｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17
Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24
｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★
Sleep refused to come.
You lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the shadows rippling across it every time a car passed outside. The world around you seemed too loud. The ticking clock, the fridge's low hum, the rustle of sheets as you turned.
But worse than the noise was the silence inside your head, because in that silence, they lived.
Your mind, a cruel and creative torturer, painted pictures you didn’t want to see.
Sohee’s laugh, not the polished public one, but something breathless and raw, echoed somewhere in the back of your skull. The imagined slide of her fingers through his hair. The possessive curve of his hand on her bare waist, pulling her closer. The gleam of skin against skin, his face bending toward hers, their lips…
You squeezed your eyes shut, but the images didn’t fade. They sharpened.
In the darkness, every imagined whisper sounded like him. Every sigh, every murmur, every fragment of touch your mind invented was his voice. Every sharp, indrawn breath was her name on his lips.
You turned onto your side, gripping the blanket as if that could hold you together. It was ridiculous. You didn’t even know if it was him in that video. You had no proof, nothing but a cruel coincidence and your own spinning thoughts.
And yet your chest ached as if you’d had been there and seen it with your own eyes.
You pressed the heel of your hand against your forehead, as if you could physically force the images out.
Stop. Just stop.
You wanted to shut it all out. The hot, clenching jealousy, the cold wash of humiliation, and beneath it, the most shameful part: the sharp, yearning want that he could make you feel this deeply, even in pain.
The minutes stretched into hours. The half-moon crawled higher, silver light spilling across the floorboards like water. You stared at it, hollow-eyed, until your vision blurred.
When sleep finally claimed you, it wasn’t peace that came with it.
It was the echo of laughter you didn’t want to hear, and a single thought that chased you into your dreams:
If it really was him… why did it hurt so much?
You were standing in a room you didn’t recognize, bathed in dim light, the soft hum of rain against the windows. Everything shimmered faintly, like a memory half-remembered.
And then you felt it. That familiar pull.
He stepped out of the shadows, tall, steady, eyes darker than the night outside. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his movements unhurried, slow. Every step he took toward you made the air thinner, heavier.
“H/N…”
The name left your lips before you could stop it, a surrender you hadn’t meant to give.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His gaze, a slow, consuming burn, said more than words ever could. Your heart stammered, a frantic bird against the cage of your ribs.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though your voice shook more from want than warning.
A faint, dangerous smile touched his lips. “Then why aren’t you running?”
You tried to move back, but the cold wall met your shoulders. His hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. The touch was feather-light, yet it seared your skin. Your breath hitched, trapped in your lungs.
The world dissolved into a haze of sensation. There was only the storm in his eyes, the heat of his nearness, the way his breath touched your skin.
He leaned closer, his voice low enough to feel rather than hear. “Tell me to stop, sunshine.”
You couldn’t.
The words wouldn’t come.
Your heart pounded so hard it hurt. The distance between you vanished; his lips hovered just above yours, the world narrowing to that single, trembling heartbeat—
—and you woke with a gasp.
The room was dark again, silent except for your ragged breathing. Your heart hammered in your chest as you pressed a hand to it, trying to calm it. The rain pattered softly against your window.
It was just a dream. Nothing but a dream.
But when you closed your eyes, the phantom heat of his breath still ghosted across your lips, a haunting promise of everything you craved and everything you feared.
You woke to pale morning light cutting through your curtains and the maddening, lingering heat of the dream.
Your skin still felt too warm, your nerves still felt alight.
Your heartbeat still too fast.
And every time you closed your eyes, you saw him again. The intensity of his gaze, the way it stripped away every pretense, making you feel like the only soul in existence.
You groaned and rolled over, burying your face in the pillow.
“Get a grip, Y/N,” you muttered into the fabric, the words muffled. “He’s probably waking up next to Sohee right now.”
The thought hit like ice-cold water. The memory of her message, that damning video, replayed behind your eyelids: the silhouette of a man whose build was almost unmistakable. Almost. Your chest tightened. You didn’t want to picture it. You didn’t want to feel this way, jealous, angry, hurt over someone who had no claim on your heart.
With a frustrated sigh, you forced yourself out of bed. Routine. You needed routine.
You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and pulled on a soft, flattering dress from your closet. Each movement was mechanical, like muscle memory. But no matter what you did, your mind betrayed you.
The way his hand had brushed your hair behind your ear.
The whisper that had never been spoken.
The kiss that never happened.
“It was a dream,” you whispered. “And he was with her. End of story.”
