics ever

username: did u see that video on them on twitter??? Lando was CLINGING to her cos he can’t skate 😭

sebastianhayes: it’s your one rest day and you’re in the rink

-> username: bizarre to me that they have to train six days a week 😭

-> username: sounds like hell 💀 

-> yn.ln: @/sebastianhayes you know I can’t stay away

username: FIGURE SKATER LANDO WHEN?

-> yn.ln: Never.

-> username: 💀 

-> username: he can’t be that bad

-> yn.ln: Listen I love this man with my whole heart but it’s safest for everyone involved if he stays on the track, far far far away from the ice

-> username: how many times did he fall over?

-> lando: once or twice 

-> yn.ln: fifteen times before he had to use one of those little skating support things that look like a penguin 

-> username: IM BEGGING U TO POST A PICTURE

-> lando: if u ever loved me u wouldnt 

-> yn.ln: sorry guys:(( 

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Back to it

username: back to it she says like she’s not always training

-> username: six days a week of skating, ballet, gymnastics and full body work outs sounds like torture 

-> username: not the life for me I’ll sit and judge from home 

lando: the prettiest girl 

-> yn.ln: Stop it🤭🤭 Love you!! Good luck in Japan baby🥰

username: the best duo 

-> lando: me and yn? yes. 

-> username: how is she into this?

-> username: pathetic, in love and wants the world to know? Yeah what could see possibly see in that 

-> maxfewtrell: no really how is she into it

-> username: MAX? 

username: landos always here before me 

-> username: uploaded four minutes ago and landos already fought about seventy people 💀

-> yn.ln: obsessed with him really

-> username: people forget she’s just as down bad tbf

Instagram /

liked by: maxfewtrell, yn.ln, sebastianhayes and 16,792,901 others

lando: good week with my girl

username: wow yn in a lando post i am shocked. 

username: Im just obsessed with him 

-> yn.ln: Me too.

username: the real best couple 

sebastianhayes: Looks like a brill week off mate!

-> lando: yep loads of fun with my girl

-> username: do seb and lando get on or does lando just hate him??

-> username: they actually get on quiet well tbf, like yeah they’re only friends bc of yn but when lando goes to see her at comps and stuff he’s always laughing and joking with seb

-> username: yeah he’s got no beef with seb he just likes everyone knowing YN’s his

yn.ln: love when you’re home 🥰

-> username: can lando just retire and be a hab 

-> yn.ln: Yes please but also let’s let him win a championship first 

-> username: lando lock the fuck in

-> lando: im locked 🫡

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Another one

username: im here before lando???

username: the prettiest couple I've ever seen

-> username: i dont wanna say his name BUT

-> username: nah you said they were a couple so where is he???

username: LMAOOO she waited until FP1 to post this😭

sebastianhayes: Looking strong for next year 💪🏻💪🏻

-> username: nope I’ve never seen a seb comment without lando under it claiming his stake 😭

-> sebastianhayes: @/username It’s strange 

-> lando: my girlfriends looks pretty strong yeah

-> username: ah there he is 

lando: wow i come back from practice expecting to text my lovely beautiful gf and instead i open instagram to this betrayal 

-> username: we told you to lock in tbf, why we in p3??

-> lando: i hate it here

lando: so pretty baby 😍😍😍

-> yn.ln: Love you can’t wait to see you!!

-> username: SORRY?? YN’S COMING TO MONACO???

-> username: Please Lando ALWAYS wins when she’s there 

Instagram Story /

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Couldn't be prouder of you, my love 🧡

username: YN WAS IN MONACO????

-> username: omg it was so good so basically any time lando was asked about something he was like ‘oh yeah future olympian yn ln is in my side of the garage’ and basically just kept hyping her up 

-> username: did u see her in the background of some interviews?? She was dying laughing but she looked so so fond 

-> username: they’re idiots in love 

username: IM SORRY THE DRESS

username: MONACOOOOOOO BABYYYYYYYYYY

-> yn.ln: MONACOOOOO BABYYYYYYYY

username: RHE KISS AF THE END OMG

carmenmmundt: Pretty girl 😍

-> yn.ln: Says you 😍😍 Lovely to catch up with you this weekend 

-> username: I always forget technically yn’s a wag, like I just associate her with her own sport and lando as her wag 

-> lando: as you should 

-> username: a man that knows his place is so sexy I get it yn 😍😍 

username: CUSTOM MCLAREN DRESS IM SCREAMING

username: he won Monaco for the first time ever and she was there to see it you dont even know how hard im crying 😭😭

lando: WE DID IT BABY!! thank u for being here love you so much

-> username: listen im a sebyn truther until the day I die but her and lando are acc so cute

-> lando: the fuck u mean you’re a sebyn truther??? im literally her bf

-> yn.ln: love you so so much, so glad i was here to watch u win

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Long session today but worth it

username: she’s so pretty omg

-> lando: yeah she is

-> username: why is he always here bro get a life😭

username: that lift 😍

username: can’t wait to see them perform 

lando: that’s my girl😍😍

-> yn.ln: love you!!!

username: her and Seb look so good together

-> username: no fr I don’t get the whole dating/fake dating an f1 driver when your soulmate is literally right in front of you

-> username: she spends more time with Seb than anyone ofc they’re def into each other

-> username: right did you see that video she did talking about her schedule??? 5 and a half hours on the ice training, 3 and a half of those hours are spent doing pairs work with seb, then off ice training for two hours most of it with seb and that’s six days a week, you’re not telling me they’ve not done anything

 -> username: this is the one thread I thought lando would be all over

-> username: we know Lando’s a chronic overthinker, that man gets in his head this probably doesn’t help cos it’s not just like jokey it reads plausible

-> username: shit if people ruin lando and yn ill start swinging

Texts /

Instagram /

liked by: maxfewtrell, yn.ln, sebastianhayes and 16,792,901 others

lando: a weekend i’ll remember forever. silverstone was the first race i ever watched as a kid, it's what made me fall in love with it all. i never thought i'd get to race there in f1... let alone have my own grandstand one day. so to win my home race in front of them and everyone else around the track was something else, to win it with yn by my side, cheering from my garage was something that made an already special day even more special. the energy all weekend was unreal, made even better by having the people who've been with me since day one all there to enjoy it too. tx to u all

username: HE WON SILVERSTONE 😭😭😭

username: WE DID IT!!

username: ‘to win it with yn by my side’ im so in love with them omg im never rage baiting lando ago

maxfewtrell: Congrats brother! We’ve done Monaco, we’ve done Silverstone, let’s get the next big one done 

-> lando: cheers for being here mate 

username: I’m never shutting up about this one unfortunately for everyone around me

-> yn.ln: me

username: HIM KISSING YN AFTER THE RACE LIKE BRO COME UP FOR AIR😭😭

yn.ln: Didn’t think I could be any prouder of you and then you go and win the British GP😭 Thank you for letting me share this win with you, everyday I fall more in love with you 🧡

-> username: I always forget she’s just as down bad as he is until she comments smth like this 😭

-> username: AND PEOPLE SAY SHES WITH SEB

-> lando: thank u for being here, love 🧡 

username: HOME RACE AND MONACO NAH BRO WE’RE GETTING THIS WDC

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Not every session looks pretty

username: see that’s why I couldn’t do this bc ouch 😩 well I mean that and the fact I can’t ice skate or do a back flip or any of it

-> username: I couldn’t do it cos I know damn well I’d fall in love with my partner and then we’d have a rivalry and then we’d never speak to each other 

-> lando: yns already in love 

-> username: Yes with seb😍

-> lando: with me

-> username: rage baiting lando is so easy😭

-> username: fr he doesn’t answer fans so we’ve got to just bully him

username: I always forget figure skating isn’t just pretty dresses and dancing on ice

carmenmmundt: Feel better soon love ❤️

-> yn.ln: thank youuu🧡

username: lando better be spoiling her wtf

-> yn.ln: He has yet to let me leave my bed 

-> lando: ofc im spoiling her 

username: ouch 

lando: my baby😣

-> username: pathetic 

-> maxfewtrell: @/username agreed 

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Another day done

username: and people say there not together??

lando: love watching you practice, baby

-> yn.ln: Love you being here!!

-> username: lmaooo obsessed with the fact that everyone in the comments is arguing about sebyn or landoyn and Lando’s there at the rink with them 😭

username: they look at each other like that and you want me to believe she’s with that driver???

-> username: Clearly haven’t seen how she looks at lando if you think THIS is anything

-> lando: thank u @/username 

sebastianhayes: We’re looking stronger everyday!

-> yn.ln: We’ve got this 💪🏻💪🏻

carmenmmundt: Pretty girl 😍 

-> yn.ln: Love you!!

username: WHAT DO U MEAN THEYRE DOING ALL THAT AND THEYRE NOT TOGETHER!??!??

-> username: welcome to figure skating 

username: Insanee that Lando is going to be a World Champion in December and then YN is going to be an Olympic Gold Medalist in February 

-> username: bro is second behind piastri with max catching up every race and Norris is fumbling every week he’s not gonna be world champion

-> username: manifesting this SO HARD omg I need them to be champions together

Instagram /

liked by: maxfewtrell, yn.ln, sebastianhayes and 16,792,901 others

lando: summer with my girl

username: I LOVE THEM

username: miss yn and seb:((

-> lando: i dont

-> username:  LMAOOO LANDO

username: the most of PR ass looking couple I’ve ever seen 

username: obsessed with them omg 

username: they’re about to be champions together omg 

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Olympic ready

username: LANDO CRASHED

username: hahaha the fake boyfriend crashed and yn posts her real bf 😍😍😍

-> username: mind u she posted this hours before the DNF

-> username: people love to lie and create drama I hate it here wtf

username: OMG LANDO NORRIS FUMBLES THE CHAMPIONSHIP BATTLE

-> username: bare in mind this is yn's post does she really need this in her comments

username: GOD THEY LOOK SO GOOD TOGETHER 

username: this is the first post I’ve ever seen of hers that lando hasn’t commented on