It was only as you stood before the mirror, your hair falling in soft waves around your shoulders, that you realized what you had done. Your hands stilled. You hadn't consciously chosen this. You'd simply reached for it. The dress, the hair, the subtle makeup—it wasn't the high-fashion armor Sohee would wear, but it was yours. And you felt... pretty. Striking, even. This wasn't just about looking presentable for the day. This was a quiet act of defiance. A reclamation. You were dressing for yourself, to remind yourself of your own worth, to stand a little taller in the face of a hurt you couldn't otherwise control.
A steadier breath filled your lungs. The girl in the reflection looked poised, her eyes a little clearer. He might have spent his night with someone else. But you were starting your day with yourself.
By the time you stepped outside, the morning chill had sobered you a little. The air still smelled like rain and wet concrete. You were a little bit too early, a tactic to outrun your own thoughts. But before your thoughts could spiral back, a familiar voice called your name.
You turned. Eiden was waving from across the street, the early sun turning his hair to a halo of light. His smile was as warm and effortless as ever as he jogged over, two steaming paper cups in hand.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. His gaze swept over you, and his smile softened into something more appreciative. “You look…you look gorgeous today.”
A warm blush crept up your face. “Thank you,” you managed, your voice softer than intended.
“Oh, here,” he said, handing you one of the cups. “I thought you could use a little fuel.”
You blinked down at the tea. Delicious black tea. It was exactly what you needed right now. “How do you always know?”
He shrugged lightly, his grin widening. “Lucky guess.”
You offered a small, grateful smile and accepted the cup, its warmth seeping into your hands. “Thanks, Eiden.”
“Anytime,” he said, falling into step beside you as you walked toward campus.
You tried. You really did. You matched his pace, you laughed at his jokes, you clung to the easy comfort he offered like a lifeline. But beneath the surface, a knot of guilt tightened in your chest. He was so kind, so genuinely good, and here you were, your mind a thousand miles away, trapped in the memory of a dream and the ghost of a touch from someone who brought nothing but chaos. Someone who didn’t deserve it.
You exhaled slowly, staring into the dregs of your tea.
You should have been happy right now. This was everything you told yourself you wanted: simplicity, warmth, respect.
But your heart wouldn’t listen, stubbornly beating for a different, more dangerous rhythm.
And as you reached the campus gates, you found yourself glancing in the direction where they had appeared yesterday. A part of you, the part that craved the painful truth over the comforting lie, searched the crowd. Would they walk in together? Proving that last night’s video was exactly what it seemed?
Eiden’s voice gently pulled you back from the edge of your spiraling thoughts.
“Yes?” You looked up at him, his gentle amber eyes meeting yours.
“I might be busy till evening today,” he said. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to wait. Just… promise me you won’t walk home alone, especially when…” He trailed off, uncharacteristically flustered.
You blinked at him, puzzled. “Especially when?”
A blush crept up his neck. “Especially when you look so… cute,” he finished in a rush, clearing his throat as his ears turned a brilliant red.
The admission was so unexpectedly sweet that a genuine laugh bubbled up in your chest, followed by a wave of fond warmth.
“I don’t mind waiting for you,” you said softly. “Besides, I have a lot to catch up on from yesterday.”
His smile returned, that boyish, heart-stopping grin that seemed to brighten the very air around him. “Okay, I’ll hurry up then, so you won’t have to wait too long. How about dinner together?”
You nodded, feeling a sense of calm settle over you. “Deal.”
He walked you all the way to the lab building entrance. As you turned to say goodbye, your heel skidded on the polished floor. In an instant, Eiden’s arms were around you, steadying you. What began as a catch seamlessly melted into an embrace.
Eiden pulled you closer, holding you tightly. You stiffened for a second, surprised, but the sheer warmth and sincerity of his embrace was disarming. Slowly, you relaxed into it, letting the comfort of it seep into your bones.
For a long moment, you simply stood there, wrapped in the quiet understanding between you, neither of you in a rush to break the connection.
When he finally loosened his hold, he looked at you with a shy smile. “We should do this more often,” he murmured, his tone half-teasing, half-serious. He winked. “See you later, my lady.”
You broke into a soft, true smile and waved before stepping fully into the building.
You were both completely unaware of the shadow detaching itself from the far corner of the hall. A figure stood perfectly still, his storm-grey eyes dark, his gaze fixed with laser intensity on the space where you had just been held. The air around him had gone cold.
Thanks to Eiden, your mind had cleared. Returning to the lab, you moved with a renewed, single-minded focus, finishing your preparations with an efficiency that surprised you. The victory was small, but it was yours.
The plan was simple, a mantra you repeated to yourself: Play it cool. Be indifferent. Do not react. You would not give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. You would not fall for his games.