-> username: his phones probably been confiscated, we know the spiral lando gets into and considering this whole comment section is just bashing lando for crashing and then shipping his girlfriend with her figure skating partner it’s probably for the best

username: manifesting landos downfall is working

-> username: commenting this on his girlfriends post is wild behaviour btw 

username: I wish they didn’t have to be media trained because she would drag you all to hell and back and you’d all deserve it

username: this might be the most toxic set of comments I’ve seen from a yn post wth 

username: SEB AND YN MY LOVES

Texts /

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 23,023,187 others

yn.ln: Told you you had this, World Champion! 🧡

username: WHEN HE FINALLY GOT TO HER AND JUST BURIED HIMSELF IN HER SHOULDER AND SOBBED😭😭

username: HE DID IT!!!

username: oh my god lando norris is the champion of the world 😭

username: IM ABOUT TO BECOME THE MOST UNSUFFERABLE PERSON EVER

-> yn.ln: ME TOO HE DID IT😭😭

lando: ur turn now

-> yn.ln: 🫡🫡🫡

username: i cant even believe it im shaking 

sebastianhayes: Congrats mate! Well deserved, enjoy the celebrations!

-> lando: cheers mate, ur turn to bring it home now!

-> username: is this the first time landos been nice to yns other bf??

-> username: championship life has changed him for the better

username: CRYING

lando: so glad u were here with me, thank u for all the late nights and putting up with me, couldnt have ever have done this without you 

-> yn.ln: Being with you and watching you achieve this has been one of the highlights of my life, I’m so proud of you

-> lando: love u forever 

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln: Our turn 🧡

username: OMG THEYRE GONNA BE CHAMPION AND GOLD MEDALIST TOGETHER OMG

username: im so nervous what the hell

carmenmmundt: Good luck, angel, you’ve got this!!

-> yn.ln: Thank you 🤭🤭 

username: AHHHH COME ON GIRL YOU GUYS CAN DO IT

lando: thats my girl!!!! bring it home baby!!!

-> yn.ln: I love you so much, thank you for being here!!!

-> lando: always gonna be at ur side

-> username: I LOVE THEM OMG 

-> sebastianhayes: Cheers for the support mate

-> lando: oh yeah, gl to you as well ig

-> username: 💀

username: my hearts racing like im the one about to skate😭

username: good luck to the best couple in the olympics!!

-> lando: didnt realise me n yn were competing

-> maxfewtrell: Mate go be with your girl

username: AHHHHH GOOD LUCK!!!

maxfewtrell: Good luck guys!

-> yn.ln: Thank you!!!

Instagram /

liked by: maxfewtrell, yn.ln, sebastianhayes and 28,792,901 others

lando: F1 World Champion and Olympic Gold Medalist, we did it baby!!! 

username: SHE DID IT!!!!

-> lando: SHE DID IT!!!!

username: THE MOST POWERFUL COUPLE OMG 

username: omg what a year I can’t wait to rest

-> yn.ln: YOU CANT WAIT TO REST???

-> username: girl between watching you and lando we’re tired

-> yn.ln: Now imagine how we feel

yn.ln: CHAMPIONS BABY

-> lando: CHAMPIONSSSSSSSS

maxfewtrell: Congrats brother, so proud of you 

-> lando: love you brother

username: sorry but olympic gold medalist x f1 world champion is an insane combo already but to do in within months of each other is crazy like its iconic

Instagram /

liked by: lando, sebastianhayes, maxfewtrell and 14,792,901 others

yn.ln:  A well deserved break

username: F1 World Champion x Olympic Gold Medalist is still insane to say

maxfewtrell: Congrats both of you! Maybe lando can finally chill for a minute now that it’s break time

-> lando: wouldn’t hold ur breath mate 

carmenmmundt: So proud of you both ❤️

→ yn.ln: Miss you 🧡

username: two champions in one relationship is crazy

-> yn.ln: Actually insane, I am yet to stop crying

-> username: LANDO HUG OUR GIRL

-> lando: acting like im not already doing that is insane

username: gonna miss her and seb 

-> lando: i won’t

-> maxfewtell: Jesus brother 

sebastianhayes: Still amazed that we did it, it doesn’t feel real. What an honour it is to be your skating partner, so proud of everything we’ve achieved

-> yn.ln: couldn’t have asked for a better partner, Seb!

-> username: fav couple

-> lando: fav couple of friends!

-> username: never change

[yla-aira]

"fav couple"

"fav couple of friends"

HELP JEALOUS LANDO IS SO REAL FOR THAT

[nisc0]

𝘼𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 - 김 주훈 <𝟑 .ᐟ

⤷ pairing : soccer player!Juhoon x fem!reader

⤷ genre : fluff, slight comedy, highschool AU, ennemies-to-lovers (kind of one sided), Y/N is really competitive.

⤷ wc : 4,697

Synopsis : Leading and keeping everything under control were always what you’ve been good at, as the Students Council President, it was easy work. But what happens when you’re the one who’s under the soccer team captain’s command because you lost a bet against him ?

note : hi guysss!! I’m back with another one and it’s a Juhoon one :) I hope you’ll enjoy reading it <3

Being the Students Council President was 90% logistics and 10% playing diplomat between annoying teenagers and tired administrators.

"I’m just saying, if we don't get these shots by the end of next week, the Sports Day organization committee is going to have my head on a pike," you said, pulling your blazer sleeves up to your elbows. You clutched the heavy clipboard to your chest like a shield.

Ella, your best friend and the only person who could tolerate your 'Project Manager' mode, was busy scrolling through her phone, her sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.

"You’re overthinking it. It’s just the soccer team. Tell them to move, and they’ll move. They practically worship the ground you walk on ever since you got the vending machines stocked with those protein shakes."

"That wasn't a favor; that was a strategic bribe so they’d stop stealing snacks from the faculty lounge," you reminded her.

The two of you pushed through the heavy double doors of the main building.

The transition from the air-conditioned comfort to the late afternoon heat was immediate. The air smelled like cut grass and the faint, metallic tang of an approaching storm. Far off, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of balls hitting turf acted as a metronome for the afternoon.

"Look at them," Ella sighed, nodding toward the green expanse. "Total chaos."

The soccer team was mid-drill. From this distance, they looked like a blur of neon orange pinnies and sweat-soaked jerseys. At the center of the whirlpool was the soccer team Captain.

Kim Juhoon.

Even if you weren’t friends or barely interacted with him, you’d know him. Everyone knew him. He was the kind of athlete who didn't need to shout to be heard. He was the captain, the star, and the school’s biggest enigma. While the rest of the team was loud and abrasive, Juhoon was a ghost. He never did interviews for the school paper. He just... played. And besides his status as the best player on the soccer team, he was known to be the best in everything, high marks from sciences to literature, he was just perfect. Literally. Handsome too. Really handsome. And you couldn’t even deny it if you wanted to. Every girl from his class and yours were dying to interact with him, but you knew if you were starting to show interest in him, even the tiniest bit, it would be trouble. Love was trouble in itself and only got you in trouble.

"He’s in the way," you muttered, feeling a flicker of annoyance. "He’s going to be difficult to deal with."

"He’s not difficult. He just doesn't talk that much," Ella said, stopping at the edge of the track. "Just go over there, talk in your 'Prez' tone, and tell them they need to join you for the photoshoot next week. Easy. He’s not really mean, from what I could remember."

Juhoon was Ella’s childhood best friend until middle school. It wasn’t a forced friendship, it was more like a ‘our parents want us to be friends’ type of friendship, since they lived in the same neighborhood. So they obviously went separate ways when they grew up and never talked again since then.

You stepped onto the turf, your loafers feeling ridiculous against the artificial grass. You could see the sweat glistening on the players' necks as you approached the sidelines. Juhoon was in total control of the field.

You opened your mouth to call out to him, but the air was suddenly sucked out of the space between you.

"Ju! Cross it!" someone screamed from the left side.

You saw Juhoon pivot. It was cinematic—the way his cleats dug into the turf, the way his body coiled like a spring. He launched a powerhouse strike, intended for a teammate running a deep route.

But the teammate slipped.

The ball, a heavy, high-velocity projectile, didn't find its target. Instead, it shrieked through the air, heading straight for the girl with the clipboard. You. Indeed.

"Y/N, move !" Ella’s voice was a distant prickle of fear.

You didn't have enough time to move. The world narrowed down to the black-and-white hexagons of the ball. It caught you square in the shoulder—not your head, thank God—but the force was enough to send your clipboard flying and knock you backward. You landed hard on your tailbone, the breath leaving your lungs in a sharp woosh.

The field went silent. You groaned, clutching your shoulder, your eyes watering from the stinging shock. Your papers—the schedules you had spent three nights organizing—were torn across the turf like someone stepped on it too many times.

Then, you saw the shoes. Clean, expensive cleats entered your field of vision. You looked up, squinting against the sun.

Juhoon stood over you. He wasn't panting ; his breathing was rhythmic, steady. His face was a mask of indifference.

He didn't reach out a hand. He didn't ask if you were okay. He simply stepped past you, picked up the ball that had just nearly dislocated your arm, and tucked it under his arm. He looked down at you for a split second, a cold, unreadable glance, and then turned his back to walk toward the center circle. His whole attitude drips with utter ease. It’s too calm…too blank, so that he appears a bit bored, even. 

"Hey !" you barked, the sting in your shoulder flaring into a hot, white rage.

He stopped, his shoulders tensing, but he didn't turn around.

"Are you kidding me ?" You scrambled to your feet, ignoring the throb in your arm. You started gathering your papers, your hands shaking. "You just hit me. You almost took my head off with a foul ball, and you’re just going to walk away like that ?"

Juhoon finally turned his head halfway, his profile sharp yet soft-looking against the fading light of the sun. He didn't say 'sorry.' He just looked at the clipboard in your hand, then back at the ball.

"You’re on the field," he said.

His voice was a deep, but remained calm. It wasn't an apology ; it was a statement of fact. To him, you were an obstacle in his drill.

"I’m on the field because I have a job to do," you snapped, stepping toward him. "Your team needs to be at the gymnasium for the photoshoot next week for Sports Day flyers. You need to make sure they're there."

Juhoon finally turned fully to face you. He was tall—tall enough that you had to crane your neck. Up close, he smelled like rain and adrenaline. He looked at your shoulder, where a red welt was already starting to bloom against your white shirt, then back to your eyes.

"Thirty minutes," he said shortly.