You made your way to the lecture room, hoping to arrive before him. Luckily, you did and even secured your favorite spot in the last row by the window.
He arrived just as the room was filling. You didn’t have to look up to know it was him; the air shifted the moment he entered. That familiar, magnetic energy, cold and intoxicating all at once, rolled through the room. You kept your eyes fixed on your notes, but every nerve ending was acutely aware of his presence.
You could feel his gaze on you before he even spoke.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
The nickname was a deliberate provocation, a cold splash of water that sent a hot flush of shame straight to your cheeks. Tell me to stop, sunshine. The dream's echo was a phantom touch. You forced yourself to look up slowly, feigning a calm you didn't feel.
The sight of him stole the air from your lungs. Damn it. The shirt he wore accentuated every lean muscle of his chest and arms. His hair was artfully tousled, and his expression was a mask of cool arrogance. He looked devastating.
Stop.
You gripped the edge of your notebook, fingers tightening until your knuckles turned white.
You forced your tone flat. “What is it? You’re blocking my view.”
He smirked. “Blocking? Aren’t you rather enjoying it?”
“Whatever,” you muttered, your voice sharper than intended. Inwardly, you were slapping yourself for being so obvious.
“I just wanted to tell you,” he said, leaning slightly closer, “that we’re starting our lab experiments today. I talked to Professors Kwon and Han outside. We’ll use Han’s lab.”
“Okay.” You kept your reply curt, monosyllabic. You would not give him an inch.
Something flickered across his face, surprise, maybe, before he masked it behind his usual calm.
“Four p.m.,” he said evenly. “Don’t be late.”
He lingered for a moment longer, studying you with that unreadable gaze. Then, with a final, measured look, he moved a few seats away and sat down..
Your pulse was still racing. But you didn't break. You didn't let your eyes stray toward him. Not even once. You had won this small, silent battle, and you clung to that victory with everything you had.
The lecture dragged on for what felt like an eternity, each minute stretching into an exquisite form of torture. You were hyper-aware of his presence: the faint rustle of his sleeve as he wrote, the shift of his weight in the chair, the palpable heat of his gaze that you swore you could feel searing into your profile.
You didn't glance over when his pen scratched a note, or when a low, quiet chuckle escaped him at some dry remark from the professor. You kept your eyes fixed forward, your posture rigid. You had made a promise to yourself, and you would not break it. You would not give him the satisfaction of your attention.
You slid your notebook into your bag, tucked your pen away, and zipped it closed, your focus entirely on the mundane task. He was speaking to someone nearby, his voice a low, familiar rumble that vibrated in the air between you. You didn't linger to identify the other person or catch the thread of the conversation. It was irrelevant.
You stood, swung your bag over your shoulder, and walked out. You didn't offer a parting glance, a hesitant pause, or a single word. Your head was held high, your steps measured and sure. His eyes were on you. You could feel it.
It was a clean exit. A silent declaration. I win.
By the time you reached the lab building, your heart had almost steadied.
Almost.
You changed into your white lab coat, noticing that you had forgotten to bring a hair clip. Damn. Starting perfectly. You sighed and began arranging the samples and reagents on the counter. Anything to keep your hands and mind busy. The lab was its own world. It was a symphony of quiet hums and sterile, chemical scents that usually grounded you. But today, every whir of a centrifuge, every flicker of the fluorescent lights, seemed to whisper his name. Tick, tick, tick.
You hated it. You hated how his name lingered in your thoughts, how your body reacted at the memory of his voice saying sunshine in that cold, effortless drawl. You hated the dream that refused to fade: the phantom touch, his breath against your skin, the heat that had chased you all morning.
Your hands moved automatically, labeling vials, checking your notes, your eyes skimming notes without truly reading them. You were acutely, painfully aware that you were counting down the seconds. Every few moments, your gaze would betray you, flicking toward the door before you could wrestle it back to the safety of your workstation. You were fine. You were. Work was safe. Work didn’t flirt, didn’t smirk, didn’t kiss other people, and haunt your sleep in the same night.
A faint click from the door mechanism cut through the silence, followed by the low hiss of the door. It was your only warning before the air in the lab changed.
You froze, pipette hovering mid-air, pulse accelerating instantly.
His presence flooded the room before he’d fully crossed the threshold. It was in the cadence of his footsteps on the tile, the subtle shift in the air, the sudden, suffocating weight of an energy that was entirely his. Dark, magnetic, and utterly inescapable.
“Already started without me?” he said, voice casual, too casual, as he placed his notes down. “How…efficient.”