"Pardon ?"

"Thirty minutes," he repeated. "We finish the set. Then we'll talk about next week."

Without waiting for a response, he dropped the ball to his feet, flicked it up with a casual grace, and ran back toward the goal. You stood there, clutching your crumpled papers, watching his retreating back.

————

The gymnasium smelled of floor wax and old shoes. You were sitting on the bottom bleacher, an ice pack pressed to your shoulder, checking off names on your list.

"Prez ?"

You looked up. Juhoon was standing by the equipment room. He had changed into a clean grey hoodie. He walked over and sat down on the bleacher two feet away from you, setting a cold bottle of strawberry milk down between you.

"For your shoulder," he said.

You looked at the bottle, then at him. "Is this an apology ?"

Juhoon looked out at the empty basketball court. "It’s a drink."

"Yeah, right." you mumbled, but you reached out and took it. "You know, normal people usually start with 'I'm sorry I nearly killed you.'"

Juhoon leaned back on his elbows. He stayed silent for a long time.

"I saw you," he finally said.

"Saw me what ?"

"At the library. Last Tuesday," he said, still not looking at you. "You were falling asleep over your notes. You hit your head on the table and looked around to see if anyone noticed."

You felt your face heat up. "I was tired."

"Well, I noticed," he said. He finally turned his head, his gaze heavy and focused. "You work too hard for people who don't say thank you most of the time."

The air in the gym felt suddenly very still.

"And you play too hard for a game you're supposed to enjoy," you countered.

Juhoon’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but the ghost of one. He stood up, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder.

"Don't be late to the field on Monday," he said. "We'll be there for the shoot."

"I’m never late, actually."

"I know," he said.

As he walked toward the exit, he raised a hand in a brief, quiet wave. You sat there in the dim gym light, the strawberry milk cold in your hand and the sting in your shoulder half forgotten.

———

The science wing was a pressure cooker. The air was thicker than usual and the seniors trying to cram an entire semester of physics into their short-term memory weren’t making it better.

You were standing by the lockers, your movements sharp as you ran through your color-coded flashcards. Beside you, Ella was a wreck, hunched over her textbook.

"I’ve lost it," Ella whispered, her voice cracking. "The laws of thermodynamics have officially left my brain. I think they were replaced by the lyrics of that song I heard in the cafeteria. I’m going to be a failure, Y/N. A highly uneducated failure."

"Deep breaths, Ella," you said, your voice holding that authoritative edge. You manually closed her book. "Staring at the same page will not make it better. You know this stuff."

"Easy for you to say," Ella groaned. "You’re one of the top students among all classes. You probably have the formulas tattooed on your eyelids." She stopped for a second and continued. “If only I had Juhoon’s brain. I heard he is actually a genius at science. He already was smart in middle school. He might actually take your first-place spot at this point."

You scoffed, the competitive fire in your chest flaring up. You adjusted your blazer, ensuring the lapels were perfectly symmetrical. "I don't care who he is. Statistics don't lie, and I’ve worked too hard to let anyone take the top spot. There is a zero percent chance he’s going to get the 1st place. Do you really think I’m afraid of—"

You were so caught up in your own speech that you didn't notice the hallway was starting to get filled with whispers. A shadow, long and steady, stretched across your flashcards.

"Zero percent ? That’s mean."

The voice was low—a quiet, grounded rasp. You turned slowly, your clipboard held against your chest like armor.

Juhoon was standing there. He wasn't carrying a single book; he just had his hands buried in the front pocket of his white hoodie.

"Oh," you said, your voice an octave higher. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," he said softly. He leaned back against the locker opposite you, his presence filling the space. "I put in the hours, too. But since you're so sure about the numbers... what happens if the statistics are wrong?"

You narrowed your eyes. "They aren't."

"But if they are," he murmured, stepping a fraction closer.

"Make it a bet then," he said softly.

You blinked. "A bet?"

"If you're first, I'll be your assistant for a month and do everything you want," he proposed. He shifted his weight, his expression unreadable but calm. "But if I’m first... and you’re second? You have to do whatever I tell you to for a week."

Ella let out a tiny, muffled "oh my god" behind her hand.

You narrowed your eyes. "Everything? That’s a bit vague. I have a reputation to uphold."

"Nothing crazy," he murmured, his mouth twitching into the tiniest ghost of a smile.

"Just...a favor. You’ll have to do it."

He didn't pressure you. He didn't gloat. He just stood there in his quiet, grounded way, waiting for you to decide if you were as confident as you claimed to be.

The bell rang, shrill and final. Juhoon pushed off the locker, but he didn't walk away. He waited for you to move first.

"Good luck, Prez," he whispered as you passed. "I'll be looking for my name at the top of the list."

———

The corridor was a bottleneck of bodies and nervous energy. Usually, the sound of the science wing was a low hum, but today it was a jagged wall of sound, shouts of relief clashing with low, defeated groans. The mid-term results had been pinned to the corkboard beside the lab doors.

You stood at the back of the crowd, your hands curled into tight fists at your sides. You didn't push through. You waited for the waves of students to part, your heart performing a slow, heavy thud against your ribs.

"Move, move, move," Ella muttered, navigating the sea of shoulders until she reached the front. She squinted at the paper for five seconds before turning back to you.

Her expression was a mix of awe and genuine pity.

You felt the air leave your lungs. You stepped forward, the crowd seemingly sensing your presence and making a narrow path. You reached the board.

There it was.

1. Kim Juhoon – 98%

2. L/N Y/N – 97.5%

A half-point. A single, solitary half-point. You stared at the black ink until the numbers started to blur. You weren't even mad about the grade—97.5% was objective excellence—but the 'statistics' had failed.

"Rough," a voice murmured behind you.

You turned.

Juhoon was leaning against the opposite wall, his gym bag hanging off one shoulder. He wasn't surrounded by teammates; he was just standing alone, watching the whole scene unfold with a detached sort of calm.

He didn't say 'I told you so.' He didn't even look at the board. He looked at you.

"Half a point," you said, your voice sounding small even to your own ears. You pulled your blazer straight, trying to regain your confidence. "You got the buoyancy question right, didn't you?"

"The displacement of water," he said softly, nodding once. "It was tricky."

You let out a long, defeated sigh and stepped away from the board, walking toward the quieter end of the hall. He fell into step beside you, his pace slow and unhurried.

"So," you said, looking at your loafers. "The deal. What do you want? I assume you have a list of errands or want me to plan your next training schedules like I’m your manager in charge of everything related to you? "

He stopped walking. He turned to face you, his hands shifting in his hoodie pockets. He looked out the window at the stadium lights being tested for Sports Day, then back at you.

"No errands," he said.

"Then what? A week of strawberry milk?"

"Sports Day," he corrected. His expression was serious, almost contemplative. "Every time I score, I want to hear you."

You blinked. "Pardon?"

"You're usually too busy with your clipboard to watch the games," he said. His voice was a low rasp, steady and certain. "When I make a goal, I want you to cheer. Not a polite clap. I want the 'firm, vocal direction' version of a cheer. Loudly."

You stared at him, trying to find a trace of a joke in his eyes. There was none. He wasn't asking to humiliate you; he was asking for your attention. The thought of you—the composed Students Council President—shouting from the sidelines was ridiculous.

"You want me to be a cheerleader?" you asked, a flush creeping up your neck.

"I want to know you're watching," he said simply.

He didn't wait for a verbal confirmation. He knew the deal was set. He gave a small, barely perceptible nod and started to head toward the locker rooms.

"See you on the field, Y/N," he called back, his voice trailing off into the noise of the hallway. It felt weird coming from him since he usually never said your name.

You stood there, clutching your bag, already imagining the sheer volume of the stadium and the weight of his gaze from the center circle. Statistics might have failed you, but Friday was going to be a lot louder than you had planned.

———

The sun was relentless, bouncing off the polished bleachers and turning the stadium into a giant heat lamp. You and Ella were standing by the water distribution spot, currently elbow-deep in a cooler filled with melting ice and plastic bottles.

"I still can't believe it," Ella said, handing a bottle to a thirsty freshman. She glanced at you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "The girl who once filed a formal complaint about 'excessive noise' in the hallway is now legally obligated to scream like an hysterical fangirl."

"It’s not 'legally obligated,'. It’s a matter of integrity," you muttered, wiping condensation onto your skirt. You checked your clipboard, though there was nothing left to organize. "Besides, he probably won't even score. The opposing team has a state-ranked goalie."

"Keep telling yourself that," Ella giggled. "But look at the bright side: at least you don't have to wear the mascot suit."

A sudden hush fell over the students nearby, replaced by the rhythmic clack-clack of cleats on the pavement. You didn't need to look up to know who it was. The air always seemed to settle differently when Juhoon was around—cooler, steadier.

He approached the water station, already geared up in his navy match kit. His hair was slightly damp, pushed back away from his forehead, making him look even more intense than usual. He didn't say anything at first; he just reached into the cooler and pulled out a bottle.

"Big game," you said, trying to sound professional and detached.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice a low, grounded rasp. He cracked the cap and took a small sip, his eyes never leaving yours. "I checked the stands. The front-row seats on the halfway line are reserved. For You and Ella."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and it wasn't from the sun. "Juhoon, I have to manage the hydration stations. I can't just—"

"Someone else is going to cover it," he interrupted calmly. "The seats are right by the bench. I can see them from the center circle."

He stepped a fraction closer, the scent of fresh grass and laundry detergent clinging to him.

"Don't be late," he murmured. "I’d hate to score and realize I was playing for a quiet stadium."

Before you could come up with a retort, he gave a tiny, almost invisible nod to Ella and jogged back toward the pitch.

"Well," Ella said, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the bleachers. "The Captain has spoken. To the front row we go."

————

The match was a blur of high-intensity movement. Juhoon was everywhere—a silent, calculated force on the field. From your seat in the front row, you could hear the thud of his cleats and the focused, rhythmic sound of his breathing whenever he sprinted past.

Midway through the first half, the game was deadlocked at 0-0. The tension was thick enough to taste. Then, Juhoon intercepted a pass at midfield. He moved like a snake, weaving through two defenders as if they were stationary cones. He hit the box, the goalie lunging toward him, but with a sharp, lightning-fast pivot, Juhoon sent the ball screaming into the top right corner.