You didn’t turn around, your fingers tightening around the pipette. “Someone has to do the actual work.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, amusement curling around the sound. “You always look prettier when you’re pretending not to care.”
You ignored him, aligning the equipment like your life depended on it. “If you came here to talk nonsense, you can leave.”
He took a few steps closer; you felt it in your spine. The safe space between you shrank.
“Oh, I didn’t come here to talk.” His voice was too close now.
Your pulse tripped. The air shifted, heavy with unspoken tension.
You forced yourself to meet his eyes when he finally stepped beside you, too close, too familiar. That teasing curve at the corner of his mouth sent a rush of heat through you.
“Let’s get this over with,” you bit out, reaching for the next sample vial.
He leaned a hip against the counter, his storm-grey eyes never leaving your face. “Careful, sunshine. You say that like you’re afraid of what might happen if we don’t.”
Your jaw ached from clenching. “I have work to do.”
“Still mad about yesterday?”
“I don’t have the time or the energy to be mad,” you said flatly, checking your sample list.
“Good.” The word was a soft exhation as he leaned in, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear. “You should keep it that way.”
You stiffened, every nerve ending alight. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He straightened in one fluid motion, slipping on his gloves. The sound of rubber snapping sharply in the air. “Just… surprised you showed up. Thought you’d be busy with Eiden again.” He didn’t look at you, feigning a sudden interest in a reagent bottle.
You froze mid-motion. “Excuse me?”
He smirked, still looking at the bottle. “You know. After he spent the night at your place.”
Your heart dropped. You turned sharply. “What did you just say?”
He finally met your eyes, a cold smirk twisting his features. “Oh, please. “You really think I wouldn’t notice him leaving your building that morning?”
The implication, the sheer violation of it, made anger flare white-hot in your chest. “You were watching me?”
He didn’t answer. The only reply was the tight clench of his jaw, a silent, damning admission.
A bitter, disbelieving laugh escaped you. “You’ve got some nerve. You can parade Sohee around all you want, but the moment you think someone might’ve spent the night—”
“Think?” he cut in, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low register. “I saw him.”
“Well, then you should get your eyes checked,” you snapped. “He came to pick me up. That’s all.”
For a single, fleeting second, something like uncertainty flickered in his eyes, but it was instantly smothered by renewed coldness. “Right. A simple morning pick-up, with tea. How… domestic of you.”
You glared at him. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re lying to yourself,” he shot back, closing the distance between you, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. “You get jealous of Sohee, but you’re perfectly fine letting him hang all over you?”
Your pulse spiked. “Jealous?” you echoed, stunned. “You think I’m jealous of her?”
His eyes burned into yours. “Aren’t you?”
The question hit its mark with devastating accuracy, striking a chord you didn’t want to acknowledge.
The dam broke. You looked up, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You really think it’s funny? Watching Sohee grind on you like that? The way you held her waist—” your voice cracked just slightly, betraying you, “—the way you buried your face in her neck like…like she meant something?”
You stared him down, heart pounding. “I saw it. The video. She was kind enough to send it to me.”
The silence that fell was absolute, a razor’s edge suspended between you.
For a split second, his expression shifted through stages: confusion, dawning comprehension, and finally, a chilling, dark fury.
“She what?” His tone dropped, lethal. “She sent a video of us?”
You crossed your arms, holding your ground even as your voice trembled. “Don’t act shocked. It looked convincing enough.”
He stepped into your space, forcing you to tilt your head back to hold his gaze. “Just so we are perfectly clear,” he said, each word a deliberate, sharpened point. “I did not touch her. She wasn’t with me last night.”
Your breath caught, hope and suspicion warring within you. “Right.”
His jaw flexed, a muscle ticking under the strain. His voice dropped, losing its edge for something lower, more probing. “But… is that what’s really bothering you?” His eyes searched yours, stripping away your defenses. “Her?”
“She doesn’t mean anything,” he stated, the ferocity in his voice startling you.
You blinked, thrown off. “Then why—”
“Because it worked,” he interrupted, eyes flashing with a frustrated fire. “Because you walked into that lecture hall looking at me like I’d shattered you.”
You stared at him, your chest rising and falling too fast. The calculation behind it was a cold splash of reality. “You did that on purpose.”
“Maybe I did,” he said, voice low. “After I saw him leave your apartment… I wanted to get under your skin. I wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine.”
The confession was a direct, brutal blow. It wasn't a game; it was vengeance. You took a shaky step back, trying to put precious, sanity-saving distance between you. But he matched it, his advance calm and predatory.
“So that’s your answer? You feel slighted, so you think you can just—what—toy with me to prove a point?” you spat, your fingers gripping the cold, hard edge of the lab bench for support.