The net hissed. The whistle blew.

The stadium erupted, but Juhoon didn't celebrate with the usual fist-pumping or sliding. He slowed to a stop, his chest heaving, and turned his head toward the halfway line. He looked directly at you, his expression calm, waiting.

You felt the weight of the deal. You felt the weight of his gaze.

You stood up, abandoning every ounce of your 'composed' reputation. You cupped your hands around your mouth and let out a cheer so loud it startled the people three rows back.

"NICE SHOT, JUHOON! DO IT AGAIN!"

It wasn't a polite clap. It was 'firm, vocal

direction' at its finest.

Across the turf, you saw it. For the first time, a full, genuine smile broke across Juhoon’s face. He didn't wave or shout back; he just touched two fingers to his temple in a brief, silent salute before turning back to the center circle to do it all over again.

The energy in the stadium was electric, vibrating through the metal bleachers and straight into your bones. True to his word, Juhoon was a man possessed. He wasn't just playing; he was performing.

By the start of the second half, he had already found the back of the net twice. Each time the ball hit the twine, he didn't look at the scoreboard or his cheering teammates. He would stop, turn his head, and lock eyes with you in the front row. And each time, you stood up, ignored the heat in your face, and shouted his name until your throat felt sore.

When the whistle blew for the mid-set break, the players began to migrate toward the benches for water and tactical talk. But Juhoon didn't go to the bench.

He walked straight toward the railing where you and Ella were sitting.

The whispering started almost instantly. It began with the students nearby and rippled upward through the stands like a wave. "Is he coming over here?" "Wait, is that the Student Council Prez?" "Since when does Juhoon talk to anyone mid-game?"

He ignored all of it and stopped right in front of you, the railing the only thing separating your knees from his chest. He was drenched in sweat, his jersey clinging to his shoulders, and his breathing was heavy but controlled. Up close, the soft depth in his gaze was staggering.

He didn't say a word at first. He just reached out, and for a second, the crowd gasped—but he simply tapped the edge of the water bottle you were holding.

"I’m thirsty," he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to ignore the hundreds of people watching.

You blinked, handing him the bottle with a hand that wasn't nearly as steady as you wanted it to be. "You have an entire crate of water at the bench, Juhoon. And it’s my bott—"

"Yours is colder," he murmured. He took a long drink, his eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the bottle.

The whispers intensified. “Did he just take her water?” “Look at how he’s looking at her.” He handed the bottle back, his fingers brushing against yours for a second longer than necessary.

"I heard you on that last one," he said, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "You're getting better at it. But I think I have one more goal in me. Make sure it's the loudest one yet."

"Don't get too confident," you whispered back, trying to maintain your composure even as Ella nudged you hard in the ribs.

"Just get back on the field before your coach has a heart attack."

Juhoon gave a tiny, silent huff of a laugh. He looked at his teammates talking a few feet away then back at you before slightly tilting his head in a challenging way.

"Watch me," he said.

He turned and jogged back to the pitch without a backward glance, leaving you sitting there with a half-empty water bottle and a stadium full of people who were suddenly a lot more interested in what you two were than the score.

———

The clock was bleeding out. The scoreboard showed less than two minutes of stoppage time, and the air in the stadium was so thick with tension you could practically taste the salt and turf. The game was tied, the crowd was on its feet, and your heart was hammering a rhythm that had nothing to do with the heat.

Juhoon was a shadow in motion. He didn't look tired; he looked calibrated. He received a long pass near the sideline, trapped it with a touch that looked like velvet, and immediately cut inside. Three defenders closed in, a wall of opposing jerseys, but Juhoon didn't panic. He feinted left, dropped his shoulder, and suddenly he was through the gap.

The stadium went silent for a heartbeat as he drew back his leg.

Crack.

The sound of his laces hitting the ball echoed like a gunshot. The ball didn't just fly; it rose and dipped in a wicked arc, screaming past the goalie’s outstretched fingers and slamming into the side netting with a force that made the goalposts shudder.

The whistle blew—three long blasts. Game over.

The stands erupted into pure, unadulterated chaos. Juhoon’s teammates swarmed him, shouting and throwing their arms around his neck, but he didn't disappear into the huddle. He stayed upright, his eyes already scanning the front row. He disentangled himself from the celebratory mob with a focused intensity, moving with a singular purpose.

He didn't head for the center circle. He didn't head for the coach. He headed straight for you.

You were standing at the railing, your face flushed and your voice already gone from the final, frantic cheer you’d let out the second the ball hit the net. Ella told you earlier she had to leave to help other students for food stands. As he approached, the crowd around you surged forward, but his gaze acted like a physical barrier, keeping his focus locked entirely on yours.

He reached the railing, breathing hard, his skin glistening with sweat and the sheer adrenaline of the win. Without a word, he reached up, his large hands grasping the top of the metal bar. He didn't wait for an invitation. He leaned in, his face inches from yours but leaving enough distance between you and him to not invade your space.

"I heard you," he panted, his voice a deep, rough vibration that made the world around you blur into static.

"You were... alright," you managed to say, trying to remain calm and failing miserably. "You missed a couple of passes in the first half."

Juhoon let out a short, genuine laugh—the loudest you'd ever heard from him. He reached out and, in front of everyone, pulled the captain’s armband off his arm. He didn't give it to his coach or a teammate. He reached over the railing and pressed the damp fabric into your hand.

"Keep it for the week," he murmured, his eyes searching yours. "Since you’re the one in charge of me now."

He didn't wait for your protest.

"Good job, Prez," he whispered.

Then, with that same calm, unbothered grace, he reached out and took the clipboard right out of your hands.

"Hey—" you started, but he ignored the protest.

He tucked your clipboard under his arm as if it belonged there, then reached up and took your hand, pulling you slightly closer to the railing.

"I told you I had one more in me," he panted, a small, tired smile finally reaching his eyes.

"I guess the statistics were... slightly off," you whispered, your heart racing.

"Slightly," he agreed. He didn't let go of your hand. He squeezed it once, firm and steady, before nodding toward the exit where the team was starting to head. "Wait for me? I still have five days left of making you do whatever I say."

You rolled your eyes, but you didn't pull your hand away. "And what’s the first order, Captain?"

He leaned in, his breath warm against your face. "Put the clipboard away. Your voice is sore from all the cheering. We're going to get ice cream."

He finally let go, jogging back to join his teammates for the trophy presentation, but he didn't stop looking back at you. As you stood there, watching him walk away with your clipboard still tucked under his arm, you realized that for once, having someone else in charge didn't feel so bad.

END.

[yla-aira]

AAARGHHHH HWHEHEHHE

[bluelineandpitlane]

Emergency Protocol: Cuddles - Lando Norris

When period cramps and mood swings leave the reader grumpy and overwhelmed, Lando  activates full boyfriend mode — complete with chocolate, heating pads, and soft reassurances proving that even on the hardest days, she’s loved and taken care of.

Word Count: 663

You were mad at everything.

The blanket? Too hot. The room? Too cold. The world? Annoying. Your own body? Betrayal.

You were curled up on the couch with a heating pad pressed to your stomach, glaring at absolutely nothing in particular when Lando walked in.

He stopped mid-step. “Oh.”

You slowly turned your head toward him.

He blinked. “Is this a ‘don’t speak to me’ vibe or a ‘please save me from myself’ vibe?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Right. Okay. Dangerous territory.”

He carefully set his bag down like he was approaching a wild animal.

“My stomach hurts. My back hurts. I’m bloated. And I cried earlier because we’re out of the good cereal,” you said flatly.

He gasped dramatically. “Not the good cereal.”

You shot him a look.

“Okay. Sorry. Serious face.” He straightened up instantly. “This is unacceptable behavior from your uterus.”

Despite yourself, your lips twitched.

He noticed immediately. “There it is. Tiny smile. I win.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappeared into the kitchen without another word. You heard cabinets opening, the microwave starting, and him muttering something about “emergency protocol.”

A few minutes later, he returned with: • A fresh heating pad • Your favorite snacks • A glass of water • And chocolate — the good kind

He placed everything on the coffee table like he was setting up a royal offering.

“For Her Majesty,” he said softly.

You tried to stay grumpy. You really did.

But then he sat down beside you and gently pulled your legs over his lap. His hands started rubbing slow circles into your calves.

You melted a little.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you muttered.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I want to.”

He adjusted the heating pad against your stomach and tucked the blanket around you like you were fragile glass.

“You’re allowed to be grumpy, by the way,” he added. “Your body is literally fighting itself. That sounds rude.”

You huffed. “It is rude.”

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry it hurts.”

That did it. The edge in your chest softened.

“Everything just feels worse on my period,” you admitted quietly. “Like I’m extra sensitive and tired and annoyed.”

He nodded, thumb brushing gently over your knee. “Then we handle you gently.”

He pulled you closer so your head rested against his chest.

“No fixing. No solutions. Just cuddles and snacks and me being your personal emotional support boyfriend.”

You let out a small laugh. “That’s not a real job.”

“It is now.”

His fingers slid into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp the way he knew you liked. The tension in your shoulders slowly eased.

“You’re not too much,” he murmured. “Even when you’re grumpy. Especially then.”

You looked up at him. “I’m kind of mean on my period.”

He smiled softly. “Yeah. A little.”

You gasped.

“But,” he continued quickly, “you’re also in pain. And tired. And hormonal. So I’m not taking anything personally.”

He kissed your temple again.

“I love you on your best days. I love you on your grumpy days. I love you when you threaten the cereal industry.”

You snorted.

He grinned. “See? Worth it.”

You curled closer into him, letting him hold you while his hand kept tracing lazy patterns on your back.

The cramps still hurt. You were still bloated. The world was still mildly irritating.

But wrapped up in his arms, with his steady warmth and soft reassurances, it didn’t feel unbearable anymore.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

“Always,” he said, squeezing you gently. “You deal with enough. Let me take care of you.”

And for the first time all day, you didn’t feel grumpy.

Just safe.

[yla-aira]

“You’re allowed to be grumpy, by the way,” he added. “Your body is literally fighting itself. That sounds rude.”

“No fixing. No solutions. Just cuddles and snacks and me being your personal emotional support boyfriend.”