“You’ve been toying with me since day one,” he countered, stepping so close you could feel the heat radiating from him. He removed his gloves in a smooth movement, tossing them into the trash. “You look at me like you want to watch me burn, then stare like I’m the only thing you see.”
You gasped. “That’s not—”
“Then tell me,” he whispered, the sound devastatingly soft and far more dangerous than any shout. “Why does the thought of me with her tear you apart?”
You swallowed against the tightness in your throat. “Because you’re infuriating. Because it’s cruel. And it’s pathetic.”
The word hit like a spark to dry tinder. It ignited everything.
You shoved against his chest, a weak, futile push. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you can’t stop looking at me,” he said, his gaze dropping to your trembling hands before returning, searing, to your eyes. “And I know you hate that you can’t.”
Your chest heaved, the heat between you unbearable now. “Stop it.”
He didn’t. He leaned in, his voice a husked challenge that vibrated in the scant space between your lips. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You hated him. You hated how his truth felt more real than your own denials.
He closed the final distance until the cold counter pressed against your back, caging you in. His voice dropped to a whisper, a final, devastating surrender.
The sound of your name on his lips, your real name, stripped of all mockery, all games, was a shock that stilled you. It was a plea and a challenge, a final thread holding back the storm. The silence that followed was electric, alive. It was thrumming with the weight of every unspoken word, every stolen glance, every moment of furious tension that had led here.
You didn’t tell him to stop.
A sharp, desperate sound escaped him, and then he moved. It wasn’t a question; it was an answer. His hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing your jaw rough and trembling, before his lips crashed against yours.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a confession. It was every argument, every jealous glance, every sleepless night, igniting at once. It was frustration and fire, a raw, claiming pressure that stole the breath from your lungs and the sense from your mind. His lips claimed yours with a desperate hunger, not tenderness. His other hand was gripping the countertop as if holding himself back from losing control completely.
A broken gasp escaped you, and you were lost. Your mind screamed to stop, but your body answered with a truth you could no longer deny. Your hands fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, kissing him back with a matching ferocity. The taste of him, sweet, intoxicating, filled your senses until nothing else existed.
When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged. His eyes, when they met yours, were dark pools of stormy, unguarded chaos.
“I hate this,” he breathed, the words raw and torn from somewhere deep inside.
You could barely form a thought. “Hate what?”
His gaze held yours, fierce and pained. “I hate that I want you.”
For a moment, you forgot how to breathe. You didn’t have time to process his words before his lips found yours again, but this time, everything had changed.
This kiss was an apology. A heartaching gentleness replaced the fury. His thumb swept tenderly across your cheekbone, his other hand sliding from the counter to the small of your back, pulling you securely against him, shielding you from the hard edge of the world. He kissed you like you were something precious, something to be cherished, and you felt yourself melting, dissolving against him. Your hand lifted, your fingers gently tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, pressing yourself into his solid strength.
When he retreated this time, his eyes were different. The storm had cleared, leaving behind a devastating, open affection that made your heart clench.
“This—” he whispered, his voice hushed with awe, “this should have been our first kiss.”
You couldn’t speak. A lump of overwhelming emotion tightened your throat. How could he shift from a tempest to this… this heartbreaking tenderness in a single breath?
He pulled back, and the sudden cold where his body had been was a shock. For a moment, you stood there, both frozen, both wrecked and remade by the cataclysm between you. Then he stepped back, the mask slipping back into place.
The spell shattered. “This is a mistake,” you whispered, the words a fragile, automatic defense.
You looked up and flinched. Raw hurt flashed in his eyes, so potent and unguarded it pained you. He didn’t even try to hide it.
“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But tell me you didn’t want it. Tell me you didn’t feel that.”
You remained silent. You couldn’t lie.
And just like that, the shutters came down. He retreated, the warmth vanishing as he rebuilt his walls, becoming cold and collected once more, as if the moment had never happened.
“We should end it here,” he said, voice monotone. He turned and walked out without a backward glance.
You stood rooted to the spot long after he was gone, heart racing, lips still tingling, your thoughts in chaos.
Your lips still burned from his touch.
And all you could think was—
He said he hated that he wanted you.
But you were terrified that you had never wanted anything more.
｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★
♡
Author’s note
It finally happened...the long-awaited kiss. ❤️🔥
I swear I melted writing it. I rewrote that scene over and over because I needed it to hit with the right amount of tension and emotion.
Tell me if your heart survived. 😍
(P.S. It's the longest chapter so far. I had to hold back from writing more.🤭)
｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★
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